God's Demon

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The arrival of Lucifuge Rofocale went, as far as Adramalik could tell, unheralded. As important a figure as he was, he and his Ice Legions entered the First City with little fanfare. The Prime Minister was certain that Lucifuge, as an old ally of the Prince and near equal in abilities, would have been welcomed in a more obvious fashion, but he had been instructed to meet the demon himself at the gate and bring him up to Beelzebub.

Lucifuge was an unusually mannered and proper demon, as rigid in his behavior as he was in his overly elaborate appearance. Glowing blue from his exclusive diet of a rare flying Abyssal’s flesh, he was extremely conscious of every detail of his form, manifesting a staggering array of low horns and trailing finlets and fiery tendrils. Around him orbited a dozen small abstract objects of dark and unknown purpose. Having retreated to the frigid region surrounding the Pit and viewing himself as its guardian, he seemed to have become as cold as the black fire, ice, and frozen brick of his capital, Pygon Az. His arrogance was as legendary as his reclusiveness. Barely acknowledging Adramalik, Lucifuge dismounted his huge Shuffler, leaving his army under his field marshal Uricus’ command as it entered Dis, and merely jerked his head to indicate he wanted his audience with the Prince.

The ascent into the uppermost levels of the Keep was achieved without a word passing between them. Adramalik, uncomfortable with the silence, could feel the irritation that the Demon Major exuded, irritation, he imagined, at being wrenched from his isolated wards to support the Prince against an upstart demon. The relative warmth and humidity of the Keep’s bowels must have made the journey upward unpleasant for Lucifuge, used to the cold, and this alone was solace for Adramalik. And now that his punishment was over, thanks to his carefully calculated tidings, nothing could trouble him. For hours they climbed the myriad stairs and wended their way through the convoluted maze of tunnel-corridors until they finally arrived at the Rotunda. Adramalik hung back as the door sphinctered open, allowing Lucifuge his moment, ostensibly as a sign of respect.

The ubiquitous buzzing was barely audible above the sighing of the hanging skins. Beelzebub, distant atop his carrion throne, was feeding as Lucifuge approached, and Adramalik thought, only briefly, to dissuade Lucifuge from interrupting him, but the part of him that delighted in seeing his fellow demons in discomfort was curious about the Prince’s reaction. And so as Lucifuge strode stiffly toward the throne, Adramalik held his breath, the unpredictability of his master both terrifying and exhilarating.

As always, Husk Faraii sat at his Prince’s feet and the Prime Minister took little notice of him; he neither spoke nor moved in all of his past audiences, and there was no reason to expect more of him. He looked more emaciated than ever, and the bluish gray of his face had visibly blackened around its flaking plates’ edges. Not surprisingly, the Baron was not faring well on his newfound diet of leavings from the throne.

When he and Lucifuge drew near, Adramalik noticed that what had appeared to be the Prince’s fully round torso was, in fact, only half-finished, its shoulder and left arm completely missing. The other half had dissolved into a thick layer of flies that contentedly rasped at the large, unidentifiable chunk of offal that lay in its lap. The partial body of Beelzebub turned disconcertingly toward them.

“Prince-in-Exile Lucifuge,” he buzzed, the trace of mockery unmistakable, “how was your journey?”

“My journey was long and tiresome, Beelzebub. And,” he added, “disturbingly necessary.”

“It has been a long time since you retreated to your frozen wards, an equally long time since you visited us here in Dis.”

“Retreated? No, ‘distanced myself’ would be more accurate. It is no secret between us that when Lucifer handed his scepter over to you I felt… slighted. What he was thinking I cannot guess, but we are now bearing witness to the consequences of that ill-chosen act.”

Adramalik could not believe Lucifuge’s brevity. No one spoke to the Prince with such candor, and suddenly Adramalik could feel the swirling of some momentous event about to take place. Lucifuge would be an invaluable ally; few so far had answered Beelzebub’s call. But, even so, there were limits to his tolerance.

“Perhaps if I had stayed by your side as Lucifer had wanted…,” Lucifuge continued. “Ah, but that was never really a possibility, was it?”

The flies stirred for a moment and then settled back onto the glistening meat.

“So, what is it I hear about our old friend Sargatanas? I understand he is no longer happy here in Hell. Why not simply let him see if he can find a way to go?”

“Because free will has no place in Hell. Not for him or anyone else who might be inspired by him.”

“You never questioned Lucifer’s free will.”

“Sargatanas is not Lucifer.”

