LIGHTNING

Grim Bones was born to play the bass. It was in his blood, in his bones, in the very marrow of his soul. He had the kind of raw talent that couldn't be taught—he felt the music, lived inside it. When his fingers touched the strings, something otherworldly happened. The notes didn’t just sound good; they commanded.

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By the time he turned twenty-seven, he had clawed his way to the top of the underground metal scene. He played for an enigmatic rock band called Necroshade, a group known for its bone-rattling riffs and dark imagery. Their lyrics spoke of lost love, betrayal, sacrifice, and unnatural things that lurked beyond the veil of existence. Some said it was all just a gimmick for the fans. Others weren’t so sure.

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It was on the night of his greatest triumph—just as his band was set to explode into the mainstream—that it happened.

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THE DEAL

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Before that fateful concert, Grim stood in the dressing room of the L.A. Coliseum, gripping his bass so tightly his knuckles turned white. He had been practicing relentlessly for months, but something felt off tonight. A heaviness in the air, a static charge that made the hair on his arms rise.

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He blamed it on nerves, but deep down, he knew better.

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The contract had been simple. A promise whispered to the shadows in a drunken, desperate moment: Make me a legend, and you can take what’s left when I’m done.

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A deep, growling voice had answered, though he saw no one in the room. Deal.

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He didn’t think about it much after that—just kept playing, kept rising. But as he looked at himself in the mirror before the show, he saw something strange. His eyes weren’t the same. There was something behind them now, something watching.

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THE FINAL PERFORMANCE

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The concert was legendary even before the last song. The energy in the crowd was unlike anything anyone had ever felt—people swore the music moved them, not just emotionally, but physically, as if unseen hands gripped their limbs and made them thrash and scream.

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Grim felt it too. A power surging through him. His fingers moved faster than they ever had, striking the strings with supernatural precision. His bass seemed to hum, alive under his touch.

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He was unstoppable.

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Then came the final song.

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His fingers bled, but he didn't care. The crowd pulsed with frenzied devotion. He played as if his very soul depended on it. And then, just as the last note rang out, he tilted his head back, sweat-drenched and victorious—

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—and lightning split the sky.

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A single bolt, impossibly precise, struck him dead center.

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The entire arena went black.

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THE AFTERMATH

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When the lights flickered back on, Grim’s body was gone. The stage was charred where he had stood, the lingering smell of ozone and burnt flesh thick in the air.

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The band was shaken to the core. The audience stood in stunned silence.

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And then the whispers began.

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Some swore they saw something leave his body when the lightning struck—a shadow, something twisting and writhing, peeling itself away from his mortal form. Others claimed they also heard a deep, guttural voice screech something in a language no one could understand.

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The news reports called it a freak accident. But those who had been there knew better.

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THE LEGEND GROWS

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Years passed, and the stories grew. Some claimed to hear his bass playing late at night, when no one else was around. And on stormy nights, at venues where Danny had once played, people said you could still hear him. A single deep, resonant bass note echoing faintly through the empty air. 

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THE QUESTION REMAINS

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No one knows why Grim was chosen. No one knows the full truth of what he did, or what exact price he ultimately paid. But a few things are certain.

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Some music is not meant to be played. Some talents come at a cost.

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And when the storm calls your name, it's all over and you're done.

 

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-Mark Gammill

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Lightning

 

Verse 1​

He played his famed bass with skill and fire

being in a rock band was his greatest desire

he had a dark passion for that heavy metal sound

but he didn't realize the curse he'd also found.

 

Verse 2

He rocked the stage with all of his power

he hypnotized the crowd in his final hour

he was playing the last song as his fingers bled

when a bolt of lightning stuck his bowed head.

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Chorus

He was cursed by the lightning

he was marked by a killer storm

he was doomed to meet his end

on that fateful night that he performed.

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Bridge

No one knows why he was the one

no one knows the truth of what he'd done

some say he had made a very dark deal

with the devil himself for his musical skill.

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Verse 3

He left behind a tall tale and more in his wake

he left behind a hard mystery to try and break

he left us a question that we all must answer

as he departed this world for the dark hereafter.

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- Mark Gammill

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