The aged demon, forced on the defensive, eyed the Master with reproach.
“Æons agone there ceased to be anything new beneath the sun and I——”
“And you,” His Highness interrupted, “may be dispensed with if that is true. I am proficient in all the old tricks myself. However, I am disposed to give you a chance to disprove it, being ever kind and just. Is that not true?” The lightning of his look threatened the seven sycophants. “Am I not ever kind and just?”
“As the hope of Hell!”
“Oftener than ever!”
“In our best-worst interests, Sire!”
The medley whined from the shimmering shadows.
Sin’s voice gained in assurance, even as his mind lost at the trend of Satanic argument.
“But, my King, haven’t I had the whole mortal world at war? Didn’t I trick all peoples into slaughter of each other as you planned?”
“I notice you use the past-perfect tense in speaking of that late little unpleasantness. As a matter of fact we lost out on it—lost our one best bet since Noah and the Flood. How did you make the mistake of assuming that any scrapper who falls fighting for his country could be condemned by his fellow men? The worst of them is guaranteed a passport to Abraham’s bosom. As for the leaders—the brains of the drive—most of them were lost to us through that meanest of mortal weaknesses, fear for the integrity of their own hides. They all want to live. That is what’s wrong with conquerors. When earth-wars are such good training for——”