Parallel Memory

Chapter 697: A Do or Die

The Emperor’s hand tightened around the condensed sphere of destruction—an absolute void carved into existence. The air shuddered. The collapsing dimension vibrated like a wounded beast. Even the fractured marble beneath our feet seemed to flinch, as though it recognized an extinction-level force.

Then the Emperor moved.

One step.

One breath.

One swing.

His blade cut through the air with no roar, no shockwave, no thunderous explosion—just silence. The world dimmed for a heartbeat, and then—

BOOOOM.

A pillar of annihilation swallowed Aamon whole.

My body staggered backward as the force hit like a pressure wave. Light bent. Space cracked. A soundless scream tore through the dimension as the cataclysmic destruction ripped through everything it touched. I shielded my eyes, but the residual glare still stabbed through my vision.

It didn’t feel like power.

It felt like the world was ending.

When the light finally thinned and dissipated into curling smoke, I forced myself to look.

And I froze.

Aamon was still standing.

Barely—but standing.

A jagged dome of dark mana surrounded him, cracked, flickering, half-shattered. The black shield pulsed weakly around his trembling form. Behind it, Aamon’s skin was burned, shredded, scorched deep enough that bone peeked through the ruined flesh.

But the devil king did not fall.

The damage—small as it was—began stitching shut almost immediately, dark energy seeping out like liquid shadow to reconstruct muscle, bone, and armor-like plating. His breathing wheezed out in ragged bursts as he lifted his head.

His pupils shook.

His voice rasped.

"You... would destroy your own dimension for this?"

The Emperor did not blink.

"You resist reason. This was mercy."

Aamon snarled, forming a second layer of black mana around his hands. "THAT was not mercy. That was execution."

I watched, struggling for breath—not because of the physical damage I had sustained, but because of what the Emperor’s attack meant.

The strongest destructive technique I had ever seen...And Aamon survived.

Not unscathed.

Not unharmed.

But alive.

Healing.

Still ready for another round.

And the Emperor—Even he wasn’t unshaken. His cloak rippled. His shoulders rose and fell just slightly faster than normal. That strike had not been effortless. He had compressed so much destruction into one point that even for him, it was a weight.

Aamon drew in a breath that rattled his ribs.

"You truly intend to erase me," he said quietly.

The Emperor adjusted his stance. "If you stand in the path of the living world, yes."

They had returned to their clash.

But now... I understood something clearly.

The two of them were powerful—but neither could end this quickly.

Aamon healed too fast.The Emperor needed too long to gather concentrated destruction.The battlefield was deteriorating.Mana was thinning.And every second, Aamon’s despair twisted deeper, making him both more unstable—and more lethal.

Just watching them clash would not win this.

Not even assisting with Dual Arts would tip the scale enough.

My hand tightened around my daggers as a thought surfaced.An old concept.A forbidden technique.A reckless gamble that the instructors in the academy used to whisper about but never taught, because the cost was too high and the requirements nearly impossible.

Unison Raid.

A technique for two or more fighters who shared a perfect connection—Not emotional, not romantic, not spiritual.A connection of intent.

Perfect synchronization of breath.

Perfect timing of mana flow.

Perfect alignment of killing will.

If done correctly, their powers did not simply add together.

They multiplied.

Tenfold.Fiftyfold.A hundredfold.

A single strike capable of ending even the strongest foe.

But there was a reason no one used it.

It consumed everything.

Every drop of mana.Every shred of stamina.Every trace of willpower holding the body together.

If the strike failed—If the enemy survived—The users became sitting targets.

Defenseless.Drained.Finished.

Usually dead.

My throat tightened.

Aamon and the Emperor were clashing again, tearing wounds into the dimensional floor. The Emperor’s sword carved arcs of pure destruction, while Aamon’s dark mana claws twisted into serpentine shapes, lashing and coiling with impossible ferocity. Shockwaves hammered my chest.

