by Goforth, Jim
Rapidly, he abbreviated the track and segued into something faster, more aurally vicious and laced with furious tremolo picking. Marduk. Christraping Black Metal. It didn’t sound complete or perfect, or anything of the sort, not without the accompaniment of a brutal rhythm section anchoring the high venomous velocity of the guitar, but the violence of the riffing sang from Mother North, pouring out of the Marshall in a cavalcade of sonic savagery that drew astonished stares from the Revenge Masters.
The black metal venom shrieking like an agitated banshee into a night sky already awash with ugly death metal noise from the Fleshcravers, a symphony of screams from those hapless souls finding themselves the nominated Scattered Meat Smorgasbord and myriad other melanges of terror sliced a sharp swathe through the gruesome soundtrack of the bloodstained evening. As Seth watched, his eyes for some reason glued to the feral five piece responsible for throwing open the gates to undead hell, he couldn’t fail to miss what happened.
The tremolo barbs spiking from Mother North appeared to strike Undead Fleshcrave as if they were genuine physical thorns, or sharp objects hurled like weapons. Lead guitarist, SkinCarver, and rhythm axeman, The DeadWalker, both trading abhorrent licks, visibly faltered, missing their place entirely and stuttering into an erratic skitter of sound. Though the bestial Zombie Trigger seemed to be a giant haphazard wall of terrible noise that just came in a crush of impending doom, there was undoubtedly a structure to its horrible composition, and with his eyes upon the two guitarists, Seth plainly saw that structure disrupted by his antagonistic black metal riffery.
A strange sensation that wasn’t quite joy, wasn’t quite triumph, nor disbelief, but a concoction of all three which also snatched facets of other swirling emotions, pummelled Seth in the chest, and he ripped faster tremolo riffs out of the all-powerful, icy beauty, Mother North. He didn’t even know what he was playing anymore; in the midst of catching this aberrant behaviour on the behalf of the Undead axemen he’d missed his own cues and lost the track of what song he had been playing, but it didn’t really seem to matter. He hammered at the strings, wrenching out giant glacial guitar phrases and passages of his own creation, blending some Transilvanian Hunger era Darkthrone with the might of early Satyricon, tossing in some Mayhem, classic stuff from Dissection and then a bunch of shit he made up on the spur of the moment. Or more appropriately, he thought way back in the depths of his mind, Mother North conjured up for him.
She was the true architect of these chilling sounds emanating from the Marshall amp, soaring through the scream riddled atmosphere to collide with the brutal sonic ugliness engineered by Undead Fleshcrave, and it was her freezing spectral fingers driving those of Seth, and through a dark ethereal form stunting, impeding and interrupting the flow of the Zombie Trigger.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE-BLACK METAL WEAPONRY
Now Seth had something to focus his attention on, to fixate on. Something that pulled his horror shocked eyes away from the sanguinary mess, the complete dehumanization of so many, the death, degradation and unholy blood-splattered landscape hurling body parts and meatseeking zombie freaks all over Blackwater Park.
Undead Fleshcrave stumbling, faltering, tripping over their own composition, having it unravel as random tremolo and abrasive black metal discordance headbutted their work, rudely invited itself in to reside and dwell among their chunky riffs, picking them apart with cold skeletal limbs.
The gravity blasts of GatlingGrinder stammered into ungainly fills and stop start staccato bursts that lacked coordination or even rhythm, and without that anchor, FaceGnawer’s bassline undulated into a clunky sounding mire, a fat, oily snake slithering without direction.
Fierce exultant elation threatened to explode from Seth as comprehensively as this viciously counterattacking music was snarling out of Mother North, but he didn’t dare let anything overwhelm him. He persisted with his black metal assaults, some known and familiar songs he knew and jammed occasionally with his buddies sneaking into the mix infrequently, but predominantly it was a free jam of dissonance and tremolo ice. His fingers flexed and flew across the strings, the fretboard, bending and curling, almost in impossible positions and shapes he didn’t think he was capable of, again, something he attributed to the unusual and colossal power of Mother North. He imagined skin peeling off those fingers and blood flowing freely, yet he didn’t cease. He couldn’t. Not now.
