Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

Beelzebub, allowed no one to utter.

When his duties did not prevent it, Adramalik would linger at that same window staring out through the oily columns of smoke, the intermittent lightning, and the clouds at all that was Dis. The city was a paradigm for all that was Hell. As the First City, its layers went back to the Fall; its founding had been almost immediate. Its growth never stopped and the sheer profusion of cubelike buildings, twisted alleys, and clotted avenues was beyond count. Adramalik could stare at it for hours, spreading, he imagined, like a cancer upon the necrotic surface of Hell. As he peered downward, toward the base of the fortress, he could see in great detail the lower hovels, squeezed in among bigger, grander governmental buildings. All seemed to be tilted and angled, straining to shrink away from Beelzebub's towering citadel. Which, in fact, they were. Adramalik liked that. It spoke of fear and power. Power. Where is Lucifer?

Lucifer was absent and so, by default, his greatest general had assumed the scepter of rulership over Hell. Beelzebub was, some said and Adramalik agreed, an aggregate, a being who had added to his physicality the tattered remains of those fallen angels who had not arrived intact. These he had folded into himself, focusing and shaping and transforming their pain into the tens of thou-sands of flies that comprised his body. He was unique in Hell, and many wondered if his assumption to power had not been part of Lucifer's plan. Beelzebub's motives and inclinations, so unlike those of any of the other Demons Major, were never questioned. And his abilities were never challenged.

Adramalik moved around the labyrinth of arteries within the city-sized fortress unerringly. Most of the buildings were completely submerged in the thick mantle of cold flesh that completely covered the upper surface of the fortress. He saw the outside only rarely, when on the uppermost tiers or when he was sent on some mission of state, but this was of little concern to him. Adramalik took his role as Chancellor General of the Order to heart, and he saw his surroundings only in the context of his lord's needs. His Order served as bodyguard to the Fly, and they enjoyed privileges that were unheard of in Hell. In exchange they were his eyes and ears in Dis and the fortress.

Beelzebub's palace was a place of dark recesses and hidden culverts, a breeding ground of intrigue and apprehension that made Adramalik's job that much more difficult—and interesting. The twisting halls were dim, constricted, and damp and were fashioned not of Hell's customary soul-bricks but of enlarged veins and stretched arteries. These opened into small, stark, murky cells like the interiors of giant organs. Their floors were frequently pooled with fluids, and the furnishings, minimal and bleak, were often slick as well. The vast court, which navigated the fleshy tunnels murmuring among themselves, knew that these privations were the price they paid for the privilege of proximity to the Ruler of Hell.

As he made his way toward the Fly's Rotunda, Adramalik entered the Order's quarters. The corridor emptied into a huge basilica-like interior with hundreds of doorways cut into the tegument of the walls. This was the Order's barracks, a chamber within the Priory so deep inside the mountain of flesh that the unstirred air was thick and cool. As he passed room after room he could hear the muffled sounds of his Knights enjoying the pleasures of the court succubi. They deserve their entertainment. I use them like a knife, to flense away the layers of deceit. And like a knife, they need to be kept sharp edged.

He smiled as he passed each closed door. A blazing sigil—each Knight's personal emblem—floated outside the occupied rooms. Moans and sighs mixed with growls and short panting shrieks, not all the sounds of harmless release. The succubi knew how to please, whether it was through their pleasure or their willing pain.

SUCCUBUS

Adramalik, himself, rarely indulged. He could not afford to have any attachments to compromise his office, least of all the fire-laced loose lips of some highly placed, utterly tempting courtesan.

He moved purposefully, crossing the barracks floor quickly. The floor was moist and dotted with random puddles of reddish liquid that flecked his long skin robes. The feared Chancellor of the Order splashed ingloriously toward the far rear exit, where he ascended a wide staircase and passed beneath a carved archway, the final threshold before the Rotunda's narrowing artery.

Beelzebub's infamous domed Rotunda sat atop his fortress, embedded in the topmost folds of its rotting mantle. It was the single largest building in Hell, as much grown as it was built. Adramalik remembered standing on the foundation's edge, the empty socket yawning, as the vast, archiorganic foundation had been laid and the dome had been blocked. A foul updraft continuously blew stinking air from the crater into his face and he would turn away frequently, gritting his teeth. He saw the first soul-bricks being conjured into place by Mulciber, Beelzebub's architect-genius, the force behind this vast project. Adramalik remembered the endless lines of souls, kept in place by an army of winged Scourges, as they awaited their eternal fate. He could still hear their plaintive wailings as they were enfolded, layer by layer, into the great edifice. And he remembered how their cries had creased his master's face with delight.

Adramalik made his way down the final tubular corridor toward the Rotunda, stooping as he approached the clenched doorway. By design, no attack on his lord could possibly have been launched from such a position of forced supplication. Adramalik was nearly on his knees as he scribed in midair the fiery glyph that would gain him entry. It was ironic, he thought, that the most powerful demon in Hell should be thus approached. It spoke volumes about Beelzebub's paranoia.

As the sphincterlike door expanded, Adramalik saw the gathered demons only vaguely, distant and diffused by the dense atmosphere. The fires of their heads were bright sparks that flickered in the shifting skeins of airborne detritus. This was to be an Induction into the Order, an event as rare as it was important.

He entered, stood up, and the door constricted behind him. The twilight of Beelzebub's chamber took a moment to adjust to, and Adramalik tried to see whether any significant changes had been made to the vast, circular room. Eons of attendances had imbued him with a familiarity and practiced eye that missed very little.

He was used to the suffocating closeness of the place but always thought it ironic that the largest building in Hell was also one of its most cramped. Few standing in the Rotunda's center would have guessed at its monumentality. As he looked about, all looked as it should.

Adramalik slowly made his way toward the gathered demons, careful not to trip over the chunks of raw- looking meat that floated in the ankle-deep puddles of blood. He was used to this as well. One had to get used to everything one saw in this chamber, he reflected, or one would go insane and find himself cast out naked upon the Wastes. He enjoyed watching demons from outside of Dis when they entered this chamber. They would look forward, never down, rarely up, and focus upon the distant, towering throne. Their eyes would adopt a haunted look, and their jaws would clench. Their loathing was as clear as it was amusing to him, and their need to leave as quickly as possible was just as evident. No, he thought, those Outlander demons could never get used to this environment as he had. That always gave him a wonderful sense of pride.

He stepped up to the gathered demons. There were about twenty of them—petitioners mostly—and Adramalik noted that not only was his lord not seated upon the throne but that the Prime Minister Agares, a great duke and personal advisor to Beelzebub, was also absent. What could he be doing that is more important than