The Trench Coat Magician's Escape as London Burns

John Constantine's trenchcoat flapped wildly behind him as he sprinted down the London street, his eyes fixed on the pavement ahead. The sounds of chaos and destruction echoed through the air, and the acrid smell of smoke and brimstone filled his nostrils. But it was the sight behind him that sent a shiver down his spine - a demonic dragon, its scales glinting like black diamonds in the fading light, breathed fire across the rooftops of the buildings, sending flames licking at the windows and doors. The dragon's eyes, like two burning coals, seemed to bore into Constantine's back, and he could feel its malevolent gaze urging him to run faster. His tie flapped wildly in the wind, and his hair was disheveled, but Constantine's face was set in a determined grimace as he fled from the inferno. He knew that he had to get away from the dragon, and from whatever dark forces had summoned it to the streets of London. But as he ran, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being herded towards some unknown fate, and that the dragon was just the beginning of his troubles.

[Workflow: JC's starter image from my Tengr prompt, then layered in the dragon from Nightcafe prompt, and I found a nice flamethrower image for the fire breath.  Depth-of-field, fire and particle layers, canvas texturing, and other clean-ups in Affinity.]

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The Botanical Breakthrough with Pamela Isley

As Pamela Isley stood in her bio-plant growth lab, her eyes scanned the lush, vibrant foliage surrounding her. The air was thick with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the soft hum of machinery, a familiar backdrop for her work. Behind her, a row of container-grown plants stood tall, their leaves a deep shade of green and their stems strong and sturdy.

[Workflow: Tengr image prompt to start, finished with shadowing, trees in window, and lighting Fx inside Affinity.]

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The Skulls of Paris

John Constantine slumped against the cold, damp stone wall, his back pressed against the macabre display of skulls that seemed to stare back at him with empty, bony eyes. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, and the flickering torches that lined the walls cast eerie shadows on the walls of the Paris Catacombs. The weight of the city's secrets seemed to press down on him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched by unseen eyes. The whispers of the damned echoed through the tunnels, and Constantine's gut told him that he was getting close to something - but what, he had no idea. This was his kind of place - a place where the living and the dead blurred together, and the line between reality and madness was thin indeed.

[Workflow: JC created with Copilot prompt, then I sourced a catacombs image from the web, masked merged together with other Fx work, laid on some damaged photo distress.]

Shadows of the Demonic Soul (Jason Blood / Etrigan)

In the dimly lit corridors of an opulent 1800s mansion, Jason Blood stands resolute, a flickering candle lantern casting eerie shadows that dance across the ornate walls. His expression is a tumultuous blend of determination and dread, as he grapples with the insidious presence of the demon Etrigan lurking within him. The weight of centuries of conflict presses heavily on his shoulders, each heartbeat a reminder of the struggle for dominance between his human soul and the malevolent force that yearns to break free. As the air thickens with tension, Jason fights for his identity and the essence of his humanity, knowing that the line between salvation and damnation is perilously thin.

[Workflow; Start image from Tengr, jumped into Affinity Photo to add the lantern's lighting Fx, colored his hair to match his white streak and red hair, pulled in an image of Etrigan lurking in his subconscious, some more texture layers for painted style.]

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Stalking the Stranger [The Lost and Found: Uncovering Hidden Comic Book Treasures]

Inspector Marat abruptly halted at the closed, office door. The Chief of Detectives was waiting to see him. Beads of perspiration dotted Marat's forehead like a pox that was spreading fast. He hesitated. He didn't want to knock. He didn't want to enter the Captain's office. He didn't want to hear what the Captain had to say.

Marat fidgeted. His fingers trembled as he raised his hand to knock at the door. If the Captain wanted to take him off of the strange case of the Strangler, there was nothing Marat could do about the Captain's decision. Ten women were dead — strangled! Last night, the murderer had followed his usual M.O. When the sun another woman was lifeless and the case was still unsolved. The killer continually escaped Marat even though Marat knew the Strangler almost as well as he knew himself. He didn't know the man's name, but he knew the Strangler's thoughts, his moods, and his methods. It was as if the murderer were Marat's own shadow. He seemed to be within reach of Marat's grasp, but he
couldn't be captured! The case was a mystery to Marat and to everyone connected with it. There was no doubt that the killer was a madman; but in his madness, he was cunningly clever. He left no clues, no tracks, no evidence. As well as Marat knew the killer, the killer knew Marat. It was as if the two men shared the same brain. How could a man catch his double in flesh, soul and spirit? That was the problem! That was why the killer was still on the loose!

