DCU: Zatanna Volume 1 Issue 3, "Mleh fo Emalf"

DISCLAIMER: THIS ISSUE CONTAINS GRAPHICALLY DEPICTED VIOLENCE. PROCEED WITH CAUTION

 

Klarion the Witch Boy had teleported himself to the headquarters of the illegal smuggling organization “The Otherkind”, in hopes of purchasing an item he’d had his eyes on for quite a while. “The Helm of Flame”. An ancient weapon, myths say that the mask can transform your body into that of a demon, if you read a specific ancient script. There is no known proof of this, however. On opposite sides of the room stood several members of the group, working in different ways, like stocking shelves or chopping up wood to make more shelves. Waiting to purchase this item, Klarion had stood silent in the dark, cold, damp cement building, unnoticed.

 

Klarion: …Ahem?

 

A bearded man was sitting on the floor, who now looked up from his can of tomato soup to look into Klarion’s demonic eyes.

 

Bearded man: Eh? Oh, uh… Is this the guy?

 

The bearded man spoke with a raspy Russian accent, before looking up to The Rip, who was the organization’s leader. The Rip’s appearance was an odd one. A silhouette, entirely blacked out, standing at roughly 6’7”.

 

The Rip: Indeed it is. Klarion. It is an honour to meet you.

 

The Rip spoke in a very smooth but deep voice. It wasn’t loud, but when he spoke, it felt as if it was the only thing you could hear. It grabbed your attention instantly.

 

Klarion: Why, thank you. You know what I came for, yes?

 

The Rip: I do remember, yes. The Helm of Flame.

 

Klarion: Mhm! Now shall your servant fetch it for me, along with the script?

 

The Rip: I’d prefer if you weren’t to degrade my coworkers, but yes, Alec shall grant it to you. Alec?

 

He turned to the bearded man… Or at least Klarion assumed he did. With a man who appears physically as a mass of darkness it’s hard to tell.

 

Alec: Alrighty… Just a second…

 

He took one last spoonful from the tin can, a small portion of it spilling on his bright blue overcoat before he stood up. He set the can and spoon on the filthy stone floor before he waddled to the Helm of Flame on the shelf, before handing it to Klarion.

 

Alec: Here ya’ go.

 

Klarion: …There’s chowder on the script. It’s filthy, and that’s unacceptable..! Fetch me another.

 

Alec: Uh… Y’know there’s only one of ‘em, right?

 

The Rip walked over to Klarion, and tapped his fingers against the corner of the script.

 

The Rip: Ghålli-shï.

 

Suddenly, the script was cleaned.

 

Klarion: Thank you, that is much more adequate… Now, how much for each?

 

Klarion rummaged through a leather wallet, while holding the helm and script under his arm.

 

The Rip: 1.5 million in total-

 

Klarion: 5 million, you say? Alrighty…

 

Klarion handed The Rip the 5 million dollars.

 

The Rip: Ötałlo-kå.

 

With a poof of purple smoke, the money vanished.

 

Klarion: Pleasure doing business with you.

 

The Rip: The pleasure is mine, Klarion.

 

Klarion: Shalån-Greėm.

 

Klarion vanished. A moment after, a worker in an orange sweater walked from the shadows. He hadn’t been doing anything to help the organization, unlike the others.

 

Man in orange: What a brat.

 

Both Alec and The Rip turned to the man in orange…

 

The Rip: …What did you just say, Walter?

 

Alec: Sh#t, dude…

 

The two other members of The Otherkind stopped working and turned to “Walter”. One was a man in a black coat and orange scarf, the other a young woman in a purple sweater.

 

Man in scarf: Oh, dear lord…

 

The woman in purple simply put her hands over her mouth in shock.

 

Walter: I’m just sayin’. What? You all thought it, be real.

 

The Rip: You understand in the 2 months of being here you’ve done nothing but stand around, correct? Watching your coworkers work painfully hard while all you have to do is stock shelves, and yet you can’t even do that right? The others have been doing their jobs correctly for years, and after being here for 2 months, you can’t even manage to be kind to my client.

 

Walter: I really don’t see what the big deal is.

 

Alec: Shut up! Dude, seriously!

 

The Rip: I hadn’t had to speak to you about your laziness, as much as it had frustrated me. But this? Mocking a client? You think you have the right to do that?This is where I draw the line.

 

The Rip walked slowly and ominously towards Walter while speaking…

 

Walter: He was just a kid, who cares?

 

The Rip: You’re not listening to me, are you? You never listen to me. You don’t deserve to be part of this organization. You have such little respect that probably didn’t even attempt to remember my name.

 

Walter: “Rip”, right?

 

The Rip stood in place…

 

The Rip: Yes. Surprisingly, you got that right… But do you know why that is?

 

Walter: Uh… No.

 

The Rip: Well… Let me show you.

 

The Rip’s chest and stomach spread open like a vertical mouth, pointed with jagged fang-like spikes. From the gaping void in his torso appeared long, reddish tendrils. The first latched around Walter’s right arm. Then the left. And then his legs. This was the first time The Rip had seen Walter express genuine fear.

 

Walter: Agh, Christ..! I-… I can’t move!

 

The rest of The Otherkind were silent, watching what was happening. The tentacles seemed to grow even longer, pulling Walter high into the air as his eyes opened wider, his forehead shining with sweat. More tendrils appeared, rubbing their pointed tips against Walter’s freakishly warm skin. The man in the scarf ran to help Walter, only to be knocked back by one of the tentacles, causing him to be bashed against a stone wall.

 

Man in scarf: *uff*!

 

The Rip: Stay back, Malcolm. This is necessary.

 

Suddenly, one of the tentacles tore the left leg straight off of Walter, it dropped to the floor, blood spilling out from the gaping wound and onto the limb in puddles. Walter tried to scream, but his mouth was being filled by the tentacles. Tears ran down both his and most of the other members’ faces.

 

Alec: What the hell!?

 

Malcolm: Jesus…

 

The woman in purple was silent, her pupils microscopic, her whole body was shaking. This horrific sight had seemed to effect her the most out of the members. Through the gaps between the hands covering her eyes she noticed the tentacles tugging even harder on each of the limbs, the sound of cracking bones echoed through the room. Eventually all three remaining limbs split apart, leaving a pile of broken pieces on the floor. Walter was nothing but broken bones, torn skin, muscle, and large masses of blood. Walter’s head was still fully intact when it hit the floor, however, his eyes were still wide open and his jaw fully extended, staring into the souls of the remaining members.

 

Woman in purple: No… No no no…

 

She fell to her knees, her hands dropping to the floor, her tears breaking through like a waterfall. Malcolm stood beside her, putting his hand on her shoulder to comfort them. Meanwhile all the tentacles sucked themselves quickly back into The Rip, before he reached his hand down to Walter’s mutilated corpse.

 

The Rip: Ötałlo-kå.

 

What was rest of Walter disappeared. The Rip turned to the other members.

 

The Rip: I am deeply sorry if you found the visuals of Walter’s deserved punishment a tad graphic.

 

Malcolm: “A tad”? You slaughtered the poor guy. Look at Cindy here, look what you did.

 

“Cindy” looked up at The Rip, a hint of rage behind her tears.

 

Cindy: You monster!!!

 

She got up and lunged at The Rip, only for him to put his hand forward in a shielding position.

 

The Rip: Hīdoth-pöl.

 

She teleported back where she was before.

 

The Rip: Your anger is justified, though please, take this experience as a lesson. I love you all deeply, you’re like family to me. I’d rather not be forced to punish one of you like I did today. So stay in line. Thank you. Now, back to work.

 

~Madam Web

Done