Sadness of deepness, torment never leaving. Memories forever branding upon her soul, frustrations of heaviness. Pressure of immensity, that maiden refusing in relenting. Willingness in meeting the challenge, her own goal in mind. Those of highness standing in opposition, fearing her potential. One turning the smallest of possibilities into an actuality, her heart once more desiring in basking within the endless wind. Facing Ryan, Valor and Argent turning their attention towards her. That god knowing her well, her willingness in taking the hatred onto herself. This of naturalness, no matter of her distance within despair, her heart always winning out in the end.

"I would rather the hatred be directed at myself. I am no hero, far from it. Even so, this place...it is the first place I can call home...in a really long time. Now then, what does bother me is specifically who holds this hatred." Cyra conflictingly states, holding her hand to her chest.

Selfishness of her goals, one not a hero. Blackness of her soul, brightly smiling in the past. Yearning for times of pleasantry, words inside of a lock. Incapability of moving further, restraints holding her hand. A way in claiming that pleasure, horribleness of the path. That bar of her home, the young woman wishing in protecting it. That deity gazing upon her, slightly turning away his attention. Dreadfulness for so long, unable in alleviating her sorrow. Multiple chances, failing in reaching. Trying to righthis wrong, wishing in doing more. Her vision slightly in his direction, displeasure within them. Numerous years going by, his action in place. Ryan understanding her sentiments, appreciative of her efforts. That maiden reflecting to the past, her mind trailing innumerable possibilities. Stopping for a second, that swine of interest. Familiarity of him, that face, his attitude. Closely fixating her attention on the situation, a point of connection.

"Mark my words! One day! You will die by my hands!" he yells.

"And I will be waiting for that day." She calmly states.

Rain of coldness, a battlefield bathing in blood. Stench of unforgettableness, a message echoing through. Possibility of it, an unsettling feeling. Enemies over the years, one continuously fighting. Numerous in opposition towards her, that maiden resisting his reason. Her vision slightly widening, thinking back even more. Connecting this, a motive in place. Direction at her, hatred of the requirement. Remembering her encounter with the swine, that demon hiring her for a job. A conniving one he is, playing the field.

"You the bounty hunter?" he utters.

Dampness of the surrounding air, a lingering stench of foulness. Those eyes of the two meeting with the other, the young woman a bit suspicious of the situation at hand. That swine feeling his heart desperately pounding inside of his chest, those crimson eyes piercing down his spine. The maiden facing in the direction of the swine, observing him for a moment. Familiar this one is appearing, no matter so, that young woman cannot quite put her finger on his identity. Her demeanor of calmness, those eyes carefully tracking his actions.

"Whose asking?" she folds her arms.

Around each end, there are those who will no doubt jump at the chance at ending her life. A lawless world the NetherWorld is, those playing a similar game in order to survive. Many engaging in this game of chance, chaos around every corner. No matter so, those finding their standing, holding strong in turmoil. That swine turning towards the bar, glancing in the direction of the young woman. The pig soon facing the maiden, their eyes locking onto the other. Hearts at an unrest, that young woman deeply thinking on this demon. Familiarity of him, unable in remembering.

"The bartender Ryan told me about you, so I figured I would hire you." He explains, holding his hands behind his back.

Those of inferiority, lowness of power, capability in gathering influence of massiveness. Unreasonableness of them, unable in understanding. Hatred of the soul, venturing so far. Learning nothing over the passing time, opposition of her belief. Non coincidental of it, that swine making true to his world. Grasping what is within, proceeding in damning the Nine Worlds in the process of it. Connection of the past and present, everything steadily coming together. Blood boiling, foolishness in allowing him in walking. Beliefs clashing, that devil locking onto her opportunity.

"Hey Ryan, what happened to that client who originally hired me?" Cyra questions in some urgency.

"Who? Reed? That guy fell off the face of the NetherWorld after you spoke to him with your gun." He folds his arms.

"Ever heard of normal communication skills?" Valor speaks to Cyra, humorless of this.

"Never-mind my communication abilities. He has been eating away at me...I never trusted him to begin with." Cyra states, placing her hand upon her waist.

Memories of elusiveness, remembering her encounter with the pig so long ago. Numerous standing against her, everyone falling to her. Mightiness of her approach, calmness of her demeanor. Pitiableness of the swine, one unable in understanding her concept. Reason in going forward, irrationality of the approach. Both harmonious, neither existing without the other. Rationality in taking up her blade, unreasonableness of her goal. One hiring her, showing up years later. Plan of largeness, her own error, regretfulness of it. Madness of it, that heart wishing in putting an end to it. Resolves in opposition, minuscule of the chances. That young woman pushing against the ravishing tides, her deepest desire on the line.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"So you're thinking Reed might be the one who holds great hatred towards you." Argent speaks.

"It is very likely. Those from my bloodline have never been fawned over, or at least not in a good way. For now we head to the Tower of Eternity." She glances to the boy.

"The Tower of Eternity, your father huh..." Ryan positioning his arms in a thinking posture.

"Indeed, there is a promise I must keep, and something I must know. This tower...is also the final activation point of Ultima..." She slightly looks away.

"Talk about a full plate. Before you go, why not take a rest? Have a drink or something." Ryan offering.

