Restoration: Cursed Memories(Book 2)

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Chapter 13: Those Without Will(Part 3)

Taking a step forward, feeling a presence staring at her. A boy rushing out in that moment from the nearby bushes. A child seeming no more than the age of ten. The boy approaching her, Cyra noticing the child lunging at her. Grabbing his arm as his hand approaches her neck. Valor looking on, wondering how low someone can sink. No matter how long he lives, there appears to be someone that can prove him wrong on this matter. Looking on, watching the boy struggling to break free. Conflicting emotions clashing within the deity.

Raising the boy, Cyra looking directly into his eyes. The child glaring at her. All the maiden can see is hatred within the eyes of the child. Such a thing, for someone so young to experience such corruption. Cyra clearly feeling the malevolence burning away at him.

“Why are you attacking?” she calmly questions.

The boy continuing to resist her, trying to break her grip on him. Unfortunately, the maiden requires answers, keeping a tight hold on him. At this point, he is no more than an enemy to her. Even if it is disheartening.

“DIE!!!” he yells, revealing a dagger.

The boy approaching to stab her head, Cyra tossing the child into the air. Revealing in an instant the demon sword Lævateinn. The halfbreed cleaving him in two. The two halves falling in opposite directions, blood raining down below. Valor expressing some disgust, the deity looking away. No matter how many wars he fights, or whatever smaller conflict, he can never find adjustment if a child is at the center of such madness.

“Wasn’t that a bit too harsh?” Valor distantly questions.

Slightly looking away, even the maiden despising such actions. However, the child has been an enemy. His intent no more than with bloodlust within his eyes. Consequences may have certainly come otherwise. A difficult decision for her, and one that will never sit right with her. No matter how far she goes within this abyss, there are trials to pass through.

“These children have been raised for war. I cannot show any sympathy. No matter how much I wish to do so...these children have only the intent to kill,” she distantly explains.

Standing quiet, the god knowing all too well that she speaks the truth. Sympathy on the battlefield is a weakness. This is something an enemy will certainly exploit. Such a thing has been made clear to him many years ago.

“A slight detour is in order. We find who is organizing this, and end them,” Cyra placing away her sword.

Taking a moment to observe the area, it does not appear that there are anymore eyes upon her. For now it is safe, but it is hard to say on how long such will remain. Madness this is, an unforgivable act. While there are much more things of importance at the moment. This is something Cyra must bear witness towards the end.

“Hmm...whoever they are, they must be within range to stop these children from escaping. They have to be nearby,” Valor positioning his arms in a thinking posture.

“My thoughts exactly,” she walks onward.

Making their way deeper into the camp, the stench of blood appearing to be all that is existing. Such a scent sickening them, knowing all too well of the many victims. Both soon arriving at the heart of the camp. From afar, Cyra and Valor taking witness to a boy around the age of eight being beaten into the ground. Those that do such a thing appearing to be slightly older than him. A truly horrific scene, watching the boy trying to protect himself. Cruelty it is, punches and kicks, shouting and screams. A primitive life this must be.

“Haha! Weakling!” one boy mocking.

“Trash!” another boy yelling, kicking the child.


Locking onto a target ahead, Cyra directing her revolver forward. Her vision upon one of the children. Pulling the trigger, a burst of negative energy rushing through the area, piercing the skull of the child. The assault compressing, soon violently exploding, blasting away the surrounding kids.


The child who cowers on the ground slowly lowering his arms. Eyes bright as the sun, and hair as red as the moon. The kid looking on, seeing the maiden and Valor, watching the other monstrous children surrounding the halfbreed with murderous intent.

Calmly standing, Cyra looking on, witnessing the children slowly circling her. Perhaps some pity is revealing inside of her eyes. However, the devil holds no sympathy for enemies, be them children or adult. Such is the cruelty of battle. One must always try to survive. After all, one’s story will end upon their demise. As such, they must continue onward, even if their actions clashes against their morality.

“Valor, protect that child. They will be the one to lead us to the person in charge of this,” Cyra glancing to him.

Valor clearly seeing the unwillingness within her eyes. After all, they are merely children. However, the deity knowing that soft-heart of hers must be put aside. Cyra knowing this fact as well. Be them children or not, an enemy is an enemy.

“Alright,” he agrees.

A child raising a knife, a sinister smile expressing from them. They look on, tilting the blade to reflect the face of the maiden. Cyra wondering what kind of monster is responsible for such drastic transformation of an innocent child. Glancing to her right, seeing a kid rushing towards her. They reveal a dagger, lunging straight at the maiden. The blade approaching the rib of the maiden, her eyes calm upon her target. In that instant, Cyra grabbing the wrist of the child.

Looking into their eyes, seeing such hatred within it. Feeling the malevolence of the children intensely crushing down at her. A pity this is, and sorrowful really. Rendering her knee into the face of the kid, blood spilling onto the ground. The halfbreed holding a firm grip, throwing them across the field. The child crashing into yet another one.

The two falling to the ground. Without a moment to spare, Cyra immediately directing a revolver in their direction, standing upon her side. The eyes of the maiden reflecting sorrow. Enemies they are, and truly sickening this is to do.

“Forgive me...” she distantly speaks.

With those words, the devil pulling the trigger. Negative energy rushing through the air. In an instant, the bullet piercing through both of the children, immediately exploding. Body-parts scattering everywhere, blood raining down from high above. Valor rushing towards the suffering child on the ground. Kneeling to the kid, the deity inspecting the condition of the boy.

