Parallel Memory

Chapter 636: Fury in Frost

The devil’s grin widened as Mia stepped forward, her presence filling the darkened arena. The squad stood behind her, their eyes fixed upon her back. No one spoke; no one dared. Even the air itself seemed to hold its breath.

From the shadows, a low chuckle rose, at first faint but growing until it echoed through the chamber like the grinding of stone. The devil’s laughter was not directed at them—it felt more like the sound of someone amused by their own thoughts, speaking for their own satisfaction rather than to any audience.

It began to pace slowly, its taloned feet tapping lightly against the stone floor. The faint glow of its crimson eyes pierced the gloom as it lifted its head.

"My brother..." the devil murmured, almost wistful, though its tone was soaked in venom. "The great thinker. The grand tactician. He loves his schemes, his webs of plans spun so finely that even the smallest rumor makes him twitch, rewriting his designs. He believes time is a weapon, patience a blade sharper than steel. He orders me to drag things out, to waste, to bleed my prey slowly until their wills collapse."

The devil’s lip curled into a sneer. "I despise it."

The squad stiffened. Though the words weren’t directed at them, every syllable carried weight, pressing down on their chests.

The devil continued, almost ranting now, voice filling the chamber. "Every time, his webs unravel. Every time, the variables come. Humans—" it spat the word as though tasting ash—"you vermin twist when cornered, claw when broken, adapt when struck. You evolve in the very jaws of death. He never accounts for it, no matter how intricate his traps."

It let out another laugh, sharper this time. "He believes in inevitability through calculation. I believe in inevitability through strength. Muscles do not falter because of chance. Flesh shatters bones regardless of schemes. Strategy crumbles, but power... power endures."

The devil’s eyes glowed brighter, and the weight of its presence thickened like suffocating smoke. "So I spit on his plans. I spit on his games. And instead, I show you truth—the strength that needs no scheme, no strategy. The strength that cannot be denied."

The squad exchanged uneasy glances. None dared to speak. Even Mia, standing at the front, did not answer. She didn’t need to—the devil wasn’t looking for dialogue. It was simply revealing its disdain, exposing the raw conviction at its core.

At its command, the royal guard stepped forward. The sound of its armored boots against stone resonated like a drumbeat of doom. The figure towered, obsidian armor glistening faintly in the gloom, every line of its body radiating purpose and brutality. Its movements carried the certainty of inevitability, like a mountain walking.

The devil’s whisper slithered across the chamber, heavy with mockery. "Show me if you can shatter strength itself."

The fight began in an instant.

Mia moved.

Her body blurred, the ground cracking beneath her feet as she surged forward with a speed that left streaks of dust and frost in her wake. The royal guard raised a clawed hand, its obsidian talons gleaming.

But Mia struck first.

Her fist slammed into its chest, and frost erupted outward in jagged cracks, spreading like lightning across the devil’s armor. The sound was sharp and brittle, a frozen shriek that filled the air.

The Cold Punch.

The impact froze the guard’s movement, locking its hulking form in place as shards of ice spread over its shoulders and arms. Its crimson eyes flickered in surprise.

Mia did not falter. Her fury was contained, sharp and burning like the heart of a storm. For too long, hesitation had clouded her resolve, doubts whispering at the edges of her mind. Not anymore. Not now.

She struck again.

Her second blow hammered into the devil’s side, and the frost deepened, crawling like chains across its limbs, encasing it in an icy prison. Each strike of her knuckles blazed with frozen light, layering wave after wave of energy until the air itself turned brittle with chill.

The squad gasped. Even Hiro, who had always known Mia’s strength, felt his chest tighten as he watched. This was different. This was her fury—pure, unrestrained.

Her fists glowed, every punch surging with the dual rhythm of her art. The Cold Punch froze, and then came the follow-up, the Breaking Strike—shards of ice fracturing with each blow, scattering across the battlefield like fragments of glass.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the royal guard’s obsidian armor. The sound of splintering filled the chamber, each fissure spreading wider with every merciless strike.

And then came the barrage.

Boom. Crack. Boom.

Her fists became a storm, raining down without pause. Ice shattered, fragments bursting into the air like a blizzard of knives. Her fury poured into every movement—rage at the devils’ endless manipulation, rage at herself for faltering before, rage at the thought of human lives spilling outside these walls while she was forced to waste time in this chamber of games.

The royal guard staggered, its body creaking as fractures widened, its snarls cut short under the relentless storm.

Finally, Mia drove her knuckles into its chest with a final, devastating blow. The frozen shell shattered entirely, the devil’s form exploding into countless shards that scattered across the stone like broken glass.

Silence fell.

The squad could hardly breathe. Their eyes widened, their hearts thundering. They had known Mia’s strength, but never had they seen her fury unleashed so completely. She stood at the center of the battlefield, frost still clinging to her knuckles, her fists trembling from the power she had forced into them.

From the shadows, the devil leaned back. Its laughter bubbled forth, deep and slow, deliberate and terrifying.

"Oh..." it purred, voice dripping with delight. "There it is. Rage. Beautiful, isn’t it? When humans cast aside their illusions of nobility and let their fury speak for them."

Its grin spread wider, teeth glinting like blades in the dim light.

"Now this game... becomes interesting."

Mia’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but she did not allow herself to celebrate. She had destroyed the royal guard, yes—but the devil was still smiling. And she knew that smile meant the game had only just begun.