[Suzerain of Sheol]

Sensing vaguely what is going on outside, Shealtiel nonetheless does not exit the APC for that reason. They are all oblivious, the damned, useless fools.

Standing just outside the door panel, the wind whipping his hair, he screams to them, his voice raw. "Get back! Get away! The ravens!"

He can hear souls shrieking, inarticulate, malign, all whirling in a cloud of fulligin and hatred. Carmine eyes alighting with lust at the site of living flesh. Sable wings flapping in the frenzy of hunger, the voracity of living death.

There are so many, thousands of mad spirits, all crying in the same voice of pain and rage, indeed like to animals in their unthinking fury.

He lashes out, a wave of necrotic sorcery striking the cloud, blasting dozens, hundreds of Dybbuk from their black-feathered houses, but it is not enough. There are more, waiting in the ether, eager to seize what is now free. To exorcise this horde would kill him, if he could even manage it. They had to escape.

"Now! Get out!" He sends another blast of power into the descending ranks, scattering them for another brief moment. Wanting only to retreat into the relative safety of the vehicle, he nonetheless strides out into hot sand, knowing that none of the others are equal to this, especially divided as they are.

He begins to gather his power, calling upon deep reserves, hoping against hope that the fools know enough to get clear.