Pieces of a realm, those fleeing for their lives. Deities of highness, murals depicting something of horribleness. Each paving their own way forward, believing in their path. An entity coming from two, a name of proudness. Von in meaning, blood of a divine, and that of a devil. Torment throughout the years, a bar of a home. That halfbreed entering into the building, her suspicion of soundness. Devils no longer there, emptiness of the establishment, aside from creaking from the floorboards, and some awareness above. That bartender behind the counter, recognizing a familiar face. Sighing in relief, waving towards her. That maiden shortly standing in front of him, her companions a few feet behind her. Gazing around the surroundings, sorrowfulness from the young woman, her home in a state of pitifulness.

"So...it is as I suspected...the demons have all fled." Cyra distantly speaks.

Fear throughout the realm of lawlessness, unwillingness in combatting those of highness. Smallness of the chances, grimness of it all. This dreadful situation, heartbreaking it is. One gaining a family, deities breaking them apart. Anger at her depths, pressure of immensity. Ryan folding his arms, a sigh of frustration escaping him. Business at a loss, painfulness of seeing so many leaving. Everything crashing down around him, unable in doing anything. Blissful experiences of the past, memories in holding onto. A certain demon returning to a home of nothingness, the Day of Ruin nearing.

"Cyra, it was complete madness earlier. Devils screaming the End of Days is coming, what the hell happened out there?" Ryan holding the back of his head with his right hand.

Treading through the deepest of abyss, surpassing numerous trials. Reclaiming armor of the past, facing reality as herself. Desperation of the deities, those willing in unleashing a weapon of massiveness. None capable in standing against it, hopelessness of it all. Even so, one opposing what is reason, standing against this threat. Loneliness of it, frustrating it is. Emotions boiling at her core, feelings wishing in lashing out. Demons in awareness on the event, everyone on their last feet. A final attempt in resisting complete annihilation, unnerving it is. A frightening force crushing down, difficulty in breathing.

"Ultima Weapon..." Cyra looking towards the bartender with brooding eyes.

Paleness upon Ryan, that ghoul stepping away. Information passing through, knowing of a legend throughout time. A weapon of the gods, one capable in resetting everything. Corruption of greatness, those of highness pushing through with their beliefs. Trampling on those of the land, unwillingness in coexisting. Opening of the entrance to the bar, movement coming into notice. Those few facing in the direction, Victor standing there. His vision meeting with the young woman, unsurprising of it. Shortness in knowing her, awareness on her resolve.

"Thought you would be here." That angel moving onward.

"It is good to see you well." Cyra faintly smiling.

Those of unlikeliness meeting in a single place, worlds of differing beliefs. Ruin approaching, hope of littleness. An an angel amongst them, surprising it is to Ryan, Valor, and Argent. Standing before the maiden, gazing upon her. That Tyrant reflecting from her, an edge of certainty. One able in going the distance, diving into the depths of nothingness. Sorrow of greatness, incomparable agony. Rising to the challenge, opposing the deities. That devil freeing him from his bondage, wishing in giving back a bit. Smallness of the chances, this no less enough.

"I cannot stay here for long. As you can guess, I am wanted above." He folds his arms.

"Figured, honestly...I do not know what to do..." Cyra distantly looking away.

Weight of greatness, her morality of lowness. This catching the attention of her companions, unsettling of their hearts. One giving hope to the hopeless, shouting her soul. Agony of greatness, resisting the rationality of others. Emerging in victory, constantly finding the smallest of opportunities. Lessons from her, even if success is minuscule at best, it is always worth holding on. A weapon of greatness on the rise, a measure in place for dealing with her. Countless scenarios within her mind, each leading to an unfavorable path. That angel slightly looking away, her determination of importance.

"I heard great things about you. Someone who can turn the smallest chance into an actuality, will you really rollover this time?" his voice a bit chilling.

"I never said I will give in, but there is a limit to what I can do." She pounds the counter at her side.

