From: ECM101@URIACC.URI.EDU (Meridian) Newsgroups: rec.arts.comics.creative Subject: NTB: Tales of the Daemon #3 Date: 25 Jul 1994 10:45:20 -0500 Tales of the Daemon Issue #3 Crossfire, 1 of 4 "Welcome to Channel 3 Sunrise News, with Jonny Q, and Wanda!" "Good morning Jonny!" Wanda sparkled. "Good morning Wanda!" came the terminally fluffy Jonny Q, "Our top story: Early this morning, police officers discovered the orphan missing from the St. Malachi School for Boys." The camera switched over to his blond co-anchor, "Apparently the boy has suffered a case of amnesia, as he was found sleeping in the police sqaudroom, without knowledge of how he got there. Lt. Duncan McElroy had this to say..." On tape: "Our medics have looked the boy over, and he seems fine. He's being returned to the school later this morning..." "Thank you, Lieutenant." Jonny Q replied, even though it had been taped 3 hours previously, "Coming up...more on the vicious Bhar'nee cult. But first, this message, from Happy Fun Ball!." A large brick crashed through the screen, which began to heal itself. Damien Cross, unemployed programmer and host for an extra-dimensional being, was dead tired. The spell he'd cast, assimilating the property of his recent adversary, had drained him. Even the dark magics stored within the temple had been exhausted. The temple itself had crumbled into dust, leaving only an empty room. Eventually, he'd have to move his belongings here, and set up shop, but for now, he was going to take a nap. Netrigan wouldn't be a problem. Across town, Lt. McElroy was delivering the youth to his home. Young Tim seemed none the worse for wear, and the squad had enjoyed his wide- eyed questions. So the squad car pulled up to the iron gates of the school, and the two got out. "Lieutenant?" asked a young novitiate, dressed in full habit. "Yes Sister?" "Come this way, Mother Superior would like to speak with you. Timothy can go to his room, and rest." The young boy gravely shook McElroy's hand, thanked him, and dashed off, slowing suddenly as an older nun caught his eye. McElroy followed the young sister, who introduced herself as Sister Mary Julia, down the quiet corridors. At a massive oaken door, they stopped, and McElroy was ushered in. "Good morning Lieutenant. Please sit." The seamless face beneath the wimple had an ageless quality, although the gaze which was directed upon him reminded him uncomfortably of his own Catholic upbringing, and the old nuns at St. Rita's. The hard wooden chair was also uncomfortably familiar, not to mention uncomfortable. "Thank you, Mother Superior." he stammered. "My pleasure," she replied, "But please, call me Mary Agnes." "Then you may call me Duncan." "Duncan, a good Scottish name. I'm from Lancashire, myself." "I'm not familiar with your order..." Duncan prompted. "The Sisters of Saint Agatha are associated with the order of St. John of Patmos, also known as St. John of the Revelation." Duncan paused at this. The Revelationists were a highly philosophical order dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. Naturally they ran schools. But there were rumors... "I'm sure young ... Timothy?" At Mary Agnes's nod, he continued, "will be fine. After he's rested, I'll have one of my officer's come and take a statement." "As our founder once said, I look forward to new revelations." Mary Agnes replied calmly. Duncan started to laugh, but one glance at the Mother Superior sobered him. "Thank you Sister Mary Agnes. I hope to clear this up soon." As he left, Sister Mary Agnes sat behind her desk, "Yes, I believe this will be illuminating. Don't you agree, Mr. Cross?" Damien woke up with a start. That had been one of the strangest dreams he'd ever had. The boy had looked just as he'd remembered, and Lt. McElroy and the nun were surprisingly lifelike. Blearily, he looked at the clock, noting he'd been out for about six hours. The TV had finished repairs, and it was time for lunch. A ringing broke his reverie. Absent-mindedly, he waved at the door, causing it to open, revealing, ... Sister Mary Agnes. "Didn't your mother teach you not to interrupt your elders? We were just starting to have an interesting chat?" she lectured. "Wha-" Damien replied winningly. "B-B-But your part of my dream!" The sister sighed, "You're new at this. Haven't you figured out the difference between dreaming and astral projection? I suppose not." Striding toward a couch, she sat down sedately. Patting the seat be- side her, she motioned for him to sit, "We have a lot to discuss, and time is running out." "Should you be talking to me? I think you know I'm possessed by a demon, and I'm in no mood to have him exorcised." he said, as he sat. "If that was true, you'd be right," she replied gravely, "But you don't know what you have. Netrigan is a Daemon, not a demon." The fact that she knew Netrigan's name was only slightly surprising. But he wasn't convinced, "Dee-mon, Day-mon, what's the difference?" Mary Agnes stood, and glancing upward, muttered, "Exposition time..." She began pacing back and forth, as she began her lecture: "The ancient Greeks discovered the daemons many millenia ago, realizing that they were intermediaries between men and the gods. There were two kinds, eudaemons, which advised good actions; and cacodaemons, which tempted towards the bad." "Kinda like those cartoons with an angel on one shoulder, and a devil on the other?" Damien asked. "Exactly. In fact, they are supposed to work in pairs. If only a 'good' daemon, or djinn, or genius, or guardian angel was around, that meant someone else had the 'bad' daemon, without the help of a eudaemon. As you might expect, Netrigan is a cacodaemon." "Where's his better half?" Damien asked, right on cue. "When the Christian ethic gained prominence, the eudaemons fell out of favor. People didn't believe that a voice in their heads could be good. With few exceptions, they were thought to be possessed. Many pairs were split, as daemons were corrupted by the fallen angels. Netrigan was one of the most powerful, and was only captured forty years ago. His other half, Netatron, has been imprisoned." "By whom?" "That's a long story. At