Under earth and water, demons are breathing; Amochol hears.

Then we Eries listen, too, and make the altar fires burn hotter.

For the ghosts of the night and the demons that stir must be fed." He waited again, doubtless expecting some exclamation of protest against his monstrous profession.

After a moment he went on: "Spectres and demons must be fed--but not on the foul flesh of dogs like you! We cut your throats to feed the Flying Heads." He paused; and as no reply was forthcoming, the sorcerer laughed scornfully.
"Your blood becomes water! You cringe at the power of Amochol.

But the red altar is not for you.