Parallel Memory

Chapter 659: The Throne of Despair

The world outside had fallen silent. Not the silence of peace—but the kind that comes after the storm has broken everything with despair in the air.

Inside the Devil King’s throne room, the air no longer moved. It trembled. Every inch of space seemed alive, resonating with the overwhelming presence that now stood at its center.

Zero’s breath came slow and sharp. The faint glow of his mana flickered around him like dying embers. He stood a dozen meters away from the throne—a throne that no longer looked like a seat, but a gateway.

It pulsed. Slowly. Rhythmically. As though it had a heartbeat.

Aamon sat upon it, the shadow of his body no longer just a shape, but a force of gravity pulling light inward. His form had changed. The ragged cloak of before had melted into living darkness. His once humanoid shape now radiated an aura so dense it distorted vision itself—his silhouette stretching, reforming, and splitting into afterimages that moved seconds out of sync.

When he opened his eyes, two vertical slits of crimson light pierced through the haze. The pressure made the obsidian floor beneath Zero’s boots crack.

"So..." Aamon’s voice echoed like a chorus, one tone human, the other ancient. "You did not run."

Zero said nothing. His hand rested loosely on the hilt of his blade, his eyes steady despite the weight crushing his body.

Aamon rose from the throne, and the air screamed. The obsidian columns groaned as cracks webbed up their sides, and motes of black energy fell like embers from his wings—massive, tattered things that stretched across the room like living shadows.

The Devil King had ascended.

And Zero could feel it—not just in his mana sense, but in his bones. The sheer density of energy around Aamon was beyond anything human.

If a human’s Rank SS power could level a fortress, then Aamon’s presence now... it could erase a nation.

It wasn’t simply Rank SS anymore. It was something higher—SSS.

A realm that humans have only seen in records.

The moment Aamon spoke again, the floor rippled like liquid. "I suppose I should thank you. Your arrival... hastened my awakening. I can feel it now—the world kneels, the boundaries crack. No power can stop me."

Zero kept his focus locked on him. His mana pulsed weakly, flickering around his bodyas he tried to stabilize under the crushing pressure.

"You’re not immortal," Zero said at last, his voice low. "Even gods fall."

( He had seen angels fall in the hands of emperor of destruction his other self)

Aamon smiled—a cold dark smile. "Perhaps. But I am not a god. I am inevitable. The curse that this world birthed to balance its own arrogance."

He lifted his hand, and the space between them bent.

Zero moved just in time—instincts screaming. He vanished into a shadow dance, reappearing several meters to the left, but the impact still caught him. A wall of distorted force ripped through where he’d stood, reducing the ground to molten glass.

Zero’s cloak fluttered in the wave of heat as he slid backward, leaving deep furrows behind his boots. His vision blurred. Even dodging was costing him more mana than usual.

His heart pounded. This pressure... it’s not even his attack. It’s just his presence.

He clenched his sword tighter, forcing mana into the blade. Frost gathered at the edges, mixing with darkness until the weapon shone a faint, eerie blue. His dual art—Cryomancy fused with Shadow Sword Art—responded instinctively.

But even then, the gulf between them felt endless.

Zero could feel it clearly now—the difference between S-rank and what stood before him. It was the difference between touching the sky and becoming it.

He took a deep breath. "So this is what an SSS pressure feels like."

Aamon chuckled softly. "Names... numbers... ranks. You humans love your classifications. But tell me—what do they mean in the face of despair?"

The words echoed strangely, not in the air but directly inside Zero’s mind. He tried to shut it out but felt the devil’s will pressing through his mental barrier like a claw scraping through glass.

"You’ve walked through shadows," Aamon continued, stepping closer, his aura forcing Zero to take a step back. "You’ve seen the weakness of your world. The futility of their ideals. You must have realized by now—the prophecy was not a destiny. It was just a sentence and its meaning changes how you decipher it."

Zero’s eyes narrowed. "...Prophecy?"

"Yes," Aamon said, his grin widening. "You’ve read it, haven’t you? In the Hall of Records. The story of how two figures would rise to slay the devil king once more... but not a Lord hence the result you are alone and the destiny had changed."

Zero’s grip on his sword faltered for a moment. He knew what Aamon was implying.

The prophecy.

"Don’t act surprised," Aamon whispered, voice thick with amusement. "You’ve already glimpsed the truth. You were never meant to win alone."

For a moment, silence filled the hall.

Zero could hear his own heartbeat. His fingers twitched. His thoughts collided—images of the academy, of Mia’s dedication, of Hiro’s unwavering righteousness, of Lilith’s trembling apology before he left.

He had promised himself he wouldn’t die meaninglessly. That he’d fight for himself, not for the world.

But standing here now, that promise felt so small.

Aamon spread his wings wide. The throne behind him disintegrated into particles of darkness, the entire palace trembling in resonance.

"Come then, Zero Elea," the Devil King said, voice shaking the foundations. "For your death awaits"

Zero inhaled, the frost aura returning to his limbs. He raised his sword, steady and silent, the familiar calm washing over him even as the air collapsed under pressure.

Maybe it was impossible. Maybe the prophecy was right.

But it didn’t matter.

He had seen enough futures to know that waiting was a bad option, for heroes always showed up late.

If this world was doomed to repeat itself—he would be the one to break it.

He muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Aamon, "Prophecies can go to hell."

And with that, the shadows erupted.

The throne room transformed into a battlefield of night and ice—Aamon’s flames of darkness colliding against Zero’s storm of frost and shadow. The floor shattered under the weight of their clashing mana. The walls melted. Space itself rippled as power too great for this world tore through reality.

Outside, the shockwave burst from the palace once again, lighting the sky with blinding light.