Something was appearing behind him, a jagged, lightning-bolt tear was ripped in the shroud of shadow that had protected the Chimerian women. Remy sensed the danger at once, rising to his feet and allowing the warrior side of him to bubble to the surface. The Grigori spilled from the open wound into the chamber, their eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
"No!" Remy screamed in the voice of the Messengers, his wings of feathered gold spreading from his back, forming a barrier between them and the Chimerian women.
And then he felt her touch again, pulling him back. Drawing him down.
The Mother had brought him into a vision.
They were at the Maine cottage, standing inside the extra room. Wearing the image of his wife, she attempted to console him.
"There's nothing that you can do," she said, standing before the open window, the wind pulling at her clothes. It had become like night outside, the air electric with the coming storm.
"Don't let them do this," Remy said, unable to keep the tremor of emotion from his voice.
"We always suspected that it could end this way," the Mother, wearing the guise of Madeline, said. She reached out and cupped the side of his face.
"Remember."
Then the storm was upon them, and the rain began to fall.
Remy awoke to the smell of blood. He could still feel the Mother's touch, restraining him from the inevitable.
There is nothing you can do.
But Remy did not want to believe it, fighting the grip that held him. In the womb of darkness, he heard the sounds of their excitement, and looked to see the Grigori attackers, their fine Italian suits spattered black with blood as they murdered the defenseless survivors of the Great Deluge.
Something snapped inside Remy, and the power of I leaven rushed forward with a terrible fury. He let it come, letting it trample his humanity in its excitement to emerge.
The light thrown from his body burned like the heart of the sun, and he heard the Grigori squeal like frightened animals as they were driven back, away from their murderous acts.
But it appeared he was too late. The Chimerian women were dead, their defenseless bodies bearing the bloody wounds of the fallen angels' shame.
"Remiel," a voice called from behind him.
He turned to see Sariel coming toward him through the darkness, a pale hand raised to shield his eyes from the heavenly light.
"We feared for your safety."
In his other hand the Grigori held a sword, an ancient blade that had been forged in the fires of the Lord God's love, and had once glowed like a star, but now was only a thing of metal, tarnished and stained by needless violence.
"What have you done, Sariel?" Remy asked, barely able to contain his emotion as he looked upon the women savagely brutalized by the Grigori.
"We suspected you might be in danger," Sariel spoke. "And came at once to your aid."
The Seraphim laughed, a low, rumbling sound more like a growl.
"Your concern for my well-being… is touching," Remy said.
And then he turned his cold gaze upon the Grigori leader.
"You used me, Sariel," he said, repressed fury dripping from every word.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," the Grigori leader responded indignantly. “You made me part of this," Remy hissed. The glow from his body had dwindled, the darkness of what had transpired draining away the intensity of his light.
"Don't you see, Remiel?" Sariel asked. "You were part of our test."
All Remy could do was stare at the sight of something once holy, now but a twisted reflection.
"The Almighty provided you for us to complete our penance," the Grigori leader went on. His brothers stepped cautiously into the light to join their leader. "You were a tool of our redemption."
"Redemption," Remy said, the word like poison on his lips. "You actually believe that after all you've done…"
His eyes were pulled to the Chimerian bodies and he stopped.
"The Lord God provided us with a way to consummate a task that had remained incomplete for countless millennia," Sariel continued to explain. "How could we not respond?"
"And Noah?" Remy asked.
"He has been avenged," Sariel proclaimed, raising his sword as if in victory.
"You murdered him," Remy raged. He turned his gaze back to the Grigori master; the fire of Heaven burned in his stare.
Sariel started to speak, but Remy did not want to hear it. He charged at the fallen angel, grabbing the lapel of his suit jacket and pulling him closer.
"You killed him in a fit of rage," Remy accused, his teeth clenched in anger. "You beat a defenseless old man to death with your fists."
"I lost my temper," the Grigori admitted, followed by a sigh of exasperation. "He was just so damned stubborn. Wracked with guilt over what he believed he had done… you should have seen how excited he was when he thought that he'd found them."
Remy felt himself becoming sick as the fallen angel attempted to justify his twisted actions.
"He didn't see the danger no matter how hard I tried to explain it," the Grigori said, his words fervent. "He told me that he was going to beg God to let them live… that because they had survived the flood He should allow them to exist. That they had earned the right to life."
Sariel actually seemed to believe what he was saying, and that Remy found even more disturbing.
"Here was our chance, Remiel," the Grigori leader emphasized. "Something to bring us that much closer to going home… to be allowed back to Heaven."
"But you killed him," Remy reminded the Grigori leader with a shake.
"Yes, I did," Sariel admitted. "Not sure exactly how that will be received, but at least we're finishing what the flood began. That has to count for something. I wasn't about to allow anything to prevent me from completing what should have been finished ages ago."
Sariel glanced at the hand still holding his lapel.
"It's done, Remiel," Sariel said. "This is how it was supposed to be. For us to finish what had already been put in motion; it was a test for us, penance for one of our greatest… misjudgments."
"Misjudgments?" Remy asked, scorn in his words. "But the children…"
Sariel looked to the corpses, distaste upon his pale, perfect face. “An error better left forgotten," he snarled, removing Remy's hand from his suit coat. "They were twisted things, Remiel, neither of Heaven nor Earth."
"They were yours."
He searched the fallen angel's eyes, looking for even a small sign of mercy or compassion. It was like staring into a deep, dark hole. There was nothing there, and Remy knew that Sariel and his Grigori brothers were lost.
What they believed of the Chimerian was true of them—there was no place for the Grigori in Heaven, or on Earth.
Remy heard a sound, a howl of mourning from the throats of children born of Grigori and Chimerian women. He turned toward the song to see them, squatting at the edge of darkness, clinging to one another as they ached over the fate that had befallen their Mother.
The Chimerian lament filled the shadows, becoming louder, and their sadness became palpable. One by one, the Grigori dropped to their knees, supremely affected by the woeful song.
Perhaps I am wrong about them, Remy thought.
All were affected except for Sariel.
The Grigori leader looked upon his brothers with horror. "Get up!" he screamed, but either they did not hear him over the sad song or they chose to ignore his words, for they continued to kneel upon the ground soaked with the blood of innocents.
"Listen to it," Remy yelled over the forlorn sound. "Listen to the pain you've caused."
Blood started to seep from Sariel's ears. His body grew stiff, and began to tremble. Slowly his knees began to bend, bringing him closer and closer to the ground.