Seeing the approach of the local folk towards the group, Dara stops her exploring and moves back to where the others stand, but remains on the edge of the woods, instinctively unobtrusive, and watches the encounter play out between her latest travelling company and the newcomers.

Feenai tentatively senses the people. They...still seem asleep! Something is terribly wrong here... She spoke up, "I'm not sure what's going on, they seem very sedated." She paused, then continued, "I'm not very sure what to do about this."

Twisted. Twisted, twisted, twi-- Dante shook his head rather violently, perhaps in part hoping to unhinge it and clear out his apparently-cloudy vision.

I'm either in desperate need of a cleaning service, or something is utterly messed up here... He could sense the anxiety in a few people in his group, but the overall calmness...it was unnerving. Unnervingly quiet and slow. But the sense of foreboding...Maybe it's just us.

Na'lsa nodded in a solemn gesture, suddenly taking on the somberness of someone mourning for a loss.

"Our lord Father who thou art in Heaven, who is no longer with us, has not sent me. I have however, risen beyond my station in life to answer a much higher call."

He stepped back a bit, speaking louder for those nearby to hear him. Clearly basking in the limelight, he spoke in such enraptured conviction that every word carried his own power behind them.

"I am Na'lsa. I am the opposite of what should stand before you. I am a demon of Gluttony. Hunger incarnate. The physical embodiment of the urge to consume and waste all. But no more! I have thrown off that which shackled me! No more am I a slave to that which sired me! For I have looked to the Heavens and chosen a new Father. And that Father is the very Lord that created this Earth. And in choosing to accept him, I have taken the charge to gather all that is needed for me to ascend...and throw open once again the gates to Heaven itself!"

He threw his arms open wide, going on in his fanatical tone as he continued preaching.

"For I imagine a world where in death those who have done well receive their just reward. I see no pain or misery. Bountiful harvests in all eternity, where loved ones are already waiting. Where your very soul is free from the torment of this life and the very Beast himself. Of everything that has plagued us! With the gates thrown open, we can restore balance! Will you help me build this world?"

He panted, eyes ablaze with a light that he could feel deep within him, raw power pulsing in his body. Even he was not entirely safe from his own propaganda.

Micheal followed Lev more cautiously towards the doorway. He knew that even if Lev wanted to die kicking down doors, he would not. But at the first words he heard, he paused, enchanted by something so...beautiful in nature. Without seeing the woman who's voice it had came from, he immediately dropped gaurd. There was a sense of joy beyond the normal feelings that he could gain from other people. Was this love, or simple bliss that floated into his mind and excited his heart so?

And then Na'lsa's preaching brought it all crashing down, for Michael knew the nature of the demon already, and it enraged his enchanted mind. "NO. HE IS NOT!" he shouted, storming into the household.

"I don't think you quite understand. I will acquire the power needed to reopen Heaven, if from willing volunteers or broken spirits."

He stretched his arms, loosening himself up as He felt tension building. Inside, he felt an old instinct rising to the surface of his mind - hunger. The distraction from Michael only Allowed him to drop his act quicker, his more savage side beginning to show.

"I am Hunger. I consume the very power woven to your flesh. Those who stand against me will be consumed, their flesh fuel and their very soul repurposed for the glory of a Heaven reborn!"

Shealtiel, ignoring the others and their meaningless gibbering, hobbles off toward where Na'lsa stands ready to erupt into violence. Wheezing for the effort, he hastens as fast as he can, hoping to intervene before the demon destroys their chances of getting aid here.

Will an appeal to the creature's mad delusion work...?

"My lord. Na'lsa," Shealtiel says between coughs as he passes into the building. "Think of your frail flock. Look at me! We fail, we falter. You are strong, strong beyond mortal ken, but we are weak, frail and human. Remember why we came here."

Taking a moment to catch his breath, he adds, "And besides, it may be that these are allies in your cause you are threatening. Perhaps wisdom would dictate patience, here?"

He has never heard of this Cult of the Synthronos before, but knowledge of Metatron was certainly part of his studies in... in his life before. More than just the chief of the angels, Metatron was more a lesser God, empowered with absolute authority to judge. His disappearance in the wake of the Almighty's suicide has never been explained or explored, what with the gates of Heaven sealed, but could it be that he survived?

