Na'lsa hungrily tore off a few more burnt scraps of flesh from the priest's husk, eating away at one strip and tucking the rest away like some sort of rancid beef jerky. He hobbled along back towards the APC, pausing to take a look down at the old codger's unconscious body. He sighed, leaning down and straining to lift him over his shoulder. He ached in places he didn't know he had. Lifting the man alone was taxing him. With shaky steps, he headed towards the APC.

This is my body. You...I can't comprehend what you've done to it! Leave me be!

Na'lsa stumbled, nearly collapsing as the voice of Lev wracked his head. Was he that weak that a mere mortal could challenge him for control of this body? The demon snapped back, the fatigue in his voice being noted.

"Shut up. Begone mortal."

You're in my head demon, but I'm in yours as well! You are weak! Your power is waning without someone to actually feed upon.

"I said shut up!"

Na'lsa concentrated, willing himself to stuff Lev away in to some corner where he could not bother him anymore. Clearly his powers were exhausted at this point. For the second time in their journey, Na'lsa began to worry.

Innon stood still in a dazed stare at nothing. His expression was ghostly stark white, even for a dead man. The frail demon struggling under the old mans weight snapped him back to reality.

He turned around and observed the odd motley company he was now in.

He turned back to the demon and wondered as to what was really going on, "Who on Earth are you people? Why are you here?"

The voice of the Nephilim echoed in his mind like a voice in a vacant room, "We're leaving. Let's go."

"Who is that? What in God's name is going on?"

Dara looks over at Innon's face as she shoulders her rifle again. She shrugs her shoulders a little, slipping the strap over one of them before responding. "I'm not sure."

Feenai sighed very audibly. More fighting, more pain, more death. And here I am, like a fool, leaving my mind open to take it all in. On the other hand though, the information I receive is probably worth it all.

"HE," Feenai gestured to Kasdeja's retreating form, "is a Nephilim. Very powerful and not someone I feel comfortable disobeying." She realized her laser was resting on the ground, so she stooped to pick it up and sling it over her shoulder before heading off to follow Kasdeja back to the APC.

On the other hand, Dante would've been completely comfortable with disobeying that damn bastard of a Nephy if it had just been the two of them. However, seeing Feenai (and perhaps Michael) torn to shreds was not something he intended on doing anytime soon.

Trailing at the back of the group, he pondered the blue...person...for a bit. Was it even a person? I mean...Kas is obviously not a person...but this guy seems...normal? If not a bit weak, like that "Dara" girl.

At the telekinetic push, Michael looked up to see Kasdeja, who had seen enough from here, apparently. Anger pulsed to his mind. He did not want to be hindered from his care of Altiel. He looked to Dara, who seemed unfazed, and then back to the old man. He didn't want to physically have to "act against" the nephilim's will, so instead he reached towards his latest psychic ability. Altiel's body began to levitate, if at a low height, and follow Michael as he began down the steps. The strain would have been too much for him, if he used his mental block as well, so he dropped it temporarily, letting his frustration flow out to anyone who could see it.

Na'lsa stepped in to the APC, faltering for a brief moment as he almost sunk to the floor. In a split second his body regained its composure, fists slamming against the metal wall in anger.

"I have taken backseat to my own fate!"

Lev's voice was recognizable. His voice no longer having the trait of dirty oil, his accent restored as the mere mortal regained control of his body. The demon was tired, and for now it had decided to rest and regain its strength.

"I feel it. I feel what he does to me, my body. Every bone, every muscle twisting. Surely I am to be driven mad. I am not my own man."

He cursed to no one in particular, raving on as if he actually had an audience. After a while he calmed down, checking his tattered close and battered weapons to make sure they were still in one piece. He was somewhat relieved to find them no more worse for wear than what could be expected. He let out a short huff, turning his fading fury towards Kasdeja.

"And you. What do you need with us? You think you are god. We are mortal. Dustlings, to you! We scrabble like ants and you poke us out one by one. I am getting tired being twisted around your crooked fingers. I am not toy."

