[That plan works, and the figure's feet sink into the ice. The tip of the sword merely catches Ed's shoulder, slicing a shallow cut into his skin through his shirt. It burns white-hot just as the stab through his gut did. That sure is a lot of pain for a tiny little scrape. Along with that scrape comes a feeling]

[You can't do this alone]

[The figure lets out a shrill noise before it backflips away from Ed and into a nearby tree. It crouches against the trunk, using it as a springboard so it can launch itself through the air riiiight at him like an arrow]

[And it sure is using the sword as its arrow tip]