Chapter 51: Chapter 14: Growing Fear(Part 4)

Fear growing more with each passing hour, the return of one from the deepest of abyss coming to light once again. A heart quivering, a soul unable to fly away. Desires far inside, emotions boiling at the core. Even if they must become the enemy of the Nine Worlds, then that is okay. No matter the morrow ahead, to be able to return to their time of most pleasure, to be able to achieve their deepest desire. That will forever extending, magnifying through the influence of the eternal night. Horror around each corner, that image forever engraving upon the souls of countless. Standing outside of the Royal Crypts, looking into the velvet moon. The night never ending, enemies growing by the hour. All across the world of Midgard, rumors spreading. Fear intensifying from the deepest of shadows, and even amongst the mightiest of churches. Demons and humans alike all knowing the tale of the Iconoclast, one flowing through the reaches of time.

Hiding away in the farthest parts of history, the birth of the Iconoclast, one bringing the Nine Worlds to their very knees, a power beyond the gods themselves. Demons fearing this entiy, but also idolizing them. Humans viewing the Iconoclast as the pinnacle of evil, one that cannot be of redemption. The longer the night is continuing, the more this legend is appearing true. Humans pinning their hopes on the Nine Winged Seraph, devils turning to the Lord of Darkness for enlightenment. Inspirational the Iconoclast is to the demons, those knowing well in never approaching. That being aligning themselves at the center, neither good nor evil. One willing in striking down both allies and enemies alike, humans knowing of the numerous sins of the Iconoclast, lengths in which they will go to in order to achieve their deepest desire.

No matter so, none ever knowing the truth of it all. That heart of softness, those many painful decisions of the past. Actions driving so far, even if they must step on the domain of the gods. Cyra standing underneath the moonlight, gazing up to the clouds. Feathers of malevolence raining down, burning away in the darkness consuming them. Her eyes of calmness, a sight of painfulness, yet something strange birthing from it all. Memories of the past, her encounter with Rose in that field of irises. Agonizing it has been, words making more sense. That fallen one despising her, but at the same time looking after her. No matter so, this night, something such as this cannot be of reality. Desires strongly protruding, that young woman understanding this well.

To be free from the shackles binding her heart, to bask in the bliss of the wind. Even so, importance in becoming whole again, their presence must no longer be in the world of the humans. This hatred coming from the fallen one, the angel unable in contemplating this. That will to oppose her so strongly, dreadful it is, but such no less of the path going forward. Thinking back, remembering Richter's final words, understanding that pain inside of him. Darkness resting deep within her, slowly making its way to the surface. That malevolence seeping from her body, thickening by the moment. Anya carefully approaching Cyra, concern deep in her eyes. That princess knowing of this blackness, even more frightening it is. Feeling fear deep within her, seeing malevolence burning from the body of the angel.

"Cyra...?" she hesitantly calls out.

Facing in the direction of Anya, her attention on the Elven. Eyes of distantness, Anya residing a few feet away, crouching her stance. One embracing her imperfections and selfish desires, becoming corruption itself. Even if it shall mean an eternity of conflict, then that is okay. Countless branding her as their enemy, humans, demons, gods, Elvens, dragons, Giants, it goes on and on. Devils finding her methods of inspiration, but knowing well that someone such as herself must never walk. Humans viewing her as no more than an abomination, a calamity upon the Nine Worlds.

All sharing in a similar sentiment, their one true enemy. Cyra turning her attention to the Queen, those eyes of horror upon her. Resting her vision on the darkness consuming the maiden, wondering how anyone can fall so far into despair, through it all, still remaining calm. Cyra looking to Aster, that vampire faintly smiling at her. That demon knowing well of who is awakening, those memories deep inside of the angel returning to the surface. Turning her attention to Anya, warmly smiling at her. Witnessing that smile, the princess slowly calming.

"It is okay, Anya. Rest assure, I will never turn my blade against you, the Queen, or Aster." She softly assures the Elven.

Hearing those words, the princess flying up to Cyra, landing before her. Anya curiously gazing upon the maiden, Cyra in awareness of the numerous questions. One so far inside of her despair, emotions driving her way forward. Even if she must take on the hatred of the worlds, then that is okay. To be able to grasp those desires so far within her, that will to oppose what is reasoning. Faintly smiling, looking down at the princess with eyes of gentleness. Malevolence burning from her hand, thick blackness maliciously radiating. That darkness soon ceasing, the young woman lowering her hand, looking up into the velvet moon. That bleeding orb becoming more familiar, these endless emotions inside of her. That will to oppose constantly taking hold, a heart wishing to be free, a soul desperately reaching out.

"Valkyrie...how haven't you been transformed into a monster yet?" the Queen expressing great concern.

A question of normalcy, Cyra expecting this at one point or another. One that is so far inside of the abyss, yet continuing to resist. A heart of softness, one loathing the battlefield. Despite it all, still continuing on. Darkness building, hatred becoming even stronger. Placing her hand upon her waist, glancing back to the Queen. This malevolence clawing away at her depths, this despair drowning her. No matter so, an unwavering will. A body tiring, the soul wishing to fly. No matter so, one eternally in conflict. Even if it shall mean hatred from the many, those desires much of worth. Emotions of the past, a heart continuously reaching out. Dreadful it may be, her own way in going forward.

