Parallel Memory

Chapter 638: The Devil’s Trickery

The echo of the devil’s words still coiled around the chamber like smoke, clinging to the humans’ lungs with every breath. His declaration—that he was the younger brother of the Devil King, that the seer’s prophecy still haunted their dominion—left a heavy silence in its wake.

But silence could not last.

Misha stepped forward first, her voice steady though her heart hammered against her ribs. "Then tell us more of this prophecy. You said two humans... carrying the blood and spirit of heroes long gone. Who were those heroes?"

The devil tilted his head, his grin cutting wider. "Ah. Straight to the marrow, little one. I admire that." He began pacing slowly, his claws scraping against stone with each measured step. "The heroes were fools of your kind. Mortals who, by accident or design, stood against the tyrant of an older age. They carved their names in history with blood and steel, and the gods themselves—out of pity or sport—wove fragments of their spirits into the world. Such fragments linger... reborn, reshaped."

His burning eyes swept across the squad, lingering for just a fraction too long on each of them. "Perhaps among you. Perhaps not. That is the cruelty of fate—it never explains itself until the knife is already at your throat."

The squad tensed. His words seeded doubt like poison, each glance setting their thoughts against themselves.

But Hiro, jaw set tight, pushed forward. "If you know this much, then surely you know how the prophecy ends. If your brother fears it, doesn’t that mean he accepts his own downfall?"

The devil stopped. His laughter came again, rough and sharp, reverberating like iron striking iron. "Downfall? My brother accepts nothing. He twists, claws, and schemes against fate itself. He believes if he bleeds you long enough, if he controls every thread of war, he can cheat inevitability. That is his flaw. He still thinks humans can be "

He leaned closer, his teeth glinting. "I know better."

His tone was so calm, so deliberate, it made even Mia’s knuckles twitch with unease.

Misha didn’t let the moment break. She pressed again. "And you—you claim not to believe in prophecy. Then why play this game at all? Why indulge us with questions?"

For a moment, the devil didn’t answer. Then, slowly, he smirked. "Because watching mortals squirm in the face of truth entertains me. And... because even worms deserve one last taste of the sun before the earth closes in around them."

The squad shifted uncomfortably. The devil’s words carried the weight of a predator toying with its prey—not because it feared losing, but because it enjoyed watching their futile resistance.

Still, the questions pressed at them. Time weighed heavy, but so did opportunity.

It was Mia, surprisingly, who broke the hesitation. Her fists still trembled faintly with leftover frost, her breath ragged but firm. "If this Devil King is so inevitable, then why has he not come himself? Why send underlings? Why let the world believe in whispers instead of truth?"

The devil’s grin widened. "Ah... a sharp one." He tapped his claw idly against his own chest as though marking her in amusement. "Because his presence is not easily contained. The world itself bends beneath him. The air rots. The seas boil. Even your gods grow restless. To reveal himself too soon would disrupt more than your fragile kingdoms—it would unravel the threads he so carefully weaves."

His voice lowered, a cruel chuckle vibrating in his throat. "Besides... why waste his time when pawns suffice?"

The squad fell silent again. His answers carried weight, but each word seemed chosen not to satisfy them, but to unsettle, to prod them toward unease.

Then, with a sudden sharpness, the devil straightened. His eyes gleamed like fire behind glass. "That is three questions, little humans. Two remain."

The squad stiffened. They had not expected him to keep count so rigidly.

Hiro muttered, barely loud enough to be heard, "We need to be careful. Every word matters."

But the devil had already shifted the rhythm. He cocked his head, as if curious, and said almost casually: "Tell me, why do you humans always look to gods for answers you could never use? You think if you knew his true strength, you would stand a chance?"

The bait hung there, poisonous but tempting.

Misha’s fists clenched at her sides. "Then answer us—how strong is Lord Aamon, truly? What does it mean to face the Devil King at his full might?"

The devil’s grin became something sharper, colder. "Ah. Now that is the question you wanted all along, isn’t it? But alas—" He snapped his claws together with a sharp crack that echoed like a breaking bone. "Your questions are finished."

Shock rippled through the squad.

"What?" Hiro snapped, anger flashing in his eyes. "You said five! That was only four!"

The devil laughed, a sound that rattled in their bones. "No, no. Five were asked. I counted." He raised a hand, ticking claws as though replaying the moment. "First: who were the heroes the prophecy spoke of. Second: how does the prophecy end, and what my brother thinks of it. Third: why your Devil King hides himself from the world. Fourth: why he does not come personally. And fifth..." His grin split wider, cruel enough to draw blood from the air itself. "This little curiosity of yours about his strength. That was your end."

"You tricked us," Misha hissed, her face pale with fury.

The devil bowed mockingly, as though she had offered him praise. "Of course I did. Did you think I would simply hand you truths without cost? Mortals always squander their chances. You confuse curiosity with wisdom, and in doing so, you waste what little time you have."

He stepped back, his shadow thickening like tar behind him, swallowing the throne once more. "And so, your questions are spent. Five for five. You have only yourselves to blame."

The squad’s breaths came quick, frustration bleeding into their fear. They had wasted the most critical question of all, baited into smaller details that felt urgent in the moment but had been nothing more than threads the devil tangled around them.

"Do not despair," the devil said softly, his grin terrible in its calmness. "Answers are wasted on the doomed anyway. And you, little humans..." His gaze flared, locking onto Mia. "...you are almost ready to entertain me again."

The chamber darkened, his power curling tighter around them like a vice. Their questions were gone. Their advantage, if they ever had one, lay shattered at their feet.