General Humbolt moved down the dark stairway to the second level of the fuhrerbunker. His footfalls on the concrete steps were the only sounds he could hear and seemed preternaturally loud. His flashlight cast an eerie glow. The overhead lights were out in all the corridors, the generator had run dry of petrol day ago and none could be found in the ruined city to refill it.

Germany was now only days away from total defeat but Humbolt’s duties still imposed, regardless of the hopelessness of the effort and the terror that gripped him. Humbolt was a soldier and had been for thirty years - his fear would simply have to wait.

It was much darker on the lower level, an inky blackness that caused Humbolt’s skin to crawl. The narrow beam from his flashlight only intensified the dread sensation he felt, the small, light circle, made the walls seem to close in. A strong stench permeated his nostrils; Humbolt thought that the air seemed thick enough to almost be an actual entity. It smelled like the rest of Berlin. It smelled like death.

He hurried on, knowing that time was of the essence. The Russians would be here within the hour, they were already advancing through the grounds of the Reichstag. Tempelhof airport had been captured hours before but a stretch of the Wilhelmstrasse had been hurriedly cleared so a small single engine plane could, in theory, take off.

A huge explosion erupted above the bunker complex and the corridor shook unleashing a cloud of dust into the air. Humbolt held onto the wall until the air partially cleared. When he finally stepped forward he almost tripped on something lying in the hallway. By its feel it was most likely a half empty box, he thought. Humbolt pointed the weak rays of his flashlight. It was a body. He looked down and saw the distorted features of Hitler’s most recent adjutant, Hauptman Stricklin. Suicide, was Humbolt’s first thought but that was of course wishful thinking. The man was totally desiccated, only fully recognizable from his uniform.

Stricklin had been sucked completely dry of moisture.

Humbolt didn’t want to believe the worst but he couldn’t help but think Stricklin had remained loyal to end, becoming the ultimate sacrifice for his master.

With a sweep of his foot Humbolt was able to move the corpse aside. It was like pushing a large dry box half full of old newspapers, except this box wore a uniform and until quite recently had been a soldier just like him. Inwardly he cringed. The Fuhrer’s death had been purposely leaked to the Russian high command by General Krebs after the burning of Hitler’s body. Eva Braun, Hitler’s new wife, and his double, Werner Gundske had also been burned beside him. Gundske not only looked like Hitler but his teeth had been altered so they matched the Fuhrer’s exactly. It was pure genius, no one could possibly suspect the truth. When the allies found the bodies, everyone would believe Hitler dead. Well - almost everyone, Stalin would of course be suspicious but he was a paranoid of unprecedented proportions, and would have doubted Hitler’s death even if he’d shot the Fuhrer himself.

Stalin would, despite his paranoia, be correct in his suspicions: Hitler was alive. The irony of it all made Humbolt smile.

Another explosion rocked the bunker, but this time Humbolt didn’t pause to let the air clear, he felt his way along to the door he wanted and entered without knocking. There was a figure standing in the middle of the poorly lit room. The persons face could not be seen as the single kerosine lamp cast its light from a small table behind the figure.

"So Humbolt... you have come back as I requested."

"Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer." Humbolt stood as straight as was possible in the low ceilinged room. He found himself truly thankful that the lighting was so poor. He didn’t want to see the creature again, didn’t want to see what the Fuhrer had become.

"Is the plane ready?"

"Yes. Sir." Humbolt marvelled that the voice was just the same despite the changes.

"Stand at ease General. There is little point in such niceties now, is there?’

"I suppose not sir."Humbolt relaxed a bit but tension still gripped him as if by a vice. He hadn’t prayed since Germany’s rapid downfall had begun. He started to pray now though, then stopped himself, realizing that it could not possibly do any good. How could a God exist if a creature such as this was allowed to exist as well. He could feel those eyes on him even now. What really destroyed his hope was that he had been a part of the unholy proceedings, he had witnessed the occult ceremony performed by the Vril society that allowed Hitler to return from the pit where he had been burned. He’d even watched as Werner Gundske, Hitler’s double, was shot and cyanide placed in his mouth and his body burned alongside Hitler.

