For as large as they are, the black bodies of the bells shift with relative ease. In tandem, they strike against the heavy copper tongues and the silence of Dumat's chamber is shattered by sonorous twin calls.

After hours of such unrelenting quiet, the shape of the noise in the oppressive darkness is almost vulgar—reverberating off the high ceiling and walls of the room, deep and hair raising like something agonized. As the copper tongue collides with the bell's black shell, the runic shapes etched on the interior pulse once with a hot red light.

From each side of the walkway, the darkness shifts. There is the acrid stench of ozone, a sensation of thickening in the air like a pressing weight settling about the shoulders. From the empty basins of the reflecting pool, brittle flecks of long dried blood peel up from the stained floor and coalesce with the dancing shadows. The two manifested shades sweep in from both sides to make their attack.

And then the bells swing back. They strike the weighted brass tongues again. The etchings pulse. The darkness shifts. Two more demons peel themselves together out of shadow and ancient blood.