The Foundry | Part Three | Chapter Thirty-Six
the next chapter of my forthcoming novel
The Foundry
by Daphne Garrido
Part Two | Rebuilt; Refound; Reclaimed
Part Three | Dominion
Part Four | Unmasked; Unbound; Unleashed
Chapter Thirty-Six
Everything was coming to a head for the Council’s Consolers. The events most recently past had been complicated. Such of depth of feeling was found between them, darkest horrors inflicted beside the evolving threat of war, and need borne in all humanity aboard The Foundry to find their place in holding that line.
This opportunity before them now was unlike any other they’d faced. All four of these bravest individuals were aware of the stakes at hand, and the building pressure felt within leading up to this moment.
“Let’s do this!” Poe shouted, discovering within herself great strength in these very type-situations which the Consolers had found themselves of late.
Echo realized at the sound of their war cry, how she’d been preparing for this her entire lifetime. Every step taken in childhood, each breath through her tweens, and the entire breadth of time spent hoping for such an opportunity as this. One where she might be challenged by some truly overwhelming threat, with a chance to show her peers; The Foundry, and all of its good people, what she’d truly been made of all along.
Leopold had been the one to call them to focus — it was time.
There’s been a glance Rory’s way from Echo, finding them with eyes closed, themself focused entirely on the task ahead, feeling great stress in her chest from the weight of their anxiety.
Poe was the only one who seemed truly ready for this.
The Foundry’s remaining populace needed a pick-me-up after the way things had gone. Their enemy’s battleship had burnt into orbit at the farthest side of Chiron, taking rest at such a distance, and there would be great relievings of stress in all for a time. The Consoler’s — mostly Poe — had demanded the people get what they want. Feeds were going wild since their first run of The Rumble, and the masses had made it blatantly aware they wanted one thing the very most; Zabroth.
Poe elected to stock up on vermin before proceeding with The Rumble as planned, stowing those pieces which fit in Zabroth’s newly programmed prop. Itself, so aptly names; Satan’s Satchel.
She was circling the arena, casting their absurdly large shadow across the crowd, howling The Demon King’s signature roar. Echo found it far too intimidating for her tastes. Poe had seen fit in taking it to D’Artagnon — an audio engineer for sims and immersives — milking the very most of that opportunity to frighten people.
Echo noticed how it seemed to be working on Rory as well, when she’d glanced over to witness them in their newly adorned form. Leopold had re-written the programing to allow authentic facial expression throughout, and they’d not appeared thrilled at what they signed up to do.
Elektra was ready for her chance, as most evident by that unleashing of her signature taunt for a whole ten-hundred and eighty degrees of spin, landing back on her teammate’s conflicted gaze, as would always be the case when Rory was present. That look was more of what Echo had expected their first time around.
Rory hadn’t finished her new character with all that was going on. It took much cajoling from Echo, some part of her far too excited by the notion, but they’d eventually been convinced to do it.
The Beefster was back, and he was better than ever.
Zabroth landed in the ring, itself buckling under the force wrought from Poe’s furious, screaming descent, then Beef Brockster executed The Running Man in a swiftest fashion, bolting into the crowd as they’d parted like the sea of legend from Echo’s home world.
His lap would be completed in approximately three and half minutes, there’d be no choice of stopping throughout for Rory, as the move had been programmed to do — most callously. It was completely ineffective, and left Echo standing alone at the bottom of the entrance ramp.
“Look at The Beefster go!” Leopold laughed through his shouting commentary.
Echo feared, even with the personification of brutality that The PAWG Drop truly was, it may be a less than a wise choice for her current opponent’s skillset. Luckily, she’d known this rumble with The Demon King coming, and had a new trick or two up her sleeve.
Before she was able to release a chortling blast from her Thunder Cunt, a force which would’ve surely wrought fury as it bellowed from within that most conveniently designed orifice, Hell’s Army had emerged from beneath the rampwork and constrained her by the limbs.
