Wandering in this abyss, fighting for an eternity. A life away from this conflict, my heart yearning for the nigh impossible.
Days residing inside of the past, that flowery field existing. A barricade surrounding a castle, one stretching high into the sky. That bleeding moon shining down, casting its light upon those below. Negativity swarming around the building, darkness emanating from the exterior. Pleasureful it is on the outside, a darker story on the inside. Within the throne room, quality befitting nobility from end to end. Down to the finer details, a place of extravagance. Chandeliers lining the ceiling, windows of crystal along the walls, even a walkway of a long crimson carpet. Cyra in her younger days, that maiden standing before her father. Demon Tyrant Alastor, an infamous one. Countless well in awareness on his feats, not many knowing the reason for him leaving behind his goal so long ago. That young woman in gold, her rebellious eyes meeting with her father's stern own. A Tyrant coating in black steel, eyes ferocious like the sea itself, hair white as snow.
"Cyra, these worlds have no place for a heart of compassion." He speaks a bit strictly.
One experiencing the harshness of reality, his own inability eating away at him. Two from differing worlds, a moment of bliss it has been. Joy coming in those times, yet division setting into place. A devil learning of how small he is, trying his best in raising his daughter. Those words of her father sparking some rage inside of the maiden, one holding onto her heart. Those feelings of her guide, one spreading her wings. Even if it is dreadful, there is always a light. Her mother's disappearance in her earlier days, that Tyrant changing so much. A father once having so much love, now the young woman no longer seeing that man.
"How would you know? You spent years making enemies..." She looks away with anger in her eyes.
Never easy it is, trying to raise a child. Time and time and again, those two clashing. Never a moment's rest, each possessing their own belief. One having a heart filling with love for the worlds, another containing hatred. Alastor stepping towards his daughter, that maiden resting her eyes within his direction. That Tyrant looking away for a bit, a father disliking in upsetting her. No matter so, there is much she must learn. Difficult it is, passing on his own view point towards her. Whether it is favorable or not, his eyes opening to the actuality all around. Slowly inhaling and exhaling, those eyes of the Tyrant connecting with her own.
"I speak from experience. For a demon, actions speak louder than words. Give up your foolish love of the worlds, it will only serve to dull your senses. If you aim to travel, you must claim the power needed to trample all those beneath your feet!" he strongly states.
A heart of softness, embracing in the bliss of the worlds. Limitless in possibilities, wings free to soar. A soul basking in the endless wind, grabbing hold of the next adventure. Turmoil existing inside of her home, one incapable of being herself. That father no longer the one of the past, a Tyrant in despair. One trying his best, challenges continuously rising. Calming a bit, Cyra holding the upper part of her left arm with her right hand. That maiden looking away, unable in complying with those terms.
"I am not like you father...my power does not come from disposing of all those around me." Her pitiable tone upon him.
Never a task of easiness, a single father coming with its own problems. Holding the back of his head with his right hand, Alastor doing all he can in ensuring her safety. Deep down, his fear in letting go. One in days of the past, his own inability. Anguish tearing away at him, a heart of fragility. Even if his own will go out into the vast worlds, in the least he can have her see reason for his belief. Those crimson eyes, one reflecting her mother's own, that gaze upon the Tyrant. Slowly motioning her hand towards the hilt of Lævateinn, painful it is. That maiden remembering those earlier times, a father having so much love. Difficult it is, going down this path.
"We go through this every single time, Cyra." Alastor sighing, gripping his blade upon his waist.
Two meeting on the battlefield, hearts having their own way forward. One loathing in taking up arms, another embracing this. No matter so, this remaining the way going forward. That young woman desiring to soar, holding onto the smallest of hope. A Tyrant falling into the abyss, trying to find his way to the surface. A bond between two in days so long ago, those times that maiden is wishing for once again. Even so, this being of a near impossibility. Standing to her side, directing Lævateinn at her father. That devil wanting to be an actual family again, those times of supporting one another. A dream it is now, but maybe it is worth grasping once more.
"Indeed we do, father." She softly states.
"I do wonder where this stubbornness comes from." He faintly smiles at her.
"Perhaps it comes from you." She takes a step towards him, returning a smile in kind.
Two of similarity, resilience reflecting from one another. Even if it is a somber morrow, that will to continue on forever existing. Pain may be upon the soul, but that resolve feverishly igniting. That daughter of his constantly pushing the boundaries, much like himself in his earlier days. That maiden witnessing his expression changing, a reality he cannot deny. A Tyrant of a handful in his glory days, aiming for the nigh impossible. Malevolence slowly escaping from Alastor, the young woman resting her vision upon him. That darkness thickening, crushing down on the room.
"Heh, if anything, I do acknowledge you, but this feeling is being clouded by my rage at the moment." His fearsome eyes upon her.
