Iron Cross

Thanks for the review Haku, and it's something like that. Versipillis V are mainly Communists from Slavic countries, which is why they hate the very Capitalist Illuminati so much. Transylvania is the home of the werewolf. :D

This is anotheer flashback to help fill in some gaps.

Karl knelt on the floor in front of his father, his breathing harsh from running all the way back to the castle. Far off in the distance could be heard the scream of a police siren, and the similar tone of an ambulance. He could feel Kroenen's gaze on him, even though it was hidden behind his mask.

"I had not expected you to do anything this quickly," his father said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"I…did not…mean too," Karl panted, still out of breath.

"Well, it seems that it was quite something. Unfortunately for you, the police were a bit too close." Kroenen picked up a remote from the table. "Look."

The TV flickered on, and a newsreader appeared, quickly shuffling her papers. She looked slightly flustered.

"We interrupt your normal viewing to bring you this news bulletin on the assassination of the left-wing, and rumoured homosexual, politician, Hermann Schmidt. The mysterious killer fought his way past several bodyguards before beheading the official, killing two and seriously wounding several others. He then fled from the apartment, and it is unlikely that this event would have been known until much later had it not been for the close proximity of a police patrol car that was passing. PCs Muller and Heimlich were alerted by the shouts of one of the guards and caught a glimpse of the assassin as he left. We also have some footage from the security cameras."

A fuzzy image appeared on the screen. It was quite plainly Karl, though in the gas mask an outsider would never have known it was him.

"The police are completely baffled about the identity of the killer. They believe that the man is a terrorist of some sort, but as of yet it is not known to which organisation he belongs. We now return you to your usual viewing until more is known."

Kroenen turned back to his son. "Well, at least they have no idea who you are. You did well. But tell me, why did you kill him, in particular, and why so soon?"

"It was…something of a mistake. I had not planned it, but it was so tempting, and…well… I couldn't help myself."

His father laughed at this. "Very good!" he exclaimed. "You should wait until this has died down before killing again, but if you really can't help yourself, you ought to kill someone who won't be missed."

"Of course Vater," Karl replied. "I shall do as you say."

It was about a month before the murder of Hermann Schmidt had left the news, to be replaced by the stunning news that the G8 was coming to Berlin in a couple more months. Karl had by that time devised a plan to win him his father's approval, and the Iron Cross he so wanted to be given. He was certain that his idea would do this, although it would be hard to pull off. But first, he would have to speak to the other Sonnenkinder and get their help.

"Tomas," came a call from the door. Tomas did not look up, but kept his eyes fixed on the screen. This was a crucial part of the hacking process and he needed to give it his full attention or he would be caught. The systems on these particular bank accounts were extremely advanced, but he was confident that he could break them, and conceal the imbalance caused by the money the Neo-Nazis had stolen.

"Just a little longer…" he hissed through clenched teeth as his fingers flew across the keyboard.

The person standing just outside his room sighed, but didn't speak again until at last Tomas uttered a triumphant yell and slumped back in his chair.

"Are you finished?"

Tomas turned around. It was Karl. "Hey, Karl," he said. "Let me guess; you want my help for this special scheme of yours hmm?"

Karl nodded. Tomas smiled. "Well, just tell me what it is you want doing, and it will be done. Your wish is my command."

Karl laughed at that.

"I'm serious!" Tomas told him, laughing too.

"Why? What do you want?"

Tomas blushed slightly. What he really wanted… no. It wasn't exactly suitable. "I need a few things, but I can't ask Kroenen or my Aunt. I'd like you to go down to the center and take them."

"Steal them you mean." Karl shrugged. "Ok. What things?"

"I have a list." Tomas rummaged among the many papers on his desk and dug a tattered piece of paper out. "Here."

Karl scanned it quickly. "I don't know why Vater wouldn't let you have any of this stuff. It seems perfectly innocent to me."

"Oh, you know what they're like."

"I'll go and get these tonight. Meanwhile, I need you to find some way of getting me into the G8 summit. Possibly as a bodyguard or something similar."

