[Arikana]

The voices were finally fading. For now. Ei’lycia knew not why they were suddenly leaving, perhaps the individual currently hoisting her up like a flag intimidated them? It can’t be. They fear nothing, at least I don’t think they do.

Her eyes quickly focused as she glanced around, noticing everyone accepting of the words from the person still holding her up. So she locked eyes with him and despite noticing something peculiar about them, she stated with a voice now devoid of emotion, “Please release me now. My latest...episode should be over.”

[Suzerain of Sheol]

The three men look to each other, pondering this unforeseen disturbance.

A wild talent, Diogenes conveys to them. Broken by the horrors her mind can command.

Powerful? Zaccheus inquires, maintaining a stoic reserve to the spectacle unfolding in front of him.

As she is... I could crush her utterly.

Refrain, pray.

As you wish. She presents little threat. A chirugeon could drive the madness from her, and with proper tutelage, she could be of use, one day. I am loath to have her along for the expedition, though.

Crossing his arms, Thomas interjects his own thoughts. We've need of bodies, if nothing else. Demons may be drawn to her insanity over sounder minds.

Cold of you, priest, Diogenes snipes, fully aware of the hypocrisy in the statement. And she could just as easily be a beacon for our foes.

They must be eradicated, regardless. Let them come. You will bring her, and Diogenes, do what you may for her.

Very well, though precious little, I fear. I am inept to healing.

Even still.

Zaccheus then rises from his throne, arms sweeping over the group. "We deny none to the cause of our kind. And valor takes many forms. Godspeed," he ends with a sardonic smile.

"As I said, we leave at dawn!" Thomas intones. "You are all dismissed."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

The morning arrives under a crimson-cast sky, the golden balm of dawn so utterly consumed by the hungering radiance of the ruined sun. Outside Thyat'ira's towering walls, Thomas and his seven soldiers have begun preparations to depart, hauling crates of rations, munitions, and purified water on-board the IFV, loading belts of sanctified bullets into the gun stations, feeding missiles and rockets into the steel maws of the various cannons mounted to the transport. For the seventieth time since Zaccheus had put it in his hand, Thomas checks the hallowed Ordinance Transceiver secured in a holster against his chest, wary and in awe of the unfathomable destruction he has been honored to command.

Diogenes arrives not long after, offering the briefest of acknowledging nods to his ecclesiastical compeer before ascending the steps up into the vehicle. He takes a seat in the rear, legs folded under his heavy, armored robes, and awaits the time of their leaving. During the night, forgoing sleep as is his wont, he made a special sojourn to Zaccheus' sanctuary to request blessing over the journey to come – and for the course of the moon's lustful hunt across the shattered heavens, the Celestrine engraved each bullet in Diogenes' arsenal with words of exorcism, sanctifying each, one by one. Ite ad infernos, repeated as a mantra. Go. To. Hell.

[Salone]

Lev Gurevich stepped inside the personnel carrier, his heavy footfalls announcing his presence. He paused as he saw Diogenes, giving him a nod of acknowledgement before sitting down on the floor. He unslung the ancient rifle from behind him and lay it across his lap, removing the cleaning rod from the front. From one of his many pockets he produced a beaten rag and oil, and began to clean the gun. He went on for some time, using strips of smaller cloth and forcing it down the barrel to remove any dirt or corrosive powder. He broke the silence after a while, not bothering to look up as he spoke.

"I expect lots die here. The information provided is...vague. I..."

He trailed off, pausing as if he had heard a sound. He continued to listen to nothing, his mouth forming a wicked grin. After a while he laughed, nodding his head in approval to whatever it had been.

"Perhaps."

Looking up, he continued as if he had never stopped talking to Diogenes.

"I want you to understand that I will execute any means necessary to see this task through. Any means. I live when others die. I do not intend to change that."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Diogenes slowly turns his head toward the mercenary, raising his heavy goggles to fix the lidless diamond artifice of his gaze upon him.

