TALES OF THE DEMON by Dien Alcyone
Hullo! This is my DC Comics fanfic, written for DC Anthology, which can be found at: http://danthology.cjb.net/ Due to hints from friends and readers, I am diversifying in the places where it's featured at... hence, this! I hope you enjoy.
Summary: Etrigan/Jason Blood fanfiction, in an 'issue' format.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: The Demon and certain characters in these pages are owned by DC Comics. I'm just playing.
TALES OF THE DEMON #3 ~ "An Intelligent Reflection of Light"
by Dien
Story notes: Guest-starring Zauriel! And John Constantine (as promised)! And the Phantom Stranger (briefly)! And Steel (only less briefly)! And... ow. My head hurts. Just read the thing. And no, I don't have any idea what I'm doing.
VINCI, ITALY. 1452 AD
"Caterina, I'm home," said Piero, hanging his cloak on a wooden peg in the small though comfortable house.
"Things were strange in the village today. A traveling Englishman named Sangue claims he had property stolen from him by poor Giotti... it is unusual. I am holding the item in question at the monastery until the matter can be resolved--a gemstone... Caterina, are you well? You seem so pale...!"
"I... I think the baby is here, Piero. I--oh, God... still too early... aagh!"
"Oh... oh, my. I'll go get the midwife at once."
The child came several agonizing hours later, a fine healthy boy. They named him Leonardo. The birth was of greater interest to the townspeople than the unseen departure of the guest the village hadn't even noticed it hosted: a spirit who, in later years, would inhabit the form of a man called Jim Corrigan--and whom would be known as the Spectre.
A few days later, Piero da Vinci settled the case of theft in favor of the strange, red-headed Englishman, who left town with a sapphire the size of a man's eye.
None in that town except for the man who left with it had the eyes necessary to read the inscription on the jewel, but the words, when translated from their ancient tongue, ran something like this:
Resides here on Earth the bright star of Fate
On three births shall it shine, and they be called great
If present be a church and a prison
An angel fallen, and demon risen.
And the children hailed by this strangeling brood
May choose their path: 'twixt evil and good.
Their deeds may inspire praise, or cause woe and regret
But 'twill be deeds which in no wise the world will forget.
BRANAU, AUSTRIA. 1889 AD
"Alois, Herr Konstantin here has just bought the sapphire we have been holding for the consulate. Take him to get the papers signed, will you?"
"Of course, Herr Schneller. Follow me please, Herr... Konstantin, was it?"
"Yes, thank you," said the blond-haired man in perfect although accented German.
"Ahh, you are English? How wonderful. Here is your receipt. Please sign here." As the Englishman signed the papers, Alois couldn't help but impatiently watch the clock. He was due to be off work in a few moments, and he was anxious to get home.
The man noticed his occasional glances. "Eager to get home, eh?" he asked, looking up at the middle-aged man.
"Oh yes. My wife just gave birth to a boy a few hours ago, and I've yet to get home to see my son," he confessed with a smile.
"Congratulations," Herr Konstantin murmured, pulling a cigar from the pocket of his deep overcoat and handing it to Alois. "What are you planning to name him?"
"My thanks. Adolf, I think--a good strong name for a good strong boy."
"I'm sure he'll be just that. There, I'm done. Thanks for your time, Herr--I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch...?"
"Hitler. Alois Hitler."
An hour later, the peace of the office Alois Hitler had been so eager to leave was shattered by disjointed reports of some sort of fire near the river. The strange rumors even said that figures had been seen in the blaze--a monk, a winged girl... and a yellow-skinned demon.
LONDON. FOUR MONTHS AGO.
"No, you don't understand. This stone's been in me family for generations, Stranger. I don't care if bleedin' Christ Himself took it, I'm getting 'er back."
"I was not aware familial duty was one of your characteristics, John Constantine," replied his companion, with what might have been a smile in the shadows of his face.
"Bollocks to family duty. No, I'm saying the bugger belongs to me. Can't just have people stealing from me left and right now, can I? Bad for me reputation," said John, between a swallow of beer and a long draw on his cigarette.
"I still do not see why this obligates me to help you. It is, after all, your reputation."
"Yeah, and my reputation occasionally comes in useful. Remember that bit with Tim--with the Hunter boy? In Bewitched? When me bloody 'reputation' was the only thing kept me, Zatanna, and Tim hi'self from getting sliced into uncomfortably small strips? Like I said, useful, an' if you want the use of it again, you might help a bloke out here by dropping a hint or two."
A pause. "I do not know if you will... welcome this information."
John took another swig of beer. "Get on with it, Stranger."
"The Fatestone is on the moon."
"Ah. Right. The moon." Constantine nodded, his eyes on the buxom barmaid who had just passed the table where the two men were sitting.
"Wait. Did you just say the thing's on the bleedin' moon?!?"
