[Sage]

Jeanne cried out as she was thrown to the ground, a hand rising to her cheek where a bleeding scrape had appeared before going to her knife. The fury at this man whose life she had saved devouring the blessed body as if it were mere meat rose to a peak, and she was about to threaten him again when the bastard began to yell and the ravens descended. 'They can have him.', she told herself, an uncharacteristically spiteful thought; running back to the APC, she shielded her head before an explosion sounded and the birds ceased their attack.

"T-thank you, Fee," she said, her voice warm as she realized that her friend had thrown one of her grenades. "And you, old man." The tone was not as friendly, but not quite openly hostile.

Glancing back at Lev at the unearthly sounds of his screams, Jeanne gasped. "O-oh, God-!" She clasped her hands over her mouth as the man ripped apart his own flesh, aiding the wounds that were already appearing. Her eyes began to water as the blood flowed around him into a deep puddle and she had to suppress her gag reflex. Jeanne had just told herself that two brushes with death was enough, she wouldn't heal him, she couldn't - when, with agonizing slowness, the wounds began to meld together again, flesh becoming whole again. And as the demon who had once been Lev stood up, she took a step back, and then another, until she was right next to the surviving Wrath Sword, where she kneeled, hand tightening around the hilt.

Jeanne said nothing as the old man began to ask questions of what couldn't possibly be human - she had the same questions - but when he turned on her, she shrank back.

"I...No, I-" But of course he talked through her stuttered explanations. "W-without hope t-there is no reason to l-l-live," she said, crying openly now. "I-I just wanted to b-b-bury his body! Is t-that too much to a-ask?" Of course Jeanne knew that the Saints could not return to Heaven, but to bury his body was to regain the sense of normalcy that she had lost when their current group had come together.

She kneeled there, sobbing, for what seemed ages before she realized that the demon in Lev's body was talking. Raising her head, she watched his movements through the tears still streaming down her cheeks; it didn't break her concentration when she untied her bandanna and wiped the wetness off of her face and neck. When the fabric touched the scrape she felt a sharp sting, but it was ignored.

"Y-you're wrong," she whispered. "God loves - l-loved - everyone! We are a-all his children! We are all worthy!" As she spoke to herself, her tears began to slow, but she was afraid to speak louder. Even though she knew she was right, the way that the old man had referred to the demon made her more afraid than she would have been had she only seen an immortal lunatic.