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It's not small hours anymore. Coffee's all gone, only got a couple bags of tea and a bunch of leftover hibiscus. Gonna need to open the cache that was left here just in case when Oracles' supplies were mostly carried off the Shrine.
He wanted to let apathy and dissociation to take over for a while. Alas, then the guest wouldn't find him and he would be rather slow to react. He did not recognise the people onboard anymore. He simply told them where he'd be if someone was to ask. They would know anyway, wouldn't they?
What the hell is happening? Just what did he miss? What state is Raven in? Why isn't the whole affair handled yet? Who is that idiot interfering and trying to wipe the slate clean and what for? He was unhinged, that was clear enough, but just how much? He couln't grasp that over that distance.
Israfel took the cup from the table and looked around. The Oracles remnants used this place as a meeting room when they were searching what was left of the archives. Most of them were employed elsewhere, traces mostly gone. His petty kingdom in the business world gave them convenient enough lives.
How the hell did that message reach him in the first place? It was disorienting enough to make him fall off the chair. Seems like the changes he was observing were just as profound as he thought despite the lack of true Nomad matter in his body. First the psychic energy turning into an EM field that he struggled so hard to suppress, now he is as much as a psychic receiver as any Nomad. Using it to send messages was a question of time, probably.
New questions never failed to appear. Israfel's existence was so flabbergastingly absurd.

"No need to fear."
That was enough to make Israfel's eye twitch and his mind roil as a directionless amalgam of thoughts, memories and emotions. Dusting off his IEVA suit, he stood up, leaving the room. He was only wary of the stronger Nomads. Sh'ozak, Eris, Melia, Harbinger. And those who seem all but forgotten now. What path could it offer him that he would not learn from the others?

Locating it was not too difficult. However, it was... Was it one of the Incubi, not even a sign of human thought? That sounds like trouble now. Shame that Nomads were rarely specific in what they wanted right off the bat. Hopefully the Vagrants knew better than to try to infect an abomination like him.
The place where the Incubus resided was, for the lack of better word, unusual. Was that thing a temporary storage or a growing vat?
– Pretty sure there's only space for one Nomad-related implant in my body, buddy, – the Oracle said, hands on his waist. – So what do you need from a relic like me right now?

Fortunately, Israfel had no trouble interpreting the Incubus's messages. The visions were not that vague, but their meaning... Finding someone loyal to them and offering as a host? And sure, they still had to fight against the Order. Israfel snapped his fingers.

"I may have belonged to the priesthood of the Church but you need to understand that enticing people to become willing hosts was never my job. This is something that your collective should be delegating to very different people. If you have a different task in mind, I'm listening."

He was not the person to lead people to such an ambivalent fate. He had far higher tolerance to Nomads' modus operandi but ceased to aid them so directly long ago, before the Oracles have disappeared from the game board.

Now that was uncalled for. This was the first time in a while a Vagrant-affiliated entity demanded anything from him in that tone. A strong one, too. Talking for everyone so surely... It was time to show it how malleable the human mind was in the right circumstances.
– Dolly, oh, oh, we come, dolly... Dolly, oh, oh, we come to play...

His mind roiled again, and a vortex of colours covered the Oracle's body. A misshapen silhouette, trembling and swaying. Instead of meeting resistance, the Incubus met a swathe of irrational emotions, thoughts and sensations. Growing like a cancerous tumour, an amalgam of addled mind covering Israfel simply couldn't comprehend the order, and the body was unable to respond to outside stimuli.
Still, something spoke from within.

– I'm a million different things, you know. Not just your personal fetching doggie. I don't hear Melia or Eris speaking here, just you alone, knowing naught of humans' ways despite being attached to one for a time. You poor thing... If you wish to use the Darklings you must learn how to live in the dark and see in it as bright as in any day! You are blinded by your own light, you poor thing!

The amalgam seemed to move everywhere and nowhere at once, slightly fading, as if losing connection with reality.

– Hello, fellow, where's your halo?..

With his teeth bared and clenched, Israfel laughed as the cold of reason passed through him. The amalgam briefly slowed down but any semblance of order quickly fell into dust through exploiting the absurdity at the base of each thought and feeling.

– You gotta start appreciating it, buddy, or you will never truly grasp the interpersonal relationships, whims and desires of humans! Harbinger probably understands it better, that old schemer! O-oh, look, what a pretty sight!

In the strange realm they ended up he still didn't turn human, not even percepting himself as one. As the Incubus's image touched him, the Oracle's outer covering was like resin, somehow briefly sticking to the fingers.

– That's a nice place but it really lacks a touch of comfort. Some comfy chairs or sitting pillows... – he simply manifested a believable enough image of said pillow and sat down on it. – Ah, much better! So what are you trying to accomplish there and why are you picking the literal worst man for grooming someone into becoming a meat bicycle for you? I'm truly mystified!