But Remy knew it was a lie.

Nathanuel suddenly reached down and grabbed a handful of Casey's dark hair, yanking her away.

"It is not all right, brother," he said, forcing her to look at Israfil before violently twisting her head to one side, breaking her neck with a muffled snap.

To Remy the sound seemed louder than any clap of thunder, and he watched with numbed horror as Na-thanuel let Casey's body drop to the ocean floor at Israfil's feet, twitching and flopping about like the fish deprived of their watery habitat.

Deprived of death.

"No! No! No!" Remy screamed, his fingers digging deep into the wet sand, prying up a rock that he had noticed the last time his face had been pushed to the ground in subjugation.

An opportunity? Perhaps, no matter how small.

He made an attempt to charge forward again, and when the growling Galgaliel grasped the back of his neck in a grip like iron, Remy spun around, smashing the rock into the angel's face as hard as he could. Blood exploded from his pulverized nose as the angel released his hold, both hands going to his damaged face.

Remy didn't hesitate, scrambling across the exposed ocean floor toward Israfil, who still knelt before the body of the woman he had loved.

"Listen to me!" Remy yelled as Zophiel descended from the sky with a birdlike cry. He dropped to his belly as the angel soared over his head, outstretched hands just missing him, as Remy continued to crawl closer.

"Think about what you're doing. He's asking you to end it all…. Tobring about the Apocalypse. Don't do it, no matter how bad you think it is… It isn't time for that."

Israfil's face was slack, gazing down on the quivering body of the woman who had helped him attain his humanity, and Remy had to wonder if he was even hearing him.

Nathanuel was suddenly there in front of him. He reached down, grabbing Remy by the throat, pulling him up from the ground.

"There will be none of that, Remiel," Nathanuel said, holding him aloft as he turned his attention to the Angel of Death. "Israfil has a duty to fulfill."

Remy tried to scream, tried to get the Death Angel's attention, but all he could manage was a strangled gasp.

"Show me your human compassion," Nathanuel urged Israfil. "Put a world filled with so much suffering out of its misery."

The Angel of Death tore his gaze from Casey's body, and Remy saw by his expression that any chance of reaching him was now gone. He turned to the scrolls lying before him in the sand, and without a moment's hesitation, picked up the first.

"That's it," Nathanuel urged. Israfil held the scroll out before him and with one quick movement, broke the waxen seal with a deafening snap.

The foul weather immediately intensified, the thunder roaring and wind whipping, and the sky illuminated in an unearthly light.

Still held in Nathanuel's grip, Remy managed to twist his head toward the horizon to see the enormous shapes of the Horsemen as their mounts moved inexorably closer.

The Seraphim chief pulled him close, forcing Remy to meet his gaze. "It has begun," he said triumphantly over the sounds of the advancing Apocalypse, and then he tossed him aside like a piece of garbage.

Harmless.

Remy landed on his back in the sand, the winds raging about him. As he prepared to stand, his hand fell upon something warm; something that sang of the glory of battles to be won in the name of the Lord God.

He saw the sword that Francis had given him partially buried beneath the whipping sands, and picked it up. Searching the beach for his friend, he found the former Guardian curled in a ball upon the ground, Haniel and Zophiel looming over him like vultures.

It looked as though it was solely up to him.

Through the storm, Remy saw Israfil, another of the scrolls held aloft, Nathanuel by his side, urging him on. Struggling against the hurricane-force winds, Remy started toward them, only to have his progress stopped by a hand falling roughly upon his shoulder.

He was spun around, coming face to face with a grinning Galgaliel, his face spattered with blood from his broken nose. The Seraphim slowly shook his head from side to side, sporting an evil grin far too wide for his face.

Remy raised his sword, but the warrior of Heaven was faster, taking hold of his arm before he could carry through. Galgaliel pried the weapon from his grasp, nearly breaking his fingers in the process.

"What have we here?" the angel asked, his voice nasal from the injury to his nose. He hefted the weight of the blade in his own hand. "A weapon of Heaven in the hands of one who has forsaken it? For shame."

Haniel and Zophiel had come to watch, their dark eyes glistening in anticipation of Remy's impending doom.

Galgaliel pushed Remy to the ground and raised the sword above his head. Remy could do nothing but watch as the fiery blade began its descent, his mind filled with the painful thoughts of how he had failed everyone and everything that he had ever loved.

How he had failed the world.

At first he mistook the sound for thunder, but as one of Galgaliel's black eyes suddenly erupted from his skull in an explosion of crimson, he realized that it was something far more deadly.

The angel lurched to one side, the swing of the heavy blade going wild and cutting into the wet ground, before his body pitched forward to land in a flailing pile.

Haniel and Zophiel looked around in complete dis- may. Through the rain and blowing sand, Remy saw Francis, pistol in hand. The Guardian aimed, firing at the remaining Seraphim. Unfurling their wings, the two escaped into the air.

Francis limped over to where Remy still lay, reaching down to help him to his feet.

"Bullets forged from metals mined in Hell," he yelled by way of explanation over the cries of the storm, and holding out the old-fashioned Colt pistol. "The metal travels through their blood like poison. It won't kill them right now, due to the circumstances and all, but they'll sure wish they were dead."

"And you couldn't have used that earlier?" Remy asked.

"Wanted to wait for them to get here first," Francis said, leaning in close to Remy's ear, trying to be heard above the din of the coming Apocalypse.

Remy pulled back, not sure what his friend was talking about, and saw that Francis was pointing up to what had once been the shore's edge. Remy looked in that direction and saw that they were no longer alone. A line of armed individuals stood waiting for a sign.

"Who are they?" Remy asked his friend.

"Grigori," Francis said, a sly smile snaking over his battered features. "Had a talk with them before I picked you up at the rest home. I suggested it might be in their best interest to give us a hand."

A flash of lightning, as if the world were being split in half, again lit up the sky, the thunderclap that followed causing a shock wave that shook the ground beneath their feet. The Horsemen were closer; their mounts reared back, pawing at the sky with hooves that trailed fire.

The sky had started to glow with an eerie light, as if the lightning had somehow ignited the atmosphere. And with this new illumination, Remy witnessed yet another disturbing sight.

The two remaining Seraphim, Haniel and Zophiel, now stood with a newly risen Black Choir. The fallen angels' bodies were little more than charred and blackened skeletons, the framework of their once-leathery wings jutting from their backs like spiny appendages. A thick, ebony aura radiated from what remained of their desiccated flesh, like steam rising from melting ice.

Beyond the Seraphim and their monstrous army, Remy could see that Israfil still knelt upon the beach, opening the scrolls one at a time. As near as Remy could tell, only two remained.

"Go," Francis said. "Do what you have to. We'll take care of these freaks."