Gabriel
The wind carried the scent of rain and blood.
I felt it on my skin, tasted it on my lips. The streets were wet, the cobblestones slick. Whitechapel felt like an open wound—raw, painful, full of things lurking in the dark.
We were following the trail of a man we weren't supposed to find.
And we weren't alone.
Raphael
"I don't like this."
Michael glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "What exactly?"
I gripped my lance tighter. "Everything."
Gabriel led us through the narrow alleys, his gaze sharp and alert. We were heading toward the old hunting lodge, but something felt wrong.
It was that kind of silence. The kind that wasn't truly silent.
The kind that meant someone was waiting for you in the dark.
Michael
We noticed them before they noticed us.
Three figures moving almost soundlessly through the shadows. Too well-dressed to be ordinary street thugs. Too cautious to be common criminals.
"Church or vampires?" Raphael whispered.
Gabriel didn't answer. He simply drew his sword, slowly and deliberately.
I took a deep breath.
"Doesn't matter what they are… they've found us."
Gabriel
The men stepped out of the darkness.
The first was gaunt, his face hollowed out like a corpse. The second was tall and broad, with a long scar running across his right eye. And the third? He had a smile I didn't like.
"Three hunters," the broad one said. "With old weapons. I thought your kind had died out."
Raphael stepped forward, his lance gripped firmly in his hands. "You thought wrong."
The third man's smile widened, almost predatory. "Then show us what you've got."
The Hunters' Prayer
Gabriel raised his sword.
Raphael lowered his lance.
Michael closed his eyes for a moment.
Then we spoke together.
"Ego vos absolvo…" (I absolve you…)
"Fiat voluntas tua…" (Your will be done…)
"Et in tenebris lucet lux." (And the light shines in the darkness.)
It was our ritual.
Our prayer.
Our way of starting a fight.
And on this night, in the streets of London, the light would burn.