Slayer Unleashes “Raining Blood” and “Angel of Death” at Back to the Beginning: A Relentless Return That Proves Legends Never Fade

Slayer burst onto the stage at Birmingham’s Villa Park as lightning crackled overhead, launching into “Disciple” with a double-kick drum salvo that shook the stadium. The track tore through the air, igniting circle pits that formed almost instantly, pits of denim and leather hurtling like metal storms across the floor.

From there, they plunged straight into “War Ensemble,” pulling no punches. Kerry King and Gary Holt wove a neck-snapping guitar fury while Tom Araya prowled the stage like a metal preacher. His voice, both growl and cry, cut through the mix with visceral intensity that picked up every dropped jaw in the crowd.

Then came an unexpected tribute — “Wicked World,” a deep Sabbath cut. Slayer honored the legends with grinding, gritty distortion, their homage as raw as their own classics. It wasn’t just a cover; it was a promise: they understood Sabbath’s DNA, and they were ready to channel it with full force.

“South of Heaven” followed, with “Wicked World” intertwining in a haunting reprise. The juxtaposition was chilling — Sabbath’s doom-laden groove met Slayer’s merciless velocity. Despite the polished light show, Slayer’s sound remained as unfiltered and fierce as ever.

And then — “Raining Blood.” The intro thunder roared as pyro rained from the rafters, a literal bloodstorm on stage. Fans erupted, chanting along with the eerie guitar riff. Even after nearly four decades, that opening wall of sound still has the power to freeze and explode hearts.

“Angel of Death” closed their set, Tom’s scream launching as abruptly as it did in 1986, a visceral opening to the song’s brutal subject matter. The lyrics—graphic, historical, unflinching—echoed in the vast stadium, a reminder that Slayer’s art has always been fearless and thought-provoking.

Backstage, Kerry King admitted, in interviews before the show, he “picked the song really late”—but it clicked perfectly live. That spontaneity fueled the set, giving it a rawness that foreign polished performances can’t replicate. Slayer showed up hungry and unfiltered.

This was no mere nostalgia tour. The band had reunited in 2024 for Riot Fest and Aftershock, intimate club shows that bridged years of silence. Those performances had sharpened their edges again. Tonight, every fret and drumbeat had the weight of history and the spark of fresh fire.

Live coverage noted the contrast between other acts’ theatricality and Slayer’s brutal minimalism. Their set was all galloping riffs and scorching aggression—no fantasy staging, no costumes—just pure metal, projected with raw authenticity and clarity.

Audience reaction was electric. As the tempo escalated, thousands surged into circle pits, bodies colliding in ecstatic release. You could feel the ground tremble with collective adrenaline. It was a communion between band and fans across generations.

The event was a charity spectacle, organized as Sabbath’s final show, benefiting Cure Parkinson’s, Birmingham Children’s and Acorns hospice. Slayer’s presence added weight — a generation’s worth of cultural impact condensed into six songs, building bridges between eras of metal.

A sense of legacy pulsed through the night. Slayer had long been part of metal’s Big Four; Sabbath was part of its foundation. Their appearance at this farewell show was like two tectonic plates shifting, reminding us how riffs travel across decades yet land just as hard.

Moments of recognition peppered the set: old-school fans embraced it like a homecoming, while younger ones discovered fire and fury in real time. Tom Araya’s scream during “Angel of Death” sounded the same as it did 40 years prior — timeless, primal, and pure.

Slayer’s performance was more than musicianship; it was ritual. The blood-red lights, the pounding drums, the shared chanting—it bound everyone in a communal trance. It wasn’t showmanship; it was mass exorcism of emotion, pushing listeners into rhythmic release.

After the final note, silence engulfed the field briefly—then proved impossible to hold. Cheers thundered louder than any music played moments earlier. Slayer exited, leaving behind swirling smoke, pyrotechnic embers, and a realization: legends may age, but the peak of metal doesn’t fade—it reverberates.