[Suzerain of Sheol]

Mehetabel stares up at Na'lsa for a moment, considering, perhaps somewhat puzzled. Her fingers briefly reach up to touch her medallion, as though seeking an answer.

"Forgive me," she begins in answer. "My great master is, as yet, not quite so lofty, nor so great in might that we, nor he, could name him God." She lifts the pendant to show it more closely to the demon. "Behold, the sacred magen of Metatron, our Lord Synthronos. Too long has the throne of Heaven sat empty, and we believe, we know, that the greatest of the angels has not succumbed. He merely waits for us to prove our faith, that we our worthy to be ruled, for him to ascend to the...."

Her voice fails as Michael comes bursting inside. She raises a hand to him, looking into the young Artificer with her serene gaze. "Peace," she says softly, the words an extension of her eyes. "There is no cause for fear. Metatron protects."

Outside, the other cultists (as they appear to be) begin to edge closer to the group, as one beginning to murmur in a low, barely-audible chant or mantra as they draw near. They all carry the same hauntingly-vacant expression.