---

After Jin and Alistair had finished offering their mercies, the man who called himself Ryan paid no heed. It was commendable for them to have put in the effort, but the heaviness that lingered after suggested that it would be in vain. Keeping his clutch on Jiuzai tight, Yu's eyes narrowed at the man who continued to take leisurely sips of his wine. This was the calm. Next would come the storm.

Just then, the sound of gunshots rang out in the air, followed by the rushed entrance of an unknown person. Yu’s arm tensed immediately and raised his whip, but paused, realizing the man wore a cassock, and a sash framed with bold embroidery. Threaded in strong cursive, the familiar writing looked to be in Latin. Outside of this man's unwarranted entrance, the presence of holy incantations on his garb suggested he was on their side. However, as far as Yu was aware, the FBI only briefed them on three other allies. Just what on earth was this man doing here? Then the man in question spoke Russian; a guess Yu placed from having grown up with a diverse cast of Church members.

In turn, Ryan proceeded to spew pointless words to announce his departure.

Later a snap sounded, and he was gone, only to be replaced by ten suits of heavy armor. Instantly, Jiuzai was uncoiled and fell to the floor with a thud, hilt gripped by a hand that had already begun to grow sweaty. The air around Yu grew stuffy, nearly bumping into Jin as he backed into the group.

Were they humans?

The thought brought back a feeling; a load he so long refused to bear. A shaky hand reached for Jieru in an attempt to fill it up, a prayer long having left his lips. Metal soles rushed to meet wood, however, and his plea for guidance was interrupted by a rough shove to the side.

It seemed the prayer worked but was long overdue. A disgruntled priest quickly gathered his bearings after nearly having landed on his own iron-spoked whip. He looked back up in time to see Jin strike a suit’s head hard with his weapon, only then realizing that he worked to protect him. A kind soul that housed a selfless heart - one that Yu could not relate to.

Mother Ekaterine’s roar filled the room then, chilling him to the bone. If God himself were a witness to this scene, would he feel pity for who they were up against? An image from missions past reminded him of Mother Eka’s bloodthirsty nature. Whether it be by their blood or her own, she had the will and so she made the way. Such resolve could drive even the devil to the back of his seat. Without a doubt, she would handle herself perfectly fine. On the other hand, Jin and Alistair had their own pursuers, and it was in his mind to help as soon as possible. But then, a suit of armor materialized right before him, harboring a different plan.

A sword rushed towards Yu. He dodged to the left, but not without the blade’s tip slicing along his side. It dragged through almost an inch deep, nearly causing the priest to stumble. With it came only a little blood, but that was enough to set him off. His heart would have gotten stuck in his throat had his adrenaline not kicked in then. Immediately, he backed off and lit his censer, then proceeded to chain it to his belt. The scent of frankincense and myrrh infiltrated the suits of armor through tiny gaps. By God's will, the suit that pursued him began to vibrate, looking almost distressed.

Yu swung his whip backwards and immediately cracked it forth in a silver-grey blur. Steel spokes whipped circles around the armor's neck, dealing no damage but nearly sealing itself in place. There were no gasps, no curses… no sign of any human inside.

And behind him, a giant window.

Only, it was several feet too far. So using both arms, the priest leaned his entire body weight to pull the fatigued suit of armor towards him. It stumbled in his direction, but the struggle was too real. Even with the smoke's effect, the vast difference in height and size was apparent. Still he continued to pull, this time facing forward and suddenly feeling like an ox dragging a heavy cart.

The smoke continued to do its work, and Yu felt the lack of resistance. So, once again he faced the armor, and jumped. His feet dug into the floor and granted enough strength to yank the suit straight behind him. Its scarf of thorns unwrapped easily, and the armor was sent crashing through the window.

---

Alistair couldn't help but let out a sigh as diplomacy failed. He had a feeling the Satanist wouldn't give up that easily, but with the option of mercy off the table, only punishment remained.

And punishment, he'd deliver. The very thought of it put a dark grin on his face.

