Page 26 of Vengeful Melodies (Heaven’s Guilt Revenge Tour Duet #1)

Chapter Twenty Six

Kaiser

The stage isn’t just an altar tonight. It’s the scene of a crime — and we’re the ones holding the knife.

Backstage is a humid tangle of cables, sweat, and muffled screams from the crowd.

Bash paces with his guitar slung low, running his tongue over his lip ring like he’s already tasting the noise we’re about to make.

Alix taps out a steady, violent rhythm on his thigh.

Takoa leans on the wall, head bowed, mouthing his first lines like a curse.

I shoulder my bass. The strap digs into the groove worn into my skin, weight pulling me into focus.

Then I catch her.

Dreya.

She’s at the side ramp, camera lifted, eyes locked in through the viewfinder.

That modified Heaven’s Guilt tee hangs off one shoulder, neckline wide enough to bare skin I shouldn’t be looking at right now.

Black skinny jeans hug her legs, ending in boots scuffed from too many miles.

Her hair falls in loose waves, catching the light.

She’s here for promo — filming for the socials — but I swear she’s filming me .

The house lights cut out. The crowd goes feral.

We step onstage. Smoke coils up from the grates, thick and restless, crawling over my boots. Red light drenches us in heat, painting the stage like fresh blood.

Takoa gives the nod.

Bash’s opening riff slices through the air — jagged, dirty. The pit breaks forward. Alix follows with a beat that hits so deep it feels like my ribcage is trying to keep up. I drop in, the first pluck of the bass sending a shock through my hands.

I hit the mic, and my voice rips out like it’s been waiting years to burn: "Pull me from the silence… before it eats me alive. I burned down my lungs just to prove I could breathe… but every breath is fire, and the ash is all I have left."

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 behind when 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.