The stage had been set and several representatives of the occultist Vril society preformed a secret rite that brought Hitler back. He’d had to die and be almost consumed completely by fire for the spell to work. It worked. Hitler had risen - a hideous travesty, but he had risen alone. He’d left specific instructions for the revival of himself only, not his blushing bride. She lay in the pit alongside Werner Gundske, starting off on eternity without the man she loved. Eva Braun’s ultimate sacrifice would have been sullied in Hitler’s eyes if he simply revived her after she’d taken her life for him.

Once returned, the Fuhrer was now by definition supranatural, beyond nature, an abomination that could take on other forms, hide in plain sight and live as long as it could feed. When Humbolt had first seen the new improved Fuhrer his every fiber had wanted to run but somehow he’d controlled himself and simply vomited on his own boots instead. What was worse, far worse, was that he had been selected by the Vril society to serve the creature and arrange for its escape. Despite his revulsion, his deep ingrained sense of duty would not allow him to desert.

"We should be leaving Fuhrer. The runway will only be viable for a short time."

"Yes... Of course Humbolt. Let’s do just that."

General Humbolt turned to leave and felt immediately wary. His back was turned to Hitler. He tried to concentrate on the small circle of light his flashlight made, but all he could think of was the creature behind him. It would be holding the unholy book to its bosom, cradled firmly and yet gently as a mother would its child. Words from that book had caused all this. Humbolt had never been one to believe in the supernatural but he believed now - how could he not - he had just conversed with living proof of supernatural phenomenon: Adolf Hitler risen like a phoenix from the ashes. Literally.

As he slowly led the way towards the stairs up to the first level with Hitler right behind him, he passed the adjutant’s dried up body. This was a fresh reminder of the creature’s power. Humbolt found himself listening for any strange sound that might come from behind.

They arrived at the stairs leading up to the first floor without incident. This bunker was smaller then the one Hitler had occupied until his false suicide on April 30th. This one was in a location much easier to hide. It was deserted however. The time for hiding in bunkers, no matter how well stocked or hidden was rapidly coming to an end. Those who could, had already journeyed to the American lines to escape the Russian onslaught.

On the stairs the light was much better. Despite his fear of seeing that face again, Humbolt suddenly felt a compelling need, a compulsion to turn and view the creature, a compulsion that he was powerless to resist. He turned - and was struck dumb.

"Yes, Humbolt. It is fascinating - yes?"

Humbolt could only nod his head in assent. It was fascinating. The man who stood before him was no longer hideously burned and unrecognizable but had regenerated to a surprising degree, evidence of unhealed burns on his face still existed but nothing at all like before. Most surprising was the face that had regenerated - it was not the face of the Fuhrer, but the face of his former adjutant - Hauptman Stricklin.

"What... How...?!" Humbolt sputtered.

"I am in disguise." The man said with a laugh, the voice was still Hitler’s.

"How is it possible?!" Humbolt demanded, terrified. The man that was Hitler just smiled and stepped closer.

"Let me show you... my good General, let me show you."

As the fuhrerbunker region was about to be overrun by the Russians troops, one man emerged from underground. He walked straight ahead and seemed to take no notice of the explosions of the soviet artillery shells all around him. The man headed through the burning rubble of Berlin for the plane still waiting on the Wilhelmstrasse.

The Wehrmacht soldiers on guard around the plane recognized the man immediately for they knew him well. General Humbolt had been their commander for eight months and the soldiers under his command respected him greatly. He barked his orders to the men, his voice was hoarse and didn’t sound quite right to the soldiers, but with the rapid collapse of the city, and the certain collapse of Germany, many officers no longer sounded like themselves.

He climbed into the small plane and saluted the men who were staying behind in the doomed city. They saluted in return and wished him godspeed. The scarring, from what looked like a recent burn to his face, was hardly even noticed.