From the heavy metal thud of “Bleeding Ocean,” I know I am lost in the sea of Divine Malice. I am not a metal fan, but good music—challenging music—is my Plymouth. I have hit the shore hard, not heeding the rocky coastline and overlapping waves. Medusa are my guide into this new land and I could not ask for a better set of scouting eyes despite our crash landing. This one-sided 12-inch is all gristly meat, plucked fresh from Mother Earth as we raze what once stood as peaceful land and in its place transplant the old world’s monolithic riffs and flowing tendrils. But wait, we see recognizable faces. There’s Ozzy and Halford, the sun shining behind them like the glow of a hundred angels of lace and leather. But they yield to Medusa as we scorch the land and turn the soil to raise a new crop of inscrutable fans who ne’er back down from their well earned badge of honor. They traveled the miles, they endured the sickness and shame, and their gods led them to this plot of land to carve in their image. It’s Medusa’s to do what with what it will now. Bow your heads and pick up one of only 300 writs that exist of this mystic voyage.