JLA WATCHTOWER. TWO MONTHS AGO.
"Really, Steel, it's incredible how much... well, junk... we accumulate here in the Watchtower," the winged figure murmured to his colleague as they stood in one of the storage rooms of the JLA's moon base.
Steel smiled behind his armor faceplate. "Part of the human condition, Zauriel. We mortals hoard things--maybe a deeply ingrained desire to, I dunno, surround ourselves with evidence of our accomplishments."
Zauriel smirked. "Ah. I'll have to make a note of that in my studies of how odd you humans are. '...surround ourselves with evidence of our accomplishments.'"
"Hey, I'm a engineer, not a philosopher. Anyways, I think most of this stuff is from past battles... yeah, here's that bionoid suit of armor Dr. Morrow sent against us. Here's the chunk of telepathic sentient rock that disguised itself as gold kryptonite... were you here for that one? Now that was a pain, J'onn had to go into Superman's mind and convince him he still had his powers. Wally eventually sent some sort of special vibration through it to steal its speed--it's still alive and essentially unhurt, but takes centuries to form connections between its geosynapses. Bizarre."
"Sounds like. I must have missed that one. What's in the box over there?"
"Hmm. Not sure, but it looks more recent than the other stuff. Yeah, this is from a few months ago... the Joker's diagrams for a world-wide tectonic collapse. Don't try to figure them out, you'll just get a headache. J'onn says they're fascinating reading... Hey look! The remnants of the Father Box that Darkseid sent here. I never did get around to prying that thing open--"
"What. Is. This?" Zauriel interrupted, lifting a blue gem about the size of a human eye.
"Hm? Oh, that. Sapphire, I think. Some nutcase showed up about a month ago and said he'd stolen it from a magician. It was going to let him remake the world.
"Batman just stared at him for about ten seconds. Poor guy ended up wetting his pants, dropped the gem, and burst into tears. We never did find out where or who he got it from. Pretty though, isn't it?"
"It's magic," said Zauriel, staring into the azure heart of it.
"If you say so, Zauriel. More your field than mine... Uh. Can it remake the world?"
"I don't know," the angel said thoughtfully. "I don't... I'm not sure what it is. There's a lot of power here.... but not a lot of purpose. It's not focused. Human magics--things like this--I don't really know a lot about. Hmmmm.
"You said Batman stopped the man who wielded this? I'd like to talk to him about it. He might not know anything more, but still..."
"Have fun, Z. Batman's not really the chatty, life-of-the-party type though, if you know what I mean."
"No, not really."
GOTHAM CITY, PRESENT. BLOOD'S APARTMENT.
The apartment was filled with sounds of football--and the occasional, pillow-generated burp. Harry was lounged in a comfortable chair in front of the wide-screen TV, enjoying the game and a Budweiser beer with every ounce of his stuffing. For his part, Jason Blood was deep in a book that a Scottish druid had sent him, and it was a wonder either of them heard the knock at all.
"Did you hear something, Jase?" Harry said, never taking his eyes off the Vikings' quarterback.
"Hmm?"
"I said, did you hear something--"
Knock knock, slightly louder this time.
"Jase, I think somebody's at the--OH YEAH! INTERCEPTION!!!! Go, Packers!!"
"Harry. I am not going to ask you again to keep the noise down. I am attempting to study here--"
Knock knock.
"Is that someone at the door, Harry?"
"Uh... ooh, great pass... what was that, Jase? Hey, I think there's someone at the door, by the way."
"That's what I just--never mind." With an irritated sigh, Jason got up from his desk and headed for the door.
KNOCK KNOCK. "I'm coming, I'm coming, have a little patience," he muttered, preparing to be nasty to whoever happened to be on the other side of the door. He grabbed the knob and swung the door open to find... nothing.
"What the...?" Jason stuck his head out into the hallway to find it completely empty. Slightly confused, he turned back to Harry to ask a question, but was interrupted by the knocking again, this time accompanied by a voice.
"Excuse me. Is anybody home here? I think I have the right floor..." the voice trailed off. Harry and Jason looked at each other, both trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. Then Jason walked to the balcony's sliding door and pushed aside the curtain.
An angel was standing outside, hands pressed to the glass. He waved.
"Wonderful," Jason muttered. "Harry, I've talked to you about inviting people over..."
"You wanna know what this reminds me of?" Harry asked as he watched Zauriel try to get through the doorway--wide and tall enough for a normal person to walk through with ease, but those heavenly wings were big.
"No, not really," Jason said, wondering idly if angels ever got stuck under low bridges.
"That horrible Meg Ryan movie. Except Cage didn't have wings--but I guess it was already hokey enough without them. Of course, nobody cares about wings when they're looking at Meg--"
Zauriel finally managed to squeeze through. Once inside, there was more room for his feathered attachments, and the angel sighed with relief before holding out his hand to the occultist.
