Parallel Memory

Chapter 631 The Weight of Silence

The chamber pulsed with oppressive darkness, the suffocating aura of Erebus filling every corner like a tide of death. The wolf's crimson eyes glared down at the battered human lying before it, jaws parted, teeth gleaming with hunger. One more strike. That was all it would take to end Loren Vance.

The squad stood frozen.

Their breaths came uneven, hearts pounding under the weight of the choice no one dared to voice. Do they intervene and risk the devil's wrath? Or do they hold back and let Loren's fate play out as orchestrated?

The silence pressed harder than any roar.

Mia was the first to break it. "If we step in now, we're not just helping him," she said, her voice taut but controlled. "We're breaking the deal the devil proposed. You think he'll just let that slide?"

Her words were sharp, calculated—but her eyes betrayed her turmoil. She wasn't blind to Loren's condition. She had seen soldiers die on battlefields, but seeing one of their own—one who had fought so ferociously—about to fall twisted her gut in knots.

Zion clenched his fists, his jaw rigid. "So we just watch? Stand here while Erebus rips him apart?" His tone was laced with fury, but there was fear there too. "If we abandon him, what does that say about us as a unit?"

"Don't start moralizing," Misha cut in, arms crossed, her voice icy. Her gaze didn't waver from Loren's battered form. "We gave him the chance to prove himself. He chose to stand in the circle. He made the bet. You think the devil doesn't want us to break first? That's the real trap. If we move now, we lose more than just Vance."

Her words were harsh, but they struck truth. The deal had been made, and devils never offered terms without a hidden blade in the fine print.

Lisa hugged her arms, her expression caught between dread and compassion. "But he's still one of us now," she whispered. "He may have volunteered for the fight, but we didn't stop him either. Doesn't that make his blood partly on our hands?"

Sylvia, ever quiet, let her arrow rest on the string but didn't draw it. Her tone was calm, yet it carried weight. "If we save him, we might all die. If we let him fall, at least the rest of us can fight another day. Which side weighs heavier?"

The arguments clashed like steel, no side stronger than the other. Each word hung heavy, but no answer followed.

Hiro finally spoke, his voice low but firm, though his usual confidence wavered. "He's arrogant. He always has been. Maybe he deserves this. But… he lasted longer than any of us thought possible. He stood against Erebus while the rest of us watched." He exhaled slowly, as if the words themselves burned him. "I can't decide if leaving him is justice—or cowardice."

The squad fell silent again, their voices consumed by the oppressive aura. The devil sat in his chair beyond the chamber, expression unreadable, but his presence loomed like a puppeteer waiting for his marionettes to break.

And Loren?

On the ground, blood dripping from his lips, his thoughts were a storm of shattered pride.

So this is it? he thought, vision swimming with shadows. The great Loren Vance, son of Virgil, heir to Moonspring's might… ending like a dog at the feet of a beast?

His fingers trembled against the hilt of his fallen sword. He could feel the weight of their gazes behind him—his squadmates, the so-called geniuses, the heirs of a golden generation. He had boasted to stand among them, to surpass them, to prove his worth.

But here he was. Broken. Kneeling. Bloodied.

All those words I spewed… nothing but wind. I wanted glory. I wanted to be sung like my father. I wanted to be remembered as the genius of Moonspring.

Erebus growled, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, its monstrous form towering over him. Each thud of its paw against the stone echoed like the ticking of a death clock.

Loren forced a laugh, though it came out ragged and wet. And what did I prove? That I can pretend for a few moments? That I can barely survive when the wolf isn't even serious?

The wolf's crimson eyes narrowed, its breath hot and foul with dark energy, washing over his face. His pride screamed at him to rise, to fight again, to spit in the face of death. But his body was finished. Every muscle screamed, every bone cracked, his very aura frayed like a shredded banner.

Father would never fall like this, he thought bitterly. Virgil Vance, the Beast Slayer… he would've made Erebus bleed. He would've carved his name into this chamber.

His chest tightened, a painful mix of envy and despair. And I… I'm just the son of his shadow.

He thought of the boasts he had made to his squad earlier—how he declared himself the champion of geniuses, heir to the guild, the next guildmaster. Each word now echoed like mockery in his skull, twisting his pride into agony.

Maybe this is what I deserve. To choke on my own arrogance.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to raise his head, even if only for dignity. His voice was faint, hoarse, but he whispered to himself, "If this is the end… let it be with my eyes open. Not crawling. Not begging."

Behind him, the squad shifted uneasily, each carrying their own storm of reasoning. Mia's instincts screamed caution, Zion's sense of loyalty demanded action, Misha's cold logic urged restraint, Lisa's compassion begged for intervention, Sylvia's pragmatism weighed the cost, and Hiro stood torn between judgment and admiration.

But none of them moved.

None of them decided.

And so, the moment stretched, the silence heavy enough to crush them all.

The wolf growled low, lips peeling back to reveal its fangs, murder dripping from its aura. The devil's eyes glinted with amusement, as though savoring not the fight—but the torment of indecision that wracked the humans.

And Loren Vance, on his knees, finally saw the truth:

The boasts that had once elevated him were the same chains dragging him down.

And unless something changed, those chains would be the last thing he carried into the abyss.