Dante snorted in annoyance. "Who exactly are we running from? And I'm having trouble enough finding my footing." Now, if I hadn't just downed drinks, this would be a different story altogether...Dante groaned inwardly as his foot missed a gutted and he had to propel himself forward with his hands.

He swallowed Succor and waited for the effects to kick in. "Tell you what. Give me info on where the armory is. I'll distract them and go back towards my bike. How's that?"

He thought for a moment. "Or...I could just pretend to take you captive," he chuckled with a wide grin.

Softly, almost sorrowfully, Shealtiel says to Jeanne, "We do not live in a world at peace, my dear. As desperately as our kind clings to its more civilized past, ours are fraught lives, our ethos the frenzy of survival. You need only looked to your hallowed Saints: warriors, one and all, whatever else they may be. Or look to our own Lion; is he not a mirror for the human zeitgeist?"

Letting out a long sigh, he pushes himself up from the table. "Regardless," he says, "I believe we have been left behind."

"And then wait for them to throw the both of us using Telekinesis? Of course not!" Michael stopped letting Dante jump another rooftop.
"Keep on going straight; I'll try to lead them back, away from you. Get to the armory and tell them my Network Code, 21573 Delta. It'll give them everything they need to know about the situation," Michael called turning around and drawing his laser. "Now my father and mother. It is time that I show you how I have grown."

Dante nearly choked. "They are...psychics? Your...what...?!"

Part of him yelled at him to help the artificer; the other half told him to get away. He hesitate for a brief moment, then shot forward, struggling to regain his balance. If only I had my bike... He missed the edge a few rooftops down, pitched sideways, and instinctively rolled, bruising his shoulder on the gravelly ground but injuring nothing else. Damn that alcohol. Then he stiffened.

The huge, grim building ahead of him nearly pulsed with aura. Even in his slightly drunken, energy-less, adrenaline-lacking state, he could trace the aura of several baubles with ease, then with some focusing, saw the outlines of what seemed to be swords and firearms. This is...the armory? Taking a deep breath in, he slipped his left hand into his holster and pounded on the barred metal door with his right.

The sound of bolts being drawn, then a draft of chilling air; a bearded man holding various pieces of scrap metal stood in the hunter's way, discouraging any more rudeness. An annoyed voice growled, "What is--"

"Save the damn questions for later! My friend (What? Since when was he a friend?) told me to tell you his Code. It's 21573 Delta. I don't know what's wrong, but he seems to be in...trouble," Dante cut in. "Look into that!"

Marching inside ("Hey! Where'd'ya think you're going?!") and turning his back to whoever the doorkeeper had been, Dante gritted his teeth and mentally yelled at the two psychics and the purple-aura'd old man. "Ok, look, hate to have to ask much of you, but the artificer's in trouble; I don't know why, or where; we've been running for a bit and since I obviously can't see, I'm a bit lost. Get to him. He's got pursuers. And for your damned information, I'm in the freaking Armory. Couldn't tell you where it is, even if I wanted to.

Feenai's mind was still open so Dante's thoughts reached her loud and clear. "Michael is in trouble and Dante is already at the armory..." Feenai stumbled over the words as Dante's panic washed over her. "I guess we have a good reason to head for the northern armory now?"

Shealtiel gathers himself, snatching up his walking stick. "Did he happen to mention what sort of trouble?" he asks in a rather severe tone. This seems all too coincidental; Corinth hasn't known this sort of chaos in its walls since the Eschaton.

Jeanne's eyes widened at Fee's report. She didn't know much about either man - the pleasantries she had exchanged with Michael meant little - but she would prefer to see both of them safe. Her mouth opened to say something along the lines of 'then, let's go' but the old man with defeatist ideas spoke up first.

"He said..." Feenai began, trying to remember the exact words Dante had thought, "that Michael was being pursued by two people. He didn't give any other details and he's too far away for me to try to view his memory." Not even sure that I could anyways... "If we're going to the armory to help Dante, I'll lead the way. I'm already looking at Corinth's map on the Network."

Shealtiel nods, pointing to the door with his cane. "Go."

