Restoration: Cursed Memories(Book 2)

All Rights Reserved ©

Chapter 19: Those Who Bring Demise in the Wake of Their Despair(Part 1)

Those eyes of her father’s carrying scars beneath the cold surface. A Tyrant who has given up such a life to pursue one much more fulfilling. Perhaps in his earlier days, where he might have been happier. After all, in those days, he has only been a Tyrant. A devil trying to further his own goals. That fateful day, perhaps he regrets it, breaking into Reynas’ domain. However so, he knows now, that he still has one more job to do. The final test for his child, if she cannot even accomplish this, then there is no hope. It is better that she perish by his own hand, than to live through what is to come.

“Do you understand now, Cyra?” Alastor questions.

The maiden looking to her father, and while she cannot agree with his method, she knows why. That man she has known ever so long ago appearing to be a dream, but deep down, the devil believing there is a chance. Even if the worlds are fast approaching its end, it is never too late to right the wrong one has done.

“I understand, but even so, power without reason is pointless,” she softly speaks.

Those words his daughter speaks, the Tyrant slightly looking away. Every day, she grows to be more and more like her mother. She may not even have known her mother long, but it is appearing that Reynas’ ideals are reflecting from their daughter.

“Just like your mother—” Alastor turning, folding his arms.

“—Without power, you will lose everything. Without power, you will fall to Ultima Weapon,” he glances back to her, strictly looking at her.

Cyra holding her hand to her chest, the maiden taking a step forward. There is indeed a necessity for power, but losing oneself to despair, even if one must stain their very soul in corruption, they must never forget who they are. The halfbreed continuing on, believing that there is still some hope remaining for her father.

“I will rather fall to such a thing, than to give up what makes me who I am, father. You have been so lost in your own sorrow, that you forgot how happy times can be,” she softly speaks.

The Tyrant lowering his arms to his side, looking on where Reynas once stood. He can still remember the anguish that day, the desperation, seeing her fading away before his very eyes. Alastor closing his eyes for a moment, soon glancing back to his daughter.

“Perhaps you are right. Maybe I have been lost in my own sorrow for much too long,” he gently speaks.

Cyra noticing that her companions are missing, the maiden looking around the area. Unable to even feel their energies. This unnerving her, the devil turning her attention towards her father. The eyes of the devil expressing unease.

“Where are they?” she questions in a much more bitter tone.

Alastor turning towards her, the maiden looking into his eyes. Cyra looking past him, seeing the shining light behind her father. The maiden taking a step back. The Tower of Eternity, a place of lament. Where one will go when despair consumes them, in order to make a heavy exchange.

“Eternity is keeping them locked out due to my request,” he pounds his hand to his chest.

That matters little at this point, she can only look at her father. Wondering how he can do such a thing. Despair may drive one to perform some extreme actions, but this. Cyra shaking her head in disbelief.

“Allow me to guess, you have activated the final seal for Ultima’s awakening,” her voice expressing unease.

“Indeed,” he calmly admits.

The maiden taking a step forward, swinging out her right hand. Cyra’s eyes expressing disappointment, anger, a mixture of emotions. Can someone truly fall so far? To the point of where everything they once has been is no more than a memory?

“Why would you do such a thing, father?” slight anger expressing from her tone.

The Tyrant looking down for a moment, taking a moment to gather his nerves. Alastor soon looking towards Cyra. There he can see Reynas. His daughter being a reflection of her mother. The Tyrant cracking a faint smile, how cruel the worlds can be. For years he knows this, and that reason driving him to keep his distance from her. Though now, the sorrow that is deep within him rushing out. Malevolence secreting from his body.

The maiden can see it, watching it dissipating into the air. Cyra feeling the immense pressure crushing down at her. The halfbreed knowing her father is even more powerful than the many other times they have fought in the past.

“Because every time I look at you. All I see is your mother. This damned world that took her away. I just want it all to disappear. Including you as well...this is why I have avoided you for years...” he slightly looks away.

Cyra’s eyes lightening a bit, even through his grief, he has been trying to protect her. Perhaps his actions are reprehensible, but she understands this much. The maiden may be unable to agree with his methods. However, maybe there is a bit of her father still remaining.

“Why is it that you continuously return from death? I am impressed, but at the same time filled with so much hatred,” he slightly glares at her.

The malevolence exerting from the Tyrant intensifying, wildly raging in every direction. Cyra taking another step back, blocking out the intensity before her. This might be the largest trial, the devil wondering if she can even stand against the invincible Tyrant.

“Mother’s last gift to me was her life. I do not plan to let it go to waste. I understand now, the beauty she held for the Nine Worlds. I will defeat you father, and I will bring Ultima to their knees!” Cyra strongly declares.

The maiden standing to her side, directing a revolver at Alastor. Her eyes clashing against his own. A Tyrant, one who resides in the depths of despair. Cyra, an abomination upon the Nine Worlds. Even if it is but a somber morrow, she will continuously try and breakthrough to a brighter tomorrow.

“Reason is pointless in the face of true power, Cyra,” Alastor gripping the hilt of his blade.

“We will see about that.”

“You may have begun to awaken to your power. Though, so long as you continue to resist it, then all hope is lost. Embrace the state of pride,” he unsheathes his blade, causing a massive shockwave to rush towards Cyra.

