With his design now in mind, Macaroth took control of the healthiest, strongest of the bandits and guided him into his sanctum where a pool of liquid metal stood in the middle of the ground, as it was it was like a mirror, still and silent. Quicksilver, Macaroth always did admire at the marvel of it. How it could become anything with the right mould and skill to shape it.

He stepped up to the man and released him from his spell, the man was dazed for a few moments but then looked at his supposed saint with a puzzled expression as Macaroth smiled to him "how would you like to become the first sanctified?"

The man did not fully understand such rhetoric being poorly educated barely able to speak or spell. He knelt down however and decided to accept anything the saint was offering, for it was better than the life he had led so far. More interesting anyways.

Macaroth smiled and put one hand on the mans shoulder, starting to stir the quicksilver with waves of his other hand, soon it was slithering out of its hole and consuming the man for the final ingredient of his new minions. His guardian Angels, he shivered as he imagined his sons swooping into battle. 

"oh how magnificent it will be...simply glorious.." He stood over the pool of stirring Quicksilver and chanted on the words of transmutation.

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