Lev merely nodded to the two who had suddenly joined them, knowing there was no point to pointing a gun in their respective faces. "Thank you for the saving of me earlier." He muttered, groaning a bit as he tried to loosen up his arm. Sliding down, he gripped the slimy ladder that led down in to the sewer, being careful to not slip and fall.

He must have descended a good thirteen feet before he found solid flooring. He looked around quickly, revolver in front of him in case anything was now occupying the sewers. He counted to thirty before looking back up, calling to the women.

"I's okay! Smells, bad. But you want escape city, this the way to go."

Dante took deep breath after deep breath, trying to refuel as quickly as he could. When it wasn't fast enough, he decided to take another succor capsule. It just might help, he reasoned, although he knew he'd wake the next day, if he slept at all, to the most massive stomachache and cramping ever. Still, he swallowed one.

A few moments later, he was able to trace out a tiny bit of red to the north of him; now too desperate to get out, he went towards it on the motorcycle, albeit reluctantly.

Two men, an artificer and a servant of Sheol, stood in front of the crowd fleeing the city. Michael led along hastily, leaving no time for turning back as the flow of the crowd took them outside the city. As the two men hurried forward Alteil realized that something was very wrong, but as the wooden gates of Corinth closed behind them, it seemed to have been too late.
Making their way to the front of the crowd, they saw something which would terrify any common man: it looked as though the hoards of the underworld had been released unto them to collect their very souls. Michael's mind worked faster than lightning as the panic switch activated in his mind. "What do we have: a laser and psychic powers and- No! There's too many of them! But what about the guard? No... they locked us out here. I don't want to die; I don't want to die!!! Michael fiddled with his courage capsule before finally biting down on it and feeling its full effects. With new concentration, he looked at the door, and looked back at the crowd and looked to his new friend and looked up at the absent city guard. He was paranoid, to say the least, and his irrationality threw millions of thoughts leading to his one, final conclusion. "Maybe they were locked out in order to make more time to mobilize"... "Well, in that case," Michael finally said, smiling, "I'll give them time." He pulled out his gun and activated his shield as he walked past his friend. "It should take 30 minutes at the most for the guard to fully mobilize and pull everyone back in, correct? Convince the guard to get everyone inside, and I'll deal with the hoard," he said to the servant of Sheol.

Leaning close to Jeanne, Feenai whispered as quietly as she could, "They know how to fight and we might be in a lot of danger soon. I don't like it but, like you said...we need to save ourselves too."

She couldn't help but think about the young girl she saw when she arrived, and hoped that she could get out safely. Tears welled up in her eyes knowing that it was unlikely, but she reminded herself what Jeanne had said. I left home to live, not to die.

Wiping her eyes, she moved down the ladder as quickly as possible, wrinkling her nose at the awful smell. Waiting for Jeanne to descend, she asked, "Will you watch over me again, while I research what we are up against?"

With quite some speed, and making good time, Dante got closer and closer to the psychic's aura...and suddenly got a tire caught in what seemed like a decent-sized hole. The whole bike flipped over. A...manhole...? They must be in here, he reasoned, getting to his feet and feeling for the entrance.

Ah well...once I get out of here, I'll let some time pass for the guards to forget...and then I'll sneak my bike back out. See you later, old boy, he thought, patting the motorcycle rather fondly.

Dropping feet first into the hole, Dante slid and landed with a slight thud, gagging at the stench.

Jeanne wasn't too pleased with the smell, but she tied the bandanna on her arm around her lower face, which helped somewhat. Looking down at Fee, she nodded before descending cautiously. She didn't trust the old ladder.

Once down, she was just glad that the floor had some traction to it. Still holding her laser tightly, Jeanne glanced at Feenai and hoped that her companion wouldn't panic again.

"Meat."

Lev snarled, backing up a bit as he leveled his revolver on the blind man once again. His sewer was quickly filling up. He was employed by one and in debt to two. This new addition was quickly grating on his nerves.

"Meat, why do you follow? You no take her. I see to that."

Inhale....exhale...Don't let your anger get the better of you, Dante...

Slowly, cautiously, Dante pulled out the two handguns and tossed them towards where he thought the man's feet would be, then reached for the dagger. He dropped it into the muck a couple of feet in front of him.

"Look, I...don't want another fight," he muttered, putting a finger to one of the long jagged scars that had skinned over but still stung. "I don't want to die either, at least not today, and the whole city's bristling with guns."