He didn’t even realise he had musical company until he heard a low oscillating rumble in occurrence onstage, and then he knew Dax had picked up the thread as well, pitching the evil thick tones of the Blizzard Beast into the musical onslaught on the zombiemakers.
The resonant notes of the Blizzard Beast dropped like well thrown bombs, or musical Molotovs, onto the stage of Undead Fleshcrave, exploding among them as the tremolo air raids of Mother North strafed around the heads of the death metal quintet, raining icicle shards of riffing at the vacillating band.
Eyes locked on the spectacle of the death metal supergroup acting like faulty automatons, breaking down as it were, their synapses malfunctioning as the discordance of the black metal tampered with the flow of the Trigger. The stalking, green sludge, blood splattered SamEdi ceased his triumphant and malevolent stalking around the stage, his choked microphone falling down in his bunched fist to waist level as he temporarily seemed to give up on the insidious mantra altogether.
Then, with renewed vigour, he thrust the mic back to his lips and attempted to persist with the lyric growling, grunting an aside to his bandmates which went unheard by Seth due to the great distance that separated them. He assumed it was some directive for them to pull their shit together and coordinate their actions, bring the Zombie Trigger back into the cohesive curse it should have been. This they did, or made every attempt to with the dual guitarists lurching back into the monstrous chug and FaceGnawer looking to haul his bass back into line with Grinder’s gigantic beats.
At this point in time Seth had to break his gaze to stare down at the guitar weapon in his perspiring hands, feeling as if he needed to grab control of the wild jam that was spiralling out of the instrument, certain his freestyle bursts of tremolo might be the reason Undead Fleshcrave were able to muster their sinister force and regroup.
He didn’t know what was occurring out in the massive expanse of Blackwater Park aside from the horrendous mass transformations and consequential slayings of unturned souls, but he wondered if the temporary break in the concentration of the death metal group had achieved anything other than briefly fuck up the flow of the song. He didn’t expect it was going to have any sort of effect, such as reversing the zombie state, but hopefully it halted, or stunted it somehow.
A tickling clatter of cymbals issued from behind him, then a crash, swiftly followed by a calamitous rumble, a brutal thunderous roll encompassing toms and snare, before doublekicks also burst through the melee. This time, Seth did cast his glance back over his shoulder, surprise punching into him as he realised Mark too, must be joining the rejuvenated Plaguewielder.
It wasn’t Mark seated behind the kit however, the stool was occupied by none other than the Subversion drummer himself, Tempest, back on stage after his and Black’s suicidal stagedive and crowdsurfing mission to rescue those lost in the mayhem.
Not only that, but the entire expanse of Stage Four was completely packed out, filled to the point of overpopulation by an entire host of newcomers-and original members on the stage-along with the four Revenge Masters, Mark, and Dax.
Seth’s attention must have been riveted on the sight of Undead Fleshcrave on that distant stage, stumbling through their bestial Zombie Trigger, for he hadn’t acknowledged the return of Black and Tempest at all, bringing with them all the absentees. Scarlett, Blizzard, Roxana, Lizette, Heather, all were present and accounted for in the cluster of people now sharing this stage. Not only that, but there were others with them, faces in a differing range of expressions, most of them shocked, stunned, and horrified. To Seth’s astonishment, one of these newcomers w
as the woman he mentally referred to as SternBitch. This surprised him more than a fraction to discover that she, obviously one of those with a big hand in the whole organisation of this Blackwater Park death metal oriented festival, was not, in fact, a true death head. If she was, then most certainly she should be one of the feral undead roaming the vast breadth of the grounds, an easy target for the treacherous Trigger. Yet here she was, evidently unmarked by the undead birthing sound, surrounded by a cavalcade of others the Subversion crew must have managed to escort up here to relative safety.
He only managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of Scarlett among the crowd of newcomers, enough to see that while she wore a few nasty looking cuts and bruises upon her gorgeous visage, she appeared otherwise relatively intact, and then he returned his attention to Mother North.
