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SM/DC Chapter 115 : The Underrealm
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 21:10:30 +0000 UTCJohn Constantine crouched and began drawing sigils into the dirt with white chalk, sketching sacred geometry into the very stone floor. His movements were deliberate. Fluid. Like muscle memory that had been burned into his bones.
He stood, reached up, and began etching runes into the stone archway itself with a knife. Sparks danced as the blade met enchanted stone. Still, the portal didn’t stir just loomed before them, a dead monument.
John didn’t pause.
He pulled the blade across the palm of his hand.
Blood spilled down his fingers, and he smeared it over the central rune with practiced precision.
Kara winced. “Seriously?”
Arthur remained motionless, his eyes locked on the gateway like a soldier preparing for war.
Zatanna’s lips were pressed in a thin line, arms folded tightly. She knew this kind of magic. The cost. The weight.
John held the blackened talisman between his blood-soaked hands now, muttering under his breath, a chant in an ancient, broken tongue. His voice grew louder, deeper, each word vibrating through the stone walls.
And then
CRACK.
He shattered the talisman between his hands.
The sigils on the floor lit up like wildfire, blazing red and violet. The stone arch trembled, and with a deep, thunderous groan, the portal came to life.
A blinding storm of heat and fire erupted from within it, swirling like a vortex of corrupted stars. Wind howled through the temple, tossing Kara’s hair wildly. Flames surged briefly across the runes, and the entire temple felt as if it had come alive.
Then came the screams.
Not of pain. Not human.
Demonic shrieks, twisted, snarling, and hungry echoed from within the void like the voices of a thousand damned souls clawing at the edges of the veil.
Kara’s eyes widened. “That’s… horrifying.”
Zatanna’s mouth parted slightly, her breath caught in her throat. “Just the usual for us…”
Arthur didn’t flinch. His shadow stretched unnaturally behind him, responding to the dark energy. The air around him crackled with silent menace.
John, still bleeding from his hand, turned back toward them. The light of the open portal painted his face in blood and violet fire.
“Doors open, luvs.”
Arthur didn’t look at anyone and he simply just walked.
His boots echoed against the stone for a few steps, and then he crossed the portal. No hesitation. No last words. Just fire swallowing him whole.
John watched him disappear.
Then exhaled, long and slow.
“He does realize that bastard knows he’s coming, right?” he muttered, half to himself.
Neither Zatanna nor Kara answered. They just stood there, silent, the weight of what waited beyond that gate pressing in.
John shook his head.
“Nevermind,” he said under his breath. “Alright. Our turn.”
He adjusted himself, shot a glance at the two women, and nodded once.
“Let’s go.”
Kara stepped in next, eyes hard. Then Zatanna, quiet and focused.
John followed last.
The portal sealed behind them with a low hum, leaving only dust and silence in the crumbling temple.
****
Ash clung to every breath. The sky above churned in a slow, blood-colored cyclone, laced with flickers of black lightning. The very ground was alive, pulsing beneath his boots cracked obsidian veined with molten fire that bled like open wounds across the barren land.
Behind him, the others emerged one by one. Kara stepped out first, her face immediately scrunching in discomfort.
“Ugh. This place is awful. There’s no actual air here, just… heat and smoke and whatever this is.” She coughed once, brushing soot off her suit.
John lit a cigarette with a flick of magic, took a drag, and exhaled with a faint smirk. “Do you even require air?”
Kara shot him a glare. “It’s about comfort, trench coat.”
Zatanna looked around slowly, her voice quiet but clear. “This place… this isn’t just hellish. It is hell. Or close enough.” She shuddered. “I don’t want to know what kind of things call this home.”
John nodded to himself, eyes already scanning the distant ridges. “Not exactly surprising, honestly. Not my first trip to a place like this.”
Zatanna raised a brow. “We know.”
John scratched his jaw, his eyes still scanning the horizon. “Though I must admit… this place’s got a different flavor than the Hell I’m familiar with.”
Kara raised an eyebrow. “Familiar with? Seriously?”
John gave her a sidelong glance, puffing smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Are you really asking me that question, dear?”
Kara scoffed and crossed her arms. “Right. Constantine, the part-time warlock, full-time disaster.”
