Jeanne was asleep by the time the raiders appeared, and was only half-awoken by Lev speaking when something swept over her, an intense feeling that something was wrong. She sat straight up as Fee moved to exit the APC. "No, wait-" but it was too late, her friend had already gone out. She cast a wary eye out the opened door and saw a figure outside that Fee was walking towards.

Jeanne was about to jump out the door and save her friend when she got a better look, but then Fee took the grenade out of her hand. 'She wouldn't do that if we were in danger,' she thought, relaxing when something hit her mind and half-pulled her out the door.

Walking up to the man, Jeanne gasped as she took a closer look at its mouth, Wrath sword held tightly. 'What is it!? It doesn't feel like a demon, it has no malice, just...' The thoughts she got from the figure were...wrong. There was no other way to describe it.

"Here I am!"

Lev stepped from the APC, adorned in his weathered duster. Below were the many scars and wounds he had inherited from years of fighting, now exposed on his bare chest. He held his arms opened wide, ready to accept this new person if they were willing to donate their flesh to him. He paused for a moment, his crazed look morphing to that of study, trying to decipher what was hiding behind the shape of a man.

"A silver tongue, and a forked one at that. Ramblings. The very will you exert over flesh. You rival me. But I am the Lion of God. Pray tell, are you here to make a donation? There is blood of your cohort wetting the mountainside, wasting away in the sun. I hear you plan to erode the very rock we stand on with the flowing of our blood, if you so command. What are you, that possess such parlor tricks?"

He kept looking at him, eyes running up and down. After a moment he threw his hands in to the air carelessly, as if giving up on something.

"I retain this body because Father and I modeled man after our image. This is a homage to our creation. If you are not a man do not play at it, so that our representation is not defiled any further. You are not mere Man."

Dante's lithe form slipped out of the APC after the Lion. Ugh...why did I even get out, anyways? He grasped the bow even more tightly, but being outside, he now only had two arrows at his disposal. If things get riled up...

He tried his best to lean nonchalantly on the side of the vehicle, but felt uneasy. The aura was something he had never before seen the likes of: It had no set color, but kept fluctuating between several, and seemed to flicker. What seemed like a dancing flame was beginning to give the blind man a headache. What the hell is with this guy...? He wasn't...human. At least not to the extent that he could be properly classified as human.

Shealtiel exits the APC at a purposefully-ponderous pace, annoyed at the presumption of this psychic who would make demands of him. But as he emerges, setting eyes upon the man, he suddenly quickens his stride, hastening to join the others.

As he draws near, he raises his cane at the stranger, like some sort of condemnation, and nearly snarls his words at him.

"I see you, Kezdeja. I see you, child of the Irin Egregori, bastard branch of the Tree of Life, aborted, unloved mutant the angelic ideal, retarded dream of a fraudulent God. I see you, Son of Semyaza, Nehpilim, hideous aspirant to the divine legacy denied." He marches closer, his staff still leveled at the thing. "Abandon this facile game, you have no power here. Your father doesn't care enough to come save you, and your kind lost its chance at dominion long ago. Go back to your hole and die with the rest of the world. You will not impede us."

"My Father gave these men free will to do as they see fit."

He stepped closer to the thing, listening to Shealtiel's ramblings. The descriptions used mattered not. The Father was being challenged as an imperfect creator. As he walked, he removed the magazine to one of his many pistols from a pocket, followed by his rusted knife. With one hand he slashed across his chest, blood quickly following. In the other hand he held his magazine, holding the top just below the cut. He watched with growing lust as his blood flowed in to the magazine, coalesced between the eight rounds he held. After he was satisfied he removed the magazine, slamming it in to the TT33 Tokarev at his side.

With another few steps he closed the distance between he and the Defiler. He spoke again to the 'man', making sure his voice was loud enough to hear.

"You say I will weep. I do weep for the Earth. But you and your people's flesh are forfeit. You can give them, or I will take them. The Father is not insulted without his attackers struck down, returned to the dust from which they came."

Feenai's mind was already whirling through the Network as soon as Shealtiel said what it was. Nephilim...powerful psychics. Again something I am no match against except, as he says, by knowledge.

