Worm have spent the last several years carving out a uniquely eerie space within extreme metal. Emerging from Florida under the banner of “necromantic black doom,” the project—led by Phantom Slaughter and now operating as a creative partnership with guitarist Wroth Septentrion—has steadily expanded its sonic world. Their music pulls from doom, death metal, and symphonic black metal traditions, but what truly separates Worm from their peers is the theatrical tone they inject into everything they do. Gothic horror imagery collides with medieval fantasy aesthetics, creating something that feels less like a modern genre exercise and more like a forgotten relic dragged from some cursed crypt.

With Necropalace, that vision becomes larger, stranger, and far more cinematic. The album sprawls across lengthy compositions packed with atmosphere, elaborate storytelling, and layered instrumentation. It even features a striking guest appearance from former Megadeth guitarist Marty Friedman. The result is easily Worm’s most ambitious release yet—one that solidifies their reputation as one of the underground’s most distinctive extreme metal acts.

The album begins with “Gates to the Shadowzone,” a short instrumental that functions like a dark prologue. Thunder cracks in the distance while ominous synths drift slowly through the mix, evoking the feeling of stepping into a cursed dungeon or the opening sequence of a gothic fantasy film. The orchestral flourishes feel intentionally theatrical, and when a ghostly guitar lead appears it sits surprisingly low in the mix. That restraint works in the song’s favor, enhancing the eerie atmosphere rather than disrupting it with immediate aggression. Instead of bursting into violence, Worm gently pull the listener into the record’s shadowy world.

That world expands dramatically on the title track. “Necropalace” plunges immediately into suffocatingly heavy riffs and cavernous drum fills that give the song an immense sense of weight. The lyrics lean fully into dark medieval imagery—references to raven blood and vampiric figures flesh out the supernatural narrative at the heart of the track. When blast beats erupt beneath swirling symphonic keys, the music surges into feral black metal territory. The mix throughout much of the song feels intentionally murky, almost swallowed by darkness. At times it flirts with frustration, as clearer production might reveal more detail, but the distant, reverb-drenched vocals sound genuinely menacing within that haze. Over its ten-minute runtime the track constantly mutates, drifting between eerie calm and sudden bursts of speed that prevent the song from stagnating. Whimsical piano passages briefly appear later on, introducing a strangely gothic fairy-tale tone before the piece closes with a sleek guitar solo and monumental organ flourishes.

“Halls of Weeping” takes a slower and colder approach. Sweeping dual guitar leads hover over mournful organ chords, immediately establishing a funereal atmosphere. The groove is deliberate and heavy, anchored by deep, resonant kick drums that move the song forward like a solemn procession. Eventually the instrumentation strips back to isolated drum hits and slowly ringing guitar notes accompanied by distant bells, intensifying the feeling of isolation. Phantom Slaughter’s feral vocal delivery remains present but feels more restrained here—less frantic, more predatory. Halfway through, the track pivots toward faster death metal territory with heavier percussion and shimmering guitar textures that almost brush against shoegaze-like haze. The shift adds motion without sacrificing the bleak atmosphere. Toward the end, whispered spoken passages and fragile guitar work introduce an ancient, ritualistic quality before the song fades back into darkness.

“The Night Has Fangs” keeps the album’s sense of scale intact while introducing a more rhythmic momentum. It begins with massive doom riffs and thunderous drums that make the song feel colossal from the outset. Phantom Slaughter’s screams sound as though they’re clawing upward from some subterranean abyss, perfectly matching the track’s oppressive mood. Once galloping riffs arrive, the song gains a muscular drive that keeps it moving. Guitar work dominates here—solos slice through the gloom with sharp precision while subtle string arrangements reinforce the album’s medieval undertones. Worm’s ability to weave sludge-like heaviness into black metal aggression becomes especially clear: the music lurches through slow doom passages before surging forward again with renewed speed. By its towering finale, the track feels both triumphant and ominous.

“Dragon Dreams” introduces one of the album’s most atmospheric shifts. Delicate acoustic guitars and distant, haunted vocal textures immediately create a more fragile mood. As the song slowly builds, heavier instrumentation creeps into the arrangement without disturbing the mystical atmosphere. Organ melodies and strange gothic synth tones drift through the background, giving the track a surreal character. Midway through, the music strips down again for a reflective guitar solo supported by acoustic layers, creating one of the album’s most introspective passages. Just as it seems ready to fade away, Worm return with a slow-burning final section filled with emotional riffs and distant screams. The coda may feel slightly appended to the earlier material, but its melancholic weight still lands powerfully.

“Blackheart” leans more openly toward classic metal influences. The opening guitars shimmer with reverb that recalls the grandeur of 1980s heavy metal before the drums enter with a slow, ritualistic pulse. The atmosphere darkens quickly as guttural vocals and haunting harmonies appear, giving the song a ceremonial, almost druidic quality. Layers of synths, booming bass, and distorted guitars create a fully immersive sonic environment. One particularly striking addition is the presence of ghostly female vocals floating through the mix. Their ethereal tone contrasts beautifully with thrash-leaning riffs and driving double-kick rhythms. The guitars carry much of the emotional storytelling, shifting between sorrowful melodies and anguished climaxes. By the end, swelling synths and mournful leads give the song a deeply cathartic finish.

The album closes with “Witchmoon – The Infernal Masquerade,” its most theatrical and expansive composition. Dark synth textures and slow, chugging riffs establish an ominous tone from the outset. Phantom Slaughter alternates between guttural growls and deeper baritone-style vocals, adding dramatic range to the performance. The atmosphere remains dense with haunting backing vocals and swirling keys filling the sonic space. Gradually the song builds toward its climactic moment: the arrival of Marty Friedman. His expressive solo work injects a flash of virtuosity into the final stretch, tearing through the darkness with fluid runs that complement rather than disrupt the song’s atmosphere. It’s a fitting conclusion to an album built on grandeur.

For all its ambition, Necropalace isn’t flawless. The deliberately murky production occasionally buries details that might benefit from greater clarity, and the extended runtimes demand patience. Yet when the album fully clicks—and it does so often—the payoff is immense. Worm balance crushing heaviness with elaborate atmosphere in a way few modern extreme metal bands attempt.

Ultimately, Necropalace feels less like a standard album and more like a gothic journey through shadowy landscapes. The record thrives in dark, immersive listening environments where every organ swell, distant scream, and ghostly synth adds another layer to its atmosphere. With this release, Worm fully realize the potential of their necromantic black doom vision, delivering a grand, theatrical work that stands apart in today’s extreme metal underground.