Chapter 14: What Could Have Been(Part 1)
—The Past Revisited—
—1000 Years Ago—
—Tyrant Alastor’s Castle—
Time seeming to stop, the maiden standing there in front of her father. Everything crashing down around her. Ardin standing beside her father, his hands behind his back. The devil looking towards the maiden, his eyes calm upon her. Cyra taking a step towards her father, extending her right arm aside in disgust.
“Father! I refuse!” she yells.
Such a thing the Tyrant has more than come to realize of his daughter. The worlds growing to be a darker place, and his daughter refusing to come to terms with such. Endlessly trying to live a dream. Perhaps years ago himself, he may have been similar to her in such a sense, but not anymore. There are certain things a parent must prepare their children for, and as such, he is feeling his current action is of necessity.
“This is but an order now. I thought I could one day pass on my throne to you, but I was wrong. If you continue down this path, ignoring what you are, then certainly this will lead to your demise one day,” his stern eyes are upon her.
Looking towards her father, deep hatred extending from her eyes. Wondering how he can fall so far. Deep down, Cyra wishing for the return of that father she once knew, but it is seeming he is no more than a dream. Her rebellious eyes refusing to give in. Standing upon her side, the Tyrant noticing those all too familiar eyes.
Looking on, his daughter taking hold of Lævateinn. Refusing to accept such, the maidens resolve burning ever so brightly. Directing her blade at her father, her eyes cold upon him. Ardin taking a step towards her, trying to have her come to terms with the new arrangements.
“Princess Cyra, your father only have your best interest at heart,” Ardin expands his arms.
Those words causing much disgust within her. Shaking her head in refusal. Her desires, all that she loves can go away if she does not oppose such reason. Her will holding strong, the maiden rebelling against this.
“Silence!” she commands.
Alastor extending his arm, blocking off Ardin’s path. Ardin looking towards the Tyrant, seeing the determination within his eyes. Understanding such, Ardin backing away, allowing the scene to continue on. The Tyrant looking towards his daughter, his eyes much more serious now.
Alastor taking a step forward, seeing the malevolence from the maiden brightly burning, turning into a pure white aura. That energy, the Tyrant knowing it all too well. Some sadness expressing from his eyes. That energy extending from the maiden, one in which he can never forget. Slowly shaking his head from left to right, doing away with those emotions. Knowing well that he has to make her see within his reasoning.
Alastor standing still, witnessing the immense power crushing down at him. It is staggering really, his breath falling short. This power within her, knowing what she really is. To know of the secrets residing inside of the past.
“Hmph...very well then, Cyra,” Alastor gripping his blade upon his waist.
Within the eyes of the Tyrant, some fear expressing from him. It is slight, but obvious nonetheless. Perhaps not directly to his daughter, but the one whose power she is drawing from. Alastor wondering if Reynas is feeling disappointment in his actions. He may be unfit as a father, that much he acknowledges, but certainly he can do well to give his daughter a good life.
Cyra dashing towards her father, causing the surrounding area to break apart. Alastor meeting her action in kind, both extending their weapons as they near each other. In an instant, their blades clashing against the other. An intense shockwave tearing through the area, causing the surrounding area to rip apart. Rubbles flying into the air, and the ornaments on the surrounding walls falling to the ground. Ardin looking on with trembling eyes, he can never imagine there can be anyone who can match the Tyrant.
“Is this really all the power you hold, Cyra? I am disappointed in you,” he calmly speaks.
The maidens cold eyes glaring into his own. This much she expects from him. A disappointment? That much is clear. However, she will continue to resist. Pushing past her limitations. Not this time, this time she cannot lose. Those words echoing through her. To rebel against such blasphemy.
“Tell me something I do not know!” she yells, sweeping her blade in a fearsome uppercut.
Blocking her assault, the impact shattering the surrounding area. The Tyrant skidding back upon his feet. An impressive attack he must admit, looking towards his daughter, hearing the cry of Lævateinn. Looking towards the weapon, the cries growing silent. Turning his attention back to his daughter, standing straight. It is not as if he cannot understand, there are reasons for such.
“Cyra...you have to realize...nothing can stay a dream forever...” he expresses some sorrow.