"Whereas I kill, and shirk not to perish." He clears his throat, unused to vocalizing his thoughts. "Even still, if there are demons for true, death is a mercy to the many alternatives of torment they can inflict. They must... be shown no mercy, in turn."

He assesses the man for a moment, the only one of these ragged mercenaries he truly considers worthy to join them. This... Lev's overt menace bothers him not at all. To stand against the terrors of Hell and the pitiless Night, Man must become as the Devil himself.

With a sudden, horrifically-fast motion, Diogenes pulls free one of his spare magazines and tosses it toward Lev. "Each of these munitions is individually consecrated and wrapped with a binding of Theurgic power. They will not only pierce the numinous flesh of fiends, but you can count on them reaching their target -- I've seen far too many storms of automatic fire disintegrated to dust with a single look from higher demons." He raises his head a fraction, the closest to an acknowledging smile he is willing to offer. "I trust you've something in that arsenal to fit them."

[Arikana]

Ei’lycia was excited to get moving for although Thyatira had been friendly for the most part, she’d been getting rather anxious with staying in one city for so long. As soon as the meeting had officially adjourned, she sped to a spacious barren land a great distance away. Standing still, she let loose a long breath as she tried with all her might to will her powers to the surface.

Nothing.

She couldn’t muster a single scrap of power, not a flicker of light, an eerie darkness, there was nothing.

A fierce scowl took over her face before she grabbed her sword and brought it forward, slashing toward a tree in the distance in rage at her inability to access her powers at will. Ready to unleash her anger toward everything within her vicinity as a means to practice her sword techniques, she had finally noticed the damage upon the tree she’d caused just prior. The gash she’d made was wrapped in a chunk of ice. Well, that’s new. It appears progression is slowly imminent. For the time being, I best keep this quiet.

With a feral smirk and empowered by this slight sign of skill deep within her, Ei’lycia decided it’d be best to put it aside for the moment as she got into a defensive stance, her body settling into sword fighting movements as she began her training drills. Her feet fleet as she went through every move she knew of and then some; her blade whipping around her, its metal surface barely visible other than quick flashes of silver every now and then. Her mind imagining those which she’d fought of years prior as she continued her deft movements as if she were defeating them all over again.

After an hour and a quick glance at the blackened night sky glittering with stars, she sheathed her sword and headed toward the ice covered tree for a short nap before it was time to depart. When several more hours past, she woke up to dawn breaking across the sky; its light filtering through the sky as he slowly began to illuminate the nearly barren land surrounding her.

Not wishing to be late, she took off for the transport at a speed double that which brought her to the terrain she’d just occupied. With quick and nimble feet as ever they were, she raced through the field and city fast approaching the vehicle that was to be used for the upcoming mission. When she was half a kilometre away, she leapt high into the air, her supple body curled up as she made a few somersaults before landing soundlessly on all fours.

Ei’lycia’s eyes glanced up, instantly noticing the old and middle aged men.She shifted about, scanning the interior of the conveyance, analyzing its every component before settling near the front by a host of wires and mechanics, eager eyes gleaming with joy as she inspected the machinery facing her.

[Espy]

Trying unsuccessfully to hide a mouth-splitting yawn behind one gloved hand, Dante carelessly dumped his meager belongings into the back of the vehicle, already missing the speed and mobility of his battered motorcycle. Early mornings, or even mornings in general, were not his thing.

Completely ignoring Lev and the man apparently named Diogenes, Dante slumped against the wall and fished out a crumpled piece of paper from within his pockets. I guess I should make sure having other people around won't be a problem, he thought as he focused as much as he could on telekinetically lifting the scrap off the ground.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

The lands around Thyati'ra are well-patrolled -- the group runs into no resistance as they make their way south and seaward. The journey lasts just under four-hours, the IFV following the old highways of Anatolia that Zaccheus has waged dearly to restore and maintain.

They arrive outside the monastery of Smyrna, its couryard lined with a long succession of marble columns, most of them broken, their crowns buried in sand and decaying to dust. The arched entranceway goes on for fifty feet and more, utterly dark in its confines and looking like nothing so much as the cave of some terrible slumbering beast.

