Lev awoke with a start as a nasty bump jarred him awake. He screamed, wasting no time in thrashing about. His mind was clouded, gone even. He made unintelligible sounds as he rocked back and forth between the little range of movement that his chains would allow. A clicking noise came from his side, his finger pulling the trigger to his staked revolver over and over again. After half a minute he began to falter. Coming to what little sense he had at the moment, he began to take in his surroundings. A dark metal interior. Most likely some sort of armored transport. The people he had met the previous day were all there. Except...

"Woman?"

He looked again. Room was cramped at best, but he tried to peer for some hidden nook that the girl he was looking for might be hiding in. He grew anxious. Had he failed her? Or had she left him? Why was she gone? And where was the one they called Michael?

"Why I tied? I do wrong? Lady is where?"

*tsk*ing to see that it is the human host, and not the entity, that has regain consciousness, Shealtiel sighs bitterly and reclines from his vigil.

"I couldn't tell you," he answers Lev. "She seems pathologically disinterested in camaraderie, to the point of brazen recklessness. It'll likely be the death of her." He shrugs, ever so slightly.

"And you're chained because, in case you weren't aware, you're under the dominion of some sort of infernal possession. Whether those bindings would be sufficient to restrain the demon remains to be seen, but I thought it prudent. They'll remain until I have a chance to speak with it myself. You understand, surely? Don't worry, if things get violent, I'll make sure you aren't helpless. Something tells me you can abide the discomfort." His voice never once raises in pitch. It is rather obvious that he cares nothing for Lev's comfort.

He stared quizzically at the old man, as if he was rather addled in the head. He had heard what he said, but words...words had slipped, somewhere. He couldn't quite remember all of what he had just said. Most likely the old codger's mumbling speech. Raising an eyebrow, he tried to shrug in the little space he had.

"She abandoned me. And I possess nothing. Not possess things you may have the interest in. Was under understanding that I was of the civil. I am simple man. I have gun, shoot things with gun. Try to live. Are you to kill me?"

A faint, ghostly smile creeps onto the old man's lips. "You'll know it if I decide to kill you, and there will be no "trying" involved, rest assured." He watches his words only half-take with the addled gunman. Sighing, he clarifies, "You're safe, for the moment. At least from me." Seemingly disinterested, Shealtiel closes his eyes and listens to the engines of the APC groaning as they propel the vehicle across the wastes.

Lev thought for a moment, trying to understand what this man wanted from him. More importantly, how he could escape his chains. Looking down at his occupied hand, he noticed the blood from the stake looked rather new. He frowned as he studied, trying to remember why it was bleeding after it had been so long since it had regrown around the object.

"Seems off. All this. I have problem of memory. Not remember some. Hand seems strange. Something happen to gun in hand? Why I bleed?"

Feenai was only half listening to the conversation between Shealtiel and Lev as she rode in the front next to Jeanne as she drove. She was just concerned about the path they were taking. She knew Ruebella wouldn't want help even if it was force fed to her, but that's exactly what she wanted to do. It annoyed her to no end that someone like her could think, especially in this day and age, that no help was better than partial help. She didn't have to rely on the rest of the people, or expect them to do things for her, just by accepting their company. She sighed, hoping no one would notice and ask her what was wrong.

Feenai's ears perked up a bit at Lev's last statement about his memory. How could he not remember? Oh wait...that other presence inside him probably shut off his memory. Should I...try to remove the block? She shook her head at the thought. Maybe it's better if he doesn't know. I want to help him, but I wouldn't want to remember that at all.

Dante sat against a side, half asleep and a decent distance away from the old man and the lion. He couldn't stop thinking...

Maybe he'd go up above the APC to get away from everyone else, later.

Still sitting with Lev in the APC, Shealtiel calls out to him. "You can walk, can't you? Or did he bind your legs? I can't see inside this damnable contraption. Regardless, I'm not so impressed by your malignant host as to fear you being free. I'll help you up, if you want, though I can't imagine Lucifer will be pleased to see you awake."

"I can stand. I am my own man."

Lev stood as he spoke in a gruff voice, walking with the little range that his chains gave him. Stepping out in to the hot air, he squinted as sunlight hit him. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

A corpse. A beautiful corpse. Splayed out. Ripe for the feasting! Lev groaned from a sudden headache, unable to cradle his head in his hands. The SAINT himself! THE SAINT! This is mine!

