September 20, 2025 – I was convinced I’d never see Slayer again. Their 2019 farewell tour felt like the final nail in the coffin: the last sermon from the loudest, most blasphemous preachers of thrash. We all nodded back then, grizzled metalheads in our faded tour shirts, telling ourselves it was over, that we’d carry the banner in memory. And yet, there I was on a warm September night in Hershey, Pennsylvania, “The sweetest place on earth”, standing shoulder to shoulder with thousands of metalheads who refused to let the darkness die.
Photos + Article by @a.j.kinney
Slayer had chosen Hersheypark Stadium for their only North American date of 2025. Let that sink in; one night, one stage, one continent. For a venue that usually caters to family friendly pop stars and country sing alongs, the place had transformed into something unholy. Upside down burning crosses licked the sky. Pyro shot up like hell’s own geysers. Fans poured through the gates dressed as Satanic messiahs, zealots, monks gone mad, along with sightings of Bath Santa Claus and Willie Wonka… It was like Dante’s Inferno stumbled into a chocolate factory.
I’ve been around long enough to remember the 90s pits; sweaty, bloody, cathartic whirlwinds of chaos. And yet, I swear I’ve never seen so many smiling faces at a metal show. The kind of grins you’d see at a wedding, except this union was between riffs and rage, fire and faithlessness. People hugged. People cried. People screamed every lyric like scripture.
Tom Araya’s roar carried a weight it didn’t back in the day. Maybe it was age, maybe it was the long hiatus, but it felt like each word was pulled straight from his soul. Kerry King’s guitar cut sharper than a guillotine, trading blows with Gary Holt, while Paul Bostaph punished the kit like it had personally wronged him. The setlist was a blood soaked history lesson: “Raining Blood,” “South of Heaven,” “Angel of Death” all unleashed with the precision of a band that never truly left us, just lurked in the shadows.
And here’s the kicker: whispers are already swirling that this wasn’t just a one-off. That 2026 may bring a full-scale world tour. If that’s true, what I saw in Hershey wasn’t a comeback, it was the opening shot of another war. Slayer has never been a band to go quietly, and after this night, I’m convinced they never will.
Walking out of the stadium I thought about how strange it was that in such a conservative stronghold, in the shadow of a theme park and chocolate bars, darkness had been welcomed; no, embraced. Hersheypark Stadium had opened its doors to hell itself, and nobody flinched. Instead, we grinned, horns raised high and begged for more.
Because once you’ve seen Slayer rise from the grave, you know the end was never really the end.
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