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Snowball's eyes held worry for the page as she coughed and wheezed, moving to nuzzle her trying to comfort the page. "We should get her to a hospital." He said looking up at Niflhel who was still rather pissed off.

"We can worry about the scolding later, There's still that Youma around."

Niflhel had heard Snowball but he was still glaring at Megiddo. "Next time someone doesn't want to fight, maybe you should consider what could happen first."

He moved towards the injured page. "There are more ways to winning this war than fighting and making sure people can survive is one thing; but it can be done in other matters than just fighting. Knowing how to protect oneself is good but it does no good if you injure your own teammates trying to 'help' them." His tone while calm still held the fact he was pissed off in it, but Niflhel was going to save that for the youma if it came towards them. Minstral needed protection from such creatures more than ever.

He stopped beside her before kneeling, offering his hand despite her head being on the pavement, "I can carry you to the nearest hospital if you trust me." He wasn't sure what was wrong with the page but if snowball suggested it, the knight felt like he should probably at least offer to carry the girl there, "With a youma on the loose we can't afford the time to call the paramedics."

Megiddo was backing away from all this as slowly as she could, not wanting to get any more involved than she already was and really hoping to avoid being charged with assault. "I'm sorry," she repeated, slow horror at what she'd done dawning on her. Punching Mistral had seemed like a perfectly okay idea not two minutes ago, but now she couldn't for the life of her fathom why.

She couldn't stay here, she thought. Not with Nifhel so angry with her and Mistral - Mistral was probably going to hate her forever, which suddenly seemed like a huge tragedy even though she'd been so incredibly pissed at the girl only moments before.

"I've got to go," she said nervously, picking up the pace. "I'm sorry."

"Mhmm," said Mistral, who personally was concentrating pretty hard on trying to feel what, exactly, she had broken inside her. Gently probing her stomach with her fingers revealed exactly nothing, other than she was soft and squishy in some places where she had, once upon a time, expected muscle. Sigh. That was still depressing. "Met at the boot camp. I'm Mistral, by the way."

Tucking in around her stomach like this hurt a little, but it meant she didn't have to exert any effort to stay upright, and that meant nothing else was getting fractured, or torn, or--god forbid--popped. "I can't fight," she repeated inanely, as if this would mean more to Niflhel than it meant to Megiddo. "Found some blueprints to build a thing. But can't fight."

"Communication device," Mistral said. "I think. Update for signets." That was what she thought it was, anyway. Uncle Mendel had said it was a communication device. She'd been fourteen when she was working on it, in her past life. Forever ago. Forever and ever…

A less pervasive, but more twisted, sense of wrong flooded over her at that exact moment, just as her eyes were drifting closed. "Youma," she said, throwing an arm out to point just before the were-cheetah thing hurled itself, howling, out of an alleyway.

So she was going to die. That was nothing new. At least she wasn't going to die, like, alone, and also scared? She was much too tired and in too much pain to fear death. Except Babylon would miss her. Would Babylon miss her? Gosh, she hoped so.

Mistral minded the paper and pen. She minded it a lot. Maybe she should get a note formally excusing her from fighting? Huh. There was a thought. As Niflhel set her on the ground--was Snowball attacking the were-cheetah-monster?--she began composing a letter to Babylon in her head. Dear Babylon, other knights are CRAZY, please save me from having to fight them all…

The were-cheetah youma took exception to the white cat now clawing at its face, and shrieked a loud, siren-like call that--had any other youma been in range--would surely have attracted attention. Luckily for Snowball, Niflhel, and Mistral, there weren't any. It unsheathed claws that were, perhaps, three or four inches long, and tried to slash at Snowball--but the smaller cat was agile, and the youma missed, instead flailing its head back and forth to get the guardian cat off its face.

"Let me know if we die," said Mistral tiredly.

The youma did not really take exception to being referred to as 'youma'. It did take exception to the chain wrapping around its forelegs, shrieking that awful siren wail again and rearing back. Its knifelike claws pulled along Niflhel's chain with a sound not unlike nails on a chalkboard. Whatever it was--half horse, half man, half cheetah, wondered Mistral--it seemed to be hideously strong. Was it stronger than a knight? Mistral didn't know.

It reared back again, and then--perhaps realizing it wasn't going to break free?--it charged forward towards Niflhel.

"I'm not… significantly… more dead than… I was," she said to Snowball. It was getting a little hard to focus now, though, and every touch to her abdomen felt like getting stabbed with literal fire. "Have you considered. The fact that the monster's belly is unarmored?" She lifted a few fingers to point at the monster's pearl-white underbelly, which did seem to be relatively unprotected. "Maybe you could pop it. Like me. Ha."

It was not actually funny.

The monster, for its part, shrieked again. Its calls for backup were in vain--but its frustrated clawing was not, scoring three deep gashes along Niflhel's bicep. The knife-like claws chipped when they hit the asphalt of the road, and it crowed a less offensive version of its screech--some sort of victory alert? Or something. Rather than immediately charging, it prowled around Niflhel, its weirdly human legs moving in a way that was distinctly inhuman. Mistral felt a little sick, watching it.

Well, until it scrambled forward to charge Niflhel again. Still head-on. Did it have some concept of fair play? It wasn't like it could talk. Surely it'd be talking if it could…

She nodded, tucking an arm up under her head. She ran her tongue over her teeth and gagged at the taste of blood there. Not fun! Nothing about this was fun. She was definitely going to write Babylon a strongly-worded letter. About… something.

Niflhel's kick impacted the monster right below the ribs, and it let out a muted, confused, pitiable whimper as it collapsed, right on top of Niflhel. It rolled to the side, forelegs up to protect its head, and tried to curl up to protect its belly. Mistral said, "I know that feel, buddy," as the monster whimpered again, flopping back with its weak point exposed for the finishing blow.