Wayne Barlowe - God's Demon

Once the sounds of the floor’s sinking had subsided, a strange quiet settled throughout the Rotunda. Only the cavernous sound of Semjaza’s breathing could be heard, as well as the slow flapping of its wings.

And then a soft buzzing arose and a green command-glyph sprang to life from the deformed figure that was Beelzebub. It sped up toward Semjaza and, without pause, sank into its head. The milky eyes closed and the six wings beat faster as the message was revealed. Eligor was sure that the Fly’s weapon was gathering itself.

From the heights of the dome a white form descended and hovered before the withered face of the Watcher. Sargatanas, head ablaze and blue ialpor napta held before him, hung on gently beating wings so close to the titan that he might have reached out and touched it with the sword point.

Fearing for his lord, Eligor felt his breath catch in his throat. He could not see whether Sargatanas was speaking to Semjaza or simply showing himself, allowing the sightless Watcher to become aware of him. Whatever the case, the effect was immediate and startling. Semjaza reared backward as if it had been struck, fear unmistakable upon its face. The Watcher remembers its old captors! It hears the language of the Above and the sizzle of the flaming sword and is afraid!

A roar of outraged buzzing rent the air and Beelzebub ascended, spreading and engulfing Sargatanas within himself. In the briefest instant Eligor saw his lord transformed from a thing of potent beauty to a figure ablaze in the center of a fiery maelstrom of flies. Eligor saw, too, the layer of glyph-mail eaten away and the flies beginning to penetrate the white armor. Without thinking, Eligor found himself in a steep dive heading directly toward Sargatanas. But as Eligor drew near and the flaming green flies pulled away, their lethal work done, he saw that there was nothing that could undo the damage that had been inflicted upon the demon. Barely able to stay aloft, Sargatanas began a long, slow descent and would have plunged into the smoke-filled darkness of the open floor below had Eligor not caught him.

As he dragged his lord away from the great hole, Eligor looked up and saw Semjaza, guided by the buzzing, moving purposefully toward the coalescing figure of the Fly. The Watcher said something in its own tongue, a language Eligor was unfamiliar with, and, opening its mouth, began to inhale deeply. The Fly tried to pull away, but it was in vain. An uncontrollable, continuous stream of blazing flies was pulled from the shifting form of the Prince and began to flow into the Watcher’s mouth, sucked into its glowing throat. The being that was Beelzebub began to waver and fade and Eligor heard a terrible scream emanate from the shredding cloud of flies. It lingered and echoed in his ears even after the Watcher had finished devouring the last of the Prince of Hell. And Eligor would never be sure, but it sounded to him as if that final, anguished cry was the name “Lilith.”

Seeing their master gone, the remainder of the Fly’s troops broke and ran, making their way as best they could over the shattered floor. Most met their destruction at the end of a lance.

Cradling his lord, Eligor landed with the help of Metaphrax, who, following the Guard Captain, had endeavored to save Sargatanas. The two Demons Minor laid him upon a broken plinth that rose from the rubble and the fallen skins and then turned as one when they heard the Watcher suddenly gather itself and shoot up toward the ceiling. Without losing a wing beat, Semjaza shattered the thick dome-tiles and, amidst a rain of debris, vanished with a final howl into the darkness of the Infernal night.

He did not care what the outcome of the duel between Beelzebub and Sargatanas was; either way, he knew his fate would, more than likely, be unpleasant, and so he backed away, followed and guarded by his Knights.

It had been easy, in the chaos of the Watcher’s arrival, to exit the Rotunda. Easier still, given the Knights’ prowess, to destroy the few demons who took notice and foolishly thought to pursue him.

Determining where my Knights and I will be well received, that will be a challenge. It will be hard to gauge the loyalties of so many far-flung Demons Major. Sargatanas’ call to arms left few of the undecided demons untapped. And he gained many silent allies. Surely, the farther out toward the Margins the more indifferent the demons will be and the greater my chances of success.

Adramalik had been nothing if not prudent. Hell was a place of ceaseless change, but one thing had been constant; Beelzebub had been capricious in his madness and, because of that, Adramalik’s preparations had been especially thorough. Millennia past, he had prepared for a time when he might have reason to flee Dis, but he had never envisioned it as a result of a successful rebellion. In a city as timeworn and fearful as the First City had been there were tunnels beyond count that, like a worm-chewed hide, pierced the ground and led away from the great citadel. He had investigated them himself and had chosen an obscure one that led circuitously into the Deep Warrens. There, in some ancient and unnamed lava cavern, he had imagined his Order could wait out any pursuers indefinitely. Only when he was certain they had not been trailed would they emerge and hurry through the Wastes to the Margins. After they escaped Dis he could be more leisurely deciding their destination. Perhaps, now that Rofocale was no longer its governor, he would head for Pygon Az; its proximity to the Pit was unquestionably worrisome to him but also useful. No one ventured voluntarily into those frozen wards.

His Knights were silent as they made their way through the series of anterooms that led to the now-shattered Rotunda. All were empty, but because he had already decided that he would destroy whoever crossed his path as he escaped, he carried his Order dagger. As he swept through the last small chamber, he saw a hunched figure approaching through the shadows. It was Agares and he seemed completely oblivious to the oncoming Knights.

Whether it was out of some weary sense of nostalgia or the odd feeling that destroying the ex-Prime Minister was beneath him, Adramalik hesitated. He lowered his blade and shook his head, a signal to Salabrus and the trailing Knights, and then, as he passed, looked more carefully at the twisted figure. Agares rolled his eyes up in surprise as he regarded the hurrying scarlet-clad demons, a strange smile crossing his ruined face. He was carrying a short, ash-dusted battle-cleaver in one hand and caressing a round, flat object in the other. Adramalik’s eyes opened wide as he recognized the ornate disk of the Architect-General Mulciber. He always had been the wall’s weakest brick.

Agares cackled as they passed; at this point Adramalik could not have cared less what happened to him. As far as Adramalik was concerned, Mulciber had been an intractable fool and received what he had deserved and, as for Agares, his tortured existence was punishment enough. For now, navigating the broken and burning Keep would more than occupy Adramalik’s and his Knights’ attention. Freedom would come eventually, he knew, but it would surely be only after much blood and ash had been spilled. That in itself was exciting, but the prospect of being away from Dis was even more exhilarating. Far from regarding this as a shameful retreat, Adramalik saw it as the new beginning he had hoped for so long.

The Keep heaved beneath his feet and he broke into a trot. Best to be free of the place, whatever was coming. Free of its miserable confines and, best of all, free of the Prince.

Lilith opened her eyes in Heaven.

The sky above danced with fiery colors, pure and beautiful, before her heavy-lidded, unfocused eyes just as she had always imagined it. Turning her head, she saw fabulously attired hosts of Seraphim standing under golden and crimson trees and peering from lofting bridges into the sparkling azure streams below. Many were staring at her.