Tomas nodded, and Karl left.

Next Karl went to speak to Erich. He was out in the garage making a few repairs to their people carrier.

"Erich," Karl asked, "can I ask a favour?"

"If you must."

"Can you get me the schematics for the G8 summit? And also, I would like to know the best place to position a large amount of explosives to get the maximum result."

"So that's your plan is it. It will certainly work. I would suggest though that you finish off the world leaders yourself. Kroenen likes that sort of thing more." Erich gestured with a spanner. "Explosives are too impersonal for him."

"Thanks." Karl nodded. "You're right. And I think I should let it be captured on film. The world should see our true power." He smiled. "This will truly be a sight to remember."

Tomas started to assemble the parts that Karl had brought him late the next night. He had already hacked into the site that contained the registers for the bodyguards who were detailed to form the retinues for the world leaders and slipped Karl's picture and details onto it, under a false name of course. He had also printed of the relevant documentation that Karl would need to get in to the place. Everything was ready.

Now he slotted the last microchip into place. Karl had been right when he had said that the components themselves looked innocent enough, but he knew that Kroenen would have realised what they were truly for. Finally he would be able to get past the blocks that had been placed on his computer system when he was first given in it. Kroenen himself could access the computer to computer link and still have no idea what he was actually doing. The computer would instead tell him a complete lie. It was perfect, and he could never have done it without Karl's help.

Karl mentally thanked Tomas for his help as he walked into the G8 building. He knew from just looking around at the place that he would never have gotten in had he not been placed on the roster of guards. Now all that was to be done was to carefully place the special explosives he had brought in, just far enough away from thee world leaders to avoid killing them, but close enough to wipe out the bodyguards. Of course, they had searched him on their way in, but this was no conventional bomb. It could not be detected by any normal means. He smiled inwardly at the havoc he was going to cause.

George Jarratt glanced up sharply. He had just felt a very strange and very strong magical presence enter the building, and although its true nature was hidden from him he could feel a darkness within it. He looked over at Constantine Beaumont, the current President of France and made a small signal. Constantine nodded. He knew what that meant. George was his current occult advisor, and the President trusted him when it came to matters of magick.

George slipped silently from the table and headed off towards the source of the disturbance. He wondered what it was. It seemed oddly familiar, as though he or one of the others in the Brotherhood of Ynyr had encountered it before. It almost reminded him or the infamous Thule Society.

The presence he had sensed was quite near now, down in the basement of the hall. It had stopped and was doing something he couldn't make out. He ran quickly down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. At the bottom he poked his head around a pillar to try to catch sight of the presence. It was a young man, German probably, with quite long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing a long leather trench coat and pulling various items out of his pack. He couldn't have been more than twenty, perhaps not even that. George's blood ran cold. He had seen such things as this before, though not in pieces but as a whole. It was a black magick bomb. He knew he had to get away, had to warn Constantine, had to try and stop this man. The taint of darkness was stronger now, and it was definitely that of the Thule Society. But not quite that. It was strangely different. He had no time to wonder about that though. He had to go, and quickly.

President Constantine was felling extremely bored. They had come here to talk about trade issues and the continuing problem of world poverty, but the whole thing was degenerating quickly into the usual arguments about who had promised to help whom, and who was currently on the rise in the Illuminati. He knew that Jarratt disproved of the Illuminati, but he didn't truly understand that to be anyone of any importance, you had to be Illuminati. Of course, there were some non-Illuminati radicals out there, but they were mainly contained by their Illuminati counterparts.

Just then, Jarratt came running up the stairs in a panic, shouting something incoherent about a bomb. Constantine frowned and everything turned into chaos.

Outside a couple of reporters who had been given an anonymous tip off saw the explosion and ran towards the building. This was what they had been called here for, and they wouldn't be disappointed.

George saw the young man stalking through the clouds of thick smoke in a haze. Around him the various leaders and their attendants were starting to get up, stunned and battered, but seemingly unhurt. For their bodyguards though it was a different story. George could smell the stink of blood in the air around them and could hear screams in the distance. He struggled to his feet.

