Parallel Memory

Chapter 573: Revenge completed

Xalvar staggered, blood pouring freely from the gashes Hiro had carved into him, his breaths coming in ragged snarls. His once-proud wings, torn and slick with his own corrupted ichor. Yet his eyes still burned with defiance, unwilling to bow even in defeat.

"You think... you’ve won?" he rasped, coughing up more black blood. His rusted sword trembled in his grip, cracks spreading across its corrupted surface from the strain of their prolonged battle. "Even if I fall here... Lord Aamon’s will... will not be denied."

Hiro’s chest heaved, his own wounds screaming in protest. He could feel his muscles fraying, his veins alight with unbearable fire from forcing his skills beyond their limit. His hands nearly shook off his sword, yet he raised it again, steadying it with every ounce of will he possessed.

"This ends... now."

Xalvar bared his teeth, snarling like a beast. He lunged forward, one final desperate strike, his blade aiming straight for Hiro’s heart. The ground split beneath the devil’s force, his remaining strength poured into this last attack.

But Hiro was faster.

With a roar that shook his battered frame, Hiro met the strike head-on. Their blades collided in a blinding explosion of sparks, the shockwave rattling the broken stadium walls. For a heartbeat, time itself seemed to freeze as the two forces clashed—fate against defiance, prophecy against will.

Then Hiro’s blade, glowing with the last vestiges of his burning spirit, shattered through the rusted sword. The devil’s weapon splintered into fragments, scattering across the blood-soaked ground. Hiro’s strike continued unhindered, driving straight into Xalvar’s chest.

The devil’s eyes went wide. His breath hitched as the steel pierced through flesh, bone, and the corrupted core that pulsed within him. For an instant, silence hung in the air. Then, black blood erupted from his lips.

"Nnghh—ahhh—" Xalvar staggered, clutching at the blade buried in him. His wings convulsed, folding inward as if crushed by unseen chains. His body trembled, the immense vitality of a high-ranking devil draining rapidly, his strength dissolving like sand through fingers.

"You... human...!" he choked, his voice breaking, no longer the booming arrogance of a commander but a frail, pitiful rasp. His face twisted between hatred and disbelief. "This... was not... fate..."

Hiro stepped closer, pressing his blade deeper, his eyes burning with unshakable resolve despite the blood matting his hair and the agony twisting his body.

"No," Hiro whispered, his voice ragged but firm, "this was my choice."

With one last push, he twisted the blade. A sickening crack echoed through the battlefield as the corrupted core within Xalvar shattered. The devil let out a guttural scream that reverberated across the arena, his body convulsing violently. His dark energy burst outward, surging in a wild storm before collapsing in on itself.

And then—silence.

Xalvar’s form crumbled, fragments of his body dissolving into ash carried by the wind. The proud commander of the devil army was no more, erased completely by Hiro’s hand.

Hiro fell to one knee, gasping, his sword trembling in his grip. Pain clawed at every fiber of his being, but through the haze of exhaustion, he saw it—Xalvar’s ashes scattering into nothing. He had done it. At last, vengeance was his.

The battlefield around them roared to life.

The devil army, once emboldened by their commander’s presence, faltered in unison. Their shrieks filled the air as the remaining humans surged forward, their morale ignited by Hiro’s victory. The foot soldiers and mid-rank devils, already worn thin from the earlier assault and the mysterious massacre of their elites by the two figures, began to crumble.

"Push them back!" shouted one of the human commanders, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Their leader has fallen! This is our chance!"

Steel clashed with corrupted flesh, and spells flared like stars across the ruined coliseum. The humans, once cornered, now fought with renewed ferocity, striking down the scattered remnants of the devil host.

Hiro’s allies—those who had noticed his duel but trusted him to fight his own battle—pressed harder than ever. Blades gleamed, shields locked, and mana crackled. Within minutes, the tide turned completely. The devils, once a horde that threatened to smother all light, were reduced to fragments of resistance, their cries drowned beneath the relentless advance of human steel.

Blood stained the cracked floor of the stadium, pooling in rivulets that ran down into the shattered earth. Yet amidst that carnage, a spark of victory flared brighter with each passing heartbeat.

Finally, with a united cry, the last of the devil soldiers were struck down. Their bodies lay broken across the arena floor, their dark essence dissipating into nothingness. The battlefield fell silent save for the heavy breaths and the weary groans of the survivors.

The humans stood victorious.

Hiro slowly forced himself to his feet, his sword still clutched in his bloodied hand. His legs shook, and for a moment it seemed he might collapse entirely, but he stood tall, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He had killed Xalvar. The one who haunted his nightmares, who had taken so much from him, was gone.

The commanders moved quickly, surveying the battlefield and rallying the survivors.

"We hold here," one barked, voice stern but edged with pride. "Fortify the arena! Turn this ruin into a bastion! No more running. This place will be our stronghold."

The order spread like wildfire, and weary soldiers straightened despite their exhaustion. Already, they began dragging stone and debris, patching walls, forming barricades, and reinforcing the broken coliseum into a fortress. What had once been a stage of despair was becoming a symbol of defiance.

Priests and healers rushed to the wounded, spreading light across the blood-soaked floor, their chants mingling with the clatter of rebuilding efforts. The survivors worked shoulder to shoulder, every action driven by the knowledge that they had just endured one of the war’s deadliest clashes and had emerged standing.

And at the center of it all was Hiro.

He stood alone for a moment amidst the chaos, watching as the ashes of Xalvar scattered completely into the winds. His chest rose and fell heavily, the pain of his injuries reminding him of the cost of his battle. Yet the fire in his eyes remained undimmed.

The war was far from over. Aamon still loomed like a shadow over everything. And the words Xalvar had spoken—about fate, about another bearing the same blood-mark—gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.

But for now, humanity had claimed a victory. A decisive one.