Parallel Memory

Chapter 666: The Anchor of the World

Every ripple of power from the throne room bled into the sky, turning the heavens crimson and the ground beneath into molten veins of light. Mountains shifted. Oceans groaned. The devils at the gates roared louder, feeding on the chaotic surge that poured into them through Aamon’s awakening.

And deep within the palace—Zero stood in the center of it all, his body trembling as he forced the two opposing manas inside him to stabilize the world that was trying to collapse around them.

The air burned. The floor cracked and rippled with black energy. Every time Aamon moved, reality screamed.

Zero had no strength left to waste. Each step forward cost him more than the last. Every breath came jagged, his lungs drawing in air that shimmered like fractured glass.

Aamon watched him with quiet fascination, his massive wings spread wide, their shadows stretching across the broken floor. "You’re still resisting," he said softly, the tone almost admiring. "Even knowing you cannot win."

Zero didn’t respond. He pressed his sword against the ground, forcing his mana downward. The frost spread in a circle, freezing the molten cracks that ran across the floor. Each layer of frost was his mana holding the world together, fighting to keep the palace from sinking into oblivion.

The air trembled as Aamon stepped forward. "You misunderstand your purpose, Zero Elea. You’re not fighting me—you’re fighting the world’s decay. Every ounce of energy you spend here just feeds me more."

Zero lifted his gaze, eyes faintly glowing with a tired blue light. "Then... I’ll use every last drop."

Aamon smiled faintly. "So stubborn. It’s almost... human."

He raised his hand. The motion alone shattered the remaining walls, sending the ceiling’s remnants into the void above. A surge of black fire burst outward. Zero raised his sword, channeling his dual art—shadow and frost weaving together into a shimmering barrier.

The collision sent him flying back, smashing him into a fractured pillar. His vision flickered, his mana circuits screaming in protest. His right arm was nearly useless now, his muscles spasming under the strain.

Still, he didn’t fall. He pushed himself upright, dragging his sword along the floor as he rose. "You said I’m the anchor," he said hoarsely. "Then that means I can still drag you down with me."

Aamon’s laughter echoed through the chamber. "You still cling to defiance. Admirable. Futile, but admirable."

He vanished in an instant. Zero’s eyes widened—Aamon was behind him before he could even react. The impact came like a hammer, slamming into his ribs and sending him tumbling across the floor. His sword clattered away, bouncing once before embedding itself in the molten ground.

Zero coughed blood, struggling to breathe. The edges of his vision blurred.

Aamon appeared in front of him, towering, his expression neither cruel nor kind—just cold. "You cannot fight inevitability alone," he said. "The prophecy said two for a reason. You were never meant to bear this burden yourself."

Zero clenched his fist. "Yeah... well, that’s the thing about prophecies." His shadow pulsed beneath him, forming jagged shapes that reached out, grabbing his fallen sword. "They always assume people don’t change."

He caught the blade again—barely—and drew a shaky breath. Frost exploded outward once more, mixing with shadow in a violent surge.

For a moment, he looked like he was standing in the eye of a storm—shattered but unyielding.

Aamon’s wings spread wider, his smile fading into a grim expression. "Then let’s end this farce."

The Devil King lunged, and the world screamed again.

Their blades met, and the palace walls shattered outward in an expanding ring of energy.

Outside—

At the palace gates, the battlefield had turned into chaos. The devils had become unstoppable. Aamon’s awakening had filled them with power—every soldier fought like a high-ranked general now.

Kaelion’s voice cut through the roar of combat, shouting orders to his commanders. "Hold the center line! Nock, focus on defense! Seraphine, rally the left flank!"

Nock’s divine staff shone with golden light, his holy barriers cracking under the sheer force of the devils’ assault. "They’re... stronger than before! Every one of them!"

"I know!" Kaelion shouted back, his mind racing as his mana flared. "Keep the Saintess protected at all costs!"