He held his arms up slightly. "All I really want right now is to get out of here, alright?"

"Okay, Meat. No one in sewer die today. Let me check with map about leaving here."

Lev bent down, pulling up his pants leg again so he could consult his crude map. He fingered it a bit, feeling the lines of raised skin. In his mind he tried to remember every detail he could. Dead ends were the circles, and...

Remembering his way, he stood back up. He confidently strode ahead of the group, feeling sure of himself that his navigational skills were proficient.

"Pick up weapons. You might need them. Sewer is scary place. I spent two days in here. Took long time to make map. Hurt, so had to get right the first time.

Shealtiel eyes the Artificer askance, wondering if Courage Capsules aren't defective; he's never taken one, himself. He won't last five minutes against that hoard... He knows Michael is a psychic, but that will only make him a beacon for the Emim; he'd never be able to match even one of them, unless he has reserves he hasn't revealed yet.

And yet, Shealtiel is at a loss as to how to convince the guards to open the gates -- is there even anyone manning the walls? He can't see or sense anyone up there, and his MID is completely lit up with the psychic energy the Emim are putting out.

He considers screaming that he is a Servant of Sheol, to open the gates and give him room to face the horde, but... knowing these people, they'd likely think he was the cause of this and shoot him on principle.

Grunting, he steps up next Michael. "If that's how it's going to be, then..." he mutters. He prepares himself for battle, entering a sort of meditative state that will let his body withstand for of the shock and strain Sheol inflicts on it. He'll have to be quick if they're to survive, banishing any spirits that Michael parts from their hosts, and exorcising as many Dybbuk as he can.

His senses don't indicate the Rephaim's presence nearby; it may be coming at Corinth from another direction. Detecting the Emim is harder, as they're more psychic than spiritual in nature. He isn't sure if any are close by.

Running his hand through the grime, Dante found his weapons. He wiped them for a bit on his narrow cloak before putting them back into his holsters, then stiffened suddenly.

"What's this oppressive aura that's heading straight towards us? This is not a trap, is it, Mr. Lion?"

Lev stumbled, a first from hearing his name called out and from the word 'Dybbuk'. He turned quickly, eyes jumping back and forth from the girl and the blind assassin.

"Dybbuk in city? We need leave then. There is one then there are many. Let us go.

He started off again at a trot. At the back of his head a voice screamed at him to run. He had had nasty incidents with Dybbuk in Tsavo, and childhood memories were pressing at the corners of his currently well-adjusted psyche. Well, well-adjusted enough. As an afterthought, he tossed a few words over his shoulder, keeping his eyes directly in front of him.

"I would not call me that, Meat. That is not good word where I come from."

"And I'd rather not be called that either...Makes me sound like a corpse," Dante replied, grimacing. "What's your name, anyways? Seems like I'll be tagging along for a bit, if only to pay the girl back for not killing me back then. Although," he added with a ghost of a smile, "that wouldn't have been quite fair."

But now that the psychic had mentioned it, Dante did hear it: the dragging feet, the groaning, things only his ears could hear. He could nearly smell it too, the rotting bodies. "No escape for anyone, huh. That'll have to change."

A corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a smirk. "Let's go before shit happens."

On the exterior, Michael was looking down the hoard, almost laughing a hideous laugh that reeked of insanity. Inside his head, however, a battle between two Michaels threatened to shake the many resolves of all that granted him identity.
"You can't do this, Michael. You'll die!"
"But I am the greatest, and I have the power, you know that!" said a voice drunken with power. A female voice, cut in between the two, with a ghostly but attracting allure.
"Y-yes-ss. Show them your-r power-r!!!"
"Jez'ebel? Jez'ebel, damn you! Let go of me! Leave me alone!!!" The conscious mind of Michael grew furious inside the cage of the courage capsule. He became a different man whenever he took the capsule, and he knew so when he first took one many years ago.
"Relax, my child. I, the oracle, foresee that you'll live. Just relax, my child. I will take care of you... Michael began to grow sleepy at the sound of her voice.
"Maybe...maybe it will be alright. It's so cold here....so dark.... He was about to fall asleep when a trigger in his mind went off.
"No! I will not be a slave!!!" Jeze'bel's voice retreated.
Michael's consciousness returned to him slowly, as his insane laugh toned down to a confident stare at the hoard. He looked back at the crowd, who huddled together in front of the door. "Maybe they thought I could protect them," he thought. He turned back to the crowd and motioned them out of the way. Using a concentrated blast, he cut a hole through the door in which the people could get back into the city.
"Seal the hole," he told them after they had gotten through. Joining the servant of Sheol, who was meditating, he spoke to him in a normal tone. "Sorry about that. It always happens after I take a courage capsule. I'm fine now. How long do you think we'd last?"