Still, the exorcist couldn't help but lift an eyebrow in curiosity as another man entered the room. Judging by his choice of clothing, he must've been an exorcist that had investigated the mansion on his own. A commendable effort, if a little reckless. The Vatican Priest had little time to think on this, however, as the Satanist in front of him vanished into thin air-- a product of unholy magic. With Ryan Chambers gone, several other cultists teleported into the room. Armed and armored, these Satanists seemed well-equipped to face the group of Exorcists.

Even so, Alistair felt no fear in his heart. How could any man have fear, knowing that God is beside him, and allies watch his back? No, instead, he felt grim anticipation for the task before him. A cold bloodlust-- one he hoped to sate in the battle to come.

The priest counted ten Satanists, plus the armored figure playing the piano. He had little time to strategize as five swordsmen moved to face him-- Alistair would just have to trust that his allies could handle the rest. The warriors before him didn't seem like amateurs with the sword; their posture clean, their tactics sound, and numbers superior.

As they surrounded and isolated him from the rest of the team, Alistair found himself with his back to the table. He threw a quick glance at the feast behind him, before turning to his opponents. They circled and waited for his approach-- in a one-on-five situation, they held the advantage, after all.

"By the sweat of your brow you will eat your bread, until you return to the ground--because out of it were you taken." The priest said, resting the false edge of his blade atop his right shoulder, in a standard woman's guard.

"For dust you are--"

He put weight on his front leg and leaned forward-- a low, aggressive stance.

"--and to dust you shall return."

They did not reply with words, but with steel. One of the bolder Satanists swung his blade in a downward cut, but Alistair took a step forward and brought his longsword up in a window guard to deflect the attack. The opponent's sword now knocked aside, the priest moved from defense to offense, his own blade cutting through the air, like a ribbon twirling in the wind.

Much to the Satanist's surprise, the blessed blade found its mark, leaving a deep cut on the side of his neck. The dark protective magic of his armor was nullified in the presence of a holy relic, leaving only physical protection. Even so, armor at the neck and joints were the weakest-- something Alistair knew well. The wound was not immediately fatal, but had the Satanist been wearing anything except plate, he would have lost more than just an artery.

As the man stumbled back, the other armored cultists moved to support their ally, but the exorcist was not done. Moving from a forward thrust into a long guard, Alistair pivoted, moving to the left as he swung his blade in wide, flowing arcs to force them to either move out of the way, or to take the hit.

The key to fighting multiple opponents at once was to always be moving-- to always be on the offensive. To pressure your opponents, and never give them a chance to tighten the noose. There was no time to think, strategize, or fight defensively-- and so the best tactic was to deprive your opponents of their ability to do the same.

Like a raging storm, the exorcist was a veritable whirlwind of blood and steel, his movements causing the blessed smoke around him to move in turn. Slowed and weakened by Yu's alchemical concoction, the opponents were wary of Alistair's blade, for they knew that a single solid cut could be the end of them. The sounds of battle raged all around, and not just from him. Even now, the man knew his allies were fighting just as hard as he was.

He would not be left behind.

Alistair locked blades with one of his opponents, sparks flying as blessed silver met cursed iron. The priest twisted his wrist, gaining an advantage with the true edge of his blade, before positioning his sword's forte against the opposing sword's debole. He then gained a final advantage by putting his sword over the opponent's sword-- with three advantages over none, the cultist had no way to defend.

Seizing the momentum, Alistair switched into a two-horned guard and rushed forward, crashing into his opponent's helm with a thrust that sought to end a life. There was a sickening crunch as the tip of the blessed longsword pierced through the faceplate and into the Satanist's left eye. The exorcist continued pushing until the sword ruptured the skull, and the brain matter beneath, before quickly pulling the sword out to face his other opponents.

...not quickly enough, however. His instincts shouting at him to move, Alistair switched into a reverse woman's guard and yielded to the attack that came from behind him. The attack slid down the length of his sword and protected his back from a potentially fatal injury, but left his front completely exposed. The Satanist before him seized the opportunity and made a forward thrust aimed at the exorcist's heart.

