Michael's head was already pounding before Asasiah appeared before the group. His fear is only amplified in the face of unknown, and even to Altiel, this power is unknown, but a look from Atiel's face also told Michael that something he was percieving was indeed wrong. Is it the Nephilim that's causing this? A swift look from Altiel to the Lady of the Rose Petal Voice, made him suddenly feel awkward, breaking his current fear. A delusional joke... was he delusional? Perhaps, and it wouldn't be the first time that he was, considering his connections to Babylon, which only grow stronger while closing the distance from where his lightest attacks, in Corinth, made his mind forcefully connect with Jez'ebel's. Perhaps at such a distance he was begining to haluacinate beauty where it does not rightfully belong, after all the sibyl's veiw of beauty was seen as disgusting by Michael at first... Regardless, these thoughts would have been reveiwed and reflected upon later in the face of the more prominant anger at the name 'Kasdeja'.

"I wouldn't know nor care where he is," Michael said and left it at that until the arrival of Asasiah, during which he took time to attempt to stand up and prepare himself for when she arrived. And her arrival produced an...odd reaction, even from Michael. He took into his mind, every feature that he could read through his senses. He was curious, not fearful. From her well tuned features to her voice and bloodied hands, she gave off the impression of someone who was...human...but not human at all, but this was much more obvious when heard of her name.

"She'll do. You can tell she's more than enough," he said, breaking his own silence to answer Mehetabel. Although fear drove his heart before, now resolve did. He preferred that Na'lsa didn't kill the Nephilim, already wary of his power. Now, however, there was a chance for a new power to take hold, and it was a power not yet turned against his interests. He had not taken the Nephilim's account on mental defense, but with the constant threat of death, he probably never would. However, he didn't think that Asasiah would kill him, and was therefore slightly more approachable then the Nephilim. Although, she liked fear, and ate the unresolved like candy, or so Michael observed, he was resolved to complete his quest. And an odd gut feeling told him that she was a better source than the nephilim.

"Tha..sos..."

He tried the word on his tongue, and found that it tasted strange and foreign. No matter - he was here now, wounded, sick, and thoroughly confused though he was. Might as well cure at least one of those conditions while he still had the presence of mind to do so. Most of the 'cure' required figuring out just exactly what was wrong with him in the first place. He knew his body better than anyone - had to, with all the times it had been battered, shattered, and put back together. Sometimes in that order, sometimes not.

Not too keen on lifting any part of his heavy limbs off the ground, he nonetheless moved his arm, and allowed his hand to rest on his chest. Fingers traced bones that probably ended slightly before they should have, and marked the differences from times before. Yes, he'd cracked a rib. No, it wasn't penetrating his lung. More obvious was the large 'dent' in his side, where it had slammed against what he assumed was probably a rock, after he lost consciousness. This was a more serious injury, and required some focus to properly understand.

As he settled into the now-familiar trance he needed, it looked as though he'd simply slid back off to sleep. In reality, he was using his mind as an extension of his fingers inside of his body, and carefully tracing and tracking where the ribs sat. Jagged edges from swiftly-broken bones accosted his senses, but he ignored it, and proceeded to judge the depth of the fracture, how many bones were affected {only two, thankfully}, and what sort of energy he was going to have to exert to carefully lift the bones back into place with the force of his mind. Granted, he'd done this dozens of times before back down in Hell... but it was slightly different here. There? His dad would help if he screwed up. Here? He wasn't sure who was friend and who was foe. His 'rescuer' could be plotting to stew him alive in his own blood as far as he knew. And that would be TAME compared to some of the tortures he'd witnessed.

Putting that uncomfortable thought aside, and deciding that it might be prudent to wait until he knew more before making judgments about people he hadn't technically met yet, he started the work of quasi-healing himself. Each bone fragment was carefully lifted back into place, and 'cemented' there with force of will. He would have to generally keep still for a couple of days while the bones healed, but that probably could be arranged by feigning unconsciousness or illness. And by the way his throat was on fire, and his heart was pounding, even now, that last bit might not be entirely fake.

