Fear growing with each passing hour, one returning from the depths of the abyss. A quivering heart, a soul unable to fly away. Wishes inside, emotions boiling at the core.

Becoming an enemy of the worlds, pursuing her path. No matter the morrow ahead, yearning to return to her happiest days, seeking out her deepest desire.

Her forever extending will, magnifying through the eternal night. Horror around each corner, an image engraving into countless souls. Shortly standing outside of the Royal Crypts, her eyes on the velvet moon.

This never ending dusk, enemies growing by the hour. All across the realm of Midgard, rumors spreading. Their intensifying fear, increasing concerns amongst the mightiest churches.

Demons and humans alike all knowing the tale of the Iconoclast, one flowing through the reaches of time. Information in the farthest parts of history, the birth of the Iconoclast. One bringing the Nine Worlds to their knees, a power beyond the gods themselves.

Demons fearing her, yet also idolizing her. Humans viewing her as the pinnacle of evil, a soul unable to achieve redemption. This long night, a legend coming more into actuality.

Humans pinning their hopes on the Nine Winged Seraph, devils turning to the Lord of Darkness for enlightenment. An inspiring tale to demons, those fearing her at their depths. An entity at the center, her willingness to crush anyone in her path.

Her countless sins, racing down her lonely direction, reaching for what is within. None knowing the full truth, her soft heart, her many painful decisions in the past. Actions driving her far, refusing to remain in bondage, stepping on the domain of the gods.

That young woman standing underneath the moonlight, gazing into the sky. Black feathers raining down, burning away in the darkness consuming them. Her calm eyes on them, a painful sight, yet something strange coming from it all.

Her encounter with Rose in the field of irises, words making more sense. That death angel despising her, yet looking after her at the same time. Answers within her, a way to lift this night. Unable to unleash this, continuing onward in its horror. Her strongly emitting desires, rising to her challenges.

Wanting to become whole again, yearning to free herself from her shackles. Hatred from the death angel, steadily understanding more. One strongly opposing the young woman, reaching after what is within.

Both aiming for their own goal, trampling on others. Thinking back to Richter's final words, relating to his pain. This darkness within her, slowly making its way to the surface.

Malevolence seeping from her body, thickening by the moment. Anya carefully approaching the entity, her concerning eyes. Knowing this blackness, fear inside of the princess, seeing malice burning from the maiden.

"Cyra...?" hesitantly calling out.

One in an abyss, walking along her lonely path. Her experiences in the night, these feelings to her. Carrying them, proceeding in her direction. Facing Anya, her attention on the Elven.

Her distant eyes, this princess a few feet away, her crouching stance. An entity embracing her imperfections and selfish desires, becoming corruption itself. Forcing against the reason of others, seeking what is inside.

Countless branding her an enemy, devils finding her methods inspirational, yet agreeing on her demise. Numerous viewing her as an abomination, a calamity upon the worlds.

Their similar sentiments, their one true enemy. That young woman shifting her view to the Queen, those horrific eyes on her. Despair consuming one, this blackness emitting from her. An entity remaining calm, her gaze towards the vampire, this one faintly smiling at her.

His awareness on her awakening, memories resting deep within her, steadily returning to the surface. These feelings inside of her, turning her sight to the Elven, warmly smiling at her. Witnessing this, the slowly calming princess.

"It is okay, Anya. Rest assure, I will never turn my blade against you, the Queen, or Aster." Assuring this one, her hand on her waist.

Hearing this message, flying up to the young woman, landing before her. That princess curiously gazing up at the maiden, many questions in the Elven.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

One far inside of despair, emotions guiding her way forward. Her willingness to take on the hatred of the worlds, yearning to grasp her desires, her will to oppose reason.

Her gentle eyes on Anya, malevolence burning from her hand. This thickly radiating blackness, her never dying heart. That shortly ceasing darkness, the young woman lowering her hand, looking up into the velvet moon.

This familiar bleeding orb, these endless sentiments within her. Constantly resisting, a heart wishing for freedom, her soul desperately reaching out.

"Valkyrie...how haven't you been transformed into a monster yet?" the Queen's hand to her chest, her concerning expression.

This normal question, one far within the abyss, continuously withstanding. Her soft heart, an entity loathing the battlefield. Pushing onward, her building darkness, her hatred becoming stronger. Her hand on her waist, glancing to the Queen.