The Saintess was kneeling at the rear, hands clasped, light spilling from her palms as she struggled to maintain her barrier over the entire army. Her face was pale, sweat running down her temples. "It’s... slipping... their energy is overwhelming my blessing!"

Kaelion gritted his teeth, his own sword glowing with runic light. "Damn it! If this keeps up—"

A shockwave erupted from the palace—so massive it flattened part of the battlefield. The devils howled with renewed fury, while the humans stumbled, struggling to stay on their feet.

Kaelion raised his arm to shield his eyes from the light. The energy spreading from the palace was unlike anything he’d ever felt—it was both freezing and burning at the same time.

"What... what is happening inside?" Seraphine gasped, her spear shaking. "Is the Devil King—"

"Awakened," Kaelion finished grimly. His voice dropped. "The Devil King has fully awakened."

He turned, his eyes narrowing toward the distant palace. He could feel it—someone was still fighting in there. A faint pulse, buried under the overwhelming energy.

But it wasn’t Mia or Hiro.

This was something else. Someone else.

And whoever it was, they were barely holding the world together.

Kaelion clenched his sword tighter. "Whoever’s inside... they’re buying us time. Don’t waste it!"

He charged forward, blade glowing gold as he struck into the next wave of devils. His swordsmanship was sharp and perfect, but even he could feel the despair creeping in. For every devil they felled, two more rose stronger than before.

Still, retreat wasn’t an option. Not now.

Inside the palace—

Mia and Hiro stood against Aaron, both breathing heavily. The air was filled with dust and heat from their ongoing battle. Aaron’s power had risen too, his flames blazing brighter than ever under Aamon’s influence.

Hiro’s system flickered in warning. His points were draining too fast, and even the Death Star Limit had taken a toll on his body. "He’s getting stronger! I can’t—"

Mia cut him off, her voice sharp. "Then we don’t give him time to adjust!"

Her fists ignited with cold fire—the Tiger Fist Art in its peak form. Each punch froze the air, the shockwaves shattering Aaron’s flames before they could reach her. But her knuckles bled, her breath uneven.

Aaron’s laughter boomed through the hall. "You fight well, little heroes! But your master has already ascended beyond this realm!"

Mia’s eyes hardened. "Then we’ll tear down his throne."

She lunged forward, fists flying, Hiro backing her up with a burst of Starfall. The collision sent shockwaves that tore through the corridors, cracking the palace walls even further.

The whole structure was breaking apart, but they didn’t stop.

Back in the throne room—

Zero was kneeling now, blood dripping from his chin. His sword was embedded in the floor, frost spreading like spiderwebs. Aamon stood tall before him, his aura flooding every corner of the collapsing world.

Zero’s body was almost done—but his mana refused to extinguish. His shadow pulsed faintly, spreading beneath him.

He looked up, his voice a whisper. "Not yet... not while they’re still fighting out there."

Aamon tilted his head. "You think your struggle gives them hope?"

Zero smiled faintly, his vision dimming. "No. I think it gives them time."

And with the last of his strength, he drove his sword into the floor, releasing a surge of shadow and frost that rippled outward—not as an attack, but as an anchor.

The entire world stilled for a heartbeat.

The collapsing space paused. The devils outside staggered for a moment, their movements stuttering as if reality itself hesitated.

Kaelion froze mid-swing. "What... was that?"

The Saintess gasped, her eyes wide as light burst across the sky. "Someone’s holding the world together."

And in that flickering light—Zero stood unmoving, his body barely breathing, his blade buried deep in the floor as frost and shadow wrapped around him like a cocoon.

Aamon stared at him in silence. For the first time, there was no mockery in his tone. Only quiet acknowledgment.

"...You truly are the anchor of this world."

Zero’s voice was faint, barely audible. "Then I’ll hold... until they’re ready."

The Devil King’s eyes glowed faintly crimson. "So be it."

And as the world outside trembled between collapse and survival, the man who refused to die stood alone—between despair and hope—bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.