The three emerged from the catacombs hours later, battered but alive. The night sky of Los Angeles stretched above them, scattered with stars that seemed dimmer than usual, as if even the heavens felt the weight of what had been unleashed.
Maxwell pulled his hood low as they moved through the abandoned streets. The silver sword rested across his back, glowing faintly even while sheathed. He could feel the blade thrumming against his spine like a heartbeat, resonating with his Nephilim blood.
Father Anthony walked close beside him, clutching the satchel with the Codex Angelorum pressed tight against his chest. His faith gave him strength, but exhaustion weighed heavily on his steps.
Gabby strode ahead, her presence cutting through the shadows. Though her armor gleamed faintly with celestial light, she wore a simple dark cloak to veil her wings. Even so, pedestrians they passed on the fringes of the city glanced nervously in her direction, sensing without understanding that something otherworldly walked among them.
Finally, they ducked into the safe house—a crumbling church on the outskirts of downtown, abandoned by its congregation decades ago. The stained-glass windows were cracked, but moonlight filtered through them, painting fractured saints across the dusty pews.
Anthony collapsed onto a bench, unstrapping his satchel. "We can't delay. The Codex must guide us."
Gabby nodded, her eyes scanning the church with a soldier's precision. "Samael will not rest. His agents are already moving through the city. We are a step behind."
Maxwell leaned against a pillar, exhaling slowly. His body still ached despite the healing light Gabby had given him. His mind replayed Samael's mocking words over and over. You're not ready.
He shook it off as Anthony spread the Codex across the altar. The ancient pages glowed faintly under the fractured moonlight. The text writhed again, shifting symbols rearranging themselves as if alive.
Anthony whispered reverently, "Lord, guide our eyes…" He traced the passages with trembling fingers until the script settled into clarity.
The vial of eternal souls… forged from the tears of Heaven and the ashes of the fallen. A vessel that binds essence immortal. Once whole, it was divided into shards and hidden among the earth. But where one shard rests, the others are drawn. And if ever the vial is restored… the boundary between worlds shall bleed.
Anthony's voice cracked. "This isn't just one relic. It's pieces. Pieces scattered, each bleeding power, calling to one another like magnets. And if Samael restores them—"
"The gates will collapse," Gabby finished grimly.
Maxwell stepped forward, frowning. "Wait—you're saying we're not just looking for one vial? It's broken? We'll have to hunt down every piece?"
Anthony nodded reluctantly. "And so will Samael."
Maxwell's stomach churned. He had expected a single impossible task. Now it had multiplied into many.
Gabby leaned closer to the Codex, her golden hair catching the faint glow. "The first shard lies near. It has been kept hidden by those who worshipped falsely in His name. Men who traded salvation for power."
Anthony's brow furrowed. "A heretical sect…" He turned a page. "The Church of the Crimson Chalice."
Maxwell raised a brow. "Never heard of them."
"Most haven't," Anthony replied. "They were purged a century ago for blood rites. But their remnants linger, nesting like rats. I've tracked whispers of them in the ruins outside the old aqueduct."
Gabby's eyes narrowed. "Then that is where we begin."
Maxwell shifted uneasily. "If they've been sitting on a shard this long, why hasn't Samael taken it already?"
The angel's expression darkened. "Because shards corrupt what they touch. The longer mortals guard them, the less mortal they remain. Whatever waits for us there… it will not be human."
Silence hung heavy. The crackle of a broken candle wick was the only sound.
Finally, Maxwell broke it with a bitter laugh. "So demons underground, cultists in catacombs, and now mutant zealots guarding cursed artifacts? Great. And here I thought my week couldn't get any worse."
Gabby's gaze softened slightly, her voice calm but steady. "Fear is not weakness, Maxwell. It sharpens the edge of caution. But cynicism dulls it. Choose which you will keep."
Maxwell exhaled through his nose, saying nothing. He strapped the blade tighter across his back.
Anthony closed the Codex carefully, bowing his head in silent prayer. When he rose, there was new steel in his eyes. "If this is our task, then so be it. Better we walk into darkness willingly than wait for it to swallow us."
Gabby turned, her wings rustling faintly beneath her cloak. "Then at dawn, we hunt."
Later That Night
Maxwell couldn't sleep. He sat on the rooftop of the crumbling church, staring at the fractured skyline of Los Angeles. The air tasted of smog and rain. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance, reminders that the world above was still blind to the war brewing below.
He clenched his fists. The memory of Samael's cold smile haunted him. His mother's screams echoed in the back of his skull. He whispered into the night:
"Why me?"
For a long while, there was only silence.
Then, a flutter of wings. Gabby landed softly beside him, folding her cloak around her. She looked at him with knowing eyes.
"You wonder why it was you chosen," she said gently.
Maxwell didn't meet her gaze. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to be half an angel. Half a freak."
Gabby tilted her head, her tone firm but not unkind. "Do you curse the blood of your mother? Or your father's? Or do you curse that you must carry both?"
Maxwell swallowed, bitterness in his throat. "I curse that she died because of me."
Gabby's hand rested lightly on his shoulder. "No. She died because of them. Never confuse sacrifice with blame."
He looked at her finally, his storm-gray eyes weary. "And if I fail? If I'm not strong enough?"
Gabby's wings shifted, gleaming faintly. "Then we fall together. But if you rise…" Her gaze pierced him, fierce as fire. "…the world rises with you."
Maxwell's throat tightened. For the first time, her words planted a seed of something he hadn't felt in years. Not just anger. Not just grief.
Hope.
Dawn
When the sun broke the horizon, the three left the church behind. The city stirred awake, unaware that its fate balanced on a knife's edge.
Maxwell walked beside Anthony and Gabby, his sword heavy but ready. His doubts still lingered, but with each step, they felt a little lighter.
Ahead lay the ruins of the aqueduct, the lair of the Crimson Chalice—and the first shard of the vial.
But in the shadows they did not see, Samael already moved. Watching. Waiting. And smiling.