[Funkduder]

Looking at the Dybbuk, Michael saw two ways to approach the large hoard. "A concentrated laser could cut limbs off and probably exercise a lot of the Dybbuk, while a spread fire will injure the Emim, who will more likely be effecting people behind us first." He thought a bit more before looking out at the hoard that was about 200 yards away.
"If you have some way to deal with the Emim, Alteil, then I can keep the Dybbuk off of you for weeks." Taking out his laser, he immediately began to cut at the waists of the enemies on the left and right clumps of enemies with a powerful fire.
"If this works the group will be more clumped together when it get's here," Michael thought. "Though whether or not that's a good thing is to be decided."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Deal with the Emim? Is he serious?

Shealtiel eyes Michael, wondering if he has in fact gone insane. He is pleased, at least, that that weaponized laser of his has enough Theurgic power to exorcise the Dybbuk after it kills them. Less work for him.

As they close, he throws a fist of power into the biggest clump of them he can see. Bodies tremble, then collapse, the spirits animating them dissolving to nothing Sheol can ever use again.

But still the horde keeps surging forward, and Shealtiel strikes again, and again, killing and exorcising dozens with each strike. But it is not enough. There still hundreds, close now, close, and he can feel a weariness in his bones, like a weight upon his back. Striking again, he looks to Michael, harried, sweat stinging his eyes and blurring his vision.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

As the group in the sewers follows Lev, trusting in his guidance, they begin to hear splashing and sloshing echoing through the tunnels. Shortly after, the reverberations of inarticulate snarls come seemingly from everywhere at once. Suddenly, pounding feet are head, running unevenly toward them. Dozens of points of pale white light can be seen filling the adjacent tunnels.

[Salone]

"Defensive perimeter! Now!"

Lev bent down quickly, undoing an object that had been fastened to his right leg with dog collars. From under the bottom of of his coat he revealed a rather worn looking submachine gun, with a short barrel and a round drum magazine underneath. He held it with his right hand, holding his left arm horizontally and resting the gun on it. He looked back and forth, backing up tighter in to the circle.

"Someone. I need loader. Lower right pocket, drum magazines. When I say load, take gun and load it. Sewer not so safe after all."

As an afterthought, he added:

"If I die, take my leg with you. It has map. Follow the triangles, not x's."

[Espy]

Dante groaned in exasperation. Turning out the blade of his knife, he held it between his teeth as he pulled out both handguns. "Sh' I take deh back?" he asked through his teeth. "Er do you wan' me uh fron'?" he added, raising an eyebrow at the gunman's, name still an enigma, last comment. His pale green eyes seemed to glow into the darkness.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

The horde advances, some clutching rocks or other rudimentary weapons, most with no more than their chewed off fingers -- sharp bone jutting from the nubs -- as weapons. The unearthly light shining from their eyes illuminates the sewer in an eerie chiaroscuro, making it difficult to see exactly where the Dybbuk are. Regardless, they're close, and they charge, howling with bloodlust.

[Serra Britt]

The smell assaulted Feenai's nose, and she was horrified that something could smell worse than the sewer already did. I'm the only one here who can't fight... She shook her head. No, I will NOT be useless!

She ran up to the once wounded man and took the submachine gun from him, dropping her mental shields to access the Network as quickly as she could to find out how to load it. She found the necessary information within moments, dropped the connection and resumed her shield, then loaded the gun and thrust it back into the man's free hand.

Feenai then returned to Jeanne's side. "John, all they do is possess dead bodies. Just striking them down isn't enough, you need to dismember them so the bodies cannot do anything. Or burn them, but I'm not sure we have the capability for that." She grimaced, thinking of how much worse it will start smelling if that were to happen.

Her heart pounding, she then addressed everyone. "Please, if you can hold them off I will try to find a way out for us through the Network! If I find anything, anything at all, I will do something!" Knowing time was of the essence, she did not wait and dropped her shields again, connecting her mind instantly to the Amorpha Network to find something to help them get out of this alive.

