Chapter 26 – Blades, Blood, and Heart  

The battlefield was bloody mayhem. Celestial bodies littered the ruins of the city, the streets and fields now soaked in divine and demonic blood. Angels had pushed the demon armies away from the city's center, but the demon generals and their soldiers were relentless. Among them, Zython stood at the heart of the carnage, wielding the Angel Fire Blade with deadly precision.

Angels fell in droves, their bodies crumbling into celestial dust. Even a seraphim, a being thought to be nearly indestructible, had fallen before Zython's onslaught. But the angels did not falter. They fought for the balance of the universe, for their creator's world, for survival.

Sean and Matt, despite their human limitations, had lasted longer than expected. They had fought with skill, resilience, and sheer stubbornness, earning the respect of their celestial allies. When they faced one of the demon generals—a towering, grotesque creature with jagged armor and eyes that burned like molten lava—they had somehow managed to take it down. But victory came at a cost. Blood poured from deep gashes across their bodies, and their breath came in ragged gasps as their legs gave out beneath them.

"Get them to the healers," a nearby angel commanded, his voice edged with urgency. "They've done more than their share."

As they were dragged away, Matt groaned, "You better not let me die looking this ugly."

Sean barely had the strength to chuckle. "You always looked like that, mate."

Meanwhile, Wyatt and Zadkiel were locked in combat with Asmodeus, the demon prince whose cruelty was legendary. The battle had been long and grueling, and while Zadkiel fought tirelessly, Wyatt—human as he was—could feel his body betraying him. His muscles burned, his lungs screamed, and his arms felt heavier with each strike.

Asmodeus turned his focus elsewhere for just a moment, and Zadkiel seized the opportunity. He turned to Wyatt. "Go, Wyatt. You've fought bravely, but your body has limits. You have reached yours."

Wyatt's jaw clenched. "I can't leave. My family is still out here. This is what I was prepared for all my life. If I die, I die with honor."

Zadkiel stared at him, then let out a chuckle. "Stubborn mortal." He reached into his armor and pulled out a small vial filled with shimmering golden liquid. "Drink this. It will restore your energy and give you speed beyond your mortal capacity."

Wyatt grabbed the vial without hesitation, downing it in one gulp. Heat coursed through his veins, and suddenly, the pain, the fatigue—gone. He felt stronger, faster, almost invincible. He flexed his fingers, testing the power surging within him.

"You should give me the recipe for this," he quipped.

Zadkiel smirked. "That's an ancient celestial secret."

Wyatt nodded in gratitude, then turned his gaze back to Asmodeus. "Then let's finish this."

Across the battlefield, another fight raged on—one that would soon change everything.

Bastian and Zython had clashed again and again, neither willing to yield. Both were battered and bloodied, but neither showed any sign of stopping.

Zython smirked, wiping blood from his lip. "You're a persistent little gnat, aren't you?"

Bastian didn't respond. His grip on his blade tightened as he lunged forward, their weapons clashing in a burst of sparks. The fight was brutal, fast, precise. They had matched each other strike for strike, wound for wound.

But Zython had an advantage. He had the Angel Fire Blade.

Bastian gasped as Zython managed to sneak a dagger past Bastian's block and embedded itself into his side. His vision blurred, his knees threatened to buckle, but he gritted his teeth and stayed standing.

"I wanted to make you suffer," Zython taunted, twisting the dagger slightly. Bastian grunted but didn't give him the satisfaction of a scream. "But it seems I'm running out of time, and I have a city to take over."

Bastian's grip trembled around his sword. He needed to move. He needed to—

"Any last words?" Zython asked, raising the Angel Fire Blade high above his head.

Bastian looked him straight in the eye, lips curling into a smirk despite the pain. "Go. Fuck. Yourself."

Zython laughed. "Such vulgarity for an angel. But if those are your final words—"

He swung down.

Pain did not come.

Bastian hit the ground, but not because of the blade. Someone had pushed him aside at the last second.

Zython's smirk vanished, his confidence turning into something else—shock.

The Angel Fire Blade had pierced something.

But it wasn't Bastian.

Wyatt stood in his place, the divine weapon buried deep in his chest.

Bastian's breath hitched as time seemed to slow. "No! Wyatt!"

Blood—too much blood—soaked through Wyatt's clothes, dripping onto the scorched ground below. His hands twitched at his sides, and for a moment, there was only silence.

Then, with an almost amused grin, Wyatt tilted his head up to meet Zython's stunned expression.

"Well… that's unfortunate."

He collapsed.