“Nor are you. Do we have Lucifer’s Seal on this? According to the First Infernal Bull, ‘no Demon Major may set out against another with the express goal of destroying that Demon Major himself.’”

“We do not need it. The Heretic Sargatanas is coming here.”

“Then, if you succeed in fending him off, he can be taken prisoner and exiled. Not destroyed. Only Lucifer’s Seal can mandate that. As I just said, no Demon—”

“I am not a Demon Major.”

“But I am.”

“You, Rofocale, are out of touch with the pulse of Hell. And, simply put, I need your legions. If you agree, you may have half of the Heretic’s wards when this is over.”

“You may have the twenty Ice Legions that I brought with me and no more,” Lucifuge said plainly. “And I will remain in command. I will not have any of your generals determining the fate of my legions.”

The flies took wing with an agitated whirring and began to stream down toward Adramalik and Lucifuge. The Prime Minister swallowed hard.

“You will have your command,” said Beelzebub quietly. “Or so it will seem.”

Without a word and with incredible speed, Husk Faraii leaped up and, oblivious to the myriad horns that covered Lucifuge’s glowing body, grasped him around the arms and torso so tightly that for a moment the shocked demon did not even struggle. Lucifuge’s stunned immobility instantly turned to anger and then desperation as he realized that he could not move even if he chose to. The flies formed an ominous circle over his head and dropped down, creating a black, roiling collar around his neck.

Adramalik’s eyes widened as a protective series of glyphs rose above the demon only to be easily dissipated by Beelzebub’s own glyphs. Lucifuge’s head began to transform involuntarily, his rage—the only visible constant—etched in every incarnation. But that anger was short-lived when it was suddenly replaced by an expression of agony as the yoke of flies began to gnaw down into his shoulders, rasping apart the layered plates of bones to burrow deep into the underlying flesh. An instant later the life went out of his eyes and something twisted inside the demon’s torso.

Adramalik watched the head slowly cant to one side, mouth still writhing, and then tumble to the floor with a loud splash. And with the Husk still holding the shaking torso upright, a new head began to appear, forming quickly up from the ragged neck and made of nulling dies. When, with a glyph cast by Beelzebub, its thousand parts had changed texture and color and was completed, it was indistinguishable from the original. The head blinked spasmodically and then turned to look at its master. To anyone who might have seen him, Lucifuge had entered the Rotunda and exited it a short while later.

“Prime Minister,” Beelzebub said. He had re-formed, but now his left forearm, already minus its hand, was somewhat shorter. “Go with him back to his legions and see to it that his field marshal understands the need to have all of the remaining Ice Legions dispatched to Dis immediately. It would arouse less suspicion if he sends his own courier.”

Husk Faraii let go of his captive and resumed his place squatting at the foot of the throne. Jerkily he reached for the head of Lucifuge, which lay facedown in a puddle of blood.

Adramalik bowed, fear making his legs stiff. “Yes, my Prince.”

Head still bowed, Adramalik began to move away, but from the corner of his eye he saw Husk Faraii pull a stubborn piece of flesh from inside the demon’s skull, put it in his mouth, and begin to slowly chew.

Revolted, Adramalik turned away and, followed by what had once been Lucifuge Rofocale, exited the Rotunda to begin the long descent through the Keep to the legions waiting outside. As much as Adramalik had enjoyed the predicament that Lucifuge had found himself in, as much as he felt the demon had as much as precipitated his own demise, the episode had begun a cascade of thoughts that had only one conclusion: Beelzebub was desperate and Sargatanas, wily, powerful opponent that he was, might actually destroy him.

Mulciber’s Tower no longer bore the many-pointed and tiered spire with which it had originally been built. Piercing the Keep’s mantle directly in its center, the tower’s spire had been demolished to afford Architect General Mulciber, and anyone who chose to make the difficult ascent, an incredible view of the shadowed city. But Adramalik had not taken the time to climb the tower to admire the city; there was more of Beelzebub’s bidding to do before Sargatanas arrived at the seven gates of Dis. After fulfilling his mission with Lucifuge’s unsuspecting field marshal, Adramalik had had to make the lengthy ascent through the Keep yet again. Had there not been a sudden gale coming almost portentously from the direction of Sargatanas’ wards, he would have taken wing to rise to the tower’s top, avoiding altogether the massive structure’s labyrinth-like halls, but it was not to be.

Adramalik had rarely visited the Architect General, had rarely had any need of his services since the founding of the capital so many eons ago. And even then Adramalik’s needs had only been to convey those requirements of the Knights and their Order Priory.