Feenai slowly dropped her connection to the Network, numbly taking in the scent of the sewer. "John.. are we really going to live through this? Dybbuk, sure... we could probably deal with them. The Emim and the Rephaim though? We can't fight those..." Feenai's eyes were already watering from the smell, and the fear of what was coming was very overwhelming.

Since her mental shields were already down, she briefly probed the minds of everyone here. The man who had been wounded before was still giving of waves of pain, even though it appeared that the gunshot wounds had been fully healed. The red haired girl had a shield so Feenai was unable to get much from her. The blind man seemed confident that everything would be fine. And her new friend, Jeanne...did not think she would die.

Emim give off a psychic fear... could it be affecting me? Feenai renewed the mental shields and immediately a small part of the fear dropped away; not all of it, but enough that she could at least stop panicking. I wonder if I could protect the other's minds, if it came down to it.

Shealtiel considers for a moment, or appears to. He may be lost in his preparations. Looking up eventually, he says, "Just the two of us? It depends. If we're lucky, the Emim will move right into the city -- walls won't slow them at all. Of course, that will be unlucky for the people you just trapped in there, but that's the way these things go. I can handle many, many Dybbuk, but I'll fail eventually. And you'll have to keep them off me. Strike at the flanks with your laser; I'll deal with the biggest clusters myself. And if things go bad, try to clear a way for us. There's a bigger meal awaiting them on the other side of that gates."

He furrows his brow, then adds after a few seconds, "That's assuming the Rephaim doesn't come at us itself. Oh, and if they seem to be getting past you, consider setting the gates on fire; that'll likely hold them longer than the gates themselves."

Jeanne nodded at Fee's question, though hearing that there were also Emim and Rephaim lurking around made her a little anxious. Still, she had no intention of dying. Though she planned to play a supporting role in whatever battle may occur - mostly healing and crippling bodies, as she had learned was best when dealing with Dybbuk - if she had to, she would take to the offensive herself. She just hoped that it wouldn't come to that.

"We should be fine," Jeanne said to Fee. "We're just a small group of fugitives in the sewers. Stronger enemies will go for more meaningful kills." The words sounded stronger in her head than they did out loud, and she began to worry that their group actually would meet one of them.

Lev's blood began to boil, quickly getting tired of the overload of chattering and information that was coming from his motley group.

"Quiet, for one second! Sewer, it has one exit. Exits in to river. Before sewer exits though, water hits cleaning facility. Very large. There the water is cleaned, and dumped back in to lake. So unless Dybbuk tread water, they not get in. Not unless they tunnel in. Which I admit, is possibility. I spent two days down here getting lost. I think eventually I would have ran in to...to..."

He pondered something looking up as if the answer was above him. He checked his map again, tracing something. After standing back up, he quickly trotted off in a hurry.

"We must move very fast!"

Looking at the Dybbuk, Michael saw two ways to approach the large hoard. "A concentrated laser could cut limbs off and probably exercise a lot of the Dybbuk, while a spread fire will injure the Emim, who will more likely be effecting people behind us first." He thought a bit more before looking out at the hoard that was about 200 yards away.
"If you have some way to deal with the Emim, Alteil, then I can keep the Dybbuk off of you for weeks." Taking out his laser, he immediately began to cut at the waists of the enemies on the left and right clumps of enemies with a powerful fire.
"If this works the group will be more clumped together when it get's here," Michael thought. "Though whether or not that's a good thing is to be decided."

Deal with the Emim? Is he serious?

Shealtiel eyes Michael, wondering if he has in fact gone insane. He is pleased, at least, that that weaponized laser of his has enough Theurgic power to exorcise the Dybbuk after it kills them. Less work for him.

As they close, he throws a fist of power into the biggest clump of them he can see. Bodies tremble, then collapse, the spirits animating them dissolving to nothing Sheol can ever use again.

