Parallel Memory

Chapter 579: The portal complete

The fortress was breaking.

Stone groaned as the last barricades cracked under the weight of claws and fire. The devils pressed from every direction, their horns a deafening rhythm of slaughter. The arena floor, once meant for games and duels, had become a charnel pit — a place where the living clung to life by inches, and the wounded wept in silence, too weak to raise a cry.

The devils surged again. A tide of black bodies vaulted the broken stone, wings blotting out the moon. Their screeches filled the air, and fire rained down in sheets.

Then—

The air split.

A column of blinding light erupted in the center of the arena floor, cutting through the darkness like the wrath of the heavens. Sand and stone lifted in the blast of mana, whipping through the air. The devils shrieked, covering their faces as the brilliance burned against their flesh.

Through the blaze, figures emerged.

Tall, armored, weapons gleaming with holy enchantments that howled against the corruption. Their presence alone warped the air, bending it with sheer authority. At their head strode the member war council Valen , his massive axe resting across his shoulders as though it weighed no more than a twig. Beside him, Ilyra Voss’s robes trailed fire, her staff casting arcs of light that seared the ground. Kaelion Thorne followed, eyes blazing, every arrow knocked with divine flame. And behind them — more, dozens, each one an SS-ranked titan of war, the War Council itself.

The defenders froze in disbelief. Hope, long dead, flickered alive again.

"By the gods..." a soldier whispered, his voice trembling. "They came."

The devils hesitated. For the first time in the battle, their endless roar faltered. Even they recognized the power that had entered the field.

Then Valen roared.

"WAR COUNCIL! CRUSH THEM!"

The arena shook with the answering cry. The War Council surged forward like a storm unchained.

Valens’ axe cleaved through the first wave, sending bodies flying as though struck by a mountain. Illyra raised her staff, and a wall of fire tore across the battlefield, incinerating dozens at once. Kaelion Thorne loosened three arrows that split into a hundred mid-flight, each finding the heart of a winged fiend.

The devils screamed, their formation buckling under the onslaught. These were not weary defenders clinging to survival — this was the apex of humanity’s strength, men and women who had faced devils in their own realm and returned alive.

The tide shifted in an instant.

Wherever the War Council struck, the devils broke. Rank upon rank of fiends were scattered like dust in the wind, their black ichor staining the sand. The sky itself seemed to tear as Illyras incantations ripped through swarms, while Valen carved a path wide enough for survivors to breathe again.

The defenders rallied, voices rising in disbelief and joy. "Push! Push them back!"

But the devils, driven by fury, did not flee easily. Their horns blared once more, calling upon their champions. From the broken gates stormed larger fiends, their bodies plated in jagged armor, weapons twice the size of a man. They bellowed challenges, their steps shaking the ground.

Valen met them head-on. His axe clashed with their blades in showers of sparks, the sheer force rattling the teeth of everyone nearby. "COME, THEN!" he roared, each swing splitting flesh and stone alike.

Seraphine lifted her staff and invoked the Light of Dawn. A sphere of golden brilliance burst above the arena, banishing shadows, burning through the wings of every flying fiend. They fell screaming like meteors.

The battle became slaughter — this time in humanity’s favor.

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

At Delta Outpost, the portal shuddered violently. The priests’ chant faltered as the rift twisted and buckled, the connection strained by the chaos on the other side.

"Hold it steady!" the Pope commanded, slamming his staff into the ground. Holy light rippled outward, anchoring the lines of the circle. Sweat poured down his face, but his voice did not break. "The Council fights in our name — we will not fail them now!"

The inscriptions blazed hotter, their light bathing the outpost courtyard. The air itself hummed, vibrating with unstable power. One wrong word, one slip of will, and the rift would collapse, crushing those inside.

But inch by inch, they steadied it.

The portal stabilized, its edges no longer flickering but firm, glowing with furious brilliance.

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

Back in the arena, the devils’ counterattack collapsed. Their horns wailed again — but now it was retreat, not advance. Their swarms broke apart, scattering into the ruined streets, leaving only heaps of corpses in their wake. The War Council pressed forward until the last of the immediate threat was driven beyond the walls.

The fortress was saved. For now.

But the sight that remained was nothing short of ruin.

The arena was unrecognizable. Entire tiers had collapsed into rubble, fires smoldered in every corner, and the sand was black with blood and ichor. Survivors slumped against walls, too weak to cheer, some sobbing as relief finally overcame them.

Valen planted his axe in the ground, chest heaving, his eyes scanning the survivors. "The battle is done." His voice carried heavy grief despite the victory. "Now comes the saving."

Healers surged forward. The priests spread through the field, pouring restorative mana into the wounded, their light softer now but no less vital. Screams turned to sighs of relief as shattered bones knit and blood ceased to flow.

Then came the call: "Begin evacuation!"

One by one, the wounded were carried to the still-glowing portal. Litters of broken soldiers, unconscious children, civilians too weak to walk — all were passed through the shining veil into Delta Outpost, where fresh healers and medics stood waiting.

The portal became a river of humanity, flowing from ruin toward fragile safety.

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

At Delta, the courtyard overflowed with the wounded. Cots lined the open square, priests kneeling beside them, alchemists distributing vials of potion. The cries of pain and relief mingled, but there was life — fragile, desperate life where none should have remained.

The Pope stood at the heart of it, his staff planted firmly, his voice hoarse from hours of command. He watched as the last litters came through, his eyes weary but unyielding.

When at last the final survivor stumbled through and the portal dimmed, he raised his staff one final time.

"By grace and will," he intoned, "this passage is closed."

The rift shuddered once, then collapsed into a fading spark, leaving only silence behind.

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

The defenders were safe. The fortress, though broken, still stood. And the War Council, weary yet unbowed, had turned certain annihilation into survival.

But every man and woman who stood on the blood-soaked sand knew the truth.