John grinned. “Exactly. And yet you lot keep inviting me to these parties. Makes you wonder.”
Zatanna rolled her eyes but didn’t smile. Her gaze lingered on Arthur.
Arthur didn’t turn. His eyes were locked on the scorched landscape ahead, his expression unreadable. But his voice was low and calm, almost distant.
“This is exactly the same as before,” he said. “Back then… when he pulled me here.”
He gripped the Demon King's longsword tightly, the metal pulsing with lightning , whispering with power. With a sharp movement, he stabbed it deep into the molten-cracked ground. The blade hissed violently, drinking in the fire, shadow rippling outward in a slow, circular wave that disturbed the very earth.
The flames recoiled from the sword as if in fear.
“Back up,” Arthur said simply, his eyes not leaving the sword. “Just in case.”
John stepped to the side but didn’t take his eyes off Arthur. “And what exactly are you about to do?”
Arthur’s hand tightened on the hilt.
“Testing something,” he said, the shadows gathering around his boots. “Something that didn’t work the last time I was here.”
Then it happened.
The shadows under his boots stretched longer than any natural form should allow snaking outward like tendrils possessed, crawling across the burning stone and seething flame. They twisted and pulsed with dark purpose, unnerving even the hellish terrain beneath them.
Kara took a step back, instinctively raising her fists, eyes darting across the horizon.
“Wait..” Zatanna said under her breath, watching the ground as the shadows spiraled into formation, forming symbols older than any spoken tongue.
John blinked. “Bloody hell…”
Arthur’s eyes began to glow, the cold, crackling blue of otherworldly power, unrelenting. His voice echoed like thunder carved from void:
“Come forth.”
A low rumble rolled across the scorched plain, followed by an eruption of black mist and twisting darkness. Then they rose.
Dozens.
Shadow soldiers emerged from the molten soil, armored and silent, their eyes gleaming Row after row, perfectly synchronized, each one kneeling before Arthur in solemn, practiced reverence.
And then came them, his generals.
Doom towered behind him, silent and monstrous, the fire reflecting off the jagged figure of the shadow forged titan. Then Ultra appeared, sharp and calculating, his eyes scanning the terrain like a predator.
Last came her platinum-haired, statuesque, her expression unreadable beneath glowing red eyes. Galatea stepped forward, her cape brushing the fire with no fear.
She knelt with Ultra beside her.
Both bowed their heads low.
“My king.” Their voices echoed like twin strikes of a war drum.
Kara’s mouth fell slightly open. She took a step forward, almost not trusting what she was seeing.
“…Is that… Galatea?”
Her voice was quiet. Confused. A hint of disbelief.
John whistled low, lighting a fresh cigarette with a flick of his finger. “Well. That’s one hell of a trick, the same thing he did in Limbo.”
Zatanna’s lips parted in awe, but no words came. Her eyes shifted from Arthur to his army, then back again.
This wasn’t just summoning.
This was a display of power.
Arthur stood tall, his eyes still glowing with that ghostly, electric blue shifted toward his three generals, standing like monoliths amid the kneeling army.
“You three are my strongest,” Arthur said, voice low but carrying the weight of command. “Take these soldiers. Purge any filth that dares stand in your way. Once you're done regroup with me.”
There was no hesitation.
Ultra snapped a sharp salute, his voice crisp and cold. “It shall be done.”
In the next instant, he launched into the sky like a missile of black lightning, slicing through the ash-laden air, vanishing beyond the burning clouds.
Galatea turned, her gaze lingering on Arthur for a breath longer.
“At once, my king.”
Then she lifted off with graceful force, soaring in the opposite direction, her hair trailing like a comet's tail behind her.
Doom. The massive shadow brute turned in silence, crouched low and with one monumental leap, he flew across the volcanic expanse in a single bound, fire and stone erupting beneath the impact of his takeoff.
John watched them go, puffing on his cigarette.
“…Why does one of them look like Superman?”
Arthur didn’t explain not with words.
He simply turned, lifting his blade from the ground.
‘Maybe I should take the same path I did in that dream,’ he thought, the memory of Trigon invading his consciousness echoing in his mind.
He turned his head just enough for the others to hear him.
“Follow me,” he said. “I think I know where to find Trigon.”
