[Suzerain of Sheol]

Scoffing in near disbelief, Diogenes slams his fast against the door once more, twice more, yet only resounding silence gives answer.

His gaze swivels to Lev. "Hell's hospitality seems lacking. Such a shame."

Content to let Thomas work out a means of ingress -- no doubt, if their vehicle had not disappeared by some foul magic, the priest would have merely blown the side of the monastery open without a second thought -- Diogenes turns away from the door and sets his attention to the circle of children.

His khukri flashes out once more, and ten small heads roll free, ten limp bodies sag to the filthy stone. When the slaughterous work is done, the assassin crossed his arms over his chest and looks to the white-gowned woman. The knife juts from her heart like an accusation, the iron a deep crimson darker than her dried blood upon the blade. Something is amiss about the weapon....

Diogenes gestures to the mercenary and the blind man. "We will not touch this thing," he says, indicating Thomas, who is still studying the door. "But it must be returned to the Celestrine for destruction. One of you take it and see that it isn't lost."

Just then, a sudden crash draws their attention as the priest assails the door, his arm sheathed to the shoulder in ruinous golden flame, the blow falling like an earthquake. His fist smashes through the ancient wood, just above the lock. He reaches within, grimacing with some intangible strain, and at last manages to open their way.

As he withdraws his hand, it is plain to all that it has been horribly damaged in whatever contest of power just ensued -- the flesh and sinew are gone, burned utterly away, leaving only dull hydraulic digits the color of gunmetal reflexively clenching in the aftermath. The priest quite obviously feels no pain.

"Well done," Diogenes grunts. "I suppose if one merely knocks hard enough..."

His voice trails away as he moves away from the group, back out toward the courtyard, his attention drawn by a silhouette lingering near the entrance to the arched tunnel, back-lit by the sun and cast in shadow.

The other soldiers slowly turn, weapons trained.