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Cassiel recognized the weapon. His eyes widened fractionally—the only warning before Asmodeus lunged.

The angel parried the first strike, the second, the third—his hands moving in blurred defense. But Asmodeus was relentless, pressing his advantage with the single-minded focus of a predator sensing weakness.

The blade caught Cassiel across the chest. Not a killing blow, but enough to draw blood that shimmered with inner light. Cassiel staggered, momentarily stunned by a weapon that could harm celestial flesh.

Asmodeus didn't hesitate. His next strike was decisive—a vicious combination that ended with the dark blade plunging deep into Cassiel's shoulder. The angel's light flickered, dimmed. He crashed to the floor, blood spilling from his mouth.

“Disappointing,” Asmodeus commented, standing over his fallen opponent. His perfect appearance was barely disturbed—not a hair out of place, his suit still immaculate despite the violence of the confrontation. “I expected more from one of the Watchers. Even a fallen one.”

Cassiel struggled to rise, his wounded body betraying him. Light continued to spill from his injuries, not blood but something more fundamental—his essence leaking into the mortal world. “It's not over,” he managed, the words emerging slurred and weak.

Asmodeus smiled, the expression devoid of joy or triumph—simply acknowledgment of the inevitable. “Yes,” he said softly. “It is.”

The final blow sent Cassiel crashing back to the floor, his light flickering like a candle in the wind. He lay still, defeated but not destroyed. An angel was hard to kill, but easy enough to incapacitate with the right weapons.

Asmodeus turned to the angel, extending his hand palm up in a clear demand. “The Heart. Now.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then Cassiel, his face tight with pain from his injuries, reached behind the altar and lifted the ornate wooden box. The container was large, about the size of a small chest, its surface carved with ancient sigils of containment that glowed faintly in the dim light of the church.

“Cassiel, don't,” Sean growled, but his protest was futile. The deal had been made. Cassiel had lost. We were bound by the terms.

The angel handed over the box, his movements stiff, celestial light still seeping from his wounds. Asmodeus took it with reverence, his fingers tracing the intricate carvings with disturbing intimacy. “Excellent,” he murmured, sounding genuinely pleased. “Our business is concluded.”

For a heartbeat, it seemed we might escape without further bloodshed. Then, without warning, without hesitation, Asmodeus plunged his dagger into Hawk's back.

The attack was so sudden, so casual, that for a moment no one reacted. Hawk gasped, blood bubbling at his lips, his eyes wide with shock rather than pain. He took one staggering stepforward, hand outstretched toward me before collapsing to the stone floor.

“NO!” Sterling's anguished cry broke the frozen tableau. He lunged toward Hawk's fallen form, but it was already too late. Blood spread in a dark pool beneath the hunter's body, his eyes staring sightlessly at the church ceiling.

I moved with unnatural speed, the mark on my chest burning with sudden white-hot intensity. The Heavenly Lash uncoiled from my hand, golden energy cutting through the air toward Asmodeus—but the demon was already fading, his form becoming transparent, insubstantial.

“Our deal didn't include his life,” Asmodeus remarked, his voice echoing as he disappeared. “Only that I would release him. And I did—from this mortal coil.”

The lash passed through empty air where Asmodeus had stood only moments before. The demon was gone, taking with him the final seal and our last hope of containing what was to come.

I sank to my knees beside Hawk's body, hands trembling.

Sterling knelt on Hawk's other side, his movements slow and deliberate as he closed the dead hunter's eyes. His face was a mask of controlled devastation, the grief of a man who had lost too many friends over too many years. “He knew,” Sterling said, his voice barely audible. “He knew this might happen.”

Sean paced the perimeter of the church, restless energy having nowhere to go. “We need to go after him. Now. Before he breaks the seal.”

Cassiel struggled to his feet, his movements stiff with injury. The wounds from Asmodeus's blade still leaked light, but slower now—his natural healing beginning to take effect. “It's too late,” he said quietly. “He's already begun the ritual.”

The angel paused, his gaze moving between me and Sterling. “But first—the hellhound venom. It's spreading through both ofyou.” He stepped closer despite his own injuries, celestial light gathering around his hands. “I can purge it, but it will drain what little strength I have left.”

I looked down at the burning wound across my ribs, feeling the toxic fire spreading through my veins. Sterling's arm hung at an awkward angle, the gash from the hellhound's claws deeper than I'd initially realized. Without Cassiel's intervention, we'd both be dead within the hour.

“Do it,” I said, though the words felt hollow in the aftermath of Hawk's death.

Cassiel placed one hand on my wounded side, the other on Sterling's torn arm. Light flowed from his palms—not the brilliant radiance of battle, but something gentler, warmer. The hellhound venom fought against the celestial energy, hissing like acid before finally being burned away. The relief was immediate and profound.

“There,” Cassiel said, swaying slightly as the healing took its toll. “The poison is gone.”

The bitter truth of those words settled over us. We had failed. Not just failed to protect the Heart, but failed to honor Hawk's sacrifice. Failed to prevent what was coming.

And as I looked down at Hawk's still face, I knew with terrible certainty that this was only the beginning of our losses.

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