Parallel Memory

Chapter 630: The Crumbling Flame

The air shook with the fury of Loren’s clash against Erebus, each impact rattling stone and flesh alike. His sword arm trembled from the strain, but still he swung, cutting arcs of steel and pride through the suffocating darkness. The Pride Hunter Style screamed through his veins, bolstered by that ancient instinct his father had once embodied—a beast slayer’s hunger.

But even a predator has limits.

And Misha saw it first.

Her sharp eyes tracked every faltering motion, every extra beat between Loren’s breaths, every stumble that he disguised as a stance. She had fought him before—tested him when no one else had. She knew the rhythm of his arrogance, the speed of his attacks, the ceiling of his strength. What she was seeing now wasn’t a new height. It was Loren scraping against the edges of his limits, desperately feeding on something temporary.

"He’s slowing down," Misha muttered.

Lisa glanced at her, shocked. "What are you talking about? Look at him—he’s still holding on!"

"Exactly," Misha snapped, her eyes narrowing. "He’s holding on. Not growing stronger. Don’t you feel it? That surge... it’s burning out."

The others turned back toward the fight, and one by one, they began to see what Misha meant.

At first, Loren had matched Erebus’s movements with frantic defiance, his blade snapping up in time to intercept claws, his feet darting fast enough to avoid death. But now... now each parry left deeper grooves in the ground. Each dodge came half a breath too late. His clothes clung to him with sweat and blood, his arms trembling visibly whenever he raised his blade again.

Still, he fought. Still, he roared with defiance, even as his voice cracked.

Erebus, on the other hand, moved with a predator’s patience. No longer testing. No longer amused. The dark wolf’s crimson eyes gleamed as if savoring the inevitable. Its claws lashed out in heavy arcs, shadows following every swipe, the sound like the splitting of mountains. And each time, Loren barely survived.

The squad felt it in their bones: this was no longer a contest. It was survival measured in heartbeats.

Mia pressed a hand against her chest, steadying her breathing. Her heart had wanted to believe—wanted to see in Loren a rising ally, a strength they had overlooked. But her instincts, honed from years of experience, whispered the truth. "Misha’s right," she admitted quietly, her voice heavy. "He’s... burning himself away."

Zion clenched his fists, frustration darkening his expression. "Damn it. I thought—" He cut himself off, unable to admit aloud that even he had begun to believe in Loren’s apparent breakthrough.

Hiro’s jaw tightened as he watched Loren stagger under another claw strike. "He’s lasting longer than I ever thought he could. But it won’t be enough."

Lisa swallowed hard, eyes darting nervously between her teammates and the brutal clash. "So... he really hasn’t broken through?"

"No." Misha’s voice was sharp, absolute. "If he had, he wouldn’t be fighting like this. His power would be stable, refined, controlled. What we’re seeing..." Her eyes narrowed. "It’s desperation disguised as strength."

The words landed like a hammer.

Because as much as they wanted to deny it, the evidence was clear.

Erebus lunged, its massive form crashing against Loren’s defense. His blade screamed under the pressure, sparks exploding as steel met claw. Loren shouted, forcing his muscles to obey, pushing back with everything he had. For a heartbeat, it looked as if he had stopped the beast. But then—

Crack.

His knee buckled. His sword arm shook violently, unable to sustain the clash. Erebus pushed harder, forcing him down to one knee.

The squad’s hearts sank.

"Get up, Vance..." Hiro muttered, his voice caught between encouragement and fear.

Loren’s teeth ground together, his thoughts a storm. I can’t—no, I won’t—fall here. Not in front of them. Not in front of him.

His father’s shadow loomed in his mind, the whispers of every comparison, every boast he had made. If he collapsed here, he would confirm every doubt, every sneer.

He roared, forcing his blade upward in a desperate arc. His aura flared again, bright and wild, buying him another moment of survival. The Pride Hunter Style surged, granting him one last burst of defiance.

But Misha shook her head. She knew the truth. "That’s not power. That’s the last spark of a candle before it burns out."

Erebus snarled, as if amused by Loren’s resistance, then leapt back only to crash down with even more ferocity. Its fangs glinted, jaws wide enough to tear through steel. Loren raised his blade again, but his arms were heavy, his vision blurred with sweat and blood.

The squad gasped as the impact rang out, Loren slammed into the ground, coughing blood. His blade slipped from his trembling hands, clattering across the stone. For the first time, he lay there, vulnerable, shadows of the wolf looming over him.

Lisa covered her mouth with her hand, her voice breaking. "He... he can’t keep this up."

Zion’s expression hardened. "He was never keeping it up. We just wanted to believe he could."

Mia’s eyes never left Loren, her chest tightening with a mixture of admiration and dread. "No... he’s shown us something. Even if he’s not Rank S, even if he’s burning out—he stood his ground against Erebus longer than any of us thought possible."

Misha crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. "But standing isn’t winning. And he’s about to break."

As if to prove her words, Loren tried to push himself back up, his body trembling violently, his breaths ragged. He spat blood, forcing a laugh through his pain. I can’t... end like this. Not while they’re watching. His pride screamed louder than his body’s agony.

But even he knew. His strength was gone. His reserves drained. The Pride Hunter Style had carried him farther than he deserved, but it was not enough. Not against this beast. Not against a devil’s champion.

The squad finally saw it with clarity.

Misha had been right from the beginning.

The surge of strength had never been a true breakthrough. It was desperation wrapped in a blood-soaked will, temporary and fleeting. And now, as Erebus advanced with killing intent radiating like a suffocating fog, Loren’s candle was flickering, the flame collapsing under its own weight.

Mia whispered, almost to herself, "Then this... this is the end of Loren Vance."

No one argued. No one had the heart to.

For all his arrogance, for all his flaws, he had shown them something they hadn’t expected—something they almost wanted to believe in. But reality was cruel.

And in the face of Erebus’s true might, Loren’s pride was crumbling into dust.