For some reason, none of the soldiers were interested in arresting Jeanne. Instead, they were all attacking the people around her. She slowly brought her hands down when she realized this fact. Of course she was innocent of any crime, but who knew if those soldiers would decide she needed to be subdued? And that stew was calling her name.

Walking towards the bar and bowl, keeping herself distant from the fighters, she took it and sat down underneath the counter so that she would be out of the way. Then she began to eat, smiling as she did so. It had been too long since she'd had a true meal.

Dante stared for a moment. The girl can fight...?! He pulled out his handgun and shot a guard through the ear, killing him instantly, then shot the last bullet into the chest of another, pulling the corpse close as the stake-handed man fired rounds into the fray. Slowly, he made his way over to the broken window, then pocketed the gun.

Picking up yet another rifle, Lev scrambled backwards, awkwardly standing up as he did. Still trained on the soldiers in front, he used his revolver to shoot at a window behind him. He turned and dove through it, realizing too late that he had only caused a minor hole in the glass. The pane shattered as he went through it and on to the dirt outside. Picking himself up (along with his minor cuts), he took off with the girl once again. He shouted at her, his voice still occupied with his numbness.

"Sho...am I employered by you?"

Sitting up on the bed, Shealtiel looks to Michael who is still guarding the door.

"They're dying down there," he says. At Michael's alarmed look, he says, "Acacias' men. No match for our new friends."

He makes sure to push the enraged spirits of the soldiers along their way into Sheol. The last they need is a dozen Dybbuk springing up down there. And burning the bodies in this building isn't an option, despite that impressive laser Michael is sporting.

Dante was out the window in no time, paying no attention to the cuts on his palms from the broken glass. He found the psychic easily with his now-alert "sight". Grabbing the stake-handed man by his collar, he pushed him slightly to the side.

He looked at the psychic again. All of a sudden, and none too gently, he shoved her back with his free hand, then turned away again, color rising in his cheeks.

"If you're going to be killed, it will be by MY hand! Mine, and not those of this scum here!"

No matter how much Feenai wanted to, she could no longer suppress the panic that had been building up inside her once the fighting got bloody. Looking wildly about, she found Jeanne calmly eating her stew and, for a moment, the panic subsided enough for her to regain control. She again took a deep breath, like before, and moved closer to Jeanne, sitting down behind her chair on the floor, and closed her eyes and ears hoping the carnage would stop soon.

Michael peaked out of the room and looked down the hole in the stairs. The men there were knocked out, and the rest of the men with the saint were either dead or soon to be. He turned back towards the old man. "The way is pretty much clear except for the hole in the stairs. I say we get out of here before the rest of the militia show up. This is a bloody scene, and although I never disobeyed the saint, he won't be happy with me."

Looking up, Jeanne saw that Feenai had joined her, and she nodded in greeting as she chewed her way through a mouthful. When she finished, she spoke. "We need to get out of here," she said quietly.

"We have done nothing, but with this much blood on their hands, they will not be kind to us." She was worried that they would be mistaken for fighters, especially because Jeanne had a lot of Lev's blood on her hands.

Shealtiel nods. "Agreed."

He climbs from the bed and follows Michael out, pausing to collect his walking stick before leaving. He notices the other two leaving as well as he rejoins the Artificer.

"Saint Acacias is not a bloody-minded individual," he says as they make their way from the tavern, doing their best not to attract notice. "His men on the other hand... they are men. They'll want retribution. I doubt this city is safe for any of us, now."

Surprisingly, Jeanne's words reached Feenai despite her trying to block out everything. Though her eyes were slowly filling with tears at the recent events, she nodded slowly. "There's a back entrance over there," she gestured, sobbing silently. "It's just, I don't.." she stumbled over her words, struggling with the panic, "please don't leave me alone..."

Something inside Lev snapped. A mixture of both adrenaline and effects of his mending combined to unhinge him for the moment. He backhanded his assailant across the face with the stake in his hand. The pain from it barely registered as he brought the hand back, this time hitting him with the pistol. With his free hand he wrenched the man away from his charge. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and in no way conveying peace.

"I have hand solely dedicated to death. Do not force my hand!"

He growled, showing yellowed teeth before he hit the man across the face again, drawing his own share of blood. He leaned forward a bit, smelling the metallic fragrance flowing from the open wounds. His voice dropped, whispering in the man's ear.

"I am very hungry. In Tsavo, lions hunt men for food. They eat them. I will not hesitate to do the same if it comes to sustenance. I will devour you."

