Parallel Memory

Chapter 625: The Wolf Unleashed

The air changed.

At first, it was subtle—no flash of light, no roar of magic—but the shift was unmistakable. One heartbeat Loren Vance was locked in the same rhythm of claw and blade, his body screaming with exhaustion but his pride refusing to let him fall. The next heartbeat, everything was different.

Erebus moved.

Not as it had before, measured and restrained, but with a sudden weight that pressed into the bones of every person watching. The wolf’s golden eyes narrowed, and the glow within them sharpened into something terrifying—no longer the patient gaze of a predator amusing itself with prey, but the raw gleam of an executioner unveiling its blade.

The chamber seemed to shrink, walls pulling closer as the pressure descended. Loren felt it first, as if the air itself had thickened around him, dragging at his arms and legs. His blade felt heavier than lead. His lungs seized, unable to draw a full breath. He stumbled, sweat dripping into his eyes, and for the first time since the duel began, fear cut through his pride.

Erebus lunged.

The wolf’s body blurred, a streak of dark muscle and fury. Its claws slashed, not inches away this time but straight for his chest. Loren barely managed to raise his sword, steel meeting claw with a shriek that rattled his teeth. The impact hurled him backward, his boots skidding against stone, leaving trails of dust and sparks.

The squad watching from the sidelines froze.

"That—" Lisa’s voice cracked, her hand flying to her mouth. "That wasn’t the same as before."

"It’s serious now," Zion said grimly, knuckles white around his spear. "That wolf’s stopped playing."

Mia’s eyes tightened. Her instincts screamed what the others were only beginning to realize. Erebus had been testing, measuring, waiting. Now it fought with killing intent.

And Loren was still standing.

He staggered, chest heaving, vision swimming. His sword arm trembled so violently he thought it might give out entirely. Blood trickled from his forearm where the wolf’s claws had grazed him despite his guard. The sting burned, and yet—his legs held. His blade, battered though it was, still rose between him and death.

"Is he... is he still keeping up?" Sylvia whispered, disbelief cracking her usual composure.

Nobody answered, because nobody had an answer.

Erebus struck again, faster, harder, its movements a blur of lethal precision. Loren barely ducked in time, the wind of its passing raking his scalp. His counterstrike was sloppy, fueled more by desperation than form, but by some impossible instinct the blade clipped the wolf’s flank. Not deep enough to wound—barely a scratch—but enough to make Erebus growl.

That sound shook Loren’s bones.

He had angered it. Truly angered it.

The wolf’s aura swelled, the oppressive weight bearing down like a mountain sliding loose from its roots. Loren’s legs buckled, his breath caught in his throat, but somewhere inside the terror, something else stirred.

I’m still alive.

It should have been impossible. A dozen times, maybe more, Erebus could have ended him. Yet here he was, bloodied but unbroken, his heart hammering like a war drum. Each time he thought he would fall, his body found the strength for one more step, one more swing, one more breath.

"Is he really... this strong?" Lisa murmured, her voice trembling with both awe and fear.

Zion’s eyes narrowed, his grip on his spear tightening. "If he was always like this, then he’s been hiding far more than arrogance."

"But if he wasn’t..." Sylvia added quietly, her gaze flicking between Loren and the squad, "then something changed. Maybe being with us—maybe fighting here—it pushed him beyond what he thought possible."

The devil at the far end of the chamber leaned forward slightly. Its eyes gleamed, the faintest trace of curiosity betraying its otherwise impassive face. The wolf was its champion, its enforcer. Yet even it seemed mildly intrigued that Loren Vance still lived.

Mia’s heart thudded in her chest. She didn’t look away from Loren, didn’t let herself blink. Every motion of his body screamed strain, his blade wavered with fatigue, and yet—he adapted. What had once been clumsy dodges became half-steps that flowed into counters. What had once been wild swings began to tighten, sharpen.

He’s learning.

Mia’s jaw clenched. The realization struck her harder than any claw. He wasn’t winning—no, not even close. But he was growing, here, in the crucible of death.

The fight turned brutal.

Erebus struck with a speed that blurred its form, claws slicing through stone as Loren twisted just enough to avoid being gutted. Dust rained from the ceiling with every missed strike, the chamber trembling with the beast’s power. Loren’s body screamed with each movement, muscles tearing, bones threatening to splinter—but his will refused to bend.

Every heartbeat was survival stolen from death’s hand.

He spat blood, stumbling as his knees gave out, but then his sword flared in a desperate thrust that forced Erebus back a step. Just one. But that one step was proof he was still in the fight.

The squad could hardly believe it. Their breaths came shallow, eyes wide, as if every strike Loren made, every block he landed, rewrote what they thought they knew about him.

"Is this really him?" Lisa whispered, voice barely audible.

Zion said nothing. His eyes never left the battle, his silence louder than words.

Sylvia crossed her arms tightly, her composure finally cracking. "He shouldn’t be alive. None of us could survive that beast’s full strength. And yet..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Even Loren himself didn’t understand it. His mind spun, thoughts clashing with every blow.

Why am I still alive? How am I keeping up? Was this strength always there—or is this something new? Am I... changing?

The questions tore at him almost as much as the wolf’s claws. But one thing burned brighter than the confusion, brighter than the pain:

I can’t fall. Not here. Not in front of them. Not in front of myself.

Erebus lunged once more, its fangs gleaming with lethal intent. Loren screamed, raising his blade with both hands, meeting the strike head-on. The impact rattled his arms, blood bursting from his split knuckles. The sword cracked down its length, but it did not shatter.

For a frozen heartbeat, man and beast locked in a contest of sheer will. The wolf pressed down with strength enough to break mountains. Loren pushed back with everything he had—pride, fear, desperation, and something more. Something that even he could not yet name.

The chamber shook. Dust cascaded from the ceiling. Sparks burst where claw met steel.

And through it all, Loren Vance—son of Virgil, arrogant heir of Moonspring, braggart and fool—remained standing.

The squad’s eyes widened, disbelief painted across every face. For the first time, they weren’t sure if what they saw was a miracle or the unmasking of a strength long buried beneath arrogance.

Even Loren himself didn’t know.

But one truth was undeniable, spoken silently across every heart in that chamber:

This was not the Loren Vance they had mocked. This was someone else—someone who might, just might, become more than they ever expected.

And for the first time, even the devil leaned forward, watching with a glimmer of interest.

The wolf had bared its killing intent. Yet still, the boy lived.