Unease from the situation, one from the past coming back into her life. A swine refusing in learning, embracing the way of the demons. Sorrow throughout, torment never ending. A heart of softness, that young woman loathing the battlefield. Reason in taking up her sword, irrationality of the approach. One capable to turn the smallest chance into an actuality, numerous born lower than her. Her high posture, gentleness of her nature. Blackness plaguing her soul, hatred unleashing. Tears of the abyss, loneliness for so long.

That deity knowing of her struggles, his wrong of the past. Trying to reach her, that maiden moving further into the darkness. Depictions of images, malevolence staining her soul. Fear at his depths, placing his hope in her hands. Two once traveling the worlds, separation coming. Reuniting years later, another chance of a miracle. Similarity of the goal, differences of the approach. Cyra glancing to Argent, her clenching heart. Protectiveness of the one of smallness, this boy within the tides of battle. Beneficialness of relaxation, stressfulness of the dilemma.

"Very well. Argent, anything you would like?" Cyra questions.

Smiling of brightness in times of the past, emotions of blissfulness within the wind. Happiness going away, years of bondage. Yearning for freedom, eventually breaking those shackles. Spreading her wings, soaring once again. A parting of dreadfulness, memories of a mess. Two meeting on the battlefield, a deity diving to the depths. Screaming out for her, bringing her back, death grabbing her once again. That maiden returning once more, rising to the challenges. Unsettling of her approach, a god wanting another method, that maiden staining her soul in corruption. Nonetheless, that one steadily revealing again. Gentleness of her nature, determination of her resolve. Proceeding as herself, seeking days of yore. Searching for her daughter, suspiciousness of an entity. That boy thinking for a bit, numerous options to his liking. Shortness of time, his awareness on it. Deciding soon enough, stepping forward, something sweet and full of energy.

"Some fruit-punch please." Argent smiling.

"Coming right up!" Ryan joyously states.

Littleness remaining, those few residing inside of the bar. Pleasantry of the experience, grimness of the situation. Tormenting feelings, countless fleeing. Emptiness of the establishment, wholesomeness of it. Sins of deepness, differences of the connecting point. A home to numerous, invaluableness to one. A devil finding a place of acceptance, constantly returning to it. Sadness of destruction, anger at her depths. Refusing in relenting, slimness of hope. Resting for the moment, relishing within it. Reaching underneath the counter, Ryan taking out a glass. Setting it out on the table in front of him, retrieving a bottle of fruit punch. Pouring a glass full of it, sliding it towards the boy. A family those of the bar are, this child of no difference, that one of smallness underneath the watchful eye of the maiden.

"Also, a sundae for the kid." Cyra states.

"You got it." Ryan smiling.

Tears within the abyss, agonizing emotions. Tides of horribleness, forcing against the influence. Walking in the depths, drowning in sorrow. Conflict around every end, never leaving pain. Scars inside of the shadows, information meeting the awareness on the deity. Understanding more, knowing of the difficulty. Unable to prevent harm to one of closeness, this eating away at him. A weapon of the gods, one capable of turning the tiniest of chances into an actuality. Relaxing for a bit, Valor thinking for a moment. A sundae most appealing, that deity raising his right index finger, the young woman glancing back to him. Friends of nearness, knowing him too well. Simpleness of her companion, innocence in relation to a child. Enjoyableness of it, that entity refusing in growing up.

"You are not a kid." Her humorless expression.

"You're no fun ya know that?" he disappointingly lowers himself.

"And one more for him..." Cyra sighing, covering her face with her right hand.

"Yes!" Valor bouncing a bit in excitement.

"Haha, clearly a lot happened." Ryan laughing.

Journeys of vastness, those once venturing within the largeness of the worlds. Wind of freedom, wings soaring. A hand of guidance in times of yore, smiling of brightness. Pleasantry for years, words inside of a lock. Childishness of the heavens, strictness of the land. Differences uniting, parting for so long. A moment coming, everyone enjoying peace for a bit. Engaging in conversations, telling jokes, embracing in the littleness of their time. The End of Days approaching, panic ensuing. Even so, enjoying the simplicity of life no less of niceness. Cyra turning, placing the money down on the counter.

"If we do meet again Ryan, make sure to put down the heaviest drink you got." Cyra states, heading onward.

"You got it!"

"Heh, I think I might need one as well." Valor faintly smiling, following behind.

"Wait up sis!" Argent quickly trailing along in excitement.

Fear of greatness, a bar of emptiness. Few remaining, valuableness to those companions. Loneliness over the years, that devil coming upon it. Rain eternally within her mind, blood streaming down the side of her face. Her firearm in the direction of the ghoul, his reassurance. Refusing in giving her name, years going by. Finally coming free with it, a friend of importance. A family once more, gods tearing it apart. Dreadfulness within, a weapon far above her capabilities. No matter so, that maiden refusing in relenting. Ryan looking towards them, loudly laughing. Grimness of the problem, hope in the deepest of darkness. That young woman moving onward, Valor faithfully following her, Argent walking beside her. Weight of intensity crushing down upon her, fineness of it. Desires far within, one of most meaning. Feelings reaching out, resolve rising to the challenge. Extremity of the conflict, that heart of softness slowly shining.

Ultima...a weapon of destruction, the highest card of the gods. There is a lot I can do, but there is a limit as well. No matter so, this is no different than those many times before. There is always hope in the deepest of darkness, I will continue believing this. My sins of greatness, time not of my own, uncertainty of my survival. Selfish I am, even so, I will proceed as myself...