She’d struggled, a hopeless endeavor she knew. There was no hope of escape from their grasp once they had you in The Rumble, until they’d deposit you at the feet of their bloodhungry master.
Elektra’s tits had caught the top rope, their size not fully considered in the programing, when Hell’s Army executed its saddest attempt to throw her clear over the top rope. She’d flipped on their impact, spinning in air before crashing upon her back in front of The Demon King.
Viscera was hanging in meter long globs from his fangs, and Poe seemed to be intentionally hanging it over top Elektra’s face.
“She’s so fucked!” Leopold voice boomed.
The crowd was oohing and aahing at The Beefsters velocities reached while sprinting aimlessly away from this ongoing trouble in the ring, just at the same time, Echo was beginning to regret having programmed that move in the first place.
Zabroth waited too long, and Elektra had been playing possum since fully regaining the ability to climb from her mindless writhing of faux pain.
“The crowd wants more, Zabroth!” Leo was heard in echo, just as the woman bearing such a name felt the gratitude for his obvious attempt at evening the stakes.
Clearly missing the point, manipulated by this demand most fully, Poe had turned away with The Demon King, studying those future subjects she saw in the faces of the crowd, growling as she’d weigh the option of sating their lust for her power.
That had been the moment Poe spent the most time elaborating on later.
Before they’d unleashed their signature roar — Elektra landed it clean — and they’d roared in a much different way as The Shocker reached parts unknown within Zabroth’s hindquarters.
The Demon King had been demobilized, falling to its knees, weeping as programmed for all who’d befall such a blissfully horrid fate. As Echo reached the top of that turnbuckle, she neglected the urge to show Elektra’s titties outright, knowing Zabroth’s recovery time was unlike any other in this simulation.
While The PAWG Drop wouldn’t do much to this beast of a demon, The THOT Flop certainly would. It was a simultaneous exploitation of The PAWG Drop and Thunder Cunt; she’d known its force would be mighty.
Removing her leotard just enough, feeling that wonderful draft between her legs, Elektra had decided there was time after all.
After failing to resist the programming’s insistence she button back up her top, Echo saw fit to launch herself into the most powerful release of fury now programmed into The Rumble, and she’d dropped it hard.
Despite the intensity of damage programmed to be dealt, she’d caught Zabroth at the wrong time. There was a bug they’d work out later which made the forces of Elektra’s Thunder Cunt entirely ineffective on The Demon King as he’d begun stirring from his stupor.
They’d just seemed pissed-off as they grabbed her by the wrist and flung her overhead one armed, face first into the steel ring post, ricocheting into a full-body horizontal rotation on her way to the arena floor — at speeds which would look unreal in playback.
Zabroth had then stood up and gone ringside to retrieve his prey. Only as The Demon King got back into the ring, did Echo see him through Elektra’s eyes; The Beefster was back, at last.
He’d seem quite unsure if he should approach all going on in that ring, but Echo had disabled the pain-option on this run most intentionally, and Rory saw the smile on her face as she’d been held in Zabroth’s arms, pretending to scream for their help.
That’s when The Beefster finally did it; whipped that thing straight out, then hauled ass down to the ring with his other entirely useless finisher bouncing and jangling the whole way.
Sliding beneath the bottom rope, finding himself caught in an inverted analog of Elektra’s situation, that same created upon her entry to the ring by the thrust of Hell’s Army, he’d screamed.
Rory was fine in reality, but that reaction had been programmed too. Whipping it out actually made The Beefster far more vulnerable, it was nothing but a great deterrent to his success in battle.
Writhing on the mat, he’d heard Leopold screaming through his mic in the simulation hall, stowing beneath his words a clearest state of bliss from this most appealing new evolution of The Rumble.
“Oh my god! She’s got Cholera!”
Echo was grateful for the days-long incubation period as she’d felt those strange tinges in her body. Poe had been too stringent in her unique commitment to realism with that finisher for it to be truly effective here.
Still, Elektra definitely had Cholera as she’d been slammed down upon the sprawled-out Beefster, having been lifted so high above The Demon King themself for that dark-prayer which summoned her newest affliction.