Feenai spoke. Her voice seemed small compared to everyone else, at least to herself. "We are getting what we deserve. I can't even argue the point. But for someone like me, who was born after it all happened, does that mean I should just accept the guilt of my ancestors? Also, what about all the people with you, do they deserve everything they have? It seems to me they fight for what they want and believe in, like most humans. I think..." Her voice choked slightly. "...perhaps judging everyone by what a few people do may be the biggest sin of all."

"You are a desecration. A scourge."

He withdrew the Tokarev from its holster, aiming it at the creature. And then for a moment...his aim wavered. This was not right. He was power. He was god incarnate. Why should he put down such a beautifully perverted creature with a lesser man's weapon?

Na'lsa shoved the pistol back in to its holster, pointing at the Nehpilim from an angry stance.

"But I am a kind and just god! Every creature has the right to participate in the survival of the fittest! So I give you a chance. Give me a reason not to devour you and your followers. And make it good, Nehpilim. I grow hungry."

Suddenly, the ground cracked. Apparently the pass wasn't meant for the weight of a car, especially as close to the edge as it was. It wasn't until the cliff began to sink that he noticed that something was wrong. "Shit," Michael thought as he quickly slipped out of the car. The piece of the cliff was turning, though, and before he could take three steps, he hit the water, and the car was sinking next to him.
Holding his breath, he looked around, searching for Rue who he thought was in the car, but as he peaked inside, noticed that something was a bit off...she wasn't in the car, nor swimming around anywhere that he could see...she was gone...

As he gasped for the good air that he was used to, he swam toward the cliff-line, slowly so that the waves wouldn't crash him into a sharp rock if they picked up, unexpectedly.

As Michael got his left hand onto a piece of the cliff, and then his right, he began to climb again. Although he couldn't imagine where Rue might be except in the water or on the cliff, he put it towards the back of his mind. "I can't save the world if I die. I'll just meet her at the top."
Little did Michael know, however, that were he to reach the top of the cliff, he would see the armored patrol vehicle only a few feet away.

The approaching humans didn't seem dangerous at all, in fact, Feenai could not read any thoughts in their minds at all. Since she couldn't read the Nephilim anyways, she closed her Network connection and sealed off her mind as best she could.

Feenai turned to the Nephilim. "You want... to come with us? Perhaps I'm missing something, but what is so special about us? You already threatened to reverse my blood flow, so pardon me if I'm a little confused about what we can offer you."

"Blood flow..."

The eyes of Lev's body studied the other bodies that were approaching. Na'lsa knew there was something off about them. What it was, he did not know. But it mattered not. They were weak. Weakness was not going to get far on the journey his flock had to make. The weak had to be culled. Thrown in to the fire that fueled the progress of his pilgrimage. And he had taken control of his body for a while now. The hunger inside him was growing. And the more it grew, the less control he exerted over his more base desires.

"We can possibly take you, wretch. But before the offer is considered, I require...flesh. I require a donation. I am hungering..."

His eyes rolled briefly before he snapped back to himself, having to swallow spit from salivating at the thought of fresh flesh.

"I require something up front. A warm body to sacrifice. Otherwise, this body I occupy will either regain control and attempt to destroy you, or I will be forced to eat you myself unless something is given to satiate this hunger."

Stunned by the insane waste of what just happened, of the mindless compliance of those men and women, of the sheer, dominating potential of the Nephilim's psychic powers, Shealtiel stares wide-eyed at the carnage before shaking himself back to awareness after a moment.

He looks over the Lev and says in strained tones, "Choose one. Quickly. Death has broken the bond and they see things now for what they were. They must be banished, before their spirits gain enough awareness to possess the bodies. Go!"

Feenai sank to her knees in horror, as she watched them all murder themselves. Forget reversing blood flow, that Nephilim is a MONSTER. And again I could do nothing. Ruebella...if you are out there, I want you to know that maybe, possibly, you were right about me. Tears came to Feenai's eyes unbidden. She knew that if Kasdeja wanted to come, there was nothing she could do to stop it. She struggled to her feet and walked dejectedly back to the APC and crawled into the back, not wanting to drive, or even watch what was going on.

Having been slightly bored with the proceedings and completely in his own world, Dante's head suddenly snapped up as he noticed forty-odd auras suddenly fade...then wink out. What...?!