The soldiers exit first, towering in their powered armor, hoisting auto-cannons and drum-loaded repeating grenade launchers. Each carries a 20-inch combat knife, an assortment of grenades, and several high-caliber pistols as back-up.

Thomas busies himself in the rear, readying his own armaments -- a hypersonic rifle which he slings over his shoulder, the submachinegun he displayed before, which is slung in a holster over his chest, and a sawn-off automatic shotgun loaded with psycho-active slugs. The Ordinance Transceiver remains secured within vestment.

He orders two of the soldiers to remain behind and man the IFV's turrets, looking out for any sign of attack and to provide them cover either entering or exiting, should they need it.

Nothing can be detected either psychically or spiritually from within the monastery, by any members of the group, nor by the various sensors Zaccheus' troops have brought.

Silence greets them, and something -- he is sure of it -- something awaits them within.

[Salone]

Lev stepped out of the IFV, clutching the ancient rifle in his hands. reaching down, he slapped the bolt upwards and quickly chambered a round by pulling it back then slamming it back home. The silence was pressing in, and even the dust whipping around his boots seemed to be fleeing the area. It was impossible to feel safe.

He tilted his head to the side, speaking over his shoulder to the rest of the group.

"We should fan out. We have a better chance supporting each other than we do getting pinned as a group. We do not know what we face. Better to do so from multiple angles. Minimizes our chances of all being picked off."

Lev attempted to suppress a laugh, as if a joke had been told at an inappropriate time. He turned back again, actually eyeing Ei’lycia this time as he spoke.

"This is a feast for monsters. Wasted flesh will spoil under the wretched sun."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

"All flesh is wasted," Thomas mutters, taking point without the slightest hesitation, showing no sign of the infirmity of age."He's right, though. No sense in all of us perishing where one will serve." He, too, casts a dispassionate glance toward Ei'lycia. He fully intends to use the girl as disposable fodder if the need arises, at least until she proves to be of some other use.

Diogenes comes to stand next to the old priest; something passes wordlessly between them, to which Thomas nods. Diogenes sets off toward the monastery, advancing in a circuitous route, probing in every direction with his psychic eyes for the slightest sign of other life-forms. Or death-forms. He detects nothing.

"It appears to be clear, at least the exterior," Thomas says. "Let's get moving. We have one objective. Retrieve the priest, and kill anything else on sight. He is our only priority. Him, and the crown upon his brow. Move out!"

[Espy]

The unsettling nothingness hung thick in the air as Dante unconsciously shoved tightly clenched fists into his pockets. It's too...quiet. If there's anything in there at all, I guess the others can take the damage. Content to skulk around in the back of the group, he pulled the front of his scarf over his nose. This dust is...annoying.

As much as he would have liked to not given a single care for anyone around him, the strange girl was interesting, to say the least. She seemed somewhat valuable, but Dante was also confident that very few, if any, of the others shared his convictions.

He lifted his head, thankful for the fact that opening his eyes was useless to him, and stood there for a few moments. No ravens? Not even scavengers bother with this place, it seems. Noticing that the group was now some distance ahead, Dante took a second longer to lament not taking a smoke before they'd arrived, then trudged off towards everyone else.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

The advance toward the entranceway is a study in caution, the soldiers checking every angle ahead, behind, and above as they make their slow way into Smyrna. The arched tunnel is utterly dark, the ancient torches held in its brass cressets long ago burned away. Flashlights are affixed to rifles, and Thomas incants a simple prayer, bringing forth a balm of light that shines from his eyes. Golden fire becomes his gaze.

At the end of the corridor stands the door to the monastery proper, heavy and carved with the stories of martyrs and saints. Nothing can be heard from beyond. As the group forms up -- nervous in the close confines, Thomas casts them open. They are unbarred.

Utter darkness looms beyond, through which their light cannot penetrate. A pall of dread settles over the company, an unsettling silence before, tight-lipped, Thomas signals Diogenes to lead the way. The assassin steps through, his pistols drawn....

...and gasps. Coming from the taciturn man, the sound is one of shock and sudden fright. It echoes from the others as they each arrive in turn.