He took a bite out of the flesh jerky that Na'lsa acquired in a most angry fashion, as if trying to act tough. He locked eyes with Kasdeja, refusing to look away in an act of both dominance and defiance.

Lev swallowed a lump in his throat as the heart brushed gently against his foot. He stared for what seemed to him an eternity before he bent down, aching knees bringing him back up to stand with the heart clutched in the same hand that had once been impaled with both revolver and spike. He had seen many things in his life. Many hardships. But nothing terrified him more than what he couldn't see, the lurking beast that slept under his own skin. And yet he felt kinship in the being. A fellow spirit who had survived a bit longer than they were meant to, outlasting their welcome in the living world. Like two cockroaches huddling under the same rock. Inside his head, he could hear the demon's actual voice. A guttural sludge of rasping muck, a sound that he was unable to reproduce with Lev's vocal cords. It wanted him to eat the heart. It craved for it. The beast was hurt, starved for power, for flesh. This rotting organ meant so much to it.

Lev hung his head and sighed.

"Perhaps instead of taking backseat to my own destiny," he began, speaking with his eyes on the floor, "this has instead become my fate. A vessel, for this thing, this raving madman who claims to be son of god."

He looked up, staring at Kasdeja with hate. He his fingers clenched down on the heart as anger-filled adrenaline coursed through him, disguising his emotions as strength.

"But maybe this vessel can give madman a push in the right direction."

With that he raised the heart to his mouth and sunk teeth deeply into it, making one swift motion of the affair. The meat was disgusting. The smell was unbearable. Blood and dirt-filled chunks slid down his throat as he swallowed. He felt nauseous, sick, he felt himself spinning out of control...

And Na'lsa felt so very much alive.

Dara's stomach begins to twist as Lev takes a bite out of the battered heart. She forces down her gut reaction by recalling her parents' farm and their neighbours, in particular the annual meat slaughter. A beast's heart didn't have quite the same repuslion to it. Still..

She coughs to hide her initial reaction, and says quietly, "We could have found somewhere for you to clean that."

"Who cares if it's clean..." Dante muttered ashe tripped his way into the APC, sprawling through the entrance. Still prone, he rolled over a couple of times and curled up with his back to the meat-eating demon, tired. He didn't want to think, but the thoughts and images came unbidden. A myriad of auras became tangled in his imagination, like a child at play with paintbrushes. Michael's pent-up frustration that gave in to sporadic bursts of light. That blue...something. And the fact that, although he could estimate where Dara might be at, he still couldn't see much of an aura.

It annoyed him. Why couldn't he?

Trying to put his thoughts to rest, he groped around on the floor for his scarf, then hugged it and tried to take a quick catnap.

Lev stumbled as he swallowed the last bits of the heart, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand. He spoke in a unhinged way as he felt himself losing control to a suddenly refreshed Na'lsa.

"No point. Everything is touched. Tainted. From dust, to dust. No harm in eating dust."

Arms went across his stomach as he suddenly felt very sick. Dizziness swept over him, and suddenly his body lay crumpled on the floor of the APC. It was there for mere moments before it picked itself up, Na'lsa once again in the flesh as he brushed dirt from his shoulders. He spoke, his oil and sandpaper voice replacing Lev's gruff and haphazard tone.

"Said I was a madman. You are what you eat, I suppose."

He chuckled, seemingly light hearted. Then all at once his face fell to a grim snarl, locking eyes with the Nephilim.

"I am no one's lapdog. Remember it. I will bite the hand that feeds."

Na'lsa waved a hand through the air, the actual bone structure arriving at its resting point before the actual blood and skin did, causing a flurry of activity as it melded back together.

"I said I am no lap-dog. I said-!"

