Rising from the Ashes (Andrew) novel Chapter 3142

Everyone answered in unison, their voices booming, "Yes, sir!"

Andrew turned his head, gazing westward. The battle there was even more brutal than the one at Throne City. The Cathedral's Vindicators seemed stuck in quicksand, desperately trying to break free but unable to.

Masses of white-armored warriors lay scattered across the battlefield, their faces beneath the armor filled with terror and horror. They no longer show the fearlessness of the Cathedral's faithful followers.

Ragnar and Jorge, the two Dark Progenitors, had dealt a devastating blow to the Cathedral's army.

The first casualty was Lysander, who fell right there on the battlefield. This nearly shattered Arya's composure as she pursued Andrew. She had always thought of Lysander as her little brother, after all.

Besides, as a fellow angel of the Cathedral, she had always been respected and adored by the angels beneath her as their big sister. But now, he was gone.

Arya became like an enraged bulldozer, charging in and out of the Dark Army relentlessly. Her frenzied slaughter drew constant roars of fury from the two Dark Progenitors.

For a moment, even their combined efforts could not suppress her. With Kass and Makhaylus' support from the sides, the Dark Army gained no advantage. Overall, the casualty ratio was one to three. For every Cathedral warrior who died, three from the Dark Clans fell.

Gaston and Edmund, the two Dark Princes, had also become bloodthirsty killers. The forces of darkness and light had been in a standoff for far too long. They had clashed more than once before. However, it was unprecedentedly brutal and complete this time.

It seemed like the fighting would not stop until one side was completely wiped out.

The Vindicators' casualties continued to mount.

Kass could no longer stay calm. After all, such heavy losses were irreversible. Only vengeance, only crushing the current Dark Alliance in one strike, could justify the death of those fallen warriors.

"Die!"

The hate-filled roar echoed across the sky.

Gaston seized the moment when Makhaylus was exchanging blows with Edmund to attack from behind. In one strike, his sharp claws pierced straight through Makhaylus' heart. From behind, they penetrated all the way through to his chest.

Makhaylus let out an unintelligible grunt from his mouth. Then, he plummeted headfirst toward the ground.

However, it was useless. From Arya's blackened wings, glowing feathers shot out one after another. They seemed to be unbound by space or time, beyond all restraint.

In an instant, they pierced through the dark barrier and rained down like arrows into the two Progenitors' bodies. The two Progenitors twisted in midair, their mouths releasing earth-shattering screams.

Then, Ragnar completed his transformation into a massive werewolf form. He was fighting for his life now.

Jorge, the vampire progenitor, completely turned into a cloud of blood mist. Within the blood mist, only a floating skull remained. He, too, unleashed his strongest power.

Andrew, who had been watching the western sky, withdrew his gaze. On his face was a smile mixed with mockery and pity.

Arya, no matter how pure, sacred, and supreme she had been as an angel, now also felt true helplessness and despair.

From her current state, there were faint signs that she was transforming into a fallen angel. That crazy woman had finally paid a brutal price for her hypocrisy, for her foolish worldview that saw the world as only black or white.