From: ECM101@URIACC.URI.EDU (Mario Di Giacomo) Newsgroups: rec.arts.comics.creative Subject: NTB: Tales of the Daemon #7 Date: 15 Sep 1994 09:42:17 -0500 Tales of the Daemon #7: "Into the Woods..." "WHAT!!!!" The Baron, bon vivant, and mysterious master of the Net Force, was not pleased. He'd been having a pleasant dinner, when one of the objects in his collection, an ornate Chinese lantern, self-ignited. Staring into its flame, he was able to discern the cause. "That blithering idiot!" he snarled, "I send him to the Orient, and where does he go? The Abyss itself!" With a visible effort, he calmed himself down, and turned to his guest, "Oh, Damien, might I ask you a small favor?" * * * "You've *got* to be kidding," Damien replied. "I'm afraid not," the Baron purred, "One of my associates has been detained, and being as you have certain skills in that direction." "You want me to go to Hell." "Please sir! Let's not be so blunt." the Baron replied, pouring more wine, "I merely wish you to negotiate on my behalf." Damien leaned back slowly, steepling his fingers before him, "Why me? I mean, what's in it for me." "My gratitude..." "And?" Damien retorted. The Baron stood, glowering at him. "Young man, there is much you have to learn. My gratitude is a powerful thing. Do not take it lightly." "Calm down, I need to think about this..." The Baron sat back down, once again the genial host, "Of course. Take your time. But remember, my associate *is* in Hell." Damien lowered his hands to his lap, and closed his eyes. * * * Damien floated within his mind, listening to the advice of the past. "It is the honorable thing to do..." "Yes! A worthy quest, to save a prisoner." "And prove the primacy of Horus over Set." And so forth... Soon, however, the voices stopped, as a golden light filled the "air" Netatron spoke: "I CANNOT JOIN YOU. THE LORDS OF HELL HAVE FORBADE MY MANIFESTING." And then there was silence. A new, sarcastic voice chimed in: *Since I'm bound, I must be good, As this is true, I might as well. Guide you through the Twilight Wood And open wide the gates of Hell.* * * * Damien opened his eyes, "Baron, you have a deal." "Wonderful..." he replied, eyes gleaming, "Is there anything that you require for your working?" "Just something that Mr..." "Voyd, Mullen Voyd" "...has used. If at all possible, something he was the last to use." The Baron pondered for a moment, then had an almost visible idea. He went over to the sideboard, and picked up an ornate silver ashtray, "Here you are...Mr. Voyd smokes almost continuously." Damien took the ashtray, noting the light dusting of ash still sticking to it's surface, "Perfect. Is there a place I can cast the spell? I'd rather not do it here, it'd absolutely ruin the carpet." "Of course. Please follow me." The two gentlemen left the dining room, and entered the bowels of the house. Like many magician's lairs, it seemed far larger inside than out. As they passed a room filled with tapestries, the Baron's cat Merlin joined them, with a smug look on his face. The walls would never be the same. Eventually, they came upon a chamber with a stone floor, and black iron wall sconces, eaach with a lit torch. As The Baron and Merlin watched, Damien smoothly sat in a full lotus, with the ashtray balanced precari- ously on his heels. Damien shaped his hands in the tenth kuji-kiri, and rose in midair. His chant began: "With these ashes, a smoker trace. The one that made my host annoyed. Blaze a trail through Astral space. Transport me to Mullen Voyd!" There was a burst of flame, and a thunk. After his vision cleared, the Baron entered the now-empty room, and picked up the abandoned ashtray, "Flashy, but effective. Don't you agree, Merlin?" The cat simply licked his paws. * * * Damien floated through paths of madness. First, he saw a tall dark man in western clothes, riding a horse of mist. Then he approached a truly BIG figure in a hooded grey cloak. He stopped before the dark cowl, suspended in a globe of crystal. His mouth opened, and spoke of it's own accord, "By Daemon's right let me through! I have hellish work to do!" The great hood nodded, and drew the orb within its folds. Damien hurled down a shaft of ruddy flame, rushing headlong toward great doors of brass, following the ghostly trail of his spell. At the last possible moment, the doors opened, and Damien entered Hell. The orb shattered in a silent cacophony, and Damien passed out. * * * When his consciousness reformed, Damien found himself in what looked like