The studio was small, sweaty, and smelled faintly of reheated pizza and amp dust — in other words, perfect.
Rex stood in the middle of the room with his new electric guitar slung across his shoulder. Midnight black, chrome details, and sharp enough to cut through souls — the thing was beautiful. He plugged in, twisted the volume knob, and gave the strings a quick strum. A low growl rumbled from the amp.
The others were watching.
Ash Mori leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The bleach-streaked lead guitarist always carried an air of smugness, but right now, even he looked curious.
Silas Quinn sat backwards on a chair, bass in his lap, one brow arched.
Kai Draven, shirtless and bald as ever, spun a drumstick between his fingers. "Alright, Rex," he said with a lazy grin. "You said you've got something to show us?"
Rex nodded, swallowing the knot of nerves building in his throat. This was it — the moment everything began. He had practiced this song more times than he could count. It was a piece of heavy metal history where he came from — a monster of a debut track. But in this world, it was unknown. Untouched. Undiscovered.
He took a breath and stepped to the mic.
"No pressure, but…" he smirked, "I figured it's time we get serious. I wrote something. It's heavy. Fast. Unforgiving. I call it The Four Horsemen."
Ash raised an eyebrow. "That sounds intense. What genre are we talking?"
"Thrash metal," Rex said simply. "Old school. Dirty. Apocalypse-tier riffs."
Kai grinned wide. "Now you're speaking my language."
Rex didn't give them time to overthink it. He clicked the metronome on his phone, let the tempo settle in his bones… then unleashed hell.
The opening riff hit like a war cry — sharp, galloping, primal. Rex's fingers danced across the fretboard, the rhythm tight and merciless. He didn't just play — he commanded the sound. His voice followed suit: raw, raspy, and soaked in fire as he sang the verses.
The others were frozen.
Ash's smirk dropped, replaced by wide-eyed shock. Silas leaned forward, mouth slightly open, bass forgotten in his lap. Kai stopped spinning his stick and sat upright, nodding slowly as the rhythm sunk into his blood.
Verse, chorus, solo — Rex tore through the track like a man possessed. Every note screamed experience. Every transition reeked of rebellion and power. When the final riff echoed out, the room was dead silent.
Then—
"…What the actual hell was that?" Ash finally said, voice hoarse.
Rex smirked and unplugged his guitar. "That, my friend, is the beginning."
Kai burst out laughing. "Bro! That was insane. You seriously wrote that?"
Rex nodded slowly. "Yeah. Took me a long time. I wanted something that punches you in the chest and doesn't let go."
Silas ran a hand through his hair. "Dude, that was brutal. Groovy, but apocalyptic. You wrote all that yourself?"
"Lyrics, riffs, everything," Rex said, keeping his tone calm despite the adrenaline running wild in his veins. "I wanted our first song to leave a mark. Something people can't ignore."
Ash shook his head in disbelief. "That solo. That breakdown. The tempo shifts—it's not just good, man. It's legendary."
Rex shrugged, forcing a grin. "Just some inspiration from the gods of heavy music."
The room fell quiet again, this time out of mutual respect.
Kai stood up and cracked his knuckles. "So when are we recording this beast?"
Rex smiled, heart pounding.
"Tomorrow. And when it drops… everyone's gonna know the name Obsidian Saints."