[Espy]

Dante had kicked up two of the seats in the APC and now was curled up, cat-like as usual, in the space they had previous taken up. It was easy to physically pretend to be asleep, but with this group...everyone knew he was wide awake, even though he had slowed down his breathing. The hell had happened back there...? His finger instinctively tightened around the pocketknife, as if it would provide protection against these inhuman beings.

If there ever had ever been a time when he wished he was completely blind...

[Salone]

Na'lsa sat in silence. Too much silence. He had not spoken a word since draping himself in skin that wasn't his. For the time being he possessed a moment of clarity. A moment to comprehend just what he had become.

He took in the contents of the APC. What was left of their ragtag little group seemed to be much different than the meager group of mortals he had encountered when they began. He himself had changed, for he would not even be who he was if it had not been for them. If it had not been for...Lev. The man he had manipulated. Latched on to. Fed off of. And even now, the mortal seemed to clutch to the back of his mind. Changed, but somehow alive through everything he had put him through. With this in mind, he decided to retire, to digest and comprehend his own being...

Lev vomited as he found himself in what was left of his 'body'. More of a mixture of himself and Cain, woven patterns meeting where different skin came together. Unable to keep his stomach together, he vomited again as his mind replayed everything he had witnessed. The devouring of Cain by half the party left his stomach empty as he heaved nothing but air. It was sickening.

Through matted hair he took in the rest of the group, eyes focusing on no one in particular as he spoke.

"By God, we are a sad sack of monsters.'

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Days pass, then a week, nearly two as the APC crawls across the Aegean, its confines growing more stagnant and unbearable as time seems to wear on interminably. Still, the shock of Cain's power and the horror of his death hangs as a turgid shroud over the diminished company, driving them to a silence that clutches at despair.

When it finally breaks -- the lifeless monotony of the Sea -- the sight is almost disappointing: a naked coastline, long ago blasted and devastated by the Beast, now reclaimed by barren Nature into a desolation of sand and wind-scoured rocks. But this is the destination they have sought since the beginning, ancient Asia, Anatolia, where the Seven Churches stand among the last mighty bastions of Humanity in the fallen world.

Only mere miles inland, the dominion of Thyat'ria begins. From a throne of steel, Zaccheus the Celestrine wields the Iron Scepter of Morning -- placed into his hoary hands by CHRIST himself -- and has, since the Calamity, created a military protectorate unequaled in the world. Armies of Theurgists and Artificers have flocked to his unyielding banner, giving birth to technologies of miraculous destruction that hold even the threats of the Holy Land to the south at bay.

Here is a place of power.

[Espy]

As the APC ground to a stop, Dante's prone form shuddered a bit and slowly picked itself up -- since everyone else had seemed to prefer being curled up, he'd forgone his usual catlike habits and covered what floor they'd abandoned, and had spent a great deal of time spread-eagle across the floor of the vehicle.

He'd never learned to swim, so being away from too much water was a relief. Grabbing a pack of smokes, he peeked out a hatch. Looks like it's all clear. He slowly climbed up, noticed the strange haze of aura ahead, and dove back down to grab weaponry.

Nope. Nope nope nope nope. This had better not be another monster, he muttered to himself, silently, while he threw the strap of his chestplate over his head and quickly buckled various belts and holsters.

"...There might be something ever so slightly intimidating way up ahead," he grumbled, not bothering to look up.

[Salone]

"Like what? More abominations? More things for us to consume and become?"

Lev stood, legs aching from sitting for so long. With a heave he threw back the door to the APC, stepping down on to the terrain. Rancid air filled his nostrils, fresh only in the sense that it was something new. Removing the little items he had left from his pack, he checked his battered weapons. They almost seemed useless now. Rarely had he been able to use them, and even his own consciousness was controlling his body less and less. Na'lsa had become a great and powerful being, and had been in danger of consuming Lev entirely.

The blind one senses great power...

Lev kept himself from vomiting. It was always sickening to hear Na'lsa inside of his head. He quickly packed his things in a neatly manner. Na'lsa would be coming soon, and he took no such care for the mortal's possessions.

