Cherry screamed bloody murder despite the fact that she was not the one being bloodily murdered. Yet. The prophet seemed intent on remedying that. Blades rained down on her, fast as drops in a deluge, agonizing and overwhelming. Weapons hurt, but holy weapons [i]hurt[/i]; each slash cut right through mortal flesh to Puriel themself. It was a blinding pain. Cherry stopped mid-stride to swivel towards her assailant and raised a hand—but no magic came.

[i]Puriel! [/i]she cried, trying and failing to dodge the blows. [i]Jesus fuck, a little help here?[/i]

It had been quite some time since the demon was subjected to holy power. Whatever callus they grew had long given way to raw skin. All they could do was think, childishly, that it hurt.

[i]Puriel![/i]

Ah. Clawing at their magic reserves, Puriel chided themself. Humans were not a permissible source of pain. This was a disgrace. 

In an effort to remedy the situation, Puriel ripped out Cherry's ribcage and pulled the ribs up around her torso as morbid armor. Dense muscle shielded the slats—bone was expensive. They were going to need a lot of calcium after this. The fact that Cherry didn't complain about them ruining her shirt was cause enough for concern. Against her instinct, Puriel lurched the body forward, continuing to run towards the angelborn. Dodging was useless. They could only hope the armor wouldn't be shredded before they reached the girl.

[i]What the hell are you doing? The prophet's gonna kill us if we don't kill her first!

The nephilim must not escape. We will not waste time eliminating threats when we can withstand them.

But the whole reason we came here was the prophet! Are we really just—[/i]

Holy water hit their face in a searing arc, evaporating all thought. Puriel retaliated instantly, unhinging their jaw and firing a full set of teeth in the knight's general direction. They gasped. Pushed further into a sprint. A waste of resources—they would have to pray they met their mark.

Puriel refocused, stopping short just before the girl.

But the girl was there no longer.

Wrenching their gaze up, they caught a man running away with their prey. Shit. Shit! They could not let him get away. Picking up the pace, Puriel tore after him, feet pounding against the asphalt and out of the alleyway. A siren blared in the distance. Puriel stumbled, a dozen contusions and double the slashes screaming with every step they took. 

[i]You're still conscious[/i], Puriel said, more command than question.

[i]Fuck[/i], Cherry replied.

They hissed a rushed exhale. They had started the fight with a perfectly healthy body, and the prophet had nearly incapacitated it in seconds. The fact a knight had accompanied her at all seemed ridiculous, in retrospect—Puriel would be offended if they were her. That knight was a fucking joke by any standards, but compared to the prophet? Goddamn.

The body staggered again. Unacceptable. Puriel reversed the ribs and stretched them into long, spindly arcs. Like a spider's legs. They used them as such, body dangling a good six inches off the ground as they skittered down the street. Screw discretion. The neighborhood could rationalize this however they damn well pleased. Puriel was gaining on the man, but not fast enough—he ducked into a car and dumped the angelborn in the passenger seat before they could reach him. They screeched in fury. The engine stalled. The engine [i]stalled[/i].

Without hesitation, they dove into the right rear window and shattered it, sliding across the seat and hitting the opposite door with a thunk. 

Hallelujah. 

“Be not afraid,” Puriel gasped, chest heaving. “I will do you no harm. Just [i]drive[/i].”