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 #7 ~ "A Night to Remember, Part Four: Unexpected Visitors"
by Dien
Story notes:
GOTHAM CITY, JASON'S APARTMENT
"Buuurrrp." The noise reverberated in the empty apartment, followed by Harry's satisfied sigh. Being a pillow sucked at times, but being a pillow that lived in the apartment of a very very wealthy man wasn't all bad. First, 52-inch TV screen with a hundred and sixty-eight channels. Second, unlimited shots of the finest quality Bacardi rum known to man. Third, darn comfy couch.
The only thing wrong with the scene right now, Harry mused, was the broken window to his left. As a pillow, he didn't mind the cold as much as he had when he was alive, but it was still a tad uncomfortable as Gotham's cool night air blew in through the gaping aperture. And it didn't do much for one's sense of security either. Why, anyone could just come in through the window... with a knife... or big, bloody axe...
Harry shuddered and quickly changed the channel from the late-night movie showing of "Maniac Massacre at Midnight" to HBO. Thankfully, the TV controls were now voice-activated, which beat the old way of having to use a straw in his mouth to depress the remote buttons. With a contented sigh, the flesh cushion leaned back on the couch, sipped his drink, and began to enjoy the visual delights of "Charlie's Angels."
And then, over the sounds of explosions and lipstick, he heard It.
Someone was at the door. More specifically, someone was trying to get in the door. Harry Matthews stiffened and wished for a gun. Actually he wished for a hand to hold a gun, but the principle was the same. Having neither, he squinched himself down behind the cushions as far as possible, as the apartment's door swung open to let in the hallway's light.
There was a long pause, then the light of the hallway was once more shut out as the door closed with a soft click. Another long pause. Finally Harry summoned up the nerve to squinch himself over the edge of the couch and peek.
Well, it was human at least. Or looked it. White male, late twenties/early thirties, blond hair, brown trenchcoat, Harry's advertising-bred mind ran through quickly. Smoking cigarette. White button-up collared shirt with tie underneath. Left shoe untied.
"'Ere now, mate. What're you looking at, then?" It Spoke! Harry did a frantic squinch back behind the couch again, but it was too late. WSM, 25-35, had him pegged.
A hand reached over the top of the couch and picked him up effortlessly. Harry squirmed.
"Bleedin' hell. What are you supposed to be, then?" muttered a very English voice.
"I'm a--"
Harry considered carefully, then amended his planned indignant 'pillow, what do I look like?' sentence. "...ferocious beast from Regions Beyond, and if you don't let me go, right now, I'll bite your wrist, pal!"
"Christ, you're a bleedin' pillow."
Harry went for the wrist.
"'Ere now! None of that, dammit!" Instinctively, the newcomer flung Harry away from him. The pillow hurtled through the room and hit the far wall with a solid smack. "Uhrg..." Harry muttered as he slid down the wall to slump at the base.
"Er. You all right?" the voice said hesitantly.
"I see... stars... Woo... 'm alright.... 'm okay... no thanks to you, pal..." Harry wheezed, as he struggled to flop himself upright again.
"Well, sorry. You did try an' bite me, after all."
"You were holding me up by my hair. I warned you."
"Fair enough. You got bottle, even if you are a... pillow. Name's John Constantine, by the way."
Harry squinted up at the figure. He was pretty sure Jason had mentioned the name before, but he couldn't remember what he had said about it. With a last 'uff' he managed to land completely flat on his, uh, back, for lack of a better word. Sighing, he said, "Harry Matthews. And I'm a little sensitive about the whole 'pillow' thing. If we're being all friendly now, could you please pick me up and put me back on the couch?"
"Right." Somewhat more gently, the Englishman lifted Harry and set him back on the couch. The two sized each other up, then Constantine said, "Maybe you can help me, then. I wasn't expecting to find a... uh... well, you here. Don't a bloke named Blood live here?"
"Jason? Yeah... but, uh, he's not home right now," said Harry with an involuntary glance towards the still-broken window. Constantine followed his gaze. "Doesn't exactly leave by conventional means, does he?" he said with a slight smile.