How they dance so merrily to their own slaughter!

Lev's body was wracked with pain as the inky tendrils of Na'lsa's consciousness began to overthrow his own. He fought back, scrabbling to stay above the black. The transition was harder this time, not as fluid as it had been for the gluttonous demon.

You resist fleshling. You cannot hope to stave off the Messiah!

Lev's body fell to the ground. After a moment, Na'lsa rose. He brushed himself off, as if the affair was of no great importance. He was in power once more, and he would lead his people to a great power.

"My flock!" he said, "Today is a fateful day. Let us go forth and enjoy a bountiful fruit!"

[Suzerain of Sheol]

You would pluck the fruit of flame? That tree you lust for was raised from the seeds of God's wrath. Be careful where your tongue wanders, demon, there is bitterness ahead to gall us both.

The voice arises among them like the seeping vapors of the grave, familiar yet stretched taught across the boundaries of worlds. There is no visible sign of Shealtiel, but his presence can be felt all the same: an ancient stain upon the air, dripping with the appalling sin of Cain. He now bears the Mark in lurid intransigence, an impossible condemnation.

And not only that. Power leaks from him like superfluous blood, carrying the flavor of rotting malignancy. There can be no doubt: the old man's soul has descended into the charnel cellars of Sheol, and returned. There is an appalling effortlessness to the way he carries himself now. Long gone are the hunched back and creaking knees. He has become.... vital with death.

Our friends will find warm welcome in Thyat'ria, he continues. But you, demon? And I? We are the Enemy to these good people, the bane that demands that men become monsters in defense of their loves. We must be careful. Yes, very careful. I may be able to... mask myself, at need, but I can do nothing for you, Son of Heaven. Pray they do not make a martyr of you.

[Salone]

"Martyr?"

Na'lsa threw back his head, letting loose a malicious cackle.

"This body has expired time and time again, raising its corpse from the corpse of this earth because I say so. I approach with open arms. If they wish to bite the Son that they should embrace, then they shall see that like the First Son, I will rise again. They shall feel the sting of the back of my hand instead of the open palm if they spurn the grace of me and my Flock. I shall eat of their body and drink of their blood, and take their being into my own."

Na'lsa seethed, becoming almost delirious at the thought that he, Na'lsa would ever be cast out, would ever be rejected by any mere mortal that supposedly rejoiced under the name of The Lord. For he was the Child! The Second Son of God! The Holy Lion that tended to the Flock! Tender of Flesh of this world! He...

Realized how silly he was being. He had power, but he was not invincible. Especially not to an entire city. Flesh could only re-weave itself if there was flesh left to weave. He sighed, realizing his own limits.

"Very well. I shall approach as a guest; a visitor. If they do not take me as I proclaim allegiance, then I shall flee. I wish to see this city with my own eyes."

[Quiet Man Cometh]

"You think so?" Dara said to Dante as she stepped out of the APC. She shouldered her rifle and first aid kit - now half full of herbs, kindling, make-shift bandages, and the vegetable scraps she pulled from abandoned gardens.

She looked ahead to see the city. If the city itself was impressive, it was an afterthought to the fact that it simply was a city after she had spent most of her time wandering rural areas and woods.

Tucked at her side, Dara had the pistol she had taken off of Michael. It was heavy and square; she was uncertain about what she would ultimately be able to do with it, if she should even try. Putting the pistol away she rubbed the side of her right hand, feeling the nub that had begun to form over the last few nights. If it got any longer, she was going to have to alter her gloves again.

[Espy]

"Yeah? Unfortunately, I do think," muttered Dante, perhaps mistaking Dara's comment for sarcasm. Not that he cared much, being too busy trying to strap his whole arsenal onto himself. He finally gave up and dropped the four-bladed star in the corner, then shrugged, checking to make sure his bow was collapsed and clipped to his back.

At least I haven't needed to use that many arrows...And that weird handgun might come in handy.