Thinking quickly, the man twisted in place before hopping to his left once more, pivoting to face the opponent behind him while dodging the attack. Try as he might, however, he could not completely evade the heartseeking strike, the blade instead finding purchase on his right side, leaving a nasty cut under his sword arm.

Clenching his teeth and fighting through the pain, Alistair reoriented himself, swinging in wide arcs once more to threaten his opponents as he quickly took stock of the situation. Of the five enemies before him, one was dead, and another was injured, but not quite defeated. This time, thankfully, they were all in front of him, so while he no longer had to worry about surprise attacks (provided his allies were doing their jobs), he still had a long way to go.

And yet, he smiled, even as crimson began to bloom from his beneath his cassock.

"Is that your best?" He spat out, venom dripping in his voice. "Disappointing."

He let his words for a bit, but before they could get a response in, Alistair dove once more into the breach.

@Dog @Smike

Dzhon Piter Nabokov

Dzhon looked around at the other exorcists, he felt a small twinge of anger when he was called an idiot. However, he hid it well with a smile on his face. He assumed they were with the order judging from their varying outfits. His gaze looked over towards the lone cultist surrounded by the others, Pulling out his pistol ready to kill the lone cultist, but he disappeared before he could pull the trigger. He was really hoping he could kill another cultist. As soon as the lone cultist disappeared, groups of armored cultists teleported into the dining room. “Chert.” He cursed under his breath as the cultists were coming closer towards the group. He knew his bullets would not do much, however with his falchion he could stab through the gaps in their armor.

Running over towards the shotgun welding cultiss that were attacking the slavic woman. Grabbing the shotgun from one of the fallen cultists. “Groovy.” Helping her by cutting down the other armored cultist. Stabbing into the openings of his armor. Being chased by another cultists around the room. Using his martial art skills kicking him in the head, rolling onto the ground towards the table. Standing on the table with the cultist getting on the table with him. Dhzon throws the shotgun at him, making the cultist drop his weapon and catch it. Stabbing him in the thigh before picking up the shotgun. Aiming the shotgun point-blank to the head of the cultist, pulling the trigger finding enjoyment watching him crap his suit of armor.

“And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world—he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.” His voice seemed to echo throughout the room. The Russian man uses the butt of the shotgun to block the incoming attack, using his machete to hack off the arms the cultists he was currently fighting. “Need a hand.” Laughing while kicking a severed hand towards another cultist near him.

A few seconds pass, but it seems like an eternity as battles rage throughout the dining room. Jin, ever so skillful in his usage of tonfas, quickly dispatches the shield and spear satanist with a series of combat maneuvers before landing the “killing” blow onto his dome. The other satanist, the one who dual-wields, recovers his stamina and strength on short notice. Coughing, the unnamed satanist stands a few yards across from Jin. “What? Are you going to give me a lecture on peace and friendship?” the satanist states with a harsh tone.

“You and I know how this will go down,” the satanist notes as he stares down at his brother’s corpse besides Jin. With everything said, the satanist takes a more careful approach to the exorcist. Given the distances between the two, the satanist does not have to cover much ground to get into striking range. With five steps forwards, the dual-wielding satanist is in reach. A deadly staring contest follows as both men attempt to see if one or the other will strike first. The satanist, deciding on his own initiative, tries to draw blood from Jin. With the twist of his arms and hands, the satanist does a slashing motion for his two blades - one aimed for Jin’s stomach and the other at the exorcist’s head.

Meanwhile, Ekaterine has brutally gotten rid of two satanists with powder and strength. One utterly blasted by the likes of powder and the other is bleeding to death on the floor. As for the one satanist with the shotgun, a Russian has taken care of the problem. No one now dares threaten Ekaterine as every other satanist is currently busy dealing with their own exorcist and the ones that planned to kill Ekaterine are also dead. The battle has been won, but the war is far from over. If anything, Ekaterine would now notice the “fight” between Yu and the suit of armor and is now free to aid others in their fight against satanists.

