Parallel Memory

Chapter 632 The Lifelong Prayer

Erebus's fangs descended like the jaws of inevitability.

The wolf's maw opened wide, crimson aura thickening until the very air warped around Loren. The beast's breath burned hot against his bloodied face, and for the first time, he truly accepted the end.

But then—

A pulse.

It began faintly, like a whisper in the marrow of his bones. Then another, stronger, until his entire body convulsed with the rhythm. The ground cracked beneath him as something deep within, long dormant, began to stir.

The squad gasped, but none more than Loren himself.

What is this?

Mana burst out of him in violent waves, not steady, not refined—raw, unstable, as though every reservoir he had ever hoarded was suddenly tearing free of its cage. Light and shadow wrapped around his frame, threads of golden brilliance tangled with midnight arcs, and the stench of burning aura flooded the chamber.

His skin glowed faintly, veins lit like molten lines as though his body could barely contain the force now coursing through him. The Pride Hunter Style, that ancient art of his bloodline, roared to life, not merely amplifying him against the beast but shattering the threshold that had bound him all his life.

The circle beneath them flared violently, sigils sparking with erratic energy. Erebus itself recoiled for the briefest of moments, its crimson gaze narrowing.

Loren staggered upright, blood dripping from his chin, chest heaving as mana surged around him like a storm given human form. He felt taller. Stronger. His wounds screamed, but they no longer mattered.

"I…" His voice cracked, but carried. "I see it now."

His father's words—half-forgotten lessons spoken long ago under Moonspring's moonlit skies—echoed in his ears. Our art was forged for this. To break the will of beasts. To stand higher than monsters. To turn hunters into kings.

Virgil Vance, the Beast Slayer. That was the true legacy. Not parades among humans. Not boasting at guild feasts. But carving glory into the flesh of monsters.

The realization slammed into him with the force of revelation. His father's shadow was not his chain—it was his path.

And now, at last, the path had opened.

The aura burst again, higher, brighter. The squad staggered back from the force of it, shielding their eyes as Loren's presence swelled beyond the measure of an ordinary Rank A.

No—this was different. This was unmistakable.

He had broken through.

Rank S.

The chamber seemed to recognize it, the air vibrating, the devil's smile widening as he leaned forward, fingers steepled in delight. "Ah… at last," he murmured, his voice like velvet dripping with venom. "The crown fits after all."

But the triumph was not complete.

Loren could feel it. His core was burning too fast, his body cracking under the strain of power it wasn't ready to host. His mana was not a river but a flood, bursting through levees, tearing him apart from within. Each surge made him stronger—but every heartbeat also brought him closer to collapse.

He gritted his teeth, raising his blade once more. It no longer felt like a weapon of steel—it thrummed like a shard of his soul, forged anew by the breakthrough. His vision cleared, sharp and blazing with a focus he had never known.

Across from him, Erebus snarled. The wolf's frame, mighty and oppressive, trembled ever so slightly. For the first time, Loren saw exhaustion flicker in the beast's movements. The prolonged duel had taxed even this devil-bound creature. Its breaths came heavier, slower.

The fight was no longer a predator savoring prey.

Now it was a duel of kings.

Loren roared and surged forward, his aura igniting the chamber. His blade struck with a brilliance that forced Erebus to shift, claws clashing against steel. The impact rattled the ground, sending cracks spidering through the stone.

The wolf retaliated, claws sweeping with vicious force, and Loren parried—but the recoil sent him staggering back, blood spraying from reopened wounds. Still, he did not fall. He steadied, straightened, and charged again.

Each clash rang louder than the last, sparks scattering in cascades of light.

Behind them, the squad could hardly breathe. They had thought him finished, then witnessed the impossible. Loren Vance had ascended before their eyes, his aura a blazing storm that could rival any Rank S they had ever heard of.

But Misha's words earlier now struck harder than ever: He's burning out.

Even in this brilliance, they could see it. His body was cracking under the strain. Every motion carried too much force, too much instability. He was fighting not with mastery, but with borrowed time.

Erebus too was faltering, but its core was steady. Its strikes came slower but cleaner, measured, unrelenting. The wolf's stamina was great, its form monstrous. And while Loren's flame burned bright, it burned dangerously fast.

Loren felt it too. Each swing tore at his muscles like knives, each step jolted through fractured bones. His veins screamed, but his pride refused surrender.

"I won't…" he growled, pressing against Erebus's fangs with his blade, their auras clashing in a storm of energy. His voice broke into a roar. "I won't die crawling!"

The wolf pushed back, its jaws clamping closer, its eyes alight with killing intent. Loren's knees buckled—but his aura surged again, blasting outward in a shockwave that threw even the wolf back several steps.

The devil laughed, deep and resonant, echoing across the chamber. "Magnificent! The song of desperation, the fire of pride… This is why I adore your kind!"

His amusement was unmistakable. To him, this was theater. A spectacle of glory and ruin performed for his delight.

Loren didn't care. For once, the devil's satisfaction didn't matter. For once, even the squad's judgment didn't matter.

What mattered was the beast before him.

And the promise that he would not leave this chamber as a shadow of Virgil Vance.

Their duel raged again. Loren's blade cut across Erebus's flank, drawing a spray of blood—dark, viscous, sizzling as it hit the stone. The wolf snarled, retaliating with a claw swipe that tore across Loren's chest, shredding armor and flesh alike.

Both staggered. Both bled.

Both burned.

The outcome was no longer certain.

Every heartbeat stretched eternity as man and beast clashed in a storm of fire, blood, and will.

And through it all, the devil leaned back in his throne of shadow, smiling like a father watching a child's first steps. Satisfied. Amused. Hungry for how this story would end.