Back in a new, even more dismal safehouse, despair hung thick. No bounty, no ledger, and a revelation that threatened the fragile foundation of their alliance.
"He owns our souls?" Cassiathon finally spat, breaking the silence. "What does that even mean? The contract was for debt repayment."
"Unless the debt is impossible by design," Raguel said, his analytical mind piecing it together. "A soul's value is finite. But if the 'debt' is a metaphysical leash, not a financial sum… we were never working towards freedom. We were proving our usefulness as permanent assets."
Lilithiel sat curled in a corner, the memory-share with Sariel having hollowed her out. "Razamon and the Bloodthorn Syndicate… I knew their leader, once. Before my fall. Seraphiel."
The name landed like a thunderclap. Seraphiel Bloodthorn was a legend, a mercenary kingpin whose influence spanned worlds.
"You knew him?" Cassiathon pressed.
"We were… akin. Different choirs, same purpose. His fall was one of ambition, mine was…" she trailed off. "If Razamon is cleaning house with Bloodthorn, it means their alliance is shifting. We're pawns in a power play between two arch-devils."
The weight of it was crushing. They were not just damned; they were insignificant.
A sharp knock at the door made them all jump. It was not an enemy's pound, but a polite, firm rap. Raguel, pistol drawn, opened it a crack.
A woman stood there, her aura one of calm, profound sadness. It was Sariel Dreadmire, now in a more solid form.
"The Pale Mistress's familiars still lurk in the city's reflection-pools. You are being played from both sides." She offered a small, water-filled vial. "A memory of Malphas's fear, taken from my mire. It holds the location of a backup copy. He was not a fool."
"Why help us?" Lilithiel asked, suspicious.
Sariel's stormy eyes met hers. "You paid your toll with truth. And I despise those who hunt in my waters uninvited. The Mistress is one such." She placed the vial on the floor. "Find the copy. Learn the truth of your chains. Then break them."
She turned to leave, then paused. "The ledger details a 'Soul-Forge' in Razamon's keep. Your names are on the intake ledger. Not as borrowers. As inventory."
With that, she was gone.
The vial glimmered. A new target. A sliver of hope, razor-thin and infinitely dangerous.