Parallel Memory

Chapter 665: The One Who Fights Alone

The throne room was no longer a room.It had become a world of its own—a void of chaos and collapsing light.

The marble pillars that once held the chamber upright were gone, dissolved into floating fragments that drifted through the air like shattered stars. The floor had turned to a rippling surface of obsidian liquid, reflecting the storm above—a mixture of frost, flame, and shadow, each colliding and devouring the other.

At the center of it stood them.

Zero, barely standing, his cloak torn and mana circuits blazing painfully through his skin. Across from him, Aamon hovered above the broken throne, his wings unfurled—vast, endless, alive. Every pulse of his heart sent another tremor through the palace. Every breath warped space.

The Devil King’s true form had ascended beyond comprehension. His veins glowed with molten red light, and his horns now spiraled like obsidian crescents that glimmered with stars. He looked less like a being of flesh and more like a concept—something that existed because despair itself demanded form.

Zero’s sword trembled in his hand.Not from fear—but from rejection. His mana was nearing its limit, the frost around the blade breaking apart each time he tried to push it further.

He gritted his teeth and drew a sharp breath. "You’re... really enjoying yourself, huh?"

Aamon tilted his head slightly, crimson eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. "Enjoyment? No, human. This is truth. You are witnessing what lies beyond your ceiling. The difference between willpower and inevitability."

Zero spat blood to the side and steadied himself. "If this is what inevitability looks like... I’ll rewrite it."

Aamon laughed—a deep, layered sound that shook the entire space. "Rewrite it? You speak as though you are fate’s equal."

"I don’t need to be," Zero said quietly, his voice raw but unwavering. "I just need to exist where I shouldn’t."

And with that, he moved.

The world shattered under his step. The floor split open, and for a heartbeat, the light around him froze. He vanished—leaving behind nothing but an afterimage of frost and shadow. His sword carved through the air, slicing through space itself as he appeared behind Aamon, thrusting forward with every ounce of mana he had left.

Aamon turned effortlessly, one clawed hand intercepting the blade. The impact was deafening. Frost exploded in all directions, freezing the air, but the devil didn’t flinch.

"Still trying to wound me with a mortal weapon?" Aamon murmured.

Zero’s eyes narrowed. "Then I’ll make it something more."

He released his control, letting the chaotic fusion of his two manas spiral freely. The frost aura turned violent, cracking through the shadows and spreading over Aamon’s arm. The Devil King frowned for the first time as ice began to crawl up his wrist, eating away at his darkness.

For a second—a brief, flickering second—Zero saw him falter.

He followed through, spinning and slashing again. The sound of their clash split the silence, tearing through the void. Aamon countered with a backhanded strike, his claws cutting through air like blades. Zero blocked, the impact launching him backward through multiple layers of space until he crashed against the broken ceiling, blood bursting from his mouth.

He gasped, struggling to breathe. His ribs felt shattered. His sword arm trembled violently. But he didn’t stop.

The sound of Aamon’s footsteps echoed as he walked forward—slow, deliberate, mocking.

"Impressive," Aamon said softly. "You’ve lasted longer than most. Tell me, human—what keeps you standing? Surely you know this battle is unwinnable."

Zero wiped the blood from his lips. His eyes burned brighter now, the faint reflection of both frost and darkness within them. "You talk too much."

He swung his sword once more—only this time, the blade didn’t move.

Instead, the shadows around him began to shift. They stretched, multiplied, and formed countless silhouettes—each one a reflection of him.

Aamon paused, curiosity flashing briefly in his gaze. "An illusion?"

"No," Zero said. "A memory."

The shadows around him took solid form—ghostlike projections of himself from the past, from every battle he’d survived, every defeat he’d endured. The echoes of his pain, his resolve, and his failures stood beside him, swords drawn.

"This isn’t illusion or magic," Zero said, his voice steadier now. "This is everything I’ve been. Everything I’ve lost."

The army of shadows charged.

Each slash carried emotion—anger, fear, loneliness, guilt. They swarmed the Devil King, surrounding him in a storm of blades. Frost burst outward, freezing the air, distorting time for mere moments.

Aamon raised his hand. Darkness erupted. A single pulse of his power annihilated half the shadows instantly, but more kept coming—overlapping, overwhelming, relentless.

He frowned, raising both wings to form a shield. "Pointless resistance," he muttered. "They are but fragments."

"Yeah," Zero said, appearing above him, sword glowing blinding blue. "But fragments cut just as deep."

The blade descended.The impact split the palace.

Aamon roared, his wings cracking under the assault. The entire throne room burst apart, the ceiling collapsing as light and darkness collided again in a violent explosion.

Outside, the shockwave rippled across the city—Kaelion’s forces shielding themselves from the blast, the Saintess’s divine circle flickering desperately to maintain structure.

And then, silence.

Zero landed hard, his sword buried deep in the ground. His breathing came in ragged bursts. He could barely move his arm, but he looked up—Aamon’s form was visible through the haze, kneeling slightly, a streak of frost crawling up his neck.

He had hurt him.

Even just a little.

Aamon’s laughter broke the quiet. It wasn’t mocking this time—it was almost... entertained. "Remarkable," he said, rising again. "You’ve wounded inevitability itself."

Zero tried to respond, but his voice was gone. His body was trembling uncontrollably.

"You see now," Aamon continued, spreading his wings again, "why this world cannot sustain me. My ascension has gone beyond the balance it was built to maintain. Your existence, your defiance—it is the only reason I remain tethered."

Zero frowned weakly. "Meaning?"

"It means," Aamon said softly, "the moment you fall... the world will end."

The words hit harder than any strike. Zero froze, the weight of them sinking deep into his bones.

He had always thought he was fighting to protect the world from destruction.But now he understood.

He wasn’t fighting for the world.He was fighting as its last anchor.

His presence here—his very resistance—was keeping everything from collapsing into the void.

Aamon stepped closer, eyes glowing brighter than ever. "You understand now, don’t you? That’s why the prophecy said two were needed. One to strike me down—and one to hold the world together."

Zero’s lips trembled. "Then what happens if there’s only one?"

Aamon smiled faintly. "Then the world dies with you."

For a long moment, neither moved. The air was dead still, save for the faint hum of collapsing space.

Zero tightened his grip on his sword. "Then I guess I’ll have to stay alive."

He took a slow step forward. His aura reignited—weak, flickering, but defiant. Every breath burned, every heartbeat screamed, but he stood.

He was alone.And yet, for the first time, he didn’t feel powerless.

If his presence was what held the world together—then he would hold it.Even if it meant dying on his feet.

Aamon’s grin returned. "Then come, anchor of a dying world. Let us end everything."

Zero raised his sword, frost and shadow merging once more. "I’m not dying today."

Their auras collided again—light and darkness spiraling into chaos.