But it was a little perfect, wasn’t it? I made it back just as the Angels arrived—why else would the Grace still have been outside? If I hadn’t left Theo when I had, I don’t think I would have seen the Grace. We would have lost so many more people. What if I had stayed with him the way he asked? How many people would have died? How many more…

Wait.

Theo didn’t want me to leave that night. He was still praying. How could he have joined the pilgrimage if he was exiled from the death squads, how could he have run away from the Angels when he spent so much of his life prepared to die for them, how could—

How—

He knew.

That motherfucker.

He knew. The Flood burns and Seraph screams, painful and red hot and furious. He knew, he knew, HE KNEW.

HE LIED.

HE DID THIS.

Chapter 22

Upon the wicked He will rain fiery coals and burning sulfur; a scorching wind will be their lot.

—Psalm 11:6

This is what I was made for. Romans 12:19—Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. The Angels were made to be the servants of God, but I am the wrath, the flaming sword, the six-winged beast.

Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.

As soon as the sun sets, I slip from the bank and into the streets, wrapped in bandages and every stitch of black clothing I could dig from the ashes. They reek of charred bodies and too much smoke. I want Theo to smell it on me.

My hand twitches as if Seraph is an electric current tightening my muscles, the way mad scientists make dead dogs move. Black sludge trickles down my nose and over my lips, and I throw my mask into the gutter. I wonder for half a second what part of me that used to be, but I can’t keep a thought in my head besides what Theo’s face will look like when it’s smashed to bloody pieces.

I should have seen this coming. I should have known. I tear off my bandages and dig my fingers into the flesh peeling up from my arm. Pieces come off in long, wet strips. The same black-veined raw flesh as my face, the dissolved inside of my throat, the slurry of my stomach cavity. Theo is going to see me, he is going to see the real me, and I am going to kill him. I’ll bring the Vanguard all the proof they need. I’ll bring them Theo’s skull and as many heads as I can fucking get.

Leave room for His wrath. I am His wrath made flesh.