"You're Jason Blood, right? It's a pleasure. My name's Zauriel; I'm a member of--"
"The Justice League. I know. You've been in the news a few times. There are also several cults based around your existence that caused me a great deal of trouble some months ago," Blood said coolly, not shaking the proffered hand.
"Hey! Hey! I wanna meet the angel, Jase! Turn the chair around so I can see, willya?" With a sigh, the demonologist obliged his friend, introducing Harry Matthews to the bemused Zauriel--after which Harry immediately returned his attention to the game.
"He takes some getting used to," Jason said apologetically.
"Ah... right. Uh, anyways, I'm here because--"
"You want information on a magical relic of some sort," said Jason, sitting down and gesturing for the angel to do likewise.
Zauriel blinked. And he had thought Batman was brusque... "Well. Yes, actually... Batman didn't mention you were psychic," the angel attempted to joke.
"I'm not. I do have precognizance... of a sort... certain things and events. Though this isn't one of them.
"My knowledge of the reason for your visit stems from the fact that, to be blunt, it's really the only reason the League calls on me. Or when some occult menace threatens, but then they generally prefer to go with Zatanna. She's more... wholesome, I suppose. Too often, I'm the occult menace that threatens," he said with a bleak smile.
"Of course, now they have an angel, so I don't suppose they'll be asking for either of us half as much," he finished with faint amusement. "So. What do you need my professional opinion on?"
Zauriel blinked again. He had thought he was getting used to mortals, but this man... There was something unnerving about him. As he brought out the sapphire and handed it to the occultist, telling him about the circumstances of finding it, then going to Batman and finally being told to come here, he studied the human. A normal human...
Normal--on the surface. Nothing out of the ordinary, except that the eyes were just a bit too piercing, saw too much... And hadn't they been blue? Not red.
Red--red sparks that shot out from the pupil to catch on fire. Red fire at the heart of things burning in parabolas of poetry and something that laughed to the beat of Hell's drums and stank of sulphur and blood. Crimson fire just barely concealed under the thin guise of flesh and humanity...
Zauriel found himself almost physically sick. He wanted to be outside, in the relatively clean air, away from this a man who, whatever he was, was clearly not a man. Disgust welled up in the angel as what he was facing dawned on him--a human who had bound himself to a demon, willingly entering into a covenant with something vile that fed on the flesh of infants and laughed at the screams of its victims. Evil lurked here, within arm's reach of one who had walked in the presence of God. It taunted him, the smoke of its flame choking him until he felt like throwing up--
"Are you all right?" The voice interrupted and brought him back to himself. He was not in Hell, suffocated by smoke, but in a comfortable apartment. He was not facing a demon, but a man.
A man who housed a demon.
"Fine," he replied stiffly. "Just not used to..." Hanging out with devils. "...Gotham."
The man seemed to accept that as an answer and turned back to the gem, holding it up so that it caught the sunlight and gave it back out in an azure rainbow of light. "You're wondering whether this is a weapon, or dangerous if used as such? Don't bother.
"This is something known as a Fatestone. The astral writing on it is in Atlantean. I don't know how familiar you are with that... It basically says that the stone will be present at three births of significance, if certain other factors are present. The children born under--under such signs, if you will--will have potential for either great evil or great good.
"That's about all I can tell you from such a cursory inspection, I think. If you'd like me to do some more research on this, I'm sure I can oblige the League though I really doubt it's significant. I've heard of this type of gem before--they're generally held to have been created shortly before the fall of Atlantis by a group of their eminent astrologers. Several have survived here and there, though I can't say I've ever actually seen one before."
Here the occultist frowned with a slightly confused expression on his face. "At least, I don't think I have. Anyway, I can do further--"
"Thank you, but I don't really think that will be necessary," Zauriel interrupted coolly, rising from his chair. "You've been quite helpful already."
It was Jason's turn to blink, a bit surprised by the angel's sudden change in manner--friendly at first, then the look on his face as if he had stepped in the remains of a dead cat. Now he was cool and distant. Even something of anger was hinted at in the harsh clenching of his jaw, and the whiteness of his knuckles as the angel took back the gem.
He senses Etrigan, no doubt, Blood thought to himself, wondering why the demon was so quiet. Angels didn't intimidate the rhymer at all--Jason had hazy memories of a battle against Remiel and Duma, Heaven's appointed rulers of Hell--and under normal circumstances, Etrigan would be practically screaming in his mind to be let out and torch the feathered idiot in front of him. It was nice that he wasn't, of course, but discomfiting too. He really hated it when Etrigan wasn't predictable.
The angel was headed toward the window. He hadn't offered to shake hands this time, and Blood felt an ironic smile creep to his face at the thought of Zauriel being as uncivil as he himself had been before.
