The night of Aug. 6 was a night like any other, another evening spent on my golden throne, presiding over only the most brutal of gladiatorial matches. Or so it seemed. As the mood was waning and my legions of guests had either grown bored or been mercilessly dismembered by my guard trolls, I received a gift of the most delightful quality. Evidently during the afternoon barbecue on the Great Lawn of Trapped Souls -- which I had neglected to attend -- a local radio station gave away tickets to see the opening show of Carcass' North American reunion tour Friday night at the Palladium in Worcester. Seeing that absolutely no one was interested in taking the four tickets, my ally in battle Spencer Ackerman '09 took it upon himself to claim the prize and deliver it to my castle. I was pleased and spared his life.

With the tickets in hand, it was time to choose my party. The first choice was obvious. Dave "More Metal Than Tinfoil" Goldstein '09 had served admirably in previous campaigns with Amon Amarth and would provide us with passage across the Mass Pike with his vehicle, the Battle Wagon of Soul-crushing Blackness. That it was the anniversary of his birth was even more reason. The next pick was Erik "Witch-lover" Stumacher '09, renowned psychotic and loose cannon of the Forgotten Lands. Though inexperienced, he would make a useful human shield. Finally, in return for his service, I invited Spencer along for his first metal show. At the very least, his hideous evisceration at the hands of the Palladium ghouls would provide some chuckles. So, the four of us gathered in the dying light of a Friday afternoon, we set out to see perhaps the most brutal of brutal death and black metal lineups ever to grace the land of Massachusetts.

Unfortunately, traffic prevented us from seeing the two first acts, Veil of Maya, a mediocre death/metal-core troupe, and Montreal's tech-death upstarts Beneath the Massacre. Though I was indifferent to the loss of Veil of Maya, I had been anxious to see BtM pull off their hyper-speed assault in the live setting. However, my spirits were lifted as we arrived just in time to see Finland's death-grind masters Rotten Sound deliver a donkey punch to the crowd's collective genitals. Though it seemed like most of the Palladium's patrons were unfamiliar with the material, the few devout fans (myself among them) gave as spirited a response as we could muster.

After a speedy changeover, Norwegian black metal warlocks 1349 (the year the Black Death came to Norway) took the stage and proceeded to scare the urine out of us. Vocalist Ravn was a certified lunatic onstage, spewing lyrics in his trademark shrieking bellow and doing plenty of "crush-an-invisible-orange-in-my-hand" poses. The set focused mostly on their 2005 album, Hellfire, closing with (at my request, I'm sure) the brutal "Sculptor of Flesh." My only complaint would be that their ethereal guitar tone was poorly suited for the Palladium's cavernous halls and many of the riffs were swallowed in echo.

Baltimore's brutal death metal mainstay Dying Fetus (great name) was up next and boy, oh boy, did they deliver a heavy set. DF has had a shaky couple of years with an unstable lineup and a string of critically disputed albums, but they were in their element in the live setting. Focusing on their classic early albums like Killing on Adrenaline and Destroy the Opposition, the three-piece incited deadly mosh pits with hits like "Pissing in the Mainstream" and "Praise the Lord (Opiate of the Masses)."

It was also sometime during DF's set that Spencer was bit by the metal bug and decided to enter the floor pit. I was expecting nothing less than his complete demise, but it was in fact Spencer who was doing the slaughtering. Gathering strength while he circled the pit, Spencer would suddenly catapult himself through the center, taking down foes left and right. Not bad for his first metal experience. I dub him "Grisly Slayer of the Pit."

After Dying Fetus' incredible set, the stage was passed to my one disappointment of the night: Germany's tech-death peddlers Necrophagist. Though they are effective on CD, their impossibly intricate guitar work was lost in the cavernous wind-tunnel that is the Palladium. Their 45-minute set sounded like nails in a blender in a kitchen run by screech owls.

Yet my disappointment was quickly remedied as Brooklyn's legendary Suffocation took the stage. Kicking off the set with "Pierced from Within," Suffocation mercilessly pummeled the crowd with some of the wettest, grooviest blasting death metal this side of the Mississippi, and, in true masochist fashion, I loved every minute of it. Frontman Frank Mullen is a stage presence to reckon with, heaping praise on the audience and the other bands on the tour in between his possessed guttural performances. He even delivered a nonsensical speech about abortion in an effort to introduce the track "Breeding the Spawn." What a dude. What a set.

After Suffocation's set, the anticipation in the air was palpable. Carcass, after eight years of innovation and influence in the gore-grinding death metal field, split up in 1995 and left a legacy that has influenced bands all over the metal spectrum. The announcement of a reunion tour last year with three-fourths of the original members (drummer Ken Owen doesn't play anymore after suffering a brain hemorrhage) was an epic event, to say the least. Now to be honest, I only own one Carcass album, 1993's Heartwork, and I don't even listen to it that much, but I couldn't pass up the experience to see at least a few songs from the legendary (and I mean that in every possible sense) band. Fortunately, they played my favorite song, "Buried Dreams," early on in the set, leaving me content, but the rest of the crowd remained ravenous for more. All throughout the songs we stayed for, the crowd cheered uncontrollably, "singing" along to every word. Even if you aren't a metal fan (can't imagine why not), the extreme violence of the mosh pit was a sight to behold.

After the show, we settled into our long table at Uno's for a well deserved Viking feast. Biting into the charred bodies of our foes, we swapped battle tales and recounted our favorite moments from each set. After we settled the bill by a duel, we piled back into the Battle Wagon of Soul-crushing Blackness and drove home, the memories of a nearly perfect night burned into our minds, ears and necks.