Insert clever title here (Minibit)

Mara was more than surprised when Dante stepped in front of her, and she was a little irritated that now she'd have to thank him again. She held her breath as he roared and swung to attack the man weilding two swords. His attack didn't connect, and as the two battled with stregnth others began to rush around behind him. She darted out to meet them, slashing at arms, legs, and hands wherever she could. Dante had defended her twice now, she couldn't allow him to be stabbed in the back.

These men weren't backing off when she injured them, she was starting to fear that she'd have to kill them or they'd kill her. That became more aparant when a particularly angry man charged her with a shout, sword raised. She ducked under his swinging arm and thrust her blade up into his chest. He gurgled, his face twisting, before falling limp. She jerked her blade away and straghtened, trying not to think about it. If she thought about it she'd get sick.
 
Dante had been bracing for a rain of slashes against his back and wings, but felt surprisingly less than he'd anticipated. He didn't have a lot of attention to that though; Amaziah was still demanding the bulk of his focus.

Striking from below, with his claws pointed downward, Dante was met once again with the block of two crossed longswords. Stepping forward, he threw all his weight upward, separating the blades. Amaziah ducked backward; he would fall on his back, but he saved his chest and face from being sliced, although the demon had placed a significant gash in his chin.

The human restored his guard, almost too late as Dante continued his charge forward, this time stomping with his foot on Amaziah's crossed swords; the blades hurt, but the flats were toward him, and years of hoofing it everywhere made his feet tough. Plus it was enough weight with his superior height to pin the human down. He let go of one wedged sword to raise that arm in a feeble attempt to block Dante's next strike towards his head; he pinned the human to the floor via his soft eye socket, and swung him off of his claw, flinging him into the continuing onslaught.

Free to look up, Dante understood now why he had managed to survive for so long; the angel girl was darting through the crowd like a shadow, and everywhere she passed man cried out or clutched a joint or a limb where she had sliced a muscle or ligament. She seemed to only have a small weapon though, and more were coming with clubs and broadswords. Two were attempting to rush her from behind, wise to her tactics. He whirled, and knocked them over with the back of his fist, taking a slash to his arm for the trouble
 
Angel heard a shout from behind her, and turned to see two men flying across the room from where Dante had struck them. They'd been trying to get her from behind. She didn't have time to wonder why he was protecting her, she was quickly moving through the ranks of men. She feverently hoped that they'd give up soon; she was tiring quickly and wasn't sure how long she could keep this up.

She winced as a man was flung across the room by Dante, but tried to keep her mind off of it. The last thing she needed was to get sick now. The floor had become slick with blood, and she had to concentrate on not falling as she zipped about. Several times she almost slipped, but she knew that falling would cause her death. So far, she'd managed to avoid it.
 
Dante withdrew his arm with a hiss as another slice caused blood to pour down his wrist and over the palm of his hand, making it slick. They were being quickly overwhelmed as more forces poured in. Swinging his arms in tandem, Dante scanned the room in his peripheral for a way out. There was no sense trying to go out the way the men were coming in - there would only be more of them outside. He was certain the back door had to have an ambush of some kind, but with numbers like this, it was possible they'd simply hoped to swarm the two and prevent movement.

Only one way to find out, Dante thought, trying to direct his motion across the small bar towards the back door, backing toward it. He could feel the heat of the flames behind him as he neared the blazing exit - it was possible as well, he realized, that the fire was the extent of their precautions. Furling and then quickly releasing his tough wings, the force was not enough to knock the door over, even weakened as the wood was, the steel hinges still stood resolute.

Pausing his efforts in order to keep from being pulled down, Dante gave a howl as the length of a sword stuck into his knee, hobbling him. He shook the attacker off, but the sword remained firmly implanted in his joint; pulling it out was almost more than he could stand; he wouldn't be able to sustain this form for much longer, he realised, clamping his already slick hand over the bleeding knee. If he had to change to his usual form, there was no way he'd be able to hold out, even with Mara incapacitating a considerable number of their assailants.
 
Mara could tell that they were quickly becoming overwelemed, and turned at Dante's pained howl. She quickly made her way to his side, a crazy but plausable idea bursting into her head. She siezed his arm tightly, then pointed at the ceiling. "Fly!" She yelled. She knew he wouldn't be able to carry her in his state, but she'd attmept to follow. It appeared the roof was their only way out, and if they stayed in here they'd quickly become overwelmed. She could only hope he had enough strength left to break through the roof. At this point, it seemed their only hope.
 