[Funkduder]

The hoard began to close in on Michael and Altiel as they stepped backwards, touching the gate. Each of the two must have destroyed and exercised the spirits of the damned by the hundreds, if not the thousands, yet many still remained. Realizing that his friend never found a need to do any work on the shambling limbs where he shot the laser, he began to work on the middle group.
"60 yards away." Micheal switched modes on the gun, letting it hit more enemies when he fired.
"50 yards away." He shot the ground 20 yards ahead of the hoard, setting its bushes and trees aflame.
"40 yards away." Switching back to the cutting laser, he started at the left of the hoard, cutting towards the middle. He glanced at Altiel. He eyes were tired, and he could feel the Emim within the crowds.
"30 yards away." The hoard slowed down a little, distracted by the flames on the bushes. Michael glanced to the walls, wondering where the city guard had gone off to.
"20 yards away." Michael raised his shield as he continued to cut through them. "It won't be long before they get to us, now." Micheal turned the laser to a wider firing range and turn the power to maximum. The laser's battery would only last a minute under this condition, but it'll be worth it.
"10 yards away." "Brace yourself, Altiel!!"

"5 yards away." Michael blasts a hole into the earth, and the ground begins to shake slightly. A small crevice appears in the earth extending towards the hoard. "4 yards away." "Dammit! Not enough!"
"3 yards away." Michael takes the shield off of his arm. It's still active.
"2 yards away." Michael throws the shield into the crevice.
"This is it!!!" The ground begins to shake.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Winded, stunned, his spine feeling ready to snap, Shealtiel shares a brief glance with Michael, almost disbelieving. As he regains some of his composure, he hears cheering from the city, and is about to make a bitter comment about the people soldiers hiding behind those walls while they were risking their lives out here... when a wave of utter horror suddenly washes over him, stealing the strength from his limbs in an instant. He falls.

Landing with an impact, he is nonetheless distracted as his spiritual senses light up with the twisted, ravaged specters of no less than 8 Emim, moving in formation directly toward the city, sending psychic assaults out ahead of them.

It's over, he thinks. We can't stop them. We can't even stand against them. How could we?

And yet, when the Emim are nearly upon them, Shealtiel finally realizes that Michael -- still under the effects of his courage capsule -- is screaming at him to look in the sky, pointing back toward the city.

Over the wall, floating, wreathed in a blazing cloak of silver and gold fire, Saint Typasius, clad in Savior Armor, a Wrath Sword erupting in each hand, soars toward the Emim. As he closes, bolts of golden lightning arc out, transferring pure theurgy into the undead psychics. Their howling is like the cacophony of a thousand banshee's in Shealtiel's mind. And yet, they are overmatched by the Saint.

Struggling to his feet with Michael's help, they both have the same idea: get out of here. Now.

[Funkduder]

"There were few people who witnessed that battle and any that did knew better than to stand up for a servant of Sheol in a holy city," Michael hurried away from the scene of the battle, as much as he would hate to not see a saint in action. With the soil loosened from the lack of vegetation, just heading far enough into the wind will bring them into a sandstorm, and although he had the lungs for such a travel, Michael was pretty sure that the man did not.
The wind was blowing east, away from the now setting sun, and likewise, he lead Altiel east, towards the shore where he knew a friend who can give them passage to New Turkey and the Seven Churches of the Apocalypse.

[Salone]

"Everyone behind me!"

Lev shouted as he opened fire, letting out a long string of lead. He moved his gun slowly from right to left, firing in controlled bursts. If not for the ravenous Dybbuk, his firing could have been mistaken for an overzealous typewriter. He sped his firing here and there, holding down the trigger and opening in to full automatic when the undead began to press in. He emptied the seventy-one rounds in his magazine, passing it off to the girl as he opened fire with his revolver.

"We need the surface! Make way back, I will cover!"

