[Suzerain of Sheol]

Mithaias eyes them for a moment longer, then turns away toward the crosses. "Would you like a tour?" he asks, stepping away from them. "Come, I'll show you."

He sets off, wandering among the writhing, gurgling Dybbuk. "I have discovered," he begins, glancing over his shoulder to notice that Shealtiel at least has followed him. "that they do, in fact, feel pain."

He stops abruptly and turns to face the necromancer. "Does that bother you, Servant? Are you one of Abaddon's hounds?"

The Servant of Sheol's eyes harden, and he is long in responding. As this exchange goes on, he is losing confidence that this old priest is in fact sane.

"I am no angel's slave," he says at last. He is largely indifferent to the suffering dead, knowing that their minds are too devolved to be considered anything approaching human. If they feel agony from the theurgist's ministrations... so be it.

* * *

"Have you ever seen one of these?" Aaron reaches behind him and slides a long-barreled handgun off the bench. He tosses it to Michael casually.

"See the zircon inlays? The rifling is dusted with them, too -- they act like lodestones for psykosis. Not much use for the AA grunts, but people like us?" He gives Michael a crooked smile. "You should see what these things can do. Go ahead, hang onto it. Hell, see if you can't make any improvements. The crystals tend to get worn down after a while, and if you unload with it to quickly, the backlash on your mind can be... well, draining, to put it lightly. Anyway."

He pulls up another chair, reverses it, and sits on it with his arms folded over the top. "Let's hear it. What brings you to Phillipi?"