Na'lsa's eyes bulged as the hand closed around his neck. Bone cracked as they began to break, throat collapsing in on itself. His mouth opened, lips not moving as a hollow whisper escaped.

"I am not bound by mere flesh."

With that, he slumped. Even before he stopped moving, his body began to...decay. In a rapid moment flesh began to become red and swollen, rippling as if it were being brought to a boil. His eyes began to swell, growing larger until they actually burst, hot tissue exploding forward in to the priest's mangled face. Blood gushed freely from the sockets, other streams dripping from the rest of orifices and even the pores of his very skin. His body began to liquify, flesh peeling back along the bones as muscle and tendon literally dropped to the ground, blood and various other liquids following as little spittles of liquid clung to the rapidly brittling bones. Eventually they fell away in dust, peppering the quivering pile of half-rotted organ, muscle and blood at the man's feet. The only thing to mark that the crazed demon had been there was Lev's coat, and several firearms hanging from it limply. Below it the flesh pile pulsed and fluctuated, pumping back and forth as it still continued to somehow live. Laughter began to issue from no discernible source, the mound quivering in time with the sound.

"You will be consumed!"

Ignoring the activity behind him, Kasdeja walks up to where the others stand facing the man on the cross. Crossing his arms, the dripping heart still held in hand, he scrutinizes Innon, staring into his mind as though he were perfectly welcome within.

"You dwelt in Paradise." Not a question. "Tell me, did you know my father?" His child's giggle escapes with the last word, making his words utterly threatening. "Of course, you don't know that. But we're going to find out the answer, you and I." Gesturing dismissively with the heart, sending a globule of dark blood flying to spatter on Feenai's arm. "Take him down," he says disinterestedly.

* * *

Halfway between the cross and priest's body, Shealtiel is unsure of which to give his attention. But then Na'lsa makes his decision for him, rushing past to partake of the fallen servant of God.

Seeing the awful light erupt an instant before the demon notices, he bellows an inarticulate warning, stumbling nearer. Then the priest is moving and things progress to quickly to act.

Looking upon the appalling sight of the demon dissolved, of Mithaias unveiled, Shealtiel's instincts return and he opens himself to the power of Sheol. It comes crushing into him on a wave of frigid delight. Fulligin spews from his eyes, black lightning crackling between his fingers.

Only... he is unsure who his foe is.

Feenai, horrified at Kasdeja's treatment of the heart, was certain that something terrible would happen if she didn't cut the man down. Flustered, she pulled the laser off her back and, using the lowest setting, started cutting his binds from behind the cross, starting with his feet. "You might want to brace yourself..." she noted as she cut his arm bonds.

She desperately tried to ignore in her mind the feelings she was getting from Na'lsa. She also knew she shouldn't, but Feenai was feeling close to a mental breakdown again and she did not want to be rendered helpless in a situation like this.

As the young psychic cut him down, Innon bantered and complained. "I've not the slightest who you are, who your father is, what you are, or what your farther is, but I am NOT eating that thing in your hand," Innon said, attempting his best at a dangerous tone. "I might be dead, but I am not a zombie. Despite what you things might think of me, I am far from a flesh monger... unlike your goopy companion over there..." he said, eying the mess behind them.
"I've no idea whats going on, here, explain. Why do you have the heart of a priest in your hand? What does it have to do with me?"
Innon braced himself as Feenai asked him to, as he was freed from his restraints.

"PERVERTER OF FLESH!"

A bellowing roar rumbles deep from the quivering haggis. It began to bubble and spew. A skeletal hand shot forth from the mound, bending and twisting as others followed it. The bones of legs and arms and various other things began to extend out of the swarming froth, tendons and muscle quickly snaking down them as they contorted in to different shapes. What could only be the raw materials of the corpses Na'lsa had eaten began to cover the structure he was becoming. Eight arching skeletal appendages became covered in skinless tissue as liquids dripped from them, his main body becoming a writhing horde of organs resembling some nightmarish skinned arachnid. Twin hands, devoid of all but sharpened bone stuck out from the front, as if they posed as some sort of twisted pedipalps or fangs. The entirety of the flesh quivered, the shape buckling for a moment as it became accustomed to standing on all eight...appendages. And with a hiss like bone against metal, it leaped at the priest's form.

Dante, disinterested, had turned back and walked some distance before a chill ran down his spine. With practiced speed, he spun around, his newly-acquired gun in hand. But there was nothing.

