The Nun 3 (2025) opens with an unsettling sense of déjà vu, as the remote Romanian abbey—once the epicenter of Valak’s terror—lies abandoned beneath a thin shroud of morning mist. The Church, scarred by past horrors, hesitantly sends Sister Maria, a young novitiate with an unwavering devotion, to investigate rumors of renewed demonic activity. Unbeknownst to her, she carries a fragile hope that faith alone can drive out ancient evil, but the abbey’s stained walls whisper a different story.

Upon arrival, Sister Maria is joined by Father Luca, a priest haunted by suppressed memories of his own dreadful experiences with Valak years before. His stoic exterior cracks as uncanny occurrences begin—a lullaby echoing through empty hallways, a sudden chill that bends the candlelight, and flickers of an otherworldly silhouette. The abbey’s bell tolls by itself at midnight, summoning them to confront shadows that ripple across stone floors like living ink. Together, they sense that whatever is stirring here is far more cunning—and far older—than before.

As they descend into the labyrinthine crypt beneath the chapel, their faith is tested relentlessly. Shadows twist into writhing forms, and faint voices grow into maddening chants. Sister Maria is drawn to a sealed sarcophagus etched with cryptic markings, while Father Luca’s trembling voice recites rites he thought he’d buried forever. Each attempt to invoke divine protection only intensifies the otherworldly presence, suggesting that Valak has evolved, feeding on both fear and faith.

In their darkest moments, visions blur past and present: Maria sees a reflection swapping places with herself, while Luca remembers the eyes of the nun in his nightmares—two black voids that suck in salvation. The film’s terror arises not just from jump scares but from a creeping realization: faith alone may be the conduit Valak needs to break into the world indefinitely. Their prayers, meant to save, instead serve as keys to unleash an even deeper malevolence.

As dawn’s first rays barely touch the chapel’s battered altar, both Sister Maria and Father Luca, now physically and spiritually drained, confront the demon in a final, harrowing exorcism. Candles snap out as a voice—a distorted lullaby—echoes a final taunt. The abbey groans as eternity seems to slip through their fingers. In a moment of unthinkable sacrifice, Maria recites the rite not to banish but to seal—offering her own light as a lock—and Luca, with arms trembling yet resolute, helps close the darkness shut.

The Nun 3 closes with the abbey silent once more, but Maria is gone—and Luca stands alone, tears mingling with ash, clutching a holy relic that pulses faintly in the dim. The evil may be contained, yet the cost of the seal lingers, suggesting the victory is fragile, and the darkness waits patiently for any flicker of doubt. In its final beats, the film reminds viewers that salvation can demand the greatest of sacrifices—and that evil, even when bound, may endure in the shadows.