Shadows of Helvete

Chapter 6

The excitement in the cramped backstage room was palpable. Mayhem had their first gig with Dead as their frontman. Emilie had worked tirelessly to get them this gig—a chance to introduce the raw, unrelenting, and darker-than-ever Mayhem to the local metalheads. It wasn't easy, but Emilie's persistence had paid off. Now, she stood among them, the band gearing up for what was going to be one hell of a show.

The band was laughing, hyped for the performance ahead. Dead, always a little... different, was holding a plastic bag to his face, inhaling deeply. Inside the bag, the rotting corpse of a dead bird reeked of decay. Euronymous cracked a smile, shaking his head at the bizarre display, while Necrobutcher and Hellhammer exchanged amused glances.

"Man, that's disgusting," Necrobutcher said, trying not to laugh.

Dead pulled the bag away and exhaled, his eyes wide, almost glowing with that familiar manic intensity. "It smells like death... like the stage should," he muttered.

"Yeah, real fun," Euronymous added, smirking. "Gotta get that authentic atmosphere."

Emilie wrinkled her nose, half laughing, half horrified. "That's absolutely revolting," she said, though she couldn't help but smile. They were all a little crazy, but that was what made them Mayhem. She had grown used to Pelle's morbid fascination with death, even though it scared her more than she let on.

The minutes ticked by, and the air in the room thickened with anticipation. Emilie moved from band member to band member, helping where she could, adjusting Hellhammer's arm pads, double-checking Necrobutcher's cables, and giving Euronymous a knowing nod before heading back to Pelle, checking his makeup before they went on stage.

"Thanks for this gig, Emilie," Euronymous said, stepping beside her. His voice was low but genuine.

Emilie shrugged, smiling. "It's no problem. You guys are going to kill it out there."

Pelle glanced at Emilie, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Good luck," she whispered.

He looked down at her, his pale eyes softening for a brief moment. "I don't need luck... only death."

Before Emilie could respond, the venue's stage manager poked his head in. "You're on in five."

The band was ready. Euronymous and Necrobutcher grabbed their guitars, Hellhammer his sticks, and Dead clutched the mic, all their faces painted with corpse makeup, their movements synchronized as if this was all part of some dark ritual.

Emilie followed them out to the side of the stage, giving Dead a small wave before retreating into the audience. The crowd was already electric, buzzing with anticipation for Mayhem's new frontman. Emilie squeezed her way to the front, just close enough to see every detail of the stage and feel the raw energy. The lights dimmed, casting ominous shadows on the walls, and then Euronymous hit the first chilling notes of "Freezing Moon."

Dead's voice cut through the thick air like a blade, his haunting growl sending shivers down Emilie's spine. The crowd erupted in cheers, their bodies swaying in a collective trance as the band's sound washed over them. Emilie cheered with them, feeling the pulse of the music in her veins. This was what Mayhem was about—chaos, darkness, and pure adrenaline.

But then, something shifted. Emilie noticed Dead moving strangely, his energy ramping up in a way that felt... wrong. He reached into his boot and pulled out a small knife, holding it aloft as if it were part of the performance. At first, Emilie thought it was a prop, something to heighten the theatrics, but then Dead did something that stopped her heart.

He pressed the blade into his own skin and dragged it down his arm, opening deep gashes that immediately began to bleed. The blood sprayed into the front row, splattering across the faces of the audience members who cheered even louder, oblivious to the gravity of what they were seeing.