[Espy]

"An' wha exac'ly do you plan on doing wi' one revolver?" Dante mocked, shoving the girl's head down and firing his own handgun through the roof of a Dybbuk's jaws. Another one that got close was decapitated; the assassin had flipped out the blades on his boots a few moments ago. Neat cartwheels now sent limbs flying; he got back on his feet after a few second, fired, reloaded slightly clumsily with two fingers, fired again, and pushed the girl a bit roughly along.

[CupcakeDolly]

Rue stood behind them all, guarded by the assassin and Lev's gunfire. Though her face was as stony as ever, her eyes were slightly wider, staring at the hoard in shock. She understood humans all too well - their thoughts were clear and predictable and often disgusting. These things in front of them were on a much different level. Their thoughts were a confusing mass of something that she didn't quite understand and probably wasn't meant to.

Fear wasn't the only thing keeping Rue in place, however. Regardless of what she was facing, the beasts were in her way, and like everything else she meant to remove them. She waited, watching as the rest fought, mentally preparing and resting her sore limbs for what was to come.

When the gunfire had barely ceased, Rue sprang foward, saber in hand. She engaged the closest Dybbuk - the furthest could be left for the bullets to handle. She dipped and spun with an exhausted sort of precision, slashing and stabbing in a flurry of red, and soon appendages - and a few heads as well - were falling from rotted bodies.

She had dispatched at least seven and rendered five or six unable to walk when she leapt back behind the men with their guns. A significantly wider gap now separated the two groups, and Rue was panting heavily, obviously unable to continue without more rest. She managed to shout between gasps of breath, "If we are going back... Now would be... A good opportunity!"

[Salone]

"Let us move!"

Lev used the momentary respite as a chance to reload. Freshly armed, He opened fire again. He was judicious with his use of ammunition as he backed up, letting the Dybbuk move in a bit closer before he opened fire. He had two drums of ammunition left. Each drum held seventy-one rounds, but he was easily using a large amount on individual targets. There were so many. And he knew the melee fighters among his group were quickly getting tired. He quickly made a decision to hold off the Dybbuk alone, giving everyone else a chance to make it to the surface. He shouted to everyone as he fired, calling to them in between bursts of fire.

"Run! I cover escape. I will- I will cover!"

Lev knew the odds were not in their favor. Rue and Dante had taken out a good twenty or so between the two, and he had cut down at least the same amount with his automatic. But the continued fire was heating up the barrel of his gun, and the horde bearing down in front of him still seemed as innumerable as they were before Lev had opened fire. The situation was beginning to look a bit grim.

[Espy]

Dante made a mock bow -- probably missed in the gloom -- and continued pushing the other girl back the way they'd come, firing a few bullets over his back as he did so. He turned around for a moment to check the progress...

..and noticed something oddly familiar. With his heightened Sight, he could make out an outline that he had seen for the past twenty years, had felt, had known. Too familiar. With dread he 'looked' at the face, then at a waist-pounch that he knew would be there, with the aura of old succor capsules radiating from it.

Dante staggered. Ignoring the looks from his companions, he stared at the Dybbuk in front of him, gun forgotten. All much too familiar.

"...Gabriel?"

[Sage]

The situation was growing worse by the minute, and Jeanne was beginning to worry that they wouldn't actually make it. Those on the retreating front line were becoming visibly tired, and would probably begin to be wounded. Displeased with how little theurgic energy she had built up, Jeanne knelt and began to pray, entirely missing Fee being pushed around by Dante. But when she sat up again - she was in danger of being left behind - she felt full of energy again.

Unable to return to her marginally helpful work now that they were in dire straits, she (somewhat reluctantly) took her knife in hand along with her laser and joined the others at the front line. Though the knife was thin and made for quick stabs, she found several hearts. Jeanne's laser (switched to its highest power, still inferior to that of a weapons-grade) severed body parts with little trouble, although with the addition of burnt flesh, the sewers smelled even worse. But, like the others, she felt the weight of the giant horde pressing down.