Tales of the Daemon Issue #5 Crossfire, 3 of 4 BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA "Bozhe moi..." Moishe Garovski was not in a good mood. Not that he ever was. The Siberian native hated everything about the city, from the heat to the food. But his job, helping to track down Nazi War Criminals, was an honorable one. Admittedly, it had been almost fifty years since the war, so they didn't have a lot of work. The intercom buzzed, "Your 10:00 appointment is here, Senor." "Thank you, Maria. Send him in." The figure which greeted him was unlike most. First off, he looked younger than the usual Nazi hunter. Secondly, he was a lot better dressed than usual, what with the Italian suit and Panama hat. Finally, despite the tropical weather, he wasn't sweating. Lucky him. Moishe fiddled with the papers on his desk, and looked up, "What can we do for you, Mr. ... ?" "Cross, Damien Cross." the stranger replied, "I am trying to track down a German officer, or his family." "The name?" Moishe asked. "Arthur Axmann, of the HitlerJugendKorp. I believe he testified at the Nuremberg Tribunal." Moishe paused, "He wasn't a defendant? At his age he couldn't have done anything that bad. Why do you wish to locate him?" "He may possess something which belongs to my ... family. It vanished during the War." Cross replied, with an odd smile. Moishe turned to a file cabinet, "Let's see what we can find...Adler.. Andersen...Axmann. Here it is." He opened the file, glancing down the first page, "He emigrated after the trials. It is believed he is here in Argentina, possibly in a villa near..." The room turned to fire. A shockwave ripped through the community center, destroying it utterly. The explosion made the international news, but only a British tabloid carried the eyewitness report of young Paco Ramirez: BOY WITNESSES WRATH OF GOD!!! SEES ANGEL WITH OWN EYES The 4-year old had been playing down the street when the building went up, and he had this to say [translated from Spanish], "I was bouncing my ball, when I heard a sound like thunder. But there were no clouds in the sky. Then the Hand of God pushed me over, and as I sat up, I saw an angel with fiery wings rise from the building. I re- membered what Father Felipe said, so I said a prayer to the Virgin. Then the trucks came, and I was sent home." Doctors indicated that he may have had a slight concussion. The build- ing, a Jewish community center, housed two groups tracking down Nazis. Authorities claim it was some kind of bomb. The article continued, describing the force of the blast, and the size of the bomb required. Various pseudoscientific tests claimed that no mundane explosive could have done it. At the famous Cafe Tortoni, founded in 1858, Damien Cross sat reading the article, and sipping some iced coffee. Thankfully, his magics had protected him, but the files had been ruined. "Morning, mate." came a voice from midair. From behind his paper, Damien mumbled, "I thought you were stuck in Berlin, Tommy. How'd you get here?" "Good question, mate. I guess since you woke me up, you're stuck with. me." the ghost replied, flickering in and out of sight. "Go away." Damien growled, putting down his paper, "I don't need you, or anyone!" Tommy snapped into visibility, "Bloody 'ell! What 'appened?" Damien had not escaped unscathed. His hair had burned down to stubble, revealing slightly pointed ears, and his eyebrow ridges, now hairless, seemed more pronounced. Damien turned to his unwelcome guest, "It seems that magic burns are harder to heal. No sweat." "Did you find that doohickey you were looking for?" Tommy asked. "No, but since the fire I've been getting a strong hunch. I can find it, since I feel it calling. It's...beautiful." The ghost attemped to grab his arm, "Remember what that monk said. What's-his-face is getting stronger. Can you handle him?" "Handle him?" Damien glared, "You sound like I don't have the power! I'll show you POWER!" Damien stood quickly, knocking the table over. Behind his glasses, his eyes glowed, as he began a spell. "As long as I can draw my breath, Tommy Adams, sleep in death! The darkest torments, you shall brave, I bind you now, within thy grave!" Walker's image twisted, and he collapsed into a painfully knot, which shrank, and vanished. Damien laughed hollowly. "Now, to business.. I feel the cry, of captured souls, Bound within a metal cage. To gain it's Power, is my goal, The time has come, to toss the gage. I call upon the Lords of Chance, To take me to my rival's manse." There was a sudden light, and he was gone. CASA ARTURO, NEAR SANTA ROSA, MIDNIGHT The hacienda was a typical example of the breed, consisting of a walled compound containing the main house, and several small bungalows. The guards, however, wielding Uzi's and night-vision gear, were different. They seemed to be having some trouble. "Ramon? Where are you?" one whispered. A figure appeared before him, glowing brightly in his goggles, "Ramon?" "The wards prevent my warping in, the only way you'd save your skin." The guard, who's name will quite soon become unimportant, fired several rounds into the figure, who merely accepted them. "Your time is come, your luck is poor. Your life's the key, to pass the door." The figure reached out, and Ramon's screams were heard, and silenced. The guards attempted resistance, but it was of no use. Soon the night was silent again. Up at the main house, a hand closed the shades. The body it was connected to sat down behind an ornately carved desk, and waited. The door to the room caught flame, and burst open. Damien stalked in, eyes aflame. "Might I offer you a drink? Scotch? Mate'? I don't want to be a poor host." Damien was not amused, "If you wish to live, and feel no loss, Arthur Axmann, deliver the Cross!" "I haven't heard that name in years. Now they call me Arturo Acetto." "The name you use, is'nt the key. The name of birth can bind or free." Axmann chuckled, "True. Catchy rhyming, by the way. Since I don't have your name, and you clearly have the power to best me, I suppose I must give in. I hope you weren't expecting a big duel." "The cross I want, not silly jaunt." Axmann reached beneath his robe, drawing out an ornate golden reliquary on a chain of silver, "Here, take it." Damien fired a bolt of energy at Axmann, pinning him to the wall, "This is not Hitler's medal. What kind of joke are you trying to peddle." Axmann replied weakly, "That is the cross of Torquemada, filled with the powers of the people he tortured. I gave away the Iron Cross, for it was not my place to wield it." Damien roared, "Who has it, you decrepit sh*t!" Arthur Axmann simply slumped to the ground, a glassy look on his face. He was beyond Damien's reach, now. Damien turned to leave, but the cross caught his eye. Reaching out with his mind, he plucked it from the table and brought it within his grasp. Dark energy flickered about his form. "Such power, caused by souls' duress. The question is asked, I answer. YES!" A scorched smell from beneath his coat caused him to pause, but he continued, "Spanish Cross, your brother calls you. Show me how to unite you two." Daemon's head tilted, as if listening. He nodded, and swirling about, vanished. All that was left, was death.