Another inspiration struck him and he launched into the evil blast of 1349’s ‘Sculptor of Flesh’, knowing Dax would fall into the groove on the bass easily enough, and figuring Tempest would be more than attuned to such energetic requirements of his sticksmanship. He wasn’t disappointed in either one; Tempest demonstrated in a swift expanse of time that he was a beast on the drums, even with the kit being somewhat damaged in places by the onslaught of Biblebashers.
Seth felt a presence to his right, and though the track required most of his attention to be riveted on the guitar itself, he spied Scarlett standing there with her microphone clutched back in her slender fingers. Before he could take much stock in that, she was unleashing a vicious scream into the mic that rent the night asunder, splitting the virulent atmosphere even further than the nightmare collage of sounds already had. Her vocals sounded truly demented and violently abrasive, her tone even more attuned to black metal than it was with the track they’d first performed as Plaguewielder.
Together the quartet chimed in as a fearsome unit, attacking the Zombie Trigger from a distance, launching savage aerial attacks and sonic mayhem upon the Undead Five, and though the bass playing of Dax lagged a little behind the unrelenting ferocity Tempest unleashed upon the drum kit, it didn’t really matter.
The conglomerate of abrasive war metal sound punctured and broke the structure of the Trigger, eliminated its ability to be the all-powerful, consuming sound, and it was exhibited over on the Undead stage.
Seth wasn’t sure how long they were supposed to do this, or what end it might achieve, but in some way it seemed highly important to do it, battering at the Trigger until they could eradicate it completely perhaps. Drown the ugly death metal destructive force with their counter attack, until…what?
He shifted on the stage, now certain it wasn’t a total requirement to keep his eyes trained constantly on the Undead Fleshcrave squadron. Angling around so he was essentially facing Scarlett, who stood, feet spread wide as she screamed lyrics into the microphone, her black hair streaming back, head tilted so her countenance aimed skywards.
From here, he could both witness the awesome spectacle that was her in full voice, as well as all other actions in occurrence on Stage Four. The group of fearful newcomers, including SternBitch, a few other metalheads who obviously didn’t rate death metal as their ultimate genre, and a pair of security guards were crowded together behind where Dax thrashed the Blizzard Beast, struggling to keep his rhythm aligned with Tempest’s. Mark and Miranda were over there as well, wrapped in each other’s tight embraces, both marked with injuries inflicted by the ruthless beatings of the stage invaders, and whilst some of the newest arrivals were staring in open mouth, wide-eyed shock at the chaos and bedlam of undead running rampant through the Park, and very nearby below, Seth’s friends were gaping in awe at the makeshift four piece ripping out black metal to thwart the Zombie Trigger.
The four strong army of bikers stood in a tight knot, wary eyes on proceedings everywhere, taking in as much of the unbelievable scene as they could from all angles.
Black and his Subversion associates were hauling the instrument cases which usually housed Mother North, The Blizzard Beast, and the Moons into what available space was left in the centre of Stage Four, just behind where Scarlett raged in vocal abrasion so caustic it tore at the fabric of the night.
Behind them all, Tempest battered at the somewhat dented and dishevelled drum kit like a demented dervish, long black hair flailing all around his head and muscled shoulders, his body in a perpetual state of motion.
There were at least twenty five people crammed onto the stage, possibly more; Seth wasn’t sure how many others came up along with Black, there could have been some behind the considerable bulk of the two security guards and the bikers in the centre who tended to obscure his vision a little.
Abruptly, Black made a cutting motion across his throat to Seth, swivelling in a semi-circle to include the rest of the players, requesting they cease the music. Puzzled by the entreaty, particularly now, where the four of them in tandem appeared to be hammering sonic weapons into the metaphorical musical coffin of the Zombie Trigger, Seth nonetheless complied, the savage tremolo scream of Mother North dying away to silence.
The drums of Tempest ceased instantaneously, as did Scarlett’s ferocious shrieking vocal abrasion, while predictably, Dax trailed to a halt a few seconds behind all the others, a fat thrum of bass resonance fading in the wake of the dispersal of everything else.