"Fee...Feenai, are you...alright?" he asked in a bit of panic as she swept wordlessly past him.

And speaking of auras... Dante turned his head back. Where in the world did Rue go? The bright red was not where he'd last Seen it. He focused, and...there. A fading reddish gleam. Startled at first, his mind immediately clicking back to the carnage that had just taken place, he thought it through more carefully.

She'd left. The one person that he actually cared about right now. Probably on account of having to get away from him, and also to chase after her own goals.

But still. Dante had half a mind to run after her, whether to kill her for the bounty of confess in his probably awkward way, he wasn't too sure yet...but for now there were more life-threatening matters at hand. Being a nomad by nature, and having found her in Corinth, he was sure he'd be able to find her again in the future.

Na'lsa's eyes widened as he witnessed the carnage in front of him. And as his excitement rose, his hunger took over. Eyes rolling back in to his head, his body moved on instinct as he dove on top of the first corpse. Teeth and fingers tore at still warm skin, blood gushing across his hands and face as he ripped skin away, bit flesh from bone, chewed through to the marrow inside. He devoured the corpse at an alarming rate, reducing it to organs and bone in a matter of minutes. And as he fed, his aura grew ever so slightly. It began to manifest around him, overtaking what was left of the corpse. It began to break down in to pieces, bones snapping and grinding to dust. Organs pooling together in a lukewarm slush. In a horrifying display they began to snake upwards and around Lev's body, the bits of bone floating for a moment before piercing his skin. They dug further in, the holes they left behind acting as tunnels for the liquid vitals to pour in to. For a moment, Na'lsa's power fluctuated beyond all measure. Then it ceased, and there was no longer evidence that there had ever been a corpse at all.

Na'lsa panted, feeling the rush of a fresh feeding. But...but something was not right. Forty deaths. Thirty nine corpses. Forty children, fathers, mothers. Sons. Brothers. Forty who might have mattered to someone. Who might have mattered to his own Father, if he were here today. Father, who would not agree with this...this bloodshed. Was he the cause of all this? Was the Lion of God responsible for the slaughter of his Father's flock?

In rage, he pointed an accusatory finger at the creature who had commanded such slaughter.

"You had no right! A flock must be culled from time to time, but you only kill what is needed! Do not WASTE life! I ask for flesh to feed, not to see it rot!"

With that he turned to the closest corpse, leaning down beside it. His sanity fully restored, he attempted to bring the man back from death. Jamming a finger inside the entry wound, he tried to weave the man's head back together. Brain tissue began to move. Pieces of the skull came together and reformed. Blood now coagulated began to flow, seeping out the man's head. Nerves inside the skull began to twist back together, tightening again as if their separation had never occurred. He withdrew his hand from the man, searching his face for any signs of life.

"My child. Do you breathe?"

As soon as Lev begins to feed, Shealtiel turns his attention to the spirits of the other 39 souls, enacting the rituals that will banish them to Sheol. Then he senses the tug of Lev's divine power on one of them, and release his hold upon it, allowing the soul to return to the dead man's body. With a shuddering effort, he sends the rest shrieking into the underworld, nearly collapsing when he is finished.

Breathless, he mutters to no one, "Nowhere to go. There is... nowhere for their souls to go. They know it. I felt their rage, their indignation. Bah!" Shivering with a sudden fever, he forces himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane.

Na'lsa looked down on the man with a sad smile. As he gasped for breath, the being felt something new. A semblance of redemption, of saving grace for bringing back the man from a cheap and uncalled for death. With the tenderness of a parent, he helped the man to his feet. Patting him on the back, he spoke in the gentlest tone he had ever mustered.

"You are saved, my child. Go forth, and tell the world that the Lion of God will throw open the gates of his Father's kingdom. For when you die, there will be a Heaven for you. There will be a Heaven for all."

Turning to the rest of the group, Na'lsa threw his hands in to the air, shouting with the conviction they were now familiar with.

"I know what I must do! I must throw open the gates of Heaven for all! I must shatter them where they stand, and reclaim my Father's throne!"