"How you ask? That is a good question. I wish I can tell you, but my memories are gone." Cyra slightly looking away.

Memories hiding away inside of the past, emotions driving her way forward. Hatred deep within, a resolve burning even stronger. The process of demonization never reaching her, peculiar it is in all actuality. Over her many years, the Queen never seeing something on this level before, where the maiden's own will power is holding back the transformation. Aster turning, that vampire placing his hands within his pockets, slightly hanging his head low. That one from those distant days, his heart yearning to right his wrongs so many years ago. Even if the worlds so shall despise him, to be able to bring back that smile from those days. One once filling with love for the Nine Worlds, now consuming in hatred and desires.

"Will I really unleash this threat...? Simply because of my desires...?" he looks to the sky.

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Remembering her brightness in the older days, that smile turning into hatred. One continuously falling, returning even stronger. That entity rising through the ranks, eventually standing in the domain of the gods. The Nine Worlds trembling before her power, her heart speaking its desires, that image forever branding itself into countless souls. Cyra noticing Aster's sullen mood, soon looking away from him. No doubt she is well in awareness at this point, the vampire knowing much more than he is letting on. That devil having his own reasoning, her suspicion of the situation. Difficulty in identifying the truth, that one he may possibly be.

From high on a hill, a man in his late twenties gazing down upon the young woman. Armor of whiteness upon him, his crimson hair flowing long, tying at the base with a cloth. Resting his vision upon her, that darkness burning from her body. The Iconoclast revealing herself once again, one of legend. Aster noticing an energy of intensity, turning his attention towards the hill far above, his vision upon the mysterious man. That maiden looking towards Aster, soon facing in the direction he is looking in. That mysterious man glaring down at her, his hatred coming as no surprise. Anya and the Queen turning in the direction as well, that man of seriousness. The Queen stepping forward, frowning in some unease.

"Valkyrie...that is Vulcan. The head of the Order of Cross...why is he here...?" the Queen's eyes quivering.

That one from the past coming into reality, those many despising the existence of the Iconoclast. One holding no fealty, desires endlessly flowing. Even if it is but a somber morrow, that entity willing to reach for the nigh impossible. A heart of softness, one loathing the battlefield. No matter so, constantly having to fight. Vulcan raising his right hand, strange at first, his action soon of clearness. Movements loudly sounding from afar, everyone glancing around, countless soldiers surrounding them for miles. Aster's expression tensing, unease deeply growing within him. Anya pulling away, cowering in fear. So many coming out all at once, confusing this situation is.

"To think you are real, Iconoclast. There is no mistaking of that power you hold." Vulcan confidently states.

Iconoclast...? I have heard of them...wait...is that the reason why my memories are gone...? Is it why I accept this...?

Memories within the past, everything making more sense. This hatred inside of her, infinite emotions flowing through her. Slightly hanging her head low, that malevolence burning even stronger, Aster looking on in unease. A fool this human has been, presenting this information too soon. Those many readying their weapons, all aiming at the young woman. This will to oppose taking hold of Cyra, the young woman feeling a pulse deeply within her. That heart beat intensifying by the moment, malevolence emitting even brighter. Anya and the Queen resting their eyes on her, feeling this crushing pressure. Cyra standing there, glancing to the enemies, their presence unable in phasing her. The longer those foes are remaining there, the faster her malevolence is accelerating. Darkness brightly igniting from her body, malice growing even thicker. Cyra slowly motioning her hand to her blade, a will from the distant past slowly revealing.

"I would not advise you to take any action." Vulcan threatening.

"Heh, is that so? Do you honestly believe your worthless army means a damn to me?" her cold, chilling voice deeply penetrating into the leader of Cross.

One from the deepest abyss reflecting from her eyes, a heart evermore soft. No matter so, her resolve burning even stronger. Glancing in the direction of the vampire, Aster immediately noticing. Slightly looking away, yet another request of selfishness. No matter so, that devil never able in refusing her. Painful it may be, granting her wishes, slowly atoning for the wrongs of the past with each one. Looking towards her, nodding in agreement. Expanding his bat-wings, Vulcan taking notice. One from the past, her decision in mind. That heart wishing for the safety of her friends, even if it shall mean taking on a scale so large. Whether it is one or a trillion, that will to oppose taking hold, resisting what is reasoning.

"Anya! Fly!" Aster urgently speaks.

Hearing his words, that princess immediately standing, ascending into the air. Littleness of their importance, those others not of the target. Aster rushing at the Queen, sweeping her off of her feet, instantly ascending high into the sky. Reviver emitting a light of purity, loudly crying out. Rebellion meeting its resolve in kind, those two weapons protecting one of closeness to them. That wind growing colder within night, the air becoming thicker, this influence reflecting from the angel herself. This darkness burning even thicker, her will stretching on. Those eyes of coldness, hatred boiling at her core, emotions overflowing from her.

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