Atlanta’s State Farm Arena last night, July 11, 2025, was a seething cathedral of 17,608 souls, every one of them buzzing like they’d been possessed by the ghost of heavy metal’s unkillable spirit. Ghost, those Swedish alchemists led by Tobias Forge, weren’t just playing a show—they were staging a goddamn uprising. Their occult carnival exploded with thousands of nuns in fishnets, creating a spectacle that was equal parts theatrical and electrifying.

Fifteen years since Opus Eponymous crept out of the shadows in 2010, Ghost has never stopped climbing. Each year, they’ve swelled their congregation with a brew of theatrical riffs and pop-metal sorcery. A decade ago, they haunted the 2,600-capacity Tabernacle here in Atlanta as a scrappy cult act. Now, they’re packing coliseums, with more cosplay Papa Emeritus robes than a Comic-Con fever dream. This isn’t just endurance—it’s a Heavy Metal Inquisition. Forge and his Nameless Ghouls have cracked the code, fusing Satan’s swagger with digital-age hustle. Last night proved they’re no fluke—they’re the new high priests of metal’s eternal flame.

Ghost’s empire isn’t just built on riffs—it’s a masterclass in world-building, echoing the early days of KISS. Their marketing is as expansive as the hellscapes they conjure onstage. Three hours before the show, fans braved the rain as the merch line snaked through Atlanta, clamoring for official T-shirts like pilgrims at a shrine. This isn’t just merch—it’s part of the mythology.

Their theatrical film Rite Here Rite Now grossed over $5 million at the box office, becoming the highest-grossing hard rock cinema event in North America. The film is a cinematic saga of betrayal and ritual that fleshes out their mythos, pulling fans deeper into their world. The Sister Imperator graphic novel takes the lore even further, crafting a backstory of a woman haunted by the murder of her fathers.

The evolution of the Papas—Papa Emeritus I through IV, Cardinal Copia, and now Papa V Perpetua—drives this narrative. Each new incarnation is a chapter that hooks fans deeper into the lore, from grizzled Papa I’s doom to Papa Perpetua’s chrome-masked swagger. This lore, woven through comics, videos, and stage banter, doesn’t just engage—it possesses, turning casual listeners into devotees who live for the next twist in Ghost’s unholy tale.

Just last week, on July 5, Forge, draped in his Papa Perpetua regalia, stood among titans at Black Sabbath’s farewell in Birmingham. He belted out Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon” to a sea of fists alongside Metallica, Guns N’ Roses, and Pantera. This wasn’t just a cameo—it was a coronation. Ghost was anointed as the youngest blood in heavy metal’s royal line, their inclusion as deliberate as a pentagram carved in stone.

Where Black Sabbath’s raw, working-class dread shook the ’70s, Ghost’s polished, sardonic blasphemy speaks to a generation wired for spectacle. When their song “Mary on a Cross” became a viral hit on TikTok, they embraced the new generation, most of whom weren’t even born when the band played their first gig.

The torn black curtain fell, and “Peacefield” from Skeletá erupted, its dark pulse a call to arms. It was followed by “Lachryma,” with the crowd chanting like it had been their anthem for years. Forge, his chrome-silver mask catching the light, strode across the stage like a pontiff who’s danced with demons and won. His voice—freed from prosthetics—cut through with raw, soaring power.

The eight Nameless Ghouls, no longer mere sidekicks but co-conspirators, donned stunning new top hat and tail costumes. They swarmed the sprawling stage, their guitars and keytar solos slashing through “Year Zero” as 17,608 voices bellowed “Beelzebub!” like a war cry.

“Spirit” and “Cirice” from Meliora (2015) landed like thunder, sharpened by a decade of road grit, while new cuts “Satanized” and “Umbra” slotted in like instant classics. The setlist was a masterclass, dusting off “Per Aspera ad Inferi” for the old guard. Each song was a pillar in Ghost’s gothic empire.

Pyro roared, golden glitter and 666-dollar bills rained during “Kiss the Go-Goat,” and the backdrop morphed from devilish stained glass to a molten hellscape. Every shift was a gut-punch of theater with a beating heart.

Phones locked in Yondr pouches meant no screens, no distractions—just a congregation living in the now. A family of freaks in nun belts, glittery pink jackets, and Papa V masks screamed “Mary on a Cross” like it was their last stand.

“Monstrance Clock” sealed the main set, with confetti flooding the stage. The encore—“Mary,” “Dance Macabre,” and “Square Hammer”—was a campy, crushing triumph. The crowd became a writhing, euphoric mass.

Are they Black Sabbath’s heirs? No. They’re Ghost, rewriting the scripture of heavy metal on their own terms. Atlanta shouted it from the mountaintop: we want more. Right here, right now!

The Skeletá North American Tour will continue to haunt the U.S. through September. This is a showcase not to be missed.