[Suzerain of Sheol]

He returns to you your own words, Diogenes conveys to Thomas, the pair spewing flame unabated. Already, they have cast hundreds of the mutilated children to ash.

And he is not wrong. These are no threat -- they are more consumed by their own suffering than by any hunger for the living. Suddenly ceasing his apocalyptic conjuring, the priest looks over to his comrade, meets his goggled gaze. I have never seen the like.

Following Thomas' lead, Diogenes stems the flow of fire from his wrists. Together, they watch those children that remain continue to writhe, seemingly heedless of the carnage that just befell the courtyard.

Something is amiss here. I can feel it.

They have no souls.

I think it goes beyond merely that. I am not yet certain, though. Regardless, we waste our time out here.

There is a throng of them ahead, near the door. It seems our way is laid before us.

Whatever happens here, we must be vigilant. The mercenary is right: conserve yourself, priest.

My wrath is quite endless, I assure you.

Even still.

Drawing his kukri, Diogenes makes his way over to the one named Lev, pausing to dispatch any of the damned children he crosses on his way.

"Wise words," he grunts at the mercenary, coming to stand beside him. "These are... as they seem, children. Whatever brought us to this place, they are only its victims, not our foes."

He can sense swirls of blind rage and insatiable hunger in the other man, reaffirming his intuition that there is something quite mad about him.

There are worse things than madness.