Poor Dante...I didn't mean to make him this uncomfortable. Feenai reached around him and returned the hug. Time to do what humans do best. Survive. She walked up to the driver's area and sat down. "Is everyone here and accounted for? Our honored guest has someplace to be, and so do we if I remember correctly."

Lev stepped inside the APC, surveying their ragtag group. The Nephilim seemed to instantly sap any sort of positive atmosphere that might inhabit the APC. A mood of somberness and surrender seemed to feel the metal casket they were riding in. Lev himself felt almost broken. It was as if his will was being bent against him, like he had lost a mental battle before he even knew he was fighting it.

Hanging his head, he unslung his Mosin-Nagant from his back. He picked off bits of flesh and blood with only slight amusement. After the absorption of the Saint's powers, Lev had been let in to Na'lsa's mind as well. They each could see what the other witnessed. They were one, and they were separate. And if his separate half was going to continue to inhabit his body, it was going to learn proper maintenance.

He unscrewed a long rod from the underside of his gun, withdrawing it from the stock. Tearing off a small piece of clothing, he wrapped the shred around the end. From a pocket he produced a beaten up can of oil, pouring a bit on to the scrap. That was the thing about the Nagant. It was powerful, but each shot was corrosive. If left uncleaned for even a small amount of time, the corrosion would spread until it had overtaken the weapon. It could not be let inside. It must be cut out.

As he cleaned, he looked up. He eyed the Nephilim, giving him a slight frown. After catching his eye, he spoke in a dull tone, as if discussing the weather.

"You are corrosion. Inside barrel. You spread, left unchecked. But I watch you. Your corrosion not spread here. I will clean you like I clean rifle, polish you out. Remember that."

Dara hadn't expected to meet anyone on the coastal path she rode on now. There were bandits nearby, true-enough, and it would make sense for what few sane people where still around to be taking the more obscure routes along the water, but she hadn't truly expected to see someone, much less anyone who had apparently been on the upper roads only a moment before if his broken arm and bloody appearance were any indicator of what had happened. The man was no currently running for his life, so it was likely there were no persuing monsters around the corner.

She stepped of her horse, the animal plodding a little ways beyind her as she approached the individual trying to piece his arm back together. She held out one hand, hestiant at first approach. "Do you need any help?"

Michael jerked at the voice, sending a jolt of pain throughout his entire body. He looked up, seeing the traveler that he had not noticed until now. She looked Caucasian, although she may also been from the long-dead Americana to Michael. He didn't have time to look it over as he quickly took advantage of the unlikely opportunity.
"Well, um, as you can see, I've taken a terrible fall." His voice shook when he spoke. The lack of blood was getting to him.
As she approached him with an extended hand, he said, "I'd return it if I weren't trying to fix my other arm."
He was sitting up, now, feeling the pain of many bruises while discovering that there are no other broken bones, surprisingly.
"I couldn't pay you back, now. But if you help fix my arm, I would appreciate it greatly." "Why aren't I worried around her? What makes her so trust-worthy? Is she a theurgist?" Alarms went off all over Michael's mind as his pain receded a little. However, his body acted as though by Another's will. It was as though his original tendencies of cowardice and caution have been replaced by illogical trust... What is this?

"I can splint your arm for you." Dara knelt next to the man and gingerly looked over his fractured arm, touching it as little as possible. "We need to set the bone first."

She went back to her horse who carried his head low and didn't seem to pay much attention to anything. From the bags on the saddle she grabbed a pack with a barely visible white cross on it, and some faded writing "-st Aid." A few wayward sticks suited her purposes before she approached the man again, ths time, helping him lie down on the ground. "You might want something to bite on" she said.

His now livid face contrasting with the strange milky green eyes as Dante nearly lost his cool, bounding across the APC and coming to a stop a single foot behing the nephilim. For now, Rue was gone, but there was something else to protect...

Snarling, he spat out his venom-coated words. "Anything to hurt her, monster, and I will blow your twisted mind to pieces. Yes, it's possible to injure someone mentally. Maybe such a vile creature as you would not have noticed."

