Parallel Memory

Chapter 552: The Portal

The ground shook violently as another wave of devil foot soldiers poured through the yawning portal, their clawed feet striking the dirt in a rhythm like war drums beaten by a hundred hands. The sound rolled across the Delta Outpost in a deep, thundering cadence, carrying with it the promise of violence. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and burning flesh, each breath tasting faintly of ash and blood. Ahead of the human lines, guttural roars rose in unison, raw and bestial, drowning out even the clang of swords and the snap of bowstrings.

The first rank hit the barricades with the force of a tidal wave, their momentum splintering thick wooden shields and driving seasoned soldiers back a step, boots skidding in churned mud and blood. Cries of pain and anger mingled in the chaos, steel scraping against armor, and the wet, heavy sounds of blades finding flesh.

Hiro’s squad was already in motion—an island of precision amid the churning madness. Steel and magic interlaced in a deadly dance. Nock’s barrier spells flared bright blue over the front line, curved sheets of mana absorbing the crackling blasts of black fire hurled by enemy warlocks. Each barrier shimmered under impact, the air sizzling as corrupted energy dissipated harmlessly. Seraphine, her armor streaked with devil blood, lunged and spun with her long spear, each strike carving a clean, brutal path through two or three enemies at once, the weapon’s reach keeping her allies safe from sudden flanks.

Even Vance, whose pride had been wounded days earlier in his clash with Hiro, fought now with a reckless ferocity. His blade was a flicker of steel darting in and out of gaps in the enemy’s guard, the movements precise despite the chaos. This was not the cocky, self-assured duelist—this was a man fighting as if the outpost’s survival rested entirely on the edge of his sword.

But for every devil that fell, two more seemed to take its place. The enemy kept coming, undeterred, unending, their snarling ranks surging forward like a tide determined to erode the shore.

Mia’s sharp eyes moved constantly, scanning the entire field. She saw what others, lost in the heat of their own fights, could not: the way some soldiers’ steps faltered ever so slightly, the subtle hesitation before a counterstrike, the breathless grunts that came too soon in the rhythm of battle. The weaker-ranked combatants were pushing themselves beyond their limits just to hold the line, spending mana and stamina at a pace they could not maintain.

Her mind connected the dots instantly.

Her heart didn’t pound from fear—she’d seen too many battlefields for that—but from understanding. This isn’t their true assault.

The devils weren’t throwing these foot soldiers at them to win here and now. They were grinding the defenders down, testing defenses, exhausting their magic and their strength. Each wave was another pull at the thread, slowly unraveling the humans’ endurance until the inevitable killing blow could be delivered.

Her gaze snapped to the far end of the killing field, where the source of the infestation loomed—the portal. It towered over the battlefield like a wound in the world, a vast, shimmering tear in reality itself. Black-and-crimson light pulsed within it, the rhythm steady and unnatural, almost like the beat of a monstrous heart. Around the edges of the rift, twisting threads of dark mana crept and curled like living tendrils, feeding into the storm of energy that kept it open. Every few minutes, without fail, another detachment of devils marched through, their ranks unbroken, their faces lit by the hellish glow.

She knew the truth as clearly as she knew her own heartbeat: If that portal isn’t sealed, the outpost will fall.

There was no time to wait for orders.

"Mia!" Hiro’s voice cut through the noise, sharp with alarm as he saw her break from formation. "Commander—!"

She didn’t slow.

Mana surged through her body, cold and fierce, crackling along her limbs until she was little more than a streak of white and silver hurtling toward the enemy. Every movement was fluid and precise, the kind born from decades of battle experience. The first rank crumbled before her; her blade sang through the air, every cut laced with ice mana that leapt from wound to wound. Frost spread instantly from the points of contact, crawling up blackened armor and locking twisted limbs in place.

A half-dozen devils lunged at her at once, their claws raking the air. She spun, letting momentum carry her in a low arc, the sweep of her sword releasing an explosion of frost. The blast froze them mid-leap, jagged ice locking their snarling faces in a moment of eternal rage.