Gleaming daylight greets them, unclouded, glaring and oppressive.

They stand once more outside the monastery, Smyrna looming a hundred feet distant.

The way back has vanished to every sense, along with the IFV and the other soldiers.

And there are... shapes. Writhing forms upon the dunes, hundreds upon hundreds, laying a scattered trail once more into Smyrna's dark ingress.

It does not take long to see them for what they are: Children. Dead children. Slaughtered children, eviscerated, decapitated, dismembered, impaled, quartered, hanged, burned. They all wear robes of blackspun cloth, splotched and drenched with sheening white blood from their myriad wounds.

There are no screams, though their mouths twist in expressions of uttermost agony.

Dead, and animate. Possessed. On their knees, beseeching Heaven.

And no time is wasted. Ordering his men to conserve their ammunition, Thomas steps forth, beckoning Diogenes to his side. They split off in opposite directions, east and west.

Casting back the sleeves of his robe, Diogenes curls back his palms and sends an impulse to the psycho-active weapons buried in the flesh of his wrists. There is a hiss, and then fire. Endless fire, reaching fifty, a hundred feet, devouring grotesque flesh, searing bone to ash, burning away the sight of the ungodly children.

Across from him, on the other side of the yard, Thomas merely surveys the scene with his pulsing eyes. A moment passes, another, then his spirit flares with zeal and fury.

Everything he surveys becomes an inferno.

Facing away from each other, the two servants of the Celestrine begin the cleansing.

[Gallagher]

Heat raced toward its daily goal beneath a vicious sun, the toxic state of the world evident in every clump of dirt and rot and stone, every sear of wind. Neither beast nor bird nor buzzing bite could be heard. Unnatural. Unimportant. It was already forgotten. Crouched low to the ground, an unkempt man raked his fingers through the soil, hunks of it swallowed down or tossed aside without care. Hunger nagged, but this would hold it for a time. Time enough to find something worth enjoying.

The moaning of his innards quieted, he stood, the dull land scanned by even duller eyes. A structure loomed in the distance, yet there were no swarming somethings, or any signs they might be hidden. Strange, though he knew the beasts and somethings rarely strayed near, that they would leave such a place so silent. Or had they all already been killed? Bodies left there to be picked off or go to waste? There were no marks of the bottom feeders, but perhaps that just meant more left to be claimed. More of the somethings than bones or ruins.

He could only hope.

The sun had hardly moved when he drew near the structure, more certain than ever of its abandonment. He took a moment to look upon its entrance, a darkened cave that should have swarmed with those small, cowardly things. But all remained still. He headed inside.

Yet inside was not where he ended up. He turned, but there was no entry behind him, and turned again, where sure enough the somethings he'd been expecting filled the grounds. They were small and strange, though, not like the ones he'd seen in the past, and certainly not as young should appear. The air was tainted by their rot, yet they neither seemed to perish nor to attack. Hesitant, curious, he took a step, then another, but still they didn't move.

So, he did. Unbothered by the horrors of the scene, the man walked through the masses like they were little more than a maze, his path twisting whenever another another child's form drew his attention. Inch by inch, corpse by corpse, he made his way back to the hollow that had brought him here.

Knelt beside one of the damaged young, he tugged at its disjointed intestine when the cavity of its body was illuminated by a sudden light, cast from somewhere behind him. He looked up at the child's face, immune to anything but its own pain, then back over his shoulder.

Fire. Everywhere.

The organ slipping from his grasp, he stood and turned to watch.

[Espy]

The light hit Dante's skin with a harsh warmth, and his eyes widened under the ragged blindfold as the dim auras ahead of him blinked out. He swiveled around, staring at where they had apparently just come from.

Nothing. What...?! He turned back around, and realized that in his shock, he had missed the most obvious problem in this "new" setting. To his credit, it hadn't been particularly discernible. It felt close to a mob of Dybbuk, but...different...?

No, not just a mob...A whole sea. A whole sea of dead. And the figures seemed to be...Children.