Na'lsa cut himself off. How did the Nephilim penetrate his mind? He felt raw power coursing through him, fresh from the heart he had devoured. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He felt as if he could strike down this twisted creature in front of him with a mere gesture. And yet...here he was. Speaking in his mind. This was a parlor trick Na'lsa did not know. And as enigmatic as Nephilim were to Na'lsa, for a moment he felt fear over what else Kesdeja might be capable of. He drew himself up, trying to make himself look fearless. After all, what could he do to Na'lsa, who controlled the very ebb and flow of flesh itself?

"Eventually. Eventually can be a long time, Kesdeja. But eventually, I will."

In the silence after he spoke, Na'lsa listened. It wasn't sound, but he could hear the very blood pumping through the bodies near him. The rise and fall of chests breathing. The very life coursing through them. However, one was weak. Breathing slow and raggedly. Turning his head, Na'lsa stared down at the old man's unconscious body. The very flesh seemed to reach out to him, to yearn for his meddling. He could feel the very heat of life radiating from his blemished skin, the blood pulsing in a joyous rhythm at the very thought of Na'lsa blessing him with his graces.

Na'lsa twisted his hand, and was inwardly surprised that he could feel a surge of adrenaline through the old body that had not been there a second ago. With immense satisfaction for his new discovery, he knocked his head back and crowed to the ceiling.

"Rise, Altiel! Your flesh need no longer take rest or respite!"

One of the old man's eyes cracks half-open, staring with startling coherence at Na'lsa, as though he had not been coldly unconscious mere seconds ago.

With ponderous, possibly-exaggerated movements, Shealtiel slowly sits himself up, obviously haggard, but fully alert.

He looks around the APC, taking note of the rest of the group.

"Are we all accounted for?" he asks. "I don't think we should remain here longer than necessary."

"Jean is gone," Feenai stated, almost sullenly. "I have a feeling she may not come back." Feenai heaved a mental sigh and tried very hard to not show it outwardly. Jean had been the first person she met after arriving in the city and had felt like a good friend, it was rather depressing to find her gone.

"I think we should attempt to find something more substantial than succor capsules, if we're going to continue our journey. Na'lsa has had plenty to eat aside from them, and I think we may need it too."

Shealtiel grunts at the mention of food -- it has been weeks now since he has last eaten. "Agreed," he says, climbing up to strap himself into the nearest seat. "We have a difficult trek ahead of us through largely uninhabited lands. We're driving right down the path of the Beast as it tore across Eurasia. And crossing the Infernal Sea won't be a simple endeavor, either. We should try to find somewhere we can resupply."

Giving Feenai a wry look, he adds, "Since my MID appears to no longer function, perhaps you or Michael or tap into the Network for us and try to find somewhere we could stop to rest. Preferably free of lunatic priests, if you please."

Dara spoke up from her corner seat. "I can usually find something, though it won't be much."

Michael trudged into the APC with Altiel on his back...well behind his back, but he still trudged into the APC instead of simply walking. A headache was growing on him. Walking quickly seemed neither helpful nor convenient for him, for letting Altiel stray too far from him would drop him. It almost happened once. Then Michael got a bit more frustrated, aggravated by the Nephilim and proceeded to trudging, hitting the ground harder with each step. Michael's morality was starting to deteriorate from the journey. He didn't like being under someone's thumb, and even now, after having time to adjust, he still didn't like it. Perhaps he would attempt to kill the thing just to shut it up forever. Then he'd be able to get back to saving the world, one mind at a time.

Feenai nodded at Shieltial's suggestion. She tapped into the Network and readily found their location, along with a nearby place that would work well. "The isle of Thasos is close enough. I can drive us in that direction, and we can stop for some real beds there." She paused, then added somewhat cynically, "Not sure if they will have enough extra food to sell to outsiders such as ourselves though."

"I suppose if we want to make it anywhere before dark, we'd better get moving," Dara says, looking out at the tall dwellings in the distance. "Assuming we know where we *are* going." Rifle slung over one shoulder and kit hanging behind her back, she walked a little ways around the beach, seeing what might be around in the sand, as much out of personal curiosity as to keep an eye out for something they could use.

