Parallel Memory

Chapter 572: Hiro vs Xalvar (3)

With a sudden burst of power, Xalvar lashed outward, his blade radiating with jagged dark energy. The force rippled through the air like a thunderclap, driving Hiro back several staggering steps across the blood-soaked ground. Dust and embers swirled between them as Xalvar spun, his tattered wings unfurling wide in desperation, their edges flickering with malevolent fire. His gaze darted toward the shadows at the edge of the battlefield. He wanted to retreat, to vanish into the veil where the remaining devils could regroup.

But Hiro was faster.

Even battered, his body trembling from exhaustion, his movements blurred with raw willpower. His bloodied figure appeared before Xalvar in an instant, blocking his path. His sword rose high, its edge burning with the faint light of his dwindling mana. ”You’re not running!” Hiro roared, his voice raw, throat torn from shouting and pain, yet carrying the fire of a soldier who refused to yield.

The blade came down in a furious arc. Xalvar was forced to intercept, his rusted dark sword groaning under the impact. Sparks scattered in violent showers as Hiro pressed forward, carving arcs of light and steel through the air, each swing aimed to anchor Xalvar in place. He would not allow this devil to slip away—not after everything.

Steel shrieked against steel, their weapons clashing again and again. The sound echoed across the ruined stronghold, drowned only by the distant roars of dying devils and the thunder of human steel striking flesh. Slowly, agonizingly, Hiro began to press him back.

Cracks webbed across Xalvar’s protective shield with each relentless strike. The aura Lord Aamon had granted him through the Lord’s Shield was formidable, but Hiro’s persistence was unyielding. Every strike shook Xalvar’s confidence, every swing clawed closer to flesh. His wings shuddered from the impact, his stance faltering inch by inch.

And then—Hiro’s blade slipped past.

The steel cut deep into Xalvar’s side, ripping through his guard. A spray of thick, tar-like blood burst into the air. The devil’s snarl tore through his lips as he stumbled back, one hand instinctively pressing against the gash. His teeth bared in fury.

”Ghhhhh—damn you...” Xalvar hissed, staggering yet refusing to fall. He raised his sword again, its edge vibrating with black fire.

Hiro did not relent. His eyes, burning with exhaustion and fury, tracked his opponent’s every twitch. Another slash followed, quick and merciless, slicing shallow across Xalvar’s arm. The devil snarled in pain, staggering sideways. Hiro pressed further—a thrust tore through muscle at his thigh, black blood dripping down his leg to pool at his taloned feet.

Each cut was shallow, each strike deliberate. Hiro lacked the overwhelming strength to kill him in a single blow; his body was at its limits, mana flickering like a dying flame. But little by little, piece by piece, he was carving Xalvar down. Wearing him away.

Xalvar’s teeth ground together, every motion soaked in rage. He tried to counter with sheer brutality, swinging his rusted sword in wide arcs to crush Hiro with raw force. But Hiro, battered though he was, adapted to every swing. Each wound he sustained, every sharp sting in his ribs or burning throb in his legs, only drove him forward harder. Pain sharpened him, turned him into something feral and unstoppable.

Their duel raged on, a dance of survival and hatred. Blood splattered the stones, smoke curled from the cracks in the earth beneath their feet.

Finally, in a rare lull between their brutal exchange, Hiro’s ragged breaths cut through the silence. His voice cracked, but his words carried the weight of years of torment. ”Tell me... why my parents... had to suffer that fate?”

The words struck harder than his sword ever could. Xalvar froze for a heartbeat, his expression twisting into something unreadable. Then—he laughed.

It was a hollow, cruel sound, like metal scraping bone. Even as blood seeped from his wounds, his lips curled into a mockery of a grin. His eyes gleamed with malice, with the satisfaction of a devil who held knowledge sharp enough to wound.

”You really don’t know, do you?” he rasped, his voice venomous. His hand tightened on his sword. ”All this time... and you still swing blindly, ignorant of the truth.”

Hiro’s eyes narrowed, fury simmering just beneath the surface, but his blade remained steady, unyielding.

Xalvar’s laugh deepened, almost manic. ”Lord Aamon... was warned. Long ago, a fortune teller—one who could peer into the threads of destiny itself—saw what awaited him.”

The battlefield seemed to still. Even as steel clashed and bodies fell around them, Hiro’s mind locked on those words.

Xalvar’s voice dripped like poison as he continued. ”History repeats itself, boy. Centuries ago, the great devil king was undone. And do you know by whom? By humans. By two mortals who bore the blood-mark of the ancient heroes—those whose lineage was carved in the war that sealed our reign.”

The words struck Hiro like a physical blow. He clenched his jaw, his heart pounding against his ribs, but he said nothing.

”Two,” Xalvar hissed. ”Two of you exist even now. You, and another. Both descendants of that cursed bloodline. Both meant to stand together, to be unstoppable. Together, you would have shattered Lord Aamon’s throne. Together, you would have ended him!”

Hiro’s breathing hitched, the weight of revelation pressing on his chest like chains. Another? There was another like him? His mind scrambled, grasping for the possibility. And in that moment, an image flickered through his thoughts—someone he knew, someone who was not present here on the battlefield, but whose strength... whose destiny could align with his own.

Xalvar’s laughter cut through, harsh and mocking. It was a sound drenched in cruelty, the sound of a predator savoring his prey’s despair.

”But fate is cruel,” the devil sneered, even as blood poured from his side. His eyes gleamed with sick triumph. ”In this war... only one of you is here. The other is missing. Absent. Without them, the future seen by the fortune teller will never come to pass. Without them... Lord Aamon will triumph.”

He coughed violently, thick black blood spilling from his lips. Yet still, he laughed, even as his body trembled. ”Humanity will be wiped out. Your kingdoms burned to ash. Your names erased from history as though you never existed. That is the fate of the weak... the fate of those who dare oppose us.”

Hiro’s grip tightened on his sword until his knuckles whitened, fury boiling in his chest. His lungs burned, his body shook violently, every wound screaming with agony. Blood ran freely down his arms, his legs felt like lead—but his spirit, the flame in his eyes, did not falter.

Xalvar’s cruel sneer only deepened. ”You bleed. You fight. You struggle. But it’s meaningless. Without the other, you cannot win.”

Hiro’s breath rasped in his throat, but he forced his body upright, squaring his stance once more. His gaze bore into Xalvar with a fire that refused to die, a fire born not of prophecy but of defiance.

”You’re wrong.”

The words were hoarse, yet steady. His blade trembled, but not from weakness—only from the sheer force of conviction he forced into it.

”I don’t need fate. I don’t need prophecy. I don’t care what your fortune teller saw, or what your lord believes. I’ll fight with my own strength. With my own hands. And I’ll cut you all down—even if it kills me.”

Xalvar’s mocking smile faltered at the steel in Hiro’s words.

In that moment, Hiro roared, his body igniting with the last embers of his power. He launched forward, his sword blazing in arcs of pure willpower. Every ounce of strength, every shred of spirit left within him poured into each strike. His body screamed, but his soul thundered.

Strike after strike hammered against Xalvar, forcing him back step by step. The devil stumbled, his wings dragging, his blade trembling under the onslaught. For the first time, true fear flashed across his twisted features.