To do these things to the brain of men was one of the arts, the traditional teachings of Satanists, the allied cults and proceedings of the mad life of the caverns—and all the good and wise work that tries so hard, so tenaciously through the years has been unable to wipe out these age-old practices—those practices by which normal children are made to grow up into devils—by which sane men are made into ravening beasts; by which a wise man is made into a sleepwalking zombie whose will is only to do as he is told if he be able. Those things were what I feared for my gentle Nydia, for her knowledge of the wisdom of the antique mechanism's uses and care made her invaluable, but she could hardly be used by Evil without some change in her inner Nature being brought about to bend her to such purpose.
The dark hours dragged by, filled only with these apprehensions. At last the dwarfish minions of the younger Mephisto returned, and once again dragged us out and down the corridor like two bags of unwanted rubbish.
Into that great old chamber of past magnificence and might, the glorious throne room of the Elder ones who built this mighty fortress—the same vast chamber where the older Mephisto had welcomed us—the dwarfs dragged us, casting us before the throne where the young Zigor sat now. He stretched out a foot and stirred me with a touch on the shoulder, looking down triumphantly into my light-dazzled eyes.
He was no longer the disheveled prisoner, but had donned finery, some old suit from the stores of his ancestors had tickled his fancy. It was, I swear, two hundred years old if it was a day, preserved by the magical hermetic sealing of some antique closet, adopted by these latter day interlopers for that use. It was a suit such as Hamlet might have worn, such as John Barrymore would have delighted in for the part, a brilliantly bejeweled short coat, with belt and dagger, sparkling in the light with jeweled hilt and scabbard. His hose were sleek and reached clear to the thigh, where the puffed and slashed short breeches completed the ensemble. I snickered, for the theatrical attempt to look the great Lord was so palpable.
"So, you find me amusing!" Zigor glowered down upon me, his lean dark face sufficiently Mephistophelian for anyone's taste. Inside me a cold shiver grew swiftly to a great dread, a glimpse into the dark wastes where human emotions and human nature do not dwell, but where Demons and similar unbelievable products of life are birthed—a glimpse into an inferno of ice, fire and evil where this modern Devil had acquired his basilisk stare, his venomous soul, his pride and will toward death for all things not immediately useful to him.
How did I know this Zigor was evil, you ask? How does one know the winter is coming when the leaves turn brown and fall from the trees? How does one know that fire burns? How does one know anything? How does one know the scorpion is not a thing to fondle? One glance from his eyes, now that he had thrown off all need for the hiding of his nature, now that he had seized the reins of his life from the aging hands of his father—some evil thing had leaped from concealment and taken its place upon his face. The heritage of the past had claimed him, I knew. No wisdom would turn his face from the fire of evil by any lovely "syllogism," no matter how correct. For us there was only a waiting and at the last a death. I knew that no words would change this creature's intent toward us and toward all men's sons.
Zigor leaned forward over me, his face moody, anxious to have someone envious, anxious to show what he had done in seizing back the ancient power of his family.
"You think that I over-estimate my own importance, that I have but a score of half-mad creatures to do my bidding, that it will not be long ere some coup of the wild ray-fighters of the far caves will end me, eh? Well, I know the power that lies in possession of these antique weapons. I know what can be done in a short time with these things, does one have the will to do it. I have that will and I know the way! I have read a part of these records denied me by my father. I have seen just how the ancient Giant from far space, Sathanas, sent above ground for men and women to build his power down here to a great and overwhelming machine, which none other in the caves could withstand. Well, I shall do precisely the same. Every weapon that Sathanas used, every move he made, can be copied precisely. Those weapons can be found again, and the technical engineers