"Whatever. Look, you mind telling me who you are, why you've broken into the house, and what the heck you're doing traipsing around like you own the place? Because lemme tell you, less than an hour ago I got to see a birdbrain (who also entered forcibly, and who also waltzed around like God's own stuffing) become Kentucky-fried angel, if you catch my drift."
"Angel? Hell. Thought I sensed something too clean for this city," the Englishman muttered, taking a drag on his cigarette. His sharp blue eyes roamed over everything, suddenly stopping at the glass on the coffee table, filled with golden liquid and a long straw. "Say, mate... is that... Bacardi?"
Harry grinned. "Damn right. I take it you're a guy who appreciates the finer things in life. I'd offer you a glass, but I still don't know (hint hint) who you are, or any of the others..."
"You want answers? Fine. Short story," John muttered as he breathed out the smoke, "is I'm a magician of sorts lookin' for some property that got itself stolen offa me. A jewel--"
"Lemme guess, a sapphire," yawned Harry. John blinked.
"Yeah. Others been lookin' for it?"
"Mm-hmm. Said bird-brain, primarily. If you've ever heard of a kid named Klarion, he's supposed to have it now, but I bet he won't for long. Zauriel and Etr--I mean, Jason, went to go get it back. Out the window."
John smiled knowingly. "Relax, pil--Harry. I've run into your squire Blood before... enough to know about his pet devil. Etrigan, right?
"And you say they went that way?" Constantine finished with a jerk of his head in the direction of the window. Harry hesitated, then nodded. The guy seemed to be okay. Better company than Jason with his damn moods all the time, and that was a fact.
"Yeah. About thirty minutes ago. But if I were you... well, far be it from me to go around giving advice or anything, but... what's the rush, y'know? When one's got any sort of choice in this stuff, why purposely head into the bad, crazy crap? Especially when one can sit and have a drink instead.
"Now, mind you, I don't really have choices in these things anymore. Not a lot going for me in the transportation end of things. But you seem like an okay fellow, aside from the whole breaking-and-entering and flinging me across the room thing..."
"Which I've already apologized for," sighed the Englishman.
"Yeah, yeah. So anyway. Point being. Uh... oh, yeah. They'll be back, with the gemmy-thing no doubt, and you guys can sort the whole mess out then, right? Meantime, siddown and have a drink."
Constantine paused thoughtfully, a quirky smile on his face. "Well, devil take me the day I turn down an offer of a free drink an' all, but... damnit. No, I really need to lookin' for this thing. Tell you what, mate: I get this whole bloody mess sorted an' I'll come back for a pint or two then, right? Paint the town red, we will."
Harry couldn't help but grin. "Sounds like a plan."
"Right then. See you in thirty, or whenever. Think I'll use the door out, though. In me younger days, might 'ave taken the window, but as is... Well, be seeing you, squire."
"Yeah..." The door once more opened and clicked shut, leaving Harry with the TV, alcohol, and a mite better mood than the one he'd started the evening with.
ELSEWHERE IN GOTHAM
Klarion lifted the engine from the train set and irritably flung it at the ice cream shop's large pane glass window.
"Teach them to be closed when I want double-fudge ripple," he muttered as the glass shattered and alarms went off. Klarion and Teekl picked their way over the broken glass and into the store. With an impatient gesture, Klarion cut off the sound of the alarms.
Teekl quickly nosed her way towards some cream, and the witch-boy himself found a vat full of cookie dough ice cream that was quite adequate, even if it wasn't the double-fudge. For long moments the shop was silent except for the sound of a boy and his cat stuffing their faces.
Finally Klarion sat back with a contented sigh, most of his front (and for that matter everywhere else) covered with ice cream.
"This, Teekl," the boy pronounced happily, "is the life."
The cat looked up from licking her fur clean of rich cream long enough to give what sounded like a scolding meow.
"'Don't forget the job'?" Klarion echoed unhappily. "Teekl, you sound like an adult! If you don't watch yourself, you're going to end up talking about things like... like... like... responsibility... and consequences!" He shuddered in horror.
