Authors Note: This is the first episode of the THIRD series of Dismal Angel, so if this is the first actual Dismal Angel episode you've ever read, I'd suggest first going to read the first two series, Dismal Angel and DA 2010, otherwise it might get confusing, LOL. Sorry this took so long, also. Props to Alex, who remained ever patient eagerly awaiting series 3.

Dismal Angel Revelations - Episode 1

Rejected By The Light

Chapter 1: Betsy's Death

Everything happened within one lightning flash and Remy LeBeau wasn't sure what had hit him. For one moment, he'd been ready to kill the man who had caused him so much anguish and torture for the past seven years. His enemy had been facing him, and for one moment, Remy was almost sure he could smell the blood, acrid and rotten, just like that monster's soul. He thought, when he'd shoved that adamantium knife through the foul black heart of Nathaniel Essex – the evil known as Mr Sinister – that this was the end of that evil existence.

Adamantium, Remy felt, should have killed him – at least in theory. Nothing else had seemed to work, explosions, acid, bullets, arrows, even Betsy Braddock's lethal psychic knife didn't faze him. Each weapon was as harmless as balls of fluffy cotton and Remy felt, that if adamantium couldn't do it, then nothing could. It had been his last hope.

He'd felt the slide of the knife as it cut through Sinister's metallic skin like butter, and he heard the gritting sound of metal push against metal almost as if in some sort of protest. There was an unfamiliar look on Sinister's face as he drove the knife through him and Remy thought it might be fear in those lifeless yet frightening red eyes.

Remy felt a rush of triumph before it happened. It felt as if he'd just been let loose from a cage he'd been pacing in all his life. A strange relief, a euphoria that seemed to make all the pain he'd been experiencing during the fight simply vanish. The pain in his back that had plagued him for most of his adult life seemed to go at once, along with the aching and tightness of his cheekbone where he'd been punched by a clone of himself.

He was looking at Sinister, who was melting around the knife into a liquid metal substance that began to drip down through a steel grating that led into the basement of the chemical plant. Remy glanced around to see if he could find Betsy Braddock, who had been with him most of the fight, he had lost sight of her, but had thought nothing of it. He didn't care enough to worry about her, and he knew she was a good enough fighter to deal with herself. He wanted Betsy to see his triumph, he wanted her to see Sinister die by his hand.

Betsy Braddock to his horror, lay dead on the floor, a quarter-staff with an array of impressive blades – it was his own, which a clone had managed to fight off of him – had pinned her deep into the floor from the chest, her eyes were wide open, and glassy. Absurdly the first thought that crossed his mind was it was the first time he'd ever seen Betsy with such an expression of disbelief across her face. Blood had spilled out across the floor like a crimson lake, it mingled with her plum tinted hair, and stained her bare arm.

Then Remy realised although he'd felt no pain, that something happened to him too, as Sinister disappeared entirely from sight, his body was falling – but he didn't seem to be falling with it.

Remy felt right then he'd been ripped from his own body, he felt a strange lurch as if he'd been in an elevator that had suddenly started to drop and then he found himself gazing down at himself, flat on his face, his sweat soaked hair splayed out on the cold tiles.

What the…? Remy asked, and he heard his own voice echo as if it perhaps bounced off around the room, but he was somehow aware that the room hadn't heard it at all and he couldn't understand why. The clones had all disappeared into the darkness.

Slipped into the shadows, become one with the shadows, he thought. That was always how his father, Jean-Luc had referred to it during the beginning of Remy's training as a Thief so many years ago. It had been one of the first lessons he'd learnt as a thief, an age old trick of measuring the darkness and learning to hide within it, make a retreat without being seen.

I always forget, he thought, how they have my memories. They know what I'm thinking before I even do…

Sinister was gone, and he was left alone with the dead body of Betsy Braddock – and his own body, which he wasn't sure was dead or alive. He stared down at himself again. Am I dead…or is this just…some kind of weird dream? he asked aloud, and he heard the echoes of his voice again. He examined his own body that lay lifeless on the floor – the same body he'd been torn away from at the moment whatever happened had. He certainly looked dead. This CAN'T be happening… he said to himself, and hearing his own voice – despite it's eerie echoes – made him feel slightly better.

