Furcas raised his clawed hands, holding them apart and at Sargatanas’ eye level. A tiny mote of the glowing mineral danced upon Furcas’ palm. With a glance toward Valefar he murmured a few words, and almost immediately an orange, artery-thin line began to glow between his bony palms. Thin, hairlike geysers of fire sprang forth from within the demon until his entire dark body was alight with a shimmering corona of thin fire. He then spread his hands farther apart and the straight, thickening line grew until it was twice his arm’s length. A tapered, pyramidal tip appeared at one end, sharp as a fang and white-hot. He grasped the newly formed javelin in a glove of glyphs, tightly conjured to negate the insufferable heat.

	“I need a target for my malpirg,” said Furcas plainly, holding up the fiery javelin.
“Eligor, have your Guard place one of those upon the floor below,” Sargatanas said, indicating one of the golden statuary generals he had been given. “I am sure old Field Marshal Kethias would be flattered to be used in this way.”
Moments later three flying demons were, on the instructions of Furcas, positioning the life-size statue far out on the polished floor—farther, Eligor thought, than was reasonable. He looked dubiously at the portly demon who watched, confidently hefting the incandescent shaft.

	Sargatanas stood and moved to Furcas’ side. The short Pyromancer took a moment to gauge his throw, and with a graceful gesture that belied his bulk he pulled his arm back and cast the malpirg far up and out into the air of the dome. At the top of its arc he uttered a word and the malpirg split in two, each gaining momentum as they fell until they appeared as long glowing lines. Both hit the statue squarely in the chest, erupting in a spectacular, smoky shower of molten gold.
-God’s Demon (pages 258-259)