Shealtiel briefly entertains the horrifying thought of Metatron taking up the Sariel's black mantle, but no... surely he would have heard of such a thing. Surely all the world would have perished by now...

Although Michael was calmed, slightly by the words of Mehetabel, he raised his gun at the threat made by Na'lsa. "You will not desecrate the peace made by these people of good will!" he said, resolved to protect the girl more than the actual group. As much as he wished to trust in fate, enchanted by the voice of the woman, his mind wrapped rationality around the infatuation. He was a breaker of faith in his past profession, and those who remained in trust would die, and without a god of any sort to justly govern the souls of the departed, dying quickly became an even more unfortunate fate than was feared.

Na'lsa tilted his head, listening to the voice of reason that was Shealtiel. Unfortunately for the hunger building inside him, the old man made valid points. With a shrug his aggression disappeared.

"Forgive me, brethren. My last meal didn't exactly agree with me. You are what you eat, and the last one was a bit...mad."

His eyes found Michael and his gun, giving him a look of amusement. He turned to face him, presenting an easy target for him.

"Go on. Silly man with your silly weapon. I am woven to this flesh, and this flesh bends to my will. All flesh does, with enough persuasion. Pull the trigger. You will waste a single bullet, and then I will make sure you never waste another."

Not sure if it was the calming peace of the crowd or her own will of not wishing to see more fighting between her companions, Feenai stepped directly between Michael and Na'lsa. Many things ran through her mind, of things to say to de-escalate the confrontation, but her throat closed on all of them, afraid to have them turn their ire on herself.

Instead she gazed upon the pendant that the woman had shown to Na'lsa. It was beautifully made but even with all her journeys through Network databanks, she had never seen such a thing before. As she opened her mind to check, now that she had a visual, an enormous burst of psychic energy dropped her to her knees. She screamed in agonized pain, it was horrible, far more horrible than even when Rue had forcibly invaded her mind before. Clutching her head, Feenai tried desperately to shield herself, but was only partially successful and collapsed to the ground.

Just when she thought all was well, her makeshift mental shields suffered another assault. She could only imagine what was going on, as this was not the same source as the first one. She had no idea what this would do if it was directed at her, and she screamed in wretched agony again, then fainted with her eyes closed tightly.

"What..." Shealtiel lurches over to Feenai, a look of shocked fright on his weary features. "What. Was. That?" He stares almost madly into the young girl's eyes, demanding an answer.

Though he could not sense the no-doubt godlike psychic force that just struck the isle, the after-effects are impossible to ignore -- the quaking ground, the shuddering trees, ceramic roof-tiles rattling in their decades-old brackets.

Was that... the Nephilim? Or something else?

Dara had left the group to their dealings with the locals. Doubtful that any of them had noticed her, though if they had, none had deemed her worth following. If the isle had any natural produce worth scavenging, she'd find it -- she liked to have her own stores, even if the locals *did* prove accommodating, which was seeming less likely by the minute.

She followed a less densely-vegetated path down toward the seaside, pausing to examine the various bushes and shrubs as she passed, gathering those berries and roots she knew were safe. As she came down to the shore, something caught her eye, a shape drifting limply against the shore, carried by the tide.

A seal? she wondered. No... something else.

(Rebuilt by Sheol. Yay!)

The bright light of day didn't make the scene before Dara any less tragic. Before her lay a face-down child, probably not much more than sixteen or seventeen. There were drenched wings on the pale-skinned back, and a tail sprouting from the tailbone, easy enough to see since the child was completely naked. From the dimensions of the body, the slightly wide shoulders, and the general height, it was easy to tell the child was male. The feet appeared to end in small hooves, red in color. The tip of the tail was also red. Soaked hair pressed to the scalp, a red-brown in color and dark - although that was probably the fact that it was drenched.

The boy made no motion, which wasn't all that surprising considering he was face down and, to all casual observation, not breathing. The water was in the process from running from his skin, hair, wings, and tail in rivulets, drying quickly in the sun. It did nothing for the general state of the boy, however, who remained stubbornly unconscious and/or dead. The child did not appear to have been armed in any way when he went into the river. No weapons on his person or near him at all. Then again, there wasn't a stitch on him, so that could have burned up with the rest of his clothing. There was a pressing question to be asked, though. How had he not burned to a crisp along with what he was wearing?