"It is not, but it will have to do. If I myself appeal to the saint, I might be considered innocent. Unfortunately, I doubt that they'll be as kind to you since you seem to be one who meddles with the powers of Sheol." Micheal's mind was working fast now that they were out and about. Being out of the range of that reciprocity generator, he freely used his mind to communicate with the Aether satellite. On an international scope, nothing bad seemed to going on, meaning that the world powers shouldn't get too involved. However on a regional scope, it's an outrage that insults the Holiness of the Saints and the strength of Corinth. 'It's enough to provoke an attack from the outside' say some of the strategic experts.
Some guys who were with the Corinth underground also noted a good place for people who didn't want to be seen, a room behind a holy wine cellar under the ruins of an ancient temple of the false prophet. Although it wasn't the supernaturally safest place, the saints would have a hell of a time going there. After leading the old man there, he stopped and turned towards him. He talked to him while setting out his supplies and preparing some food from his regular rations.
"Who are you anyways, old man?" Michael knew of the old man's ability, and figured he could be a valuable ally in the new danger that was closing in.

Jeanne quickly glanced at the back entrance that Fee had mentioned; sure enough, it was there. She turned her head back, only to see her companion in what could only be described as a state of distress. Unused to dealing with others' emotions, she felt uncomfortable, and awkwardly gave Fee a hug. As much as she would like to be on her own again, she liked her. "Don't worry, I won't leave you," she said, checking for soldiers. They were either busy or dead.

"Let's go." She took Fee's hand and casually walked towards the door as if she belonged there and had every right to do so.

The cloth hung in rags from Dante's face as he resisted putting a hand to wipe off the blood. It stung, and he'd flinched, although he didn't want to seem weak, didn't want to seem a fool.

"What do I get? I get to live. I get to live if you die! And I don't care how I do it. I've survived the rioting, the murdering of my family, being sightless for weeks on end, with no other senses to guide me." He grabbed the man by the throat, more aggressively than he had meant to.

"I'd like to see you try," he whispered back, single-handedly reloading his empty gun.

Without hesitation Lev twisted his body around, wrapping the man's arm around him. Wrestling the hand away from his throat, he sunk his teeth in to his arm, ripping away a small albeit nasty chunk of flesh. He jerked the arm violently, throwing the now injured bounty hunter down in to the dirt. At this point caring if he got shot was out of the question. Lev was in a feral state, and the small chunk he just had was the first real meat he had had in a very long time.

Dante clenched his jaw to keep from yelling out. Doing his best to ignore the staggering pain and his reeling vision, he quickly clambered up and stepped behind the man, throwing his left arm behind him and wrapping it around the man's neck. He held tightly and arched his back while taking a step forward, effectively throwing the person face down in front of him.

Auuuuuugh... he groaned, doubling over, trying to stauch the flow of blood with his palm. By now he was too exhausted to think about forcing the other man into submission, much less killing the girl.

Lev went entirely lax, his mind becoming calmed. Slowly he realized that he had just partially eaten a man's arm. He made a small effort to spit the blood out of his mouth, trying to expel what he could. He closed his eyes, his strength for the day just about giving out. He mumbled something unintelligible, and drifted off in to exhaustion while the force over his mind still had hold of him.

Feenai took Jeanne's hand gratefully and followed her out, trying her best to act as Jeanne did, as though they belonged where they were going. "Thank you.." she whispered, almost inaudibly.

They left the tavern seemingly unopposed, as Feenai's mind went over the events again and again. She didn't think she had done the wrong thing. That man's pain had cut through her mental shields almost like they weren't there, and it made her feel terribly sorry for him knowing that he would experience that pain for a while even with Jeanne's quick healing for him. That red cloaked girl though, whom had brought the man to them, was scary. She had killed so many of the soldiers with ease. She was a psychic too, but so different than me...

The blind man that had dropped through the ceiling concerned her as well. He struck remarkably accurately for being blind and it concerned her.

She shook her head trying to clear her thoughts from the events. Here and now is more important. I have to calm down just in case something happens again.

As they walked, Jeanne looked around often, making sure they hadn't been followed. However, it seemed as though the soldiers hadn't even noticed them leave. Perhaps they were too busy tending to the fallen. Jeanne felt sorry for the soldiers who had been wounded, but she considered her own safety more important than theirs. If she had stayed to help, she would have been in danger.

She turned her attention to Feenai, who seemed to be holding up all right. Jeanne wasn't good with emotions, so she was glad that the other girl was no longer panicking. She turned to look at her. "You okay?" Jeanne asked quietly. Then she stopped walking abruptly.

In front of them were the exact same people who had just escaped from the tavern: the assassin, red-cloaked girl, man she had healed and one other who she vaguely remembered. The assassin was bleeding from the arm; it seemed that a chunk had been taken out of it. Jeanne shuddered involuntarily. "I'm not sure we should be around them," she said softly to Fee.