Loudness in the sound, frustration of deepness. Valor gazing upon his companion, one bearing the weight of it all. Everything riding on her success, a plan of any kind of necessity. Her home on the line, everything over the years going away in an instant. Selfishness of her path, her deepest desire slipping out of her hands. A heart wishing for an answer, power far above her own. Terribleness of it all, tides of harshness crashing against her. Pushing in opposition of the influence, that resolve trying to find its fire. That angel sighing, facing away from her, a way in getting her back into the game.

"You know the answer you seek rests with your father, make haste. I will return if the situation worsens, and...thank you..." Victor heading off.

Slightly lowering her head, her quivering heart. Stressfulness of it all, answers with her father. An ally on another end, yet slimness of it all. Those learning of her, a devil with potential far above countless. Victory in her presence, turning the tiniest of opportunities into an actuality. Gods fearing this, her birth coming from one of the land, and another of the heavens. An abomination of an existence, that blood moon constantly there. Ryan looking away, scratching the back of his head. Her words of truth, a limitation of her efforts. A demon reaching far above her standing, treading on the domain of the gods. That angel leaving the bar, understanding the severity. Valor and Argent facing her, sadness from them.

"Sis..." The boy looking down.

"No matter the morrow, no matter the sorrow, there is light in the deepest of darkness. Those were your words, and I will continue to believe them." Valor faintly smiling at her.

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A message throughout time, one constantly holding onto her teaching. Hopelessness over the years, one continuously resisting. Torment throughout her most horrible days, searching for the faintest light. Treading within the farthest of abyss, gazing upon it. Desperation at hand, racing after it. Grabbing hold, claiming her freedom. Death of the price, returning for her own. Failure of the result, a thousand years of torture. Painfulness of grandness, rising to the challenges. This no less different from the many times before, that maiden slowly inhaling and exhaling. Straightening up, her vision of seriousness. This chilling wind flowing through, her companions bearing witness to this.

"Right...this is no different. I will drag those gods to their knees, and make them beg for forgiveness. That is, if I do not kill them first."

"And that is the demon I know." Ryan brightly smiling.

"Still cooler than you Valor." Argent turning his attention to the god.

His vision on the boy, shortly shifting it to his old friend. Connecting the dots, frustration of deepness. Covering his face, that maiden giggling. Moving up to his side, playfully hitting her shoulder against him. This situation working against his chances, the End of Days increasing her likableness with the one of smallness. Laughter filling the bar, niceness in it all. Even in the grimmest of conflict, there can be happiness. Those gripping their livelihood, resisting the logicality of those above. Facing her attention to the bartender, gentleness in her gaze.

"Ryan, I need to know of any information involving Ultima Weapon." She positions her arms in a thinking posture.

Words of the past, resolve of resilience. Opposing the rationality of others, living through days of torment. Filth upon the body, emotions directing towards a deep desire. Unwillingness in relenting, that reverberating soul. A heart of softness, purity of the past, malice of the present. Halves once whole, both similarly reflecting. Scratching the back of his head, Ryan looking away. Think he on a solution of logicality, a deity of a magnitude far above their standing. No matter of the slimmest of chances, that devil taking advantage of it, finding a way to bring success to the most hopeless of scenarios.

"Any sort of weakness will be of much appreciation, preventing the resurrection seems near impossible at this point." She places her hand upon her waist.

"Ultima Weapon...its only weakness I can think of would be the vessel..." Ryan's voice slightly shaking.

"Vessel?" she closely looks onward.

A connecting point, that path steadily clarifying. Disadvantageous of the situation, that bartender never steering her wrong. Tides of harshness, pushing against its influence. One from two of greatness, carrying their images. Rationality of her mother, irrationality of her father. Points of opposition, yet the possibility of infinity. A vessel containing a soul, light within the darkness. Eternally holding onto that message, fire setting anew. Defeat no less in directly assaulting this foe, another leverage creating that chance of success. Potential far inside, that entity slowly reaching for her deepest desire.

"Right...Ultima Weapon needs a vessel in order to walk this land, its a god even above myself." Valor informing her.

