And here is the first pic for January 2017! My plan was to have it posted last Saturday, but unfortunately it wasn’t possible, tho from now on we will be back with a regular schedule for the posting of new illustrations, they will be posted bi-weekly, so the next one will be posted 02/11, the next one on  02/25, and so on.

This one was a lot of fun! I used a lot of 3D for the base of the pic so I think the lighting and perspective came up a little bit better than usual! and guess what!? working with 3D is pretty damn fun! xD might try my hand at digital sculpting later on, still got a LOT to learn when it comes to 3D software, but I can already say that it is fun and it can work great with the usual 2D painting, certainly gonna experiment more with it ^^ Hope you guys like it!


Story By: Hdctbpal

Story: Zatanna Bad Ending

The man hadn’t slept. He lay there on his sweat-soaked bunk, staring at the overhead. Every time he thought of the task ahead his heart pounded so hard it seemed to be thumping behind his eyes. The rolling of the ship, far from lulling him, only worsened his nerves. He was far from home, and no sailor.

It had taken weeks of searching but he had finally found passage on this bucket of a cargo ship bound from Osaka to Jayapura. Tonight, he had calculated, he would be over Challenger Deep, a slot seven miles long and a mile wide, a nick in the southern tip of the fifteen-hundred-mile crescent that was the Mariana Trench. It was nearly seven miles down. A fitting gravesite.

A shaft of moonlight, made watery by the grimy porthole, swung back and forth between his bunk and the bulkhead. Unwillingly, he had learned to tell the hour by its arc. It was time. He sat upright, then groaned as a stab of fear struck his watery bowels. But the pain helped propel him out of the bed.

He took small steps but the cabin was cramped and he was soon there. With a shaking hand he took the keys he wore on a chain around his neck and opened the three heavy padlocks that secured the thick wooden chest.

He would have just thrown the chest overboard, but it was too heavy for him to lift or even drag. The sailors had to help him bring it aboard. Their smooth faces were unreadable, but he thought he detected resentment as they grunted and struggled with it, even though he had tipped them well – but not too well.

His clothes were shabby – again, deliberately so – and the chest itself was battered and scarred, but he feared its weight and the extra padlocks would attract unwanted attention. He had a pistol, but it was their ship and he knew he was at their mercy. They could turn on him at any time, throw his body overboard and claim he fell. Then they would have the chest.