A bright light caught his attention and he spun around to Betsy's direction, she still lay there, lifeless, dead. He moved over to it slowly, and he was very aware he couldn't feel himself taking any footsteps, he seemed to almost glide more than walk. A beam of light cut through the ceiling and landed upon Betsy's still body.

Remy gaped, and turned slowly so that he could look up to the ceiling. There was a vortex of incredible blinding light so bright Remy felt it should have hurt to look at. Turning back to Betsy, he saw her rise from her own body slowly, like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

She seemed to glow an ethereal blue, but lacked any other colour, her hair moved as if she were under water, swirling and waving, suspended by some invisible force – or perhaps that golden light itself, that was shining down upon her. She turned very slowly, and glanced back at Remy, and she saw him.

Remy felt almost relieved for one moment, because if she saw him, that meant he must have been alive, but yet, it occurred to him that Betsy was dead, and whatever he was staring at had to be her spirit. It was funny really, although he realised Betsy was as human as he was, it hadn't occurred to him either that Betsy might have actually had a soul.

Betsy's eyes were like glass buttons, he could almost see right through the irises. She gave a strange sort of smile and reached up towards the vortex of light.

Wait… Remy tried to reach out to her, and realised that unlike Betsy, he was not glowing, he saw his arm, but it was not the same ethereal blue. In fact, he looked as if perhaps he'd just stepped out of a nineteen-forties black and white movie. What's…what's happening? he asked.

Betsy didn't answer, she began to glide up into the air, and began to disappear into the light. Her appearance began to fade like some ghostly apparition, and then, she was gone, and the light vanished into a tiny pinpoint, then it vanished completely.

Remy turned towards his own body and he moved towards it again, he looked up briefly to see if the same vortex of light might be above him, but he saw none.

What's going on? He thought worriedly. If I'm dead, why did Betsy go into the light and why didn't I?

If the light is heaven, if there is such a thing, Remy thought, then WHY did someone like Betsy get in but I didn't? It occurred to him that if someone like Betsy – someone as cold and manipulative – could get into heaven…into the light…then why couldn't he?

Remy paused to think if there was ever anything he'd done that might forbid him into the gates of heaven. Does religion even have a part in this? He wondered. Sure, I've sinned, I've had my share of sins. I've had everyone elses share of sin, too. Every time I've ever touched a woman, been with a woman, I've sinned, and all those clones I killed…sure, they're clones, artificially created, but they were still living breathing beings so that probably counts as 'thou shalt not kill'…

He looked down at himself again. So why did Betsy go into the light and I didn't? I mean she's not exactly a saint. She's been in several porn movies, and she's probably had as many men as I've had hot dinners. Probably women too, who knows? And she isn't classed as particularly evil – just manipulative. She has killed though, clones and people, I know that. So why is she entitled to go to the other side – if that's what it is? He looked up again curiously.

He heard a small groan and if he hadn't already jumped out of it the moment he'd been wounded and knocked down, he might have jumped out of his skin. He glanced back down towards his body, to find it not quite as lifeless as he'd though. He saw a tiny tremble, and realised that he was alive.

How can I even be alive? He thought, I'm here, I'm not there…I'm not IN my body.

He leaned down close to his own body, he could hear a very struggled breathing coming from the mouth of his body, and he could see the very slight shudder with that breath.

I am alive! he realised. So…why am I still here? God…what am I going to do? How do I get back IN to my body. I don't look good…I don't think I might live much longer. It seemed to him even his thoughts were irrational. None of this seemed possible, but then he realised that once, perhaps one hundred years ago, the concept of mutant powers had been impossible too, and yet, he possessed that impossibility.

Never mind the impossibilities, he thought, you need to mind how you're going to fix this mess you've gotten into now.

There was only one answer he could think of. He needed the X-Men.