the turn of the century, the Revelationist Order discovered Netatron's host, and recruited him as defender of the Church. As time passed, the hosts changed. During the second World War, the host was Brother Cain, also known as the Golden Agent." "We are going to have a flashback scene, aren't we..." "I'm afraid so..." BERLIN, APRIL 30, 1945, 2:00PM The city was in chaos. Caught between the Russians in the east, and the Americans in the west, there seemed no way known to man to stop the fall of the Reich. However, deep below the Chancellery, the Fuehrer had other avenues to follow. "Josef," he called, letting the curtain fall, "how much longer should we wait? Our forces are crumbling! Himmler's treason may doom us all!" The slim mininster of propaganda pondered the correct response, "Soon, my Fuehrer! When the full moon rises, Walpurgisnacht begins, and the rite will reach it's peak!" "Yes!" cried the ex-corporal, eyes burning, "Like Siegfried, I will ride out to victory. VICTORY!!!" The newly-titled Frau Hitler entered the room. "Adolf, come and rest. You mustn't work yourself up like this." "You are right, Eva. Martin!" his right-hand man scurried up, "I do not wish to be disturbed, until moonrise." "Yes, my Fuehrer!" came Bormann's reply. Taking his wife's hand, Hitler walked out of the room, and down the stairs, perfunctorily returning his minions' salutes. The bunker was secure, no one, no matter how Jewishly cunning, could get in, he thought. He entered a long stone corridor, leaving his guards behind him. Ever since the attempt on his life, last July, he'd kept them at a distance. He opened the door to his private chambers, and saw someone sitting in his chair. The stranger wore a white dress shirt, a strangely sparkled black tie, and a vest and pants of pale gold. A jacket and bowler of the same color hung on a stand. "Chateau Rothschilde '24." the stranger announced, swirling a glass, "A very good year." Frau Hitler fainted. With only a glance at his wife, Adolf ran to the door. "Achtung!!" Hitler raged, "Guards! Come!" The blond stranger chuckled, "You forget, Dolphie. They can't hear you." "Identify yourself!" Hitler demanded, slamming the door behind him. "I believe your SS have a file on me. They call me 'Das Goldkrieger', but I prefer the Golden Agent." A strange glint shone in the Fuehrer's eyes, "Yes, of course. Hess has reported much about you." "Ah, the former Reichsminister. You did well to send him to England. His magics, while primitive, are quite effective, of at least *were*." "He is dead, then?" "Merely contained. Now what are you planning, you overblown midget?" Hitler laughed. "In your Saturday morgen cinema, the villain always tells his master plan to the hero. I am not THAT stupid." "How stupid are you?" the Agent retorted, draining his wine, "Even with the Spear of Longinus, you haven't been able to ensure victory." Hitler slammed his fist on the table, "I will be victorious, using the Spear and my magic amulet!" "Spear and magic amulet?" "Spear and Magic Amulet!" "Magic Amulet?" "Magic Amulet!!!" "Magic amulet," the Agent stated sarcastically. "YES! Magic Amulet!" Hitler boomed, "Let me give you a sample!" From out of nowhere, a wind swirled through the room, scattering papers and ruffling their hair. The lights seemed to fade, as if their power had failed. The Agent quickly rushed to his feet, energy flickering from his fingertips. "Don't flatter yourself, Herr Schickelgruger. Mussolini is dead, and the Spear has been taken by the American Army. You have no power." Hitler laughed, in a surprisingly deep tone, "You will pay for that, Herr Goldkreiger. Nacht und Nebel, ERWACHE!" A black fog swirled from a medal on his chest, swallowing up the glow of the lamps. Hitler's eyes shone, like two windows to the Abyss. "By the deaths of millions, let thy soul be consumed." A cry caught both their attentions. Frau Hitler keened, as a glow detached itself from her prostrate form, and faded into the mist. "Eva," Hitler whispered, "We are as one." A bolt of golden energy reminded him of his business, staggering him. The Agent seemed to be struggling with the mist, burning it off with mystic flame. But the fog always rolled back in. The more energy he poured into it, the stronger it seemed, as wings of fire extended from his back. "Netatron, aid me!" he cried. The wings spread, revealing the twisted shape concealed by the fog. Like some black serpent, it coiled about the Agent, snuffing out the flames. The mists turned lambent, and drew back to the Iron Cross. "Such power!" Hitler murmured, as the Agent fell to the ground. "After tonight, I will be a god!" A tugging at his waist broke his epiphany. With the last vestiges of power, the Agent had snatched his revolver from his hip. As it settled into his grip, the Agent wearily aimed, from his prone position, and fired. The bullet caught Hitler in the right temple, killing him instantly. But the damage had been done. As footsteps thundered outside the door, he lifted his eyes upward, and intoned, "Father, into your hands, I commend my spirit." 49 YEARS LATER "And then he discorporated, vanishing body and soul into the Beyond." Sister Mary Agnes folded her hands, and sat silently. "So what do you want me to do? Hitler's dead, the war's over. Deal." She stared at him, witheringly, "If you do not find Netatron, your soul is in peril. Thanks to your spells, Netrigan is one with your spirit. The more magic you use, the more control he will gain. Only the Dagger holds him at bay now, but soon, even it will not be enough." "Shyeah, right." Damien chuckled. "NOT!" From out of nowhere, the nun drew a ruler and rapped his knuckles. She glared at him. "First, you let him out. Then you made a deal with him. Then you released all controls, culminating in a merging of souls. What next, feeding him virgins!" "Um..." "You must find Netatron. If you fail, Netrigan will be free, and it will be Hell on Earth!" To Be Continued... ------------------------------------------------------ Mario Di Giacomo, AKA Meridian, ECM101@uriacc.uri.edu "You're so weird!" "You have *no* idea" -----------------------------------------