Shealtiel remains in his seat, eyes closed, seemingly not paying attention, though he is listening intently to every word. Lucifer is like to get them all killed behaving that way, but trying to intervene will only escalate things. And if the Nephilim decides to whip that hundred-jointed arm back and tear out Dante's throat for daring to interrupt him, well, that would be getting of easy for the group. None of the fools seem to realize just how dangerous this creature is. Does Dante think to cow it into submission? It lacks the hormones needed to feel fear, cannot process the emotion in its alien brain. No, better to remain silent, uninvolved. At least until Shealtiel can think of something to do that won't involve provoking Kasdeja into murdering them all.

"I guess I can bite on my jacket, unless you have something else." Michael grabbed a piece of his grey coat with his teeth as an attempt to bite down on something. It tasted like dirt and dust and had he inhaled, he wold have choked on it. Fortunately his first breath exhaled, brushing off the majority and coating the rest with some steamy water vapor.
The sound of the crashing waves took the main attraction in Michael's mind as he tried to do anything but think about her setting the bone.

Feenai's mind bends under the force of Kasedja's words, but she grits her teeth and quickly takes stock of the situation as she stops the APC. "DANTE! STOP PLEASE!" Her mind and body were shaking from fear but she refused to back down again, knowing that Dante was likely in danger.

She slowly turned and looked at Dante eye to eye. "For now, please...let me do as he says. But thank you..." She placed a hand on his arm and smiled in what she hoped would be reassuring. Then she turned to Kasedja. "There were two people with us before, but they left to go their own way. Of the ones following us, I recognize one of them, but the other I do not. I did not know the one I met before had any intention of following us at all, I thought for sure both of them would go somewhere else when we parted company." Feenai tried not to but her voice shook as she spoke.

"All set?"

Without waiting for much of a nod, Dara placed her hands in position to re-align the man's shoulder and reconnect the spintered portion of bone. If he noticed that one of her hands felt a bit off she didn't see, thinking nothing of it herself, and said simply, "on two. One...two!"

She pressed hard.

Tension. Anger. Hate. The APC had gone from casket to boiling pot. The agitation that was building smelled like spent powder, of sulfur even. He had seen this before. Too many times. A madman comes in to control. A group suffers. They turn, they bite, they tear each other apart. But this creature was less than a man, although his power was more than Lev Gurevich could ever muster. It was if a child had found a gun and did not know that the people he shot didn't get up when playing games were over. This was not a situation that he possessed the tact for.

With a start he stood up, shoving his cleaning supplies away. He undid the back hatch to the APC, looking over his shoulder at Dante as he did.

"Don't shoot. He knows not what he does."

With that, he stepped back outside. A harsh wind slapped him across the face like the butt of a rifle. The sky once clear seemed to roil, the wasteland before them a mixture of bright and bland crags with darkened patches, spots where the sun was intercepted by dark and angry clouds in the distance.

He knows not what he does, Lev? You sound like my 'brother'.

Lev shrugged to no other person, speaking in to the wind.

"The Nephilim said the woman who threw us away is near, Butcher. I may not have value, but I am not trash to be thrown out. I have you, but I am my own man. If you eat anything, eat her. She understands what she does. She knows the consequences of burning bridges she still stands on."

You've become quite eloquent, Lev. Just never forget that I have you too.

With that Lev began to take cautious steps, stalking back the way they had came with his aging and beaten rifle. Rue was certainly going to feel her name after he finished with her.

With a snort, Dante backed up against the cabin wall and crossed his arms, the gun still in his hand. He glared through closed eyelids at that twisted glow still behind Feenai. He knows not what he does?

He hadn't caught her smile but had felt the supposedly reassuring touch that had done wonders to his temper.

Lev? Where is he going? Dante rolled his eyes in the Lion's general direction and caugh a glimpse of flickering auras before he disappeared. Internal conflict, much...but...where to? He had half a mind to chase after him, but doubted the old man would care too much about Feenai's well-being.

But...what if...? For starters, if Lev DID find Rue, Dante couldn't let Na'lsa kill her, much less eat her...

"Apologies, Fee...I need to go after Lev." Rue. "I'm worried about his mental state...and Michael might get caught in non-existent-as-of-yet crossfire." Lies. "Shout into my mind if...anything happens," he ended in a whisper.

What am I thinking...?! She can see through you, don't forget that, Dante!

Without a word to the nephilim, he disappeared out the back of the APC.

Michael took a larger mouthful of his jacket before trying to nod, but the woman moved quickly...An extreme pain went through his arm, back into him, as the arm seemed to connect into place all the way up to the nerve endings. Had he been able to think straightly, he would have admired her extreme potential for theurgic healing, but this was not the case...

