The clash of the purple sword energy against the Underworld Finger’s dark purple created a crazy Mana Storm – a spot where the usual rules of reality got twisted because of the fight between two powerful forces. Lightning flashed, not quickly, but as long, bright lines that lit up the ruined Vistro estate in scary bursts.
The force of the first hit was huge. It blew all the leaves off the trees nearby and turned the night sky into a mess of swirling magic. For a moment, the Marquis couldn’t even see Edward; the magical energy was too thick.
However, as the storm began to thin, a horrific reality became clear.
The Underworld Finger emerged from the center of the vortex, entirely unscarred. The demonic bone, forged from the sacrifice of a century of life, possessed a conceptual resilience that rendered standard mana attacks futile. It didn’t just survive the sword energy attack; it seemed to have absorbed it, making its dark purple glow even stronger.
Edward, standing at the edge of the fading storm, didn’t seem surprised. He showed no expression at his sword energy attack dispersing, no hint of frustration or shock. Instead, he kept staring at the bone finger with a cold, calculating look.
After that, Edward began to teleport again.
To the observers on the ground, he was a flickering ghost. Crack. Crack. Crack. He appeared in one corner of the sky only to vanish before the Underworld Finger could strike, reappearing hundreds of feet away in a different altitude. It was a repetitive move that seemed pointless to the panicked onlookers.
But the Marquis, despite being weak and in pain, began to notice a pattern and a clear intent behind Edward’s movements. Edward wasn’t merely fleeing; he was orbiting, as if waiting for the perfect moment to act. He followed precise paths through the air, timing each movement to the pulses of demonic energy coming from the finger.
The realization irritated the Marquis. It looked as though Edward was trying to extract something from the demonic spell itself, as if he had known all along that this spell would be used.
’He’s up to something,’ the Marquis thought, his mind clouded by the corruption of the spell. ’He’s waiting. But for what? No one survives the Underworld finger!’
Actually, Edward was using the demonic spell like a resource. In his past regressions, he had learned that the Underworld Finger was a way to get to something called the Ancient Demon Fragrance. This rare, corrupted essence that could be purified by his Saint Flame to provide a massive boost to a High Mage’s sea of consciousness. Edward was tricking the spell, making it use up its outer layers of energy until only the strong core was left.
Irritated by Edward’s constant evasion and feeling his own life force flickering like a guttering candle, the Marquis decided to end the chase. Through his will, he commanded the underworld finger to change its form.
The skeletal hand, which had been chasing Edward as a single, pointed finger, suddenly opened its palm wide.
It was a gruesome sight. The five fingers spread out, getting bigger until the hand looked like a giant, white bone umbrella hanging over the Vistro manor. It was huge; the shadow it cast seemed to cover the entire moon and stars.
Then, it released its Demonic Pressure.
It wasn’t a physical attack, but a sudden, intense increase in the gravity of the area. The air felt heavy. In an instant, Edward was pulled from the sky. He was slammed into the ground like a meteor, hitting the center of the courtyard. The ground broke into a ten-foot-deep hole, and the gravity pinned him down, making his limbs feel like they were being held by the planet itself.
The Marquis offered a distorted, bloody smirk. Surely, even a High Mage couldn’t withstand the concentrated pressure of the Underworld!
The demonic pressure was so vast and wide that it didn’t just target Edward; it saturated the entire estate.
Knights in the distance were slammed onto their bellies, their armor groaning and denting under the invisible force. Maids in the manor collapsed where they stood, unable to lift their heads from the floor. The very foundations of the manor began to sink into the soft earth.
Captain Valerius, lying near the wreckage of the garden, was pinned flat. His one remaining arm clawed at the dirt, his face pressed against the soil. Despite the agonizing pressure, he managed to turn his head just enough to spare a gaze at the Marquis.
Valerius felt a wave of profound disappointment that outweighed his physical pain. He had served the Vistro house his entire life, believing in the strength of his master. But to see the Marquis now—a withered, grey-haired husk with a demon’s arm protruding from his throat—was a sight that broke the knight’s heart.
The Marquis had thrown away forty years of honorable cultivation for a single, desperate attack. He had traded his longevity and his dignity for a demonic spell. Valerius knew by using such a spell, the Marquis had permanently damaged his mana core. By embracing the demonic path, even if he survived this fight, his cultivation would be crippled. In his current, weakened state, even a talentless child like Damian might have a chance to strike him down. The head of the Vistro house had become a slave to his own fear.
Edward lay in the crater, surrounded by the purple demonic pressure. The weight was crushing, enough to break a dragon’s bones.
Slowly, the dust in the crater began to swirl.
To the Marquis’s horror, Edward’s fingers twitched. Then, his elbows. With a sound of breaking stone, Edward started to push himself up. His clothes were ripped, and blood came from his mouth, but his eyes were wider and brighter than ever.
Edward moved slowly, his muscles shaking. He got up on one knee. Then, he stood. He was the only one in the entire manor who could stand under that weight, a single act of might!
The Marquis’s face twisted with anger. He couldn’t believe it.
’Back down!’ the Marquis yelled in his mind.
He put all his remaining energy into the spell. The Underworld Finger glowed with a black light, and the demonic pressure increased tenfold! The air turned purple-black, and there was a loud sound as the weight increased.
The force hit Edward hard. His knees gave way, and the stone beneath him turned to dust. He was forced back to his knees, his forehead almost touching the ground as the ground sank even further.
’Accept Death!’ the Marquis thought, as he gave Edward a killing gaze.