March 21st, 2005
Amsterdam, 8:35 PM
It was a cliché upon itself but it wasn't supposed to happen. After the events with Rosacarnis he was done. He was done with the bullshit, he was done with watching people he cared about die, and he was done playing the puppet in other bastards games. So he left, he left behind London and more importantly he left behind the world of the occult. He turned away from magic and demons drowning any sense of magical connection with large sums of alcohol mixed with a furious combination of uppers and downers. Part of him wanted to die, but John Constantine can’t die. Not yet at least. Yet here he was again dealing with the same old bullshit as last time in a new coat of paint. Seemed like the lost souls of the damned did not take resignation letters, once you were in your were part of their special little club for life; lock, stock and barrel.
Part of him just wanted to ignore it all. It certainly wasn't his problem and he had no obligations to help whoever or whatever came his way asking for a favor. He could run away again like some kid fleeing from his bullies., find another city to hide away in and drink his troubles away. No... that wouldn't work either. That was just prolonging the problem and beside the bastards would just find him again. Or maybe that was just the excuse he was telling himself. Maybe he was actually missing it all, missing the adrenaline rush and missing the feeling of actually being alive. Whatever the reason he couldn't stop playing the images that had been forced into his head over and over again. Horrid pictures of carnage beyond that capacity of man, bodies contoured in eldritch geometries and the cry of a thousand souls caught in some dark limbo unable to pass on from our world, all crying out to him. All telling him to save them for their torment.
He was a stranger though in a strange city and he did not have access to the information that he would of wanted. So he had to peek into outside sources, strange sources. That was why John Constantine was talking to a puddle. Well to be more specific he was talking to the man inside the puddle. The Phantom Stranger lived up to his namesake, an enigma trapped inside a puzzle box or a cryptic son of a bitch who enjoys playing with people's emotion, well that was for you to decide. John fell somewhere in the middle of this lane of thought but what he did know was that the Stranger knew his stuff. Ever since the two started working with one another during the short lived years that the Trenchcoat Brigade was functional they occasionally would come to one another for advice or help. Despite John’s disappearance from the face of the earth, the Stranger seemed almost like he was expecting him when John casted the divination spell in a grimey puddle in some Amsterdam back alley.
“Hello John, haven’t seen you in awhile.” The Stranger spoke in a smooth baritone that seemed to fill the air around John no matter how many thousands of miles they were from one another. John had first met the Stranger in the 80s and the mysterious pale faced man had not aged a day since they met all those years ago. Still a youthful aura perceived it in a strange sense of beauty that sent shivers down the spine as of how unnaturally perfect his face seemed to be even with his eyes hidden behind the same mask he always wore. John never asked what the Stranger actually was but whatever he was it certainly wasn't human but something transcendent of their own mortal plights and pleas.
“Yeah, yeah you cryptic bastard. Stop playing dumb. Knowing your omniscient pompous ass you already know about my little problem don’t you.” John was definitely not in the mood to deal with his old acquaintance. The man always had to go on about every little detail before divulging the truth of the matter. It was like he was trying to prove something that he knew everything about the world and so he knew everything about you. Sure it was a nice gimmick but when you're just asking for some information it got tired real fast.
“Ah yes, the vision you received from the lost spirit. How read up are you on your history John?” Even though John suspected it, the fact that the Stranger knew about the images thrusted upon his head sent a chill down John's spine. He mentioned it so casually like peering into the depths of a man's mind was just child's play for him.
“Well I didn't get grades that would of made my mum proud if that is what you are asking.”
“That is something I could have inferred John. To be more specific I’m asking if you have ever heard of something called the Völkisch movement.” The Stranger asked as with a snap of his fingers a book appeared in his hands. Well appeared was not the right word it was more like materialized as John could see each and every atom glow brightly as they were fused together into shape and form.
“Some sort of esoteric occult movement right? Some of the Krauts wanted some sort of neopagan revival so they went back to the old texts.” There were a lot of those movements appearing back then that John could recall. Most of them had fused together by that point into one congealed mess in John's head. But from what he could recall they all came around the time of the industrial age in a time where technology seemed to progressing at a rate which would propel humans to godhood. Some started looking back to the old ways and found their way to the Occult.
“Indeed. Though what most people don’t know is that the movement stayed its course long after it supposed decline. Hitler’s Third Reich believed that the power of the occult could help them win a war slowly falling out of their favor. It was the standard flavor: human sacrifices to bring forth powerful demons, mages infiltrating allied bases to wreak havoc and the rest. But the allies soon put a stop to all that nonsense. Keeping it all hush hush of course.” The stranger explained as he held up the book he had materialized and showed its contents to John. It was a scrapbook of sorts showing pictures taking of Nazi cultists doing things from summoning demons from the pits of hell to casting fireballs at Shermans.
“Yeah? And what do Nazis have to do with little old me?” John asked though as his own brain was already making its own conclusions he really didn't like the answer.
“In your vision, you saw an amulet of sorts did you not? A circle pendant with a large tree being encircled by a great serpent. Yggdrasil and Níðhöggr. The World tree and the serpent that threatens to consume it. Key components in many areas around the world most norse or germanic in nature. And one of the old symbols that Hitler's occult forces used to carry about.“ The Stranger explained almost smiling as the moment of revelation appeared across Constantine's face. The Stranger loved playing his games, he loved to watch their small brains try and work out the bigger picture that he himself could put together in a moment like all the puzzle pieces arranged himself for him
“Wait one goddamn minute. Are you telling me that a bunch of lost souls are being used by an old group of Nazi occultists? What the hell! You just bloody well said they all fucked off to somewhere!” John exclaimed angrily to the man in the puddle. John had built up a capacity to deal with the Strangers round about way of getting to answers but even he had his limits. The longer he sat talking to him, the longer it meant that he couldn't deal with the problem and go back to drinking the time away.
“No I said that Allies thought they killed all of them. They never really checked. Have you not you been paying attention to the news lately? Groups such as HYDRA are coming out of the woodwork in bunches. Hitler's shadow stretches farther than one thinks.” He spoke the truth. John remembered the newscast from earlier. It seemed more and more of these Nazi splinter groups had survived the war and after having spent all those years in the shadows were finally stepping back into the light.
“Well fuck it then. Guess I'm going to have to go find myself some Nazis.” John explained as he rose to his feet and straightened out his jacket preparing to leave. Nazis what had his life become at this point? Some kind of twisted joke where the punchline is that he had to deal with all the crap that everybody else left over. Beside what did an old Nazi occult group doing that would send the souls of the dead into limbo. What were they planning? Whatever it was it definitely wasn't some sort of picnic.
“John before you go. We should really talk about Gemma you left the girl alone in London after both her parents were condemned to hell. You should really ta--” Before the Stranger could continue, John cut off the divention link with a strong kick to the puddle disrupting the image. He wasn't about to be lectured about the past. The past was the past for a reason and right now he had to deal with the present and all that it entitled. He didn't care if the Stranger was some god or something. How he dealt with his problems with his own business not somebody else.
“Mature as always John....” The Phantom Stranger muttered to himself as he was abruptly cut off. Sighing as he closed his book, part of him felt bad for setting his old friend down his current path. He knew what lay ahead for the reluctant mage a tale only composed of sorrow and torment. Though he supposed he could just check it off as fate and nothing more. He needed to go through this, he needed something to reawaken his fighting spirit before
they came back. He only wished there was an easier way. No matter though... John was a strong man for a mortal and had a good head on his shoulders he would either come out the other side stronger or the world would be consumed by shadow. It was as simple as that.
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