[Suzerain of Sheol]

Finding a makeshift seat on an overturned crate, Shealtiel takes the moment to rest. Now that his adrenaline has faded, he can feel the horrible strain his magicks have imposed on him. He feels ready to pass out at any given moment. But he can't; they aren't safe, yet, not with the sounds he's hearing from below, and... yes, there are Dybbuk, dozens, all disembodied for the moment, looking for a new host.

Standing once more, he says to Michael, "I will retract my criticism of Saint Typasius. A man worthy of the title." He sounds slightly delirious with exhaustion as he comes to stand over the manhole.

Calling back over his shoulder, he tells his friend, "If you would be so kind as to catch me when I inevitably faint..." And he begins to open himself once more to Sheol, feeling a sickening cold seep through his muscles and down to the core of his bones. Trembling, he reaches out to thee agonized spirits frothing in the ether and banishes them with an expression of power -- one terrific blast of icy energy that takes everything the old man had left within him.

He collapses into Michael's arms.