Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

Sargatanas examined the deep trench and took the maps from Halphas, comparing what he could see with the glyph-dense diagrams that appeared on the chart. He nodded and handed them over to Eligor, who studied them briefly.

"You have done a flawless job, Lord Halphas. It is obvious to me how much effort went into your careful plans. And I checked the city limits; they are just as I laid out without the slightest deviation. Excellent!"

"Lord, I am pleased," Halphas said modestly in his scratchy voice. "The Overseers only await your command."

"We cannot begin soon enough," said Sargatanas. He raised his faintly steaming hand and with a small gesture, a flick of his hand, created a simple fiery glyph that immediately fractured and sped off to the many attending demons. They, in their turn, dutifully produced their own glyphs that rose into the sky, and these, flying along the outline of the wall, galvanized the distant demons who began the process of converting souls into bricks. The wailing grew in intensity, but none of the demons paid it any attention. Conscious of their lord's presence, they were too intent upon beginning the job at hand, as the wall's foundation started to take form around them.

Eligor watched in amazement; this was the first time he had witnessed any real construction in Hell. The techniques, he knew, were relatively untried. As each glittering glyph touched a selected soul upon its black sphere it would instantly transform from a solid globe into a thick, black liquid that flowed down into the ground. And even as the liquid began to pool, the glyph's true meaning impacted upon the soul, hammering it, compressing it into a brick, wringing out what little blood there might be, and then sending it tumbling into position in the wall. Silencing its cries forever. And upon each brick, stamped in relief into its wrinkled surface, was the sigil of its lord, Sargatanas.

Black and oily Scourges, demon-tamed Abyssals that flapped their short wings and cracked their cranium-mounted whips, darted about keeping the quavering souls in line. Eligor loathed the Scourges but had to admit their effectiveness. Pressed closely together, the clay-colored souls reacted to the commencement of construction in various ways. Some collapsed, some knelt sobbing, while others, wide-eyed, looked stunned and seemed unable to move. Most stood and pleaded at the top of their voices while a few desperate individuals attempted to run, though Eligor, who was watching all this intently, could not imagine where they thought they would go. Time and again, he would watch the well-trained Scourges fly away in short pursuits, mindlessly flailing the fleeing souls until they collapsed. Once they were still, the souls were hooked and brought back to the trench's edge. None ever escaped.

The Overseers, arms outstretched, repeatedly created their conversion-glyphs with such rapidity that the overall impression of the growing wall was one of a luminous ribbon of twinkling fire, a radiant necklace set upon the dark bosom of Hell.

The Overseers were, under Halphas' able tutelage, extremely skilled; it took enormous concentration to create, size, and shape the bricks and set them in place quickly, and some of the demons openly competed with their neighbors, racing to complete their sections.

The broad trench filled smoothly and efficiently. Huge gaps were left for the seven massive gates that would be built. Halphas' calculations were perfection; Sargatanas had said many times that he thought him the best architect in Hell. As a raw material the souls were malleable and—best of all—plentiful. A hundred souls every foot created the beginnings of a wall twenty feet thick and ten feet high—nothing compared to what the finished wall would be, but a start nonetheless.

Eventually, as the numbers of standing souls diminished, the wailing tapered off to be replaced by the low moan of the hot winds. Algol was setting; the long day's work was done. More souls would be collected, more wall would be created, and eventually this moment would become nothing but a distant memory for demon and brick alike.

When all was done for the day, Sargatanas walked along the fresh foundation for some distance, hands behind his back, inspecting the site. He was smiling broadly. His city would be built, and this ceremony was its harbinger. His elation was unmistakable, and Eligor and the others could not help but be swept up in it.