Remy watched in horror as Galgaliel handed the delicate piece of parchment to his master.

"We doubted you would be so foolish as to bring it with you," Nathanuel said, holding the potentially destructive document in his hand. "But we were obviously wrong."

Remy stared at Francis in disbelief. "You couldn't have left it in the car?"

Francis weakly swatted off Zophiel and Galgaliel, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. "Yeah, but I thought we'd be able to use it as a bargaining chip," he said, shaking his head to clear away the cob- webs. "I'll admit; it wasn't one of my better ideas." The Guardian made an attempt to stand, but the Seraphim shrieked their displeasure, beating him back down to the ground with their powerful wings.

Nathanuel held the final scroll in his pale, delicate hand, devouring it with his cold black eyes. In it he saw his plans come to fruition, and the pleasure that it brought to his face was most chilling.

"All right, then," Nathanuel said. "Let us commence."

It was the most human Remy had ever seen the Seraphim chief look.

Chapter seventeen

The Seraphim loomed over Remy and Francis, attack dogs from Heaven, making sure that they stayed on their knees in the sand, as Nathanuel approached Jon Stall with the scroll.

The rains continued to fall, the nearly black sky slashed with glowing jags of lightning, followed by roars of rolling thunder.

The Horsemen are growing impatient, Remy thought, watching as the Seraphim chief stood over the pathetic wreck of a man who was once one of the most powerful angelic beings in all the Choirs.

Nathanuel lifted a beckoning hand, and Galgaliel moved toward him. From within his flowing black coat, he produced the leather briefcase. He reached inside, gingerly removing the other four scrolls, and carefully laid them down upon the sand in front of Israfil.

Remy could feel it churning in the air, the impending end of all things. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to do something, but no, he had to wait.

Wait for an opportunity.

He only hoped it wouldn't be too long in coming, for there didn't seem to be much time left for the world. He looked to the Heavens, searching for a sign from God, anything that indicated He would step in and make things right. But he could see nothing, and it didn't surprise him in the least.

God is funny that way, Remy mused, that whole working-in-mysterious-ways business defined in moments like this. He could picture the Almighty watching this whole scene unfolding, a big bowl of popcorn — or the Heavenly equivalent — on His lap, dying to know how it would all turn out.

"It's time, Israfil," Remy heard Nathanuel say, his statement punctuated with a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder. The Seraphim leader still held the last scroll, the final message from God, in his thin, pale hand.

Israfil didn't seem to hear the angel. He continued to rock from side to side, whispering beneath his breath.

Nathanuel stepped closer and poked him with the toe of his black shoe. "Do you hear me, Israfil? It is time to slough off your masquerade of flesh and bring closure to this failed experiment."

Israfil rocked all the faster, his voice growing louder, and finally Remy could understand his words. He was apologizing, saying over and over again how sorry he was to have caused so much pain and suffering.

"You can end the pain." Nathanuel squatted beside him and spoke into his ear. "All you need do is open the scrolls."

The Seraphim chief touched the final scroll to Israfil's chest, urging him on. "The constant barrage of sadness, pain, and suffering — I don't know how you can stand it, especially now."

Israfil's prayers for forgiveness intensified, as if attempting to drown out the angel's words.

"Take it," Nathanuel ordered, poking him with the scroll. "Take it and fulfill your final purpose. End the experiment. Do the humane thing and free them all from their misery."

The man's swaying movements began to cease, and Remy felt the pounding of his own heart intensify. Slowly, Israfil turned his haunted features toward the angel kneeling beside him.

"I wanted to know what it was like," he said, voice trembling. "I just wanted to know, but I never expected…" He shook his head, teary eyes wide in disbelief. "So much beauty and happiness… but also so much ugliness and pain."

Nathanuel reached out a tender hand, cupping the side of Israfil's face. "It's chaos, my brother, unrelenting chaos, and it is up to you to bring order to it."

There was a look in the eyes of the Angel of Death, as if the Seraphim's words had somehow permeated a thick fog that surrounded his thoughts. He took the scroll from Nathanuel in a trembling hand.

"Israfil, no!" Remy screamed, lunging toward him. "It doesn't have to end. It doesn't have to be like this."

Galgaliel pounced upon Remy, forcing him back down to his knees, driving his face toward the sand.

Scroll in hand, Israfil looked at Remy… No, it was Jon Stall who looked out through bleary eyes, and for a moment, Remy thought that there might be hope.

But the moment was fleeting.

And as if on cue, Nathanuel lunged at Remy. "Silence!" he thundered, grabbing Remy's face roughly in his hands, forcing him to meet the Seraphim's scowling gaze. "I despise this world, this miserable ball of dirt with its ragged emotions and savagery," he said. "How the Creator can muster such affection for man- kind, I cannot even begin to understand. These are the creations that followed us, the Heavenly Choirs? This is how the Almighty intended to improve upon us? It's enough to make me doubt His sanity.

"Lucifer Morningstar was right, but he let his righteous indignation get in his way. Now it's my turn. Now I can prove our supreme worth to Him." He shoved Remy aside and turned back to the Angel of Death. "Proceed, Israfil," he urged. "It is for the best."

Stunned by the Seraphim chief's rantings, Remy watched as Israfil slowly turned toward Nathanuel. "There has to be another way," he whispered.

From where he knelt in the sand, Remy could see the struggle within the cage of fragile flesh and bone, the two opposing natures — angelic and human — warring for control. It was a pathetic sight to see a being of Heaven, once so strong, reduced to this quivering mass.

Nathanuel saw it too and shot Remy a hate-filled glance. "You are the one to blame for this," he said, gesturing toward the Angel of Death, contempt dripping from his words. "You who have chosen a path other than service to the Almighty. Living amongst these lowly animals, walking in the mud of this planet, it was never meant for those of us who have soared above the spires of Heaven."

"The pain will just go on and on, brother," Nathanuel said quietly, almost compassionately, to Israfil. "We will be doing them a favor."

Israfil's eyes turned to the scrolls and then quickly looked away.

With a sigh of exasperation, Nathanuel turned to Lazarus. "The female, bring her to me," he ordered. And Lazarus did as he was told, clearly so desperate to be free of his accursed life that there was nothing he wouldn't do.

Nathanuel grabbed Casey, and Remy could see the amusement on his face as he studied her fear-filled eyes. The Seraphim chief removed the gag from her mouth and freed her hands. She sputtered and coughed, fluids leaking from her mouth and nose.

"Jon," she gasped as she rushed to Israfil's side. "What's happening?" She wrapped her arms around him, the desperation obvious in her voice. "I… I don't understand. Who are these people? Why are they doing this?"

"Everything is going to be all right," Israfil promised in a gentle voice.