He moved from his side, switching his perceptions to lesser wrongs. The rib was lifted back into place with his mind, and cemented there by the same method as the fracture in the other ones. A quick brush-by of the internal organs showed toxins were already working on them, and would have to be fixed. That, he might need some help with. Manipulation and 'splinting' he might be good at.... but actually healing damaged organs? Not so much.

Continuing to pretend he was out cold, his perceptions ran lower. Legs, hooves, tail... various degrees of bruising, but nothing broken. Miraculous as that seemed, the whole saying about one hand and the other was definitely true. His right hoof was split neatly down the center. That would have to heal before he could walk ANYWHERE, and keratin was not as easy to manipulate as bone. He couldn't heal that with just his mind. Allowing his trance to take him deeper, he cataloged the rest of his body almost by rote. Throat was torn - likely from the toxins in the water he'd swallowed. Eyes, ears, mouth, all senses check. Nothing but bruises for his arms, neck was fine, shoulders and torso had varying degrees of bruising... He was going to be sore for a very, very long time.

When he finally opened his eyes, pulling out of the trance, he remained where he was. Okay, so the others, which he now heard and felt the minds of, didn't exactly notice him. That may have been a blessing. He wasn't going to intrude on whatever they were thinking. And from the sound of one of them, it didn't sound as though he'd WANT to scan surface thoughts from that one...

"Who are you?" he asked, voice much stronger, but not much less croak-y.

A strange brown flickering near Shealtiel caught Dante's attention. ...Fee? Why is she...? He assumed she was alright, judging by the lack of attention directed at her, but...flickering. That...certainly wasn't normal.

Shaking his head to clear it only induced more nausea, so he left the burning haze in his head as was, then walked a bit unsteadily towards Fee's prone form. A step away, he landed on his knees a bit too roughly, and, disregarding the tension between the newcomer and Lev, shook Feenai gently.

...Uhm. Wow. She's out cold, he mused as he shook her a bit harder, then contemplated pouring a flagon out on her face before remembering he had none.

Well then.

Smirking mostly to himself, he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.

Her piercing gaze turned to Mehetabel and narrowed. "You dare question my ability?" she said in a low voice. She hated that woman, not only did she question her she tried to order her around. She had wanted to go home at first, but she found this world at least slightly entertaining. She would stay for a bit longer, but she knew she wouldn't want to be staying near that damned woman much longer.

"I take that question to be quite offensive." Asasiah stated, her voice was silky and yet threatening, she obviously has no real allegiance to Mehetabel.

"My name is Dara. You?"

She didn't say much else, more occupied with looking over the boy to see what might have happened to him. She found the broken ribs, but there wasn't much she could do about that besides bind his ribs tightly and anything making breathing more difficult right then was probably not a good idea.

Another worry was the water.

"You might be poisoned from the river. I don't know how to fix that, but I can try...if you don't mind."

She poked at the fire some more, checking in a small pot where a dirty, green flicked misxture with sticks started to bubble. She occupied herself with the fire, not looking at the except to ask him his name.

Is he going to stay? Should I ask him anything? I should probably leave him alone for now.

Feenai felt an odd feeling in her head through her shattered shields, and then felt the lips touch her own. She came to with a start, rising quickly and accidentally slamming her head into Dante's face. Pain seared through her again, but it was refreshingly physical and rather than making her faint again, it helped her stay conscious. "Dante...did you..?" She trailed off, feeling her face become hot, then remembering why she had fainted in the first place.

She looked around briefly, noting the new woman with a commanding presence near the rest of her companions. She didn't see Dara, so Feenai tentatively searched the area with her mind for her. She found Dara's presence easily, but there was another, a psychic near her that Feenai did not recognize. Worried, she moved to stand but her body failed her and she remained sitting.

AUGH. The surprise nearly made Dante collapse, and he awkwardly scrambled to his feet, then threw out a helping hand as an afterthought. The smirk was a bit harder to force off his face.

"Well, it got the job done, didn't it? Actually..." He let his arm drop. "You should probably rest for a while. You're about as solid as a dancing candle flame right now. Here..."

He hooked an arm under her knees and hefted her up easily, took a quick step away from Lev and the newcomer, and stopped.