Grimness of the situation, an opportunity of hopefulness. Visualizing a way towards victory, slimness of it all. Uncertainty in her chances of winning, that devil refusing in giving in. Seeking those endless days of the past, an obstacle of grandness within her path. Enduring horribleness, loathing the battlefield. Screaming into the void of eternity, shouting her soul. A way always in existence, that heart continuously holding on. Glancing in Valor's direction, accounting his words. Destruction of the vessel of the answer, a shot of longness. Smallness of the opportunity, this no less enough in opposing.

"Man these worlds are so backwards now. Demons are good, angels are pricks, gods are even worse. I just want things to go back to normal." Ryan sighing, stressfulness of his tone.

"Ryan, if I destroy the vessel, will that stop Ultima Weapon? Even if I cannot defeat it?" she places her hands upon the counter.

Renewing fire, experiences paving the way. Desperation of the situation, an enemy of the heavens. One above the deities, pressure of massiveness on her shoulders. Those knowing of her efforts, a devil capable of grabbing onto the tiniest of chances. Dreadfulness of deepness, incomparable agony. Emotions of illness, loneliness at her depths. Her family of the bar, those gods tearing apart her life. Littleness of it all, determination in resisting. Ryan bearing witness to this, unsurprising it is. Astronomically low her odds are, that young woman willing in reaching, trying to make it into an actuality.

"Theoretically, yes, but that's all that I can truthfully answer." He slightly looks away.

A theory in place, logicality of it. A weapon requiring a vessel, power of grandness to the individual. A way in erasing those within their path, resetting the playing field. A solution towards the demons, a way in ending a certain one of the land. An entity born underneath the light of the crimson moon, murals in depiction. Those in awareness on it, blackness consuming them. An abyss of loneliness, Valor reflecting to the image. His quivering heart, deeply thinking, positioning his arms. Another possibility to turn the tides of the war, lowness of chances, hopefulness existing.

"Still...Ultima Weapon will also need great hatred as its base to be a vessel...I get it now..." Valor lowering his arms.

"Get what?" Argent questions, looking in Valor's direction.

A weapon of the gods, hatred of greatness. Requirements of necessity, points of possibility. Each of their own, proceeding in the direction of their beliefs. A final play against those below, desperation of deities. One willing in opposing, locking onto any opportunity. Cyra turning towards her companion, information of necessity, one possessing knowledge. A beast of highness, those intruding upon her life, destroying her new family. Illness of feelings, anger at her core. Grimness of the conflict, uncertainty in meeting the challenge. Despite it all, even if it is a somber morrow, that young woman continuing onward. Resolve feverishly igniting, grabbing hold of the smallest of hope.

"Explain." She speaks in interest.

Colorfulness of the past, blissfulness once in existence. That one of the land ascending, soaring along her companion. Happiness for a moment, dreadfulness setting in. Two parting in a flowery field, that bleeding moon forever within her mind. Loneliness for years, her soul yearning for freedom. Planning in place, painfulness of it. A moment between two, attaining release. Returning for her own, failure of equivalence. Wrongs of greatness, trying to righta certain one. Constantly falling, rising even stronger. Valor looking towards her, folding his arms. Ryan turning his attention to the deity, puzzling his expression is. A chance of a possibility, that god in awareness on his old friend. One refusing in rolling over, searching for the tiniest opportunity.

"The gods wish to rid mainly you from the Nine Worlds, as a result, they will need someone who holds great animosity towards you to make this work. Hatred has to be on a concentrated point, and within some part of reason. Though, that reason could be anything really." Valor explaining.

Direction towards one, numerous in the line of fire. Selfishness guiding the way, normalcy for devils. Those following what is within, thriving for the nigh impossible. Each paving their own way forward, trampling on countless. Sickness of it, one possessing a heart of softness. Coldness over the years, yet steadily returning to the surface. Embracing her imperfections and selfish desires, blackness staining her soul. Hatred boiling at her depths, feelings lashing out. Slightly looking away, Cyra thinking on his words. An ordeal easier in dealing with, a way in minimizing the damage. Sinfulness of massiveness, atrocities of her past. Littleness of the matter, her vision setting upon her path.

"Hatred towards me...good." She calmly turns.

"How is that good?" Ryan questions in confusion.