These two new antagonists must be something out of the ordinary, if Michael and Dante together couldn't handle them. As they shuffle out of the tavern, Shealtiel readies himself to call upon death magicks, if need be. He hasn't detected any spiritual surges, so it's likely whatever they are will perish easily to the claws of Sheol.

Lev tore out of the tavern, following after Rue before running down the street alone. He had an inkling of what he was looking for. As he ran, he unslung the Mosin-Nagant from his back. He covered a block as he loaded it, cycling large brass shells in to the chamber.

He stopped when he saw...something. Someone. Two of them. They looked engaged, and he had an idea as to who they might be after. Guessing that this was who he was supposed to counter, he raised his rifle. He adjusted his aim to compensate for the unadjusted sights, not having the time to set them. It only took him a moment to zero in. He still had a clear view on one of them, a feminine looking one. She seemed to shudder or seize violently for a moment. Seeing his chance, Lev pulled the trigger.

Yes...

A flash. He felt the trigger release. The bolt slide forward, gathering speed. The pin striking the shell, igniting the corrosive powder in the casing. A crack of thunder roared across the street as fire spewed forth briefly from his gun, recoil fighting hard to upset his aim as the bullet left the barrel. It tore through air, through flesh. He felt the hot lead taste flesh, taste bone as it shredded through the frail body. It tumbled, destroying everything it came in contact with. In his mind he felt as it exited, leaving a much larger hole than it made coming in. Blood, bone, and part of a lung followed in its wake. He watched the body crumple, never taking his eyes away from his position down below. His hand worked quickly, pulling back the bolt to eject the spent round. It flew through the air, the large casing hitting the ground only after he had slammed the bolt back home, securing a fresh round. No matter what kind of human his target might have been, he knew it wouldn't get far without the left half of her chest...if she was going anywhere at all. Whatever had happened to her, it had bought him the time he needed. After a moment, he slung his rifle back over his shoulder. The people that weren't running in terror were staring at him, and he was not intent on leaving the streets and inspecting his victim. He quickly made for the side of the building she had been dropped on, climbing up the side slowly.

Feenai led Shealtiel and Jeanne northward through the back streets, trying not to draw too much attention to them. At first she moved slowly, but Shealtiel seemed fine with any pace so she just moved as fast as she could with the map sitting in her brain.

About two thirds of the way there, Feenai's eyes met a gruesome sight. The Tsavo gunman was...EATING someone. Her eyes could hardly take in the sight, and she turned away quickly hoping she would not lose her meal. The intense pain she usually felt from him had been replaced with something far more feral, and dangerous feeling.

Michael tried to sit up as he laid in the alleyway. The clusters of bruises on him made it obvious that h was i a recent fight, although the fact of the matter was that all of the bruises came from inanimate objects. That didn't mean that he wasn't in a fight, but just that the fighters never physically touched him.
After he left Dante to get help from the armory, he went eastward attempting to double back towards the tavern, and after a larger loop of traveling, that's exactly what he was allowed to do.
Unfortunately, by the time he reached the tavern, his mother and father had long figured out a strategy to deal with his psychic block. Boxes, trash bins, pipes, and anything else that was solid enough was tossed at Michael by telekinetic force. Although he had his shield of psychic force as well, whenever he used it, he was immediately nailed with a headache-evoking attack at his mentality.
Now he was getting tired, too tired as he finally slipped and fell into the alleyway that he now laid in. His parents were less than a minute away.
"Half a minute away. 20 seconds away..." As his parents finally jumped down to converse with him before taking him away like the scum they were he noticed something interesting...something funny, almost. His mother had a hole in her heart and was using psychic power to replace the force that her heart used to make.
"Congratulations. You are officially a monster," Michael said. Too weak to uphold his psychic block any longer he was tossed onto a wall. Michael laughed as he choked on some blood from inside his bloody lips. Grinning he looked up, realizing that he was not alone to face his foe anymore. Whether he decided to help or was ordered to, he did not know, but after seeing his face peaking out from the rooftop, he knew that the bolt came from Lev, The Guman of Tsavo.
He shielded his mind to hide that fact from his captors. Even if he could not protect his body, he knew that the greatest asset of a psychic was his mind.