Dara looked the boy over, pausing briefly at the unusual features he displayed. She shook them out of her head. Keeping company with a canniball who could reshape his body hadn't said much for the merits of appearance. She definately couldn't call herself "normal" either.

The first thing she did was drag his body further up the banks and away from the acidic water. He's probably the same age as I am. On the bank she flopped him over on his back with as much care as her strength allowed. She immediately set to work on getting him breathing again, barely pausing in her CPR to spit out the dirt that caked his face.

It didn't take long for him to respond - although it was weaker than was strictly expected. He opened his mouth, and gasped in a half-liquid draw of air after about a minute of resuscitation efforts. His lungs realized that it was partially water and not oxygen he was taking in, and he rolled over onto one side to retch up what he'd swallowed. Not much came up, since he hadn't eaten in the last... well... In a while. It took about six or seven minutes for his stomach and lungs to be satisfied that no more scorching poison would be entering his system, but after that was taken care of, he simply had no strength left to do anything but rest his head on his arm, and wheeze harshly as his body got used to being technically alive again.

As well as nearly-drowning, he'd swallowed a great deal of the toxic water, and didn't look so good. Paler than he normally would have been, with a bit of a grayish tint to the skin, as well as flushed and shaking. His guts were not happy, but the more pressing issue was that his lungs were also unhappy. He continued to cough long after he'd finished heaving up what water he could get out of his stomach - deep, painful-sounding coughs that wracked his entire small frame. Blood dripped from his mouth after a few of these coughs, making it clear that whatever else had been done to him in that river had caused some internal damage.

When he had enough strength in him to lift his head again, he sought out his rescuer, making a concentrated attempt to locate just one of her among the myriad of swirling female images. That idea was quickly falling flat, however, since his vision was starting to cave in on itself. Blackness took the edges first, and quickly worked their way inward. Before he completely lost what he'd gained {albeit briefly}, he cracked a half-hearted attempt at a sheepish smile, and mouthed the words that it hurt his throat too much to say out loud just now: 'Thanks'.

After which, he slumped again, head on his arm, entire body relaxing into unconsciousness. Not surprising. But he was breathing, for whatever else might be wrong with him, so it was a start.

Dara looked down at the boy, unconcious again after his retched coughing fit. The poisons of the new ungodly world were different from what she was used to. She wondered briefly if the herbal concoction she fashioned to purify small amounts of water would work inside a human body. Stomache acid along would certainly breakdown the ingredients much faster then the tedious boiling process. She doubted that the boy would appreciate being used as a guinea pig though.

If he gets worse. I'll try it if he gets worse.

She was now faced with her other immediate problem: how to get the unconscious boy back to the others. He needed a little more help than what she could do with what was currently in her medical kit. Trying to work his dead weight onto her back was not a terribly attractive plan, and she briefly considered shouting, hoping her voice would carry enough along the river for someone friendly to hear. The sudden quake in the ground and crashing of tree trunks changed her mind on that option *very* fast.

What was that?

Michael covered his ears at the scream,lowering his gun. He was shocked out of his wits, and more or less fortunately out of his attention towards Mehetabel. "What the hell was that?" he barely gasped out when he recovered from the scream. Being very close to the source of the scream didn't exactly help him in coping with it. He had to sit down before saying anything else...
Which really helped when the large earthquake hit the island. Although he had to keep an eye out for anyone who might fall on him, Michael was more able to kept balance than he wold have while standing.
But by the end ofthe quake he really looked around. No longer did he look at Mehetabel, enchanted by her beauty, but at everyone else. Fear began to touch his heart becuase he knew the strength of the force that overtook Feenai, and it was much more powerful than he was, psychically. He grabbed the other gun from his coat pocket and readied it next to his laser, pointed in the air, to avoid hitting his (once again) neccesary allies. "Altiel..." he bean to ask, almost fearfully, "what is this place?"
They say "knowledge is power" and without knowing who the enemy was, nor how he or she or it was equipped, Michael could not fight...in his mind, he could only die where he was, without knowing. Even a room full of enemies was a lot better than a single enemy in a room full of friends, to him, becuase he now did not know the enemy.

Na'lsa looked less than pleased as events began to whirlwind in front of him. As the earthquake rocked the very earth he stood on, his composure finally broke.

"Is this your power? Is this the might of Metatron? A thousand pardons, but I am not impressed by smoke and mirrors. Show me this being! Show me the true form instead of the events being blamed blamed on it!"

