Visions of Gabriel

St. Roch Cemetery Chapel

3:06 A.M.

The blinding light faded, but the echoes of the Choir's screams still rang in Vance's ears. He gasped for breath, his back against the cold, blood-slick stone floor. The Choir of Sins—dozens of them—lay scattered around him, their robes smoldering, their bodies twisted in unnatural angles, like marionettes with their strings cut.

The smell of burnt flesh and holy fire hung thick in the air.

And standing amidst the wreckage was Gabriel.

But this was no man in a dark coat, no cryptic messenger cloaked in riddles. This was Gabriel unveiled. His wings stretched wide, not the soft, white feathers of stained-glass windows, but massive appendages of burning light, edged with blades of radiant fire. His face… it wasn't even a face anymore. It was something beyond human comprehension—a shifting mask of celestial energy, eyes like molten gold, layered voices echoing with every word he spoke.

"Arise, Samuel Vance."

The command wasn't just spoken—it rattled his bones, filled his head, and squeezed his heart until it felt like it would burst.

Vance coughed, struggling to his knees. His vision swam, blood dripping from a cut above his brow. He felt broken, not just physically but in ways he couldn't explain.

Cat's voice pierced the haze. "Vance!"

She was alive, pinned beneath debris near the altar, blood on her temple but breathing.

Vance stumbled toward her, dragging her free. "I've got you."

But Gabriel's voice snapped his attention back.

"Do not delay. We have much to discuss."

Vance's jaw clenched. He pulled Cat to her feet, steadying her as she wiped the blood from her face.

"Yeah," Vance rasped, glaring at Gabriel. "We've got plenty to talk about, starting with why the hell you let this happen."

Gabriel didn't flinch. His burning gaze held no sympathy, no warmth.

"Because it had to."

Vance barked a bitter laugh. "Elena's dead. The second seal is broken. The Choir almost killed us, and you're telling me it had to happen?"

Gabriel stepped forward, and the ground seemed to tremble with each movement.

"You are not here to stop the seals. You are here to be forged by them."

Vance's blood ran cold. "What the hell does that mean?"

Gabriel's wings folded slightly, the flames dimming just enough for Vance to meet his burning eyes without feeling like he'd be incinerated.

"The Choir of Sins seeks to awaken the ancient song—the hymn written in blood and sacrifice. But they do not realize they are only instruments. You, Samuel Vance, are the verse that carries the true power."

Vance shook his head, rage boiling beneath his skin. "No. I'm not part of this. I'm just a cop trying to stop a bunch of psychos."

Gabriel's expression didn't change.

"You are more than that. You have always been more."

Vance's heart raced. Abaddon's words echoed in his mind: "You've always belonged to us."

"No," Vance whispered. "You're lying."

Gabriel extended his hand, and suddenly—

Vance was somewhere else.

A Memory. A Vision. A Truth.

It was raining. Cold. Relentless.

Vance stood in an alley he recognized instantly—St. Michael's, the night of Maryanne Fletcher's murder. But this wasn't the crime scene he'd arrived at as a detective. This was before that.

And he was there.

Younger. Drunk. Angry. Haunted by demons he thought he'd buried under alcohol and bad decisions.

He saw himself stumbling into the alley, hearing a girl's scream. He saw shadows—robed figures, chanting softly, surrounding a terrified Maryanne.

And he'd done nothing.

Just stood there. Watching. Frozen by fear—or maybe something worse.

When it was over, and the Choir had vanished into the night, he'd stumbled forward, stared down at her lifeless body, and told himself he was too late. That he'd arrived after it happened.

But that was a lie.

He'd been there the whole time.

A witness. A coward. A sinner.

The vision shattered like glass, and Vance collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, his heart racing.

Gabriel loomed over him.

"Now you understand."

Vance's hands shook. "No… no, that's not who I am."

Gabriel's voice softened, but it didn't comfort.

"It is exactly who you are. A man shaped by sin, forged in failure. But even broken things have purpose."

Vance clenched his fists, teeth gritted against the tidal wave of guilt crashing over him.

"So what am I supposed to do?" he spat, voice raw. "Fall on my knees? Ask for forgiveness?"

Gabriel's wings folded behind him, his light dimming slightly.

"Forgiveness is not what you need."

Cat stepped forward, her voice trembling but strong. "Then what does he need?"

Gabriel's answer was simple.

"To survive long enough to hear the third trumpet."

Vance struggled to his feet, rage overriding the guilt. "If you're not here to save us, then why are you here?"

Gabriel's eyes burned brighter for a moment.

"To witness what becomes of you, Samuel Vance. The Choir sings for your soul. But it is your voice that will finish the song."

Before Vance could respond, Gabriel's wings flared, and with a blinding flash of light—he was gone.

Silence settled over the ruined chapel.

Vance stared at the spot where the angel had stood, his heart pounding, his mind unraveling.

Cat touched his arm gently. "Vance… what now?"

Vance didn't answer immediately. He stared at the blood on his hands, then at the bodies around them—the Choir's twisted corpses, the echoes of their hymn still lingering in his mind.

Finally, he whispered:

"We find Abaddon."

He holstered his gun, his eyes dark with purpose.

"And we end this before the third trumpet sounds."