The descent from the mountain was a blur for Astrid and Panchenko. The ancient Bloodrose Sword, humming with a faint, internal light in Panchenko's grasp, was their beacon. Below them, the sounds of battle raged, a desperate symphony of steel, plasma, and guttural roars that told a grim tale of overwhelming odds.
"Faster, Panchenko!" Astrid urged, her daggers already drawn, her eyes scanning the inky blackness for any stragglers, though the direct path seemed clear, thanks to Harry's unseen vigilance.
Panchenko, surprisingly agile despite his build, scrambled down the treacherous slope, the Sword Saint's training now paying unexpected dividends in sheer dexterity. "I'm going as fast as these legs will carry me, Astrid! This blade feels like it wants to fly!"
At the cave entrance, Adam and his companions were locked in a brutal struggle. The overwhelming numbers of demons pressed in on them, a swirling vortex of claws, teeth, and dark magic. Adam's meta pistol was hot, its plasma blasts still effective, but the power cell was dwindling, each shot weaker than the last.
Jones roared, his axe a whirlwind of destruction, but deep cuts bled from his arms and legs. Harry, though still firing, was panting heavily, his arrows becoming scarce. Julian, a phantom of deadly grace, continued to fell demons with breathtaking speed, but even he was showing signs of fatigue, his movements losing their razor edge.
Even Edward, though a formidable force, was visibly struggling in his battle against Ursa. The Viscount-rank demon was a monstrous opponent, cloaked in shadowy energy, his massive claws tearing at the air, each strike capable of cleaving Edward in half.
Adam knew about the demonic hierarchy now, thanks to Tom. From weakest to strongest, the ranks were Baron, Viscount, Count, Marquis, and Duke. The High Seat demons, like Azazel who had defeated Edward, were all Dukes – beings of immense, almost godlike power. Ursa, as a Viscount, was still incredibly powerful, far beyond the ordinary demon Adam had killed. Edward, even with his restored vitality, was fighting a demon only two ranks below the apex of their power structure. The strain was evident on Edward's face, his movements becoming less fluid, his defense more desperate. Ursa was relentless, his attacks tearing at Edward's renewed strength. It seemed Edward was about to lose, his centuries of starvation not fully overcome by Adam's blood.
Just as Ursa landed a devastating blow that sent Edward sprawling, a streak of light cut through the oppressive darkness.
"Edward!" Panchenko's voice cut through the din of battle, surprisingly clear.
Edward looked up, his crimson eyes widening as he saw it – the shimmering outline of his ancestral blade, hurtling through the air towards him. Panchenko had thrown the Bloodrose Sword with all his might.
The sword spun end over end, a perfect arc. Edward, with a surge of renewed will, reached out, his hand closing around the familiar hilt. The moment his fingers clasped the grip, a torrent of raw, ancient power surged through his body. A wave of crimson energy erupted from him, pushing back the surrounding demons, even forcing Ursa to stumble back a step.
Edward rose, no longer gaunt, no longer struggling. The centuries of starvation, the humiliation of his crucifixion, the losses of his past – all seemed to coalesce into a terrifying, singular purpose. His crimson eyes glowed with an intensity that burned through the darkness, radiating an aura of lethal power. The Bloodrose Sword, now in his hand, gleamed with a malevolent, eager light.
"You think you can hold me, demon?" Edward's voice was no longer raspy, but deep, resonant, and filled with a cold, terrifying fury. "You thought you could break me?"
The battle, which had seemed so lost, now took a dramatic turn. Edward, revitalized and armed with his legendary blade, lunged at Ursa. The true fight, the one that would determine their fate, had finally begun.