With his unique use of the whip, Yu wraps coils around the neck of the suit of armor. The job was tough as the armor did not easily give in, resisting any attempt by Yu. Luckily for the exorcist, the censor worked its way into the armor and caused a slow weakening of the armor suit. Even then, the armor suit fought back. Grabbing onto the coil, the suit of armor attempts to wrestle control of the whip coil for itself. A short, but tense, battle of tugging ensured. The clanking and cracking of the metal plates and bits are heard loudly as the suit twisted and turned. With blessed smoke entering into its systems, the suit of armor gave away to Yu’s will. Displaying a good show of strength, the exorcist throws the suit of armor into the glass window. The breaking of glass is heard all throughout the room as the armor suit impacts the thing. Bits and parts of broken glass fall upon Yu and onto the nearby floor. For the suit of armor, it falls two stories down - creating a hefty impact sound as it lands onto the solid earth. With the suit of armor out of the house (for now), Yu is free to do as he likes.

Alistair, if anyone was watching anyhow, exhibits a great understanding of swordplay and management of multiple enemy opponents. One bold satanist swings faster than the others, but Alistair manages the one and creates an injury upon him. Without any issues, Alistair beats off the hoard of blades and quickly manages to get into single combat with a single satanist as the others recover from Alistair's rebut. A quick duel follows, lasting just a few seconds, and Alistair cuts down a satanist with a feint maneuver - piercing through the faceplate and into the skull itself. Another satanist comes forth and attacks from behind, managing to do harm against Alistair. The fight is long from over as Alistair insults them before going back into battle.

Dzhon, the second newest arrival, does all forms of interesting maneuvers to combat the satanists. Stabbing, kicking, rolling, grabbing, throwing, all forms of actions within a short timeframe - quite the dexterity. If that was not enough, Dzhon also has time for jokes as displayed in the pun of a severed hand before kicking a severed hand of a cultist towards other satanists. For the time being, Dzhon has no other satanist to kill, but he likely will find some in helping others. Alistair still has some for anyone that wishes to help him. Lastly, another exorcist came onto the scene with a certain style. Coming in, Alma María would see chaos and bloodshed everywhere. Corpses of satanists lay about the room, splashes of blood can be found around the battle between satanist and exorcist, a censor fills the room with smoke, clashes of swords are heard, and pure chaos is found. All in the day's work of an exorcist.

From where Alma María stands, echoes are heard from down the hallway - barking. The hounds of hell are approaching with haste. These beasts are quite fast fuckers as they show themselves just down the hallway. Another case of satanic teleportation, it seems. Given the tight hallway, the hellhounds are forced to form a single file line. A dog in front, one in the middle, and one at the very end - a very orderly formation. They come barreling down the halls with maws wide open. They are hungry creatures and their sights on set on the first thing that they see in front - Alma María.

@Dog@Hawthorne

Dzhon Piter Nabokov

Dzhon looked around being satisfied with her work, the dead bodies of the cultist pleased him greatly. Ending the life of the cultist that he threw the arm at, thrusting his sword into the heretic’s forehead. “A shame I thought you would be more of a challenge.” The priest seemed quite disappointed by the fighting skills of the cultists. His eyes quickly scanned the room of his comrades that were closest towards him. The person that was nearest towards him was the other priest. Even though he was sure that the other priest was a capable fighter, he did not want him to become swarmed by cultists. Quickly taking action he noticed the reminding cultist coming towards him. Making sure to stand between the priest and the cultist, “Do you mind if I join this dance?” He soon swung his sword towards one of the cultists closest to the priest, stabbing him in the leg before chopping off his head.

His attention turned towards another cultist surrounding the priest, “I think we are on even ground now, two against two.” Smiling and turning his attention towards the other cultist. Watching the heretic coming towards him with his sword, trying to stab the priest in the stomach. Dhzon however was quicker than he looks. Dodging out of the way of the thrusting sword, countering with a kick to the cultist’s arm disarming him. Caughting the sword in the air with a big grin on his face. “Sorry old boy, it looks like this is the end of your miserable life.” And with that he plunged both of his swords into the eye’s of the cultist.