"And besides which, I haven't forgotten. We're just... gathering energy! We'll need lots of sugar and carbohydrates to cast magic!" the witch-boy said energetically. "So, more cream, or should I try and get that milk from the top shelf for you?"
The tabby put her head to one side for a long moment to regard her young master, then settled for the cream.
NEARBY...
Without warning, the figure of Etrigan paused in its pursuit through the city's buildings. Zauriel nearly ran into the demon's body, but stopped himself just in time. He alighted on a ledge as far away as he could comfortably get from the rhymer.
"Why are you stopping?" he asked coldly. "Lost the trail?"
Etrigan snorted.
"Hardly, my happily haloed hero. The chances of that are less than zero.
"For what Etrigan sets out to hunt, he'll always find.
"And the only thing I've ever lost is my mind--
"No, let's be frank, my bestest bud...
"The mind I lost was that of Blood."
At this point Etrigan laughed merrily to himself, and Zauriel inched further away, looking beseechingly up at heaven. Finally the demon seemed to get a hold of himself and said,
"The trail's still hot, or rather, quite cold,
"Since it seems to have led to Ben & Jerry's.
"And lo! The sheep (our foe) are in the fold
"They the prey that the wolf now harries!"
Etrigan extended his taloned fingers, laughed with diabolical intent, and leapt to the pavement below. Zauriel, somewhat more cautiously, followed. Observing a cat and a small boy enjoying themselves in a ice cream store, and a demon about to set upon them, he wondered if the night could get any stranger...
...then remembered a superstition the humans had that if you said it, it would happen. He decided to keep his musings to himself.
"What ho, sweet child! Dear, dear foe
"Tell me, how does the ice cream go?
"Enjoy it, witch-boy, while you can--
"For 'tis now melted by Etrigan."
With his words, the demon let out a rolling gout of hellfire towards the shop, melting brick and glass into an odd fusion. He stood back and admired his handiwork with a chuckle.
"Come out and play, little boy.
"I've so missed our fun.
"I've come in search of a toy
"That you hold, my son.
"So your choice, boy, is simple.
"Release the Fatestone to me
"Or I'll pinch those cute dimples
"Rather hard, as you'll see...
"Come out, come out, come out and play!
"Let our rage, spite and chaos meet in the fray!"
Etrigan paused in his diatribe, observing the still quiet storefront (what was left) thoughtfully. Since he'd incinerated most of the front of it, there hadn't been one peep from the other side of the pile of still smoking slag.
"No insults? No whines? None of that? No childish kicks aimed at my shin?
"If you hide like a spoiled child, brat, then be aware; the Demon's coming in!"
Fire raging from mouth and hands, the rhymer prince threw himself forward, blazing like some infernal comet spewed from the mouth of Hades. He tore through the debris of the shopfront to find Klarion ready and waiting for him.
Klarion shouted an incantation in a long dead, or at least seriously ailing, tongue as he lifted small, ice-cream covered hands to point at the demon. Ice crystals shot out and enveloped Etrigan in the split second before he attacked.
Etrigan snarled and growled as the white cage formed around him, his eyes red points of flame.
"Beware, boy, for if memory serves aright
"You're the second to try such an attack tonight...
"To hold hell-born with ephemeral ice.
"And I for one, have had enough
"Of this paltry, chilly, liquid stuff
"And of those who use it, the filthy lice!"
Flames erupted from the brightly-garbed figure, instantly cremating the ice. Etrigan shook the remaining clumps from him like a dog shaking off water, then looked around for Klarion.
The witch-boy was standing on what was left of the counter, his eyes squeezed shut and fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air. A cold wind began to blow as he chanted the beginnings of another spell.
Etrigan smirked and casually wrenched a large deep freeze unit from its place on the floor. Lifting it with one hand over his head, he prepared to fling it at the junior sorcerer... just as preternaturally sharp feline claws and fangs sank into his calf.
The demon let loose with an agonized snarl that would have sent every banshee in Hell hiding in shame, and instinctively clutched down at his leg where the familiar Teekl had gotten her bite in. Of course, doing this caused him to let loose of the deep freeze, and it landed squarely on his head. Another enraged howl followed, this one somewhat more muffled on account of the howler being underneath a hundred or so pounds of metal and ice cream.