"Come in Marat," called the Captain from inside of his office. "Calm yourself, Inspector, and come in. I know what you're thinking. Don't worry. I haven't summoned you here to take you off of the strangler case!"  Slowly, Marat turned the door nob. Swiftly, he pushed the door open. Boldly, he stepped into the Captain'ss office. The Captain's words had given him new life, new courage, new hope. He would not be taken off the case. There was no longer any reason to be worried or fearful. 

Quickly, Marat closed the door behind him. Instantly, his eyes scanned the room. Marat was a good policeman with extraordinary powers of observation. When he spied the attractive, young, policewoman seated near the Captain's desk, he knew that the mademoiselle was going to be his partner and tempting bait for the Strangler. "I can tell by your face that you've put two and two together," said 'he Captain as he addressed his subordinate. "Yes! I know what is in your mind," replied Mara stoically. "The girl is very beautiful. The Strangler will not be able to resist her, but I'm against the scheme even though it is a cunning plot. I always work alone!"

"In the old days, I would have catered to your whim, but this is a difficult case!" answered the Captain coldly. "As closely as you've examined the clues, I too have examined them. drawn my own conclusions. You haven't been the same man ever since the night you found your lifeless wife and her dead lover in your quarters when you returned home. Their suicide pact didn't free you from the evil hold she had on you. Part of you died that night. You are not the same detective you once were. You need help to solve this case!"  Sadly, Marat nodded in agreement. The Captain was right. Finding his wife and her (over had almost turned him into a madman. For a long while, his mind had teeter-tottered on the brink of insanity. He did need help to solve the strange case of the strangler. 

Later that night, the policewoman decoy slowly sauntered through the shadowy side streets and alleys of the city while Marat watched and waited. As she passed a dark corner, it happened! The Strangler grabbed her from behind and pulled her into the shadows. She couldn't see his face, but his hands were around her neck choking the breath out of her lungs. Her vision was clouded. She couldn't even scream for help! Where was Inspector Marat?

Then, a single shot rang out and echoed through the silent streets. The hands around her neck loosened. Someone moaned behind her and a body dropped at her feet. The girl turned to see the Chief of Detectives standing behind her. In his hand was a smoking revolver. On the alleyway floor, was the lifeless body of Inspector Marat. "He was mad," explained the Captain. "He couldn't solve the case because he was chasing himself. His wife betrayed him and it made him hate all women. The ironic thing is — that Marat never guessed that he, himself, was the Strangler. He was two men -- one good, one evil! Now the strange cage of the strangler is finally solved!"

• story author uncredited
• title header illustrator uncredited
• image of Mara be attacked provided by TrUzApalOOza.
• story featured in Monster Hunters #8 (November 1976) 
• published & copyrighted by Charlton Comics

Disclaimer: As the original publisher is no longer in operation and has not issued digital reprints, this collection serves as a valuable archive of these classic tales for the benefit of researchers, scholars, and enthusiasts. By making these stories available, I aim to promote a greater understanding and appreciation of the rich cultural heritage of comic books, while also acknowledging the original creators and copyright holders.

The Skull of Simon Magus: A Constantine Story

As John Constantine puffed on his cigarette, the acrid smoke curling around the skull of Simon Magus in his grasp, he gazed out into the fog-shrouded streets of London with a mixture of disdain and fascination as a massive, horned demon slowly emerged from the swirling mist, its eyes glowing red with an otherworldly hunger.

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Demons and Drafts (with John Constantine)

As the sun dipped below the London skyline, John Constantine held a mug of cold British lager, savoring the crisp taste and the fleeting sense of relief that came with another day of outwitting demons and evil warlocks. Standing tall in the crowded pub, his worn trenchcoat flapping open to reveal a rumpled white shirt and a pair of scuffed boots, he gazed out at the room with a mixture of disdain and amusement, the dim lighting and raucous chatter of the patrons a welcome respite from the darkness that lurked just beyond the edge of reality. John surveyed the room and announced "Cheers, mate! Let's get smashed!" to the few patrons conscious enough to understand his words.

