—The Past Revisited—
—1200 Years Ago—
Days in those distant times, hearts reaching for the endless sky. Wind of freedom, two from differing worlds. A bond resisting the shackles of time, hostility existing inside of one's home. Far below the clouds, a barricade wrapping around the castle of the Tyrant. Spikes reaching high, a wide field of flowers surrounding the structure. Malevolence secreting, hatred deep within. That throne room from inside. A room in ruin, windows shattering, rubble piling around, tiles caving in. Statues no more, paintings in pieces. Alastor standing before his daughter, that young woman desperately gasping for breath. Two constantly engaging in battle, another loss it is. Those rebellious eyes of hers glaring into her father's own, a devil desiring her own way forward. That heart seeking the endless distance, wings wishing to soar. Steadily holding her blade, struggling in keeping herself up. Her body shutting down, adrenaline fading away.
"You have so much potential locked away within you. Yet you refuse to use it, why is that?" his stern eyes upon her.
One having the blood of two mighty entities, her heart of softness. That young woman despising the battlefield, yet having to resist. A home of toxicity, that father incapable of understanding her resistance. Devils making their way on the battlefield, few ascending to heights far above their standing. His daughter possessing infinite capabilities, no matter so, one desiring her adventure. That Tyrant from days so long ago, one going away with her mother. A disappearance shredding her father, deplorable his question is.
"I am not like you..." She looks away.
Infinite potential inside of one, a devil resisting his reason. A heart of softness, one filling with love for the worlds. Turmoil existing inside of her home, the maiden moving away, yet still binding in place within it. That Tyrant standing silent, those words ringing through him. Actions of reprehensibility, but everything being for her. A tragedy eternally scarring upon him, continuously playing within his mind. A father trying to prevent it from repeating, enforcing his beliefs. Difficult it is for his daughter to understand, even so, the worlds holding no salvation for those like them.
"Why do you not understand that I despise battle?" she questions.
Devils embracing the battlefield, resilient they are, but weak no less. Even so, some possessing capabilities far beyond their standing. That young woman evermore different, one loathing fighting, secrets hiding away in her depths. Power far more than countless, despite it all, one refusing in using it. Alastor slowly shaking his head from left to right, too soft his daughter's heart is. Questionable his methods are, but such must be at a limit. Those earlier days, a Tyrant once reaching for the nigh impossible, foolish it has been. That hand reaching another, a life of happiness coming about. Blissful those experiences of the past are, a nightmare setting in.
"I am not saying you have to like it or hate it." He folds his arms.
Even if it is displeasure she is feeling, one must learn in accepting this way going forward. A world of lawlessness, cruelty existing within it. Those other worlds not of betterment, around every end conflict existing. A daughter incapable of embracing her father's methods, moving away from her home. No less, a castle being a place of return, one continuously trying to find a way back to those days of pleasure. Battles constantly between the two, nothing ever changing. Confusion deep inside of her eyes, his tone changing once more. A Tyrant enforcing a requirement, at the same time revealing some compassion.
"You are a demon, your power is your lifeline. Without it, you are good as dead, or maybe even worse off." He explains.
Those embracing power, rising to the countless challenges. A lifeline it is, a realm without laws. Worlds even further grabbing hold of this reality, imposing their will. Death coming to the weak, voices no more. Torment upon the soul, an existence in bondage. Cyra standing from the ground, dragging her blade against the floor. Blood streaming down the side of her face, her body agonizing her. Resting her vision upon her father, trying to regain her energy. Slightly hanging her head low, that devil weakly keeping her vision on the battle ahead.
"Do you wish to know why I gave you Lævateinn?" his tone lightening a bit.
"Why?" she questions in some interest.
"Because despite being such a crybaby, you made me acknowledge you from time to time." He faintly smiles.
Her eyes slightly widening, surprise in the direction of her father. Acknowledgment, one admitting such. Calming herself a bit, slightly looking away. Questions weighing on her mind, years of conflict. A father no longer the one of the past, a Tyrant of coldness in existence. Days of blissfulness so long ago, surviving a few short years. Even so, pleasantry of those experiences. One desiring for times of yore, her heart fleeing from her home. Despite it all, constantly binding in place underneath her father. One incapable of going far, always underneath his watchful eye.
"I may be strict, but I always have your best interest at heart. I may be a Tyrant, but I am a father first." He turns from her.
"Father...why did mother leave?" her voice distant upon him.
A daughter desiring answers of the past, her heart constantly in pain. Questions weighing on her mind, fear constantly in place. Pressing her father so many times, years upon years. A night of sorrow, unforgettable tears from a Tyrant. Alastor growing silent, looking away. A demon unwilling in answering, that maiden noticing the ill mood of her father. Stepping away from him, well in awareness on his dislike of the topic. That devil still holding one from those distant times close, never able in letting go of his companion. Indescribable the pain is, one affecting his child. Regardless, that maiden having to try.
"Apologies...I did not mean to pry..." She looks away, holding her hand to her chest.
"One day I will tell you, I promise." His disheartening tone on her.
