Lion. If only blind man could see how true he was! True! Lion of Tsavo!

Lev twitched, the name Dante spat evoking the whisperings once again. He turned his head slowly, small black pupils staring down the blind man's flesh. He spoke in a clear voice again, not at all like his usual halting speech.

"So the truth is out. Desperate times, blind one. Your mind is still sharp. You know what I am, to a degree. You know some of the things I have done."

Lev pulled the trigger on his revolver as it hung by his side, letting the soft click of the first empty chamber echo as the hammer hit air. He pulled the hammer back, cycling to a live round. Somewhere, a whispering started again.

Incite! Prod! Violence begets violence. Flesh, wasted flesh. Better repurposed. Processed. Digested so the strong may survive!

"Perhaps I have fed on the flesh of those slain. Maybe I reveled in the rot, consuming the putrid carcasses of the damned. Maybe Gabriel is in a smaller piece than you left him."

He grinned at Dante, knowing the man would never be able to appreciate his smile, blind or not.

Climbing slowly, calmly to his feet -- noting fully the incoming disaster, Shealtiel opens himself to the power of Sheol. Fully rested, the power surges through him. Even as both men descend within themselves, awakening to bestial fury, he conjures the essence of the realm of the dead and projects it in a focused current toward Dante.

Corpses, withered to bone yet profoundly alive; buried to their chests, mouths stuffed with tar. Dead and undying, perfectly cognizant.

The sensation seeps deep into the man, past his thinking brain, into the primal depths of his self, bypassing choice, eliminating will, striking to the very soul.

Winds over plains, a low moan. But the plains are naught but crushed bones, the compacted remains of a thousand legions of dead... and the wind is only the breath of tortured souls, the sigh of lost hope, of lamentations abandoned for silent despair.

Only a theurge or another Servant could resist the crippling despair this power will conjure. Despite being directed at Dante the others will feel its effects as well, though not to any debilitating degree.

Evenly, quietly, Shealtiel addresses the woman from Babylon. "Muzzle your dog, dear. Now." His tone betrays the complete lack of concern he has for himself in this situation, not even the slightest whisper of fear. Let her read that, if she thinks to defy him.

The quiet click-clack of the gun resounded in Dante's ears, like a guillotine being set into place. How had he not been prepared for this...?! Soft...too soft. You've grown too soft, assassin! a voice inside him laughed. You're protecting your brother, true, true...but what has he brought to you? Only the end of your life!

The essence of fear sank deep into him, piercing through his mind. He had been sane before, yes, but sanity ran from the deepening pool of black despair that was emanating from the purple aura. It also scored a direct hit on the assassin's mind. He doubled over from the mental assault.

The shame that had threatened to overflow from Dante's eyes spilled out, and Dante drew his left hand across his face. Stop...stop laughing! He was sick and tired of being constantly reminded that he should've been the one to die, he was the weaker one, he was blind. But instead a cruel twist of fate had poisoned his brother, not him. You wanted to die at the time, right? Well, here's what you wanted~ A barrel point right at you, you murdering, sinning bastard!

And he couldn't deny it. How many people had he killed for the money? And what was the money for? Women, drink, gambling~ You know it, don't you. You deserve to die!

In his mind's eye, he saw the executioner pull the rope; he saw the blade descending, slowly, ever so slowly...And he was helpless at the bottom, tied, cornered, shunned...

The voice of his will screamed at him. How could he die here? He had survived the riots, the fires, the ghetto, the death of his parents, then of his brother...How could he die here, of all places? He was a survivor. He was named for being a survivor, ever since he had narrowly escaped death at birth. He was Dante.

His sanity returned, and in self-defense, he grabbed his guns from three feet away and held them up, both pointed at the gunman, ready to shoot at the slightest movement.

Michael listened silently as he continued to eat his breakfast: artificial "egg-sandwich" that doesn't really have eggs in it and powder made orange juice. "It's good shit, very filling."
He didn't even bother offering some to the psychic and her friend when she took the succor capsule. "I guess they'd rather have twisted stomachs."
He patiently listened to the other around him wake up, noting down the blind man's sentimentality towards the now cannibalistic gunman's latest meal. Hearing the first click of Lev's magnum made Michael pause. Leaving the sandwich in his left hand, he pulled out the laser from his right and pulled it out in front of him, aiming for the man of Tsavo. Dropping the psychic block, he pulled up his shield behind his gun. That was a mistake.
Within a moment that seemed to be less than a second, Michael fell into a state of insanity that has only been evoked before by the courage capsule.
"Back so soon, my child. I knew you wouldn't keep me waiting."
"Dammit, Jez'ebel. Let me live my own life," Michael yelled out to the presence, but before he finished, he could hear the voice of Jez'ebel laughing.
"Hahahaha hah. My child, your life belongs to me. Whether you choose to live it is up to you." Jez'ebel's presence drew so close that Michael could see her face in her mine. "Come back to me," she said before disappearing.
Michael's eyes returned to normal view before he realized the horror of this event. His mind was left open, and anyone who wanted to see this event could have read his mind and looked in that moment.