"Um...where to, now?"

"I have had enough. I have had enough of Nephilim! Enough of all this! Enough of these feared and awesome powers that inhabit this earth! I will consume the Nephilim, and whatever else this island harbors that gives us pause! I...I will..."

He had approached Asasiah, pointing an accusatory finger at her before he began to trail off. He backed away quickly, hands clutching his stomach as the pangs of his hunger wracked him. His very flesh began to ripple as he was assaulted by his own base urges.

After a few moments he steeled himself from them, trying to ignore how...succulent, Asasiah looked. Her flesh so tender, the muscles underneath were toned just enough to be a prime meat of just the right consistency. But her entire body was just a candy shell meant to be enjoyed until he found the prize inside: Her very essence of power. Blood called to him. Flesh beckoned him to consume it. Her very eyes seemed to call him to her, to hold her, to take her, to press his lips to her flesh and rip out her very throat, to..

NO.

Na'lsa looked up at her with a slightly sick face. He spoke, in a voice that was none too level.

"Ever since my ascension, my...uplifting from a mere demon of gluttony, I have been dealt both blessings and curse. I have a higher calling, I have purpose. I have been gifted with the potential of power unimaginable. But it is obtained in the most barbaric of means. And ever since I consumed something more than flesh, the very power of a Saint himself, I have thirsted for more. I have been sustained by smaller things, I have had larger, but now the hunger quickens. You are a delectable meal and I find it so very hard to resist the calls of your body. But there is something else above that I desire. I. Want. The Nephilim."

Suddenly he lunged at her, hands finding her shoulders as he leaned in close to her neck. He froze, waiting a moment before whispering to her in a moment of pleading.

"Please. I fear for my flock. The Nephilim and whatever else inhabits this island. At least one must be devoured."

The dryness inside of his mouth had little to do with thirst, and a lot to do with the fact that he didn't know where he was, or who most of these other people were. But then again, he had one name. Dara... He didn't know what it meant, but it was pretty.
His tail flicked a bit, and he gave a soft smile.

"Andarel." he murmured. His throat still hurt, and would likely continue to hurt.

What she said about being sick from the water? He was inclined to agree. Now that his body was starting to register the whole 'being alive' thing again, he felt an ache in his upper abdomen that had nothing to do with hunger - which he also was starting to feel. He had that feeling in his body that told to a massive fever - shivering and sweating simultaneously. Although he was used to the feeling, he was not used to this particular cause. Then again, there wasn't a whole lot of tainted water in Hell - what little there was, was boiled by the heat. One had to cool it down before it was drunk. Maybe hunger was a factor too.

"I'm not going to leave." he said quietly. "I don't think I could anyway. Walk, I mean."

Feenai's face flushed as Dante picked her up. "It's, umm, I mean..." she stumbled over her words, "we should find Dara. Someone else is with her and I'm worried." Mentally, she spoke inside Dante's mind. These people are all too sedate for me to feel comfortable around.

Feenai gave Dante verbal commands to get him pointed in the general direction, then tried her best to rest as he carried her.

Her eyes slowly looked at Na'lsa, she could feel his breath on her throat, his smell wafting to her nose, and she closed her eyes for a moment. In a fraction of a second they slammed into the wall of the house near them and her head lowered to his neck, her tongue sliding across his skin, she found him as equally appetizing as he did her. Her wings flexed and she smiled a bit before they faded into nothing.

"You can have a taste...if you share." She whispered to him, the glow in her eyes fading.

As much as it sickened Michael, he realized that she was a flesh-eating mongrol as well, one that was not too unlike Na'lsa. 'Perhaps they all are the same,' he thought, behind the walls in his mind. He also realized something, however, that was not a part of his original train of thought. The Nephilim could break through the mental cavaties in his walls and blocks. As powerful as the human race could be, they never stood too much of a chance to might of a Nephilim and thus could never study it, or its corpse, and although he could not take the whole body, the being was willing to share, so perhaps..."I will need his brain," he said aloud, almost accidentally. Did he have much a chance and thus any difference in a battle between these forces? Probably not, but there was always a chance with words and a handy trick or two up one's sleeves, and besides, what's the worst that could happen?