Clenching her hand into a fist, frustration boiling at her depths. One repeating the same line for so many years, never getting around to it. A young woman wishing to know of her mother, those memories slipping away. That devil desperately holding on, hope remaining at her depths. Dreadful it is, this much she is understanding of. No matter so, the maiden having a right to that knowledge. Days seeming far out of reach, conflict without end. Hostility within her home, one moving away, yet constantly returning. A Tyrant having a watchful eye over her, one never truly of freedom.
"Is her leaving the reason you are like this?" Cyra questions a bit hesitantly.
"Perhaps it is." He calmly responds.
"I see..." She slightly looks away.
A heart once filling with love, hatred existing at his core. An action eternally within his mind, powerlessness eating away at the Tyrant. Agony incomparable, one unable in doing anything. One reaching for heights far above his own, entering into the domain of another. A bond forming between the two, feelings developing over time. A father falling so far, that young woman looking towards him, sorrow lingering in her eyes. That Tyrant facing his daughter, gazing into those eyes. Guilt residing inside of him, seeing his companion reflecting from their daughter.
"You resemble your mother so much, and have that stubbornness of mine..." Alastor looking away, faintly smiling.
His words reaching her, some ease coming to the young woman. Information of littleness, but something connecting her to the past. That Tyrant slowly inhaling and exhaling, gathering his nerves. Never easy it is, parenting his daughter even now. Even so, some progress coming around. One loathing the battlefield, opposing her father. That child moving away, but constantly returning. An eye over one so precious, accepting her resentment of him. That maiden resting her vision upon him, gentleness in his eyes. Years it has been, but in this instant, the devil feeling closer to her father.
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"Now, mind telling me why you have been hanging around a god?" he questions in some annoyance, folding his arms.
His words catching her off-guard, the Tyrant never letting up. That devil doing all she can, concealing her involvement with one so high. An unlikely meeting between two, a bond forming, developing over time. Experiences most of joy, freedom away from her torment. Hostility within the presence of her father, living away from her home not making it much better. Torturous it is, that young woman desiring days so long ago. A matter of time no less, that Tyrant in awareness on her actions. Slightly looking away, uncertainty in her response.
"You are still part of this household, elites have been trailing you no less." His eyes a bit more strict.
"He is not a bad person father, he has taken me to many different places." Cyra trying to explain.
An unlikely meeting between two, a bond forming. Friendship for years, hearts riding the endless wind. Emotions of deepness, feelings rising over the years. Smallness of the light, but blissfulness no less. Alastor looking away from her, trying to be lenient. A daughter never making it easy, that demon understanding all too well. His earlier days with another, adventure around each end. A phase of acceptance, one having in learning the cruelty of the realms. Dangerousness in residing around a god, fear of irrationality in losing his daughter.
"Never trust a god." He warns.
"Why...? He is my best friend..." Her eyes of sadness.
A demon unable in understanding, her father's resentment for deities. No less of his experience, but one without an explanation. Those years of joy, a companion taking her to so many places. Pleasure coming to her life, her torment evermore bearable. That heart holding on, steadily approaching the abyss. Alastor slightly looking down, contemplating his words. His child having every right in knowing of his reason, difficult it is. Sometimes wondering if it may have been easier having a son, that Tyrant constantly running up the wall and back. Even so, Alastor finding himself at fault for always letting her loose.
"Heaven and earth, two beings from opposite worlds. One of the land ascending to the heavens, wrath raining down on a single devil, simply because of wanting to be with their friend. The gods are the lowest of the low, they will even resort to genocide to solve their problems." He explains.
A demon reaching for the nigh impossible, finding himself in the domain of another. Different they have been, but connecting no less. Disapproval of their friendship, turmoil forming. No matter so, those two growing closer. A Tyrant clashing against the gods, one stopping his action, punishing so many. Those two having some peace, embracing their life of bliss. A moment it has been, a nightmare setting in. Pain upon the one remaining, searching for answers. Suspicion on the reason, hatred guiding his way. Evidence steadily stacking in, one requiring a connecting point. That young woman looking away, considering her father's words. Much there is she does not know, that Tyrant having more experience. Despite it all, Cyra refusing to believe her companion will turn on her.
"But...he will never..." She sorrowfully states.
A daughter grabbing onto the smallest of hope, familiar this is to the Tyrant. One having an irreplaceable companion himself, foolishness in days so long ago. Scars never leaving, indescribable pain upon him. Frustrating it is, a sigh escaping him. Experiences existing in days of yore, a demon reaching far beyond the clouds, meeting one of the heavens. Two from differing worlds, one learning that they shall separately remain. Feelings of understanding, a father concerning himself with his own. Difficult it is, but a reality he has come to know.
"Just know I do not approve of this in the least. If he dare steps out of line, I will make him sorely regret it." Alastor slightly raising his voice.
—Present Time—
Days so distant inside of the past, a father and daughter constantly at conflict. One desiring answers so long ago, another secluding the truth. Hostility within a home, one moving away, but never truly of freeness. Living underneath a tyrannical rule, wishing for those days of joy with her father once more. Within the castle of the Tyrant, inside of the throne room. Red carpets tearing apart, walls deteriorating with age. Those windows of crystal of filth, the air of cleanliness in the least. Warmth the light of the sun is, enlightening the lonely room. The Tyrant sitting on his throne, the demon hanging his head low. Guilt coming over him, his eyes of sincerity, that will remaining strong in the face of turmoil.
