Gabriel
The chapel was silent.
Only our breathing broke through the darkness.
I held the sword in my hand, its gold-silver blade reflecting the faint candlelight. It was no ordinary sword. No piece of metal forged by human hands. No… it was divine. I could feel it in every fiber of my being.
My thoughts raced. I knew this was no illusion. That we weren't here by chance on this particular night. God had seen us. He hadn't forgotten our prayers.
But then why did it feel so wrong?
I looked up. Raphael stood across from me, his fingers still tightly wrapped around the lance. His chest rose and fell heavily. I knew him well enough to see that he was fighting a battle within himself.
Michael stood a bit off to the side, the two short swords gripped tightly in his hands. His gaze darted uneasily between us.
"What… now?" he asked quietly.
I had no answer.
But Raphael did.
Raphael
Gabriel always says patience is a virtue.
I say patience will get you killed.
I couldn't stand still. Not like he could. While he stared at his sword as if it held a divine prophecy, I only wanted to know one thing: if this was real.
I tightened my grip on the lance.
And then I felt it.
A crack. A tiny fracture in my awareness, a moment of realization that almost froze me. The lance in my hand vibrated. Not like a weapon made of steel – but like something alive.
It was as if it were breathing.
I closed my eyes. And then I heard the voices.
Not human voices. Not angelic ones.
The voices of the damned.
They were close.
And they were coming for us.
Gabriel
Raphael froze. I knew instantly that something was wrong.
"Raphael?" I took a step toward him.
His eyes twitched. His grip on the lance tightened.
Then he opened his mouth. And whispered two words that made the blood in my veins turn to ice.
"They're here."