"Feel free to call if you need anything more," he couldn't resist saying to the angel, once again squeezing through the window.
"I doubt there will be a need," Zauriel responded curtly, succeeding in achieving the balcony. Politeness prompted him to add, "Thank you anyway, for your help and the offer."
In a blur of pale skin and a flurry of those spectacular wings, he was off of the balcony in freefall. The wings spread further to catch the updraft and he left the city's old buildings and winter dirt below him, seemingly oblivious to the awed stares of Gothamites beneath.
Back in the apartment, Jason stared after the angel for some seconds, finally shaking his head and closing the door. The niggling itch at the back of his head warned him that this wasn't over... something more yet to come involving the angel... but it was more irritating than helpful. He sighed and turned away from the window, only to have his train of thought interrupted by the familiar voice.
Did you miss me, dear friend?
I'm sure my absence was rough.
But it's come to an end--
Pity, snarled Jason inwardly, out of sorts after the encounter with the angel. The demon chuckled.
Now don't get in a huff.
If you're kind and polite--treat this poor demon right--
I just may tell where I've been.
Jason returned to his study and shut the door, to partially muffle the sounds of the football game. And I care why? he retorted. Etrigan ignored him.
Affairs of note waking--and angels sides taking--Likewise in the home of all sin.
All revolve 'round stone of blue--Or rather, the children it leadeth to.
The first was a saint, the second a devil
This third time the charm, both sides say.
Both wish the playing field were much less level
And so both the infant wish to sway.
A few--very few--desire balance preserved
And so would take the child's life
Before it could achieve either evil or good
And thus put an end to the endless strife.
Blood paused, digesting all the demon had just told him. You're saying this... child has the potential to put an ultimate end to the conflict between Good and Evil? How can that be? If there's already been two children who didn't end the conflict--
Things stand always at a one-for-one balance
Like matter and its dark opposite.
Neither side ever gains permanent advantage
Equality's always been requisite.
Example: For the evil of the Fall in the garden lost
You have the good of the death of that Fool on the Cross...
So on. For every action, as Newton said.
But no longer. Equality's dead.
The Stone warmed up on the first two brats
Now the time's come, and that is that.
Whichever way this third one chooses
Shows which one wins, and which one loses.
Jason looked out the window over Gotham as Etrigan finished his explanation. A millennia and a half he'd had the Rhymer bound to his soul... and he still couldn't figure out when Etrigan was telling the truth and when he wasn't. It sounded very much like something the demon had made up. He'd done such things before--leading Jason on wild goose chases over half the world because it amused him to do so. The occultist kept his doubts to himself, at least as much as was possible with a demon in the head.
So what do you suggest we do about it, Etrigan?
Oh my, oh me--Blood asks me for advice..?
You've grown accustomed to me, indeed.
But why should I be free with help
When my other words you failed to heed?
No matter now. Things move anyhow
And we each will play our role.
The Church, the Cage, The Demon's rage
And an Angel to make the cast whole.
So whatever you do affects nothing at all
Lady Fate's already set--she lets the dice fall.
But how does she bet? Which face does she call
As the coin is called by gravity...?
I suppose we all must wait and see, the rhymer mused philosophically. Jason muttered his irritation to the world at large, then glanced at the clock.
Time had passed in talking first to the angel, then the demon--it was already six-thirty. If he was going to attend the Museum's diamond exhibition, he'd better get ready...
"Dona, are you sure about this?" murmured the long-suffering Emilio to the door behind him as he shifted unhappily in his ill-fitting tuxedo.
"But of course, dear Emilio. All this business of late... demons and death... tiresome. All work and no play makes me a dull signorina, no? This evening will be relaxing, pleasurable, and an excuse to dress up and make other women jealous. Perfecto.
"Besides, this is going to be a diamond exhibition. The Americans have a delightful saying; 'diamonds are a girl's best friends.' After you three, of course.
"How do I look?" she finished, emerging from her room with a triumphant smile, and once again all three men silently thanked the saints for their assignments as Angelina Capella's bodyguards and assistants.
The dress was a strapless, floor-length affair of sheer wine-red silk, with a slit up one leg to avoid leaving too much to the imagination. Capella's midnight hair was done up in a loose coiffure, one strand free to hang over her face just so. She was dressed to kill, and then some.
Her dark eyes sparkled with laughter as she watched her young men's reactions. They knew better than to open their mouths in anything but the most restrained of compliments, but their faces said it all. Delighted, she let out a low laugh and made the final preparations for the evening's events.
THE NEXT-ISSUE-BOX-THAT-BREATHED-FIRE: Okay, okay. This was a slow one, I know. I promise you people some action next issue. Diamonds! And if I can steal them from somewhere, a Batman villain or two! (Big if.)