[Workflow: I started with some Tengr input images, took the pieces I wanted, and merged them into the final image.   Artifacts cleaned up in Affinity with various Fx, color tweaks, and other adjustments for the finished look and feel.]

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Migraine of the Damned and a Pint of Trouble (John Constantine)

As the sun dipped below the London skyline, John Constantine slumped in his chair at the outdoor cafe bar, one eye fixed on the amber liquid in his pint glass with a mixture of disdain and desperation. The bitter taste of the British lager was a poor substitute for the whiskey he'd rather be drinking, but it would have to do. The sounds of the city's nightlife hummed in the background, a cacophony of laughter and music that only served to grate on his already frayed nerves and continued to amplify the head-pounding migraine he woke up with. But it was the figure lurking in the shadows that really caught his attention - the devil himself, horns gleaming in the fading light, his presence a constant reminder of the deals that had been made, and the debts that still needed to be paid. Constantine's gaze flicked towards the devil, his expression a mask of disdain, but a spark of curiosity flickered in his eyes - what did the Prince of Darkness want now?

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John Enters the Citadel of GazeBrax

[another imagined John Constantine comic book cover for DC Comics. This three-part storyline is proposed to be written by Denise Mina, with interior art by Stefano Landini.]

As John Constantine descended into the lower levels of Hell, the air grew thick with the stench of brimstone and the screams of the damned. The sky above was a deep brackish red, with wispy vapor clouds drifting lazily across the horizon like ghostly apparitions. The moon, a burning crimson orb, hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the desolate landscape.

Before him, a massive, purple bulbous creature emerged from the shadows. Its body was covered in thick, scaly skin, and its eyes - a staggering thirteen total appeared to take in the scene from every angle. The creature's short, horn-like protrusions seemed to quiver with malevolent intent as it regarded Constantine with a cold, calculating gaze.

The air was heavy with the scent of sulfur and smoke, and the ground beneath Constantine's feet seemed to writhe and twist like a living thing. The creature's very presence seemed to draw the life force out of the air, leaving only a dull, oppressive weight that pressed down upon Constantine's shoulders.

"You shouldn't be here, Constantine," the creature hissed while spitting green saliva in a voice that sent shivers down Constantine's spine. "This is not a place for mortals." Constantine snarled, his eyes flashing with defiance. "I'm not just any mortal, pal. I'm John Constantine, and I've got a few tricks up my sleeve." With a flick of his wrist, Constantine summoned Randar's Defensive Globe, a powerful spell that would protect him from the creature's attack. The air around him shimmered with a faint verdant illumination as the spell took hold, and Constantine felt an increased surge of confidence.

[Workflow: Starter images of the beast, smaller creatures in the foreground, background town, John Constantine, and Randar's Globe were created in NightCafe. The painting canvas texture, drool, and moon were sourced from the internet. The images were then combined together, with a batch of AI-artifact fixes to the beast made by hand (eyes, claws). Fx layers were used for JC's spellcasting. Heavy use was made of IamRensi custom brushes for masking, clouds, and magic aura on the globe.]

Tromping Through the Streams of Paradise Island

A few quick Tengr images that I created with Wonder Woman stomping through some streams and creeks that crisscross Themyscira (Paradise Island). Some minor clean-ups of the original AI images.

The Two-Headed Tumble with John Constantine

As the darkness fell over the city, casting a shadowy gloom over the deserted streets, John Constantine lay on his back, his eyes squinting against the gentle drizzle of rain. It was 7pm on a chilly autumn evening, and the only sound was the distant hum of traffic and the patter of raindrops on the pavement. He was sprawled across the corner of a deserted Chicago sidewalk, the intersection a lonely and foreboding place. As he lay there, he felt a strange sensation, as if the shadowy image of a two-headed dragon was overlaying his own form, its scales glinting in the faint streetlights. The dragon's heads were twisted in opposite directions, one gazing up at the sky with a fierce intensity, the other staring down at the pavement with a cold, calculating gaze. The concrete beneath him was cracked and shattered, a testament to the incredible fall he'd taken just moments before. Now, as he slowly sat up, rubbing his sore head, Constantine couldn't help but wonder what other supernatural surprises the night might hold. Behind him, the neon signs of a liquor store, a game shop, and a cheap $5 store cast a gaudy glow over the deserted streets, a reminder of the mundane world that lay just beyond the realm of the supernatural.

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