The Show Must Go On [Zatanna - DC] (1500 Words) (Patreon)

Zatanna's most important stage performance risks complete upheaval as something goes terribly, wrong... the only solution - endure until the curtain call.

This is an old story from the Abdomental days that I've managed to resurface with the help of a friend - as a little extra addition I've done a brand new sketch and also fixed up a couple of bits in the story itself - enjoy!

Content Warning: This story mostly focuses on pain endurance, and muscle/strength display, but does involve piercing, blood, vague gore description.

In front of her biggest audience yet, Zatanna's firm body glimmered with sweat under the heat of the stage lights. It made her shine, as did the tight, black lycra one piece that was her costume for this act, accompanied only by her classic fishnet stockings. The woman had been performing for over an hour - an entrancing show of illusions and magic, objects floating over the audience, sparks and flashes and objects coming from nowhere. This combined with her displays of acrobatics and death defying escapes had her audience entranced - just how she needed them. Zatanna's show had more motivation than to wow a crowd, and more stakes than her career. It was an undercover performance, a show that had to be convincing and go off without a hitch - lives literally depended on it. As she performed, as she entranced the watching world and multiple criminal organisations in the venue, the rest of her team would be using this unique opportunity to raid warehouses, free captives, and gain a critical advantage in the everlasting fight for justice. The pressure on her body and mind had been constant during the extended performance but her keen skills, knowledge and athleticism had given her the endurance to make it through. As the audience roared and she held her hands up, a large table with a sheet over it was wheeled out behind her. The magician called to the audience, "Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, for my final act! You're all going to see the true invulnerability of a magician!" her voice boomed around the arena. Curious mutters turned to awed gasps as she pulled the sheet away from the table. It was by all accounts, an ordinary, large table. It was about ten feet long and four feet wide, the tabletop made out of thick wood. Underneath, however was a nasty looking metal contraption. A two inch thick drill was pointed upward with some kind of motor and a dramatically red button attached. "I think it's time to show you all the true endurance of a trained magician!" Zatanna announced, to a couple of nervous laughs. The laughing stopped as she punched the button and the drill began to whir. Though quiet, it was soon spinning rapidly and slowly but surely, ascending. The audience was silent as she then splayed herself out on the table, her firm, shapely body in the tight lycra was a treat in the frontmost rows, especially as she arched her back and stretched her arms over her head. It was at this point that the pair of cameras just off stage lit up red - a sign that the recording had recommenced. Two large screens that had been used for the select parts of the performance lit up, each showing a different angle in detail for the audience sitting in the back. Another awed sigh seemed to rush across the audience. Now they could see the beads of sweat on her neck, the wrinkles in the skin-tight lycra and her deep, red lipstick shine as the magician bit her lip and gave a wink to one of the cameras. Still smiling, Zatanna lay back. This was the easy part. All she had to do was wait, and allow her physical shift charm to work. It was a simple spell - acting as a small, invisible portal - useful for getting drinks from the fridge without standing up. One end would be at underneath the table, the other on top of her belly. With careful positioning and the right amount of acting it would be impossible to tell that the drill was not actually piercing her, but skipping her entirely! Rather, that was the plan... The young woman was playfully toying with the audience in the time while the drill burrowed through the wood below. She'd arch her back, lift and cycle her legs, push out her chest. Her body alone had them enraptured but as the time came, Zatanna let her back stay flat on the wood, and knew something had gone wrong instantly. Splinters were breaking on the top of the table, prickling into her back. For a few moments she was stunned, confused. Almost too sure that this wasn't possible to even move. But once the drill broke through the wood and the hot metal began to grind against her back she screamed, and her quick mind instinctively began to rush at a mile a minute. 'Did I screw up the spell? Has somebody cast an anti magic field? No. That doesn't matter now.' her thoughts raced, 'I could get up, make a break for it but... then this whole operation is ruined, it will cost lives! I won't allow that.. I can't fail. You know what you have to do, Zatanna.' she assured herself. Many in the audience had screamed alongside the woman, several had stood up, but the tension drained from the room as they heard Zatanna's pained scream turn into joyful laughter. As they looked from the small body on stage to the screens, they would only see smiles on the face of their beloved performer. "Gotcha!" she called and the audience roared with laughter and relief. The first hurdle of many - the drill was moving slowly, a millimeter each second if that. Zatanna closed her eyes and stretched herself out, the peaceful smile on her face not revealing the internal hell that she was cursing on her carelessness. The metal penetrated her before long and began to work its way up her into body, producing a tearing pain like she had never known. Through it all her disciplined mind remained sharp. 'Okay... it's to the left of my navel. That's good - soft tissue, away from the spine - a solid healing spell should patch it up after this. I just need to... oh fuck!' Her body involuntarily bucked away from the drill and she had to force herself back onto it, hitting only roughly the same spot. It was a micromovement but seemed to make the drill cut at her even more. Zatanna could feel herself burning up, she felt sick. Her hands and feet were twitching as she resisted every instinct to cease this madness. She was cursing herself for not having the act involve her being chained down. It was so much more difficult holding her limbs in place as she allowed this to happen second by second. A minute ticked by, and by her estimation the drill had to be half way through her by now, knocking her sick with agony even as her face remained picturesque. But her body betrayed her in parts. She was flushed, shivering and soaked in sweat. The audience was silent, even the drill was quiet enough to betray any pained groan or yell she might make. Zatanna was soon clawing at the wood above her with her previously flawless nails, her lips had begun to tremble, her facade quickly cracking. There had to be something... and then it occurred to her; 'You're a performer, Zatanna. Perform!" Blinking tears from her eyes she forced her fingers from the wood above her, putting them outward and stretching. While the drill burrowed up through her, she put her hand to her mouth, took a deep breath and made the audience laugh by disguising her groan of agony as a drawn out, comical yawn. But as she closed her eyes again she was certain that her wide smile was looking less and less convincing by the moment - she needed to do something to get the cameras off her face. By far, the first moments were the hardest. The point where she had to begin her agonising movement but knew that the cameras would still be on her face. Tears were stinging her eyes but Zatanna's white and red smile was as wide as ever as she began to lift up her straightened legs. The flicker from the screens told her that the attention of the cameras were elsewhere - from the sound of shock from the crowd it was on her tight abs, which had now been forced into a flex, grinding hard against the metal drill that had begun to carve through the muscles. Zatanna opened her mouth in a noiseless scream, only harsh and crackled gasps escaping as the pain in her stomach increased to a fever pitch that sent shockwaves up and down her every nerve. Even so her legs moved back and forth, stretching and twisting, paining her even more but crucially keeping the audience's attention away from her face. There was a scream from the crowd, and with the burst of pain the performer knew what it meant. As she looked down she saw the screw tip bursting from her stomach, glimmering red with her blood and splattering of it across her tortured tummy. The sight alone was terrifying and her legs shook, but Zatanna knew that in this, the crescendo of the act, the cameras would be right back to her face. Fighting her every impulse to scream or move, or seek reprieve in any way as agony ripped through her, Zatanna's bright, glimmering eyes locked with the camera. She smiled like never before and the audience cheered their praise as the curtains began to draw. Finally free of prying eyes, Zatanna had just enough time to utter a silencing charm on herself before starting to scream.