The man stopped in front of him. "You," he said. "You tried to warn them. How did you know?"

George blinked in surprise. He had expected the man to have realised that he was a white magician, after all, he must be a powerful black sorcerer from his aura, but that didn't seem to be the case. "You have failed sorcerer," he said. "The world leaders are still alive."

The young man looked slightly puzzled. "Sorcerer?" he asked. "I am no sorcerer. I have a little skill in magick it is true, but I am nothing compared to my father."

George was amazed. If this man did not think himself powerful, then how strong must his father be?

"Anyway," the young man continued. "It was not my intention to kill them. I want to kill them myself, in person. My father would not reward me otherwise."

"Who…who is your father?" George asked.

"Karl Kroenen." He replied nonchalantly. "I am Karl Kroenen Junior."

George almost froze in terror. Karl Kroenen! The head of the Thule Occult Society, presumed killed in the Second World. How had he lived this long? He must have used some dark magic to prolong his life.

"Now the slaughter will start!" Karl Kroenen Jr. said, a sadistic smile on his face, and lifted what looked like an old gas mask from his pack, strapping it on to conceal his face. It could have been seventy years ago; he looked exactly like his father from the old photographs.

"I…I can not allow this!" George said, wondering if this would be the last few minutes of his life. Even if Karl Jr. was untrained, he was still more than a match for him in pure strength, and the deaths of the bodyguard would only fuel his strength.

"I don't have time for you!" his opponent said angrily, crossing his arms in front of him, then snapping them down to his sides. Long blades shot out of his sleeves, and he knocked George aside with a single magickally augmented blow. He leapt away into the smokes.

George struggled to his feet and hurried after him. He knew he had to protect his President from this bloodthirsty monster.

"Are you getting all this?" the reporter asked eagerly to his cameraman as they lurked on the edge of the billowing smoke.

"Oh yeah!"

A few meters in front of them was a ghastly scene of bloody killing. The masked assailant was sweeping through the assembled leaders and their aides with deadly grace. They were almost all dead now, their blood soaking into the floorboards. Lastly the man turned to the President of France, Constantine Beaumont, who was standing defiantly in front of an overturned table.

"You will not get away with this!" he yelled at the assassin. "Our countries will not stop until you are punished!"

"They will never find me."

Another man came stumbling out of the smoke. It was George Jarratt.

"You again!" the man snarled angrily.

"I will not give up."

"You don't have to do this George," Constantine said.

"Yes I do. Come on then. I challenge you dark one."

"It's your funeral," the assassin said with a shrug.

They faced off, their respective magicks crackling around them, invisible to those without their third eye opened. Then suddenly they unleashed those energies. Karl's attack was pure strength, without the finesse training would have brought, whilst that of George was far more subtle. He had not been expecting the sheer force of the psychic blow though, and he jerked as though he had been shot. He kept his own attack going even so, and let it slip like oil through the crude shields his dark opponent had raised. The dark magick cut off suddenly as Karl was momentarily confused. George knew that it would not work for long; white magic was not really magick to fight with, and he would have no chance of winning in the long run.

"Constantine, come on!" he shouted. "We must leave now!"

The French President stared in confusion at Karl for a moment but then turned and followed George out of the half destroyed building.

Karl sank into a chair and sighed. That had not gone as well as he'd planned. Who could have predicted though that there would be a white magician at the G8 summit. Well, it did not matter too much. He had killed all the rest of the world leaders, and he was sure that that would be impressive enough for his father. It was a pity though that this particular year had not been one in which George Bush had been President, he would have liked to kill him. It was all too likely that he would be elected again in lieu of this. Ah well, you couldn't have everything.

"That was certainly something," Kroenen said to his son. "Pity about that white magician. Don't worry though, I'm sure I can think up some suitable way of…punishing him. I think you most definitely deserve this." He held up the Iron Cross. "Wear it with pride; you've earned it."

Hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter will be how Karl gets out of the mess he's in in the prison, and then I'll tell you whaat happened to Laura. But first, please review!