Lev lurched forward, running as best as he could. He fell a few feet from the body, screaming unintelligible sounds as he crawled the last few feet. With eyes glassed with ecstasy he reared back his head, plunging it in to the open, putrid torso. He feasted, ripping at the holy organs and silvery blood that the saint's corpse bathed in. There was no reasoning. There was nothing else. For now, Lev and the great Saint's body were the only thing in existence. And he would not rest until the body had been consumed in to his own.

Dante climbed his way out of the APC and shook his head a few times. To him, to world was now a hazy gray. Not too far away was an aura, brighter than to rest but dimming quickly. Well...that's...strange, he thought. Though it wasn't bright, he could see the details on it...and an all-too-familiar black form crouched in front of it.

If he hadn't left his weapons back in the APC and was too lazy to retrieve them, Lev would have found his head rolling. Or, at least, there would be a nice nick in that coat of his...

Jeanne knew that they were approximately at the Saint's body when the crowd of birds rose from the bodies of the Dybbuk to the air and began to circle. Driving normally made her feel relaxed, but she had been so intent on finding the swords that her grip was tight and her shoulders were tense. By the time they came across the crow anomaly, she was so ready to stop that she just slammed on the brakes; the jolt was unpleasant but it was worth being able to get out of the APC.

She jumped out quickly, eyes passing over the swords briefly before fixing on the Saint. "We have to give him a proper burial," the theurge said firmly, glancing back at the vehicle. "Are there any -" Before she could finish her question, Lev ran past her. "- shovels?" she finished, watching the Lion's path as he ran and began to devour Saint Typasius's body. "NO!" Jeanne screamed when she realized what he was doing. Lunging forward, she grasped the feasting man by the shoulders and jerked back with all of her strength. "GET OFF OF HIM!"

Lev let out an unearthly sound, full of rage and hunger. With inhuman strength he broke the bonds of his chains. His staked hand ran across her face, shoving her down. He dove head first in to the open torso once again, eating his way literally inside the body of the Saint. He clawed his way inward, ripping through organs and bones until he got to the very heart of the saint, ripping it away with much fervor as he began to devour it. He seemed to almost radiate with the power of his carnal craving. Blood and tissue dripped from his visage, chains hanging around his body in some sort of symbolism of his own host's bondage. Within the minute he had fully devoured the Saint's heart, snapping it down in mere bites as he became fully consumed by his own lust for flesh.

Sensing vaguely what is going on outside, Shealtiel nonetheless does not exit the APC for that reason. They are all oblivious, the damned, useless fools.

Standing just outside the door panel, the wind whipping his hair, he screams to them, his voice raw. "Get back! Get away! The ravens!"

He can hear souls shrieking, inarticulate, malign, all whirling in a cloud of fulligin and hatred. Carmine eyes alighting with lust at the site of living flesh. Sable wings flapping in the frenzy of hunger, the voracity of living death.

There are so many, thousands of mad spirits, all crying in the same voice of pain and rage, indeed like to animals in their unthinking fury.

He lashes out, a wave of necrotic sorcery striking the cloud, blasting dozens, hundreds of Dybbuk from their black-feathered houses, but it is not enough. There are more, waiting in the ether, eager to seize what is now free. To exorcise this horde would kill him, if he could even manage it. They had to escape.

"Now! Get out!" He sends another blast of power into the descending ranks, scattering them for another brief moment. Wanting only to retreat into the relative safety of the vehicle, he nonetheless strides out into hot sand, knowing that none of the others are equal to this, especially divided as they are.

He begins to gather his power, calling upon deep reserves, hoping against hope that the fools know enough to get clear.

Lev looks up from his meal, sensing more souls. Fresh souls. Angry, deranged. Ripe for him! Screaming to be consumed! For he is The Lion in flesh! He who devoured the heart of the Saint himself!

He stood, staring with glee in to the roiling mass of carrion scavengers. He welcomed them with open arms, radiating with an aura unmatched by anything he had ever displayed before.

"Oh yes! YES! Challenge me for a meal that is too late! For I have devoured the Saint! I am Hunger incarnate! You may tear flesh, but I devour yours! Let us rend each others bodies, and see whose bones are still standing! Let us consume each other!"