Shealtiel casts a haggard glance back at Michael, unsure of what to tell the young man. "I... do not know. I have... theories, speculations, postulates... but, I could not tell you which is true."

He looks back over to their host, wondering if he does indeed detect a faint hint of concern across her placid features, or if it is merely his imagination supplying what is otherwise chillingly absent.

"Though," he adds, still speaking to Michael, "I do wonder where Kasdeja has gone."

Asasiah would be lying if she said she hadn't wanted to come to Mehetabel's call. Normally she was quite defiant, especially in the face of her 'fetchers'. But she could sense the presences on the island and to say the least she was quite curious. Unfortunately she was also rather hungry. She tilted her head much like a curious child at the man and smiled a little.

"She wants my presence you say..." her voice trailed off, she had a rather strong reputation for turning them into food and she could smell the fear on the man, it made him all the more appetizing. She stood and walked to him a soft giggle escaping her as she leaned onto the man, her hands gently sliding to his shoulders. She touched with a soft caress, perhaps even comforting but he could see the way she moved like a hunter, her heavy-lashed eyes narrowing as she looked at her prey.

"Mehetabel should know by now that I do what I please." She licked her lips a bit. His smell made her mouth water. "What's this, May...raw you say? Are you sure? I tend to like my meat a bit heated up... oh well, I guess you can have your way." The man whimpered in her soft touch as a line of blood traced down the center of his body before she suddenly ripped him in half as if he were paper.

"I will never understand this method, May... it's rather messy you know." She shrugged, proceeding to eat the man. Mehetabel could wait long enough for her to finish.

A little later, she walked down the street. "These pesky earthquakes are getting bothersome... May, we really should do something about this..." she sighed. Mehetabel was coming into her view. She was completely devoid of the bloody mess she had earlier created, except for the blood she gently licked off her fingers.

"What do you want, Mehetabel, I have better things to be doing..." She looked at them, her eyes traced the party Mehetabel was with, they seemed to be quite the bunch. She was sizing them up but her eyes stopped on the old man and she gave an odd face before her nose wrinkled. "You know it's bad enough that there is half dead demon stench on the shore, you bring me a shriveled old man, not even enough meat to be an appetizer." She sighed as she shook her head.

"Oh, May... I am sorry, I didn't mean to offend...but it really does stink..." she said, looking thoughtfully at nothing. She sucked the last bit of blood off her fingers before crossing her arms and looking at Mehetabel annoyed.

"So, why did you call me...I did enjoy the meal though, he was simply marinated with fear."

Shealtiel stares at the woman as she approaches, taken aback, no -- utterly stunned by the chaos unfolding around them. Was it this creature who shook the isle with such devastating force? Somehow, judging by Mehetabel's words earlier and her expression now, he does not believe so.

How many powers is this isle home to?

Perhaps it is prolonged exposure to Na'lsa, but the threat of being consumed by this newcomer does not even register to the old man. Reaching out with his spiritual senses, he immediately reels, stumbling backwards at the... madness that is her essence.

"What... what are you?" he breathes, not even realizing he voiced the words aloud.

* * *

"Did you not feel the tremors?" Mehetabel has apparently lost all interest in the intruders to her home. If she has any care for the servant Asasiah apparently devoured, she betrays no indication.

"I fear," she tells the creature. "I fear these travelers have brought a Power to our island. And not only that. I fear he has been awoken to anger." She softens momentarily, her eyes becoming almost pleading. "Asasiah, what are we to do?"

She completely ignored Mehetabel's question, looking at the old man and giggled. "How cute, he can feel my essence." She walked toward him, but stopped "No, May, we can't eat him," she said to herself before continuing her approach.

"Such a loaded question... mmm... how to answer. Uriel... Amaymon...but I prefer the name daddy gave me... can you believe he made me and then locked me away? How could he not love me... "She frowned a bit then realized she'd trailed off. "Call me Asasiah," she said before looking at Mehetabel. The woman was begging for her help, how adorable.

"I could take care of the problem quite quickly, I don't know though... pain and suffering is heavy in the air. I find it to be rather enjoyable, the fear you're people are drenched in... mmmm."

With no further tremors, Dara decides that staying and moving both amount to about the same thing at this time, that being nothing particularly significant either way. She lifted the boy over one shoulder. She was amazed at how light he was. She though that her med pack might be heavier when it was full. It was far from such now though, which made it easier to carry the two.