Cyra extending her hand forward, the assault colliding into her hand. The maiden resisting the impact, directing it upward. The shockwave flying above, dispersing into the endless void. It is appearing a decision has been in conclusion.

“Father, it is time to lay everything to rest. Here and now!” she fires a shot at Alastor.

Negative energy bursting through the area. Alastor dematerializing his body in an instant, moving around the assault. The maiden seeing her father approaching, shedding her physical form as well. The two mighty powers clashing throughout the air. Each and every assault being much more heavy and precise. Shockwaves tearing through the endless void.

Each collision being much more intense than the last. Their attacks suddenly stopping, and the two are glaring into the other’s eyes. Cyra and her father standing on the ground far below. The revolver of the maiden aiming at the head of the Tyrant, and the blade of the Tyrant directing at the neck of the halfbreed.

“Not bad Cyra, you have improved a lot,” Alastor commends.

“There may be a lot of things I reject in my life, but never once I rejected my blood,” she calmly speaks.

That comment of hers causing him to crack a faint smile. The memories returning to the Tyrant, such reminding him of Reynas. Cyra may not have even known her mother long, but it is appearing that Reynas’ resolve is carrying on in their child.

“Heh.”

Both lowering their weapons, taking a step away from the other. The battle is far from over, it will be foolish to let one’s guard down. Cyra and Alastor looking upon the other, waiting to see who will move first.

The Tyrant looking on, seeing Cyra extending Lævateinn. Alastor bearing witness to the sight, seeing malevolence enveloping the weapon, hearing the crying of his old sword. The Tyrant watching the blade extending like a scythe, seeing the back coating in black scales. The glimmering red shimmering from the blade.

Seeing such, proudness he is experiencing. It is appearing that Cyra is developing much faster in these days. The Tyrant wondering if it is because she is a halfbreed. Gods are naturally very powerful, but being only half a deity, and half a devil creates limitless potential.

“Well done, discovering the restriction state of Lævateinn,” he complements.

The maiden looking towards Lævateinn, there is still much she has to learn, and she knows this well. The weapon crying out. Trying to reason with the Tyrant. Pain extending from the malevolence of the scythe.

“Apologies old friend, but your job still stands—”

Cyra looking towards her father in confusion. Even after so many years, Lævateinn still reacting to her father. A loyal weapon to the end. Wishing for the Tyrant to return to who he once has been, to those much more pleasurable times.

“Protect her from everyone, including me,” Alastor speaks more seriously.

Cyra’s eyes slightly widening. The weapon, the reason for her inheritance of it, it all makes sense now. He gave up his most precious treasure to protect her. There is still much she does not understand about her father, but things are becoming more clear now.

Alastor extending his blade, locking onto his daughter. Cyra noticing his action, bracing herself for what is to come. Seeing the first movement, the maiden immediately rushing at him as well. The wide range of the scythe moving around the Tyrant.

The demon seeing the weapon approaching, unleashing an uppercut in an instant, hitting away the blade. The impact causing Cyra to pull away. It is clear that her father knows every strength and weakness of Lævateinn. Knowing this, the halfbreed dashing away from him. Alastor giving chase to his target. The maiden drawing both her revolvers, firing at the Tyrant.

The negative energy approaching Alastor, the devil striking at it. The assault colliding into him. Such causing the results of self-destruction. Waves of smoke rushing throughout the void. Cyra closely looking on, seeing a figure within the smoke.

The halfbreed stepping back in unease. Looking on, seeing her father readying himself. Cyra extending Lævateinn, the maiden dashing towards him as he does the same. Cyra sweeping the scythe of the weapon along the ground, rending her surroundings asunder. Both of the mighty beings clashing against the other fiercely once again.

“You still use Lævateinn as if its a toy, you never change,” Alastor speaks a bit harshly.

“Perhaps old habits die hard—!” she strongly answers.

Both slightly breaking away from the other, soon circling each other, clashing throughout the area. Matching the other step for step, and strike for strike. Indeed Cyra is showing promise, that much the Tyrant can admit towards, but as the worlds draw closer and closer to the end, this is not enough.

“—If you won’t get serious Cyra, then I will!”

Cyra’s eyes slightly widening. The maiden leaping away, a powerful force of negative energy taking hold of the Tyrant. Cyra watching the storm wildly raging, extending high above. She can feel the intense force crushing down at her. The emission of energy rushing at the maiden, hitting her.

“Ugh!”

Cyra skidding back upon her feet. The halfbreed taking a moment to gather herself. The maiden looking on, seeing the dark flames fading from her father. Alastor standing there, skin black as the night. The eyes of the Tyrant blood red, and six black feathery wings extending far and wide.

“So this is...father’s true power...” tension rising within her.

Cyra taking a step back, uncertain on how to deal with the new turn in events. The longer she stands in the endless void, the more it is feeling like this pressure will flatten her. The halfbreed soon shaking away the feeling of doubt, dashing towards her father.

Time appearing to stop for the maiden as she dashes onward. Cyra can already feel her father right in front of her. The halfbreed looking down, her eyes widening in devastation, seeing the blade of her father within her chest.

Cyra looking ahead, Lævateinn falling to the ground. The weapon hitting against the floor below. The maiden looking at her father, seeing those all too familiar eyes of his. Those eyes expressing such cold disappointment. From deep within, negative energy tearing away at her.

“Are you going to continue to seclude that power of yours?” he questions with cold eyes upon her.


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.