Judgment Begins

New Orleans, 6:12 A.M.

The sky was a bruised shade of gray, the kind of dawn that felt more like the absence of night than the arrival of day. The fog hadn't lifted, clinging to the streets like a living thing, seeping into every crack and crevice of the city.

Detective Samuel Vance sat on the motel bed, staring at his hands—the same hands that had pulled countless triggers, clenched in rage, and now trembled ever so slightly.

The mark carved into the motel door was burned into his mind.

The words whispered by the Hollow Man echoed in his skull:

"You cannot outrun what you are."

Across the room, Cat Reyes paced like a caged animal, her face pale, her movements sharp with adrenaline.

"We can't stay here," she muttered, stuffing what little gear they had into her bag. "They know where we are."

Vance didn't respond. His mind was miles away, trapped somewhere between the past and the nightmare unfolding around them.

Cat stopped, her frustration boiling over. "Vance, what the hell is going on with you?"

He finally looked at her, his eyes hollow. "I saw it again."

Cat's jaw tightened. "The Hollow Man?"

Vance nodded slowly. "It didn't attack. It just… stood there. Like it was waiting."

"For what?" she whispered.

Vance's throat felt dry as he forced the words out. "For me."

7:03 A.M. – St. Dominic's Church

They found Father Dominic kneeling in front of the cracked altar, the faint glow of candlelight casting long shadows across the crumbling stone. The church was nearly abandoned, dust thick in the air, the once-sacred walls scarred with faded symbols.

Dominic rose slowly as they approached, his tired eyes locking onto Vance's. "I heard about the motel."

Vance didn't waste time. "The Hollow Man found me."

Dominic's face darkened. "Then it's begun."

Cat crossed her arms. "What's begun?"

Dominic gestured for them to follow, leading them into the dimly lit vestry, where ancient texts and relics lay scattered across a dusty table. He pulled out an old leather-bound book, flipping through pages brittle with age.

"The Hollow Men are not just servants of the Choir," Dominic explained, his voice low. "They are echoes—fragments of souls that never crossed over, trapped between worlds. They're drawn to people who are… fractured."

Vance frowned. "Fractured how?"

Dominic's eyes met his, heavy with meaning. "People with darkness inside them. People who've done things they can't forgive themselves for."

Vance felt the words like a slap. His mind flashed to the alley, to Maryanne Fletcher's lifeless eyes, to the memory he'd tried to bury.

"Why me?" Vance whispered.

Dominic hesitated, then opened the book to an illustration that sent a chill down Vance's spine.

It was a figure—faceless, hollow—standing amidst a burning city, surrounded by seven symbols.

"The Choir believes in prophecies written long before our time," Dominic said. "They believe there's a soul that acts as a conduit between this world and the next. A soul marked by both sin and potential redemption."

Cat's voice was barely a whisper. "The third trumpet."

Dominic nodded. "And I fear… you are the key to it."

Vance's fists clenched. "I'm not their key. I'm not part of this."

But the doubt was there, festering.

Dominic placed a hand on Vance's shoulder. "You can't outrun your past, Samuel. But you can choose what to do with it."

Before Vance could respond, the church doors exploded open, the force rattling the stained glass.

Gunshots rang out.

Vance pulled his weapon instinctively, dragging Cat behind a pillar as bullets tore through the ancient wood and stone.

The Choir of Sins was here.

Figures in dark robes stormed the church, chanting in that same sickening rhythm, their voices layered like a corrupted hymn.

Vance returned fire, his mind sharp despite the chaos. Cat fought beside him, her movements precise, every shot finding its mark.

But the Choir was relentless.

Vance spotted Abaddon standing near the entrance, his calm demeanor unchanged amidst the violence. His eyes met Vance's, and he smiled.

Not a grin. Not amusement. Just… inevitability.

Like this was all part of the plan.

Vance's rage boiled over. He broke cover, firing at Abaddon, but the man didn't even flinch. The bullets seemed to vanish before reaching him, absorbed into the air itself.

Abaddon's voice echoed through the church, smooth and commanding:

"You cannot kill what was never truly alive, Detective."

Vance roared in frustration, but before he could reach him, something slammed into him from the side—a Hollow Man.

The creature pinned him down, its featureless face inches from his own. Vance struggled, punching, clawing, trying to break free.

Then it spoke—not aloud, but directly into his mind.

"You belong to us."

Vance's vision blurred. His chest felt like it was being crushed.

But then—

A blinding light.

Gabriel descended from the rafters, his wings a storm of fire and fury. His sword cleaved through the Hollow Man, the creature dissolving into ash with a shriek that rattled the soul.

Vance gasped for air, coughing, his body trembling.

Gabriel stood over him, his face expressionless.

"You cannot escape this, Samuel Vance. Judgment has begun."

Vance stared up at the angel, his heart pounding.

And for the first time, he realized something terrifying.

Gabriel wasn't here to save him.

He was here to witness his fall.