Lev peered at his quarry with hunger from the top of the roof. The smell of blood was assaulting his nose. He had taken a bite, and he hungered for more. Raising his rifle, he shot again. He fired a third time. A fourth. He slammed the bolt back and forth to his gun, ejecting the fifth and final shell in a matter of moments. His shoulder ached from the rapid and very intense recoil. But the pain was distant in his mind, and his mind was a very dangerous place to be at the moment.

FEED!

Lev leaped in to the air from the rooftop. Hands splayed out in front of him, he soared through the air as much as he plummeted, gaining momentum. The weight of both him and all his supplies hit the woman, hard. The air was knocked out of him. He was winded, disoriented, distracted.

With a feral roar, he grabbed the prone woman's head. He forced his fingers in to her mouth, pulling it open. He pulled harder, beginning to tear her lips. Objects beat against his body. Assaulted him, pierced him. It only drove him on. He began tugging sharply and quickly, wrenching her lower jaw back and forth. With a sickening crack he ripped it from the rest of her skull. Jerking one last time, he pulled the rest of her skin away, removing the lower half of her mouth entirely from her body. He went for the rest of her, his now bloody and blood drenched body lunging downward as his teeth sank in to what was left of her mouth, ripping more flesh and sinew out. His mind was gone now. Only what was inside him held control for the moment. And while it held control, it fed.

Had Michael not known the person that his mother was, he would've later said that it was the most gruesome thing that he had seen. Just from the sight of it, his father released his grasp of him and slump towards the wall, too shocked to move.
"Dad, may I introduce you to the Lev of Tsavo, or should I say the Lion of Tsavo, now." Michael stood up and pulled out his laser. He was no longer a threat to him but with all of the toturous training he put him through, Michael had no doubt that this was justified. He shot him between the eyes and ended his journey. "Goodbye."
Just then he heard more footsteps coming towards the alleyway. Men were closing in and there were about a dozen of them. "If I stay, I will be arrested. If I fight, I will die, but if I run, I'll lose their trust as well..."
"Stand down, gentlemen. My friend and I are just about finished with these two," he called out to them. Hopefully, if Lev doesn't attack, he would have a chance to explain things.

Lev continued to feed on the woman, using his teeth to rip out more of her meat. Blood flowed freely across his face, making him a crimson mess. He bulled at the stringy bits of her trachea, warm blood gushing through his teeth. He was lost entirely, consuming as much as he could and as fast as he could do it. He ate a fair amount of the woman before looking up, eyeing the dozen or so armed men standing before him. He stayed at a low crouch, snarling as he prepared to leap. They were too far away. Too many guns. But that wouldn't stop him from devouring them if they attempted anything.

Slumber...

Lev blinked. It took him a moment to realize that he was staring down an assortment of armed personnel, all looking a bit horrified. The distance between them was a bit far, but even from here he could tell they each had the smell of fear. As he breathed deep, he noticed the choking smell of blood pressed against his face. He brought a finger to his lips and brought it away wet with blood. Looking down his front, he realized he was covered in it. Near his feet lay what remained of a body. He had done it again. There was no question. Realizing that he had been caught in the act, he turned back to look at the soldiers staring both he and Michael down.

"I make same happen, if you pull triggers. I devour you."

Following Feenai, and checking his MID periodically to check that they were heading the right direction, Shealtiel eventually finds himself at the end of yet another far too crowded street, finding Michael, Lev, the woman whose name he still had not learned and two hooded assailants, though... one was in the process of being consumed by Lev. There is definitely a presence within the man, manifesting itself now. The Kenyan likely isn't even cognizant right now.

Ignoring him, the Servant of Sheol turns his attention to the other psychic trying desperately to stop Lev. Judging by the fact that the woman is still stubbornly clinging to the edge of life, despite the utter ruin of her body, this man will be rather difficult to dispatch by conventional means.

Quite fed up by the way the past few days have been going, Shealtiel draws Sheol's black currents into his soul. Night-dark, lurid radiance bleeds from his eyes, foams like a fulligin fog from his lips. The street fades from his site, becoming only a panoply of various spiritual signatures, none of them capable of resisting what is to come.

