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Jeanne was asleep by the time the raiders appeared, and was only half-awoken by Lev speaking when something swept over her, an intense feeling that something was wrong. She sat straight up as Fee moved to exit the APC. "No, wait-" but it was too late, her friend had already gone out. She cast a wary eye out the opened door and saw a figure outside that Fee was walking towards.

Jeanne was about to jump out the door and save her friend when she got a better look, but then Fee took the grenade out of her hand. 'She wouldn't do that if we were in danger,' she thought, relaxing when something hit her mind and half-pulled her out the door.

Walking up to the man, Jeanne gasped as she took a closer look at its mouth, Wrath sword held tightly. 'What is it!? It doesn't feel like a demon, it has no malice, just...' The thoughts she got from the figure were...wrong. There was no other way to describe it.

"Here I am!"

Lev stepped from the APC, adorned in his weathered duster. Below were the many scars and wounds he had inherited from years of fighting, now exposed on his bare chest. He held his arms opened wide, ready to accept this new person if they were willing to donate their flesh to him. He paused for a moment, his crazed look morphing to that of study, trying to decipher what was hiding behind the shape of a man.

"A silver tongue, and a forked one at that. Ramblings. The very will you exert over flesh. You rival me. But I am the Lion of God. Pray tell, are you here to make a donation? There is blood of your cohort wetting the mountainside, wasting away in the sun. I hear you plan to erode the very rock we stand on with the flowing of our blood, if you so command. What are you, that possess such parlor tricks?"

He kept looking at him, eyes running up and down. After a moment he threw his hands in to the air carelessly, as if giving up on something.

"I retain this body because Father and I modeled man after our image. This is a homage to our creation. If you are not a man do not play at it, so that our representation is not defiled any further. You are not mere Man."

Dante's lithe form slipped out of the APC after the Lion. Ugh...why did I even get out, anyways? He grasped the bow even more tightly, but being outside, he now only had two arrows at his disposal. If things get riled up...

He tried his best to lean nonchalantly on the side of the vehicle, but felt uneasy. The aura was something he had never before seen the likes of: It had no set color, but kept fluctuating between several, and seemed to flicker. What seemed like a dancing flame was beginning to give the blind man a headache. What the hell is with this guy...? He wasn't...human. At least not to the extent that he could be properly classified as human.

The bizarre creature studies Lev for a moment, seemingly ignoring the others. The perfect marble lines of his face display complete impassivity, an almost unearthly stoicism. And yet, when he speaks, his child's voice is overrun with glee.

"Oh, don't worry about him." He gestures dismissively back toward the Pass. "He was dying, anyway. He didn't know it yet -- I didn't tell him! -- but it was obvious to me. You did him a favor, spared him a lot of suffering. Very godly of you."

He takes a step closer, his unsettling eyes never leaving the Lion's.

"But I must say, you're rather arrogant, almost rude, thinking you're so unique.

'And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, that the Sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of which they chose. ... And it repented the LORD that He had made man on the earth, and it grieved Him at His heart.'

"So you see, your... "model" isn't so perfect. Hardly the fitting vessel, I should think. But you can't have mine, oh, no. In fact, if you tried, I'd have to make you weep."

Shealtiel exits the APC at a purposefully-ponderous pace, annoyed at the presumption of this psychic who would make demands of him. But as he emerges, setting eyes upon the man, he suddenly quickens his stride, hastening to join the others.

As he draws near, he raises his cane at the stranger, like some sort of condemnation, and nearly snarls his words at him.

"I see you, Kezdeja. I see you, child of the Irin Egregori, bastard branch of the Tree of Life, aborted, unloved mutant the angelic ideal, retarded dream of a fraudulent God. I see you, Son of Semyaza, Nehpilim, hideous aspirant to the divine legacy denied." He marches closer, his staff still leveled at the thing. "Abandon this facile game, you have no power here. Your father doesn't care enough to come save you, and your kind lost its chance at dominion long ago. Go back to your hole and die with the rest of the world. You will not impede us."

"My Father gave these men free will to do as they see fit."

He stepped closer to the thing, listening to Shealtiel's ramblings. The descriptions used mattered not. The Father was being challenged as an imperfect creator. As he walked, he removed the magazine to one of his many pistols from a pocket, followed by his rusted knife. With one hand he slashed across his chest, blood quickly following. In the other hand he held his magazine, holding the top just below the cut. He watched with growing lust as his blood flowed in to the magazine, coalesced between the eight rounds he held. After he was satisfied he removed the magazine, slamming it in to the TT33 Tokarev at his side.

With another few steps he closed the distance between he and the Defiler. He spoke again to the 'man', making sure his voice was loud enough to hear.

"You say I will weep. I do weep for the Earth. But you and your people's flesh are forfeit. You can give them, or I will take them. The Father is not insulted without his attackers struck down, returned to the dust from which they came."

The placid, magisterial face remains still, even as the soul within cackles with exuberant laughter.

"Oh, heh, I don't, heh, think they'll, heh heh, digest very well. To say nothing of the, heh, taste."

And then, suddenly, he rounds on Shealtiel, all hint of mirth leaving his voice.

"And you... you spoke my name. You think you're so clever, that reading some musty apocrypha sets you apart, lets you stand among those your greater and meet their gaze as though you weren't a pathetic human. How's your health, old man? I can see from here your lungs are less than half functional."

And just as suddenly he whirls back to Lev.

"You call this the image of God? How utterly insulting. Blasphemy and desecration. No wonder the angels rebelled. No wonder the Sariel took up arms once all bets were off. And good for them. You humans are getting what you deserve. All your precious knowledge isn't helping now, is it?"