Unguarded memories sprang back into mind as the pain from another one of his former victims, his sins of the past, jolted into his mind for the first time since he had left Corinth. Despite feeling physically healthy, he couldn't stop shaking as his mind subconsciously felt at the bends in reality that surrounded the wall of the cliff.

It was as though the very presence of the nephilim up above was bringing the auras of darkness and light into conflict. It was impressive, and dangerous...

As Michael finally stopped shivering, he opened his eyes as the girl's face appeared in front of her. It was mostly flawless despite what the dangers of travel could do. He blinked a few times before speaking:

"It isn't safe... we need to get out of here..."

He felt weaker than before, as well. It may have been just the climb or the loss of blood, but something gave him the feeling that his weakening state is not coincidental.

Lev slung low to the ground, stalking as if he were moving through tall grass. He moved methodically, retracing their movement back to their original stopping point in a slowly paced beeline. Noticing the ridge, he decided to take a look down below.

Dropping to his stomach, he crawled along the ground until he came to the ledge. The rocky terrain scratched against him, cutting him in places. No matter though. His eyes scanned the several dozen feet below him, instantly picking up two figures. One the man from before, the one who had attempted to replace him. The one who had succeeded. And a girl! It must be the one!

He brought his rifle up, taking aim down the ancient sights. He moved the rear sight up slightly, compensating for the distance. Index finger rested on the trigger, ready to fire. He steadied his rifle on the man. He would want to hear words out of her mouth before he gutted it.

Lev.

The rifle. The Mosin-Nagant. He had stared down those sights for years. He had held that rifle as a boy. His non-father had given it to him, him alone out of the seven other children his mother had been forced to birth before she died. At first he hated it, the rifle hurt him. But it became his companion, closest guarded friend. Over the years it had become so much more. An oar, a club, a tent pole. Fishing rod, a spear. Nearly firewood one particularly ugly winter. It had saved his life, nearly ended it, and taken the lives of hundreds of others. He had been taught to clean it. To respect it. The rifle was his life. More accurately, his way of life. But it had destroyed others. Countless others.

It is not her, Lev.

He hovered the sights over the man, preparing to fire. He had found a scope once. It was an honor, a blessed gift to have such a thing. It had taken him a long time to sight the precious accessory to his rifle. The first time it saw combat it took a bullet directly to the lens. Glass and lead had pelted Lev's face, scarring him for years. From then on he never mounted another. A blessed gift wasted by him meant he would never deserve another.

LEV.

Lev was suddenly a whirlwind of scrambling limbs as he tumbled over the ledge. A gust of wind had upset him enough that in his distracted state he failed to hold himself down. For a brief moment, he fell free. Then he caught the jagged rocks jutting out from the cliff face as he tumbled down. Cutting, breaking. smashing. His body was being beaten apart. But he clung still to his rifle. They would break together.

A sudden snap jerked him violently. He came to a stop, arms outstretched above him while his legs dangled beneath. About thirty feet from the ground he had came to a halt. Disoriented and in great pain, it took him a moment to realize why. He lifted his head upwards.

His rifle, the long beast that it was, had caught itself between two rocks. The aged steel and wood was somehow able to stand his weight, digging against the rock to hold him in place.

"Where is your infinite wisdom now?!"

Lev tried to shout, but it came out as a hoarse moan. Blood trickled down his body, nasty gashes spurting the red liquid mixed with the rocks and dirt that had caused them. Working his way closer to the rock face, he unhinged his rifle from the rock. He began to slowly make his way down the rock face while trying to size up his two former targets, who had obviously noticed him by now. In his current state though, he was unsure if they could administer more pain to his body than he was already experiencing.

Dante himself nearly fell off the edge of the cliff, and scrambled to get a good foothold. Leve was down there, he could tell, and Michael further down... A strange figure stood next to the artificer, though. And all three auras seemed unnatural.

Michael was hurt, that was easy enough to see. Lev...even as Dante watched, the aura settled down a bit. Must've fallen not too long ago... And the newcomer. It looked...weird.

I highly doubt they haven't seen Lev yet... Assuming the gunman had already been spotted, Dante yelled down to him from hundred of feet above: "...You okay?"

Why he was showing concern for this man was beyond him.