Focusing solely on the Babylonian man -- he sees that and more, now that the man's soul is naked in his sight -- Shealtiel reaches out with his free hand, clutching, tendrils of ebon power extending like claws from his gnarled fingers. Shrieking, the power winds itself around the psychic's soul, crushing it; smothering it, but Shealtiel does not stop there. He tears on the tether, dragging the man's essence into himself, tasting it... devouring it.

Rather than sag in numb exhaustion, Shealtiel instead feels a surge of invigoration, bursting with plundered vitality. As the necrotic light fades from his eyes, they shine instead with an exuberance he has not felt since he was a young man. He has never before... feasted in such a way. It is, no doubt, an addictive sensation.

Feenai was already working hard to keep her last meal inside her when the mental signature of the other man vanished. Not do much died, his mental trace was just suddenly done. She looked and saw Shealtiel with an almost joyful expression on his face. If not for what had just happened it might have been a good sign, as she had never seen the old man with such a happy look. The snuffing of the other man's entire thoughts scared her, and she thought about running in panic. Oddly, Ruebella's face came into her mind, mocking her just as she had the previous night, and Feenai latched onto that if only to remind herself to stand firm and not run away. I can't do anything else though...I don't even know what I can do about any of this.

What disturbs- Food presents itself?

Lev blinked, putting a hand to his head. The headache was back, with a vengeance. He hit himself across the head, struggling with...something...inside him. He stopped after a moment, eyes dilated quickly, taking the armed guards in. And by their states, they were under the influence of something very disruptive.

He let out a guttural roar, both base in instinct and full of fury. Running at full sprint at the guards, he slammed in to the closest one. Teeth sank in to his throat, ripping out the trachea and carrying it in his jaws as hands clasped around a second's neck. With a twist it snapped, a sudden force unseating the skull from the neck bones entirely. He spit out the throat he had clasped in his jaws, biting and tearing chunks out of the men before him. With their minds completely devastated by Rue's capabilities, Lev made very short work of their flesh.

Around the fourth murder, Lev found his knife. It became more than bloodshed as he now tore much more quickly in to people, cutting down hamstrings, chests, and eyes. It wasn't even eating anymore that drove him, simple killing was enough. Using his knife he ripped the intestines out of one guard through a hole in his stomach, not even stopping as he pulled away with them. In a single move he wrapped them around another's neck, strangling him as he connected the two in death. And as they died, Lev seemed to surge with more violence and brutality.

Lev slowed as he came upon the last, looking to finish off for a whole dozen. With all his strength he cut a deep and wide gash horizontally across his chest. Bringing him to the ground, fingers worked in to the wound he had created. Fingers clasped around ribs, around the meat. With all his strength he pulled them upwards. The bent, creaked...and with a snap, the sternum cracked open. Blood spewed in all directions, his organs exposed to the world in a sickly mess. And with such a sight, Lev's hunger returned. He lunged downward, sinking teeth in to the man's still beating heart as he ripped it from his chest.

Watching the butchery, Shealtiel is still beset by the ecstasy of the soul's energy coursing through him. He is only barely able to maintain his composure. He imagines the energy will last until he expends it, though hopefully he will grow used to the sensation over time, so it isn't quite so... distracting.

As the Lion of Tsavo slaughters the soldiers, Shealtiel mutters to the others, "There is... definitely... something inside of him. Inhuman... ravenous..." His breath comes in short bursts, each quivering with the rapturous sensation.

When Lev is finished, Shealtiel once more speaks. "We should keep moving. They're likely mobilizing reinforcements even as we stand here. This way." He leads them out the north end of the street, toward the armory. his MDI does not display any powerful psychic signatures beyond his companions, which is good. There could well have been a potent psychic or two among the city's guards, but if so, they have not yet taken action.

"Name? Er...Gabe." Sorry, Gabe, worked myself into a rut here, ahaha...

"...Really now. What's your last name?"

"Oh. Heh. Uhm. Tarlis." Sorry, Mom, I might've just aroused suspicion of my long-lost cousins...

The doorman looked him over, then, after a few long and uncomfortable minutes: "Gabe Tarlis. Records say that you don't exist. If you're not going to be serious about your name, then I want to know the reason you're here. And why do you have a Code on you?"