Na'lsa takes in a deep breath, his mind picking through his host's...

"Lev has had an experience close to this. He suggests leaving the APC far out from whatever 'civilization' might be here. A piece of technology, as fine as it is, would lead to us being overwhelmed by the inferior trying to claim it for their own."

He laughed to himself, ravaging through Lev's more personal take from that experience. He kept to himself about how Lev had been the one to toss a phosphorous grenade in to such an APC, waiting for those inside to burn before taking it for himself. As an afterthought, he added to his advice.

"And lock the hatch. It's for the best."

Not wanting to move and yet not content to stay behind, Dante grabbed his belt, now carrying all three guns and hid his blade, and hastily buckled it as he made his way out of the APC. A third holster had proven too difficult to make, and he'd had to settle with a simple leather band. Hopefully his poor craftsmanship would hold together.

The inferior...? he wondered, nearly stumbling into the speaker. Over the past few days, Lev's brown blur had been slowly compromised with Na'lsa inky blackness, something of a problem for Dante.

Shealtiel exits the APC with the others, making sure to bring his cane for what surely will be a long trek across the island. He is unsure what to expect ahead, though from his time studying in Greece, he knows that Thasos was once a rich town of high culture, renowned for its vineyards. They should be able to find something to sustain them left behind, assuming others haven't already plundered the island, or claimed it as their home. Unlikely, though, given how close this region lies to the Infernal Sea.

He senses more than hears or sees Kasdeja walk past him, the Nephilim staring into the distant ruins without regard for his companions. And then, without a word, he sets off, unmindful of whether any of the others follow him, his alien eyes searching the landscape ahead in a constant survey. Something has apparently awoken his interest.

Feenai just watched from the driver's seat as everyone else prepared and left the vehicle. She was emotionally and physically drained from the prior events and was not prepared to deal with what she felt from this city. Regardless, she slid out of her seat, slung the laser over her shoulder, and took one each of her grenades. Tired or not, I'd better stay with the others.

Out of breath from the walk, leaning heavily on his cane, Shealtiel stands with the others -- the lack of food any time in the past month, and his refusal to rely on capsules is beginning tax even his Sheol-granted resistance to hunger. Not to mention, he still has not quite recovered from his exertions in exorcising Mithaias' Dybbuk, and a deep weariness has set into his bones. If some new threat rears its head on this isle, there is little Shealtiel will be able to do to assist.

"These buildings look mostly preserved," he says, glancing around the square through half-shut eyes. "We may be able to find supplies, but we should be wary. I'm far too weary even to sense for hostile spirits. Feenai, Michael, can you detect anything?"

Na'lsa walked beside the old man, slowing his pace to stay with him. His eyes scanned the dusty buildings before them, catching the dried and cracked fountain for a moment before looking onward. The place was deserted as far as he could tell, dust settling in to what was now less traveled doorways and alleys. He smirked, speaking mostly to himself as he took in the place as a whole.

"A sad little town for a sad little king, the dust from whence he came being his only subjects until he rejoins them. Makes one wonder if someone is mad enough to occupy these ruins."

He paused, as if listening to Lev's voice inside his head. He nodded, speaking a bit louder the second time around.

"Watch the rooftops. Watch the doorways. Watch everything. If there's something in this town, they're watching...always watching."

Feenai answers Shealtiel's inquiry quickly. "If they are watching, like Na'lsa says," answering also to his statement, "they are doing so while asleep. I can sense several people but they all seem to be asleep, or at least very sedated."

"Are you sure that's 'very sedated'?" asked Dante, gesturing in the general direction of a brighter aura that could be seem even through the red haze emanating from Kasdeja. Besides that strange aura, he saw several wavering lights, scattered here and there. Spirits still too attached to this world?

