St. Dominic's Church
7:49 A.M.
The aftermath of the attack hung heavy in the air.
Smoke curled from bullet-riddled walls, mingling with the thick scent of blood and burnt flesh. The once-sacred church was now a tomb, bodies of the Choir of Sins scattered like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms still clutching rosary beads soaked in crimson.
Vance lay on the cold stone floor, his chest heaving, vision blurred, every muscle screaming in protest. His mind raced, not just with the battle he'd survived, but with the truths he could no longer outrun.
"You belong to us."
The Hollow Man's words echoed in his skull like a curse.
Above him stood Gabriel, his wings folded, the faint glow of divine light flickering like embers in the dark. His face was emotionless, his burning eyes devoid of warmth.
Vance coughed, tasting iron. "You're not here to save me, are you?"
Gabriel's voice was a low hum, layered with something ancient and inhuman.
"I am not here to save anyone. I am here to see what remains when the fires burn away the flesh."
Vance forced himself to sit up, leaning against a broken pew, his gun still warm in his hand. His body was battered, but the rage inside him burned brighter than ever.
"So that's it?" Vance spat. "You're just… watching?"
Gabriel tilted his head slightly, as if studying an insect pinned beneath glass. "Mortals often believe they matter more than they do."
Cat limped over, blood trickling from a cut on her temple. She glared at Gabriel. "Then why the hell are you here at all?"
Gabriel's gaze shifted to her. "Because he matters."
Vance's heart clenched.
"Why me?" he rasped. "What the hell am I to you?"
Gabriel took a step closer, his shadow swallowing Vance whole.
"You are the fracture. The imperfection. The verse that was never meant to be written."
Vance's fists clenched around his gun. "I'm not a verse in your goddamn song."
Gabriel's eyes darkened. "A song doesn't ask permission to be sung."
Vance wanted to scream, to fight, to tear the answers from Gabriel's throat—but what terrified him more than Gabriel's words was the growing fear that they were true.
Later – The Church's Crypt
Father Dominic led them into the crypt beneath the ruined church, the narrow tunnels lined with decaying bones and flickering candles.
The air was thick, heavy with history and the weight of unspoken truths.
Dominic stopped before an ancient altar, covered in symbols Vance recognized from the Choir's crime scenes.
"I've been keeping something from you," Dominic admitted, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
Vance's jaw tightened. "Of course you have."
Dominic ignored the bitterness, his eyes filled with something like guilt—or maybe fear.
"The Choir of Sins didn't start with Abaddon," Dominic said. "It started with a prophecy. One written long before this city, before any of us. A prophecy about a soul that could bridge the gap between heaven and hell."
Vance swallowed hard. "Let me guess. That's me."
Dominic nodded. "But not because you're chosen. Because you're broken."
Vance laughed bitterly, running a hand through his blood-matted hair. "Great. So I'm a cosmic mistake."
Cat stepped closer. "What does the prophecy say?"
Dominic hesitated, then recited softly:
"When the third trumpet sounds, the fractured soul will be the key. A vessel of sin, a mirror of heaven's fall. Through blood, the gates will open."
Vance felt like the walls were closing in.
"So what?" he snapped. "The Choir wants to kill me to open some gate?"
Dominic shook his head. "No. They don't want to kill you. They want you to choose."
Vance stared at him, his heart pounding. "Choose what?"
Dominic's eyes met his, filled with something like sorrow.
"To be the voice that finishes their song."
The Choice
Hours later, Vance stood alone in the empty nave of the ruined church, staring at the broken crucifix above the altar.
He thought about every sin he'd buried.
Every life he'd failed to save.
Every moment he'd looked away when it mattered most.
The Hollow Man's words echoed again:
"You cannot outrun what you are."
Vance's hands trembled—not from fear, but from the unbearable weight of truth.
Was he the key? Or just the lock they needed to break?
Cat's voice pulled him back. "Vance."
He turned, his eyes hollow.
"What if I am what they say?" he whispered. "What if I'm the thing that ends all this?"
Cat didn't hesitate. She stepped closer, her gaze fierce.
"Then we fight it. Together."
Vance wanted to believe her.
But in the distance, he heard it—the faint sound of a horn.
The third trumpet was about to sound.
And Vance didn't know if he could stop it.