"Well, you see, there was someone I had to meet here, and I've been traveling for a while under a pseudonym, because, you know, there are a few people out to get me, and...yeah."

"...Very believable that a man like you, with no psychic abilities whatsoever, can move around this easily. You do realize that we aren't stupid, Lucifer?"

Dante winced, a dead giveaway. Oh shet. This ain't good.

Michael fell to the floor just as the words escaped his breath. He expected to be taken to the alliance in order to calmly conclude the situation, to take in the bodies and be at peace until everyone was ready to head out to the seven churches. What he got was the bloodiest massacre that he had ever seen, and for the most part, he was powerless. Even he had fear in the bestial presence of the gunman of Tsavo.
He barely kept consciousness as Bella supported his movement towards the armory. He couldn't even shield his thoughts as his marked some of his companions as new adversaries.
"Twice, now. The actions of my new companions had severely damaged the opportunity for new relationship. This cannot happen a third time." Michael gave open connection to the armory through psychic connection. "This is Michael Hadyn of artificer unit 21573. The blind man who is with you is a new companion of mine. I want a background check on him immediately. Currently I am heading to your position with two psychics, a servant of sheol, a theurgist and a hired gunman. Be advised: the gunman has exhibited cannibalistic behaviors and should be treated with extreme caution."
Cutting off connection he spoke in mutters. "This chaos ends...now."

Before they get very far, Shealtiel notices Michael's injuries and approaches the artificer. Meeting his eyes with a grave intensity, he grabs Michael about the shoulders. "This will not be... pleasant," he says flatly.

Once more, the old man's eyes empty, becoming twin portals to the same abyss. All at once, Michael feels a surge of harrowing cold, like needles of ice piercing every pore of his skin. And yet, for all its freezing agony, he can feel his wounds mending, bone knitting and flesh sealing itself with scars.

When it is over, Shealtiel does not appear winded and simply looks upon Michael as though assessing his work. "There," he concludes. "Much better. I cannot mend minds, though. You may carry trauma from this, phantom pain, perhaps--"

He notices that the psychic woman has continued on with the others without them and moves to follow with Michael in tow.

Lev registered the kick to his being as merely an acknowledgement, a footnote that it had happened, to be filed away in a dusty corner of his mind. He cackled a bit, the effects of his feasting still pouring over him. With a start he trotted to her, loping casually by her side. There was something different about him now. Something off. He tilted his head a bit, speaking with a voice like the offspring of both crude oil and sandpaper.

"And just where must we go, Ruebella?"

He fell back a bit, running the tips of his fingers down her arms, as if judging her skin, how fair it was. How enticing it looked to a man of his tastes. He leaned a bit lower, and smelled the ghost of what was once flowing blood from her arm. The smell caused him to shudder, whispering in her ear.

"It would be wise to satiate my hunger. I can be very useful to you, when I'm out of my box. Possess this moment while you can. I have an inkling of what you want, spawn. Maybe we can use each other."

He laughed softly, letting go of her as he picked up his pace.

Feenai numbly followed Shealtiel, clutching Jeanne's arm without much hope of deadening the panic inside her. The Tsavo man's actions didn't make any sense at all. Why is he eating...PEOPLE!? Despite her reservations about reading minds the previous night, a mixture of alcohol, panic, and Ruebella's laughing face in her mind pushed her to delve into the gunman's mind. She was expecting the usual pain from him but felt none. Instead it had been replaced by a ravenous hunger, one that seemed intent on eating everything it could get it's teeth on.

What...what IS he? My earlier assessment was right, there is something wrong with him. I doubt it has much to do with the torment he has gone through, because if he was that far broken to be comfortable with eating people, he wouldn't be so competent at everything else he's done. Curiosity was starting to overcome her panic and Feenai dropped further into his mind. So, your name is Lev...I will figure out what's wrong with you, I swear it.

Feenai pulled herself from his mind and hoped whatever the ravenous presence was, it couldn't tell that she had been there. She was ready to ask Shealtiel about it when she realized they were almost to the armory. She filed away the information on Lev for later, and opened her mind back to the Network to prepare for anything she might need to find out about this place.

