Page 58 of Vengeful Melodies

The front rows scream it back, hands reaching, eyes wild. I find Dreya through the haze. She’s still filming, but her lips twitch — a slow smile like she knows exactly what I’m doing.

The next lines tear from my throat:

"I’m the shadow in your veins… the rot beneath your grin. You beg to gods that never answered — while I drown in the church of your sin."

Bash slides in beside me, shoulder pressing into mine. He leans into the mic for the harmony, smirking like he’s daring me to mess up. His hand grazes my hip as he steps past to the edge of the stage, playing to the crowd. They lose their minds.

Takoa cuts in clean, voice like light breaking through storm clouds:

"I was the shadow in your sun… the martyr you left behindwhen the light came undone. You stitched your grief into my spine… and called it love, one final time."

Bash spins back toward me during the next riff, dropping low and looking up through his hair with that filthy grin he knows the fans eat up. I lean into it, plucking hard, almost chest to chest, and the pit screams louder — every phone up, every eye on us.

We slam into the same mic, Takoa between us, and scream like our throats are tearing:

"You're killing me— with promises you made in screams. Killing yourself just to feel like a queen… But blood on your hands doesn’t make you clean."

For a heartbeat, it’s just the crowd’s ragged breathing and the thrum of my bass.

Sebastian’s voice drifts in from the dark, haunted:

"Why can’t I be the man… you dream about when you’re alone? Why does every ‘forever’ taste like gasoline?"

The lights die.

Alix’s drum break explodes — a rolling, merciless assault. Strobes flash over Bash crowding into me again, our shoulders colliding, his fingers sliding down his fretboard like he’s wringing it for blood. The front row is chaos — fans screaming, shoving, reaching like they’ll pull us off the stage.

We roar together:

"I’m closer to the end than I’ve ever been… digging through the ash of the life we lived. No resurrection, no holy sound… just four broken souls and a burial ground."

Silence.

Dreya’s camera is still up, but now her smile is gone — her lips parted, eyes fixed on me like she’s not sure if she should keep recording or come closer.

Takoa’s voice drops soft:

"No more lies to dull the ache… no more gods to come and save…"

Then his scream — guttural, human — rips the air open:

"We all fall down… we all fade away!"

The lights explode white. The final chord drops like a body. Bash hooks his arm over my shoulder as we ride it out, grinning into my ear before pulling away to throw a pick into the crowd. The audience becomes one screaming, thrashing mass.

I step back from the mic, bass still vibrating against my chest. My gaze finds Dreya again. She’s still holding the camera — but she’s watching me like she already knows this whole set was for her.

The red lights bleed back in.

One sharp breath of silence — then the chaos swallows us whole.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Takoa

The stage lights dim, a breathless hush rolling through the crowd like the calm before the storm. Sweat clings to the back of my neck as I grip the mic, heart hammering in my chest. The adrenaline from the set pulses through me, but this—this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. To get this off my chest before we continue on this tour.

The unreleased track. My fucking confession.