Cyra a devil, one of the offspring of a Tyrant. A demon going so far, standing in the domain of the gods. Years passing by, Alastor once of grandness. Lævateinn slaying his foes, yet his time directing into a child. That daughter of his carrying his resolve, rising to the challenge at hand. Surtr, a deity of fire, infamousness of him. Countless fearing him, a god aiming for heights even higher than Alastor. Two mighty powers staring down the other, flames engulfing the village. Screaming slowly settling, inhabitants bearing witness to this development. That Elven resting his vision onward, his eyes trembling. A demon opposing a god, that same devil no less the child of a certain one. A heart reaching out, standing in the eye of a storm. Pressure of intensity, some uncertainty expressing from her. Extending her blade, glancing to it. Lævateinn not within its full capacity, a disadvantage of severity. Even so, a hand grabbing hold of the smallest chance.
"Lævateinn, it has once been such a proud weapon. You may be Alastor's child, but you are far from worthy of it." Surtr states.
One loathing the battlefield, a devil wishing for adventure away from conflict. A meeting between two, both from differing worlds. Pleasureful it has been, a soul free to soar. Lævateinn once a weapon of mightiness, that young woman of softness. No matter so, a sword remaining by her through thick and thin. Her unwavering eyes upon the god, that devil refusing to relent. One reflecting a similar resolve to another, meeting on grounds far from her own. Intimidating it might be, but it is never truly hopeless. A legendary treasure unwilling to battle, its wielder holding strong.
"Lævateinn is family. Worthy or not, we will never abandon one another." Cyra responds more seriously.
Those many years inside of the past, a sword once of grandness. That weapon and Tyrant striving towards a goal, even so, a most surprising development. Time going on, Cyra eventually coming into reality. Alastor relinquishing his blade, giving it to his daughter. Most unsettling it has been, but a bond forming between the two. Resting her vision onward, witnessing the ground beneath Surtr's feet burning away. Fire intensifying, spreading throughout his body. Unrest within the eyes of the devil, feeling the heat steadily increasing. That will to resist, a sword trying to meet her resolve.
"Burn away, devil." He confidently speaks.
Dematerializing, Surtr bursting into flames. That fire spreading throughout the area, intensifying the heat. Turning her attention above, Cyra witnessing an inferno descending upon her. Adjusting her footing, dashing away. Flames crashing down, the young woman narrowly avoiding the assault. Fire escalating, reaching high into the sky. Surtr emerging out of the inferno, rushing at the maiden. Speed of greatness, that devil angling her footing, directly rushing at the deity. Widely extending her blade, closing in upon her target. Two mighty entities, one far above, another treading the land. Both in opposition of the other, desires driving their way forward.
Hearts of certainty, resolve holding strong. That god colliding his fist into the demon sword, an intense shockwave ripping through the surroundings. Dashing to his side, Cyra continuing her assault. Surtr repelling her attack, this pattern resuming. That one reflecting her father, standing against the nigh impossible, reaching for heights far above her level. Striking from each angle, sliding around his defenses, a deity of an impenetrable wall. Stepping back, Cyra witnessing those flames intensifying around the god. Glancing to Lævateinn, that weapon cowering from this pressure. One no longer in its glory days, falling weak from the passiveness of its wielder. Even so, that blade trying to resist.
"At this rate...Lævateinn will be destroyed. I have to think of something, and fast..." Sweat running down the side of her face.
Unrest inside of her, limitations in her capabilities. One despising battle, her passiveness deteriorating Lævateinn. No less, a weapon embracing the simplicity around it. Malevolence crashing against that harsh fire, flames spreading throughout. Heat evermore agonizing, those inhabitants suffering. Unrestful of the Elven, fruitlessness of her efforts. Even so, a devil willing to oppose. Confusing this is, that wave of hope washing over him. Turning his attention to the villagers, their attention in the direction of the young woman. One capable of reaching out to others, uniting them against a common foe. Surtr expanding his arms, proudly taking a step towards her. That maiden resting her vision upon him, uncertainty in her eyes. Her many actions having no effect on this deity, time running out, a conclusion steadily coming.
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"Do you see now? It is pointless to resist my influence. Come, daughter of Alastor. Join me, and all can be forgiven." He offers once again.