Keeping her profile as low as she could with a passenger, Dara started walking back towards the small settlement.

On the way she mused about her brief rural life with her family. They had a few sheep. She remembered her father hissing and swearing as he fought to get a bottle of charcoal down the throat of a sheep that had gotten into something it shouldn't have. Both were not happy with the effort, but netiher had died at the end of it.

She resolved to make a fire when she got back.

Swimming out of darkness, and back into the light wasn't as pleasant as it might have seemed. Deep in the confines of the darkness, he felt calm and at peace. Nothing ached, nothing felt too bad... but when there was something that reached down and tried to pluck him out - pain came flooding back. Pain all over. His chest was on fire, his stomach doubly-so, and his lungs felt as though they were filled with shards of glass.

Regardless, he did phase back into consciousness - mercifully as he was on the ground, and not slung over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He didn't know where he was, nor who his rescuer was... The last thing he remembered was his father calling for him to swim for his life - and he had. But he didn't think he'd made it very far before he was just too tired to continue.

There was a nagging in the back of his head. Something he should remember, but the world was a bit sideways at the moment, and his head was too full of cotton to think. Not to mention his entire body felt weighted down. When he did make a motion, it was with extreme effort, and just a couple of fingers. His eyelids were as-of-yet too heavy to open.

Conscious and awake, but unable to see for the time being, he used his ears to listen, trying to gather just where he was, where that woman had gone, and what was going on around him. Each passing moment brought more clarity which... he REALLY wished it hadn't. He wasn't a bad medic himself [abuse from Hell made that an easy thing to pick up] so he knew at least which areas he was injured in. There was something wrong in his chest - a cracked rib or two. Some bleeding deeper inside where it felt like a nightmare had kicked him. And he recognized enough of the symptoms to realize he was in shock already - the freezing cold - to - scorching hot, shivering and sweating in turns, the thirst, the rapid and hard heartbeat he could hear with his eyes closed... But was that his or his rescuer's? ... Yeah, and disjointed thoughts. He had to pull it together.

Opening his eyes took a lot more effort than he had thought it would take, and that was about all he could do for the moment. He was injured, in shock, possibly sick under all that from whatever was in his system, and... where was he? He wasn't in Hell, that was for sure. And from the sounds, he wasn't in the river, or even near it.

He tested his mouth a bit, opening and closing it a few times before he tried using it to actually form something coherent, like speech. And when he did, it sounded off - cracked and dry and rusty. Probably from the whole near-drowning thing, and the damage he could feel in his throat when he allowed sound to come out of it.

"... Wh...where.... am I?"

"Thasos."

She barely heard the question, and wasn't sure if the boy had heard her answer, but there was little else to do right now. She sat appart from where the others were. She wasn't sure they had even noticed she had returned, and with someone else in tow.

She didn't think much on where he might have come from. There were perfectly mundane ways to end up in a river. She didn't think much about his unusual appearance either. Hard to, given that she had her own quirks. She simply ignored the fact that his tail and hooves were a little more "distinctive" than some extra fingers and toes.

Not thinking much about either of them, she just sat, poking a tiny fire into life.

Na'lsa watched in what could only be called 'surprise' as the woman eviscerated the man before her, the display sickeningly beautiful to him. Deep inside him, his hunger continued to stir. He grew frustrated with the exchange before him, quickly adding to the conversation after the newcomer.

"I am the Power, Mehetabel. And this, this butcher that you have plucked from underneath a magician's hat and placed before me, is mere mockery of my methods."

He stepped closer, breathing deep the metallic smell of blood that wafted from her figure. Fingers ran gingerly down her arms, testing the muscle underneath. With a close lean, he whispered in to her ear.

"I admire you child. But you lack control. And that will be your downfall."

With that he pulled himself away, addressing those before him in his tone of conviction.

"The Nephilim is up to something. I say it's high time to consume him and finally put his flesh to good use."

She may have noticed the woman with the half-dead demon on her back, after all the stench really did bug her, but she didn't mention the matter. Instead, she listened to what the man called Na'lsa said to her. She couldn't help it after that, she just started laughing. It made her sound insane, but she stopped dead when he said the word Nephilim.

