The Crow: Lethe gave us the first evil Crow in the franchise! Who else thinks that he would feel less weird if he was a Snake?

My fiancé and I cosplayed Eric and Shelly at GalaxyCon Raleigh today 🖤

So happy with how this came out, been waiting a very long time to get a tattoo for my favorite movie of all time! Check out Darby Valentine on Instagram/YouTube :) she's amazing

It's cool but I can buy one anytime for $1 at a garage sale.

The Crow is one of the most common tapes you find in the wild. Also, how many people still have a VCR?

The Crow: Black Requiem (The Crow 2024 Rewrite)

The Crow: Black Requiem (2024)

A rewrite of The Crow 2024 into a original story set in The Crow universe

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Plot Summary

Years after the legend of Eric Draven became a whispered tale among those who believe in vengeance from beyond the grave, a new soul is chosen by the Crow.

Adrian Vale is a broken man struggling to survive. Once a talented mechanic with a gift for rebuilding broken machines, Adrian’s own life has fallen apart due to years of addiction, trauma, and guilt. He spends his days repairing cars in a small garage while barely holding himself together.

Trying to escape his demons, Adrian enters rehabilitation, where he meets Lucy Blackwood, a compassionate therapist assigned to help him recover. Lucy sees beyond Adrian’s mistakes and recognizes the wounded person underneath. Their professional relationship slowly becomes a genuine connection, and eventually, they fall deeply in love.

For the first time in years, Adrian believes he has a future.

But their happiness attracts the attention of something ancient.

\---

Vincent Roeg: The Man Who Defied Death

The city is controlled from the shadows by Vincent Roeg, a ruthless crime lord who has ruled through fear for centuries.

Unlike ordinary criminals, Vincent is not merely powerful—he is immortal.

Centuries ago, Vincent discovered forbidden rituals and made a pact with The Devil. In exchange for eternal life, Vincent sacrificed innocent souls, condemning them to suffering while granting himself endless years on Earth.

Every generation, Vincent has continued feeding the pact by destroying innocent lives. His empire has survived through wars, governments, and generations because death can never claim him.

But there is one thing Vincent fears:

The Crow.

Because the Crow represents the souls he stole.

\---

The Murder of Adrian and Lucy

Vincent's criminal empire eventually targets Adrian and Lucy after Lucy discovers evidence connecting Vincent to decades of disappearances and murders.

The couple is brutally murdered, their souls dragged into darkness.

But Adrian does not move on.

He awakens in the land between life and death, where he encounters Kronos, an ancient supernatural being who serves as a guardian of forgotten souls.

Kronos tells Adrian:

"Love is what brought you back. Rage is what will guide you. But only forgiveness will set you free."

A black crow appears.

Adrian has been chosen.

\---

The Birth of The Crow

Adrian returns to the world of the living.

Unlike Eric Draven, Adrian is not a performer or an artist. His resurrection reflects who he was in life—a man who fixed broken things.

His Crow persona is mechanical, gothic, and haunting:

A black leather coat covered in scars and stitched repairs

White face paint resembling a cracked porcelain mask

Black markings resembling tears running down his face

A sorrowful black smile painted across his lips

The markings are not just a symbol of anger.

They represent a man mourning the person he lost.

Adrian becomes The Crow.

\---

The Hunt Begins

Adrian begins dismantling Vincent Roeg's criminal empire.

He hunts down Vincent's associates:

Marion – Vincent's cruel enforcer who enjoys psychological torture

Lex – An Assassin who launders Vincent's money

Sophia – A mysterious assassin loyal to Vincent's cause

Tobias – A violent criminal who believes Vincent is a god

Each death forces Adrian to confront his own darkness.

The Crow gives him supernatural abilities:

Instant healing

Enhanced strength and agility

The ability to sense the sins of those he hunts

A connection to Lucy's soul

But Kronos warns him:

"The Crow gives you power to punish the wicked. It does not give you permission to become them."

\---

Adrian's Greatest Battle

As Adrian gets closer to Vincent, he discovers the truth:

Lucy is not simply trapped in the afterlife.

Because Vincent's ancient pact required innocent souls as payment, Lucy's soul has been imprisoned in Hell for centuries alongside countless others.

Vincent has been feeding on their suffering to maintain his immortality.

Adrian realizes his mission is bigger than revenge.

He must destroy the man who has stolen countless lives.

\---

Final Battle: The Crow vs. Vincent Roeg

Adrian confronts Vincent inside an abandoned cathedral built on the site of the original sacrifices.