The man stopped for a moment, as if listening to something, then, "Even your...companion...would like to know more about you," he reported with a wide wolfish grin.

Dante growled. "Mind you own business! My past is my past, no need for you to--!"

"Lucifer Dante Kaan, now age 25. Parents were killed--"

Dante snarled, kicked off the wall behind him with a raised fist, and was promptly slammed back and held, with a rifle barrel pressed against his throat, parallel to the wall.

"--in the riots in the slums of New Jerusalem twelve years ago. Lost his sight in the fire of the rioting. Trained with companions who joined the military, but refused to join himself."

Shut up.

"Worked for various small organizations and bosses as an assassin, and gained some reputation around New Jerusalem as the "Raven". Later had a bounty placed on him for the murders..."

Shut up.

"...of military heads and business leaders. Started working outside of New Jerusalem some four years after the death of his parents. Traveled with his brother, Gabriel Kaan, to Babylon, and settled there. Gabriel later died..."

Shut...up...

"...from water poisoning. After his brother's death, Lucifer all but vanished from public view for several years, excepting brief sightings of a blind man in all-black clothes at various taverns and brothels."

The doorman looked up from reading out facts. "Michael Haydn. Did you get all of that?" he said, asking the artificer at the same time. He turned to a rather limp and silent Dante.

"So. Where have you been, the past several years?" he asked in no more than a whisper. "I think much of the authority around here would like to know the same."

Just...shut...up... Dante thought to no one in particular, refusing to either confirm or deny anything.

As they wend through the streets of Corinth, heading to the Alliance Armory, Shealtiel makes his way to the fore of the group and asks Michael and... Ruebella, whose name he finally knows, "How do you propose we get inside? Are we going to attempt diplomacy, or unleash our Lion on them? As formidable as we seem to be together, something tells me that those within will be well armed." His last words drip with sarcasm. In truth, though, Shealtiel is almost eager for another fight, to unleash the energy he stole and consumed. He has never been able to work Sheol's magick with impunity before, and the opportunity is... thrilling, in prospect.

"Hmm, I've do doubt we'll speak later, "it" and I. I have many questions for it. But first..." Shealtiel advances ahead of the group and approaches the door of the armory. It is solid wood, several inches thick, reinforced with steel banding, likely barred from the other side.

Reaching out a long-fingered hand, he rests his fingertips against the door, closing his eyes briefly. Something leaks out from the points where he touches the door: a web of decay spreading over the wood and steel. Cracks appear, and rust, and then... dust, as the entire structure falls away to nothing.

That spell took a noticeable toll on his plundered power, but Shealtiel is still unwearied by the sorcery, with enough reserves to spare should things turn violent.

The entrance to the Armory stands open before them.

Lev stood just behind the old man, almost salivating at the prospects before him. An entire armory, and what was more, soldiers...strong wills, discipline. Physical power. The thought of devouring even more made him almost giddy. He licked his lips, finding it hard to restrain himself from rushing in first.

"I am a plague. I have not yet ran my course. But today, I will claim many more."

Shealtiel quirks an eyebrow, finding himself somewhere between amusement and contempt as the (presumably) demonic presence makes itself so shamelessly apparent.

"A fiend with ambitions, hmm?" He chuckles, then steps back from the threshold, gesturing within. "By all means, after you." If nothing else, the Lion will make a good distraction from the no-doubt impressive array of armed adversaries within. Shealtiel checks his Interdiction shield on his chest to make sure is covering many of his vitals as possible.

Jeanne followed Fee and the old man silently, feeling uncomfortable with the situation but not knowing what to do to change it. It didn't take long for the three to meet the others, and the theurge was horrified at Shealtiel's next move. Though she was sure the others didn't know what was happening, she could tell all too clearly that it was something wrong.

"S-stop!" But it was too late for the man whose soul was stolen. Jeanne gazed at Altiel as new emotions, a mix of fear and anger, replaced the disdain she had held previously. For the first time she began to seriously consider traveling on her own again, maybe taking Fee with her.

The upsetting images and horror continued as Lev decided to butcher the guards outside the armory. Though blood and wounds were nothing new to her, his savagery was, and Jeanne had to fight her gag reflex as her eyes filled with tears. If only she had the strength to interfere!

