After setting the bones, Dara took time to strap the man's upper arm to his side and across his chest to his opposite shoulder with a splint around the break. She was about to respond to the man's comment when she heard a voice from above shouting.

"...you okay?"

Dara looked up to look for the source of the voice, but instead saw another man dangling from a rock ledge above them. "I think you should get up now" she said to the prone man at her feet.

Seemingly content to ignore Feenai now that she's done as he wished, Kasdeja glides down the length of the APC, pausing to glance down at Shealtiel.

"Get up." He demands. "You're coming, too."

Cracking open one eye and raising his head fractionally, the old necromancer croaks out a reply. "Or what?"

"That hoary heart of yours is such a frail thing, Shealtiel. So precarious. It would take oh-so-little to..." He reaches out with his mind, psychic fingers caressing the edge of an Atrium, sending a chill through Shealtiel, who shudders uncontrollably at the touch.

"You think... I hold any... reservation toward... dying?" He struggles to breathe, his vision swimming, tears trickling down his creased cheeks. "Death is... no great moving on. Not for me. Abaddon will never... let me rest. Do you... do you know him... the angel... of death? A more noble... creature than... than your father...." He can no longer speak, for the tightness in his chest. There is a pounding in his head, savage, pulsing.

Sensing that he has pushed the pathetic old man to the brink, Kasdeja relents, releasing his grip all at once. Though, he does feel a certain inclination to test Shealtiel's pretentious claims. Perhaps another time.

"You're still coming with me," he says, resuming his walk out of the APC.

Reluctantly, still shivering, Shealtiel climbs from his seat and makes to follow, if only to reign in the idiocy of his companions as the Nephilim invariably decides to test the limits of their patience once again.

Reaching the others, Kasdeja strides into their mist as though he owns the very ground they stand on. With contemptuous disdain, he walks past Michael and comes to a halt before Dara, looking down at her impassively for a long moment. When he finally speaks, he sounds almost solemn, like a young boy struggling to imitate an adult.

"He is not within you, is he? Not like me, no, no. You don't have the NAME imprinted in your soul. You weren't created to be a failure. I wonder... I wonder who you are."

"What the hell is going on?"

Lev sputtered over his own coughs and wheezes, wondering how everyone had caught up to him so easily. Apparently his time stalking at made him easy to catch up to. No matter.

He stood straight, ignoring the blood oozing from his body. He took a few cautious steps towards Michael and the stranger, eyeing them both up. The words that Kas had spoken seemed to drip with poisonous oil. At least, to Lev's ears. Just having him around made him stand on edge. He bit back a scathing remark.

Walking to the two, he turned around quickly and put both his arms around them. He pulled them in with a false hug, staring back at the Nephilim.

"You could know, you know. If you simply asked. This man is Michael, travels with Rue. I am to end her. This woman, I do not know."

He turned his head, looking at the girl. Something...put him off, about her. Something he couldn't quite place. She didn't look like much, but she was unnerving all the same. And out here, he had learned that looks don't count for much anymore. With a forced grin that looked more like hunger than anything, he addressed her.

"Our 'friend' here is a Nephilim. Do not give him your name. If horse has name, do not give him name either."

He looked back, noticing Michael's arm. He frowned, noting that it looked painful.

"Na'lsa will fix that, Michael. The next time he comes out, anyway."

Michael didn't respond to Lev, and probably wouldn't have even if the Nephilim didn't pass by him. The creature's presence almost grabbed at his very being and caused Michael to throw up a strong mental block in mental instinct.
By the time his arm was in the splint, Michael already felt as though he didn't need it. He stood up, albeit slowly as his weariness returned, and checked inventory. He lost a couple courage capsules, crushing them on impact, but otherwise, most of his things were in excellent shape, if not acceptable.
In the back of his mind, Lev sounded offensive, if not maniacally clever: "'Don't give your name!' he says, and immediately gives mine."
He had to lie; deceit being his only possible reprieve from the immediate threat, the Nephilim. Looking up to Lev, he called, "You have me mistaken for someone else. I am John, Johnathan Tailor. I was on my way to see my brother on the other side, and I was taking a short-cut. Who are you, might I ask?" Fear kept his mentality static towards any invader. Even the Nephilim would have a bit of trouble breaking through the lies.

Caught off guard by the apparently friendly adress, physical contact, and the hostilities she sensed within the group, Dara reflexively took a step back from the conversation, letting them sort out whatever was between them to sort out.

"I need to get my horse," she said quietly, and slipped away from the core of the conversation the few feet from where Michael John -she wasn't going to bother too much with which- had fallen to where her horse was standing half in a daze.

Without paying direct attention to her, those present might not have realized she had walked off at all, even though she hadn't gone far. She repacked the first aid kit and picked up the horse's reins. She walked him a little closer to where the three men stood standing slightly closer to "John" then either the man who 'introduced' herself and the Nephilim, whatever that was supposed to be. The figure was at once imposing and hideous as it felt familiar in a way Dara was not entirely sure she liked. However, since it had yet to attempt to tear her head off or eat her horse she placed it tentatively above the walking dead and a few people she had met as she wandered so far.