"A Nephilim is on this island..." The air around her changed, her hands fell to her sides, clenching, and blue light spread out from her back, spanning in the shape of wings. Her hair seemed to flow on a nonexistent wind, lifting into the air, dark smokey bands rising from the ground... and from her hand sliced out a long flaming sword. She was looking down at the time, but as her eyes lifted to the group both the red and the blue were glowing.

"Where is it..." she said in a blind anger. She couldn't control the hatred in her, it was a part of who she was. "No such being deserves to live." Her eyes turned toward Mehetabel. In a roundabout way, the woman was going to get exactly what she wanted. She had never seen Asasiah so angered.

With a decent amount of blinking and cussing, Dante drifted back into consciousness; the explosion of light had seared through his mind and knocked him out face-down on the cold ground.

How graceful.

He spat some sand, then wiped his mouth, trying to figure out the new aura...no, the two new auras, for Dara (he assumed the barely-visible whitish aura was hers) had someone next to her. Someone rather...blue. Or red. Or something like that. It didn't help that the already-faint aura was being completely overpowered by a new, blinding gold one.

He climbed slowly to his feet, and staggered towards Lev, the strangely-calm woman, and what seemed to be an extremely-powerful entity.

Shealtiel stares openly at the angelic creature, his weary mind struggling to recall decades-old angel lore from his Rabbinical studies before the apocalypse. Of course, back then, he hadn't really believed in such things, not like this. They had been metaphors, emanations, images... this thing, who called itself Asasiah, was not like that at all.

Angel... and human... and yet, unflawed. Not appalling. Not a sister of Kasdeja. And the vehement hatred that the mere word had awoken in her... no, not a Nephilim, this one. Something else entire.

There was no time to consider the other he had glimpsed from his once glance into her soul, that black blot staining the fiery perfection of her spirit. Whatever mystery lay twisted within her, it would need to wait. This situation was out of control. It reminded him of the early days of the Eschaton.

Turning to Mehetabel, trying to order his thoughts and focus on the matter at hand, Shealtiel asks her, "What is this Power you speak of? And where? If it is awoken, then so too is the Nephilim."

And we all saw what the Nephilim was capable of...

The aged woman regards him with a mix of pity and fear. "I do not know to tell you. None have entered the shrine and returned alive. Something dwells there, an ancient terror, unmatched in the psykosis."

Shealtiel considers her words for a long moment, beginning to get a troubling sense of what might lay ahead. He quests out with his senses, tentatively... and there it is. He can feel it even at this distance, and above all else, he can feel the weight of age upon its soul. An antediluvian malevolence.

After a moment, he speaks, a single word, a question, almost dreading the answer. "Where?"

Mehetabel meets his gaze, though whether she thinks him bold for the endeavor or utterly mad is impossible to discern. Her voice sounds disconsolate, lost. "A few miles down the coast... the ruins of the Basilica of Alyki..."

She takes a moment and turns her regard to Asasiah. "You're coming then?" she asks as though she fears the answer. "Do you... do you know what awaits? Are you strong enough to stop it?"

Michael's head was already pounding before Asasiah appeared before the group. His fear is only amplified in the face of unknown, and even to Altiel, this power is unknown, but a look from Atiel's face also told Michael that something he was percieving was indeed wrong. Is it the Nephilim that's causing this? A swift look from Altiel to the Lady of the Rose Petal Voice, made him suddenly feel awkward, breaking his current fear. A delusional joke... was he delusional? Perhaps, and it wouldn't be the first time that he was, considering his connections to Babylon, which only grow stronger while closing the distance from where his lightest attacks, in Corinth, made his mind forcefully connect with Jez'ebel's. Perhaps at such a distance he was begining to haluacinate beauty where it does not rightfully belong, after all the sibyl's veiw of beauty was seen as disgusting by Michael at first... Regardless, these thoughts would have been reveiwed and reflected upon later in the face of the more prominant anger at the name 'Kasdeja'.

"I wouldn't know nor care where he is," Michael said and left it at that until the arrival of Asasiah, during which he took time to attempt to stand up and prepare himself for when she arrived. And her arrival produced an...odd reaction, even from Michael. He took into his mind, every feature that he could read through his senses. He was curious, not fearful. From her well tuned features to her voice and bloodied hands, she gave off the impression of someone who was...human...but not human at all, but this was much more obvious when heard of her name.

