[Suzerain of Sheol]

Stumbling over to where the demon stands, sweat sheening on his bald pate, Shealtiel comes to a halt before the creature, feeling power bleeding out from it.

Without preamble, he addresses it. "What are you? No mere fiend, to survive that sort of exorcism. You should be screaming in Hell right now." He suddenly turns upon Jeanne where she kneels. "And you!" he thunders, a sudden rage stealing through him. "Are you out of your mind? Do you think you're any match for this thing?" He gestures offhandedly toward Lev.

"Look at him, girl. No, not him, your precious Saint. Just a carcass. Bones, and rotting blood, nothing more. Nothing worth throwing your life away over. As I told you before, Typasius is gone. Obliterated. These Saints do not have the luxury of an afterlife. I suggest you discard all your naive delusions if you mean to live. This isn't a world for hope."