Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

The sound of trumpets and drums reached their ears as they crossed the Acheron's largest bridge, the Kufa-vors Eophan, and Eligor lengthened his stride. The encampments were far enough away from the river not to be influenced by its sorrowful effects, and once they arrived at the encampments' outskirts it took some time to negotiate the improvised streets that crisscrossed the military tent-city. The allied armies that had been promised by their lords and ambassadors had finally arrived, and the Guard Captain knew there was no reason to linger another day. The time for his or any other demons' doubts had vanished long ago, and now that the decision to attack Dis had been made by his lord, Eligor simply wanted to send his troops aloft.

A small army of demons numbering, Eligor guessed, in the few thousands knelt over their sheathed swords in close ranks before a newly erected rostrum. As he ascended the steps toward Sargatanas and his generals, Eligor saw that those waiting before the rostrum were an assembly of ad of the lesser-ranked field commanders—Demons Minor mostly—who would lead the immense host into battle. Each army in itself was so large that it required its own major general and his staff to coordinate movements.

Hannibal excused himself and moved to speak with Mago and the other gathered soul field marshals. He had much to work out with them, and once again Eligor admired Hannibal's calm under such pressure.

As Eligor approached, he saw the pale form of Sargatanas with Put Satanachia—a five-pointed starburst of flame above his head—standing just to one side. The two were so similar in their height and bearing, the stamp of their rank, Eligor knew, but Sargatanas' intensity was nothing at all like Satanachia's more open nature, the latter's personality more closely resembling Valefar's. Certainly, Eligor realized with self-reproach, Sargatanas had changed within most recent memory, gone from being more composed to being more closed, a creature of deeper introspection. Such were the enormous pressures he had created for himself; such was the burden of the decision he had made. But even sympathetic to that, Eligor had to admit that he missed the Sargatanas of old, the attentive mentor of millennia past.

Eligor saw Satanachia's Glyph-caster, the flamboyant Demon Major Azazel, in deep conversation with the two principal demons. Like most Glyph-casters, he was an especially ornate demon, crested and frilled in thin spines and stretchy membranes and like Eligor hued a brilliant scarlet. Until Satanachia's arrival, Sargatanas had never used a Glyph-caster, choosing to issue orders himself upon the field, but given the vast size of this army he had bowed to his new ally when he had offered him the specialized and exalted talents of Azazel. Eligor, knowing the value of such a generous gift, was more than content to defer some of the responsibilities of messenger in favor of one so well equipped.

Satanachia acknowledged him with a lifted hand as he stepped closer. All three saluted in response and then turned to look out at the dark swath of sigil-crowned officer demons.

Upon a signal from Sargatanas, Azazel flared to life, covering his body in a hundred Demon Majors' sigils and raising his new lord's in a fiery vertical column high above him. The newly reinforced, newly dubbed Second Army of the Ascension, massed behind their commanders, rose thunderously as one and lit their countless unit-glyphs. Eligor's eyes widened at the sheer number of them, at the legions nearly beyond count that extended into the darkness of the night.

"Was there ever so magnificent a sight in Hell ... or the Above, for that matter?" Satanachia remarked.

"It is impressive," agreed Sargatanas.

"Impressive? This," Satanachia said, waving his hand at the expanse of soldiers, "this is power beyond anyone's wildest imaginings. Only the Fly commands numbers like these. I envy you, Sargatanas, envy you because I did not think to do this myself millennia ago." He paused, smiled to himself, and said, "You know, I actually think Lucifer would approve."

"Do you?" Sargatanas' voice lowered, but Eligor was close enough to hear him nonetheless. "The idea of going against his delegated proxy ... it felt as if I were going against him. I am still his loyal warrior no matter where he is."

"As am I, old friend," Satanachia said with conviction. "I would not have joined you in this if I had thought otherwise."

Sargatanas turned and took in what was left of his city. His eyes settled, Eligor saw, in the direction of the enormous fire-topped statue of himself. Now, with so many varied structures no longer standing, it, as well as all of the other giant statues that dotted Adamantinarx, stood out oddly, seeming somehow naked without their covering of buildings.

"Amazing how this all could have started because of the souls," he said almost to himself.

"The War in Heaven?"

"And the War in Hell."