The battle at the Bloodthorn Citadel was a chaos of clashing energies. Raguel fought beside Seraphiel's forces, his rune-pistol finding its mark against Hellknights. Lilithiel, fighting with grim determination, found herself back-to-back with her old peer.
"You fight well, for a pacifist," Seraphiel remarked, cleaving a knight in two.
"I fight for a chance," she replied, deflecting a moon-blade.
Across the battlefield, they saw her—Cassiathon. She was battered, her armor scorched, one arm hanging limp, but she was alive, carving a path through the fray towards them. She had escaped the library, leaving a trail of fallen assassins.
They fought their way to each other, a reunited trio in the eye of the storm.
Sariodeus confronted them, her dress now smudged with ash. "Persistent vermin. Lord Razamon will be so disappointed to have to scrap you."
The fight was brutal. Cassiathon's fury against Sariodeus's precision, Raguel's shots disrupting her shadows, Lilithiel using the last dregs of her painful light to counter her lunar magic.
Finally, with a combined effort—Cassiathon's blade piercing her guard, Raguel's shot shattering a protective amulet, and Lilithiel's light causing her to flinch—they defeated Sariodeus. She didn't die, but dissipated into a cloud of bitter mist with a shriek of rage, retreating.
The remaining Hellknights, leaderless, fell back.
On the balcony, Seraphiel watched the retreat, then turned to the exhausted, wounded trio. He tossed a single, black iron scroll at their feet—a new Contract.
"The offer stands. My protection, my resources, a war against Razamon. Your souls, transferred to my ledger. With an… expiration date."
They looked at the scroll, then at each other. Cassiathon, bleeding and defiant. Lilithiel, hollowed but resolute. Raguel, grim and pragmatic.
They had learned the truth. They were property. But in a market where souls were traded, perhaps they could learn to be a commodity that bargained.
"We sign," Cassiathon said for all of them, her voice hoarse. "But we hunt with you, Seraphiel, not for you. And our first target is Razamon's Soul-Forge."
A slow, genuine smile spread across Seraphiel's face. He saw not just assets, but potential allies. Dangerous ones. "Agreed."
As they touched their bloodied hands to the new contract, a different bond formed. Not of naive hope, but of shared vengeance and cold, calculated purpose. They were Hell's Bounty Hunters no longer.
They were Hell's Rebellion. And their first true hunt for freedom had just begun.