Restoration: Cursed Memories(Book 2)

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Chapter 15: Ultima Weapon(Part 1)

—The Past Revisited—

—1000 Years Ago—

—Tyrant Alastor’s Castle—

—Throne Room—

Cyra gasping for air, standing upon her knee. Lævateinn staking within the ground behind her. Her father standing in front of her, looking down at his daughter with such pitiable eyes. Raising her head, the blade of her father directing at her neck. Sweat running down the side of the maidens face. Cyra looking to her father with those same eyes of hatred. Though, his own appearing uncaring in the least. Merely looking at his daughter in disappointment.

“Potential that’s wasted, we’re done here,” he turns from Cyra, walking away.

Her eyes trembling, watching her father moving further and further away. Wondering how he can decide such, wondering how he can continue to abandon her like this. Hanging her head low, the man she admire so many years ago really is gone, that father in which she always will look forward to seeing come home, he is no more than a memory.

Feeling a presence at her side, the halfbreed looking to see Ardin. The devil kneeling to her, placing a hand upon the maidens shoulder. Cyra looking to his hand, feeling much disgust, immediately hitting his hand away from her.

“Do not dare touch me!” she yells.

Even after she loses, she does not seem to understand the situation she is within. Those words she speaks setting a fire within Ardin. To continuously look down on those, even when she is inferior, such causing him to feel some anger.


The maiden looking on, witnessing the demon raising his hand. The devil swiftly slapping her hard with the back of his hand.


The assault knocking the wind out of her, causing the maiden to fall back on the ground. The pain staggering upon her. Cyra looking up to him with barely any energy remaining to resist. The battle with her father draining whatever has been there to possibly defend herself with.

“You’re still looking at me with those eyes? You’ve lost, now hold true to your father’s words,” he strictly speaks.

Unable to listen to those words, malevolence reacting to her, extending from her body. Gripping the hilt of her weapon, the halfbreed immediately rising, quickly swinging for the head of the demon. In that instant, Ardin grabbing her head, slamming her straight down to the ground. The impact cracking the floor around them. The eyes of the maiden opening in devastation, blood streaming down her face.


Her vision blurring by the moment, feeling her body quickly shutting down. Unable to resist the temptation of rest. Everything slowly going dark around her. Her resolve trying to resist to no avail.

“You’re quite a handful ya know that?” annoyance expressing from his tone.

The devil kneeling towards her, looking on as she loses consciousness, her weapon falling to her side, hitting against the ground. The malevolence extending from her body slowly calming, soon entirely evaporating. Feeling no longer able to resist, Cyra falling into a deep slumber.

“Good, rest,” Ardin speaking as he stands, calmly turning from her.

—Present Time—

Cyra looking towards her father, those eyes of hers still as rebellious as ever. A familiar feeling it is, and perhaps he is indeed experiencing elation to see her, but he knows better than such. That he is no father worth the affection of his child. This much he accepts. His actions may be questionable, but there is always a reason behind such.

“You devoured Ardin,” he calmly speaks.

Hearing those words, Valor looking towards Cyra in shock, wondering why she will do such a thing. The god knowing his old friend has her reason, but hearing of why will at least put his concerns to rest.

“That life was something I never wanted. He violated me in my previous life. In all honesty, that was too light of a punishment,” she brushes her father off, turning to her side.

“Violated...?” Valor thinks, his eyes trembling a bit.

Surprise may not be the word to describe the revelation of such news. Devastation is the better word to be precise. The deity wondering how much he truly does not know, the true colors of Ardin, but even more so than that, hearing of such, Valor feeling anger. There are a lot of things he will let slide, but harming his old friend, and in such a way, that is something he can never forgive. More so, definitely if Ardin has still been residing upon the NetherWorld, the deity will have put him in the ground himself.

“Violated...?” Argent questions in confusion, looking to Cyra.

A curious child he is, but at the current time, he does not need to know of such, as far as she can tell that is. Even more so than that, anywhere around the topic leaves her feeling sick to the stomach. In all reality, avoiding the subject will bring her more ease.

“I will explain when you are older,” Cyra glancing to Argent with a bit of a stern expression.

“Okay...?” he props his head in confusion.

The Tyrant closing his eyes, holding his hands behind his back. Such a thing he can never forgive himself for happening to her, but that is in the past, and times are growing much more dire. Whatever hatred she is feeling towards him, he will accept such. Alastor taking vision upon his daughter, seeing the glare of hers piercing into his eyes.