"I know what I must do! I must throw open the gates of Heaven for all! I must shatter them where they stand, and reclaim my Father's throne!"
Michael stopped climbing as he heard the sound of Lev's voice. He was only a foot to the top of the chasm and scaling it would be easy. However, the press on his mind was a lot stronger than it was when he was in the water, let alone in the car on the other side of the road. Fear pressed on to his mind. "Whoever Lev is talking to, I'm sure that he's not going to be a friendly one....and he seems powerful."
So instead of climbing up, he let himself stay a foot below the cliff and started climbing sideways, keeping up his block as much as he could as he focused on getting toward the wall of Thermopylae where he could possibly climb and go around whatever force was attacking his mentality.

Jeanne stood for a moment, her arms held stiffly at her sides, but when she realized that the creature had no interest in her, she took several steps backwards and just listened.

For a while she took in information - the name of the not-man was Kezdeja - and gauged the responses of the others. Shealtiel's open hostility to the Nephilim intrigued her, as did Lev's disrespect. The theurge didn't know much about the Nephilim, but the constant push at the back of her mind made her highly suspicious. She was about to speak when the sound of gunshots filled the air and forty men fell to the ground.

With a gasp that was buried beneath Na'lsa's loud protests, Jeanne was about to rush forward when Lev beat her and began to devour one of the bodies. The Saint she had wanted to preserve, but even if these men had been slaughtered without reason, they were bandits. Her grip tightening on the sword, she looked around to see Fee walk as if in a daze to the back of the APC and Dante's head follow. As much as she wanted to go comfort her friend, it seemed as though he was about to do the same thing, so she stayed where she was.

With Lev's proclaimation, the theurge sighed. There was something inherently wrong about him, she knew it, but she couldn't make up her mind on whether or not he was an enemy.

As he stands now alone with Jeanne and Lev, Shealtiel says warily, "I do not think... that we should underestimate this creature. We've seen what it can do with its mind, but did either of you notice the way it moved? I wouldn't be surprised if it could tear all of our throats out in the span of a blink. If we can, we should try to stay in Kasdeja's good graces. I don't think he's bluffing."

He is truly shaken, his normal pithy sarcasm wholly absent. With slow steps, he makes his way back to the APC, unsure of how best to deal with the Nephilim. Not sure at all.

Na'lsa watched the abomination disappear inside the APC. Once he was out of his line of sight, his guard came down. Shoulders slack, spine curved, he let out a long sigh. Restoring life was new. Foreign. Something he wasn't quite familiar with. On the outside it had done him no harm, but he felt within himself that he had nearly burnt out his power, reaching the very limits of what he was capable of. He was still full, but his strength was spent. He would need to rest. And to do so...

"I release control over my host. I am tired. Clearly I will need every Saint I can find. Until I am needed."

With that, his eyes went wide. Na'lsa's aura faded, eyes rolling in to the back of his head as he retreated inwards. And as he retreated, Lev took control.

He stumbled a bit, trying to catch his balance. The first thing he really noticed was the smell. Or to be more accurate, his own smell. He choked a bit, being reminded of a time he hid amongst a pile of corpses that had been set on fire with him still inside. But those were memories he tried to forget.

With a quick lope, Lev easily caught up to Shealtiel. He turned his head slightly as he slowed down, striding beside the old man.

"So I am to understand that I carry something that believe he son of God?"

Dante was standing awkwardly besides Feenai, trying to figure the best way to comfort a girl, when Kazdeja ventured into the APC and all but blinded the crap out of him.

"AUGH. Out...!" He nearly staggered onto Feenai, holding a hand to his mouth to stifled a wave of nausea from the crushing aura. Somewhat feebly, he made a few half-hearted punches at the nephilim's head, then noticed the old man only a few steps behind him. Or it. Whatever it was. Not like it mattered.

Feenai felt the nephilim enter the APC even though she had closed off her mind and closed her eyes. His psychic presence was oppressively strong, especially since she was emotionally weak after seeing all those people kill themselves. All those years of keeping my parents' thoughts out of my head, when maybe I should have been trying to show them that I wasn't scary. Though I guess if creatures like this exist, how could someone with no psychic power even think that every psychic is NOT like the nephilim, or emim, or any of the creatures that now roam this world...

She opened her mind a bit and felt Dante near her. Not knowing what else to do, she reached up and clasped his hand, just to have a human to touch.