Feeling the crushing weight of the distant presence, Shealtiel struggles to control his breathing. The more he studies it from afar, the more its... stain on the fabric of this world seeps into him, enervating, weakening his already strained constitution.

Knuckles white on his cane, hunched, nearly doubled over, he speaks to the group in a raspy croak, his arm trembling trying to hold himself upright.

"I..." he is grudging to ask for help even now. "I require healing, before we go on. Whatever awaits, it is of Sheol. I do not know... don't know if I'm close to strong enough to make a difference, but as I am, I'm useless to you all. Does anyone have any Water left?"

He shudders at the thought of consuming the distilled Thuergy, knowing the pain it will cause his Sheol-blotted soul. Still, needs must.

Na'lsa breathed heavily through his nose, feral desires taking over.

"I am not a gentle soul."

With that he plowed his head downward, hungry maw opening wide as teeth sank down on to her arm. With a sickening crunch he found bone and sinew. Sweet, sweet blood poured angrily into his mouth, accompanied by spatterings of skin tissue. He drank of her. He drank of her in a very enthusiastic manner. And as he drank, he...changed.

In a moment that felt like he had to tear his will away from his very skeleton, Na'lsa willed himself to stop. Releasing her mangled arm, he pushed her gently away. The blood that drained down his throat set his insides afire, yet he felt...calm. Cool. As pure and tranquil as a virgin spring. As...

As corrupted as a spring spoiled by invaders. Corpses soiling the pure water. Necrosis a stain on the healing pool. A thousand rocks thrown into the watery pit, the small ripples merging in to an angry roil. Why had this been done? Where was the tranquility? With eyes shut tight he reared his head back, screaming something to the heavens. Her blood mixed with his own as it was merely absorbed instead of digested, the two seeming to almost war. Bones from his back raised up, piercing skin. They arched back, beginning to spread outward inch by inch. With a great heave, they protruded just a bit further, then heaved their way back inside him. With a gasp he lurched forward, stumbling to maintain his balance.

"By the pit, what..."

There was nothing. He was calm again. Content. He was...satiated. There was no pain. There was nothing to even show what he felt had even happened. Like a board laid over a hole, his hunger was temporarily dealt with. Anything more might threaten the life of his donor. With a pained look he stared at her arm, showing...sympathy, compassion even. The look was odd, as if he had never moved the muscles needed for it in that order before.

"I am sorry. A being such as yourself should not be violated by my...hunger pains."

She didn't even wince, she felt the pain bit it didn't completely register as pain. She may even have moaned for but a moment before he let go of her arm, her blood dripping to the ground. She giggled softly then started to laugh.

"I think you will find that your hunger pains neither bother me or is something I consider a violation. After all I did invite you for a bite." She then lifted her arm to her chest. "Just watch..." she said and smiled a little, muscle started twisting itself back together and connecting to her bone before skin slowly grew over the once gruesome wound.

"If you had taken the whole arm, that would of been a little harder, but..., a small bite is neither a bother or a problem for me." She looked upon herself and made an annoyed sound before snapping her fingers and the blood drained out of her clothes leaving not even a mark, it was no wonder she stayed so pristine and clean.

Dara looked quizzically at Andarel for a moment, wondering just what made him say such an odd thing. She hadn't asked whether or not he was going to stay around or leave. She was more concerned at the moment with making sure he wasn't going to die from the poison or whatever broken bones he had.

She realized though, that while she hadnt' asked any such thing of the boy, she was wondering about it. She was wondering about a lot right now actually, the tail, the horn she noticed when working to revive him, the cloven hooves.

How did one fix a broken hoof anyway?

She looked up at a comotion to see Dante and Feenai walking away from the group. They both looked somewhat unsteady at the moment, and though it looked like Dante was helping Fee along, it looked as though Fee was making at least some effort to keep him walking in a straight line as well.

What happened?

A hellish scream drowned her own thoughts out. Re-orienting herself she guessed that it likely came from Lev. Given some of the possessed man's actions of late, she wasn't about to ask what it was. She braced herself for a holy tirade that, curiously, didn't come.