“Do you now see why power is important?” he questions a bit distantly.

Having power, embracing such at the time may have cause prevention of that dreadful event. This much she can agree with. Still, her morals, her resolve, no matter what, those will remain intact. This much her father knows well. That Cyra will remain who she is at the base. No matter the despair deep inside of her.

“Yeah, I see reason to have power—” she places her hand upon her waist.

“—Still, you are one horrible father, and I wouldn’t mind adding you to the menu right this instant,” she coldly speaks.

The Tyrant looking away for a moment, allowing her to vent out her frustrations. After all, she has every right to do so. There has not been a time that goes by, where he wishes he has known of the event earlier. Knowing well that his presence will have been there to prevent such a thing from happening. Despite everything, he is still a father first, and as such, he will accept whatever punishment to come with it.

“Are you finished? I doubt this is the time for petty squabbles. The only reason I am here is to give a bit of a warning,” he looks towards her.

A warning? This catching the halfbreed’s attention. Her father has always been a questionable one, and as such, she can almost never believe his words. However, given how they are not at the other’s throat yet, then certainly she can allow him to speak. Valor all the while is trying to process the events, thinking deeply on what he truly does not know, and certainly will be requiring answers soon enough.

“And that is?” she questions, trying to hold in her anger.

The Tyrant looking back to the floating crystal, seeing it radiating a pure white energy. His eyes are distant upon it, thinking deeply on actions that can be taken to set it back to rest. Deep down, knowing well that the despair within him is rapidly rising.

“This altar was already activated...” he informs her.

Hearing those words, Cyra and Valor looking at him in shock. Cyra wondering if her efforts are for naught. Positioning her arms in a thinking posture, the maiden slightly looking down. Her foot tapping against the ground. It is appearing that if it is not one conflict, then it is another.

“Activated? Did the gods get to it already?” she looks towards her father.

The Tyrant looking in her direction, knowing that no matter what he does, that his daughter is in this mess one way or another. Which is also putting her at a greater risk. Not only with those gods, but with himself as well. The faster this conflict reaches a resolution, then the faster he can make distance from her.

“No, it seems like this temple was activated years ago,” he positions his arms in a thinking posture.

Cyra thinking on the information for some time. Nothing is making much sense, why do all of this if the temple has already been activated? It is seeming the deeper she makes her way into this nightmare, the less sense it is making. There must be something she is missing, and naturally, she is drawing an idea of what it might be.

“Then why all the fuss to stop us...? Unless it is a diversion for a much greater threat,” she speaks in a conflicting tone.

Naturally, the Tyrant expecting no less from his daughter. Given such limitation with information, she has always been intuitive. Perhaps a trait she inherits from him. She may be an abomination, but certainly she has the necessary skills to survive in this harsh NetherWorld.

“That is exactly what it is. The gods intend to not only use Ultima Weapon to terminate all demons, but more specifically you,” Alastor informing her.

“Wait, why her?” Valor stepping forward.

The Tyrant looking towards the boy, then to Valor, and finally to his daughter. Holding his hands behind his back. Cyra seeing the look in her father’s eyes, the maiden understanding exactly why. The child of a deity and a devil. A life that should never exist.

“Why else? The gods are fearful of that power within her—” Alastor turning, looking to the crystal.

The Tyrant distantly looking at the crystal. The light continuing to shine. Perhaps reflecting his desires deep within. However, he knows better than to fall into its temptation.

“—I thought I could get her to draw out that power...perhaps then...never-mind,” he shakes his head from left to right.

Perhaps then, she will be safe. Not only from the deities, but from him as well. Maybe then...maybe then he can finally come to grasp with the harsh reality of the past. That dreadful event eternally haunting the Tyrant, his own powerlessness.

“What do you mean?” Cyra questioning in a more strict voice.

This is hardly the time for such questions. Given that the revival of the god above all is well on its way. Petty familial affairs will have to wait. Alastor turning towards his daughter, his resting eyes upon her. The Tyrant seeing those serious eyes of hers.

“Never-mind that, but I am afraid you will fall to Ultima Weapon at your current standing,” he uneasily responds.

To think that there is a power like that out there. It is enough to make the maiden tremble. A power even above her old friend. Sparring with her old friend will be no way to accurately scale this foe. Deep down, Cyra wondering if there really is a chance of victory. Even so, she will have to press forward, in order to grab hold of the desires deep inside of her.

“Lose huh...—”

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