Above the chaos, Zauriel decided it was time to lend a hand. He glided in silently from behind the witch-boy, not planning to seriously hurt him, just grab him and maybe hit him on the head a few times until he stopped kicking. After all, this was a little kid... an ice-cream covered kid... and even with a little magic on his side, exactly how much trouble could he be?
A second later, the angel was again reminded of that whole 'saying (or thinking) it makes it happen' thing when he was hurled twenty feet away to slam into a brick wall. The instant his hands had touched Klarion, an energy field of tremendous power had erected itself around the boy's form and rapidly repelled the angel.
Zauriel sat up woozily and shook his head to clear the ringing. He was still hurting from the little run-in with a lightning storm in Jason Blood's apartment, and now this... he struggled to his feet conscious of more than a few aches.
Meanwhile, an emission of hellfire sent a shower of melting ice cream and shrapnel every which way as Etrigan burst free of his sweet, sweet cage and launched a volley of flames at the Witch-Boy.
They, too, were repelled by the mystic field surrounding the young sorcerer, who laughed to see such fun (and then ran away with the spoon--whoops, wrong story) and picked up Teekl as she mrrowled her way over to him.
"Isn't this great, Teekl?" he giggled. "Ever since we discovered that new protection spell, no supernatural attack can get to us at all! This is more fun than I've had in years!"
The cat squirmed in his grip and looked meaningfully at Zauriel, still staggering a bit but grimly advancing. Klarion laughed, glanced at him then at Etrigan, and made a quick series of complex gestures with his free hand.
"Thranos! Aptiros! M'gneiran akkal!" the boy shouted gleefully. "Now, we just sit back and watch the fireworks, Teekl..."
Sirens could now be heard in the distance. Klarion grimaced. "Or maybe not. Oh well, our work here is done! Let's go, cat!"
With a happy laugh, Klarion opened up a dimensional portal and stepped through, pausing only to grab a miraculously intact pint of double fudge ripple.
Zauriel stood still for a second, dizzy after the blast the boy had hit him with. He waited for his vision to clear, hoping he wasn't going to get hit with anything else in the meantime. When he could see again, he glared around.
Etrigan was nowhere in sight, but right in front of him was Klarion. With an irritated growl, he spread his wings, leapt forward, and clocked the boy with all the strength he could muster.
A true angel, infused with the glory and power of their Creator, wields a strength that can wrest worlds from their orbits. An angel who has renounced full divinity, but still retains some of the cosmic power that is his birthright, still packs one hell of a punch.
The figure he had just hit was instantly treated to a high-speed tour of an easy quarter-mile of downtown Gotham, as seen from above.
The figure, of course, was everyone's favorite rhyming demon, and as he flew at high velocity through the air towards the Clock Tower they'd just come from, he mused that he was royally pissed.
Before he impacted the building, Etrigan muttered the words of a translocation spell under his breath. As a prince of Hell, he was more than adept at magicks great and small--he simply preferred to rip things apart with his bare hands, when he had the choice.
The spell's energies seized him and transported directly where he wanted to go-- five feet above the angel's head.
Zauriel had taken to the skies again and was hovering above the wrecked ice cream parlor, looking for his diminutive foe. He was hardly expecting three-and-a-half hundred pounds of demon to land on him from above, as was evidenced by his startled squawk.
He reached up blindly and grabbed for the figure that sat atop him. To his enchanted senses, the ankle he grabbed felt like a small boy's, rather than a large demon's, and the hands that yanked at his head felt like small, sticky, ice cream covered hands rather than a demon's taloned grasp.
He couldn't budge Klarion off of him, no matter how hard he yanked. The boy seemed to be saying... something... but he was in no mood to listen. The Witch-Boy was trying to hold his wings still! Stupid child, didn't he realize they'd both fall if that happened...?
Zauriel struggled titanically and got his wings free from the clutching grasp. Their aerial struggles had brought them close to the wall of a bank building, and, with a savage smile on his face that would have shocked his heavenly former brethren, the angel dove towards it and turned so the figure on his back caught the full brunt of the impact.