One massive brute stepped into her path—a wall of muscle and armor, its horned helm nearly brushing the upper beams of the barricade ruins. It swung a mace that could crush a wagon, the air howling from the force of the blow. She dropped low in a clean, almost lazy movement, the weapon screaming past her hair. Her blade sliced across its knee in one clean stroke, severing tendon and bone with the precision of a surgeon. As it crumpled, she vaulted up and over its collapsing bulk without breaking stride.

The portal was close now, its oppressive heat searing the skin, its aura prickling along her senses like static. The ground here was scorched black, the air choked with the scent of burning stone and corrupted mana. The next wave of devils was already emerging—fresh, armored, and hungry for blood.

Mia slammed her palms into the ground. Mana roared outward from her in a violent surge, frost racing over the charred earth in jagged lines.

The devils screamed as the ice snaked up their legs before they could move, the frost crawling higher with each breath until they were sealed chest-deep, their howls echoing like broken horns. And then, drawing every drop of focus into her core, she invoked her ICE Art

The very air crystallized around her.

The temperature plummeted in a heartbeat, moisture in the air freezing mid-drift. A colossal wall of jagged ice erupted upward with an earth-shaking crack, its spires curling in on themselves to form an unbroken barricade across the portal’s mouth. Behind it, the black-and-crimson glow flickered wildly, shadows twisting against the translucent frost.

But she knew ice alone would not hold this back forever.

"Priests!" Her voice carried over the clash of weapons and the cries of the dying. "Now!"

Three robed figures broke from the rear lines, their steps swift but sure. Golden light already pooled in their hands, the holy mana warm and steady against the surrounding cold. They pressed their palms against the wall, their chants rising in a clear, ringing cadence. The golden magic flowed into the ice, sinking deep, until the frosted surface shimmered with a faint, sanctified sheen. Holy runes bloomed across the wall, their light interweaving with the frost, binding the structure together in a lattice of divine power.

From beyond the ice came the muffled roar of something massive striking it, the impact rattling through the ground beneath her feet. Cracks spiderwebbed for a moment before sealing under the combined magic. The wall held—for now.

Mia stepped back, drawing a deep breath against the lingering burn of mana depletion. Her chest rose and fell in measured rhythm; she would not let her troops see weakness. Already the field was shifting—where moments ago the defenders had been on the edge of collapse, now they had space to breathe, to rally. The unending press of fresh enemies had halted, and with the portal sealed, the balance of the fight was momentarily in their favor.

Hiro appeared at her side, his armor dented, sweat tracing clean lines down his dirt-streaked face. "You cut off their supply. Smart."

"It won’t last forever," she answered, scanning the distance. "But now it’s our turn to press the advantage."

At the front, Seraphine’s voice rang out, fierce and commanding, rallying the scattered fighters back into formation. They pushed forward, spears and blades driving the devils into the narrow kill zone between the barricades and the frozen gate.

Even Vance had abandoned his usual swagger, his shouts carrying the weight of discipline rather than arrogance. His sword flashed as he struck with mechanical efficiency, his orders crisp and quick to keep the line unbroken.

Yet the enemy’s resistance was... measured. For all their snarls and flurries of claws, they fought like predators biding their time, as if they knew something the humans did not.

Nock’s eyes narrowed, his voice low. "They’ll try again. Bigger this time. That wall... to them, it’s just an insult. They’ll answer it."

Mia’s grip tightened around her sword hilt, frost still clinging to the steel. "Then we make sure when they come, they regret ever stepping foot through it."

The war horn sounded again—three sharp blasts, urgent and commanding. Reinforcements from the east gate. Help was coming, but until it arrived, the Delta Outpost had to endure.

All around them, soldiers squared their shoulders, their grips on weapons steadying despite the fatigue in their eyes.

The portal might be sealed, but the night was far from done.

And somewhere behind that ice, deep in the shadowed glow, something enormous struck the barrier again—once, twice—each blow shaking the earth beneath their boots like the heartbeat of a giant.