Restoration: Cursed Memories(Book 2)

All Rights Reserved ©

Chapter 13: Those Without Will(Bonus Scene(Part 3))

Passing through the gate in which takes her away from those pleasant memories, diving deeper into the endless darkness. Even if it is but a somber morrow, even if her very existence is of rejection, she shall continue onward. A curse of an existence it is, to eternally fight, to continue to reach out, to scream out where no one will reach out, or even hear those cries.

Perhaps sorrow is all that she knows, which is okay, that despair gripping at her will only serve to push her onward. To become the Bringer of Demise, if there is any chance of such desires to become a reality, then she knows of how far she must tread. For a chance to grasp what she most wishes for.

Standing in front of the gate. The freezing wind all around. Slowly exhaling, seeing her breath in the air. Strange really, the devil wondering why such a world is without warmth. Is it because of the despair she is experiencing? A world in which such warmth does not exist? The maiden slowly looking around, seeing the decaying trees slowly freezing over.

Looking on, witnessing icy mist rising high into the air, slowly spiraling around. Her expression becoming slightly grim. Feeling the thickness of the cold scraping away at her body. Her attention deeper into the spiraling icy mist, seeing a shining azure light. It is strange really, even though it is frighteningly cold, she can feel a warmth.

Desire for a warmth that can never reach fulfillment. To live a life in which those troubles can eternally evaporate. Slightly looking down, knowing all too well of the actions to take. To make those desires into a reality.

“In order for such desires to even have a chance...I must...sever the past...” she distantly dreads.

Reaching her hand back to her blade. Lævateinn crying out, Cyra gripping the handle of the weapon. The maiden looking on, seeing the light slowly descending. Trailing its movements, watching the light touching down on the ground. Closely looking on, seeing a figure taking form. The light slowly subsiding, her eyes distantly looking ahead. Seeing the illusion of her old friend. Naturally, this much is of expectance.

The trial of Lust, bodily desires in which one must embrace, but also done away with. That cold chilling ice, it can come from no other than her old friend, Valor. That warmth in the harshest of cold, it is one she knows well. That hand always reaching out, no matter how painful it may be. No matter how selfish her requests may be.

“Cyra...will you really go so far?” he distantly questions.

Looking away for a moment. Every part of her screaming out in agony. Knowing well that the trials require considerable sacrifice in order to gain something. Looking ahead to the illusion, her eyes distant upon him. Sorrow rising within her.

“This is how it has always been. The one time I needed you most...and...” she stops herself, feeling rage building within her.

The hand of the illusion trembling, Cyra slightly looking down. Guilt deep in her eyes. No matter the sorrow she is feeling. The rage deep inside of her, it will always be hard to confront him about these things.

“Sorry...I did not think—”

“That is it! You did not think! Perhaps I was a fool...that much can be said for certain...” her voice providing agony.

Looking away from her. Accepting her hatred upon him. Knowing well that she has justification in such. Moving his hand to his katana, gripping the hilt upon it. His eyes extending deep sorrow.

“You have every right to be angry at me. I should have done more...I should have acted, I should have stopped you that night...” he depressingly speaks.

Those words she is hearing, knowing such is that of an illusion. Even knowing this much, that it is not real. It does not stop the rage building within her. Even though he is her closest friend. The grief deep inside of her slowly pouring out. Unable to stem those emotions deep within. Malevolence beginning to extend from her body. The illusion looking on, witnessing the darkness thickening, feeling a powerful pressure crushing down on him.

“It can still be made right,” he speaks, taking a step towards her.

Standing upon her side, directing Lævateinn at the illusion. Her eyes glaring into his own. Perhaps not every wrong can have rectification. Either way, the boiling fury within her slowly letting loose, unwilling to hear of anymore.

“The time for talk has been long over. You are but a trial and nothing more,” her voice coldly extending.

The illusion releasing the hilt of his weapon, taking a step forward. Expanding his arms, leaving the maiden in much confusion. Cyra is but an enemy to him, so why purposefully leave one’s self in such exposure?

“Then come, strike me down. If your heart has truly sunken into the depths of nothingness, then do so. If not, then I know your soft heart still remains,” he confidently looks into her eyes.

Looking on, knowing all too well that he is but an illusion. Even so, her hand hesitating to move. Her eyes expressing sorrow. No matter of his inactions, of the sadness it can cause. It is never easy raising a weapon to him. Her blade slowly lowering, uncertain whether or not to proceed.

“Remember, you are not an abomination,” he walks towards her.

Looking down, her weapon at her side. Her hand shaking, combatting who she is, and who she is becoming. An abomination? Possibly one can say. Those deepest desires continuously crying out. A soul eternally in bondage. Resisting those shackles that is binding her.

“Hatred does no good,” he gently speaks.

‘Hatred does no good,’ those words ringing through her. Hatred only breeding more hatred. Feeling the approach of the illusion, her body unable to move. The cold slowly subsiding, and a familiar warmth beginning to fill her. The illusion standing before her, raising a hand to her chin. Gently motioning her head to his view.