Hanging her head low, refusing to acknowledge such. Pursuing one’s dreams, and making it a reality, that is what she desires. Such is the life she wishes for, one where she and her old friend can eternally venture together. Though, even more so than that, her deepest desire lingering far beneath the surface.
“Dreams are meant to be pursued. I know they cannot last forever, that is why...I will make them a reality...” she holds her hand to her chest.
The Tyrant standing silent, perhaps reconsidering his actions. Looking away for a moment, thinking back to his past. How in his older days, he has been very much the same. Turning his attention back to his daughter, wondering if things can go differently. Perhaps if the NetherWorld has been more of a peaceful place, then certainly he will be able to accept such. However, the Tyrant knowing well of where such a life will lead.
Cyra looking directly into her father’s eyes. Those eyes of the maiden burning in determination. Those eyes reflecting the velvet moon. That gaze reminding the Tyrant of her mother. The more she grows, the more she is resembling her mother, while also reflecting himself.
The maiden dashing away, her father dematerializing. Particles rapidly spreading in every direction. The Tyrant giving chase in a state of energy. Cyra looking above, seeing her father materializing. The blade of the Tyrant extending far, the demon descending upon her. Spreading her stance, defending with Lævateinn. The sword of the Tyrant clashing against her own, looking towards her father with those all too familiar eyes. Those rebellious eyes which always exists, even much into her younger days.
“This time Cyra, I am not holding back. This is your final chance to prove yourself!” he strongly speaks.
The final chance, knowing well that her father speaks the truth in such. This time, he will go through with his word. Such unnerving the maiden, causing even more of a wider rift between them. Alastor dematerializing once again, riding the waves of the energy all around them. Moving behind the maiden. Glancing back towards him, the Tyrant taking form. Her eyes witnessing the weapon approaching her. Turning immediately, Cyra positioning her blade vertically facing down, blocking the attack.
The impact ripping away even more at the surrounding area. The Tyrant continuing his assaults, but all she can do is keep her defenses up. What frightening power, to continuously attack, to constantly grow stronger. Falling to her knee, unable to repel his assaults any longer. Gasping for air, trying to hold everything together, but feeling herself slowly slipping away. Alastor looking down at his daughter with those same eyes of disappointment.
“Is that really all you can muster, Cyra?” he questions a bit harshly.
Hanging her head low, refusing to give in. Negative energy emitting from her body. The Tyrant and Ardin closely looking on, seeing it burning brighter and brighter. Watching it thickening by the moment. Not now, she desperately thinks. There is still much to life, and one in which she cannot allow to slip away.
“What is this...?” Ardin stepping back in surprise.
Alastor realizing this all too familiar energy. The same one which can make even him tremble. Taking a step back, watching the maiden rising to her feet. Seeing the aura secreting from her body beginning to burn a pure white light.
Raising her blade, the head of the maiden hanging low. The Tyrant bracing himself for the oncoming attack. Feeling the concentration of her power. It is appearing this is a last defense of hers. A desperate attempt to claim victory over an enemy.
Pure white light leaving the body of the maiden. Witnessing such, the Tyrant looking on in alarm, seeing Cyra dematerializing before his very eyes. Feeling her energy all around him. Locking onto her approach behind him. The maiden taking form. Turning in her direction narrowly in time, managing to stop her blade with his own. The crushing pressure she exerts is staggering. Ardin taking a step back, holding the side of his head, feeling noxious.
“So you finally decide to use that power,” he speaks a bit more gentle.
She does not answer, it is as if her body itself is acting on its own. Noticing such, the Tyrant taking more alarm now. His daughter is not reacting to his words. For her to be in such a state, is it her divine blood winning out in the end?
“Cyra?” he calls out.
“Disappear...” she calmly speaks.
Those words striking deeply at the Tyrant. For certain they are not the words of his daughter. By now the demon knowing her personality much too well. This is indeed a final defense, one in which is causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand. Cyra and Alastor dematerializing, clashing throughout the room. The surrounding area tearing away by their devastating power. Ardin can only look on with trembling eyes. Shockwaves emitting with each collision. Malevolence and divinity crushing down on the entire room.