Parallel Memory

Chapter 646: The Throne of Silence

The crimson gate sealed shut behind him.

For a moment, there was only stillness—no sound, no wind, no trace of life. Zero stood in the middle of a vast obsidian corridor, his breath visible in the chill that hung unnaturally in the air. The walls pulsed faintly, veins of molten red threading across the black stone like living arteries. Every step he took echoed as if the palace itself were whispering in response.

The deeper he went, the heavier the atmosphere became. The mana in the air wasn't just thick—it was alive. It pushed back, resisting his every movement, testing him like a gatekeeper ensuring only those worthy could approach.

Zero's eyes narrowed as he pressed forward.

A faint tremor rippled beneath his boots. The ground shifted, and from the ceiling, drops of glowing liquid mana fell like crimson rain, dissolving into the air before touching the floor. The entire corridor began to hum, low and rhythmic, like a living organ.

And then he saw it.

The throne room.

A vast chamber opened before him, so large it felt like stepping into another realm entirely. Its ceiling disappeared into darkness, supported by colossal pillars carved in the likeness of devils—wings unfurled, faces twisted in reverence and pain. At the center stood a throne of black crystal, jagged yet regal, pulsing with the steady heartbeat of the domain's core.

And upon it sat him.

The Devil King.

Aamon.

He looked almost human—almost. His frame was tall and lean, clothed in regal crimson and black, but his skin shimmered faintly as though layered with scales beneath. His eyes burned like dying stars, ancient and weary yet terrifying in their intensity. And when he lifted his gaze to meet Zero's, the air itself seemed to bow.

"So…" Aamon's voice echoed like a thousand overlapping tones. "You've finally come."

Zero said nothing. His jaw tightened as the pressure around him increased. The air felt heavier than stone, pressing down on his body with the weight of centuries.

Aamon leaned forward, resting his chin against his knuckles. "You carry the scent of something familiar. Ah… yes. The girl's mana clings to you."

Zero's hand twitched toward his blade. "Leave her out of this."

The Devil King smiled faintly, as if amused. "You think you can command what is already part of my design?" He rose slowly from the throne. The moment he stood, the entire palace shuddered.

Pillars groaned. The floor rippled like the surface of a disturbed lake. The black crystal walls reflected their forms in distorted, shifting fragments. Mana surged outward from Aamon like a tide, crashing against Zero's aura and testing its resolve.

Zero steadied his breath. This pressure... it's like fighting the air itself.

The two forces collided in silence first—then in sound.

With a thunderous roar, the room ignited. Cracks of crimson lightning split the ceiling as the sheer density of their mana clashed, creating storms that tore through the air. Every inch of the chamber reacted—walls rippling, the throne pulsing brighter, shadows twisting like living things.

Zero slid his foot back, lowering his stance. His mana flared, the familiar chill of frost forming around his body, merging with the faint traces of darkness he carried. Ice and shadow intertwined—cold and void converging.

Aamon's eyes glimmered. "So you wield both frost and a sword"

Zero glared at him. "You talk too much."

With that, he moved.

The floor shattered as he launched himself forward. In an instant, Zero's blade—its edge coated with frost mana—slashed toward the Devil King. The air screamed as it cut through. But before it could connect, Aamon raised a single hand.

The strike stopped midair.

Zero's eyes widened—the blade trembled against an invisible force, a solid wall of condensed mana. Aamon flicked his wrist, and Zero was thrown backward, skidding across the marble floor.

The shockwave tore through the throne room, toppling nearby pillars.

Zero caught himself, sliding into a crouch, the frost at his feet melting under the infernal heat that had begun to flood the chamber. The air was warping; fire and shadow entwined around Aamon like living serpents.

"You bear strength," the Devil King said, his voice calm amidst the storm, "but not conviction. Your power wavers—rooted in vengeance, not purpose. Tell me, human… do you even know why you fight?"

Zero's teeth clenched. "Because of what you did to us. to me"

Aamon tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with faint amusement. "Ah… so that's it. You believe your suffering makes you righteous. How quaint."

Zero lunged again, frost exploding beneath his feet. A blizzard of mana surged forth, freezing the ground as he closed in, slashing again and again—each swing faster, sharper, colder. The Devil King moved with inhuman grace, his hands weaving through the air, redirecting the strikes effortlessly.

Every time their powers met, the world around them bent.

Frost met flame. Void met dominion.

Each impact distorted the walls, causing ripples of reality to pulse outward. The palace was no longer just a structure—it was alive, reacting to its master's emotions.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the throne's base. The murals in the distant corridors began to flicker, showing visions of past kings and forgotten wars. The very essence of the domain trembled under the strain of two clashing wills.

Zero ducked beneath a sweeping blast of fire, countering with a surge of frost that solidified the flames midair into crystalline ice. He then swung upward, shattering the frozen inferno into a storm of glittering shards.

But Aamon was already there, his hand closing around Zero's throat faster than sight.

"Pathetic."

Zero's feet lifted off the ground as the Devil King raised him with ease. The air burned with oppressive energy.

Yet even as his vision blurred, Zero didn't stop resisting. Frost energy erupted from his body, spreading outward in waves, biting into Aamon's arm. Steam hissed where the two forces collided, and for the first time, Aamon's grip faltered.

Zero seized the chance—his hand ignited with shadow mana, and he drove it into Aamon's chest. The explosion sent both of them flying backward, crashing into opposite sides of the chamber.

When the dust cleared, both were standing again—wounded, but unyielding.

Aamon chuckled softly. "Interesting. You're not merely human, are you?"

Zero said nothing, his breath steadying as the frost aura around him intensified.

"You carry something else within you," the Devil King continued. "A shard of something ancient… perhaps a memory? No, not a memory—a link."

Zero's silence was answer enough.

Aamon's grin widened, and the palace walls pulsed again, as if feeding on the revelation. "So the fate I tried to rewrite finally arrives at my doorstep. How poetic."

He spread his arms wide, the air distorting as flames and darkness swirled into a vortex behind him.

"Come then, child of defiance," he declared, his voice shaking the very pillars. "Let us see whose will this world remembers."

Zero tightened his grip on his blade, his frost aura now burning bright enough to pierce the gloom. The throne room vibrated as the clash of their mana reached new heights—each pulse warping space, each breath burning reality itself.

This was no mere duel.