Michael was about half way up the wall of the cliff when he saw the source of the aura creep into the APC: "A nephilim..."

Physical Test: FAIL

Michael examined it for less than half a second when he realized that he should have risked the psychic being instead.... as he fell, his life flashed before him. It wasn't particularly note-worthy but at least he saved some lives and he lived a free man until the very end...
*Thump. Snap.*

"ARRGH!" Michael cried and writhed in pain as he looked at his arm. It was bent in the opposite direction that it should have been able to bend, and the end humerus was visible from where he lay. The skin on the joint was flapping with the wind along with the rest of his arm, which was hanging on the ligaments that have all but torn.
Feeling movement in his other arm, he reached over and moved his broken arm to lay on top of him, working to set into a position that he could cauterize it with the his incendiary laser. There was a risk of infection but he knew that there wasn't much choice besides bleeding out.
However, as he was working, the sound of hooves could the faintest sound of footsteps could be heard from down the mountain path...an unknown wanderer, who Michael has not noticed or heard.

Look askance over at Lev, Shealtiel replies, "Your demon has quite the imagination. I somehow doubt Typasius held aspirations (or delusions) toward a divine lineage. Na'lsa seems to have skipped the Saint's humility, but, then, humility doesn't become a messiah. Demagogues, every last one of them. Unless you count the False Prophet, I suppose..."

Realizing that he is rambling, and that Lev likely stopped listening some time ago, Shealtiel climbs aboard the APC, scowling to see Kasdeja sitting so comfortably in one of the seats near the back.

Catching the tail end of Dante's outburst, he tells the bounty hunter quietly, "Better not to agitate it, Lucifer. We'll be suffering its company for some time, I suspect. I suggest you get used to it. Who knows, maybe he's a good friend once you get to know him." Not caring if his sarcasm carried through or not, Shealtiel totters over to his seat and straps himself in, closing his eyes and making a point of ignoring the Nephilim.

Dante flinched, then turned, surprised. ...What...? His first impulse was to shake the hand off, but it was...shaking slightly? He could feel it through his gloves.

Realizing he was still poised to deliver punches to the nephilim's head, he relaxed his shoulders and arms a bit, feeling the strangeness of enveloping another much smaller hand in his own. I wish I could read minds...he thought somewhat vaguely.

The most he did at the old man's use of his name was to glare, his clouded eyes trying to pierce him. He noticed that the aura wasn't at its usual strength. Odd for him to be shaken.

He glanced back at the wavering pale aura next to him, thought for a while, then awkwardly sat down next to the girl.

"No Dante...you don't," Feenai said softly as Dante sat down. "So many people think it's a great thing to be able to do, but maybe humans weren't supposed to be able to do this ever. Everyone wants to be their own person, and reading minds breaks down the walls that people put up so they can be alone with themselves. Even I put up walls from my own family..." She started sobbing softly at this, realizing slightly how much of a hypocrite she must seem like to Dante.

She sighed softly and leaned on Dante's arm. "You don't have to talk. I know this is hard for you. Just let me stay here a few minutes...until I'm composed?"

...Oops. In his attempt to figure out Feenai's feelings, he'd forgotten her ability to do exactly what he'd thought.

It was strange, how they were both separated from their families, albeit for completely different reasons. Feenai, Michael, Rue. I suppose I'm lucky, in some ways.

And then there was Lev. The man seemed...strangely, somehow approachable. It was strange.

Almost as strange as actually someone crying next to him. A brief oh shit what do I do now flashed through his mind. He knew the feeling of seeing people die in front of him, in his arms.

The same right arm that had held Gabriel as he coughed up blood and turned pale, day by day, now twisted gently, awkwardly, out of the girl's grasp, reached behind her, turned her to face him, and stiffly hugged her to Dante's shoulder.

Poor Dante...I didn't mean to make him this uncomfortable. Feenai reached around him and returned the hug. Time to do what humans do best. Survive. She walked up to the driver's area and sat down. "Is everyone here and accounted for? Our honored guest has someplace to be, and so do we if I remember correctly."

Lev stepped inside the APC, surveying their ragtag group. The Nephilim seemed to instantly sap any sort of positive atmosphere that might inhabit the APC. A mood of somberness and surrender seemed to feel the metal casket they were riding in. Lev himself felt almost broken. It was as if his will was being bent against him, like he had lost a mental battle before he even knew he was fighting it.

