Parallel Memory

Chapter 680 680: The Shadows of Defiance

The palace trembled under the weight of converging powers. The throne room—once a grand testament to infernal majesty—had become the stage of an impossible convergence: a mortal defying eternity.

Aamon's laughter echoed through the fractured chamber as Zero's shadow finished forming, its shape crystallizing into flesh and presence.

At first, the Devil King appeared wholly unbothered. His crimson eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the emerging figure—identical in build, in posture, in poise—to the human standing before him.

Then his laughter erupted. Deep. Mocking. Almost joyful.

"Hah…! This is your grand answer?" His voice boomed through the crumbling hall. "A shadow of yourself? A mere reflection? You disappoint me, Zero Elea!"

He gestured lazily, his black wings unfurling further, stirring the smoke-filled air. "You mortals amuse me endlessly. Each of you so desperate to mimic power you do not understand. Tell me, boy—do you truly believe a clone can fulfill the destiny meant to change the world?"

Zero said nothing. The Emperor beside him tilted his head, eyes half-lidded with amusement.

But Aamon wasn't done. He stepped forward, talons scraping against the cracked marble floor, leaving behind trails of molten red. "You may conjure thousands of such imitations, but they are still you. Fragments. Shadows. Bound by the same weakness that defines your species."

He smirked, his voice dripping with superiority. "The moment I destroy the original, the rest will crumble. That is the truth of your existence."

He raised his hand, crimson aura swirling like a hurricane. "Let me demonstrate."

The room screamed as his energy surged outward—a tidal wave of pure infernal might. It was not an attack meant to kill, but to obliterate. Every lesser being in the palace would have disintegrated on contact.

Yet when the flames struck the two figures standing before him—nothing.

The infernal blaze parted like water split by an invisible blade. The Emperor's dark energy swallowed the fire entirely, leaving a faint shimmer of red dust in the air.

For the first time, Aamon blinked.

That oppressive amusement faltered for half a heartbeat. His gaze flicked toward the newly formed being—Zero's shadow, now breathing with its own rhythm. The dark aura that emanated from it was… wrong. It wasn't a spell or a construct. It was life.

He could feel it—ancient, infinite, utterly alien to the human spectrum.

"…Impossible," Aamon murmured. "That isn't mana."

The Emperor of Destruction met his gaze, a faint smirk crossing his face. "It never was."

The air thickened again. The throne room seemed to grow smaller, reality bending subtly beneath the pull of two conflicting forces—Zero's calm restraint and the Emperor's chaotic vastness.

Aamon's instincts screamed. The unease hit him like a faint tremor in his soul—small, fleeting, but undeniable. For the first time in centuries, he felt something stir beneath his arrogance.

He straightened, his laughter fading into a soft, dangerous chuckle. "Hmph… I see. Perhaps I was too quick to judge."

His crimson wings flared again, light spilling through the cracked ceiling as he regained his composure. "So you've bound something older than yourself. Admirable. Reckless… but admirable."

He smiled again—sharper now, the faint unease buried beneath his pride. "No matter. Clone, soul, or shadow—it changes nothing. You are still one, and one cannot change destiny."

The Emperor's golden eyes glowed faintly. "Then perhaps it's time destiny learned what it feels like to break."

Outside the palace, the shockwave reached the battlefield.

Across the crimson skies of the Devil King's realm, the blast rippled outward, shaking the earth and sky alike.

Mia Frostine was the first to feel it. She froze in the middle of an attack, her frost-imbued blade cutting through a devil's chest as the ripple washed over her. The air vibrated with an impossible resonance that sent chills racing down her spine.

"…What was that?" she whispered, her breath visible despite the heat.

Nock Fletcher, kneeling beside a group of wounded soldiers, looked skyward, his usually calm expression shifting to awe. The clouds above were splitting—not naturally, but from raw mana displacement. "That… that wasn't Aamon," he said, voice trembling. "That felt… human."

Seraphine, surrounded by blazing wings of light, turned sharply toward the direction of the Devil King's palace. Her halo flickered erratically as she struggled to steady her composure. "That surge… It's stronger than anything we've ever recorded. Did someone—did someone actually make it inside?"

Valen, blade dripping with devil ichor, let out a sharp breath. His usually stoic demeanor cracked with disbelief. "Help?" he muttered. Then louder, eyes glinting with sudden, fierce hope. "Help has arrived."

The words spread like wildfire through the battlefield.

The soldiers, who only moments ago had been wavering under the endless tide of devils, felt the pulse ripple through their cores. It wasn't the despair of an enemy's power—it was the echo of defiance.

Mia tightened her grip on her weapon, eyes burning with determination. "Then we fight harder. Whoever's up there… they're giving us a chance."

Nock rose to his feet, divine light pouring from his hands as he shouted to the retreating healers, "Regroup! Push forward! Don't let the momentum die!"

Seraphine raised her wings, radiance blinding, her voice cutting through the chaos like a commandment. "The devils are faltering! This is our moment!"

Valen simply smirked, swinging his blade with renewed vigor. "So the brat actually did it…" he muttered under his breath.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the battlefield roared—not in desperation, but in unity.

The humans surged forward. Steel met flame, light met corruption. The tide that once favored the devils began to shift.

And above them, beyond the blood-red horizon, the heart of that surge pulsed within the shattered palace—where two souls stood against the king of all devils.

Inside, Aamon's grin returned, wider and sharper than before, concealing the faint ripple of unease still gnawing at him.

"So be it," he whispered. "If destiny insists on rewriting itself, then I shall test the ink it dares to use."

His wings stretched to their full span, eclipsing what remained of the throne room's light.

Zero and the Emperor stood shoulder to shoulder, the faint shimmer of connection between them humming like an unstable chord of creation and ruin.

The battle that followed would shake the heavens themselves—

and for the first time, even the Devil King wasn't sure who would remain standing when the silence returned.