Sequestered by choice in his tower atop the Keep, Mulciber was no longer recognizable as one of the Fallen. So thoroughly had the demon given himself over to his ever-growing masterwork that eventually he had decided to become one with it, to meld with the thick, phallic tower, to integrate his own body into the supine archiorganism that was Dis.

The Prime Minister had, during his infrequent visits, seen the slow transformation over the millennia and now, uncertain as to the demon’s current state, strained to locate Mulciber amidst the eccentric brickwork of the open turret-top. If the architecture of Dis could be accused of anything, it was not of being overly ornate, however, Mulciber had been uncharacteristically self-indulgent in his treatment of his own abode. Perhaps, Adramalik thought, it said something deeper about the demon, about his self-image, but he had always been disinclined to pursue the question. Using the demon’s sigil as a guide, Adramalik walked around the dozen or so raised brick pedestals that sprouted from the floor, many providing platforms for the demon’s self-eviscerated organs, which had been married to thick arteries and in turn joined with the Keep’s own organs. Squinting through the particle-laden wind and carefully avoiding the fleshy conduits that led down into the Keep, Adramalik threaded his way toward an assemblage of bricks, heavily carved and filled with niches within which, like reliquaries, were small remnants of Mulciber’s empty demonic body. Were it not for the floating sigil, Adramalik might have missed Mulciber altogether; only a flattened face remained barely emerging from a tall freestanding column, a column dotted with brilliant yellow eyes that enabled the architect to view his creation around and beneath him.

“Chancellor General Adramalik,” said Mulciber, his voice dry and hollow, like two stones rubbing together.

“Prime Minister.”

“I am so out of touch up here. Forgive me.”

Adramalik waved a hand dismissively.

“Architect General, I am here on behalf of the Prince. He is in need of your talents. A wall needs to be built.”

“What kind of a wall?”

“A wall to protect your Prince.”

“Does our Prince need a wall to protect him?”

“You do not know?”

Mulciber closed some of his many eyes.

“It is quiet up here, Adramalik. Quiet and removed.”

Adramalik pivoted and took in the sprawling panorama. The wind had blown away the last tatters of clouds and he was able to see quite far, almost to the horizon. The sky, red from Algol’s slow rising, brushed the livid rooftops below, making the city look as if it had been daubed with blood.

“All of this… all of this is about to change, Mulciber. Whether you know it or not.”

“I am not really sure I care.”

Adramalik considered this. Why should Mulciber care whom he built for? Without loyalty, there really was no true incentive. Or was there?

“How would you like to spend whatever of Eternity is left in the Pit, Mulciber? Away from all of this. Forever. Do you suppose Abaddon has any need of your services?”

Mulciber was unreadable in his expression, but his silence spoke for itself.

“What does the Fly need?”

“A little more respect, Mulciber.” Adramalik enjoyed negotiating from strength with Demons Major.

“What does the Prince need of me?”

“The Prince, as I said before, requires a wall… a wall around the Keep so imposing and featureless that it will prevent the Heretic from entering. My spies in Adamantinarx tell me he is marshaling a vast army the size of which has never been seen in Hell. This Keep and the Prince’s palace are clearly his goals.”

“And how much time do I have to build this ‘imposing and featureless’ wall?”

“A week. Perhaps two. No more.”

Mulciber’s eyes widened.

“Just where am I to get the raw materials for such a project? As impossible as it is.”

“You have at your disposal every soul in the capital. Every brick in every building, every paving-soul, every single soul who walks the streets of Dis… they are all to be used either to build it or to be built into it. All the Maws and Demolishers in the armies of Dis are at your disposal as well. After construction is completed you are expected to layer atop it the most potent of guardian-glyphs you can formulate.

“And one thing more, Mulciber. You are to supervise the construction yourself.”

“But look at me….”

Adramalik did not need to look at the pedestals and the walls where the demon’s body parts were strewn to know what he was asking. “Your first task clearly is to become ambulatory. I could not care less how well formed you turn out or how uncomfortable you will be. I—the Prince expects you to be present on the wall to deal with any problems, not up here, quiet and removed, as you put it.”

Mulciber’s eyes closed in resignation. Adramalik thought he saw small puffs of steam start to obscure them.

“As you will, Prime Minister.”

Adramalik turned and left Mulciber, content in the knowledge that the one demon in Hell who had found relative peace was about to become the busiest.