“You okay?” he verifies.

Nervously looking to the god, some conflict deep within the child. All he has known since his arrival is cruelty. Perhaps things appear good currently, but he knows well that such situations can flip in an instant.

“U—uh yeah...” he timidly assures.

Valor and the child looking towards the maiden, seeing Cyra grabbing the arm of yet another enemy, hurling them into the air. Raising her blade, those sorrowful eyes looking on as the enemy fall towards her. The kid looking on, their eyes widening as they descend. Falling upon the tip, sliding down the blade. Blood smearing the steel of the weapon.

The eyes of the child expressing pure horror. Blood seeping out of their body, coating the sword in an even thicker crimson color. Slightly lowering her blade, Cyra soon raising it. The maiden swinging her sword to the right, causing the child to fly off of it. The remaining children looking on, witnessing the corpse of their own falling to the ground. Turning their attention to the maiden, seeing such cold eyes piercing straight in their direction. Cold sweat running down the side of their faces, feeling her icy glare tearing them apart. The children slowly stepping away.

“She’s strong...” the wounded child hesitantly speaks.

“Yeah...” Valor agreeing.

Indeed she is, even from the earlier days. Cyra showing such frightening potential that even sends shivers down his spine. Perhaps that power hiding away deep within her causes her to strive for even more power. Even so, she is within reason. With the revelation of who her mother is, it is making sense. The resolve of a devil, and the reasoning of a deity. Two clashing forces, yet both working so closely together.

The few remaining children attempting to flee. It is clear that going on any longer will be suicidal. Though, their attempts at escaping is but a dream really. Negative energy rushing towards them in several directions. Looking on, seeing the concentration of energy colliding into the children. Cyra and Valor are in shock of it all. Hearing the screams, witnessing the bodies of the children shredding apart by the unknown force.

Corpses scattering upon the ground. The maiden quickly collecting herself, knowing all too well that this is not the time to have any distractions. Looking on, taking attention to where the energy is flowing from.

“This is the reason for them taking up sickening...” she looks on in disgust.

Cyra turning her attention to the child who is suffering from their wounds. The maiden glancing to Valor, who is trying to figure out the reasoning behind this madness. Nothing is making sense, an unknown island that is leading towards the Temple of Nirva. An internment camp that is kidnapping children.

Why force them to fight? The only logical conclusion is to raise them for war. Cyra shaking her head slowly from left to right, concerning herself with the one child that is still resisting such temptations. Walking up to the child, towering over the boy that is looking up to her. The kid looking at Lævateinn, seeing blood falling towards the ground. Feeling his heart desperately pounding within his chest. The boy looking on, watching the maiden kneeling to him.

“You okay?” she softly questions.

Hearing the tone in her voice, his heart rate slowly beginning to settle. Perhaps he really is safe now. Still, he knows well that he is still within the heart of such conflict. For now, perhaps these people can assist in his escape of the camp.

“Y—yeah...” he shly assures her, slightly looking down.

Cyra faintly smiling, perhaps he is only a bit older than Maria. One can very well say that she is feeling some sort of responsibility. Valor turning towards her, looking on, knowing all too well of the emotions she is experiencing.

“What is your name?” Cyra questions.

“Argent, ma’am...”

“Well Argent, you want to leave here right?” she pleasantly asks.

“Y—yeah...but how...?” he wonders.

Leaving here, it will be nice. Anywhere is better than this living hell. The child thinking on this, desperately wishing for anyway out of the camp. To get away from those cruel captors. If there is anyway out of this place, he will take it.

“Tell us where we can find the ones in charge of this place. When we kill them, you will be able to leave,” she informs him.

Looking back in uncertainty, feeling fear coming over him. Despite this, the boy knowing that this is his chance. That it is better to act now than to wait. Waiting may result in eternally being a prisoner.

“Up ahead, there is a large gate there are the ones who kidnapped us...” he explains.

An internment camp that kidnaps children, raising them for war. Now that Cyra thinks about it, this does seem familiar. The arising conflicts, the questionable jobs she has taken over the years, it is now coming together.

“Tell me, the conflicts that went on around the NetherWorld, is it their doing?” she questions, her tone is a bit more serious.

“From what I hear, yeah...they kidnap kids, and forces them to fight,” he looks towards her.

“That would explain the reason for bounty hunting...” she positions her hand to her chin, slightly looking away.

“I see...” the maiden standing from the ground.

The child looking towards her, seeing a warm smile upon her face. The halfbreed extending a hand to the child, placing away her weapon. The boy can only look at her for a moment, soon turning his attention towards Valor. The god tilting his head in Cyra’s direction, assuring him that everything will be fine now. Looking back to the maiden, then towards her hand. Hesitantly extending his hand towards her, Cyra taking hold of his hand, raising him to his feet.

“After we get you out of here, and deal with a bit of a problem. We should really get you into more appropriate clothing,” she places her hand upon her waist.

Valor thinking for a moment, soon realizing how this situation will look. The deity tapping his chin, looking up for a bit, soon quickly shaking his head from left to right. The god leaning over to the maiden, who glances to him, her expression clearly of annoyance. At this point, the devil knowing him too well.

“I am not acting as the father in this whole weird scenario...” Valor whispering.

Cyra covering her face with her right hand, trying to hold in her frustration. Indeed he is a lovable goofball, but there are even times when it is too much for her to take. The maiden letting out an agonizing sigh.

“Let us just go...” she aggravatingly speaks, walking onward.

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