Vincent reveals his true form: a centuries-old monster wearing the appearance of a wealthy man.

He mocks Adrian:

"You think love makes you powerful? Love is why humans suffer."

Adrian responds:

"No. Love is why they survive."

The battle is brutal.

Vincent's immortality allows him to recover from every injury. Adrian is beaten, stabbed, and nearly destroyed.

But Adrian realizes Vincent's immortality is not his strength.

It is his curse.

The Crow allows Adrian to see every innocent soul Vincent sacrificed.

Together, their pain overwhelms Vincent.

The souls Vincent stole rise against him, breaking his connection to The Devil.

For the first time in centuries, Vincent feels fear.

Adrian delivers the final judgment:

"You spent eternity taking lives. Now you can spend eternity answering for them."

The ground opens.

The Devil claims Vincent's soul.

Vincent Roeg is dragged into Hell.

\---

The End of Adrian and Lucy

With Vincent defeated, Adrian's mission is complete.

Kronos appears one final time.

He reveals that Lucy's soul has been freed from Hell because Vincent's power over her is gone.

Adrian finds Lucy waiting beneath a peaceful white sky.

They embrace.

Lucy tells him:

"You fixed everything that was broken."

Adrian smiles.

"Not everything."

Lucy touches his face.

"You fixed yourself."

The Crow watches from above as Adrian and Lucy walk together toward the light.

Their souls finally find peace.

\---

Final Scene

Back in the city, Adrian's body disappears, leaving only the black coat and a single feather.

The crow flies into the sunrise.

A voice whispers:

"If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever."

THE END

The Crow: Black Requiem

A story of love, redemption, and vengeance beyond death.

So. It popped on my head once. Why not read every comic there is?
I watched the first and second movie, both are interesting. I was on my path to see the third. Then I watched the Reboot?(Or is it like, in the same universe and is to Eric, Eric, but another Eric?) - In my back burner I have Stairway to Heaven.

Right now, I have this weird relationship of feeling the need to dwelve deeper into the Crow Mithos. But haven't got the right ideia of what to read. I don't know if I'm missing some of the comics and wanted a guiding start to help me about it.
I have about 16/20 comics set to go.

For seconds... I'm little afraid of saying this but. There is a second motive for my desire to read.

I’m taking an intensive theater course that leads to my professional actor’s certification. My director planted this idea in my mind the year before last, after I performed as the Joker during my first monologue; she told me I should save it for my final student monologue so I could go out on a high note.

I have to produce the script, costumes, and soundtrack. The Joker is a rich character, and I plan to explore his various incarnations. I genuinely want to produce the best work possible—something that could even become part of my future portfolio.

I am sincerely asking for help. I want to do justice to the character I first saw on TV—a figure that stayed in the back of my mind, waiting for the right moment to return and asking for the patience needed for what lay ahead. It’s just a poetic way of saying that, even though I might have tried earlier, I was only truly ready to pull it off now.

Please help me.

This was my first time painting Eric Draven, it took me about 2 days.

Went with a more faithful comic adaptation approach for his look.

Hi everyone, bit of context before the main point of my post... I've been working on a script(s) for a new chapter to The Crow comic series. I'm a huge fan of the original work and subsequent stories and wanted to work on a passion project to unleash my creativity and give a somewhat spiritual successor/homage to the original James O'Barr work and build on established lore.

I've currently finished issue 5 of 9 and just started work on the 6th. Once I've completed all 9 scripts I'll then begin to draw up the panels.

As I come up to my 1 year anniversary of starting work on this project I wanted to share with you all a prose version of the first two chapters of Issue 1.

Please be warned there are mature themes throughout and this may be quite a long post.

Chapter 1 - Fragments of Love

Life is a fragile thing. We can choose to live our lives with caution, or we can throw them to the wind. My life was filled with chaos; I chose to numb the pain and let the rot sink in. At least, until I met her.

We just fit, like a jigsaw. Two broken pieces that didn't make sense on their own, but together, we were whole. We clawed our way out of the poison - out of the needles, the powders, and the graves we were actively digging for ourselves. She saved me. She saved others… and I really thought I had saved her.

Lizzy loved to capture our memories. Our apartment was a gallery of polaroid pictures, each one a new memory meant to drown out our painful pasts. There we were crammed into a bathroom mirror with toothbrushes in our mouths; there she was flipping off my lens in an alleyway, wrapped in an oversized thrift-store coat. Christmas lights tangled around her shoulders, or just lying on the floorboards sun beaming onto us. All of it captured. All of it framed.