"Perhaps I misjudged you, Valor. You knew my daughter will rather die than to live a cursed existence. Still...I suppose I am impressed, to think she would return to life once again..." His attention turning to the window on his right.
One returning time and time and again, torment constantly upon a devil. Agony incomparable, that young woman desiring to soar. That maiden never truly able in living or perishing, a halfbreed existing in between the living and the dead. Treading through the harshest of abyss, the smallest chance in view. Rising to the challenge, seeking days of bliss once more. That light bathing the area, a Tyrant losing his wife, his daughter constantly suffering. A demon incapable of doing more, his will remaining that of steel. Resting his vision onward, an empty room from end to end. A stressful sigh escaping him, that demon standing from his seat.
"I know you will never forgive me, Cyra. Though...I am still a father, I cannot allow those gods to erase you." He walks onward, his eyes a bit distant.
A heart once filling with love for the worlds, hatred consuming him. That father trying his best, his methods not of the best. Harm coming to his daughter, suffering over the years. Understanding her hatred for battle, his decision of a desperate one. Losing his wife, worlds filling with corruption. This action leading her in pursuing her freedom, even if it shall mean death. An action guiding her way towards even more torment, a thousand years of confusion. Far out at sea, the salty breeze flowing through. Waves of water moving along, fishes swimming. Birds flying far and wide, a ship sailing onward. Those on board each having their own activities, Cyra laying on a recliner chair. Propping her arms behind her head, those eyes resting from the long journey.
That throne of the Tyrant, statues lining the corners, paintings along the walls. Windows of crystal shimmering within the light of the sun, pillars stretching high. Crimson carpets reaching through, unrest within the room. A home of hostility, one never truly escaping. Conflict between two, a father and daughter constantly in opposition. Chilling words upon the young woman, her heart racing within her chest. That Tyrant resting his eyes on his child, some doubt inside of his vision. Slightly turning his attention away, soon returning his gaze upon her. The maiden residing in front of her father, emotions of illness filling her. Ardin standing at the side of the Tyrant, that demon glancing towards Alastor, his eyes soon in the direction of Cyra, holding his hands behind his back.
"Father! I refuse!" she yells.
Chillingly cold it is, those words setting her at an unrest. Her heart quivering, one unable to believe this reality in front of her. No less, it is happening. Each passing day, turmoil becoming worse. Pain of deepness within the Tyrant, one never wishing for this action. Even so, a father concerning himself with his daughter. The Nine Worlds of cruelty, his child incapable of understanding this. That young woman remaining ignorant, refusing in embracing what she is. His own solution, one most reprehensible, yet a method it is.
"This is but an order now, you refuse to acknowledge that power you have. The Nine Worlds are full of corruption, one cannot venture into them with foolish ideals." His vision stern upon her.
A Tyrant continuously imposing his beliefs, one falling into the pits of despair. Mistrust of so many, enemies around each corner. Hatred burning deep in the eyes of the maiden, unwilling in accepting this. The Tyrant looking onward, that familiar glare. One opposing him for years, difficult of a decision it is. Her path certainly leading towards an end, one he cannot suffer. Rebellious she is down to the core, that maiden stepping away. Remaining from a few feet afar, standing on her side, directing Lævateinn at her father. That Tyrant well in awareness on another battle, Alastor slowly inhaling and exhaling.
"Princess Cyra, your father only have your best interest at heart." Ardin taking a step towards her.
That will in opposing what is reason, a heart resisting the chains binding it, her soul desiring for the endless sky. Wings wishing in soaring, one standing in her way. Years upon years of conflict, never able in defeating her father. Hearing the voice of Ardin fueling more anger within her, that maiden refusing in complying. Unable in accepting this outcome, desperately rising to the challenge at hand. One seeking her own life to live, her own path onward. Her father having no right in impeding, that hand reaching for the nigh impossible.
"Silence!" she commands.
Malevolence slowly spiraling around her, intensifying by the moment. Darkness steadily burning pure white, Alastor standing silent, feeling an immense pressure. That energy of familiarity, one belong to another. Lævateinn crying out, that weapon meeting her resolve in kind. Painful it is, turning against the Tyrant. No matter so, one having do so. Ardin stepping away in unease, Alastor immediately taking caution. This power revealing itself from time to time, a final test, for him in seeing where the end result may be.
"Hmph...very well then, Cyra." Alastor gripping his blade upon his waist.
Pressure of immensity, that Tyrant experiencing this once again. Power belonging to another, his child birthing from two mighty entities. Some unrest within his eyes, that young woman reflecting her mother so. That heart of the same, her resolve filling him with determination. A father wishing for her in having a pleasant life, away from the cruelty of the Nine Worlds. The surrounding area crushing with the exertion of her energy, Cyra extending her blade, those eyes locking onto her target. Dashing towards her father, ripping apart the room, rubble flying into the air. That Tyrant meeting her in kind, their blades closing in upon the other.