Stars danced in Dante's vision, and it took precious seconds for her shout to make sense in his head. looking up, he could see daylight peeking through cracks in the shabby roof - this place leaked like a sieve in the rain - and flames already beginning to lick the roof above the door. The joints would be weak there.

Expanding his wings, he swung out his less-injured arm to push off an attacker; the group seemed wise to their escape attempts, and he could see a continuous, moving blur past the windows; members rallying to the back, they still thought they were going for the door. He leaned over, bringing his wings on a vertical level, and with a beat of his wings, sent a wave of dust swirling up from the floor. Keeping his feet on the floor, he crouched down, springing upward and drawing his wings down in one motion as the pressure propelled them into the air

The wood splintered around his head and upper back, and pieces fell down around them as they returned to the earth; it was breaking, but it wouldn't fall apart in one go. Blades flashed in the new light, and slashed relentlessly at anywhere they could reach as he beat his wings furiously for a second attempt. they launched upward, propelled by the combined force of his good leg and his thankfully-untorn wings; it was just enough to bring them through the hole into the roof and onto the edge of the building. From above, Dante could see people swarming around it in every direction; first one, then another noticed the giant form on the roof, and the fair creature clinging to his arm.

Holding that arm close to his body to keep the wind from whipping her off, Dante jumped off of the building, expanding his wings to catch the wind and soaring with it over the crowd. He wouldn't be able to take them far, but hopefully they could fly a good distance away from the mob; at least to where he could transform into his less conspicuous shape.
 
Mara clung to his arm tightly until they were free of the roof. When he jumped off the roof her grip tightened again. She wanted to let go and attempt to fly herself, but she'd just bungle it up and get both of them in deeper trouble than they already were. Looked around for a good landing place, she pointed a bit ahead of them. An old barn, appearing abandoned, loomed on the horizon. It's roof was full of holes, but it seemed to be their best hope. "there!" She yelled, but the wind snatched her words away.

She hoped he saw it too, they needed to land soon so she could bind his wounds. She been injured too, cuts here and there, a gash on her forehead; but none as bad as his knee. Strangely, she found herself hoping he'd be alright. The barn loomed closer, and as they drew closer she could see it was ina a very ramshackle, rundown condition and had clearly been abandoned long ago.
 
Dante also was looking urgently for a place to land; the back of the pub faced what passed for a town; the settlement of Shofar. He swooped low behind the closest building, hoping the rest of the taller structures would help to conceal their movements. The buildings grew sparse quickly though, and he was reluctant to hide in town; it would be too easy to become surrounded again.

Dante's wings were shaking as they cleared the edge of the town and a building appeared on the horizon; folding his wings, he was glad it was downwind of them as the unhindered gusts from the flatlands carried them down before the rickety structure's swaying doors. He was transformed almost before his feet were settled on the dry earth, and collapsed on the ground, his knee gushing blood, his arms and ankles were bleeding too, though not as quickly. He clutched his knee with a pained groan, sweat stung at his eyes, and his hair matted in his face. The barn and sky and horizon blurred in his vision as he struggled to get to his feet
 
As soon as they landed she was tearing a chunk of cloth from her long skirt and pushing him gently back down. "No, let me bind that knee first." She told him firmly. "Unless of course, you want to bleed out." She was getting a little sick to her stomach just a the sight of the wound, but she refused to leave it like it was. Luckily the sword was gone, and she could only hope that there wasn't any fragments of metal left in it.

She knelt next to him and glanced at his face. "This is going to hurt." She warned him bluntly. She saw no point in trying to sweeten it with pretty words, she'd have to put lots of pressure on the wound. She laid a padding of cloth against the wound, then wrapped it tightly in another strip of cloth. She tried to be quick, but she knew it was a painful procedure either way.
 
Dante couldn't have resisted her admonition if he wanted to, and was easily returned to the earth, which greedily drank up the liquid leaking from his flesh. He clenched his jaw tightly, but it didn't stop a strangled sound from coming through his teeth as she bound his knee; it felt like she was pressing a white-hot iron onto the wound. Blood quickly soaked her makeshift bandages and dribbled down the side of his leg, but it wasn't moving nearly as fast as it had been, though, and it was no longer spurting out in pulses. His head spun, and he shut his eyes, trying to focus on consciousness.

