Dante sat in the Broker’s study, surrounded by stacks of contracts that smelled of dust, ink, and something less tangible—power, waiting to be claimed. Some were ancient, their parchment brittle and yellowed, edges curling as if whispering secrets long forgotten. Others were sleek and modern, printed on obsidian-black paper that shimmered in the dim candlelight, the ink shifting like a living thing beneath his gaze.

  Each one was more than just an agreement.

  Each one was a weapon.

  A blade to cut down an enemy. A snare to bind a soul. A key to unlock power—or a coffin waiting to be nailed shut.

  And Dante had barely scratched the surface.

  The Broker leaned back in his chair, hands steepled, his smirk as sharp as the contracts themselves. “Starting to see the real game, aren’t you?”

  Dante exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He had always thought of contracts as simple—you make a deal, you get something, you pay for it. An exchange. A transaction.

  The Broker chuckled, the sound rich with amusement and just a touch of condescension. “Oh, Dante. That’s like saying a loaded gun is just about pulling the trigger.”

  He tapped the nearest contract with a single finger, and the ink twisted—letters shifting, reforming, turning from unreadable symbols into words Dante could actually make sense of.

  Dante watched, transfixed, as the ink writhed like a living thing, curling and snapping into place with an almost hungry precision. It wasn’t just a signature on paper—it was something deeper, older, more dangerous. A contract wasn’t a simple agreement; it was a binding, a piece of reality itself twisted into obligation. And once written, once signed, it wasn’t just words. It was law.

  He reached out, hesitating for a fraction of a second before dragging a fingertip across the parchment. The surface was too smooth, too cold, like polished stone, and beneath it, something pulsed—alive in a way paper shouldn’t be. He could feel it, the weight of the pact thrumming just beneath his skin, as if it was sizing him up, measuring his worth, deciding whether he was prey or predator.

  A chill ran down his spine. This wasn’t just ink and parchment. This was a battlefield, a chessboard, a loaded gun with the safety off. And he was just now realizing he’d been playing blind.

  This wasn’t just about making deals.

  This wasn’t just about making deals.

  This was about understanding the arsenal.

  Types of Pacts: The Pactmaker’s Arsenal

  1. Blood Pacts – The Price of Power

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  "Give of yourself, gain in return."

  The most common type of deal. Simple, brutal. A Pactmaker gives blood, years of life, memories, or even emotions in exchange for power.

  - A flame-user might burn a year off their lifespan for every firestorm they summon.

  - A mind-reader might lose a memory for every secret they steal.

  - A warrior might grow stronger with each battle, but only at the cost of feeling pain twice as intensely.

  - Some debts are immediate. Some drain you slowly, piece by piece.

  Dante’s gut twisted. He already had one of these.

  And he still didn’t know what it had taken from him.

  1. Binding Pacts – Chains That Hold

  "Your soul is the collateral."

  These were the deals that enslaved. Bind yourself to a master, a patron, or a cause, and in return, gain their protection. Their power. Their will overriding your own.

  - Some Pactmakers become thralls, bound to a demon, a god, or something worse.

  - Others sign their free will away—permanently or temporarily, depending on the wording.

  - A few manage to negotiate terms, but those were the exceptions. Most just become property.

  And if you break the pact? The contract collects.

  Dante swallowed. Hard pass.

  1. Curse Pacts – Power at a Twist

  "A gift wrapped in poison."

  Some contracts didn’t just give—they warped. They reshaped reality in ways that were cruelly poetic, offering exactly what was promised but never in the way you wanted.

  - A warrior could gain unbreakable skin, but never feel touch again.

  - A healer might restore any wound, but only by taking the pain into themselves.

  - A Pactmaker might become immortal, but only as long as someone else suffers in their place.

  - Some gained knowledge beyond human comprehension, but could no longer speak of it without bleeding from the eyes.

  Dante shuddered. Some of these were worse than outright death.

  1. Loophole Pacts – The Gambler’s Game

  "Find the crack in the foundation, and you own the house."

  The smartest Pactmakers didn’t just sign contracts. They rewrote the rules.

  - Every deal had fine print, hidden clauses, loopholes waiting to be exploited.

  - Some Pactmakers built entire arsenals out of contracts they should’ve never survived.

  - Others tricked their debtors, finding ways to break or transfer their burdens.

  - The best of them could bend reality itself, warping pacts in ways even the original writers never intended.

  This.

  This was what Dante needed.

  His contract was already stacked against him. If he was going to survive, he needed to stop playing by the rules. He needed to read between the lines, tear apart the clauses, and find the cracks before they buried him alive.

  The contracts around him weren’t just threats. They were maps, blueprints of power, each one a carefully constructed maze of obligations, loopholes, and consequences. Somewhere in that labyrinth, there had to be an exit. A crack. A flaw. A way out. He just had to learn how to see it—how to wield the same laws that bound him and turn them against the ones holding the chains.

  But that meant thinking like them. Like the Brokers, who twisted words into weapons sharper than any blade. Like the Legate, who saw contracts as divine scripture and bent reality to fit their doctrine. Like the Free Binders, who had somehow found a way to slip through the bars of a cage that was supposed to be inescapable. If there was a way to win this game, someone had already played it before him. He just needed to find their footprints in the dark.

  His fingers tightened against the edge of the table. Every second he hesitated, the walls closed in. The debt grew. The noose tightened. The factions watched. If he wanted to live, he had to be faster, sharper, more ruthless than the ones coming for him. It wasn’t about escaping anymore. It was about learning to play the game better than anyone else.

  He looked up at the Broker, heart hammering with something that was almost hope. “Where do I start?”

  The Broker’s grin widened, a glimmer of genuine amusement in his otherwise predatory expression.

  “That depends, Dante.”

  “Do you want to survive… or do you want to win?”