That light of the morning sun shining down, birds chirping, the ocean waves splashing against the shore. Gentle the flowing breeze is, devils walking around the docks. A place of activity, ships around every corner, loud conversations within each direction. Smaller buildings with their businesses, an environment crowding with life. An experience of pleasantry, that salty sea air refreshingly washing over the area, many enjoying the pastime of fishing. Standing at an edge, Cyra gazing over the ocean, embracing the gentle wind hitting against her. Those eyes of the young woman of distantness, events of the past plaguing her mind. One wishing for those experiences of the past, where her and her father has been close. No matter so, that devil well in awareness that such a time may not be of a possibility.
"Old man...I respected you...even though you were a very poor father. Though, the one thing I can never forgive is being forced to marry Ardin." She slightly looks away.
An action of divisiveness, her heart loathing that decision. One incapable of resisting, her power sealing away. Helplessness in those times, hatred brewing at her core. Desperation coming at hand, wings yearning to soar, a soul seeking its freedom. A heart breaking its bondage for a moment, two embracing in the bliss of the other. That mother failing in saving her own, her spirit breaking. Hearing the ringing of the bells, witnessing the departing of a ship. Turning away from the scene, Cyra heading onward. Some time it will be, that young woman taking advantage of this moment. Information around each end, one requiring a better bearing of the situation at hand. By the peers, two men evermore in distress. That maiden bracing back against the nearby wall, folding her arms, gazing into the vast blue sky.
"You serious?" a man questions in a trembling voice.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Unrest within the two, emotions of highness. That breeze flowing through, fear present in the voice of the man. A world slowly falling into ruin, those from highness playing in this game of chance. Desires of selfishness, resolves feverishly battling. Those below coming within the line of fire, tragedy setting in. Inhabitants of the realm of the devils feeling this conflict, word spreading by the mouth. A sailor facing the man, distressing the expression of the person is. That man expanding his arms, stepping forward.
"Yeah, the Tower of Time has been activated as the rumor goes, it seems like whoever started it is trying to do the same to the rest." A sailor roughly responds.
That Tower of Time, a place holding many mysteries. A point of activation, those below learning of this. Not many understanding the full gravity of its reason, but the effects of it never leaving. Fear residing inside of their hearts, days of the past constantly remaining. A point of triangulation, those deities aiming for genocide. Disgusting it is, countless in uncertainty. One having her own goal, desires feverishly burning. Selfish she may be, but those feelings strongly extending. That man trembling at those words, taking a step back in much alarm.
"But why?! Activating those things spells disaster...I don't even know why we even have those damn things in the first place!" the man frantically states.
"Genocide...troubling this is. Even so, what is the true reason...?" Cyra positioning her arms in a thinking posture.
Distressing this is, those of highness coming to a conclusion of extremity. A realm in the path towards destruction, that will to oppose grabbing hold. True reason eluding her awareness, a connecting point existing somewhere. That Tower of Time holding some answers, those feelings still gripping at her. A point of activation, selfishness driving her way onward. This having some value inside of it, answers residing with the rest. Hearing the bell ringing once again, that young woman lowering her arms. Turning her vision in the direction of the ship, heading towards it. A yawn escaping her, that devil stretching. Never a moment's rest, this never changing. A life of eternal torment, that heart continuing to resist.
"It is likely I will find out more at the Sunken Temple of Nirva. To know why, that is one of my desires..." She distantly thinks.
That young woman soon boarding the ship, embracing the refreshing air. Sturdy the flooring is beneath her feet, that swaying of the vessel. Birds flying along, smaller animals scurrying across the docks. Standing on the deck, her hands upon the railing. Those eyes distant upon the slow moving waves, her heart seeking those pleasureful times. Memories of painfulness, scars upon her soul. Conflict with her father, pleasure in the presence of her companion. Days of stressfulness, that maiden thinking back. Experiences with her father, two in opposition of the other's belief.
That throne room of the Tyrant enduring intense damage, rubble piling around. Platforms breaking apart, walls cracking, windows shattering. Statues crumbling, from end to end, two mighty forces clashing throughout the area. Resolve feverishly emitting, emotions resisting the will of the other. Distressing this situation is, Cyra falling to her knee, gasping for breath. Her heart heavily pounding, fatigue upon her body. Barely holding herself up, firmly pressing her blade into the ground. Those crimson eyes of hatefulness upon her father, that Tyrant shaking his head from left to right, turning in disappointment.
"You spend too much time with that god, concerning yourself with some grand adventure. Your power is pitiful, I am ashamed to even call you my daughter." He strictly speaks.
