Parallel Memory

Chapter 690: THE RHYTHM OF A DYING STAR

Aaron rose again.

Slowly.

Agonizingly.

Each movement tore open another wound, each breath scraped like molten metal through his throat. His muscles trembled beneath abyss-forged skin, and the miracle’s residue clung to him like chains.

But he rose nonetheless.

Devils did not accept defeat.

Devils did not kneel.

Even kneeling now, forced and unwilling, felt like sacrilege to his very existence.

Hiro watched with grim determination, feeling the weight of what was coming.

"He’s not giving up," he murmured.

Mia didn’t take her eyes off Aaron. "He never will."

Sylvia’s wind calmed around her, focused and sharp. "Then we end this before he regains momentum."

Zion wiped dirt and sweat from his forehead. "Ending a devil general... yeah, totally something our parents expected of us."

Lisa let out a dry laugh. "If I survive this, I’m never complaining about homework again."

Misha rolled her shoulders, cracking her knuckles. "I can still punch."

Hiro blinked at her. "Not helping."

"I didn’t say I was helping," she retorted. "I said I can still punch."

Despite everything—the cracked earth, the screams in the distance, the burning sky—there was something quietly human in that exchange.

A moment of normalcy standing stubborn against impossible odds.

Aaron noticed.

And it enraged him even more.

"You... dare to jest... before ME?"

He slammed his fist into the ground again, cracks spreading like spiderwebs.

"I will tear your hope apart. I will drown your world in despair. I WILL—"

He choked.

Mid-roar.

Mid-threat.

Black blood surged from his mouth, spilling down his chin in rivulets.

His body was rejecting his own mana.

Hiro’s eyes widened. "The miracle’s still suppressing him."

Mia’s grip tightened. "Then this is our chance."

Aaron stumbled forward, then dropped to one knee again, panting heavily.

"You think this... changes fate?" he spat. "This ’miracle’ is fleeting. You cannot win. You are—"

Misha kicked him in the face

bang ....

BALLADONA DANCE OF THE SILVER SONG

No hesitation.

No warning.

Just a clean, solid punch that snapped his head to the side.

Aaron froze.

Hiro, Sylvia, Zion, and Lisa collectively went silent.

Even Mia blinked.

Misha shook her fist, grimacing. "Ow—dammit. That hurt."

Sylvia hissed. "I told you to stop provoking—"

Aaron moved.

Fast.

His rage exploded outward.

He swung his massive arm at Misha in a broad, sweeping arc that would’ve crushed a boulder.

Hiro darted in, flames erupting around his feet, dragging Misha back by the arm just as the attack tore a trench into the earth.

Misha gulped. "Okay. My bad. Maybe no more punches."

Hiro didn’t answer—he was too busy watching the devil’s movements.

Aaron’s swings were faster than before.

Not stronger.

Not cleaner.

But frantic.

Wild.

A star dying violently instead of fading quietly.

He was burning the last of his strength in an attempt to take them all with him.

"Mia!" Hiro shouted. "We need to finish Dual Art—now!"

Mia nodded, stepping beside him, frost spiraling elegantly from her blade.

They steadied their breathing.

One rhythm.

One resonance.

Hiro’s fire rose first, swirling around his torso like a living inferno. Crimson sparks danced along the ground, igniting traces of mana in shimmering arcs.

Mia’s frost answered—the quiet, sharp opposite. Thin veils of ice spread outward, cooling the air until mist formed around them.

Aaron sensed the convergence.

And charged—

But Sylvia’s tornado-force winds kept him back, pushing him off balance.

Zion raised pillars of stone that forced Aaron to swerve.

Lisa’s arrows struck exposed joints, each hit slowing him down a fraction more.

Misha darted forward—this time not punching—but sweeping Aaron’s foot just enough to unsteady him.

A second.

A heartbeat.

A breath.

That was all Hiro and Mia needed.

Their voices united in a low chant, mana spiraling between them in a cyclone of fire and frost.

Hiro felt the strain instantly. His ribs burned with every inhale. His vision blurred at the edges. But Mia’s presence kept him grounded—her mana cold, calm, and unwavering.

Mia felt her arms shake as she channeled more frost than her body wanted to handle. But Hiro’s fire surrounded her like a shield, a stabilizing warmth that anchored her existence.

Opposites.

Yet perfect.

"Dual Art—" they began.

Aaron tore through Zion’s stone pillars—

Powered through Sylvia’s wind—

Endured Lisa’s arrows—

Shrugged off Misha’s sweeping kick—

And lunged.

Desperation incarnate.

But Hiro and Mia were already ready.

"Crimson—!!"

"Frost—!!"

"REQ—"

Aaron’s claw reached for Hiro’s heart.

"—UIEM!!!"

The blast erupted.

Fire and frost collided, compressed, then exploded outward in a spiraling beam that engulfed Aaron in a brilliant conflux of red and blue light. The air screamed under the force. The ground split open. Shockwaves rippled across the battlefield.

Aaron’s scream echoed through the plains.

A sound of hatred.

Of disbelief.

Of something approaching fear.

The humans held their ground behind them—shielding their faces, bracing their bodies, yet refusing to look away.

Because this was the moment.

The first moment humanity had struck a devil general with united strength.

And it mattered.

Even if it didn’t kill him.

Even if he stood back up.

This moment—Was a crack in despair.

A fracture in inevitability.

A declaration:

Humanity was not prey.

And heroes, even exhausted, blood-soaked, and trembling—

Still burned.

Still fought.

Still endured.

As the light finally dimmed, as the dust settled—

Aaron was still there.

On one knee.

Half his body burned by crimson heat.

Half frozen over by azure frost.

Breathing shallow.

Eyes shaking.

A titan brought low.

Not dead.

Not defeated.

But undeniably—

Falling.

And Hiro, panting, trembling, barely upright, whispered the truth that settled into everyone’s heart:

"We can do this... We can actually win."

Aaron wavered.

The giant devil, the terror of the frontlines, the monster who had crushed platoons beneath his claws—

was swaying like a candle in a storm.

Frost crawled across half his torso in jagged lines.

Burn marks seared the other half, steam rising with every ragged breath.

Hiro could barely lift his sword anymore. His arms hung numb at his sides, every muscle screaming for rest. Yet his eyes—bloodshot, exhausted—never once left Aaron.

Mia stepped beside him, breath uneven, but her blade still glowed faintly with cold light.

Behind them, Lisa, Sylvia, Zion, and Misha re-formed their line. Shaking. Bleeding. Barely standing.

But united.

Aaron planted one hand on the ground, trying to push himself up.

He failed.

His arm buckled.

A strangled growl escaped his throat—more disbelief than rage.

"You... insignificant... pests..."

He tried again.

Failed again.

Hiro took one unsteady step forward, flames sputtering weakly around his feet.

"We’re done running," he whispered.

Mia nodded. "And you’re done rising."

Aaron looked up—eyes wide, trembling—

Not with fury.

But with the first flicker of something else.

Fear.

And the battlefield, for the first time in hours, felt like it belonged to humans again.