From: MDIG8154@URIACC.URI.EDU (Mario Di Giacomo) Newsgroups: alt.comics.lnh Subject: NTB: Netrigan #1 Date: 3 Jun 1994 14:20:04 -0500 Here's the first "real" issue. I just LOVE cliffhangers, don't you? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Netrigan: Issue #1 "Stepping off the Way" Damien Cross was checking his mail. He wasn't happy. "Bill, bill, junkmail, bill, sweepstakes entry, bill, credit card application, bill, letter from Mom, bill...nothing,." he sighed, carrying the stack of papers up the stairs. Seven months after Halloween, and he still couldn't find a job. "At least you don't eat much," he thought merrily. A swirl of flame in his mind's eye was his only answer. His undesired tenant had ceased his demands, and seemed content with living vicariously through his host, feeding him mystic energy as necessary. It had taken a lot of trouble, but Netrigan seemed to be behaving now... It had been six months since the bonding. Since then, Netrigan had tried many times to break free of Damien's control. Damien soon disco- vered that whenever he slept, Netrigan gained enough strength to take control. So he had had to give up sleep. Although the mystic energy Netrigan fed him grudgingly kept him alive, he was going insane from the boredom, and broke from the late-night movies. Finally, he decided to make a stand. He cleared the living room, and drew a large pentacle on the floor in chalk made from graveyard dust. Lighting the candles at the five corners, he sat in the center. The clock struck midnight, and he began his spell: "Netrigan, Daemon, Hear my command! In my mind's eye, before me stand!" He closed his eyes, and passed into a trance. He found himself on a familiar plane, with the draconian form of Netrigan standing before him, bound by rings of light. "You called, I came, Though not by choice. What do you want? Use your voice!" "I want you to stop resisting me. It's hard enough to look for work as it is," Damien sighed, "And fighting you all night makes it almost un- bearable." "Why tire yourself, In looking for work, When daemon's spells, Within you lurk?" "I need money to pay the bills, and it has to COME from somewhere. Internal Revenue won't accept 'I magicked it' for an answer." "Taxmen love to take their slice. When death approaches, they'll pay OUR price." "That's very comforting, but it won't make someone hire me." "Plant your wish, Within his mind. He'll give you work, He MUST be kind." "I am not going to warp someone's mind to get a job!" "Trapped within a moral host! If you starve, we'll both be toast!" Further discussion revealed that since the Daemon had been bound to Damien, their life forces were linked. If he died, Netrigan would dis- corporate. In a compromise, Netrigan agreed not to push for a magickal solution, and Damien made another concession... The concession stood before him. The rooms Damien called home were small, even by his standards, but there had been an addition. The wall opposite his closet was perfectly sized for a door-length poster. However, the image he'd hung there, of an iron gate, was more than it seemed. Standing before it, he spoke a spell that was old when the waves took Atlantis. The trailing fire from his tracing finger formed a twisted, organic-looking glyph, which faded into the lock, and the gate opened... Beyond it was a palace fit for a king, fitted with every comfort and convienece a daemon, or a man for that matter, could want. The spirit staff served his every whim, from rare foods, to exotic enter- tainments. It even had cable. Despite himself, Damien thought, sit- ting in the hot tub, he enjoyed the attention. "So, how about a movie?" he thought, floating in the tub. Unsur- prisingly, Netrigan stayed quiet. Mortal amusements meant little to him. Damien, on the other hand, needed the distraction. "A movie it is!" He stood in the water, and slowly rose till his feet brushed it's surface. The Daemon's remodeling had given him a well-built frame, yet another advantage of his tenancy. Pity it would be difficult to hold a steady relationship in his double-souled status. As he strode across the floor, ebon swirls of energy curled around him, dressing him in his usual black suit. A wave of his hand, and a portal opened, depositing him in the back row of the local cinema. Two hours later, the movie ended. Damien had found it enjoyable, despite the presence of a group of rowdy headbangers. Brandon should have lived to make more movies. The only flaw in the night's experience was the fact that Netrigan seemed to find the whole film hilarious. They never tell you about a Daemon's sense of humor. He'd spent much of the film resisting an uncontrollable urge to laugh. "Well, that was fun," Damien thought, "The night is still young. Let's see what else I can find." Rather than gate back home, he decided to take the subway. It was a minor magick to create the necessary token, and he knew the Transit Authority could afford it. So, along with the drunk, the down-and-out, and the deranged, he waited for the train. Something tickled at the base of his skull. He looked around. "Somebody help me, please...Help me." The speaker was a young boy, of indeterminate age. He ran from person to person, pleading his case. Damien intercepted him, "What is it, boy?" The blue eyes lifted, filled with tears, "Will you help me? Somebody?" "Look at me, lad." Their gazes locked, and Damien's eyes began to glow red. The images poured forth. A bicycle, a dog. Going to school, going to church. Friends, enemies, fantasies. A new neighbor. Going on a visit. An invitation. Fear. FEAR. FEAR!!! Damien broke contact. Something strange had happened to this boy, and he didn't like it a bit. Gesturing over the now-entranced youth's head, he opened a gate to the local police station, leaving the lad asleep in the squadroom. This done, he raised his arms, and cast a spell of Seeking in an attempt to trace the boy's trail. The path was clear, as his fear had burned it's way through the ether. The trail ended in a brownstone on the South Side. In daylight, it was probably a nice neighborhood, but the combination of darkness and the effects of the spell caused it to radiate an aura of the greatest evil. As Damien stretched his mytic senses, he heard the muffled sounds of chanting. One murmured cantrip later, and he'd turned wraith-like, and passed through the walls. Dark wards plucked at him, but the Daemon's aura let him pass. In the heart of the manse, he found a round chamber, bedecked in braziers, carvings, and other tools of necromancy. In the center of the room, a hooded figure stood behind a rude altar, upon which was tied the struggling form of a young girl. The rust color- ed stains around her indicated that whatever was being planned, she was not going to enjoy it. The hooded adept was speaking, "Lord of Pain, Bringer of the Eldest Darkness, I humbly offer you the life of this innocent, and ask that you grant me, your servant, the gift of power." Damien could resist no more. He returned to normalcy, and with a snarl, fired a bolt of mana at the hooded stranger. It arced across the room, and dissipated harmlessly against the warlock's sheilds. "You dare interrupt a sacrifice in progress! Whoever you are, you shall pay!" Mystic lightning coruscated from his fingers, driving Damien against the wall. "Um, Netrigan? I think there may be a problem." he thought, as the pain began.