Parallel Memory

Chapter 668: The Fall

Silence.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t belong in a world still alive. The kind that came when time itself forgot to move.

Zero stood in the center of that silence—his breath shallow, his body barely upright. The frost around his feet had stopped spreading. It trembled, flickered, and began to melt. Every heartbeat felt heavier, every blink slower. The air was thick with distortion, light bending at unnatural angles as the world’s balance frayed.

His sword hung loosely in his hand, its once-brilliant glow dimmed to a dull shimmer. The connection between his consciousness and body was slipping; his mana flow staggered like a broken pulse. He could feel himself tearing apart—his mind struggling to anchor to his fading vessel.

Across the throne room, Aamon stood tall, unscathed. His aura was no longer violent but eerily calm—a god looking down upon a fading mortal. His wings unfurled behind him, casting long shadows that swallowed the fractured pillars and floor.

"Your resistance has been admirable," Aamon said quietly. His voice carried no anger, only the cold finality of a verdict. "But even anchors rust. Even frost melts beneath the sun."

Zero’s grip tightened, though his arm trembled. His vision swam, the outlines of the world beginning to blur. He’s right... my link’s fading. His soul was slipping out of sync, his mind caught between this collapsing space and something beyond.

He fell to one knee.

The sound of his body hitting the ground echoed through the ruined chamber like a distant bell.

For a moment, his thoughts fractured—memories flashing like shards of glass: the academy, Lilith’s quiet smile, Aidan’s laugh, Mia’s frost-lit eyes, Hiro’s reckless grin. Commander Eleanore’s words—"You’re not alone, Zero"—rang faintly in the haze.

But that was long ago. The present had no place for those voices.

Aamon began walking toward him, each step sending ripples through reality. "You were never meant to stop me," he said, almost gently. "You were meant to witness. To see what becomes of a world without gods... without balance."

Zero looked up weakly, his voice a broken whisper. "Balance... isn’t... yours to decide."

Aamon’s expression darkened slightly. "Then let me show you."

He raised his hand. Dark light gathered—dense, pulsating energy that twisted the air around his palm. It was no mere spell; it was a collapse. A force meant to erase matter, memory, and meaning all at once.

The Devil King extended his arm. The black sphere grew, roaring with silent power.

Zero’s body screamed at him to stop—to rest, to give in. His mana threads had nearly snapped, his physical form unable to hold the pressure. Yet, deep inside, a flicker remained. A sliver of the same resolve that had carried him through the tower, through the devils, through despair.

He pressed his hand against his chest, forcing his consciousness to stabilize. The world flickered—and for an instant, he saw two of himself.

One—the broken shell on his knees.

The other—his spirit, standing tall, unbound by the limits of flesh.

He could feel it now. His consciousness, half-detached, existed between two realities: one crumbling, one untouched. And he realized something terrifying—Aamon’s power wasn’t only breaking the world; it was tearing the soul threads that connected them all to it.

If he fell here... everything tied to his mana would unravel.

"I can’t..." He forced the words out through bloodied lips, "let that happen."

He rose—barely, but he rose. The ice under his feet cracked and reformed, glowing faintly blue. His body looked frail, broken—but his spirit flared bright, its light cutting through Aamon’s darkness like a flicker of dawn.

Aamon stopped mid-strike, his crimson eyes narrowing. "...Still standing?"

Zero’s mouth curved into a faint, tired smile. "You talk too much."

And then he moved.

Not with speed or strength—but with clarity. His consciousness, unbound, guided his body like a puppet of will. His blade rose, gleaming faintly as frost and shadow fused one last time.

Aamon thrust his arm forward. The black sphere roared toward Zero—

—and collided with the blade.

The explosion shattered the room.

Light and darkness collided, swirling into chaos. The palace’s ceiling finally gave way, the ground fracturing into bottomless cracks. The impact ripped through the realm, the energy wave tearing through the battlefield outside.

*****************************

At the gates, Kaelion’s soldiers were already at their limit.

The devils had grown monstrously strong—ordinary soldiers moving with elite precision, tearing through human ranks like beasts unleashed. Even Kaelion, Seraphine, and Nock together were barely holding the line.

A crimson wave of energy erupted from the direction of the palace, sweeping across the field. The earth quaked, the sky split open, and countless soldiers—human and devil alike—were thrown back.

Kaelion hit the ground hard, coughing blood as his barrier shattered. He looked up toward the burning skyline and froze. "That energy..."

Seraphine staggered beside him, clutching her spear for balance. "That’s not from the devils," she said hoarsely. "It’s from inside."

The Saintess, her golden aura flickering, raised her trembling hands again to reforge the barrier. "It’s collapsing," she gasped. "The entire realm—it’s unraveling!"

Kaelion’s heart sank. He could feel it—the threads of reality breaking apart, the laws of mana themselves distorting.

"The anchor..." he whispered. "is losing his hold."

A massive devil general lunged at him from the smoke, claws glowing red. Kaelion spun his blade, parrying the blow just in time, but his footing slipped. The creature’s raw strength sent him sprawling backward.

Nock appeared behind the general, thrusting his spear through its chest. "Don’t die now, Commander," he said grimly. "We still have people behind us!"

Kaelion gritted his teeth, rising again. "Then we fight until he wins... or until we fall."

***********************

Back in the throne room, smoke filled the air. The explosion’s aftermath left the space half gone—floating shards of marble suspended in a void of black light.

Zero lay motionless among the ruins, his hand still clutching his sword. The frost had faded entirely. His body was cracked with faint blue light—his soul trying desperately to remain inside it.

Aamon stood unharmed, his expression unreadable. "You’ve delayed me long enough."

He lifted his hand once more—dark energy coiling like serpents around his arm. The final strike.

Zero’s consciousness trembled, slipping further away. He could barely feel his limbs. The sound of his heartbeat slowed, echoing faintly like a bell underwater.

He thought of nothing heroic—no destiny, no prophecy. Only faces.

Mia’s. Hiro’s. Lilith’s.

A faint smile touched his lips. "Guess this... is my limit."

And yet, just before the darkness took him—something stirred.