Then the group began to move yet again. Numbly she followed, knowing that she had to make sure that Fee was safe. She glanced over at the shorter female holding her arm and smiled when she saw that the psychic was unharmed and calming down. "We'll be okay," she said to her quietly; by 'we', she referred to herself and Fee. At this point she couldn't (and wouldn't have wanted to) guarantee the safety of any of the others.

Nor, it seemed, could she guarantee the safety of any of the soldiers. Jeanne had thought it a good thing for those in the armory to know they were there as it made them less likely to attack. Her companions seemed to think of it differently, seeing it as an opportunity to attack themselves.

She reached a hand for Fee's, squeezing it tightly and moving to a position where she could put herself between the others and the psychic if need be.

While they are deciding how best to proceed, Shealtiel notices that the theurge, Jeanne is looking at him with disgust, interposing herself between Feenai and the rest of the group.

In a speculative tone, he asks her, "Tell me, dear, just what do you think your cherished Saint would have done if he came upon that scene back there? I'll have you know, the man I consumed would have felt nothing; he had no spiritual awareness. I'll make no excuses for our Lion, though, at least until I get a chance to... get to know it better."

His eyes slide over to the demon, sidelong, and, noting its smile, he responds in kind, utterly unafraid, which must surely confound the fiend.

A yell of outrage and shock sounded from the first room; the doorman turned. A frantic man ran back, blubbering slightly, "Th-th-th-the doooooor! It....melted?!"

The doorman glared at a now-prone Dante, then glanced at the messenger, then looked back. "...Hmph. Keep him here; I'll see to it." He grabbed a rifle from the nearest soldier and marched out.

Michael waited for his mentality to heal, for the shock to fade, before try to contact the group of soldiers again, aware of the psychic who was intercepting his messages. The pain from Altiel's method of healing made his head throb and his hands shake, but if he wanted this amount of death to end any time soon, he knew that he had to work quickly. He didn't waste the time to speak so he let his mind talk to Feenai, Altiel and Bella, "It disappoints me that hostile force is implemented in a situation that peaceful methods can be supplied."
He locked his mind out to the group and contacted the commander on a more secure line just as he saw Lev eat a guard, "Dammit. The situation has gotten out of hand. I'll try to remove any civilians from the area. Lethal force is authorized against the assailants. Capture if possible."
He waited for his hands to stop shaking, blocking out the world around him.

"Oh Lady, love of Babylon, oh look at what we did.
Unearthing evil catastrophe, we ran away, we hid.
But you, Lady Jeze'bel, came forth to heal and aid.
You told us 'come here, children. Let sorrow to me be laid.'"

Michael looked around again. Altiel was talking to the Jeanne and Feenai, who were pretty much innocent. Lev was already inside the melted doors and Bella stood outside.
"I believe...that it is time to make my move."
"So then. Are we to stop this killing and settle this peacefully?" He asked to Altiel and Bella. "Do the men in the armory need to die, especially after I had informed them of our arrival, informed them that we were in danger from a psychic adversary?!"

Lev screamed in bloodlust as he barreled in to the armory. His scream was answered with the burst of automatic fire. A trio of bullets tunneled through is body, one of them entering one side of his face and leaving out the other. The only thing they affected was his trajectory. Mouth frothing with his own blood, he gnawed straight through a guard's neck. The dying man squeezed hard on the trigger of his gun, spraying automatic fire wildly inside the enclosed space.

The hail of bullets and the several reports of shots fired quickly brought more guards streaming in. Guards formed a half-circle around him, intent on opening fire if they needed to. Pausing from his brief meal, Lev raised his eyes to study those before him. They had not fired just yet. They were not distracted, but even he had physical limits. Too many bullets meant that his body would be useless, no matter how much control he exerted over it. He could heal this vessel, or at least keep it going long enough to serve his purposes. Deciding to save himself for the moment, he began standing slowly, making slow movements to indicate that he wasn't going to harm anyone...just yet.

And as he raised his hands, his thumb slid the pin from his one grenade, causing it to roll forwards as it hit the floor.