Outside the APC, he lit a smoke then looked back at Dara, grumbling through clenched teeth, "...You okay?"

[Quiet Man Cometh]

Dara was a little surprised by Dante's comment, looking up from her hand as he spoke.

"I'm fine. I...cut my hand a few years ago. It gets nervy sometimes."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

"We should not delay here. The hybrid will not soon wake from her coma, and her presence is a beacon we cannot afford to be tied to. Zaccheus and his men brook no threats to their sanctuary -- we need to pass unnoticed among them if we are to hope to find help here. If we are to hope to survive. Do you all comprehend this?

I will be of little aid to you, here. I must hide myself in the mists of Sheol -- they will sense nothing of my presence, but I will be... restrained. If Feenai is willing, I may be able to reach her mind and project to her my thoughts. Otherwise... you will be on your own, my friends. I advise caution.

If madness and slaughter should find us all the same, I will... do what I can, of that you may be assured. But do avoid acting... precipitously. Comply with their directives, obey their laws, and we may all survive this."

And all at once, the presence among them fades like a snuffed candle. It is quiet, humid, and the day is failing. Already the riven moon casts its incarnadine light across the sky. Far ahead, Thyat'ria stands defiant of the coming night, promising menace to any who would threaten its mighty walls.

[Salone]

Na'lsa shouldered his vessel's weapons, carelessly banging the Mosin-Nagant against the outside of the APC as he did. He took a few steps away from the group, surveying the terrain. They had a long walk, and short daylight to make it in. Turning his head towards his 'flock', he spoke in a low tone.

"Let us do as he says. We've seen what horrors we encounter in the light. I for one would rather not see what the darkness has to harbor."

[Serra Britt]

Feenai sat in her chair watching the others. She really didn't know what to think or even what to do. She felt so far out of her element that much of her just wished to curl up in a ball and hide from the world. But she also knew the truth that doing so would not necessarily save her and might just make it worse overall. She took a deep breath, listening to Na'lsa's words, then shouldered her laser and clipped two grenades to the strap, then slid out of the APC to follow them all.

[Espy]

And suddenly, the purple aura had vanished, leaving behind only a smoky residue. Dante turned to Dara, eyebrow raised.

"...Really." He shrugged, then checked up on Feenai. Nervous, disturbed...But who can blame her? To be honest, I'm not too eager to marche straight into the face of danger, either. If only he could help her...He wanted to reach out and hold her, tell her things would be alright. The green tendrils around him snaked around each other, inching towards Fee.

Catching himself, he pulled his thoughts forcefully away.

"Let's go, then," he muttered, hands shoved into pockets but still clenched around a bichawa each. As if these would help against psychic attacks.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

Shrugging her shoulders, more out of reflex then to arrange her gear in any way, Dara started off after Dante, walking towards the city.

She wasn't particularly nervous about the place beyond her usual caution around any civilized structure, having happened upon more than a few unpleasant surprises in her wanderings.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

The city -- once a humble chapel in ancient days, then a smog-filled metropolis before the descent of the Beast -- lies yet ahead of them, miles inland. Three decades of post-apocalyptic vigilance has seen the rise of titanic walls, all clustered with devastating munitions and grim men to man them.

As the group trudges across the hard-packed ground toward the sanctuary and peril of Thyat'ria, their attention is suddenly drawn away by the gushing chortle of a powerful engine, spitting diesel fumes into the darkening sky. From the south, a massive armored reconnaissance vehicle tears its way toward the party, kicking up dust and sand in a billowing cloud behind it. As it draws near, they can make out several figures aboard -- perhaps seven in total -- all of them outfitted in what appears to be fully-encasing powered armor. A heavy, menacing rotary gun is mounted to the rear of the vehicle, and it swings to focus on the party as the patrol pulls to a halt perhaps forty feet away. As the soldiers within dismount to advance, they too leverage their weapons in caution, what appear to drum-fed automatic grenade launchers. Those of the group who are sensitive to such auras can discern a potent Theurgic blessing on every single round of ammunition being carried by these holy warriors....