Lev stared between the two men for a few moments, wondering if he really should open fire. These two just might be able to overpower him. But if he succeeded? If he could take down both Dante and Michael? The two were both powerful in their own right, and the two would truly be a feast. They would be worthy of fueling his ambitions to-

He jerked, looking around quickly as some sort of feeling weighed down on him. The dull whispering that had been in his head faded back. What was he doing? He had seen weapons pointed at him. He knew he had been doing something that had severely affected Dante. He looked around the room for answers and found none. Taking a step back towards Rue, he addressed the rest of the room.

"I require to abandon most of you soon. Danger is present."

The moment of hesitation and slightly dimmed aura made Dante raise an eyebrow, lost under the blindfold. "You, artificer...I need no help from the likes of you. And you, old man...you have no idea as to the scale of the headache and pain you've just given me."

The corners of Shealtiel's mouth twitch in what might almost be a smile. "The idea was to cripple you -- and mostly for your own good, I might add. You're strong, we can all tell, but I wouldn't bet on you against this one." He gestures absently with his cane towards Lev. "Apparently, though, your soul is naturally resilient to such manipulations, or... I'm losing my touch, which is of course a possibility."

Jeanne's smile made Feenai very happy, as well as relieved. She looked over at the commotion between everyone else but decided to ignore it. "I guess when they finish fighting...we'll be leaving?" she whispered to Jeanne. "I'll go wherever you go, as long as you don't mind my company."

She was tempted to open her mind to the Network again but hesitated. In truth, Feenai felt that she could not drop her shield just yet. While looking at the Network did distract her enough to not really pay attention to the random thoughts, she still wished for her mind to be silent. I'll research telekinesis another time.

"Excuse me of my emotions, of which that man clearly has none of," Dante smirked, face a bit more flushed than he had intended. Breeeeeeeeaaaaathe, idiot. After holstering the guns, he did exactly that -- one deep breath in, one out... Oxygen did wonders, apparently. He put his knife (which he had dropped into his scarf, making yet another hole) away, and was quick to pull on his shirt and chestplate. Medkit...scarf...bag of money...

"...Anyone want a drink later? It's on me...I guess. The pub's completely legit, not sketch at all, ha, ha."

Michael turned his eyes from Lev to the blind assassin. He didn't necessarily want to defend him, more so than nip the conflict at the bud before it grows into something troublesome.
"Thank you sir. As you can see, it's my breakfast time. Any gunshots within that time would ruin the little peace that I'm enjoying right now."
A wall of psychic force defended Michael from any physical attack that could've been triggered from the impromptu negotiations. He grabbed another bite out of his sandwich, keeping focus on the situation more than anything else that could've been used against him.
"So then, guman of Tsavo. What danger do you speak of?"

Lev turned his head to look at Michael, thumping his own chest with his revolver to indicate himself.

"It has been attentioned to me that I do thing not natural. I consumed bodies. Eat them. I...don't quite remember. But it best that girl and I leave, or I attempt to begin the eating of some of you. I think. That sounds...correct."

He nodded to Michael, looking as serious as he possibly could (which was all the time).

"I tell you this so you may tell others. So that you have fair chance. I fight by some of you. Some of you have put me back together. So, I warn you. I think that is fair. And I would regret the eating you. Well, some of you. It could be one time thing. I...do not remember details. I just wish to let you know that an eating could happen."

Dante let out a low, dark chuckle. "I doubt you'd want to eat me...I doubt that chunk of my arm was easy to chew. ...Anyways, tossing revenge aside...You two drink? Or--" he forced a wide grin, "--you girls? We might as well, before we start gutting each other...or get gutted by others."

He tossed the coin bag up a few times, in part to drive off the lingering feelings of anger and vengeance, in part because he hadn't had this much money for weeks.

Jeanne nodded to Fee. "I don't want to get caught in this," she said quietly, eyeing the three men with distaste. With her luck they'd all end up wounded, and she'd have to heal them all.

Fortunately, their argument was seemingly postponed and replaced with talks of alcohol, something that Jeanne could be quite a fan of in moderation. "Of course," she said to Dante. She opened her mouth to say more when Ree stormed off and down the manhole.

"Well." Jeanne didn't want to be the first to follow Ree - in fact, she hardly wanted to follow the woman at all. There was something very wrong about her. She glanced at the manhole and then at Lev to see what he would do.

Lev watched Rue make her way to the manhole, raising an eyebrow as she did. He gave her a few seconds before he excused himself from the group.

"I must go. Remember."

With that, he went cautiously down the manhole. He still gripped his revolver in his hand, making him take his time as he carefully lowered himself. Once again he felt relief as shoes touched grimy flooring.

Returned!

Lev walked forward slowly, cautiously making his way back to where...where he knew he had done something. Could he have really ate those things?

More! Consume!

He batted at something near his ear with his offhand, cautiously coming up on Rue's huddled form.

RIPE FLESH! Amongst the feast! Presents herselftofeedwemustfeedtheFLESHiswrithingwithwarmt h!

He eased behind her with the stealth of a feline, steps not making a sound as he came within reach of Rue. His eyes stared at the back of her head, contemplating her for a moment before he spoke.

"What are you doing?"