Hanging his head, he unslung his Mosin-Nagant from his back. He picked off bits of flesh and blood with only slight amusement. After the absorption of the Saint's powers, Lev had been let in to Na'lsa's mind as well. They each could see what the other witnessed. They were one, and they were separate. And if his separate half was going to continue to inhabit his body, it was going to learn proper maintenance.

He unscrewed a long rod from the underside of his gun, withdrawing it from the stock. Tearing off a small piece of clothing, he wrapped the shred around the end. From a pocket he produced a beaten up can of oil, pouring a bit on to the scrap. That was the thing about the Nagant. It was powerful, but each shot was corrosive. If left uncleaned for even a small amount of time, the corrosion would spread until it had overtaken the weapon. It could not be let inside. It must be cut out.

As he cleaned, he looked up. He eyed the Nephilim, giving him a slight frown. After catching his eye, he spoke in a dull tone, as if discussing the weather.

"You are corrosion. Inside barrel. You spread, left unchecked. But I watch you. Your corrosion not spread here. I will clean you like I clean rifle, polish you out. Remember that."

Dara hadn't expected to meet anyone on the coastal path she rode on now. There were bandits nearby, true-enough, and it would make sense for what few sane people where still around to be taking the more obscure routes along the water, but she hadn't truly expected to see someone, much less anyone who had apparently been on the upper roads only a moment before if his broken arm and bloody appearance were any indicator of what had happened. The man was no currently running for his life, so it was likely there were no persuing monsters around the corner.

She stepped of her horse, the animal plodding a little ways beyind her as she approached the individual trying to piece his arm back together. She held out one hand, hestiant at first approach. "Do you need any help?"

Michael jerked at the voice, sending a jolt of pain throughout his entire body. He looked up, seeing the traveler that he had not noticed until now. She looked Caucasian, although she may also been from the long-dead Americana to Michael. He didn't have time to look it over as he quickly took advantage of the unlikely opportunity.
"Well, um, as you can see, I've taken a terrible fall." His voice shook when he spoke. The lack of blood was getting to him.
As she approached him with an extended hand, he said, "I'd return it if I weren't trying to fix my other arm."
He was sitting up, now, feeling the pain of many bruises while discovering that there are no other broken bones, surprisingly.
"I couldn't pay you back, now. But if you help fix my arm, I would appreciate it greatly." "Why aren't I worried around her? What makes her so trust-worthy? Is she a theurgist?" Alarms went off all over Michael's mind as his pain receded a little. However, his body acted as though by Another's will. It was as though his original tendencies of cowardice and caution have been replaced by illogical trust... What is this?

"I can splint your arm for you." Dara knelt next to the man and gingerly looked over his fractured arm, touching it as little as possible. "We need to set the bone first."

She went back to her horse who carried his head low and didn't seem to pay much attention to anything. From the bags on the saddle she grabbed a pack with a barely visible white cross on it, and some faded writing "-st Aid." A few wayward sticks suited her purposes before she approached the man again, ths time, helping him lie down on the ground. "You might want something to bite on" she said.

His now livid face contrasting with the strange milky green eyes as Dante nearly lost his cool, bounding across the APC and coming to a stop a single foot behing the nephilim. For now, Rue was gone, but there was something else to protect...

Snarling, he spat out his venom-coated words. "Anything to hurt her, monster, and I will blow your twisted mind to pieces. Yes, it's possible to injure someone mentally. Maybe such a vile creature as you would not have noticed."

Shealtiel remains in his seat, eyes closed, seemingly not paying attention, though he is listening intently to every word. Lucifer is like to get them all killed behaving that way, but trying to intervene will only escalate things. And if the Nephilim decides to whip that hundred-jointed arm back and tear out Dante's throat for daring to interrupt him, well, that would be getting of easy for the group. None of the fools seem to realize just how dangerous this creature is. Does Dante think to cow it into submission? It lacks the hormones needed to feel fear, cannot process the emotion in its alien brain. No, better to remain silent, uninvolved. At least until Shealtiel can think of something to do that won't involve provoking Kasdeja into murdering them all.