Malice clawing away at her depths, the young woman drowning in despair. Her unwavering will, her tiring body, a spirit yearning for the sky. Eternally in conflict, seeking after what is within. Feelings from the past, her way to go forward.

"How you ask? That is a good question. I wish I can tell you, but my memories are gone." Cyra slightly looking away.

Memories hiding in the past, emotions driving her way onward. Hatred deep within, her burning resolve. Demonization never reaching her, a strange occurrence. This surprising the Queen, never witnessing someone resisting it so much.

That turning vampire, his hands in his pockets, slightly lowering his head. One from those distant days, his heart wanting to right his wrongs many years ago. Wanting her true smile again, a young woman once filling with love for the worlds.

"Will I really unleash this threat...? Simply because of my desires...?" shifting his gaze to the crimson moon.

Remembering her brightness in the older times, that smile turning into hatred. One continuously falling, returning even stronger.

This entity rising through the ranks, eventually standing in the domain of the gods. Her displaying heart, the trembling realms, an image forever branding into countless souls.

That maiden noticing his sullen mood, shortly looking away from him. A vampire having information, her awareness at this point. Suspecting the situation, difficulty to determine the truth, his possible identity.

From high on a hill, a man in his late twenties gazing down at the young woman. His white armor, his flowing red hair, tying at the base with a cloth.

That darkness burning from her body, the Iconoclast revealing herself once again, one from legend. This intense energy to the devil's notice, turning his vision to the hill far above, his eyes on the mysterious man. That maiden's attention on the vampire, shortly looking in the direction.

This person glaring at her, his anger not surprising her. The Elven and Queen shifting their gaze to the location, that serious individual. Stepping forward, unease from the dragon.

"Valkyrie...that is Vulcan. The head of the Order of Cross...why is he here...?" her quivering heart.

Many despising the Iconoclast, one from the past slowly coming into reality. Her endlessly flowing emotions, seeking after what is within.

Not bending to others, feverishly pursuing her path, continuously reaching for the nigh impossible. Her soft heart, loathing the battlefield, constantly fighting.

Vulcan raising his hand, his sharp eyes on her. Loud sounds from afar, everyone glancing around, countless soldiers for miles. Unease from the vampire, his quickly beating heart. Anya pulling away, cowering in fear.

"To think you are real, Iconoclast. There is no mistaking of that power you hold." The man's serious tone.

Iconoclast...? I have heard of them...wait...is that the reason why my memories are gone...? Is it why I accept this...?

Memories within the past, everything making more sense. This hatred inside of her, her infinitely flowing emotions. Slightly lowering her head, her strongly burning malevolence.

Aster's attention on her, a human foolishly presenting this information too soon. Many readying their weapons, all aiming at the young woman. This will to oppose taking hold of her, a pulse deep within her. Blackness surrounding her, walking along her path. Mirroring walls, crimson eyes towards her.

Swirling malice, that Seraph closely following. Cyra's intensifying heartbeat, that angel behind her, their serious vision on the man above. Anya and the Queen's eyes on the entity, feeling her crushing pressure.

The maiden standing there, glancing to her enemies, not phasing by their presence. Her accelerating darkness, brightly shining in this dusk, thickly flowing in the madness. Steadily motioning her hand to her sword, her slowly revealing resolve.

"I would not advise you to take any action." Vulcan threatening, his hands behind his back.

"Heh, is that so? Do you honestly believe your worthless army means a damn to me?" her chilling voice, gripping the handle of her blade.

One from the deepest abyss reflecting from her eyes, a soft heart within, her powerfully burning determination. Glancing to the vampire, Aster immediately noticing.

His vision a bit away, yet another selfish request. Constantly granting her wishes, no matter of the pain, steadily atoning with each one. Looking towards her, nodding in agreement.

Expanding his bat-wings, Vulcan's eyes to him. One from the past, her decision in mind. A heart wishing for the safety of her friends, taking on a massive scale, resisting the reason of others.

"Anya! Fly!" urgency from Aster.

Hearing his words, that princess immediately standing, ascending into the air. Their little importance, those not targeting them.

That vampire rushing to the Queen, sweeping her off her feet, instantly ascending high into the sky. Reviver emitting a pure light, loudly crying out. Rebellion meeting its resolve, both protecting this one close to them.

This Seraph with her, bearing witness to her path. The coldly blowing wind, this heavy air. Her thickening darkness, her stretching will. Those cold eyes, hatred boiling at her core, her overflowing emotions.