Or rather...there was blackness. A blackness heavier than just...nothing. With alarm, he noticed Feenai's and Shealtiel's aura, half covered by something similar to thickened black swirls of ink.

Lev.

Dante sprinted towards Fee a few paces, then paused to wonder what Kasdeja could possibly be doing with a golden...blob?...in his hand. Or what seemed to be his hand. And it was dripping, apparently.

Just then, the "ink" shifted around, and magnificent golden light filled the bounty hunter's mind for a moment.

...Then that must be a chunk of the priest.

There was a small "crack" with hardly an echo. From beyond the fight, Dara lowered her rifle, her eyes wide as she took in Lev's transformation, the sight leaving her without the least bit of attention to see if the small bullet had actually done anything the the priest when he rose from the group again. Given the state of his skull already, it's doubtfull she would be able to tell after the fact either.

Dara was a good enough shot that she doubted she has missed, but even so, waiting until one knew for certain often meant no dinner, if the answer was "yes." She raised the gun and pulled the trigger again, twice, aiming for the back of Mathias's skull.

Michael had gotten tired, by the time he gained sight of anyone in the group. At his gladness gave him reason to run, empowered by the fresh air, but soon this had to end and he walked. He never remembered the exact way that he came in so he took a different path, one which led him to a field of crosses, and Feenai and Kasdeja.
They were staring at a body, which moved as though it were human. Intriguing. Audaciously civilized he thought as he saw the thing released from the bonds. Now what do they need him for? He wondered, as he approached. His hands stuck to his pockets, in case he decided to use the gun, and he contacted Feenai, doing his best to block out Kasdeja.
"So who is the other guy? Surely you aren't cutting up Dybuk to watch them suffer.

Despite the absurdity of the question, Michael's voice in her head made Feenai mentally chuckle. He's not a Dybbuk. He's dead but there's no trace of Dybbuk possession in him. She wasn't really sure what else to project. She could hardly comprehend the sights in front of her.

Innon frowned, "What if I don't want to join you?" Looking at Kasdeja, he continued without answer, "Why should I want to join you? I really don't feel as though its your decision, after all," he paused and looked at Feenai, "it was our lovely young lady friend here that helped me down. If I'm indebted to anyone, it's her, and should follow her; not some scary mad man carrying the heart of a priest."

The sound of the struggle between the monstrosity and the priest caught his attention, "besides, judging by the sound of it, there is something slightly more urgent; something I might actually be able to help with. But I'll need my things first, so I will be back momentarily; if you'll excuse me," and with that, he vanished, leaving nothing but two bloody footprints.

Dante face twisted into an annoyed scowl. But what is Feenai trying to do? I don't think anyone can actually REASON with that nephilim...demon...thing. And the priest now seemed to be on fire. If he hadn't been torn between the two eerily different events, as the old man apparently also was, some ways ahead, the situation would have been quite...hilarious.

"Dead...But not dead?" Micheal thought as he walked forward to gain a closer look. Judging from Kasdeja's response, he was already spotted, so he took to nonchalantly walking until he looked closer at the walking body, which then disappeared. "What the-!?" his hand flicked to his left coat pocket, leaving his new weapon in his right and taking out his laser. He wanted to save the other gun, as an ace when he finally decides to confront Kasdeja.

The flesh creature that Na'lsa had become let out a horrifying shriek as it leaped forward, pouncing on the burning body that had once been the priest. Legs wrought from contorted flesh and bone scrabbled at the man, trying to both slash and curl around the form. Skeletal hands in the place of pedipalps reached for what remained of the face, scratching lightly as he was just barely held away from devouring the head by the man's unearthly strength.

Innon returned in the same fashion he'd left, only moments later about 30 feet from the fight between the demon and the priest. He was dressed in a thick dark armor singed and charred in some places. A large weapon with a tank of liquid attached to its bottom dangled from a strap to the right of his hip.

He played with the trigger. He wasn't aware of whether he was drawing attention or not but he raised the weapon to his should and, with his left hand glowing red and placed on the tank, aimed it at the combatants, "I'll let God sort you out," and he let loose an indiscriminate torrent of black flame from his weapon. A pillar of fire engulfed the area the two combatants had stood in.

Innon held the trigger until a plume of smoke formed that concealed where the battle had been happening before.

He frowned; he examined the fingers of his left hand, though thickly padded, were smoldering. He let his weapon dangle from his shoulder by his hip, and waited for the smoke to clear, watching carefully for anything to come out.