Billowing grey steam rises from the stage, a graveyard in front of a thousand eyes. The metallic clanging of hands and feet smashing against the steel cover rings through the air. Roars and screams from the audience coat the air with anticipation and energy. Feeding off the power, the striking intensifies, breaking the barrier. Streams of light appear as the steel wall bends and twists. A fist travels through accompanied by a foot, steadied on the dark floor. The voices echo in the dark of the night. Two figures step towards the platform. Faces hidden, they move their hands to their instruments. A synthesized choir crescendoes as the bright flames of blowtorch makes a circular outline in the wall.
His boot slams, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as the roaring increases. The dark figure emerges from the maw, light gasping for breath behind him. Pausing, he examines the crowd, listening to their force and strength, feeding his aura as he takes the first step. He raises his hands towards the crowds, a gesture absent for a decade. Cloaked in crimson red, he strides down the stage to the thin stand. Bowing like the grand conductor he is, his arms silence the choir. The light shrivels, dying on command.
Wooden drumsticks collide. The choir resumes.
His eyes flash, piercing through the darkness. He awakens. Wer wartet mit Besonnenheit. The words echo through his own lips, staring back at the dark figure, now illuminated by a quiet blue light. Der wird belohnt zur rechten zeit. Nun, das Warten hat ein Ende.
His smile breaks through the night. The return is nigh. The wait is over. Leiht ever Ohr einer Legende.
His face transforms, words ringing through the night as the curtain falls and the night explodes in a blaze of fiery passion.