Feenai's mind was already whirling through the Network as soon as Shealtiel said what it was. Nephilim...powerful psychics. Again something I am no match against except, as he says, by knowledge.

Feenai spoke. Her voice seemed small compared to everyone else, at least to herself. "We are getting what we deserve. I can't even argue the point. But for someone like me, who was born after it all happened, does that mean I should just accept the guilt of my ancestors? Also, what about all the people with you, do they deserve everything they have? It seems to me they fight for what they want and believe in, like most humans. I think..." Her voice choked slightly. "...perhaps judging everyone by what a few people do may be the biggest sin of all."

"You are a desecration. A scourge."

He withdrew the Tokarev from its holster, aiming it at the creature. And then for a moment...his aim wavered. This was not right. He was power. He was god incarnate. Why should he put down such a beautifully perverted creature with a lesser man's weapon?

Na'lsa shoved the pistol back in to its holster, pointing at the Nehpilim from an angry stance.

"But I am a kind and just god! Every creature has the right to participate in the survival of the fittest! So I give you a chance. Give me a reason not to devour you and your followers. And make it good, Nehpilim. I grow hungry."

"Let me ask you something, Na'lsa. What on earth makes you think I care about any of those idiots hiding in the rocks back there?" An inane giggle escapes, and all of a sudden, he stretches in an exaggerated yawn, rolling his shoulders.

"As for a reason: here's the only one you'll be interested in. You, all of you, are going to take me to Eden. No, I don't care if we have to make detours along the way, as long as we get there. And once we do, if you manage to keep yourself alive, I'll make a... donation to the cause. Fair?"

Without waiting for a response, he gestures back toward the Pass, beckoning, and his men begin to march out, their weapons at the sides, a slack look in their eyes."

Suddenly, the ground cracked. Apparently the pass wasn't meant for the weight of a car, especially as close to the edge as it was. It wasn't until the cliff began to sink that he noticed that something was wrong. "Shit," Michael thought as he quickly slipped out of the car. The piece of the cliff was turning, though, and before he could take three steps, he hit the water, and the car was sinking next to him.
Holding his breath, he looked around, searching for Rue who he thought was in the car, but as he peaked inside, noticed that something was a bit off...she wasn't in the car, nor swimming around anywhere that he could see...she was gone...

As he gasped for the good air that he was used to, he swam toward the cliff-line, slowly so that the waves wouldn't crash him into a sharp rock if they picked up, unexpectedly.

As Michael got his left hand onto a piece of the cliff, and then his right, he began to climb again. Although he couldn't imagine where Rue might be except in the water or on the cliff, he put it towards the back of his mind. "I can't save the world if I die. I'll just meet her at the top."
Little did Michael know, however, that were he to reach the top of the cliff, he would see the armored patrol vehicle only a few feet away.

The approaching humans didn't seem dangerous at all, in fact, Feenai could not read any thoughts in their minds at all. Since she couldn't read the Nephilim anyways, she closed her Network connection and sealed off her mind as best she could.

Feenai turned to the Nephilim. "You want... to come with us? Perhaps I'm missing something, but what is so special about us? You already threatened to reverse my blood flow, so pardon me if I'm a little confused about what we can offer you."

"Blood flow..."

The eyes of Lev's body studied the other bodies that were approaching. Na'lsa knew there was something off about them. What it was, he did not know. But it mattered not. They were weak. Weakness was not going to get far on the journey his flock had to make. The weak had to be culled. Thrown in to the fire that fueled the progress of his pilgrimage. And he had taken control of his body for a while now. The hunger inside him was growing. And the more it grew, the less control he exerted over his more base desires.

"We can possibly take you, wretch. But before the offer is considered, I require...flesh. I require a donation. I am hungering..."

His eyes rolled briefly before he snapped back to himself, having to swallow spit from salivating at the thought of fresh flesh.

"I require something up front. A warm body to sacrifice. Otherwise, this body I occupy will either regain control and attempt to destroy you, or I will be forced to eat you myself unless something is given to satiate this hunger."

Kasdeja's brow furrows, obviously displeased with Lev's suggestion. "You're not very sporting," comes his youthful cackle. "I was going to show you what my pets can do, but you've gone and ruined the show." He emits an exaggerated sigh. "Well, fine then, you can have your meal, but first..."

He gestures, encompassing all of his follower, some forty men. "All of you... kindly die now."

And as one, they raise their weapons, pressing barrel to temple, and pull the triggers.

Looking utterly unphased as forty corpses slump to the ground amid a short-cacophony of reports, Kasdeja turns back to Lev and says with a hint of sadistic glee, "You never specified living flesh. I hope that's all right."

Stunned by the insane waste of what just happened, of the mindless compliance of those men and women, of the sheer, dominating potential of the Nephilim's psychic powers, Shealtiel stares wide-eyed at the carnage before shaking himself back to awareness after a moment.

He looks over the Lev and says in strained tones, "Choose one. Quickly. Death has broken the bond and they see things now for what they were. They must be banished, before their spirits gain enough awareness to possess the bodies. Go!"

Feenai sank to her knees in horror, as she watched them all murder themselves. Forget reversing blood flow, that Nephilim is a MONSTER. And again I could do nothing. Ruebella...if you are out there, I want you to know that maybe, possibly, you were right about me. Tears came to Feenai's eyes unbidden. She knew that if Kasdeja wanted to come, there was nothing she could do to stop it. She struggled to her feet and walked dejectedly back to the APC and crawled into the back, not wanting to drive, or even watch what was going on.