The thought had barely registered as Dante took several panicked steps backwards. Where is this place? Where are we? Are we still--? Wait, where are they...?! Then, sudden flame poured out from up ahead, as Diogenes and Thomas commenced what they seemed to have been trained for, for years on end.

Still not entirely sure of what was happening, part of him wanted to race towards Diogenes and convince him to stop -- these were children, after all, but another more rational part succeeded in dredging up memories of the Dybbuk he had fought months ago.

...Dybbuk. If he had remembered correctly, the same had happened after Dybbuk and soldiers had gotten killed by him and his traveling group. There should have been souls. There should have been souls, or what was left of souls, flying out in wisps from the bodies, soon to be banished by Shealtiel. Should have been...but this time around, there weren't. Dante paled. Burying the urge to flee, he inhaled sharply as he ran towards Thomas, who he hoped would be the more reasonable of the two, the slight hesitation bringing a moment of clarity -- and in that moment, he noticed a strange presence several hundred feet in front of them, dim as the soldiers had been, but different from the writhing masses ahead.

[Salone]

Lev gazed on in what could almost be described as bewilderment. Sweet tender flesh lay before him like cattle. Succulent tiny forms, all begging to be stripped of flesh and bone, to be consumed. To...to be...

He brought himself back to his senses in time to shield his eyes from the flame. Fire blanketed defiled flesh and sent a wall of acrid stench in his direction. He breathed it in deeply, inhaling the smell of the charred children. What amounted to a cooked meal spread before him caused him to salivate, to hunger.

Take it.

Lev shouldered his rifle. He took several steps in to the field of writhing undead, not bothering to watch where he stepped as he crushed burnt limbs grasping for salvation. Never mind the walls of fire. Never mind the danger. He was searching. Searching for one that was more...intact.

Take it! Consume it!

With what could only be described as joy, he found a corpse that still had the meat he searched for. With a solid stomp he pinned the body to the ground, boot grinding against its small skull. As a small and rancid hand reached up in protest, he grasped it firmly in his...and used it to rip the arm free from its socket. Bones groaned, tendons ripped and popped free, and finally the muscle itself parted as the limb was torn away. Skin and tissue dangled limply from the appendage that Lev now held.

It was beautiful. It was delectable. The odor filled his nostrils, compelled him to feast. His jaws opened wide, gaping at this wonderful meal that he had stumbled on to.

CONSUME

"Ne zdes'!"

With a furious might he hurled the torched limb, watching the skin slide off as it bounced along the ground. He panted hard, fighting himself internally to resist this buffet of morsels that quite literally lay before him. After a moment he turned to the rest of the group, barking orders to them.

"These are children! Conserve your ammunition. Rip them apart."

[Suzerain of Sheol]

He returns to you your own words, Diogenes conveys to Thomas, the pair spewing flame unabated. Already, they have cast hundreds of the mutilated children to ash.

And he is not wrong. These are no threat -- they are more consumed by their own suffering than by any hunger for the living. Suddenly ceasing his apocalyptic conjuring, the priest looks over to his comrade, meets his goggled gaze. I have never seen the like.

Following Thomas' lead, Diogenes stems the flow of fire from his wrists. Together, they watch those children that remain continue to writhe, seemingly heedless of the carnage that just befell the courtyard.

Something is amiss here. I can feel it.

They have no souls.

I think it goes beyond merely that. I am not yet certain, though. Regardless, we waste our time out here.

There is a throng of them ahead, near the door. It seems our way is laid before us.

Whatever happens here, we must be vigilant. The mercenary is right: conserve yourself, priest.

My wrath is quite endless, I assure you.

Even still.

Drawing his kukri, Diogenes makes his way over to the one named Lev, pausing to dispatch any of the damned children he crosses on his way.

"Wise words," he grunts at the mercenary, coming to stand beside him. "These are... as they seem, children. Whatever brought us to this place, they are only its victims, not our foes."

He can sense swirls of blind rage and insatiable hunger in the other man, reaffirming his intuition that there is something quite mad about him.

There are worse things than madness.