Flames of harshness, agonizing it is upon her. Oxygen of limitation, heat stinging against her body. Sweat running down the sides of her face, her vision trying to visualize a path onward. Connecting those points, replaying those failures. Small the chances may be, but that being enough to oppose. Standing straight, Cyra lowering her weapon. That blazing fire intensifying by the moment, the Elven and villagers looking on in unease. A faint smile expressing upon Surtr, that deity lowering his arms. Turning to his side, extending a hand towards her.
"Your decision then?"
"Apologies, but I serve no one." Her eyes piercing through the god.
Different in standing they may be, that will to oppose feverishly burning. One of persistence, much like another. Anger growing inside the eyes of the deity, that god of fire directly facing her. Demons constantly resisting, even when facing such staggering odds. Extending her blade, glancing to Lævateinn, those eyes of uncertainty upon it. Desperation in the situation, that one reaching for the nigh impossible. Those inhabitants of the village feeling enlightenment, that Elven in awareness on her struggling. No matter so, that maiden continuing to fight.
"Lævateinn, I ask of you. Lend me your aid, otherwise, we both will falter." She pleads.
Hearing her words, that weapon trying to meet her request. This pressure upon it, that resolve rising to the conflict. Malevolence slowly circling the sword, hastily increasing by the moment. That blade resonating with her pleas, resisting Surtr's will. Flames lashing the surroundings, fire spreading. Those villagers enduring, bearing witness to this development. Cyra resting her vision onward, seeing Surtr cracking his knuckles. Those fiery eyes piercing down her core, even so, that devil refusing to relent. A heart breaking its bondage, that soul seeking to soar.
"Play time is over."
Stomping down with his right foot, lava piercing from below the ground, extending high into the air. That Elven and villager resting their vision onward in shock, witnessing that assault trapping those two in an arena. That young woman turning her attention to her surroundings, an exit nowhere in sight. That scorching heat hitting against her, that maiden falling to her knee, holding her chest, gasping for air. Around each and every step of the way, that deity presenting a new challenge. An opponent far above her, yet that will trying to hold on.
"The longer you fight here, the less oxygen you will have to work with. Indeed you are the daughter of Alastor, forcing me this far." He confidently speaks.
"As it stands now...I cannot keep this up much longer..." She slowly rises to her feet.
Thickness of the surrounding air, smoke rising high. Unrest inside of the village, uncertainty in the result to come. Cyra looking onward, her vision slowly blurring. That blazing heat striking against her, her lungs crushing against this pressure. A fearsome deity this one is, commanding fire to such an extent. No matter so, that devil seeking out a path. Even if it is the smallest chance, that being more than enough. One traveling in the deepest of abyss, a hand reaching out. That faintest light in sight, a heart refusing to give in.
"Burn away..." His body bursting into flames.
The young woman stepping back, those flames rapidly surrounding her. A prison entombing her, the fire hastily closing in. That maiden shifting to a defensive stance, holding her ground. Those flames colliding within every direction, Cyra feeling the scorching fire tearing away at her. Struggling to resist, closing her eyes, biting in the intense pain. Her vision opening in devastation, that intensity agonizing upon her. Flames reaching far and wide, an inferno spiraling above. Lævateinn crying out, its malevolence unable in combatting this assault.
"Hhhrrrnnn....AAAAAHHH!!!" she screams out in excruciating pain.
That fire slowly dispersing, Surtr materializing from a distance. The god of fire folding his arms, his vision of calmness. Cyra standing there, the color from her eyes no more. That maiden trembling, steam escaping from her. Her body hanging low, unable to resist any longer. That Elven taking a step forward, unrest inside of his vision. Those villagers losing hope, their hearts sinking. One no longer able in opposing, a height too far for her. Lævateinn standing silent, a conclusion coming into reality.
"Impressive, offspring of Alastor, surviving one of my most devastating attacks. Either way, you are not long for the world of the living." He turns from her.
His voice echoing through her, her heart quivering with those words. Blackness engulfing her, that devil horizontally floating in that space. Resistance no longer remaining, Lævateinn unwilling to battle. That old friend of hers in another location, and this enemy far too much to handle. Around each and every step of the way, hope fading. That faintest light so far, an abyss going on. A devil reaching for heights far above her own, falling back to the land. That will to resist breaking, a heart wishing for another solution.