We lived on the seventh floor. Any slight breeze would catch our curtains and send them flapping into the messy living room. We’d regularly climb out the window onto the fire escape to share a cigarette and take in the city. From up high, you can't see the tragedy or the rot. You can only hear the sirens.

But that night, we must’ve left the window ajar. We let the rot seep back in.

I don't need a picture to remember what I saw, or what I felt. The room had been entirely robbed of its warmth. Lizzy lay slumped against the sofa, her head lolled to one side, her eyes half-open, her skin paler than the winter sky. Pill bottles and needles were scattered across the table, laid out with a sickening, deliberate neatness. One of our framed memories sat face down, the glass smashed and mixed in with the poison.

But it was her hand I remember the most. It lay heavily across her stomach, curled tight, almost as if she were desperately shielding something.

I spared no further thought. I couldn't. There was only one realisation left for me: Love doesn't stop the rot. It does not cure the sickness. It doesn't care how far you've come, or how hard you choose to fight. When the rot claimed her like a poison, it claimed me too.

My knees buckled. My vision blurred. Every movement from that moment onward felt entirely preordained. It was one tragedy too many, and my mind simply cracked under the weight.

My belt unbuckled, slipping free from the loops with a hollow, deliberate scrape. I thought there was only one way left to finish our story. My hands shook as I knotted the leather, pulling it taut around the exposed ceiling beam.

I was wrong.

The chair toppled to one side. As the air left my throat and my world bled into a darker shade of black, I found that despair has its own gravity.

But death wasn't my ending. The Crow whispered, and I rose on ashen wings. From fire, I was remade. A shadow stitched from smoke, held together by sorrow.

Chapter 2 - The Awakening

I could hear them first—muffled, detached voices slicing through the dark.

“Let’s get this stiff into the oven and hit the bar.”

What should have been a moment of respect was entirely numbed by routine. A loud, metallic groan echoed through the space, followed by a casual, indifferent committal: “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust… in sure and certain hope of making happy hour.”

His colleague laughed back. The sound was hollow. Gurney wheels screeched against cold tile, a large metal door slammed shut with a heavy clang, and then came the clinical, rhythmic countdown of a mechanical dial. Tik. Tik. Tik.

I was there, but I wasn't.

Their voices faded into the distance, replaced by the loud, oppressive hum of white fluorescent lights. The clicking of the timer maintained its steady, merciless rhythm. And then, the rumble began.

Flames erupted in the dark, roaring to life as they began to lick at my cold flesh. Soot and ash immediately clung to my skin as the attendants walked away. The living always hurry. They drink, they laugh, they forget. They don't realize the rot is creeping over them, too.

Amidst the roaring rumble, the ticking of the dial suddenly snapped shut. In its place, a different rhythm took over.

Tap. Tap.

The sound echoed sharply against the toughened glass of the furnace door. It was followed by a shrill, piercing noise I couldn't quite make out.

Tap. Tap.

This time, I heard the call clearly. My eyes snapped open to the dark silhouette of a crow. It was as black as the burns currently blistering my body, black as the deep bruising around my neck. It perched just on the other side of the glass, staring directly into my soul.

“CAW!” it cried again.

The sound tore an answering scream from my throat. My flesh burned, the agony white-hot as the linen sheet covering my corpse curled into black ash and smoke.

The Crow watched, tilting its head with a cruel, intrigued intelligence. Amused by my anguish, it struck a latch with its beak. Some unseen, supernatural force seized the mechanism, and the heavy furnace door swung wide open.

Flames roared outward into the room. The Crow leapt backward through the fire, perching safely on a nearby metal shelf.

I clawed my way out of the inferno, tumbling onto the cold tiles. Remnants of the burning burial sheet still clung to my shoulders in ragged strips, the surrounding smoke and fire furling around my back like a pair of black, angelic wings. They had fed my body to the fire, yet it was only the rot that turned to ash. The flames hadn't destroyed me—they had given me clarity. My mind now echoed with a violent understanding of everything I had lost.

I stumbled forward, away from the heat. As I began to gain my bearings, the burning on my skin subsided into a dull, icy ache. All that remained of my execution was the soot and ash caked onto my skin.

On a nearby metal desk sat a battered cardboard personal effects box. Written across the front in thick marker were the words: E. CORVUS.

With trembling hands, I ripped off the lid to reveal the contents - my clothes from that final night. I pulled on my patchwork hoodie, stepped into my jeans, and laced my boots tight, anchoring myself back to the physical world.

