Enforcer's Death by Fire started things out the right way with a retro minded blast of old school circa 1983 Heavy Fuckin' Metal. A few gentle piano strains start the album off, but its pure ass kicking the rest of the way. This band is in the vein of Wolf and other younger retro metal bands. Much attention is paid to the purity of the old sounds, the construction of old school riffs and solos, all the while retaining just enough personality of their own. Think demo era Metallica, Exciter, and all things NWOBHM. Think denim, leather, patches, cheap beer, and maybe some trucker crack. Actually, don't think. Just turn this shit up, dude.
I had used the power in the patches
sewn on to my denim vest many times. I was ready for the hot tingling
in my hands and the discharge of energy from them when I unleashed
the power from the magic embroidery. This time, however, it was
different. Before me stood our greatest foe, Headron, gray skin
covered with a business suit, lightning flowing from his fingertips.
Behind me was the rest of our party. Mistress Crowbastard, Jarkon the
Inflamer and Vecton the Bard were holding off the massive surge of
soldiers who were storming this tower and Lars the Berserker,
rebounding from a bolt from Headron's hand was running up the stair
to help me. I had narrowly dodged a searing shock from above and when
I put my hand upon my Bathory patch, I felt a sharp pain and from my
outstretched arm came a blast that took both Headron and I by
surprise. With no time to react, the tyrant caught the brunt of the
blow, knocking him back through the heavy door from witch he emerged.
Lars and I rush up to the landing, where the smell of burning flesh
hangs heavily in the air. Dust clouds obscure everything as we
cautiously approach the wreckage. Before we can even peer into the
inner sanctum of our enemy, he leaps out form the darkness, but Lars
is too quick for him, the barbarian's fist smashes what is left of
Headron's face and I send a deadly spell from the Exciter patch. The
body goes limp and crumples to the ground before us. We lean down to
examine the flesh bag, but at that moment we are both caught off
guard when our foe rushes us in the body of one of the intergalactic
businessmen who were about to buy Centon from him when we showed up.
Now a stout, amphibious looking humanoid with tremendous bulging eyes
on either side of his aquiline face, Headron bellows, "Fools!
Your world is mine now. Already my troops are hunting your friends on
Centon. Your legacy shall be expunged from history!" He draws
his cutlass, I feel it draining energy from me as soon as it is
unsheathed. My heart sinks knowing there are more bodies for him to
inhabit in his chamber, but from outside we hear the buzzing and
chirping of a thousand flying insects. Rangar the Sectaurian has
come.
Because thinking is what is required to engage with the next masterpiece by avant-garde weirdos The Meads of Asphodel. Time to get out the Wikipedia folks, cuz this is a head trip that will require repeated listening and much studious inquiry in order to absorb what's happening. The Meads have always been an eclectic band, with one foot rooted firmly in black metal and the other the music of the world. But most notably this is their most technically accomplished, displaying more musical proficiency than ever before besides their artful and bizarre meanderings. This time, the Meads explore the Holocaust with as much iconoclasm and intellect as the Gnostic religious musings of previous albums. This got my vote for winner of the night, though Demon Scourge digressed and he did so with a gore-soaked knife and Mistress Crowbastard put a spell on him and taught him a lesson he will never forget. Feral babies were slaughtered and women and children and menfolk, too. Too many sidecars.
A look of panic crosses Headron's face
as a stream of tiny nsects pours through every opening of his
fortified tower. Below, we can hear the terrified screams of his
ghostly legions as the insect men rend their legion with mandible and
pincer. The shape shifting king turns from us and runs into the
throne room. As Lars and I persue our quarry I feel a tingling at the
base of my skull that turns into the voice of Rangar, "You must
use the patch...use the patch." My hand reaches into the inside
pocket of the
leather beneath my denim. Headron is running for the
gate to Centon but before he can get there Lars has tackled him. I
pull out the Mournful Congregation patch and hold it to my denim.
Rangar's voice comes out of my mouth, "I hold you Headron, Ankra
t'chmala dentoich!" The two warriors struggle on the ground
before the portal. Headron throws Lars from on top of him, thrusting
at him with his sword. Our enemy's power is great, but Lars, in his
anger, calls fourth the Berserker from the slaughtering void and his
ax rains down destruction on everything before it. Headron lunges for
his escape, but the ax falls on the body he in inhabiting again and
again, but this time there is no escape, he is held within that form
by Rangar's spell. Lars the Berserker tears the head from the body
that still contains the dying tyrant and lets out a victorious howl.
I watch as he runs to the balcony on the other side of the throne
room and holds the bloody head aloft, then hurls it down into the
throng of retreating demons. Rangar, perched upon a magnificent
battle wasp hovers nearby, "Demon Scourge!" He calls to me,
"Let us go on to Centon, we must also destroy the gate he built
in Jenkabala Palace! Take your friends there now, we shall follow.
Onward to victory!"
So it is done. The tyrant has been
defeated by the oppressed, but Centon is still in danger. Is the
father of Bloodmace and Demon Scourge really in league with Headron?
What secrets that lie buried in the past will rise from their
mouldering tombs to confront the metal warriors upon their return?
Horns
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