She hadn't a clue what the Nephilim had meant with his words and references to a name. At the moment neither of the newcomers seemed too savory.

Feenai had several emotions running through her. Fear. Hatred. Unhappiness. She took a moment to compose herself and find her own emotions. Then she sighed and looked at Jeanne. "Don't let anyone steal the APC, alright?" She opened the door and jumped out, making sure she had her grenades and laser with her. May as well pretend to be useful...

To reach where almost everyone is was, Dante had to find a safe path down. At least, safer than Lev's fall. Staying as far from the edge (or at least what seemed to be the edge; depth perception is impossible in a pitch-black field) as was practical, he made his way down the slope and nearly ran into Feenai in the process, then turned sharply when he was at the same level as the newcomer, barely hiding himself from sight behind some massive boulders. He'd almost slipped several times, and if he hadn't been as instinctively sneaky as he was, the grating of metal and rubber against sand would have been obvious.

Lev looked between the two, his face going dark for a moment. He spoke with the heaviness of a mourner at a funeral, trying to put weight in to his words.

"We have been recruited, as escort for this thing."

He pointed rudely towards the Nephilim, opening his hand as he talked.

"Involuntarily too. At this point it sees you, so you are its property."

Lev spoke the last words through gritted teeth. He had been property before.

"Do as it says, but don't let it command you. Corrosion comes from within."

He removed his arm from around Michael, breathing a bit heavier now. His many cuts and scrapes were taking a toll on him, with the pain being quite visible now. Letting out a large breath, he walked a few paces before settling down on an outcropping of rocks that were not sporting his blood. With leery eyes he watched the Nephilim. He knew it could destroy him within a moment, but he wondered about Na'lsa. If he fell once, he would get up twice. It was almost a risk he was willing to try.

"Property, my ass!" Michael thought, but took known outward action towards his words. His mental block was strong enough that he was more than confident enough to get away from the Nephilim mostly unscathed.
He turned to the pale-skinned person who was like a saint to him- she somehow appeared behind him while his focus was on Lev. Although he was not completely enthralled by her good deed, he felt the need to repay her. Had any sensible person walked by, they would have left him for dead, or taken his identity for their own purposes had they known him through the Amorpha.
"It seems as though I owe you my life, miss, and I cannot leave it to fate to repay you. Thus, I wish to travel with you in hope that I may do so in its stead. The world is a very cruel place to be traversing alone."
As Michael spoke he felt the familiar presence recurring from his memories. Jez'ebel had never been a fan of Nephilim, and his instinct told him to shoot it now and kill it before it could assimilate him into its grasp. He tightened his mental block so as to reassure himself.

Michael dropped the mental block instantly when he heard the Nephilim. It was pointless to him to guard thoughts when the Nephilim could easily by pass it. "So it's not as good as I hoped ...nevertheless..."
"I don't see what you need us for so much. Why not leave us be?"
He already had a general idea of the answer, but the urge within himself wanted him to negotiate with the creature. If it could get past him, it could certainly help to improve his block tremendously and perhaps could be a key factor in his research....
So he lifted the block again to try to deflect the psychic energy around him instead of just plain stopping it. A whirlpool of psychic energy might spin the energy 180 degrees. Of course it would drain him too fast if he put too much energy into it so he started slowly, only feeling only a hint of drainage...
But a jolt of pain from his splinted arm stopped him as he felt the place where his arm was put back loosen. "Now's not the time to experiment..."

"I've managed so far" Dara says in responce to Michael John, having not really settled on what to call him just yet. It was not a statement of defiance, but one of simple fact. She was travelling alone and she was not dead.

Dara looked quietly at the group, the humans, - or potential humans - and what they called the Nephilim. *Thing* was about closest word she could some to describe it. It had yet to do anything to give her room to make much of an opinion of it, aside from speak in a somewhat confusing way. The latesst words were not the least bit confusing though. She wasn't sure she wanted to travel with this group but she also didn't have any place particular to go, or reason to get anywhere.

After a few moments, she said to the nephilim, "you haven't said anything to me that I can answer." She paused where normally she would put a name. Lacking that she moved to the obvious question. "Where are you going?"

Crouching nearby, Dante felt a shiver run down his spine as that very-messed-up aura warped into something that made him glad he was blind. If the aura was this twisted, then what could the nephilim possibly look like...?

The oppressive scent of fear and disgust irritated Dante, as did the feral stench of Kasdeja. But now wasn't the time to try to kill him.

"Right. I go to APC now."

Lev stood up, suddenly wanting to be as far away from Kasdeja as he could be. What he had just seen chilled him, and he knew he could not let the creature affect him in any way. He began walking, passing the others. His eyes landed on where Dante's should have been. They lingered for a moment. After a few paces he stopped, turning his head over his shoulder to look back.

"Dante. Accompany me."

Why? Was her immediate thought but she didn't think about voicing it at this moment. If Dara was afraid, angry, worried, or having any other strong feeling about standing face to face with the nephilim, she didn't immediately show it on the outside. She stood, Lethe's reins in one hand, and after time responded simply, "that's a long way."