Painfulness of it, remaining in the presence of her father. That one far from how he has once been, her old friend of her only solace. Those adventures easing her sorrow, joy existing away from her home. Hanging her head low, frustration deep inside of her. A devil challenging the Tyrant numerous times, never able in defeating him. That same situation playing out time and time and again, agonizing it is. Her power continuously growing, yet that maiden unable in surpassing the demon ahead of her.
"Why is my power so weak...?" she punches the ground in aggravation.
A heart resisting the shackles binding it, wings desiring to soar. One wishing for power, experiencing crushing defeat one after the next. That young woman loathing the battlefield, yet this of necessity. Conflicting emotions clawing away at her, her goal in mind. That Tyrant glancing back to his daughter, harshness of his words. Even so, well in awareness that it is the push she is needing. Great potential resting within her, one incapable in realizing it with a heart of softness. Sorrowfulness of the situation, but the worlds of cruelty.
"Accept your own weakness, Cyra. You will never be able to grasp the power I hold, not as long as you hold onto such foolish ideals!" he raises his voice.
Harmfulness of his words, but also within his own reason to do so. One concerning himself with the future of his own, doing everything in his power to guide her. Strict he is, actions most questionable, but a demon embracing the harshest of reality. A father well in awareness on his child loathing battle, but danger existing around every corner. His words deeply stinging, that maiden unable in understanding why he is saying such things. That bond so many years ago being nothing but a memory, sickening it is to her, that maiden refusing to accept his view.
"You are wrong..." She speaks beneath her breath.
A heart resisting that Tyrant, that soul of hers keeping to the sky. Times of joy inside of the past, two once of closeness. An event so long ago, that demon falling into the depths of despair. Those eyes embracing the blackness of the realms, shunning those around him. Even so, one still trying to fulfill his role as a father. Reprehensible it may be, but his own way in going forward. Those words of hers coming to his attention, the Tyrant facing his daughter. That expression of the young woman shifting to sternness, some interest revealing from Alastor.
"Speak up." He commands.
Pushing herself up to her feet, steadying her breath. That young woman struggling in balancing herself, her resolve desperately holding on. Those eyes opposing what is reason, emotions rising from her depths. Negativity burning from her body, malevolence surrounding her. That Tyrant bearing witness to this development, seeing that energy slowly purifying. Darkness becoming a pure white light, that Tyrant gazing upon her. That one in reflection to her mother, this familiar energy. Sorrow expressing from his eyes, that maiden raising Lævateinn. Her head hanging low, that demon sword crying out, answering her desire. Snapping out of his dilemma, Alastor stepping away, tension rising within him. Malice emanating from the blade, his eyes at an unrest.
"I will never be in your shadow!" she yells.
Negativity concentrating, that devil unleashing a massive wave of energy upon her father. That assault ripping through the room, this intense pressure crushing down upon him. His heart rate intensifying, the demon holding his ground. That attack turning pure white, shredding apart the surroundings. rubble flying into the air, parts of the ceiling caving in. Walls falling through, tiles breaking away. Feelings guiding her path, one with infinite potential. Malevolence escaping from the Tyrant, that demon meeting the challenge at hand.
"Tch...!"
One not expecting this development, that Tyrant grasping his blade. The attack closing in, his eyes locking onto it. Visualizing a path, a point of collision. Vertically striking down, unleashing pure negative energy. Darkness heavily crashing against the divine assault, two forces reacting, repelling one another. That exertion tearing away at the area, a violent explosion ripping through. Smoke covering the room, Alastor keeping his vision onward. That battlefield clearing, cold sweat running down the side of his face, his heart wildly pounding within his chest. Cyra falling to her knees, her energy completely depleting. That will in resisting becoming no more, Alastor straightening up. Placing away his blade, his expression lightening. One incapable of controlling her abilities, emotions driving her way. Great power resting inside of her, yet her loathing battle preventing her in controlling it. Despite it all, perhaps there might be a way in her making use of it.
"Hmph...interesting." He folds his arms.
Events of those days, two in opposition of the other's belief. One having love for the worlds, the other experiencing hatred for it. A time of turmoil, her home of a hostile environment. Even so, some happiness existing in his presence. That maiden remaining on the deck of the ship, her eyes gazing into the vast blue sky. Birds flying from afar, those clouds slowly moving along. Conflict of deepness, sorrow forever existing. Despair eternally crying out, those older days with her companion, a time of simpleness. Resolve burning once more, that will to oppose reaching out.
Those times of the past, how I desire them. My youngest days with my father, those older ones with my companion. No matter so, I will not rest, not until I rectify that wrong that has been done. That is...if it can be corrected. Usually, you are here to guide me when I am lost Valor, but I suppose I have been relying on you for far too long. Perhaps my father was right...these worlds have no place for compassion. Those words I so wish not to believe. Yet, the further I travel into this endless abyss...the more it is seeming true...