"She'll do. You can tell she's more than enough," he said, breaking his own silence to answer Mehetabel. Although fear drove his heart before, now resolve did. He preferred that Na'lsa didn't kill the Nephilim, already wary of his power. Now, however, there was a chance for a new power to take hold, and it was a power not yet turned against his interests. He had not taken the Nephilim's account on mental defense, but with the constant threat of death, he probably never would. However, he didn't think that Asasiah would kill him, and was therefore slightly more approachable then the Nephilim. Although, she liked fear, and ate the unresolved like candy, or so Michael observed, he was resolved to complete his quest. And an odd gut feeling told him that she was a better source than the nephilim.

"Tha..sos..."

He tried the word on his tongue, and found that it tasted strange and foreign. No matter - he was here now, wounded, sick, and thoroughly confused though he was. Might as well cure at least one of those conditions while he still had the presence of mind to do so. Most of the 'cure' required figuring out just exactly what was wrong with him in the first place. He knew his body better than anyone - had to, with all the times it had been battered, shattered, and put back together. Sometimes in that order, sometimes not.

Not too keen on lifting any part of his heavy limbs off the ground, he nonetheless moved his arm, and allowed his hand to rest on his chest. Fingers traced bones that probably ended slightly before they should have, and marked the differences from times before. Yes, he'd cracked a rib. No, it wasn't penetrating his lung. More obvious was the large 'dent' in his side, where it had slammed against what he assumed was probably a rock, after he lost consciousness. This was a more serious injury, and required some focus to properly understand.

As he settled into the now-familiar trance he needed, it looked as though he'd simply slid back off to sleep. In reality, he was using his mind as an extension of his fingers inside of his body, and carefully tracing and tracking where the ribs sat. Jagged edges from swiftly-broken bones accosted his senses, but he ignored it, and proceeded to judge the depth of the fracture, how many bones were affected {only two, thankfully}, and what sort of energy he was going to have to exert to carefully lift the bones back into place with the force of his mind. Granted, he'd done this dozens of times before back down in Hell... but it was slightly different here. There? His dad would help if he screwed up. Here? He wasn't sure who was friend and who was foe. His 'rescuer' could be plotting to stew him alive in his own blood as far as he knew. And that would be TAME compared to some of the tortures he'd witnessed.

Putting that uncomfortable thought aside, and deciding that it might be prudent to wait until he knew more before making judgments about people he hadn't technically met yet, he started the work of quasi-healing himself. Each bone fragment was carefully lifted back into place, and 'cemented' there with force of will. He would have to generally keep still for a couple of days while the bones healed, but that probably could be arranged by feigning unconsciousness or illness. And by the way his throat was on fire, and his heart was pounding, even now, that last bit might not be entirely fake.

He moved from his side, switching his perceptions to lesser wrongs. The rib was lifted back into place with his mind, and cemented there by the same method as the fracture in the other ones. A quick brush-by of the internal organs showed toxins were already working on them, and would have to be fixed. That, he might need some help with. Manipulation and 'splinting' he might be good at.... but actually healing damaged organs? Not so much.

Continuing to pretend he was out cold, his perceptions ran lower. Legs, hooves, tail... various degrees of bruising, but nothing broken. Miraculous as that seemed, the whole saying about one hand and the other was definitely true. His right hoof was split neatly down the center. That would have to heal before he could walk ANYWHERE, and keratin was not as easy to manipulate as bone. He couldn't heal that with just his mind. Allowing his trance to take him deeper, he cataloged the rest of his body almost by rote. Throat was torn - likely from the toxins in the water he'd swallowed. Eyes, ears, mouth, all senses check. Nothing but bruises for his arms, neck was fine, shoulders and torso had varying degrees of bruising... He was going to be sore for a very, very long time.

When he finally opened his eyes, pulling out of the trance, he remained where he was. Okay, so the others, which he now heard and felt the minds of, didn't exactly notice him. That may have been a blessing. He wasn't going to intrude on whatever they were thinking. And from the sound of one of them, it didn't sound as though he'd WANT to scan surface thoughts from that one...

"Who are you?" he asked, voice much stronger, but not much less croak-y.

A strange brown flickering near Shealtiel caught Dante's attention. ...Fee? Why is she...? He assumed she was alright, judging by the lack of attention directed at her, but...flickering. That...certainly wasn't normal.

