Laszlo the Gargoyle by Frank Tudor and Sebastian Garcia

Updated cover art for the last three issues of Laszlo the Gargoyle. Coming soon.

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An Excerpt From Mr. Crabby Hands

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A low hum filled the room, soft and melodic, a lullaby that prickled her skin. Her fingers hesitated over another box labeled Sea Shells. Inside, nestled in sand, was a large green jar. Sarah reached in, her hand trembling as it brushed against something smooth and cold. She pulled out a conch shell. Its creamy black surface gleamed with gold veins, the colors shifting subtly as they caught the light. The spiraled lip, polished and pearlescent, shimmered with delicate whites and soft pinks. The hum grew louder, resonating in her chest. Sarah felt her thoughts shift, turning mechanical and detached, as though her mind was no longer her own. Then, as though compelled by something ancient, Sarah’s heard her heart beat deaply. She felt it in her neck something overpowering and pure. Her voice slipped into a rhythmic gun as if testing the acoustics of her vocal cords. She began speaking. “My eyes trace the logarithmic spiral of the shell… a blueprint of perfection. "Each arc an equiang...
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Chapter One and Two of: The Archivist

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The Archivist By: Frank Tudor Copyright © 2025 Frank Tudor. All rights reserved. Chapter 1: Tavern at the End of the Galaxy A match struck.   Sharp teeth gripped a cigarette as the spark burst into life.   A quick exhale extinguished the glow, briefly unveiling a face designed for fear, then... sudden darkness. As the smell of sulfur from the match faded, the faint stench of stale liquor rose from every surface—a lingering incense of troubled souls who had passed through and the bad decisions that once seemed like good ideas. The flickering lights of the tavern couldn’t decide whether to keep working or give up. This was a tired place where time lost track of itself. A place where the drunk, the damned, and the desperate found common ground. Tonight was definitely no different. In the tavern’s dimmest corner, smoking his cigarette and hunched over a ceramic cup of steaming tea, sat Belial. He looked like something out of a biblical fever dream: his skin t...
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Gabriel and Lucifer

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The war in heaven had ended, leaving the cosmos in uneasy silence. Lucifer, the Morningstar and Lord of Hell, turned his attention to Earth. He instructed his daughter, Sin, to open the gateway to the world waiting for exploration. But Gabriel, ever vigilant, noticed a strange disturbance near Earth. He immediately recognized the signature: Lucifer. Gabriel moved quickly, arriving at the corner of heaven—a serene expanse of rolling hills. He crossed wooden farm fences, the grass brushing softly against his feet, and stopped at a small, unassuming cottage. Its simplicity—a few walls, a door, and windows overlooking the tranquil landscape—belied its purpose. Inside, he waited. He then snapped his fingers, summoning The Morningstar to the place where chaos edged right up to heaven. Lucifer stepped out of the void onto a jagged cliff, the path beneath him narrowing as it led toward the rustic cabin with little puffs of chimney smoke catching a calm breeze. He hesitated at the door but ente...
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