Shealtiel looks around the square nervously, taking note of the many, many places an enemy could be hiding. Whatever is living here seems to be mostly terrestrial if none of the others can sense it, but humans can be just as dangerous as demons, and perhaps more cruel.

"I don't like this," he grunts, starting to stalk off toward one of the buildings, leaning heavily on his cane. "We're too exposed out here. Let's get what we came for." He is far weaker than he cares to admit, and terribly hungry, too, now that the prospect of food is so near.

A little away from where the rest of the group were gathered, Dara was already working on the search for food and supplies, skirting around around the sides of houses and forest edges, looking for tended gardens or other signs that people still lived here. Farmed plants gone wild and still surviving were a ready source of food she's taken advantage of in the past around her rural home.

Michael contacted the Aether Satellite in the first time in apparently a longer time than he originally thought. Time flew by in the confines of the APC.
"A map of the area suggests that there shouldn't be people here. The life that you sense might be anything from raiders to reapers." He drew the incendiary laser. The other gun in his coat was safely off, and due to his grudging behavior against the Nephilim, he hadn't looked at it thoroughly, yet.

"I don't care what's here."

Na'lsa muttered under his breath as he approached one of the dwellings, sizing up the door. A quick feel of the door knob told him that it was locked. Frowning, he turned away from the door...

And a second later his leg went crashing through as the heavy wood was thrown from its hinges. It was a childish display of the raw power he had acquired, but under his skin he brimmed with a power begging to be used, like a racehorse demanding to run. He surveyed the dusty entrance way for only a moment before shouting towards the sky.

"Is someone here?! Does someone occupy this hovel?!"

He took a moment to breathe, reigning himself in. The heart he had consumed had granted him an immense surge of raw power and might, but the energy of it was changing him, begging him to execute the power he had been bestowed. Like the mad Priest before him, what he had been granted should be used, lest it not be wasted by time itself.

...And of course Na'lsa would take the privilege of announcing their presence to the world.

Dante turned around at the sudden shattering of silence. A smaller light was half blotted out by an inky darkness streaked red with bloodlust, what he assumed was Na'lsa.

Would that be a lesser spirit? Dante slowly walked closer. It certainly didn't seem...too...dangerous.

Shealtiel leans over toward Dante, speaking softly in hopes of not being heard by the stranger.

"I don't like this," he says. "Stop him, if you can. I'm too weak. We don't know what else lurks on this isle. Inciting a bloodbath could be disastrous. We need succor, not slaughter."

"Ha! There you are! Displayed for the whole...world..."

Na'lsa had raised his hands in mock greeting when the figured appeared. Now he trailed off, finding her presence rather...anti climactic. Dropping his hands, he let loose a sigh of disappointment. He began pacing around her, puzzled by her calm demeanor. After a minute he placed his hands on her shoulders, drawing close and smelling her skin. A sickeningly sweet smell of serenity rose up through his nostrils, his mind clouded for just one moment with tranquility. For the moment...

He was old. Wrinkled. His joints ached. It felt good to sit in his rocking chair. Springtime had come in full bloom. The daffodils had flowered nicely this year, and their bright yellow petals shown wondrously as the evening sun showered them in light. He smiled as he took in the small garden he had cultivated with the love and devotion of someone with all the time in the world. He took a peppermint candy from his pocket and fiddled with the wrapper. The candy wrapper finally gave way, and his creased old hand met his mouth as he tasted the little mint. It was strong, what a peppermint should be. He closed his eyes and leaned back, enjoying the evening. Mint on his tongue, the smell of daffodils (his favorite), and the soft sun warming his skin. He was at peace with the world.

For the moment...

He recoiled in full horror, arm hiding his face. That memory had not been one of his. He had shared lives with hundreds, but never had he seen anything like that. Nothing so calm, so innocent, so...at peace with the world. Not one of his.

Na'lsa cleared his throat, speaking in a shaking tone.

"You're not one of my brethren. You reek of...something else. What the devil are you?"