Restoration: Cursed Memories(Book 2)

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Chapter 7: Those Who Must Sin(Bonus(Pt 3))

Another few millennia, perhaps that is being a bit hopeful. How many years must she wait to grasp that golden opportunity? Hard to say really. It is seeming like an endless rift. Traveling in a plain of nothingness, a path without end.

However so, even if there is a minuscule chance of her desires becoming a reality, then she will continue to press onward. No matter the grief that lies ahead. This is something she experiences time and time and again. Her mother turning towards her, looking upon her daughter. Knowing that her child has gone beyond the limit that any normal person can withstand.

“You must make an offering to Lævateinn,” she softly informs.

Cyra propping her head in confusion, wondering what sort of offering her mother means. What can this sword require to unlock the hidden potential deep within it? There is much she does not know about Lævateinn now that she carefully thinks on it.

“What do you mean?” Cyra positioning her arms in a thinking posture.

Her mother turning, looking upon the blade that extending high in the background. The demon sword Lævateinn, a legendary weapon. Once belonging to a certain someone. A loyal weapon going through with the wishes of that one person.

“Over the many years, as you fell deeper into despair, you have accumulated much malice. Lævateinn feeds on that malevolence. From every battle you fight, a piece of your enemies darkness merges with yourself. Once enough offerings have been made, only then can your true abilities be set free,” she explains.

“...”

Cyra looking down, knowing all too well of the truth her mother speaks. Over the many years, as she slaughters her enemies, some of their malevolence merges with herself. As such, she continues to fall deeper into despair. If offering that darkness to the demon sword is necessary to keep her from being consumed by her own malevolence, then certainly it is an option to consider. The maiden lowering her hands to her side, walking past her mother. Cyra standing a few feet ahead.

“Allow me to take a guess, the offering must be made at that tree huh,” Cyra placing her hand upon her waist, glancing back to her mother.

“Correct, be-careful though, offering too much may cause Lævateinn to devour you,” she warns.

Cyra looking ahead with some unease. Any misstep can certainly mean her very soul being no more. There is much she does not know about the demon sword, but as it is standing now, at her current power, this endless cycle will never have a chance of ending. The maiden walking onward, her mother looking on. Cyra approaching the tree, a familiar warmth coming over her. Perhaps this place is her haven. In her deepest nightmares, this is the one place she can retreat towards. The memory of the time she has been most happy.

“How far are you willing to dive into the depths of despair, Cyra...?” her mother distantly looking on.

Cyra soon standing in front of the tree, looking at Lævateinn which is staked into the ground. The weapon burning an intense malevolence. The darkness from the weapon reacting to her own, her body emitting thick negative energy. The maiden holding her hand to her chest, closing her eyes. Cyra slowly inhaling and exhaling, soon opening her eyes, extending her hand to her weapon.

The malevolence from her body moving towards that of the demon sword, merging with the weapon itself. As a result, the negative energy flowing out, making its way to the demon sword high in the sky within the background. Cyra looking on, seeing Lævateinn intensely burning negative energy. The weapon crying out as if calling out to her. Her eyes slightly widening, the maiden extending her hand to the hilt of the weapon, grabbing hold of it.

“Lævateinn, I require your services just a bit longer,” she softly speaks.

The sword crying out even louder. From the depths of the land, negative energy rushing out, surrounding the maiden. As she slowly removes the weapon from the ground, the malevolence around it begins to settle, merging with her own. Cyra soon balancing the blade upon her shoulder, turning towards her mother, watching the approaching woman.

Her mother soon standing before her, looking upon her daughter. Once again, from the look in the maidens eyes, she can see determination burning from deep inside. Perhaps one final push, to finally take hold of those desires that continuously moves further and further away. Her mother gazing upon her with sorrowful eyes, and Cyra looking on in confusion. Wondering why her mother expresses such.

“What is wrong, mother?” she questions in confusion.

Her mother looking away, holding her hands behind her back.

“This is not the life I wished for you. I never meant for you to be born with such an ill fate,” she softly speaks.

The maiden looking up into the vast blue sky. The wind gently blowing against them. This may very well be but an illusion, but it is certainly nice. The place in which Cyra can feel happiness within.

“There is no such thing as fate,” Cyra calmly speaks.

Her mother looking towards her, and the maidens eyes soon meeting with her. Those eyes of confidence piercing deep into the woman. A resolve ever so familiar to her. ‘Fate is a fools word,’ those words she will continuously hold onto.

“There are only those who hide behind the notion of fate as a means to do as they please. Though, if they wish to play such a game, then so be it. These desires of mine, no matter how far I must sink into the depths of despair, I will have them realized,” she faintly smiles.

Her mother faintly smiling, turning from her daughter. Even though she has been born with such an ill hand, she continues to fight, even if it is but a somber morrow. Proudness, that is what her mother is feeling.

“Then go now, head back to the graveyard. There is something there that you will need to continue on,” she glances back.

Looking past her mother, Cyra resting her eyes on the gateway to the graveyard far ahead. Whatever answers lies in such a place, she must venture in, no matter how deep she must go. The will to resist, this is what she needs. To keep pushing, no matter how far she must venture.

Even if I must bathe myself in malevolence, even if I must fall into the pit of despair, these desires of mine will be realized. To return to such a time once again, even if I must fight for an eternity, I will do so, all for the chance to grasp that life once more...


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