From: MDIG8154@URIACC.URI.EDU (Mario Di Giacomo) Newsgroups: alt.comics.lnh Subject: NTB: Netrigan #2 and ADMIN Date: 8 Jun 1994 09:00:39 -0500 This is the second issue, and end of the first story arc. The second arc, if I have the time to write it, will be longer. As usual, any crossovers people want to write must be cleared by me, but I'm fairly flexible. There is one problem. At any time, I may lose this account. So if I lose net access, I apologize in advance for anyone left in the lurch. Oh, BTW, starting in issue three, I'm going to try writing in first person. Let me know how it goes, 'kay? * * * Netrigan: Issue #2 "One Fine Morning, In the Middle of the Night." "Um, Netrigan? I think there may be a problem." he thought, as the pain began. Being pinned by eldritch lightning by a Dark Adept is not a good place for tactical consideration. If Damien fainted, Netrigan could take over, but the pain was actually keeping him conscious, and was enough of a dis- traction to stop him from focussing. "Let me free, and I'll fight with glee!" came Netrigan's thought. "Why should I trust you? A Daemon fight the Dark?" "A martyred soul can slip Hell's chains! If that twit dies, it's the Light that gains!" The mystic lightning paused, giving Damien the opening he needed. Wincing, he twisted his hands into the proper mudras, and declaimed, "Your logic holds. Tho' I be cursed, the way is open. Do your worst!" From out of the ether, a howling wind blew, flaring out his coat in Dramatic Pose 23-a [or maybe b, it's hard to tell.] Netrigan stood, horns curling from his brow. Eyes aflame, he faced his opponent. "It doesn't take a lot of class, To bribe a gate to the City of Brass. The Daemon's here, To rend and tear. So now it's time to kick your ass!" His foe was momentairly taken aback, but soon resumed his electric attack. This time, the bolts richocheted off his shields, grounding themselves in the torchholders ringing the walls. The mad monk stopped, and reached for something beneath his robe. "Did you think I was undefended, imp?" he snarled from beneath his cowl, "Behold, the only weapon which can slay a demon! Behold, the Golden Dagger of Meggido!" With a flourish, he brandished the short bronze blade. As it caught the light from the torches, it began to shed its mystic light. Bathed in it's glow, Netrigan staggered, as the purest light imaginable seared him to his very being. As per contract, the now-sneering foe began to brag arrogantly. "Feeling a little under the weather?" he mocked, slowly approaching the groaning Daemon, "Maybe I can shed some light on the subject. You see, this blade was consecrated by the ancient artisans of Israel during the time of Solomon. They used it to drive out pagan spirits. Doesn't do a thing to human beings however. Good thing, or I wouldn't be able to hold it. "But when I bury it in your heart, it'll kill you, and your host. A fine sacrifice for my god." Wracked in pain, Netrigan could only wait helplessly for the end. If he stayed, he'd discorporate. If he relinquished control, the black adept's stronger magicks would destroy his host, and he'd discorporate. Either way, he was dead. The blade began it's descent. Time seemed to slow. The three facets of the Elders swam before his eyes. And from deep within his soul, Damien began to speak. "Holy Father, Ghost and Son..." Netrigan continued, as the words came to him, "Do thee now what must be done." "Cast a spell." "In league with Hell." "So Man and Daemon stand as one!" they spoke in unison. Suspended within Netrigan's astral form, the spark of light that was Damien Cross felt himself blossom into new levels of awareness. Vistas of space and time unfolded before him, and power beyond all mortal dreams tingled at his fingertips. The assembled Elders nodded, once, and vanished. Time accelerated. The flame rekindled in Netrigan's eyes, and grew to engulf his head in a halo of hellfire. The Dagger's light mixed with it, turning it to burnished gold. "This is impossible!" cried the magus, "No demon can withstand the Dagger's light!" Netrigan smiled, and with a gesture, wrenched the Dagger from his foe. "When magic makes a human soul, And Daemon spirit as one whole. Identity, In Synergy, Gives it the strength to ...ROCK AND ROLL!" The battle rejoined in earnest. [Hey Vern! -ed.] A massive surge of mystical energy was released as the yet-unnamed magus attempted to blast the daemon out of existence. Netrigan, for his part, approached the battle with more finesse, using his spells like a rapier to test his opponent's defenses. To his mystic senses, the adept was the center of a great web of mystic forces, linking him to several power caches within the room, and one massive extraplanar source. While the black-hooded stranger ranted and raved [Fill your own in, its Fun! -ed.], Netrigan carefully pierced his wards, setting up cutoffs on each mystic strand. When they were all in place, he triggered them, sucessfully cutting off all but the largest. That strand, linked to another plane, wouldn't break. The magus staggered, but recovered, "Where are your rhymes now? My master protects me in his embrace. We cannot be parted." "I don't need a rhyme for you," the Daemon sneered, "You aren't worth the effort. But if you insist... "You're just some dumb guy in a hood, Who isn't allied with the Good. So I break your chain, To this mortal plane. Go say hi to your Lord's neighborhood!" Shadows enveloped the adept, smothering his screams of torment. There was a twist in the air, and he vanished. Damien watched him go, as his mortal form reasserted itself. "Well, *that* was fun." A whimper caught his attention. He turned to see the young lass he'd rescued from death curled up in a fetal position. Miraculously, while the magick they'd loosed had severed her bonds, she hadn't been hurt. He walked over, and looked down at her. A quick wave over her eyes placed her into a trance. "Hmm..." he wondered, "What to do...OK, here goes. Hear me, child. You are asleep, this is a nightmare. When you awaken in the morning, you will recall this only as a faint memory. You will be home, and all is well. Do you understand?" The entranced girl nodded. "Then by the 7 kings of Rome, I send you to your bed at home." Energy swirled about her, and she vanished. Damien thought to himself, "That's that. Now, who WAS this guy?" He proceeded to search the house, by means both mundane and magickal. He soon discovered that his opponent had been named Richard Rourke, an independently wealthy businessman with a fondness for white suits and black magic. Whatever his faults, and based on what Damien had seen, he'd had several, Mr. Rourke had enough money to make his fantasies come true. As the night wound down, Damien thought over his situation. Rourke had no heirs, and a lot of money. Furthermore, there was a lot of necromantic energy on tap, which shouldn't be left for a 'dane to find. So from a moral standpoint, he was honor-bound to do something. As the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon, and the boundary energies reached their peak, he began. Standing amidst the ruins of the temple, he cast the spell to unlock Rourke's power caches, and put them to work: "Dark forces of Richard Rourke's crime, Be bound by my mystic rhyme. Let it be now known, That what Richard owned, Shall now and forever be MINE!" An ebon swirl of force grew a1ove the altar, gathering the shadow energy stored in the caches. It grew in power, and faded into invisibi- lity, as the change began. A ripple at the quantum level of reality swept across the land, changing papers, computer files, and memories. Where it passed, those who needed to know, believed that Damien Cross was heir apparent to the entire Rourke fortune. The change resonated through the ether, across the several planes. From Net.ropolis to New Orleans; below Central Park and above Salem, Mass., beings of magic might were alerted. A daemon had come into his power. Beware! The End, for now....