"We need to be out of sight" he managed, opening his eyes to gaze at the barn. They'd probably check it eventually - unless they figured the job was done and they'd been scared out of the Borderlands here. But still he liked the idea better than sitting out in the open like this. Turning to examine his unexpected comrade, he noted her own scars - they stood out in harsh contrast to her fair, formerly unmarked skin. She was streaked with dirt and blood; nothing gushing or critical-looking, but still. "-And you could use a few bandages, yourself" he added
 
She shrugged off his comment about her own wounds, but knew that he was right. They should get out of sight. "Here, lean on my shoulder." She said as she held out her hand. They did need to get under cover, and quickly. It was just a temporary fix to be sure, but it was something. "Then we can discuss what is to come next." She glanced around, deep in thought. She'd have to find a source of water and some food. With him being unable to walk and her unable to fly, they could be here awhile.

Barns usually had wells nearby, right? Maybe she should look for some. She turned her gaze back to Dante. When she got him inside, she'd go looking for some supplies. She held out her hand, a little perterbed buy the situation. A demon and an angel, working together to survive the wrath of humans. It all seemed so strange.
 
Much the same thing was crossing his mind as he looked at her hand a second before clasping her wrist with his. He'd been trying to intimidate this woman into surrendering her soul less than half an hour ago; and now she was dressing his wounds. As they staggered into the barn, he tried to put as much weight as he could on his good leg, but his left was virtually useless; he could hardly straighten it, much less walk on it. He'd need a crutch or something once they got moving.

The barn doors swung open easily; one seemed to be more hanging off of the hinge than anything else. Inside, the smell was of dust and straw; there were no domestic animals, but something scuffled in the corner when they entered; vermin had probably settled in to the abandoned stalls.

He let himself down against the wall next to the door, and, wincing, propped his injured leg up on something blurry - a pile of wood, or a box or something. Leaning his head back against the wall, he looked around for something he could use as a support. He felt faint from blood loss, and looked about the same; his tan features were pale, and his red eyes stood out against them like blood on a blank canvas. His mouth was set in a taut line. He almost opened it to apologize for not being more help, but decided not to as much as because it felt like a useless comment as much as because he didn't want pain to be audible in his voice.
 
She nodded a bit when he was safely inside. He clearly wasn't feeling any better, but at least it was safer. "I'm going to go look for a source of water." She told him. "Food, if possible the things to stitch up that knee." She also planned on attempting flight, but she figured it better not to mention that part. "I'll probably be gone for a little while, but I'll be back sometime before dark."

She stepped towards the door and gave him one more worried looking glance. "Will you be alright on your own?" She was doubtful if leaving him was the best decision right now, but they needed supplies desperately. "At the very least I'll have water when I return." She nodded to herself. This had to be the way to go.
 
Dante nodded as she stated her plans; wondering if she planned to leave him here and flee by herself. He was basically dead weight at this point; at least until he could get his knee properly bound and find something to use as a crutch. If he were in her shoes, he'd definitely ditch himself.

He was about to open his mouth to call out for her to wait, when she did it herself.

"Will you be alright on your own?"

He nodded, "But, hey, before you head out-" he tried to straighten, but even he knew that it was important to keep his knee elevated, which made it difficult to sit up very far without straining his posture.

"The, uh, everything else aside, we made a pretty good team back there." he said, turning his head to look at her. "We've got a common goal right now, and it'd be better for both of us to stick together"
 
She turned to look back at him when he started to talk, and was a little startled when she realized he was pretty much asking her to stick around. She nodded a bit. "Yes, I agree. Neither one of us would stand much of a chance on our own." She managed a weak smile despite her fear. "Besides, I need you to teach me how to fly." She turned back to the door. "I'll be back soon."

She stepped outside and tugged the door closed, taking a deep breath before heading out and reviewing the list of items needed in her head. Water, food, the things to stitch up that knee. Glancing down at her bloody clothes, she tacked new clothes onto that list.
 