Shaking his head to clear it only induced more nausea, so he left the burning haze in his head as was, then walked a bit unsteadily towards Fee's prone form. A step away, he landed on his knees a bit too roughly, and, disregarding the tension between the newcomer and Lev, shook Feenai gently.

...Uhm. Wow. She's out cold, he mused as he shook her a bit harder, then contemplated pouring a flagon out on her face before remembering he had none.

Well then.

Smirking mostly to himself, he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.

Her piercing gaze turned to Mehetabel and narrowed. "You dare question my ability?" she said in a low voice. She hated that woman, not only did she question her she tried to order her around. She had wanted to go home at first, but she found this world at least slightly entertaining. She would stay for a bit longer, but she knew she wouldn't want to be staying near that damned woman much longer.

"I take that question to be quite offensive." Asasiah stated, her voice was silky and yet threatening, she obviously has no real allegiance to Mehetabel.

"My name is Dara. You?"

She didn't say much else, more occupied with looking over the boy to see what might have happened to him. She found the broken ribs, but there wasn't much she could do about that besides bind his ribs tightly and anything making breathing more difficult right then was probably not a good idea.

Another worry was the water.

"You might be poisoned from the river. I don't know how to fix that, but I can try...if you don't mind."

She poked at the fire some more, checking in a small pot where a dirty, green flicked misxture with sticks started to bubble. She occupied herself with the fire, not looking at the except to ask him his name.

Is he going to stay? Should I ask him anything? I should probably leave him alone for now.

Feenai felt an odd feeling in her head through her shattered shields, and then felt the lips touch her own. She came to with a start, rising quickly and accidentally slamming her head into Dante's face. Pain seared through her again, but it was refreshingly physical and rather than making her faint again, it helped her stay conscious. "Dante...did you..?" She trailed off, feeling her face become hot, then remembering why she had fainted in the first place.

She looked around briefly, noting the new woman with a commanding presence near the rest of her companions. She didn't see Dara, so Feenai tentatively searched the area with her mind for her. She found Dara's presence easily, but there was another, a psychic near her that Feenai did not recognize. Worried, she moved to stand but her body failed her and she remained sitting.

AUGH. The surprise nearly made Dante collapse, and he awkwardly scrambled to his feet, then threw out a helping hand as an afterthought. The smirk was a bit harder to force off his face.

"Well, it got the job done, didn't it? Actually..." He let his arm drop. "You should probably rest for a while. You're about as solid as a dancing candle flame right now. Here..."

He hooked an arm under her knees and hefted her up easily, took a quick step away from Lev and the newcomer, and stopped.

"Um...where to, now?"

"I have had enough. I have had enough of Nephilim! Enough of all this! Enough of these feared and awesome powers that inhabit this earth! I will consume the Nephilim, and whatever else this island harbors that gives us pause! I...I will..."

He had approached Asasiah, pointing an accusatory finger at her before he began to trail off. He backed away quickly, hands clutching his stomach as the pangs of his hunger wracked him. His very flesh began to ripple as he was assaulted by his own base urges.

After a few moments he steeled himself from them, trying to ignore how...succulent, Asasiah looked. Her flesh so tender, the muscles underneath were toned just enough to be a prime meat of just the right consistency. But her entire body was just a candy shell meant to be enjoyed until he found the prize inside: Her very essence of power. Blood called to him. Flesh beckoned him to consume it. Her very eyes seemed to call him to her, to hold her, to take her, to press his lips to her flesh and rip out her very throat, to..

NO.

Na'lsa looked up at her with a slightly sick face. He spoke, in a voice that was none too level.

"Ever since my ascension, my...uplifting from a mere demon of gluttony, I have been dealt both blessings and curse. I have a higher calling, I have purpose. I have been gifted with the potential of power unimaginable. But it is obtained in the most barbaric of means. And ever since I consumed something more than flesh, the very power of a Saint himself, I have thirsted for more. I have been sustained by smaller things, I have had larger, but now the hunger quickens. You are a delectable meal and I find it so very hard to resist the calls of your body. But there is something else above that I desire. I. Want. The Nephilim."

Suddenly he lunged at her, hands finding her shoulders as he leaned in close to her neck. He froze, waiting a moment before whispering to her in a moment of pleading.

"Please. I fear for my flock. The Nephilim and whatever else inhabits this island. At least one must be devoured."