Parallel Memory

Chapter 637: The Devil’s Tale

The shards of frozen obsidian still littered the battlefield, faint frost clinging to the floor where Mia’s fists had rained down like a storm. The squad stood frozen in their own silence, the weight of what they had just witnessed pressing into their lungs. The royal guard—a creature spoken of in whispers, a higher devil born to slaughter armies—was no more.

In its place, the echo of Mia’s rage lingered.

The devil who had summoned the guard leaned back in his throne of shadows, his smile no longer mocking, no longer dripping with contempt. It was something else now—something sharp, almost hungry.

"Well done," he said finally, his words low, rumbling like thunder rolling across a barren plain. "I did not think one such as you could wield her fury so cleanly. Strength, controlled yet unchained... yes, that is what endures."

Mia exhaled, the frost still steaming faintly from her knuckles. She said nothing. Her rage still boiled beneath her skin, but she held it tight, unwilling to grant him the satisfaction of her voice.

The devil’s grin stretched wider. "As reward for amusing me, I shall allow you something rare. Five questions. I will answer them honestly. A courtesy before your inevitable end."

The squad exchanged tense glances. It was an opportunity too valuable to waste, yet a trap too dangerous to rush into. But even in their hesitation, one question pressed heavier than the rest.

It was Misha who stepped forward, her eyes locked onto the towering devil. "Then tell us—your kind always whispers about a lord. The one we know as the Devil King. Why is he not spoken of as the Devil King outright? What is it you hide in that name?"

The chamber stirred with an unseen pressure, as though the stones themselves trembled at the audacity of her demand.

The devil tilted his head back and laughed—a deep, guttural sound that scraped the walls like iron across stone. When he leaned forward again, the glow in his eyes sharpened, cutting into them like blades.

"So eager," he said. "Very well. Since you humans have walked so far into death’s jaws, I will give you the truth you crave."

He rose from his throne, his massive frame unfolding like a shadow peeling free from the dark. His voice deepened, filled with something almost reverent, almost mocking.

"I am not merely a servant. I am the younger brother of the one you call the Devil King. His blood flows in mine, his shadow casts itself over my every step. I have fought at his side, seen the fall of empires and the burning of kingdoms. And yet, you ask why he is not king outright."

He stepped forward, claws dragging faint sparks against the stone. "Because kingship is not claimed—it is proven. My brother was never crowned by devils. He was crowned by inevitability. The title of ’Devil King’ belongs not to him, but to what he represents: the dominion of despair itself. He is more than a king. He is the certainty that mortals cannot rule their world forever."

The squad stiffened. None spoke, none dared interrupt.

The devil’s grin faltered into something colder, his tone sharpening. "And yet... even inevitability bends when the threads of fate are pulled taut."

His eyes burned brighter, narrowing as he recalled something ancient, something whispered.

"There was a seer once. A fortune teller, blind yet cursed to see too much. She spoke of my brother’s reign, long before his dominion was complete. She said it would end not by rival devils, not by gods, but by two humans. Two mortals carrying the blood and spirit of heroes long turned to dust. They would rise when the world most despaired, and with their hands, his reign would be broken."

The words hung in the air like smoke.

The squad shifted uneasily. The prophecy was too precise, too deliberate, as if the devil had drawn it from their own hidden fears.

The devil chuckled low, though there was no mirth in it. "My brother, the grand tactician, clung to those words as if they were law. He wove his plans endlessly around them. Every whisper of human strength, every rising warrior, every unexpected variable... he feared they were the ones. He bade us waste time, grind hope to dust, choke you until you strangled yourselves on despair."

His lips curled back, sneering. "But I? I see the truth. Variables always come. You humans wriggle through fate like worms in the earth. You gnaw, you resist, you crawl into places even gods fail to see. That is why I trust not in schemes, not in webs of thought, but in muscle. Power. The fist that breaks bone cares nothing for prophecy. The body that smashes through walls cannot be stopped by words."

He spread his arms wide, towering over them. "That is why my brother hides his name, hides behind titles and myths. To him, kingship is a game of survival—how long he can play his role before the prophecy closes its jaws. To me? He is my brother. Nothing more. If history repeats, if humans come to claw at his throne, then let them. The strong endure, and the weak perish. That is all there is."

Silence followed, heavier than any weight they had carried before.

The squad tried to absorb his words, but their thoughts tangled. Two humans destined to end the Devil King’s reign. Two whose blood and spirit echoed those who had once slain a tyrant centuries ago. The prophecy’s edges were sharp, cutting into every mind present.

Mia clenched her fists tighter, the frost still biting at her skin. Misha’s heart raced, but her eyes never wavered. Hiro’s jaw tensed, the weight of unspoken questions hanging just behind his teeth.

The devil tilted his head, studying them like a butcher inspecting livestock. "That is one question answered. Four remain."

His smile returned, cruel and eager. "Choose carefully, little humans. Every truth brings you closer to despair."