stubborn piece of flesh from inside the demon's skull, put it in his mouth, and begin to slowly chew.
Revolted, Adramalik turned away and, followed by what had once been Lucifuge Rofocale, exited the Rotunda to begin the long descent through the Keep to the legions waiting outside. As much as Adramalik had enjoyed the predicament that Lucifuge had found himself in, as much as he felt the demon had as much as precipitated his own demise, the episode had begun a cascade of thoughts that had only one conclusion: Beelzebub was desperate and Sargatanas, wily, powerful opponent that he was, might actually destroy him.
* * * * *
Mulciber's Tower no longer bore the many-pointed and tiered spire with which it had originally been built. Piercing the Keep's mantle directly in its center, the tower's spire had been demolished to afford Architect General Mulciber, and anyone who chose to make the difficult ascent, an incredible view of the shadowed city. But Adramalik had not taken the time to climb the tower to admire the city; there was more of Beelzebub's bidding to do before Sargatanas arrived at the seven gates of Dis. After fulfilling his mission with Lucifuge's unsuspecting field marshal, Adramalik had had to make the lengthy ascent through the Keep yet again. Had there not been a sudden gale coming almost portentously from the direction of Sargatanas' wards, he would have taken wing to rise to the tower's top, avoiding altogether the massive structure's labyrinth-like halls, but it was not to be.
Adramalik had rarely visited the Architect General, had rarely had any need of his services since the founding of the capital so many eons ago. And even then Adramalik's needs had only been to convey those requirements of the Knights and their Order Priory.
Sequestered by choice in his tower atop the Keep, Mulciber was no longer recognizable as one of the Fallen. So thoroughly had the demon given himself over to his ever-growing masterwork that eventually he had decided to become one with it, to meld with the thick, phallic tower, to integrate his own body into the supine archiorganism that was Dis.
The Prime Minister had, during his infrequent visits, seen the slow transformation over the millennia and now, uncertain as to the demon's current state, strained to locate Mulciber amidst the eccentric brickwork of the open turret-top. If the architecture of Dis could be accused of anything, it was not of being overly ornate, however, Mulciber had been uncharacteristically self-indulgent in his treatment of his own abode. Perhaps, Adramalik thought, it said something deeper about the demon, about his self-image, but he had always been disinclined to pursue the question. Using the demon's sigil as a guide, Adramalik walked around the dozen or so raised brick pedestals that sprouted from the floor, many providing platforms for the demon's self-eviscerated organs, which had been married to thick arteries and in turn joined with the Keep's own organs. Squinting through the particle- laden wind and carefully avoiding the fleshy conduits that led down into the Keep, Adramalik threaded his way toward an assemblage of bricks, heavily carved and filled with niches within which, like reliquaries, were small remnants of Mulciber's empty demonic body. Were it not for the floating sigil, Adramalik might have missed Mulciber altogether; only a flattened face remained barely emerging from a tall freestanding column, a column dotted with brilliant yellow eyes that enabled the architect to view his creation around and beneath him.
'Chancellor General Adramalik,' said Mulciber, his voice dry and hollow, like two stones rubbing together.
'Prime Minister.'
'I am so out of touch up here. Forgive me.'
Adramalik waved a hand dismissively.
'Architect General, I am here on behalf of the Prince. He is in need of your talents. A wall needs to be built.'
'What kind of a wall?'
'A wall to protect your Prince.'
'Does our Prince
'You do not know?'
Mulciber closed some of his many eyes.
'It is quiet up here, Adramalik. Quiet and removed.'
Adramalik pivoted and took in the sprawling panorama. The wind had blown away the last tatters of clouds and he was able to see quite far, almost to the horizon. The sky, red from Algol's slow rising, brushed the livid rooftops below, making the city look as if it had been daubed with blood.
'All of this ... all of this is about to change, Mulciber. Whether you know it or not.'
'I am not really sure I care.'
Adramalik considered this. Why should Mulciber care whom he built for? Without loyalty, there really was no true incentive. Or was there?
'How would you like to spend whatever of Eternity is left in the Pit, Mulciber? Away from all of this. Forever. Do you suppose Abaddon has any need of your services?'
Mulciber was unreadable in his expression, but his silence spoke for itself.
'What does the Fly need?'
'A little more respect, Mulciber.' Adramalik enjoyed negotiating from strength with Demons Major.
'What does the Prince need of me?'
'The Prince, as I said before, requires a wall ... a wall around the Keep so imposing and featureless that it will prevent the Heretic from entering. My spies in Adamantinarx tell me he is marshaling a vast army the size of which has never been seen in Hell. This Keep and the Prince's palace are clearly his goals.'
'And how much time do I have to build this 'imposing and featureless' wall?'
'A week. Perhaps two. No more.'
Mulciber's eyes widened.
'Just where am I to get the raw materials for such a project? As impossible as it is.'
