Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

'Yes, my lady.'

'How are you?'

'Mending, my lady. With thanks to you.'

'Are you feeling 'mended' enough for an answer to your questions about this?' another voice asked. Sargatanas appeared behind Lilith, the disk of Moloch held in his hand.

'My lord!' It had seemed so long since he had seen Sargatanas. He is transformed! Hannibal swung his legs over the side of the pallet and tried to step down, but Lilith put a restraining hand on his chest.

'He seems strong enough, my lord,' Lilith said, smiling.

'He will have to be,' Sargatanas said. 'I need him at the head of his legions.'

Sargatanas turned the ugly disk in his hand. Its edges were sharp and jagged, and Hannibal heard them scrape on the demon's hard palm as he regarded it. He seemed apprehensive about the object, almost cautious in the way he handled it.

'Hannibal, there are many things that I can do in this world, but giving you your arm back ... to undo the dismemberment ... is not among them. There are ways, though, that you can, once again, have a living limb, but to do this I would need, simply put, a catalyst ... an object of power that would add the necessary new elements to my abilities. This,' he said, holding the Moloch disk up between his thumb and forefinger, 'is one such object.

'And how would that be done?'

'I would have to place this inside your shoulder.'

A ripple of fear spread through Hannibal as he unconsciously reached for his shoulder. To enfold the ex-god within himself was a detestable idea, an act that would embrace the very entity that had caused him so much grief. He shook his head.

'You can, of course, elect to not use the disk. It will be otherwise useless to you ... a simple trophy, well won, to put upon a shelf,' Lilith said. 'There is no shame in choosing that alternative, Hannibal.'

'I have no other such items at hand,' Sargatanas said. 'I am sure one will turn up eventually, but not in time for the upcoming battle.'

Hannibal looked down, considering the possibilities.

'This is our way ... the demons' way,' Sargatanas said plainly, putting a hand to the countless layered phalerae that were embedded in his chest. 'There is no telling how it may affect you. I have never heard of this being done with a soul, and so there is no precedent. In all likelihood you will benefit by simply growing a new arm ... that is the invocation I would be using. It would be too unpredictable to attempt to augment your abilities in any way.'

'We can give you a short time to decide,' Lilith said, 'but the allies' armies are arriving and very soon Sargatanas will be departing.' She looked toward the demon and Hannibal saw the concern flash across her features. 'You will have to decide before then.'

Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment and saw the fleeting image of his daughter's face, still fresh from his dream. It would feel like another betrayal of her to accept the Moloch disk. But would it really be one? What would Imilce say? He did not relish the idea of fighting with only one arm, nor could he be the kind of general who stayed behind the front ranks, ordering others to fight. He was in Hell, and to survive he needed every advantage.

'There is no need to wait, my lord and lady. I will accept this.' The ashen taste of fear, an unfamiliar taste, tightened his throat.

Lilith put a hand on his shoulder.

'You need not worry, Hannibal. Sargatanas has no doubts regarding the outcome of this invocation.'

'Then let's get it over with.'

Sargatanas set himself, took a deep breath, and began to intone four phrases four times in a voice comprised of four harmonics:

'Ogiodi Azdra ... Tplabc Zibra ... Rnoizr Nrzfm ... Rplalen Bbemo ... Yolcam Abzien!'

Four large glyphs, simple in form but different in color, appeared and began to circle the Demon Major's head and by the fourth revolution they spread out, two on either side.

Lilith squeezed Hannibal's hand as Sargatanas used the disk's sharp edge to slice open her careful stitches. With a powerful thrust he pushed it deep within the shoulder until it was lodged beneath the soul's collarbone. Immediately the demon spoke one of the four paired words and the corresponding glyph dropped down into Hannibal's open wound, causing a terrible burning that spread throughout his body. The next glyphs brought, in rapid succession, the sensations of drowning in some engulfing, cloying liquid followed by a sudden cracking coldness and finally parching dryness. He saw Sargatanas' lips moving but could hear nothing. Shocked and nauseated, Hannibal retched until his stomach ached. When he was finished he looked weakly at his wound and was dimly amazed that, without stitches, it had sealed itself.

'I chose you well, Hannibal Barca,' Lilith said softly. 'Your strength is matched only by your courage. Rest now and we will send Mago in to be with you.'

She turned to leave, but Sargatanas lingered.

'There is one small thing more.' He extended his hand and with his index finger described a flowing pattern in the air above the soul's shoulder, an arcing, actinic line of blue flame that looked, to Hannibal, like a charging animal. The glyph did not fade, and with every slight movement the soul made it moved with him.

'You are the first soul in Hell's long, dark history to have earned his own sigil. It will be a mark of distinction ... of power and protection ... upon the battlefield,' the demon said with a touch of pride. And then, as he stood, he added, 'You will be needing it in the next days!'

Exhausted as he was, Hannibal managed a faint grin.