Etrigan grunted in pain as he was squished between hard-flying angel and hard-hitting cement and steel. His grasp on Zauriel's wings loosened and as the angel backed off, the demon slid limply down twenty feet to the ground.
His foe called out from the air above him, "Had enough yet, Klarion?"
Etrigan blinked red eyes and shook his head. So that was why the choir reject had attacked him! And here he thought it was just a case of nerves... He snarled and got to his feet.
"Use your feathered head, my confused saint
"And rid yourself of Witch-Boy's taint.
"His spell clogs your mind and bids you strike
"Me, and not that irritating tyke!"
Zauriel appeared not to hear-- or at least not to hear what he was actually saying. The angel's face grew grim, and he said, "Fine. Have it your way, Witch-Boy." And the angel dove down towards him again.
Etrigan snarled and dodged out of the way just in time, taking advantage of the opportunity to slam his fist down towards that haloed head. If he had to, he'd beat sense into the fallen-- this was ridiculous. He had business with Klarion, and, ally or not, if Zauriel got in his way, he'd kick some heavenly ass.
But he had underestimated the skills and nature of a former member of the Pax Dei, Heaven's warrior seraphim. Zauriel twisted and evaded the strike, swiftly grabbing Etrigan's arm instead and flinging him around and into the wall again.
"Urrgh... masterful blow, my... angel friend...
"But keep it up and I'll... do more than defend..." the demon muttered, picking himself up and observing with detached interest the cracks now appearing in the wall. He was starting to get a headache.
He turned and looked for the angel again, feeling a bit dizzy.
"Up here, Witch-Boy. I'll say this much for you, you're resilient," Zauriel said from above, and flung a chunk of masonry (from the ice cream shop) the approximate size of a Yugo at him. Etrigan realized with a sad despairing snarl that he had noticed it too late and closed his eyes as the block of stone, cement, and brick impacted.
"Stupid.... stupid... angel...
"I've tried... to show you... sense.
"But if this =ung= is how you want to play...
"Fine! On to the offense!" snarled the Demon as he once again pulled himself out of rubble.
"No more Mr. Nice Guy! For it's not a role I like!
"Enough of reason, on to treason, and now this Demon strikes!"
Cackling madly, Etrigan let loose a long gout of flame towards the angel Zauriel, and the fight was on in earnest....
MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE RANCH...
Harry sipped, burped, and watched. A great question was on his mind, one that had been bothering him for quite some time now:
Which one of Charlie's Angels did he like best? They all had their good points, and as this was the 13th time he'd seen the movie, he ran over the now comprehensive list he had made up...
Smile: Gotta give that one to Drew. Cute, cute, cute.
Figure: Mmm. The Asian one. It was a hard category, but all things considered...
Personality: Harry paused, considering, and chewed the end of the straw. He felt a certain sympathy, not to mention something in common, with Bill Murray's character as he watched the fellow make a gun out of soap. Life could, at times, be hideously unfair.
Behind him, there was a sudden bright flare of light. A bluish vortex of energy crackled and roiled as it opened without warning. Harry stared at the bright glow of it, watching, as a human figure became visible within the light, gradually growing more and more distinct...
With a sigh, Harry muttered, "Here we go again..." and turned back to the TV. Had he asked to live in the apartment of a guy who had, in the space of one evening, three break-ins of the mystical variety? Noooo. He hadn't.
Harry Matthews had almost decided to firmly ignore whatever popped out of this portal when he realized that the materializing figure looked distinctly... feminine.
Considerably more interested, he turned appreciative eyes on the woman who finally solidified on Jason Blood's apartment floor, looking a little dazed.
Young... blonde... really nice body... and completely, buck, not-a-stitch-on-her, naked. Harry muttered a loud "D'oh!" and, regretted, not for the first time, having lost certain... aspects of humanity in his pillow form.
THE CREEPY-CRAWLY NEXT ISSUE BOX: Yeah, I know. Weird place to end an issue, but it took me forever just to get this far. Mayhap the muse will strike better next month. In which, we'll continue the brawl between devil and angel, and learn a bit about the new girl.
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