Parallel Memory

Chapter 682: The Two Who Defy Fate

The world trembled as divinity met defiance.

Aamon's throne room—once a place of reverence and terror—was now nothing more than an open wound in reality. Its walls had long since melted into streaks of light and shadow; its ceiling no longer existed, only an endless void above, filled with storms that roared in rhythm with each collision of power.

In the heart of that maelstrom stood three beings—each carrying enough strength to erase nations, but only two still human enough to bleed.

Zero Elea stood on one side, half-kneeling, his breath shallow and ragged. Frost curled from his lips as his mana flared in desperate surges, freezing the ground in a thousand fractal patterns. Beside him stood his creation—his other half—the Emperor of Destruction, a figure carved from shadow and power, radiating a calm that was not human. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dimness, reflecting both pride and unspoken concern.

Before them, Aamon stood reborn—wreathed in flame that was no longer flame, but something divine and abhorrent. His wings stretched beyond sight, his horns gleaming with molten gold. His ascension was stabilizing; every pulse of energy he released shook the realm, grounding his corrupted divinity more firmly into the veins of the world.

Zero's voice broke the silence first. "I thought… we'd end this in one strike." His words came out like mist in the cold, each syllable trembling with exhaustion.

The Emperor glanced at him, his tone edged with wry amusement. "You mortals are always impatient. Even gods take time to die."

Zero managed a weak chuckle, gripping his sword tighter. The blade was trembling—not from fear, but from strain. His mana circuits burned, his limbs ached, and his blood felt like molten ice coursing through him. The shadow body the Emperor inhabited was powerful, but unstable. He could feel cracks forming—thin, invisible fractures between him and the darkness that once belonged to his soul.

Aamon tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "A valiant effort," he said. "To defy a god's destiny with your own shadow… how poetic. Yet you fail to understand, mortal."

He raised one clawed hand, and the space around it twisted. Flame became light. Light became sound. The world itself bent to his will.

"I am not bound by prophecy," Aamon declared. "I am prophecy."

The Devil King's next movement was instantaneous. A wave of divine corruption erupted outward, scorching the air, reducing the frozen floor beneath Zero's feet to molten glass.

Zero reacted on instinct, slamming his palm down. "Ice Art: Frozen Convergence!"

The world howled as frost surged outward in concentric waves, the temperature plummeting past what mortal bodies could survive. The molten stone solidified mid-melt, shards of supercooled ice exploding outward like glass blades. The frost didn't just freeze—it devoured heat, light, and even sound, silencing Aamon's roar into a dull echo.

But the Devil King simply smiled through it, raising his hand to part the storm. His flames burned brighter—hot enough to melt mana itself.

Zero's knees buckled. The recoil nearly crushed his lungs. "Tch—!"

Before he could falter, a shadow flickered beside him.

The Emperor stepped forward, the air collapsing inward as his darkness spread like a sea, swallowing the flames before they reached Zero. His voice was calm, measured. "You're forcing the world to collapse faster, boy. Keep this up, and there won't be anything left to save."

Zero wiped blood from his lip, panting. "If I stop, there won't be a world to save."

The Emperor said nothing for a moment—then gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod. "Then we move together."

Their auras intertwined.

Darkness and frost spiraled, merging in patterns that defied the laws of mana. Where the Emperor's destruction passed, Zero's ice rebuilt. Where Zero's chill faltered, the Emperor's void devoured the heat. It wasn't balance—it was coexistence.

And together, they struck.

Aamon met them with divine fury.

The first clash shattered the heavens.

Ice and shadow carved through the devil's flame, sending shockwaves that tore across Edolas. The entire continent trembled; seas rose in tidal waves; mountains cracked like brittle bone. Even in the faraway battlefields where the human vanguard fought, warriors were thrown to the ground as the sky split open with thunder.

Mia Frostine lifted her gaze from the battlefield, her sword slick with devil blood. "That power…" she whispered, breathless. "It's shaking everything."

Nock Fletcher, standing beside her, clutched his staff as divine light rippled through the clouds. "That's no ordinary fight," he said. "That's… creation itself breaking."