Dante drew in gasps of air through his clenched teeth. Somehow, for some strange reason, try as he might, he couldn't make himself reach for his gun, even though his target was right in front of him. And the aura...it sank into every recess of his mind and became almost painful.

"Well, what?" he thought, directly to the girl.

Shealtiel is somewhat bemused to be finding sanctuary on unholy ground, but he lets the irony pass. This is not the time to be witty.

Answering Michael's question, he says, "You're a sharp one, aren't you? They call us servants of Sheol, but I serve nothing. I simply find the best way to counter Abaddon's monstrosities is to use their own power against them. Though, admittedly, taking this path was a young man's choice. The powers of the Realm of Death are not kind to be the body who channels them." Gesturing dismissively with his cane, he adds, "I'll be fine, I just need to rest for a while. And maybe something to eat if we can scrounge it up; it's been nine weeks since I saw so much as a succor capsule."

Now that the adrenaline had faded, Dante found it increasingly harder to "see". The dizzying pain didn't help. Forcing himself up, he walked until he hit a wall, then leaned on it and reached into his medkit for Water. He jabbed the syringe into his shoulder, emptying half of it, then stowed it back into the kit. Getting back to his motorcycle would be hard; he'd left a pack of succor capsules under the seat for aura, but in this state he could barely find even that.

Taking note of the sun on his skin, he headed towards the west gate.

Feenai looked back at Jeanne. "I think you're right. But.." she trailed off. The gentle tone of the red cloaked woman took her off guard after the brutal assault she had witnessed in the tavern. "That man, the one with the red cloaked girl," Feenai continued, "I can still feel his pain. Perhaps there is more we can do for him. I've asked a lot of you already, but I want to check some things on the Network. I can walk while I'm doing that if you lead me, and I think we should get away from the tavern for now."

Again trusting in Jeanne, Feenai opened her mind to the Amorpha Network and tried to find out as much about the red cloaked woman and her apparent bodyguard.

Jeanne thought about it for a moment, then nodded. She understood the need to continue to monitor someone. "Okay." Though she was cautious about guiding Fee while she was connected to the Amorpha Network, she soon realized that it was like just walking with her. The theurgist made sure that they stayed out of crowds, and steadily the two moved away from the tavern and towards the gate.

Lev squinted in to the distance, able to make things out more clearly now that his mind was finally coming around. He stood up straighter, pulling his hand cautiously from the girl. He was still undecided about what exactly happened just a few moments ago, and wondered if he was just better off not asking about it. In the meantime, it was best to find out where or what exactly he was headed in to.

"Where are we traveling?"

Dante approached his motorcycle -- having found it at all was a miracle in itself -- and started wondering why the area was unusually loud. It seemed as if people were arguing heatedly with the guards. Dante drifted back into the shadows to listen.

"-gates!"..."-have business-"..."Look, there are some people who-"..."-need to ensure that they are caught."

Dante's heart skipped a beat. With his "vision" down, and with everyone on the lookout, he would surely be tagged as a miscreant. He pulled the tattered rags from his face and blinked. He could only hope that the pale green eyes looked alive.

He sighed. To get out of this, he might have to find that psychic, no matter how much he despised her escort. He unchained the motorcycle and led it away from the gate.

"So you're not going to tell me your name then, huh? I guess 'old man' will have to suffice, for now," Michael jeered at the old man. He pulled out a meal from his rations and offered it to him. "A moral servant of Sheol. That's an oxymoron. However, that also means he's more reasonable than others of supernatural power. This is my chance." Taking out one on his own, he began to strategize. "I talked to some strategic experts through the Aether satellite. It is likely that the city will be attacked soon by some powerful, but not world-threatening, force. Even if we have taken part in a massacre near the tavern, this attack will focus all of the city's forces, including the saints, into the city walls to do battle with this force. If we want to escape arrest and false execution by the men of this city, that will be our chance."

Clearing his throat, Shealtiel grunts his name, wondering if he's going senile. "Alteil, will be fine, however," he adds.

He takes the food gladly, letting his sustenance spells lax for the moment. It has been a very long time since he last ate.

As Michael goes on, however, he finds his appetite quickly souring. Suddenly standing, he opens himself to the power of Sheol, his knees buckling with the strain. Almost instantly, he senses what is coming, is overwhelmed by it, and stumbles backward, nearly falling if Michael hadn't caught him.

"It's worse than you know. There a hundreds of Dybbuk bearing down on us, and by the time they tear through the settlements on the way here, there'll be hundreds more. And not only that..."

He resists the urge to be frustratingly cryptic; the situation just turned into a crisis. No time for old men's games. "There's at least one Rephaim leading them, possibly more. And Emim, too, maybe as many as a dozen. We have to get out of here. The city will hold for a time, but they'll be overwhelmed, especially with Acacias wounded. I can't fight off anywhere near that many, not with Emim to counter me."