But still the horde keeps surging forward, and Shealtiel strikes again, and again, killing and exorcising dozens with each strike. But it is not enough. There still hundreds, close now, close, and he can feel a weariness in his bones, like a weight upon his back. Striking again, he looks to Michael, harried, sweat stinging his eyes and blurring his vision.

"Defensive perimeter! Now!"

Lev bent down quickly, undoing an object that had been fastened to his right leg with dog collars. From under the bottom of of his coat he revealed a rather worn looking submachine gun, with a short barrel and a round drum magazine underneath. He held it with his right hand, holding his left arm horizontally and resting the gun on it. He looked back and forth, backing up tighter in to the circle.

"Someone. I need loader. Lower right pocket, drum magazines. When I say load, take gun and load it. Sewer not so safe after all."

As an afterthought, he added:

"If I die, take my leg with you. It has map. Follow the triangles, not x's."

Dante groaned in exasperation. Turning out the blade of his knife, he held it between his teeth as he pulled out both handguns. "Sh' I take deh back?" he asked through his teeth. "Er do you wan' me uh fron'?" he added, raising an eyebrow at the gunman's, name still an enigma, last comment. His pale green eyes seemed to glow into the darkness.

The smell assaulted Feenai's nose, and she was horrified that something could smell worse than the sewer already did. I'm the only one here who can't fight... She shook her head. No, I will NOT be useless!

She ran up to the once wounded man and took the submachine gun from him, dropping her mental shields to access the Network as quickly as she could to find out how to load it. She found the necessary information within moments, dropped the connection and resumed her shield, then loaded the gun and thrust it back into the man's free hand.

Feenai then returned to Jeanne's side. "John, all they do is possess dead bodies. Just striking them down isn't enough, you need to dismember them so the bodies cannot do anything. Or burn them, but I'm not sure we have the capability for that." She grimaced, thinking of how much worse it will start smelling if that were to happen.

Her heart pounding, she then addressed everyone. "Please, if you can hold them off I will try to find a way out for us through the Network! If I find anything, anything at all, I will do something!" Knowing time was of the essence, she did not wait and dropped her shields again, connecting her mind instantly to the Amorpha Network to find something to help them get out of this alive.

The hoard began to close in on Michael and Altiel as they stepped backwards, touching the gate. Each of the two must have destroyed and exercised the spirits of the damned by the hundreds, if not the thousands, yet many still remained. Realizing that his friend never found a need to do any work on the shambling limbs where he shot the laser, he began to work on the middle group.
"60 yards away." Micheal switched modes on the gun, letting it hit more enemies when he fired.
"50 yards away." He shot the ground 20 yards ahead of the hoard, setting its bushes and trees aflame.
"40 yards away." Switching back to the cutting laser, he started at the left of the hoard, cutting towards the middle. He glanced at Altiel. He eyes were tired, and he could feel the Emim within the crowds.
"30 yards away." The hoard slowed down a little, distracted by the flames on the bushes. Michael glanced to the walls, wondering where the city guard had gone off to.
"20 yards away." Michael raised his shield as he continued to cut through them. "It won't be long before they get to us, now." Micheal turned the laser to a wider firing range and turn the power to maximum. The laser's battery would only last a minute under this condition, but it'll be worth it.
"10 yards away." "Brace yourself, Altiel!!"

"5 yards away." Michael blasts a hole into the earth, and the ground begins to shake slightly. A small crevice appears in the earth extending towards the hoard. "4 yards away." "Dammit! Not enough!"
"3 yards away." Michael takes the shield off of his arm. It's still active.
"2 yards away." Michael throws the shield into the crevice.
"This is it!!!" The ground begins to shake.

Winded, stunned, his spine feeling ready to snap, Shealtiel shares a brief glance with Michael, almost disbelieving. As he regains some of his composure, he hears cheering from the city, and is about to make a bitter comment about the people soldiers hiding behind those walls while they were risking their lives out here... when a wave of utter horror suddenly washes over him, stealing the strength from his limbs in an instant. He falls.

Landing with an impact, he is nonetheless distracted as his spiritual senses light up with the twisted, ravaged specters of no less than 8 Emim, moving in formation directly toward the city, sending psychic assaults out ahead of them.

It's over, he thinks. We can't stop them. We can't even stand against them. How could we?