They couldn’t keep this up.

Not forever.

I wiped the blood from my mouth and forced myself to breathe steadily through the pain.Dragon Force was gone.My body was cracked and bruised.My mana was barely holding together.

But I had something the Emperor didn’t.

Desperation.Instinct.And a reckless, stupid idea that might—just might—tip the balance.

The Emperor deflected a sweeping claw, forcing Aamon backward for half a heartbeat. I took the opening, darting into the widening space between them.

"Emperor!" I shouted.

Both of them paused—just for a second.

Aamon’s glare sharpened.The Emperor tilted his head.

I swallowed, tasting iron and frost in my throat.

"We can’t win like this," I said. "Not with drawn-out exchanges. Aamon heals too fast. And your concentrated destruction takes too long to gather at full strength."

The Emperor didn’t disagree.

He simply waited.

I continued, forcing my voice steady even though every breath burned.

"There’s one way. One technique strong enough to break through his healing. A strike powerful enough to end this all in one blow."

Aamon growled. His mana crackled. "Do not entertain his delusions—"

I stepped forward anyway.

"Unison Raid."

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed, faint surprise flickering across his usually unreadable expression.

Aamon paused, tension rippling across his already trembling frame.

"That technique," the Emperor murmured, "requires synchronization most mortals cannot achieve."

"I know."

"Your mana is nearly gone."

"I know."

"You may die even if it succeeds."

I hesitated—but only for half a heartbeat.

"I know."

Aamon barked a broken laugh. "You are mad, human."

Maybe I was.

Maybe running, surviving, and leaving the world-saving role to Hiro would’ve been smarter. Hiro was the main character of this entire damn era anyway. He had the talent, the destiny, the growth curve that always spiked when it mattered.

Me?

I was the side character.The shadow support.The unnoticed classmate people forgot until they needed something.The one who had to survive quietly in the cracks of fate.

I wasn’t supposed to win the war.I wasn’t supposed to slay the devil king.I wasn’t supposed to change the ending.

But if I could weaken Aamon—Even if I fell here—Hiro, Mia, Misha, Amelia, Lisa, Sylvia, Kaileon, Nock, Seraphine...They would finish the job.

They would save the world.

And honestly...I trusted them more than myself.

So even if this was reckless—Even if it killed me—I would do it.

I met the Emperor’s gaze.

"You felt that pressure earlier, right? The moment you condensed your destructive essence?"

He nodded.

"That mana signature—it reminded me of a technique I faced before. One that used the exact same principle a Unison Raid depends on."

He understood immediately.

Synergy.

Amplification.

Perfect overlap.

I exhaled slowly. "Your destruction. My dual arts. If they align... we can push Aamon beyond his healing limit. We can end this."

The Emperor stared at me for a moment that stretched like the silence before a storm.

Then he spoke.

"Human. If you join me in this technique... it will not be gentle."

I nodded. "I wasn’t expecting gentle."

Aamon suddenly slammed his foot into the ground, cracks spiderwebbing outward.

"You fools," he roared, "do you think I will wait while you conspire!?"

Dark mana erupted from his body, twisting into serpents of living shadow. The dimension trembled violently as his aura surged out of control.

He was preparing something massive.

A finisher.

A final gambit.

And exactly the kind of attack that an Unison Raid was built to counter.

I tightened my grip on my daggers. Frost gathered across one blade. Shadows coiled around the other. My heartbeat pounded like a war drum.

The Emperor moved toward me, his aura beginning to condense again—this time more controlled, more focused, more precise than before.

We only had one chance.

One strike.

One moment of perfect synchronization.

The kind that never came twice.

Aamon screamed, his voice splitting the collapsing dimension.

"COME THEN—LET US END THIS!"

I inhaled.

My mana spiraled.

The Emperor lifted his blade.

And in that moment, as everything trembled and fate itself seemed to bend—

I stepped forward.

"Let’s finish this."