Seraphine shielded her eyes from the glare, her angelic wings trembling. "No," she murmured. "It's not breaking—it's being rewritten."

Their eyes met, and in that shared moment, they all knew the truth. Someone was fighting in the heart of the storm—not for victory, but for existence itself.

And though they couldn't see him, they could feel Zero's defiance echoing through every pulse of their mana. It was faint, but it was there—a heartbeat against oblivion.

Back inside the throne room, time itself seemed to distort.

Each strike between Aamon and the duo tore new fractures into reality. The Emperor's darkness twisted into tendrils that sought to devour everything it touched, while Zero's ice formed intricate lances that pierced through flame and corruption alike.

But the cost was mounting.

Zero's legs shook as his vision blurred. His sword arm felt heavier with each swing. Every breath came with pain—his body screaming under the strain of maintaining a mana output far beyond human limit.

The Emperor sensed it immediately. "Your body's breaking," he said, without looking back. "You're burning through the shadow's stability faster than it can heal."

Zero smirked faintly. "Then I'll just have to finish this before it breaks."

"Typical human optimism."

Aamon's laughter rang through the chaos, mocking and deep. "You two… dare to fight me on equal ground? How noble. How futile!"

His wings spread wide, each feather shedding streaks of divine corruption that turned into spears midair. A thousand weapons of light and fire descended at once, tearing through the frozen battlefield.

Zero and the Emperor moved as one.

"Ice Art: Azure Domain!"

"Void Manifestation: Eternal Maw!"

The twin spells collided with Aamon's attack, and the resulting explosion drowned the world in silence.

For a heartbeat, it was impossible to tell who stood or fell. Then, from the settling dust, Aamon emerged—scorched, but still standing. His grin was wider now, crueler. "Impressive. You've forced me to adjust."

He raised his arm. Divine patterns etched themselves across his skin, glowing brighter with every pulse. His ascension was stabilizing—his body adapting to contain the infinite power he had awakened.

Zero's heart sank as he felt the shift. He's getting stronger.

The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "So… he's almost complete."

Aamon's laughter echoed again. "You feel it, don't you? My divinity merging perfectly with this realm. You cannot stop what is ordained. Even your defiance serves prophecy's hand."

Zero spat blood, glaring up at him. "Then I'll break prophecy's hands."

The Emperor gave a rare grin. "That's the spirit."

They launched forward again. Zero's frost met Aamon's flames in midair, freezing fire itself into crystal shards. The Emperor's darkness surged beneath them, swallowing half the throne room in a black void that devoured sound and light alike.

Their combined force struck Aamon squarely, the impact sending shockwaves so violent that the very skies of Edolas split apart.

In the human domain, Kaelion paused mid-battle, his sword glowing as he looked to the horizon. "That light…" he murmured, awed. "That's not from this world."

Behind him, the Saintess clasped her trembling hands in prayer. "May the heavens hold, even if just a little longer…"

But back inside, reality was fracturing.

Zero's ice armor shattered under the backlash, blood spilling from his mouth as the Emperor's shadow flickered violently beside him. Cracks raced up the Emperor's arm, dark energy leaking out in unstable bursts.

"You're losing cohesion," Zero said through gritted teeth.

The Emperor gave a humorless chuckle. "And you're losing blood. I suppose that makes us even."

Aamon descended from the storm of his own creation, unscathed. His crimson eyes gleamed with triumph. "Equal footing?" he said softly, mockingly. "You misunderstand. This is not equality—it's inevitability."

He spread his arms, and the throne room began to collapse in on itself. Every fragment of matter, every thread of mana was being drawn toward him.

The Emperor raised his hand, preparing to counter—but Zero stepped forward first, frost blazing across his eyes.

"Then let's see," he whispered, "how long inevitability lasts against two who refuse to kneel."

Aamon's laughter echoed as the three forces collided once more—darkness, ice, and divine flame spiraling into a maelstrom that reached beyond heaven, beyond hell, and into the bones of the world itself.