Subject: NTB: Dance of the Daemon #3 From: vesper@ix.netcom.com (Mario Di Giacomo) Date: 1995/04/29 Message-Id: <3nu8o1$diu@ixnews4.ix.netcom.com> Newsgroups: rec.arts.comics.creative Rising to the Challenge Damien looked out over the face of the deep. It was good. As the waves crashed on the shore before him, he gathered his thoughts, preparing his spell. Raising his arms before him, he opened his mouth. "Cool! What'cha doin'" That was Max, Max Fremont. The bookseller had been following him for days, evr since he'd revealed his plans. It was slightly annoying, but he could deal with it. He turned to deal with his less-than-welcome associate. Max was dressed in typically grunge, and grungy, clothes, and was lugging a heavy cylinder bag. "What is it, Max?" Damien sighed. "Hey, DC. I figured if you are going to visit the big A, I wanna be there." Damien sighed again. When dealing with Max, sighing was getting to be a habit with him, "It's none of your business, Max. I thank you for your help, but it will not be necessary. Please go away..." "No prob...I didn't mean to piss you off. I'll just go now." Fitting his actions to his words, Max hefted the large tote, and headed down the pier. Damien watched him go, and as soon as he'd left sight, refocused his energies on the task at hand. Summoning up the energies of the daemones within him, he said: "Here I stand, twixt land and sea. Rhyming, casting my magick spell. Let space unwind, so I may be, Where Poseidon's City fell." The waves came, crashing with renewed fury. Again and again, they pounded the coast before him, growing larger, and larger. Finally, as a milky radiance permeated the surf, a huge tsunami advanced on the coast. And stopped. The wall of water hovered before him, expectantly. A sudden impact behind him tumbled him into the barrier, and reality swam in a sea of chaos. Normalcy re-asserted itself, leaving Damien with only one problem. "Max..." he sighed, yet again. The slightly soaked form before him nodded sheepishly. "I *told* you I was coming along...where are we?" "Turkey." Max looked up at this, "There's no need to get personal, man. I asked a simple question." "And I answered it. We are in Turkey, on the coast of the Black Sea." "Huh?" Max replied. "I thought you were going to Atlantis?" Damien smiled, light flickering in his eyes. "We did. There have been many Atlantises, but the true city, the one with the knowledge I seek, is known to to world by another name." "Let me guess...Lemuria?" Damien shook his head, "The Hesperides?" Another shake. "Irving?" Damien just stared. "No, it is an old city, one which had a great empire at one time. The land of the sons of Ilius, better known as ... Troy." "You mean like in the War? The city with the wooden rabbit?" "Horse, you mean." "Whatever...The one that Homer guy wrote about." "Well, he didn't actually *write* about it, but yes, the one from the Illiad." Max shook his head at this, "I thought Atlantis was this really high-tech place. We know all about Troy." "This is the City of Poseidon, the one Plato meant. As I said, there are others." Max thought upon this. After visibly digesting the information, he turned to his companion. "So what are we waiting for?" "Sunset." Damien sat on the dusty ground, and watched the shadows lengthen. Max watched him for a moment, then began to pace. And pace. And pace. As patience left him, he began to rave at the silent figure, pausing only once to buy a T-shirt from a vendor. Through all of this, Damien sat motionless. Finally, the last rays of the sun vanished below the horizon. The tourists, shopkeepers, artists and researchers all began to leave, until only the ruins themselves remained. In a fluid motion, Damien came to his feet, and walked down to the site. Max, caught in mid-rant, was forced to jog after him, bag banging into his thigh. A few guards attempted to stop the pair, but a subtle glance and a whispered word soon "convinced" them that the duo could pass. Max was unimpressed by the dig, since there were few buildings, and mostly some old walls, and a broken pot or twelve. But Damien breathed it all in, feeding on the sheer history of the place, listening to the echoes of times past, until he found, tucked away in a corner of the site, what he was looking for. "Spirits of Ilion, come awake. Or feel the sting of a daemon wroth. Ancient knowledge I've come to take. Show to me the Book of Thoth." The words shimmered in the air, as the dust of time rolled back. A lattice of light formed about them, tracing the outlines of walls and columns. They were in Troy. Not the simple citadel, nor the mythic city made famous by the blind poet, but the essential Troy. The pure Troy. "Why have you awakened me?" a dusty voice crackled. As Damien waited, an aged form rippled into life before them, dressed in a long, winding cloak. "In order to serve the Light, I require the Book of Thoth." Damein replied formally. "The *Light*?" the figure laughed harshly. "I too served the Light. When I forsaw the doom of my city, I begged the king to prevent it. And the *Light* took my life, and those of my sons." Damien frowned, "I know of you, Laocoon. But it was fated. You, of all people, should know that." "FATE!!! I SPIT UPON FATE!" the aged figured raged. "I served the gods faithfully. And they not only took my life, but my children's as well. I will give them nothing! NOTHING!!! DO YOU HEAR ME!!!" A rumble of thunder seemed to reply. Damien glanced about him, seeing Max fiddle with a black box. Mentally warding his young accomplice, he let the power come. The battle was joined. At first, the pair seemed evenly balanced, as energies