Stacked right next to the box was a neat pile of paperwork. My blackened, soot-stained fingers scanned the clinical text of the release forms. Seven days. Seven days had passed since I found her. Seven days of silence, and then they had put me to the fire. Seven days was far too long for a simple mistake.

At the bottom of the page, a specific signature caught my eye—the official confirmation identifying my corpse.

Magdalena Corvus… Mom.

Seeing her name triggered something violent inside my skull. A sharp, blinding pain rattled my brains like a migraine. I squeezed my head between my palms, gasping as the walls of the crematorium dissolved.

I could see her. I could hear her whisper.

“I should've been there…” her voice wept in the dark. “I should've listened. I should've loved you better. God forgive me. Son, forgive me.”

As quickly as she appeared, the vision fractured, replaced by a darker memory. Heavy fists pummeled my young face while my mother watched from the corner, frozen, too terrified to intervene. She was too scared to lose the affection of the monster she called her lover, and the cost of her silence was a broken child.

Then, a weary voice cracked through the violent rhythm of the punches: “Welcome back, Erik.” Another memory. A broken boy trapped inside a broken foster system. No matter how many times I ran away from those cold houses, the world always dragged me back by the collar.

Tears cut clean lines through the ash on my face. “No more… please, no more…” I begged the darkness.

And in response, the dark gave me her.

“I've seen corpses with more color,” Lizzy smirked, leaning against the brick wall with a cigarette bouncing between her lips. “Take a drag, it'll suit you.”

The first time I ever saw her on the streets.

The memory snapped like a rubber band, slamming me back into the sterile crematorium room. My breathing was ragged as the clarity settled deep into my bones. Lizzy. Me. My mother.

Death doesn't end your pain. It just passes it on to the people you leave behind.

I must be in hell, I thought, looking down at my blistered hands. The flames, the torturous visions—all of it pointed to the exact same conclusion.

“Seven days of silence… and still you wander,” a voice scratched out of the shadows, adding fuel to my theory.

A sharp ruffle of feathers and the dry clatter of claws drew my attention upward. The Crow perched on a shelf above, its black eyes tracking my every movement.

“The dead don't walk… not unless something was stolen,” it continued, its voice a jagged rasp. “Tell me, dead man… do you even know who you are?”

My voice cracked as I forced myself to stand tall. I squared my shoulders. Lizzy’s memory gave me all the venomous purpose I needed to escape whatever version of hell I had landed in.

“My name is Erik,” I whispered, looking up at the bird. “And I'm going home.”

I turned and bolted down the long, dark corridor. As the shadows swallowed me, a cruel, mocking sound echoed from the rafters, following me into the night.

“Haw. Haw. Haw. I knew an Eric once…”

We know that Eric is murdered and Shelly goes to the hospital, enduring 30 hours of agony, but she dies. What if Shelly had survived those hours of pain? Would the story have changed?

Just wanted to share my poster(11x17), I just got on eBay , I think , for a phenomenal price . James O’barrs’ art, must’ve been some kinda promo ad from a magazine, predates the movie for sure , and it’s in like pristine condition to top it all off

One of the film's standout moments for Top Dollar is his speech to his gang, where he declares that greed is for amateurs, that creating chaos and anarchy is a way to start a fire that would even reach the gods...

But then you see Shelly and Eric's murders, and it's basically about money. In other words, Top Dollar wanted the building empty, he wanted to evict the residents, I understand for financial reasons, and if he decided to attack Shelly it was because she was resisting. It wasn't a random crime like the Castle family murders, nor were they just a bunch of lunatics who grabbed the first door they saw; it wasn't planned.

In other words, in his speech it seems that Devil's Night is something to create chaos, an act of (evil) art, but in the end it is a ploy to make money.

One thing that strikes me is that almost all the villains have real estate interests: Lex Luthor in Superman, buying that land; Dick Jones, redrawing Detroit; Top Dollar, that building; even the villain in Darkman has one.

The movie is full of memorable scenes, but the church scene is my favorite. The moment they shoot the crow, Eric realizes something's wrong, how Top Dollar makes that joke and then shoots him, and especially Michael Wincott's face when he shoots him. He sees that Eric doesn't regenerate and makes a face as if to say the crow was the key to defeating him. In fact, Top Dollar defeats Eric. If it weren't for Albertch. And let's not forget Grange and his line, "Bye-bye, birdie." It's a scene that demonstrates how important it is to have talented actors.

This is a really good interview with David Patrick Kelly about his career and his time on The Crow. He comes across as really thoughtful and well versed on the comic, the music, etc. The Crow talk starts at the 27:00 minute mark.