And yet, when the Emim are nearly upon them, Shealtiel finally realizes that Michael -- still under the effects of his courage capsule -- is screaming at him to look in the sky, pointing back toward the city.

Over the wall, floating, wreathed in a blazing cloak of silver and gold fire, Saint Typasius, clad in Savior Armor, a Wrath Sword erupting in each hand, soars toward the Emim. As he closes, bolts of golden lightning arc out, transferring pure theurgy into the undead psychics. Their howling is like the cacophony of a thousand banshee's in Shealtiel's mind. And yet, they are overmatched by the Saint.

Struggling to his feet with Michael's help, they both have the same idea: get out of here. Now.

"There were few people who witnessed that battle and any that did knew better than to stand up for a servant of Sheol in a holy city," Michael hurried away from the scene of the battle, as much as he would hate to not see a saint in action. With the soil loosened from the lack of vegetation, just heading far enough into the wind will bring them into a sandstorm, and although he had the lungs for such a travel, Michael was pretty sure that the man did not.
The wind was blowing east, away from the now setting sun, and likewise, he lead Altiel east, towards the shore where he knew a friend who can give them passage to New Turkey and the Seven Churches of the Apocalypse.

"Everyone behind me!"

Lev shouted as he opened fire, letting out a long string of lead. He moved his gun slowly from right to left, firing in controlled bursts. If not for the ravenous Dybbuk, his firing could have been mistaken for an overzealous typewriter. He sped his firing here and there, holding down the trigger and opening in to full automatic when the undead began to press in. He emptied the seventy-one rounds in his magazine, passing it off to the girl as he opened fire with his revolver.

"We need the surface! Make way back, I will cover!"

"An' wha exac'ly do you plan on doing wi' one revolver?" Dante mocked, shoving the girl's head down and firing his own handgun through the roof of a Dybbuk's jaws. Another one that got close was decapitated; the assassin had flipped out the blades on his boots a few moments ago. Neat cartwheels now sent limbs flying; he got back on his feet after a few second, fired, reloaded slightly clumsily with two fingers, fired again, and pushed the girl a bit roughly along.

"Let us move!"

Lev used the momentary respite as a chance to reload. Freshly armed, He opened fire again. He was judicious with his use of ammunition as he backed up, letting the Dybbuk move in a bit closer before he opened fire. He had two drums of ammunition left. Each drum held seventy-one rounds, but he was easily using a large amount on individual targets. There were so many. And he knew the melee fighters among his group were quickly getting tired. He quickly made a decision to hold off the Dybbuk alone, giving everyone else a chance to make it to the surface. He shouted to everyone as he fired, calling to them in between bursts of fire.

"Run! I cover escape. I will- I will cover!"

Lev knew the odds were not in their favor. Rue and Dante had taken out a good twenty or so between the two, and he had cut down at least the same amount with his automatic. But the continued fire was heating up the barrel of his gun, and the horde bearing down in front of him still seemed as innumerable as they were before Lev had opened fire. The situation was beginning to look a bit grim.

Dante made a mock bow -- probably missed in the gloom -- and continued pushing the other girl back the way they'd come, firing a few bullets over his back as he did so. He turned around for a moment to check the progress...

..and noticed something oddly familiar. With his heightened Sight, he could make out an outline that he had seen for the past twenty years, had felt, had known. Too familiar. With dread he 'looked' at the face, then at a waist-pounch that he knew would be there, with the aura of old succor capsules radiating from it.

Dante staggered. Ignoring the looks from his companions, he stared at the Dybbuk in front of him, gun forgotten. All much too familiar.

"...Gabriel?"

The situation was growing worse by the minute, and Jeanne was beginning to worry that they wouldn't actually make it. Those on the retreating front line were becoming visibly tired, and would probably begin to be wounded. Displeased with how little theurgic energy she had built up, Jeanne knelt and began to pray, entirely missing Fee being pushed around by Dante. But when she sat up again - she was in danger of being left behind - she felt full of energy again.

Unable to return to her marginally helpful work now that they were in dire straits, she (somewhat reluctantly) took her knife in hand along with her laser and joined the others at the front line. Though the knife was thin and made for quick stabs, she found several hearts. Jeanne's laser (switched to its highest power, still inferior to that of a weapons-grade) severed body parts with little trouble, although with the addition of burnt flesh, the sewers smelled even worse. But, like the others, she felt the weight of the giant horde pressing down.