Dante felt a certain amount of relief as he watched the half-breed exit. He even chuckled a bit to himself after the door shut gently behind her.

'Flying lessons, eh?' he thought to himself, leaning back against the wall and wincing as his knee moved with him. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be a much more comfortable option; and having his leg up did seem to have stopped the trickle of blood from around the bandages. He resisted the urge to lift the bandage and see if it was clotting already.

He couldn't move around, so he decided to use his brain instead of his limbs; he was better at that, anyway. Actually acting on the things his brain concocted was another matter, but still.

The first thing, he decided, was to climb out of these borderlands and try to blend in somewhere else. To do that, of course, they'd have to try to smuggle themselves through either a branch of Hell, or the Kingdom Come. He'd be fine alone in the first, she'd be half-fine alone in the second, he figured, but getting them both through one or the other would be a challenge.
 
Mara hesitatently made her way through the desolate waselands around them. The trees were sparce and few between, and as she walked along she could feel the dirt crunching lifelessly underneith her feet. She kept a sharp eye out for a well or something of that sort, but so far she had found none. It was a long treck, and she was about to turn back when she finally spotted what looked like grapes growing and she sped up.

It was well tended land, obviously watered very often, so there should be a well nearby. As she neared the grapes she saw that they were not growing on a trellis at all, but a gigantic skeleton. The bones of a long dead whale. She tried to control her repulsion as she gathered grapes and held them in her skirt. When she thought she had enough the turned to find the well that must be nearby. When she finally found it, she discovered a new dellima. She could carry the grapes in a bowl made from her skirt just fine. But she couldn't carry water so easily. After a lot of hesitation she finally cut the rope that held the bucket and took the whole bucket. She whispered a quiet apology as she turned to hurry back to the old barn.

Through the process she'd kept a wary eye on the house nearby, where she was sure the person who tended the grapes lived. Luckily, she saw no movement and figured they must be in town.

Carrying her skirt in one hand and the bucket of water in the other it was a long, complicated treck back to the barn, but she managed not to spill much. She nudged the door open and set the the bucket and food with a smile at Dante.
 
Dante returned from his ponderings to a state of alertness when the water bucket was set down with a soft 'thunk' sound. She had something held in her skirt, too; some kind of fruit. Grapes?

"What's for dinner?" he half-joked.

While she was gone, he'd managed to (painfully) shrug out of his pitifully tattered tailcoat and was working the rest of one sleeve off when she came in. Leaning forward, he started wrapping the garment tightly around his injury. It was long enough for his gangling limb, it circled his knee a few times. Muscles in his cheekbones tightened as he started twisting the ends so that he could tie it in place.
 
"Grapes." She replied as she set the food down next to him. "Let's eat, and then maybe you can shout instructions at my while I attempt to fly? We need to get more supplies, namely things to stitch up that knee properly, but I need a more surefire way of escape first. Just in case something happens." She popped a grape into her mouth and grimaced at the sour taste. Beggars can't be choosers though, so she didn't complain.

"Maybe I'll find a cup for the water too." She gestured to the bucket next to them. Right now, they'd have to make due drinking with cupped hands. She studied his knee with a nod. "It's starting to look a little better." She told him. It wasn't bleeding as much, which was a good sign. She saw that he'd wrapped it again and helped him tie it properly.
 
Dante appreciated the help with the knot; he couldn't jackknife himself that far, and it was difficult to tie a knot at arm's length. Pulling it tight once she'd arranged it, he ventured sitting up straighter, and found the tourniquet alleviated a lot of pain; or maybe it was just numb now.

"Sure" he agreed, reaching for the grapes and grabbing a bunch, eating them off of their vine. Sour; and he chomped down on a seed. He made a face, spitting the seed out into his other hand and looking suspiciously at the rest of the bunch. It was the best they were likely to get, which was depressing. He knew it was out of the question no matter how things played out, but he wished he'd been able to stop by his room somehow; he could have got some bread and a flask - not full of water, but it could be - and at least one change of clothes. As it was, he had half a pile of sour grapes and the torn, bloodied clothes on his back. Plus a one-sleeved coat.

"Although I don't know how much I can teach you" he added, managing to swallow and picking off another grape rather less eagerly. "Demons are fallen angels; the right of long-distance and high-altitude flight belongs to those on the Universe's good side."