---

The priest had a moment to breathe with the armor out of the picture. He was a little shaken, knowing very well that he could have been the one to fall had the smoke wavered. There was a sense of relief to be had… but it escaped him much too quickly. The battle was far from over.

Whip ready and tensions high, careful eyes darted between his team. There were no words-- only dead bodies, and the underlying stench of iron mingling with smoke. This unnerved him, but he was at ease to find his allies were managing. Mother Eka as expected made short work of her cultists, with the help of Dhzon, who then made his way to Alistair’s side. Already, more corpses littered the floor. Yu spotted one in particular by the blond priest’s feet, helmet having rolled off to reveal a missing left eye, along with a pained expression. The whip-handler grimaced.

Please, don’t look at me like that.

As if on cue, a head rolled across the floor, stopping in time to cast an empty glance at him. One frantic kick and curse later, it was out of the priest’s sight. More humans were dead, but not because of him, at least. It was a sickening thought, but God's work still needed to be done… it just couldn't be by his own hands.

It was then, with the air heavy as it was, that something changed.

At the door, a woman appeared-- a sister, or so it seemed. Both her posture and the sound of her voice made him question that notion, as they made him nervous in a way he couldn't properly explain. For a moment Yu stood there, speechless, making no effort to hide his disdain. Had their circumstances been different, he would have even scolded her for carrying the nun’s garb in such a provocative way-- intentional or not. Still, aside from her sudden appearance and alarmingly lax demeanor, the priest felt that something else was off about her. Her presence brought along what seemed like a lightness in the air; or rather, the reek of demon applying itself elsewhere. The frown on his face only deepened as he wondered whether that was a good thing.

Deep howls erupted from the hallway behind her, and upon sensing her oncoming demise, pushed himself to move. Surely, he'd be damned if he allowed a church official to die under God's watch.

Lord, I only ask that you help me now.

Yu ran to grab the woman's arm, pulling her behind him as metal swung back through the air. With her out of the way, Jiuzai cracked forward a great distance, steel napping around the first creature's neck. Sizzles were heard as spikes dug into flesh, the stench of burning rot filling the air. The beast thrashed in the whip's hallowed grasp, and even with both hands, proved to be a struggle to apprehend. However, it blocked the doorway, leaving no room for the demons before it to enter. Sweat formed at the hilt in Yu's effort to grip tighter, silently praying for the smoke to work faster. Frustration growing increasingly evident, he shot a glance to the woman at his side.

"Who told you to arrive here alone! Do you not understand how dangerous--"

A pained grunt stopped him mid-complaint.

“Brother Jin!” His head snapped to his senior, whose face spilled blood. What was he doing? Clearly, he needed help. However, Yu's heart quickened at the thought of releasing the whip, knowing it was the only thing keeping the beasts at the door. The holy smoke needed more time to work, while Brother Alistair and Dzhon still had two cultists left.

The sister stood behind him, suspicious, but harmless thus far.

"If I let go now, it will mean trouble for all of us," Yu hurriedly explained through gritted teeth, suppressing the tremble in his voice. "Please, if you can, go and assist our brothers..."

Something clicked. It was then that he realized why the smoke seemed ineffective, and why their opponents only fought harder than earlier. The window was broken during his struggle... all the fresh air pooled in, and precious smoke leaked out. Frantic, he called out across the room.

"Mother Ekaterine! I can't hold them for much longer!"

---

Alistair continued his spinning dance of death, twirling and whirling as steel sang its bloody tune. He managed to catch the injured cultist in a downward diagonal swing, the heretic too injured to properly evade. Even as the blade was blunted by the armor plating, it kept its supernatural edge. He cleaved downwards until the blade stopped moving, before kicking the lifeless body away, barely managing to face his other opponents in time.