Elektra knew Rory wouldn’t be able to move Beef Brockster for the remainder of the fight, having fallen so deeply for the trap of Ultimate Man Meat’s design. She’d crawled over to him, purely for the drama of it, expecting fully that one of them would be pinned at any moment.
Begging The Beefster to get up, entirely for the bit, most unable to do so herself, had been when Echo realized what she’d just set them up for.
“Oh fuck!” She’d yelled.
There was a roar through that arena from Zabroth which somehow felt louder then all before it. Leopold was feigning distress in his cries.
“Oh, God no! Please no! Anything but that!”
Echo leaned over then, pressing her cheek flat to the mat so The Beefster might see, his body now permanently stuck wriggling behind his planted face from that grazing of his meat. He’d finally looked over to her, and Rory was smiling through him, a sight Echo had been so very glad to see. Still, she’d known they wouldn’t be so pleased about the next part.
Echo had spoken it as softly as could be heard in the arena, “I’m really sorry, Rory.”
She realized it the first time she’d properly said the words after all they’d gone through, understanding they’d been said with far more meaning than she first knew.
Zabroth’s clawed feet had edged them closer together then, as it released a screeching-howl of epic vibration through The Rumble’s Arena; it’s frequency far from what might sound natural emerging from a demon king of such low-end, guttural roars. It’s peaking height of tone had made the very skulls and skin surrounding, upon those two preys now beneath his feet, begin to jellify into a rippling madness of horror.
“What the actual fuck!” Leopold chimed in such uproarious joy.
It would be done by Zabroth themself before this simulative arena of false-spectators, and all of those many peers and leaders about The Foundry who’d become most perplexed by this all.
The Demon King had executed The Synapse Melder on Elektra and Beef Brockster, forcing the very top of their skulls to become a continuation of each other.
Zabroth neglected to pin them, not one to give the rabble what they wanted, and took to flight, bearing course in great circles about the arena. Echo could see them from her place, immobilized entirely by that less than pleasant happening — especially with The Beefster still ever-reeling from his Ultimate Man Meat getting squished — and she’d heard the final roar of The Demon King in that most glorious run of The Rumble.
It was the most fun she’d ever had.
The simulation hall was packed when they’d come back. People who’d been watching on their terminals made way to greet their newfound heroes of playfully joyous expression, which they’d all apparently needed.
It was a great moment for Echo to see Leopold getting the most of that love — he deserved it. There was nothing which felt righter than having him as a part of this group of friends, and he’d so long been unwitnessed as that kindest and most noble genius he was. For him to receive such adulation on a project they’d worked closely on together was a greatest blessing to Echo, and she felt an incredible amount of gratitude to know that by pursuing her own bliss most fully she’d brought the same to another.
After everyone cleared out, it had just been Leopold, Rory, and Echo herself. Poe made a friend who wanted to wrestle — literally — generally an aromantic and asexual kind of person, most capable and preferring of generating that same comfort in her own unique ways. She’d seemed really excited about them.
Leo had seen the way they’d both been lingering, and something in him knew. There was a little wink he’d given which Rory didn’t see. It bore a surge of excitement through Echo’s body, simply to realize her intuitions about what was happening had been confirmed by her friend.
She’d waited until he left, feeling the growing atmosphere of tension shared between Rory and herself.
As Echo proceeded to the control console presumptively, and Rory moseyed over after her, Echo found that Leopold already had it queued up perfectly. A freshest rumble was awaiting — just for two — and he’d even known to add the pain back in for them both.
Rory came up beside her then, and they’d been holding it in, but Echo could sense all those many things they were feeling.
They’d load in shortly, without any real conversation about what they were doing, having both simply shared the intuitive notion while in that last run. Echo hadn’t done it intentionally, but the greatest bit was only dawning on her as they’d strapped back into their hardchairs.
There were now two most unique finishers in The Rumble, and they’d clearly been destined to meet each other in battle.