“Okay, listen up and listen hard!” Black announced, his harsh voice ringing with an authoritative command, audible despite the crescendo of terror ringing out in a melange all around the Park. “I don’t want to repeat myself at all, so no interruptions. We don’t have much time, in fact, we have fuck all time. In about two minutes, which is the absolute maximum amount of time I’m giving myself to talk, me and my people are going to be making preparations to get down off this stage and then we are going to go and do what we came here tonight to do. Which, for the slow kids in class-hang on, that’s probably a little unfair since most of you here don’t have a clue what the fuck is going on unless you’re aware of the situations like this happening all along the coast, but anyway—is go and kill Undead Fleshcrave. None of us are safe up here, don’t get it into your heads that we are. Sooner, rather than later, those undead down there—yes, zombie motherfuckers who exist only to rip your flesh off your bones and eat it―are going to come up here. There’s just about nowhere in this park safe for anybody and the longer we sit here, the bigger a target we make ourselves. So when I say my piece right here, the band is going to start playing again and when I say the word we are all getting the fuck off this stage, we are going to kill those death metal freaks over there responsible for this catastrophe and then we are getting the fuck out of this Park. Anyone who likes the idea of staying alive in any capacity, and potentially not joining the legions of the undead, or becoming meat for them, I suggest coming along. Alternatively, feel free to stay here and wait for them to come to you. Or make your own way to where you think you’re going to be safe. Entirely up to your own discretion. And I’m done talking. Tempest, Seth, Scarlett, Dax, resume black metal hostilities.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” This came from SternBitch, a desperate and panicked edge to her voice. “You’re suggesting we go down…there? And…what…kill that band? What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I said,” Black replied brusquely. “Eradicating them is the only way to eliminate them being able to unleash the Zombie Trigger—that’s the composition that created this whole world of undead shit—and while we intended to do that prior to them getting the opportunity to flip the switch on the Trigger, shit happens, we got screwed out of doing that. Nonetheless, that’s what we came here to do, that’s what we’re going to do. Unfortunately, the whole place is swarming and crawling with undead motherfuckers who want to eat us all, but shit, what are you gonna do?”
Another chorus of outcry issued from the rest of the congregation assembled over behind where Dax stood, awaiting the opportunity, or rather, the command to come from Black again, considering SternBitch interrupted the first directive, but
Black held up his hand.
“Quiet, stay and die, or come with us when I say and take a chance at remaining alive for a while. That’s all I can offer you. No more questions, we don’t have the fucking time. And we’re wasting the time to be completely breaking that concentration on the Trigger. Guys, play me that good fucking black metal!”
As Tempest immediately led them into more musical fury with a barrage of blastbeats, Seth felt insidious worms of trepidation crawling in the pit of his stomach. This was it, as soon as Black said go, it was D-day. The time to kick into action, set out to do what they came here today planning to do. Unfortunately, instead of being able to do it as intended, smiting the Fleshcravers before they were able to switch the Trigger on, the murderous elimination task now had to be enacted amidst a teeming sea of flesh hungry, death metal undead and all those they’d been able to enlist in their ever expanding army of extreme zombies.
Rather than having a clear run to the line, a sneak attack, an element of surprise where they could perhaps emerge from the crowd as Undead appeared onstage and then wield the instruments of the Subversion crew as the weapons they truly were, or maybe finding them in some little temporary backstage area beforehand and being able to assassinate the fivesome prior to them even making their way onstage, now they had to brave that hideous minefield that was Blackwater Park’s entire domain, fighting through an expanding squadron of meatseekers in order to even reach Undead.
This would be nothing like the hellish inferno they’d been part of, and witnessed in Armada, or even Noumena. This was going to be infinitely worse, a million fold, to say the least. This was going to be sheer lunacy on the grandest scale imaginable. Unfortunately, Seth couldn’t fault Black’s logic on the temporary sanctuary of this stage being just that. It wouldn’t keep the fleshcravers at bay once they realized fresh flesh was quaking up on top of it. Anybody still up here was meat for the undead.