“Come now, let us move on from this pitiful Hell,” he gently speaks.

Her eyes losing focus, her vision blurring by the moment. Those words resonating with her. To move away from this. To put it all behind her. To make it all just a nightmare. Such she will very much like.

“Give into those desires, what you can have is ever so close,” he continues.

Hearing those words, that in which she desires can become a reality. Her vision slowly giving away. Falling into the depths of nothingness. The bliss of darkness overtaking her. Floating there in that endless abyss.

I am not an abomination, and what is here can become a reality. Still...something does not seem right...

“Cyra.”

Hearing a voice calling out to her from the depths of her mind. The sound appearing ever so familiar, but she cannot quite make out who it is. Slowly slipping away into the blackness deep within her. The voice once again calling out, but even louder this time.

“Cyra!” the voice calling out again.

Her eyes slowly opening, seeing someone descending towards her. Her vision being blurry, uncertain on who it is. A warmth growing ever closer to her. Once again, the voice calling out, shouting her name.

“Cyra!!!” their voice loudly extending.

Her eyes opening more by the second, seeing a familiar hand extending towards her. The presence even more familiar. The warmth much more recognizable. The voice refusing to give in, calling out to her.

“Wake up! Take hold of my hand!”

Her eyes widening, seeing that all too familiar hand. That friend who is forever there for her. That hand continuously reaching out towards her. Extending her hand, her old friend taking hold of her own. A blinding light of azure extending far and wide within the darkness.

“The Cyra I know never gives up! Keep fighting!” his voice echoing through her.

The light shining brighter and brighter. Those words resonating deep within the maiden. One who never gives in, no matter how far she falls into the pits of despair. Feeling her conscious state slowly returning, her eyes distant upon her old friend.

“Valor...”

“Sorry...for a long time. I hated myself for not acting. How much pain it must have caused you. I can never expect you to forgive me for such...but...keep moving. Even if it is but a somber morrow. I know you will always find a way back from the depths of darkness,” he faintly smiles.

Indeed this is her true friend, one who will come to the depths of darkness to pull her out. To remind her of her resolve. That irreplaceable friend in which can always console that sorrow deep within her. The illusion revealing itself, a shadowy specter. The face of a reaper, and the body of a death angel. The deity slowly moving his scythe to her neck.

“That is right...dive further into the darkness...” he gently speaks.

The scythe approaching her neck, malevolence begins burning from the body of the maiden. The energy intensifying, crushing down on the deity, holding their weapon back. Such taking the being in shock. Stepping away, looking on as the color within the eyes of the maiden slowly returns. Tightly gripping Lævateinn with her right hand. The weapon loudly crying out. Shockwaves tearing through the area.

“Impossible...” a grim expression is upon the face of the deity.

Raising Lævateinn to the air, negative energy wildly lashing out at the surrounding area. The heat that is exerting, such melting the surrounding ice, quelling the icy mist. The vision of the maiden focusing, her expression calm. Looking ahead to the monster, a being that manipulates the minds of others. To fill them with lust, so much so that they give up all sense of belonging, thus, falling into the depths of nothingness.

Such is the way of this god that collects the souls of others. The eyes of the maiden becoming stern, glaring at the deity. Standing to her side, directing her weapon at him Her resolve holding strong.

“Enough of your trickery! Lust! Defiler of Souls! I shall devour you!” she strongly speaks.

Her tone, her posture, the change of such is baffling to the god. Wondering how anyone can resist such temptations. Being so lost in their own despair. Yet being able to break free of his clutches.

“How did you escape my illusions?” he begrudgingly questions.

“How you ask? Simple...my old friend, no matter how painful things are. He will always be there for me, always reminding me of who I am. He never gives up,” she explains.

A minor miscalculation. This frustrating the deity, a worthy soul to become his own, and losing such a chance due to a minor error. One who embraces her imperfections and selfish desires. Diving to the depths of despair to grasp which she most desire.

“You could have escaped your worldly troubles! Why resist?” he mightily expands his arms.

“Why you ask?” she takes a strong step forward.

Slightly turning her head, glaring into the lifeless eyes of the deity with such disgust. Malevolence burning from her body. No matter the sorrow ahead, she will continue to resist.

“Even if it is a somber morrow, even if the worlds so shall damn me to oblivion! I shall keep fighting! I craft my own future! Not what is laid out before me!” her voice tearing deep into the god.

Her voice, the pressure exerting from her, such unnerving the deity. Wondering exactly who she is. An abomination, that much is for sure. One who can resist the deepest of temptations. Even if it means she will become an enemy. It matters not, she will continue on. Crafting her own way with her two hands.

Thank you...old friend. I may have very well fallen into the depths of despair if not for you. The desires I felt...I wanted to go...I really did. However...I know that if there is any chance for such to become a reality, then I must push onward, and carve my way forward! Lust! Defiler of Souls! For such deplorable actions! I shall devour you!


Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.