a lobby, complete with blond receptionist. At first, Damien thought the spell had failed, snapping him back to Earth. But then he heard... "Adversary Incorporated. What can I tempt you with?" He took a closer look at the receptionist. She was indeed stunning, and well-built, but she was also efficient, holding a telephone in each hand...All six of them. During a momentary lull, she looked up at him. Emerald eyes locked on his, she breathed, "Hello...How can I *help* you." With all of the willpower he could muster, he resisted the urge to reply something obscene, and replied, "I'm trying to trace someone." In a voice like ambrosia, she said, "Personnel is Level 216." "No, he is human." "You must want Bill Collections. Level 300 through 333." she replied, flexing her chest. Damien shook his head, both in negation and to clear it, "He didn't sell his soul. He doesn't belong here." The receptionist's face grew hard, "That is what they all say...Go to Complaints, levels 600 through 665." Damien paused, listening to some unseen voice. Then he nodded, and as great horns curled from his brow, rumbled: "Demon! Cease thy vain seduction! While I make my introduction. Though I wear the form of man, I AM THE DAEMON NETRIGAN!!!" If the receptionist had been chewing gum, she would have swallowed it. Instead, she shakily consulted a list on her desk. "I'm sorry sir. I wasn't told of your visit. How may I be of service to you?" "What I need, you don't know... Take me to your CEO!" The multi-limbed succubus nodded nervously, and picked up a slim black telephone, "Mr. Morningstar? There is a Daemon Netrigan here to see you. What is your desire?" There was a sibilant hiss, and she replied, "As you wish. I'll send him right down." She looked up at the now draconic Damien, "Please take the express elevator on the far left. Mr. Morningstar is waiting for you. * * * The doors slid open, and Netrigan stepped out. The office was ultramodern, with an emphasis on black marble and chrome. A bay window behind the desk looked out over a sea of stars. The inhabitant of the chair stood. Lucifer Morningstar, master of Hell, turned to face his guest. Despite common imagery, he looked human, although it was clear why he was called greatest of the angels, in another time. "Netrigan! How lovely to see you..." "And see you, Lord of Hell, I hope that things are doing well?" The sunny face broke into a smile, "Of course! And how are your plans? Conquer the Net yet?" "Not quite..." Damien replied, as his human form reasserted itself, "You see, he works for *me* now." "Ah" Lucifer replied, "You must be the one Tar... How can I help you?" "There is a being in your domain who came by accidentally. I have come to retrieve him." Lucifer's eyes narrowed, "In exchange for?" "My gratitude..." "Not again," the author sighed. "What is the name of this being?" "Mullen Voyd." Lucifer laughed, "Oh, him. He's been amusing, but I was getting bored. You can have him." "What have you been doing to him?" "Watch..." An image formed of the rumpled figure. Mullen lit a match, only to have it blown out by a freak gust of wind. The next one snapped in half, and a third was extinguished by a brief sun-shower. The dregs of several matches lay scattered at his feet. "I admire his persistance," Lucifer replied, "But I'm running out of ideas. By my name, I bring him forth...." The image grew, and solidified. Mullen Voyd stood before them. "Does anyone have a light?" * * * Together Damien and Mullen stood before the Gate. "It'll only take a bit to cast the recall." Mullen sucked deeply on his cigarette. As Damien began chanting, a dark fog arose from the plain, blotting out their vision. "Damien Cross," came an orotund voice, "I have come for you." "Do you mind?" Damien replied, "I'm busy." "I am Tartaros, Lord of Pain, and you are mine!!!" "That's IT! I can't focus with all your racket." A sudden light shone, dispersing the mist. As Voyd's vision cleared, he saw the ornate key in Damien's hand. "OPEN LOCKS! A DAEMON KNOCKS!" Damien/Netrigan shouted. The key blazed, blasting the Gate open. As the orb formed about the pair, they heard Tartaros proclaim, "I'll get you, my enemy. And your little Key too!" The orb traveled on. To be continued, in Net Force 3.... --------------------------------------------------------------- Mario Di Giacomo: Freelance Fabulist, aka ECM101@URIACC.URI.EDU "Writers, by definition, have tremendous egos" --Harlan Ellison ---------------------------------------------------------------