Parallel Memory

Chapter 650: The Gates of Desperation

The air at the Devil King’s palace gates was thick with smoke, dust, and the scent of blood. The frontlines were chaotic, the ground broken and scorched from repeated clashes, yet Kaelion remained calm, his gaze sharp as he observed the relentless wave of devils pressing against the elite human vanguard.

"Hold the line! Don’t let them push through!" he commanded, voice low but cutting through the roaring battlefield. His orders were precise, layered in contingencies that only the most disciplined could follow.

Even with the Saintess’s blessing coursing through the soldiers, a faint tremor ran through their ranks. The devils were countless, their numbers a living tide that threatened to overwhelm any weak point. Every time the humans attempted a maneuver to advance, the devils adapted, closing gaps and exploiting any hesitation.

Kaelion adjusted his stance, calculating, predicting. "If they overcommit to the flanks, we can pinch them here," he murmured, motioning to a secondary team hidden among the rubble. "But if the main force collapses, all of it fails. Every maneuver, every feint—it depends on maintaining cohesion."

He could feel the tension radiating from the soldiers. The frontlines were fraying. He had expected attrition, but even with elite vanguards, the sheer mass of the enemy was grinding them down. One more day like this, and the soldiers wouldn’t hold.

A voice came softly through the comms from one of his lieutenants. "Kaelion... reinforcements are holding, but the units at the left pincer are faltering. If the devils push any further, they’ll breach before we can counter."

He clenched his jaw, studying the flow of battle like a living map. "Then we’ll force their overreach," he said. "We can’t give them an inch, or they’ll swamp the vanguards entirely."

As if responding to his thoughts, the Saintess stepped forward, her presence shimmering with ethereal light. Even the chaos of the battlefield seemed to bend around her, the soldiers drawing courage simply from her calm demeanor. Kaelion met her gaze.

"Now," he said. "Use the blessing. Focus it where the lines are weakest. Shift the flow and give our vanguards a fighting chance to regain ground."

The Saintess nodded, her hands rising as her mana flared outward in a radiant arc. Waves of holy energy cascaded over the soldiers, strengthening armor, amplifying their speed, and stabilizing their formation. It was subtle yet powerful—a tide of protection and vigor that flowed into their ranks.

The devils hesitated for a fraction of a moment, sensing the sudden shift in human resilience. Kaelion seized that moment, directing the elite units with swift precision. "Push forward! Form wedge! Do not break!"

The frontlines surged, soldiers pressing forward with renewed strength. Devastating counterattacks that had once staggered them now met solid walls of resistance. Every clash of blade and claw rang sharper, yet the humans were no longer merely surviving—they were reclaiming ground.

Kaelion’s mind never ceased moving. He calculated each angle, each vector of attack. The devils’ formations were rigid, predictable in their sheer numbers, yet flexible in minor movements. He anticipated every feint, every retreat, yet the largest threat remained the uncertainty: variables he could not account for—human error, fatigue, or unseen tricks the enemy might hold.

He glanced at the Saintess again. Her mana radiated in waves, her blessing extending outward like a living organism, sensing weakness and bolstering it in real time. Kaelion’s strategy relied on her precision. Without her guidance, the elite units could never withstand the sheer numerical pressure of the devil army.

The day wore on. Soldiers pushed forward in gritted determination, but the devils adapted with terrifying speed, countering every advance with overwhelming force. The pincer movements Kaelion had orchestrated began to falter under the pressure of the endless tide.

He adjusted the formations, calling for rotation of exhausted units while maintaining the integrity of the frontline. "Hold tight. Don’t let the edges collapse," he urged, voice steady, but his mind raced. "If we falter now, everything collapses. We’ll lose the gates and the entire position falls."

A sudden surge of devils broke part of the left pincer. Soldiers screamed as they were swept back, struggling to maintain footing. Kaelion’s heart clenched, but he did not panic. "Reposition! Form counter-wall! Push them back!" His commands were rapid, precise, and uncompromising. Every move was calculated to maintain the smallest margin of advantage.

The Saintess responded immediately, her holy energy surging into the struggling soldiers, repairing wounds and reinforcing their stamina. The devils, sensing the renewed strength of the human troops, hesitated once more. Kaelion used the moment to strike. "Now! Concentrate on the center line! Break their numbers before they regroup!"

The vanguard surged forward, piercing through waves of devils, cutting a narrow but crucial path. Kaelion felt the satisfaction of strategy translating into reality, yet the pressure never left him. The devils’ sheer resilience was terrifying. Even with the blessing and precise tactical maneuvers, the humans could not hope to crush the enemy entirely. They were buying time—a precious, fleeting commodity.

He checked the pincer again. The units were holding, but only barely. The devils were reorganizing, pushing back with a terrifying efficiency. Kaelion exhaled slowly, analyzing the situation. If the Saintess maintained her blessing, the frontlines could withstand the next wave, perhaps even advance further—but it was a gamble, and every second of delay increased the chance that the human forces could be surrounded or decimated elsewhere.

"Saintess," Kaelion murmured under his breath, "we can’t hold forever. Your blessing needs precision... focus it where the enemy is weakest, but don’t drain yourself completely. We need the edge, not a miracle."

She nodded, eyes unwavering, her concentration absolute. Mana radiated outward in pulses, striking the devils where they were most vulnerable, stabilizing the collapsing edges of human lines and turning tide-of-death into a fragile foothold of hope.

Kaelion’s mind raced as he calculated the next move. If the vanguard could hold the gates for just a little longer, the flanking teams could regroup and execute a coordinated strike to relieve pressure—but time was slipping through his fingers. Every moment counted. Every breath, every heartbeat, could decide whether the human forces survived the day or became fodder for the devils’ endless army.

Yet even as he observed the battlefield, a silent weight pressed on him. Somewhere beyond the gates, the unknown waited—the true Devil King, and a clash of fates that none of his strategies could yet account for. All Kaelion could do was hold the line, rely on the Saintess’s blessing, and hope that the soldiers under his command could endure.

The gates had not yet fallen, but the storm was far from over. Every push forward, every moment of resistance, was a battle against time and tide. The humans could survive this wave, but Kaelion knew the cost—it would demand every ounce of skill, strategy, and courage they possessed, and even then, victory was never guaranteed.

The Saintess’s light surged again, shimmering like a blade across the battlefield, carving through shadows of despair. Kaelion’s mind sharpened further, thinking of every possibility, every contingency, every soldier’s life hanging in balance.

And in that moment, he understood clearly: the battle for the gates was not just a fight against devils—it was a race against fate itself.