Mikhail would feel the energy flowing through him, from the pit, from beyond, from even farther than the heart of the earth. It was sentient, it knew, it was a greater being than he had thought to exist, and it flew out to the children and filled them. It existed as the presence over him, that made his heart grow wings, that firmly sat as the blade in his hand. The High Priest sneered, his disturbing features twisted in a terrible grimace.

"Spare me? Boy, you do not know in what powers you meddle here- these others may kneel before you," and indeed they did, fallen to the greater power they had summoned, kneeling before the pit and the dirty that had risen, "but I am of a higher breed, and a whelp like you cannot slay me-" regardless what action Mikhail would attempt next, the Cultists crystal would rise and with a rush of whirling darkness he would be brought into the floor, disappearing from here.

[i]Mikhail, [/i] the spirit would speak inside his head, saying his name not as his parents would of said it in the old Russian way, nor as the American 'micheal', but he would say it as the Latins would name the Angel, [i]Mik-I-el, these others have been under the control of another. I can see inside them, these poor and wretched souls, whose minds are gone with nought but thought and use as for tools of some master- cloaked from me, I cannot see inside that darkness. Use the blade- End their Myseries, and bestow new hopes they have not felt upon them. For every piece of a child they have destroyed, each of them has received so much more devastation. Cut the misery  from them and allow them new life.[/i]