Before he could return to the fray, however, the tense atmosphere seemed to shift... becoming more oppressive and pervasive. A lull in the battle now becoming evident, Alistair threw a glance at the door and spotted a new arrival. She was a beautiful woman about his age, with a strange demeanor to her, wholly unsuited to sisterhood.

And yet, here she was.

First the priest, and now this woman... Alistair elected to push those thoughts out of his mind, and focus on the battle before him. Against multiple opponents, he couldn't get distracted, or he'd lose his head. As he tangled with the three of them, the Russian priest from a while ago had sprang into action, quickly dispatching of one of the heretic swordsmen, leaving two more. The Vatican priest said nothing, only opting to give his companion a thankful look.

Two-on-two were far better odds than three-on-one, after all.

As Dhzon tangled with one of the cultists, Alistair swung at his own opponent as the cultist attacked, and causing them to lock blades with one another. Now that the numbers were even, he didn't have to worry about being constantly on the defensive-- a sword bind like this was no longer a potential death sentence, but instead an opportunity to deal some damage.

Contrary to popular belief, when it came to HEMA, you didn't need to be fast or strong when wielding a blade. Weapons were the great equalizer that allowed even the lowliest peasant to fell a mighty knight if they hit the right spot. Instead, techniques were extremely reliant upon the user's skill and form. It was certainly possible for Alistair to overpower his opponent's strength with his own, but there was no finesse in that-- there were proper techniques to perform when swords bind, and he was more than willing to execute them.

As they locked blades, Alistair moved to gain the three advantages: the true edge, the forte upon the debole, and the crossing. To finish, however, the Vatican priest performed a crossline step, moving his sword around his opponent's. The man pivoted using a compass motion, and thrust his blade through the opponent's side. With a bit of effort, the priest cut deeper and deeper until he reached bone, and then tore the blade away with a yell of exertion.

With his opponents defeated, the priest gave his fellow swordsman a nod.

What a strange, strange turn of events they had walked into! Not the cultists of course, Ekaterine had long since stopped seeing Lucifer's foot soldiers as anything more than vermin to be snuffed out. They uninteresting in the same way that an infestation of cockroaches provoked digust instead of curiosity. The cultists and their animated armor set were simply blights that required a good scourging. It was a simple matter to spear them, to blast their filthy flesh from cursed bones while her comrades defenestrated some and hacked the others to bits. That was all good and righteous, the way things ought to have been.

But what made her uncomfortable was the appearance of the two strangers. One a fool and the other merely mysterious, the man wielding officer's pistols and the woman an MP5. Ekaterine spared them a glance even as she looked for her next target, narrowed eyes betraying a certain motherly disapproval. Outward appearances marked the Russian as guilty of Samson's pride while the woman with her painted lips and sensual tone was perhaps a Delilah of sorts in terms of impropriety if not plans of sabotage.

But there was no time for a Biblical lecture. Someone had let slip the dogs of war and she could hear them coming, hateful creatures baying for the blood of those who would stand against evil. The good pastor called for help and it was her duty to answer it. Hundreds of pounds of blessed steel over faith-backed muscled slammed into the first dog before it could clamp its jaws around a limb. And while her shotgun tore an ugly gash through the beast it wasn't enough for a kill.

The others were on her before she could work the action, holy cannon torn from her grasp as they swarmed her. Three sets of teeth dug into the limbs unprotected by her chestplate, staining their teeth with her blood. Whatever foul liquid served as her saliva burned badly, like hellfire injected directly into her muscles, but the pain was drowned by hate. When Ekaterine shouted it was not a cry for help but a warning of what was to come.

With the shotgun tossed to the side she fell back on her APS, dumping twenty rounds of 9x18mm ammo in under a second. The injured dog was simply shredded, leaving the madwoman free to pummel the skull of another with knuckles and pistol butt. Ekaterine shrieked and screamed all the while, deaf to all but the sound of a skull plate snapping under her fists as she fought to keep from being mauled.

"Bleed and die! Bleed and die! Bleed and DIE!"