“I am not some sneak thief preying on the defenseless from the shadows! I confront warriors and should I be defeated, my life is forfeit…but if I win—when I win—their fiery blood is my reward!”
During a riot in Hell, a breakout occurs in which 666 souls escape to wreak havoc on Earth. Satan has his hands full restoring balance to his domain, so he makes a deal with the Plague Doctor, the Butcher Ghoul, and Grisanos the Griffin to track down the malevolent souls and return them all to Hell.
This design recreates the feel of classic comic book covers from the 1970s and is also available as art prints and other accessories, so why not browse my artist shop: https://maddfictional.threadless.com/ , pick yourself up a little something and help an old man out.
I’ve been working on a new logo of late and here’s one of the designs I happen to like the most.
It’s also available as art prints and other accessories, so why not browse my artist shop: https://maddfictional.threadless.com/ , pick yourself up a little something and help an old man out.
India had her fair share of relationships, most of which were serious and lasted for a good long while and ended amicably, but there was only one true love in her life, one she cherished above all others and considered, whose bonds she considered eternal.
So, when she received the invitation to her high school reunion and learned her fantasy paramour Keith would be there, India went on a crash diet, bought the most stunning dress within her price range, and paid to have a professional makeover. She was determined to make Keith take notice and if the gods were on her side, rekindle the long ago spark that made her toes curl.
And her efforts were not in vain. Keith was floored by how beautiful she was after all these years. She, on the other hand, was more than a little disappointed that he had lost the epicene features of his youth. Gone were the long eyelashes, doe eyes, full lips and shoulder-length golden curls she secretly envied and loved so dearly.
When Polly returned from her interstellar expedition, she and her husband made up for lost sex and in a half-drowsy afterglow moment of pillow talk, she let slip the secret of the universe and lamented the loss of Bob, for now, she was required to kill him.
She is furious with me again for some perceived slight. This has been happening quite a bit lately. Because her temper has no gauge, she insults me, a barrage of verbal barbs that tear at my emotions and I should be fighting back, but I refuse. My response to her slurs sit stale on the back of my tongue, threatening to choke me. I could end this with one phrase but between victory and love, I choose love.
“Nothing will ever harm you when I am near,” Alethea said, her voice mild and her breath moist with the promise of spring laced with the potential of a budding romance.
“That is not true,” Calvin said. “This is all a trick to lure me into dropping my defenses.”
“You do not trust me?” the she-demon who wore the face of a human seemed genuinely injured by the remark. “Do you see me as the weak-minded do, as some sort of heathen monster?”
“I meant no offense, miss, believe me,” Calvin answered, backing away as slow as humanly possible for he was taught as a young lad that immortal beings take no notice of unhurried movements. “It is simply against my religious beliefs to engage in amorous congress with The Beast.”
“And there we have it,” Alethea said as her gaze slid off his innocent, blanched face. “The sad truth and the final nail in your coffin. Before I send you from this wretched thing you call existence, know one thing: I would have protected you with my life til my undying day had you only accepted me as I am. Now, however, I will feast on your flesh and bake my bread with your bones.”
The one thing Crispin excelled at was pulling capers. The thing he was absolute shit at was maintaining a healthy intimate relationship, so when Fern left him, instead of wallowing in self-loathing and misery, he set out to win her back by treating it like a heist.
His hastily assembled crew consisted of a skip tracer to locate Fern’s exact whereabouts, a three-man extraction team to kidnap her, a props manager to supply non-lethal firearms and blood squibs, a location scout to find the perfect secluded warehouse to hold his ex hostage, and a greeting card writer to provide him with the mushy stuff needed to show her just how much he cared once he rescued her.
It most likely would have gone to plan had Crispin not overlooked the fact that Fern was an ex-Army Night Stalker who had taken out the extraction team, tortured his plan out of them and was now on his trail for a little payback.
It took omissions, half-truths and bald-faced lies, as well as everything she owned, everything she borrowed and everything she could steal to gain entry into this most holy of places. Melissa greeted the maître d’heaven with a sly smile as she handed over her excellently forged credentials.
Maître D tossed the documents aside and with the slightest flick of his wrist caused her clothing to evaporate into thin air. Melissa stood straight-backed and proud because she knew her body was immaculate, but there was something in the maître d’s gaze that forced her to look at herself.
At her left foot, a writing quill began engraving her evenly tanned flesh with silvery symbols that appeared to be beautiful and breathtaking when first applied but slowly turned a horrific mottled and bruised purple as the ink dried. The designs snaked up around her leg, over her inguen, around her ribcage and breasts and concluded on her neck, with the sharp point of the quill hovering just over her jugular vein.
“What the hell is this?” Melissa asked, gesturing at the jumble of symbols, none of which she recognized, that made her throat constrict just to look at.
“These,” the maître d answered in a civil tone, free of contempt. “Are your sins, a lifetime’s worth. You have been marked, just as Cain had, and since you strived so hard to enter this establishment, access has been granted. You are free to travel as you wish, but everyone will know your crimes and you will know unending shame. Please enjoy your stay.”
When her husband presented his idea, Morganna appeared to consider it but she had actually folded it up tacitly, gracefully, and accurately as she would have pleated a handkerchief of spider’s gossamer, and stowed it away on the highest shelf in her mind.