As Michael stares at him, he swings his cane, striking him sharply on the arm. "Time to go. Pack up." He pulls his hood up as he makes his way out of the broken temple.

Michael stood up fast enough to make him dizzy, although he was already feeling light headed at the grave news from the dark magi, Alteil. "Mayday! Mayday!" Michael quickly messaged to the satellite. "A large group of Dybbuk are heading to the holy city of Corinth. Expect at least one Rephaim and Emim in a group of at least a dozen. Any citizens in the area should flee for an indefinite period of time."

"I just sent word to the Amorpha Network. The chaos from the call could cover our escape. Plus, I don't want that group to win against the city. The call should draw reinforcements from the other saints and theurgists of the holy cities," Michael said to Alteil, gathering his rucksack again. "We'll need to move quickly, if we want a good place in the center of the new chaos," he said as he guided the man into the center of the growing crowds of refugees to be.

Feenai heard the sudden mayday on the Network and dropped her connection immediately, finding it a little easier to suppress the panic even though the news was dire. "John, JOHN!" she shouted, making sure she got her attention. "A large group of Dybbuk are headed for the city!" The panic was edging into her voice. "It was on the Network so I'm certain the city guards know, but what about everyone else? What.. is there anything we can do about this at all?"

Stumbling along behind Michael, jostled back and forth by the growing crowd, Shealtiel quests delicately with his spiritual senses, not wanting to wear himself down when he'll likely need all his strength -- and, soon. The Dybbuk are closing on the city with inhuman haste.

He thinks again of the city's defense force and their resources. They have enough men that, if mobilized in time, they should be able to hold the city until help can arrive, but if the Dybbuk manage to break through the defenses...

He feels a pang of guilt, realizing that he is planning to abandon these innocent people to death in order to spare himself, when he could do a lot to help in their defense. And yet, he can do more good living through this than dying here. And besides, he may yet get the chance to strike against them.

He wonders if the local Aritificers have many ED Grenades on hand. Likely not, as he hadn't sensed any other practitioners of Sheol in the city, but if there were any to be had, they would be of great use in blunting the assault.

Hopefully everyone here knew that they'd have to burn the bodies as fast as they could. Saint Typasius will be able to help with that, and Acacias, too, if he recovers, but the two of them alone will never be enough, and with the Emim and that Rephaim looming behind the Dybbuk, the Saints may want to conserve themselves.

Not a good situation for Corinth, he judges, all in all.

"Out of city? That not problem. You take sewer. Smells like shit. Is shit. But it leave city, and so we leave city. Not so many guards. No one guards shit."

He grinned, looking a little wild eyed. He had spent some personal time in the sewer himself, after getting lost in it trying to find his way in to the city in the first place. It was his own personal opinion that the city's sewer system was living on borrowed time, and the many holes and cave ins that existed in the sewer network meant that it was easy to gain entry to, but not so easy to leave. He had spent nearly two days in the dark, attempting to find his way in so no one would actually have to see him enter. He kept grinning, feeling even more clever as he lifted the left leg of his pants, revealing a complicated pattern of scars etched in to his skin.

"I make map, while in sewer. No cartographer, but map work. Until it heals, anyway."

"Follow!"

Lev shouted, tearing down the street as he let his pants leg go. He reloaded his revolver as he ran, coming to narrower and narrower back alleyways. After a good eight minutes or so, he stopped suddenly. He searched, looking around on the ground before he found what he was looking for. He proceeded to kick the ground violently, shoving dirt this way and that before he uncovered the manhole that he had covered up. He grabbed at one end with his good hand, trying to pry it back open. It was much harder when he couldn't use his head to lift it up.

"You help, yes? I am not the so good at getting into manhole with one arm."

Jeanne started, not expecting to hear her name so loudly. But she turned to face Feenai, and grew pale as the other girl told her of the situation. "Mon dieu," she said to herself and thought for a moment.

"We are not natives here. The ones who the soldiers want have left. Our survival is of the highest importance now." In the distance, shouts could be heard, presumably citizens and soldiers preparing. Though she didn't know how big the army was, the fact that the others had easily slaughtered the soldiers wasn't a good sign. Still, she wasn't prepared to die for anyone.

"We cannot fight this battle for them. We could help, but...not much." Jeanne squeezed Fee's hand and began to run out of the main streets, her free hand going for her laser as a precaution. If they had to fight undead, a thin knife wouldn't be terribly helpful.

The man she had healed was opening a manhole in front of them and ushering in the others. As hesitant as she was to throw her lot in with them, the woman owed her money and they seemed more than capable of defending themselves. Jeanne watched as Lev had problems opening the manhole, and though she was not terribly strong, she took a few steps forward and tried to help him lift it.