crackled between them. But it was clear that Damien was outmatched. As he pressed his advantage, the undead priest called out, beseeching the aid of the Sons of the Dragon. And recieved his answer. From the ground beneath them, the shades of dead heroes rose to life, thirsting for battle. Damien was at a loss for words. Illusion meant nothing to them, as they had no minds, simply a blind rage. And his physical abilities aided him naught, as for every soldier he was able to destroy, two rose to take his place. They swarmed about him, dragging him down by weight alone. One, wearing a helm with nodding plumes, raised his spear to strike the final blow. And stopped. The sound of a horn pierced the gloom, and a shining figure rode into view, astride a white horse. "Greetings, avatar. I am Rama Kalkin." the turban-clad figure called. Damien, buried beneath a sea of frozen bodies, could make no reply. "Forgive my somewhat flamboyant entrance, but as a former bearer of the Mantle, I knew I must come to your aid." By sheer force of will, Damien projected his spirit beyond his body, hovering before the shining rider. "I would not refuse your aid, but as a spirit of the past, how can you be of any use?" Kalkin laughed, "But spirits are what you are fighting! It is what I do best! It was by fighting spirits that I defeated the Thuggees of Kali." "Oh great, another story. Do we have time for this?" Damien groaned. "Of course." Rama replied, "We are suspended between seconds. When you have heard my tale, and learned what I must teach, time will resume." Damien paused. "Very well, tell me your story." Kalkin began, "It was during the reign of the Queen named Victoria. The British were cracking down upon the wandering murderers called the Thuggee. For you see, although they did not hunt Europeans, they were clearly a power to be reckoned with in their region, a power the English did not wish to allow. "So they began hunting them down, slowly and methodically. I was a recent incarnate, and had not yet discovered my true potential. The spirit led me to join the British attempt, not to further their imperial ambitions but to prevent the loss of life. So, I acted as guide, hiding my powers and knowledge beneath a veil of simplemindedness. "It was a bloody time, one which I do not enjoy recalling. Many good men died, on both sides. The day finally came, when we had discovered their main temple. It was a vault of horror, where sacrifices the their godde sses dark appetites occured daily. Many men blached at the carnage, but we fought on. The priest stood before us. The soldiers raised their pistols, and fired. He did not fall. They emptied their weapons at him, and he did not fall. His goddess strengthed him, using the souls of the innocents he had had butchered. "The time had come. I called the power to me, and it came as a white horse. As it reminded the Hindu of the avatar yet to come, I had taken the name Kalkin to strike fear in their hearts. I mounted, and let the magic flow into the shape of a javelin. I rode through the melee, and cast the spear at the evil one. The sneer dropped from his lips as the spell took effect. You see, I had enchanted it with the force of Karma. When it pierced his black heart, he knew all that had come before, and how it would effect his next incarnation. I do not know what he saw, or what he would become, but the horror of it was etched upon his features, and it stopped his heart. "He died, and I pitied him." Kalkin finished, bowing his head. Damien floated toward his entrapped body. "I believe I see what you are telling me. If it must be done, it must be done. Thank you." "My pleasure. I return to my eternal sleep. Go with the light." He bowed, and vanished. Damien dove into his mortal form as time resumed, casting a defense at the last possible moment. A flash of light threw his attackers free, and in his moment of respite, he let the magic flow. His recent conversation must have colored his perceptions, for when the weapon came, it was in the shape of the parrying dagger called a katar, a weapon his vistor may once have carried. The golden blade darted out, slicing shade after shade. They did not fall, but instead were awakened to the truth of their situation. They knew they were dead, and why they had returned. Each in turn threw down their arms, and faded from view. Soon, only the priest was left. "I do not know how you did what you've done," Lacoon rasped, "But you cannot defeat me so easily. I know I am dead. That is what keeps me alive." The paradoxical statement did not bother Damien, who merely cast his dagger at his foe. Despite it's non-aerodynamic qualities, it flew true, thudding into the seer's chest. Two great snakes slithered out of the ether, and coiled about his form. Damien watched, impassive, as they inexoroably crushed his adversary. "It is not wise to ignore one's destiny." Lacoon screamed in agony, as he relived his death. Casting a baleful eye upon his conqueror, he declaimed,"You..have..defeated...me. But the...prize...is not..YOURS!" He erupted in a gout of flame, destroying himself, the snakes, and the walls around him. Damien quickly shielded himself, as he returned to the present. "NO!!!" he shouted. "Why so bummed, man?" the almost-forgotten Max asked him. Damien wheeled about. "The Book. It was inscribed on the walls of that room. I never had a chance to read it!" Max chuckled, and held up the device in his hand. "Haven't you ever heard of a camcorder?" "Max, you beautiful...I could kiss you!" Max backed away. "No thanks man. I'm not into that. I mean I don't mind if it's your thing, but..." "Oh shut up. We have work to do..."