Time Throws Fire
by Ophelia Everfall
Part One | Redux Eterna
Part Two | Polymath Blues
Part Three | The Feather
Part Four | Wizard
Part Five | Coward’s End
Part Six | Whirls of Wind
Part Seven | The Sisters Two
Part Eight | Synthesis
Part Nine | Depths of Bliss
Part Ten | Threnody of Lojack
Book Three | Fortuna Eterna
Book Four | Why Stay Hollow
Book Five | Kingdom Done
Book Six | The Periphery
Content Warning: This is only a story.
Part Eight| Synthesis
Chapter Fifty
Place was realized in helping the people. It would prove a job for two. Semblance rested through action in attention by assisting a group of Rheimasst’s underclass unexpected to her; men who deserved it.
She’d suffered along with them on Earth and understood the breadth of lie they were forced to carry in their psyche by terms of social agreement in cultures like the one at Rheinmasst. She’d see their struggle best.
Everything was crumbling slowly. The signs were clear but not enough.
Echo found glee as Semblance caught up with news of their grafted allyship to a leader amongst the populace named Grukagnan. He’d felt less like the hero they needed and more of herself—some broken soldier created by the places he’d be meant to change—unseen but ready to make all he stowed inside heard.
They also brought the bolts—Semblance went back for those.
A proper rail was loaded first, one rarest ‘daddy’ to not be used. The wickedness around Semblance which carved this inscription upon it would prove a boon to her stoking the destructive creation of Echo—an act which would taint her mind for the era to come—unseeing within it something dark she’d not wish to comprehend.
They’d met just outside the passage to Vysara’s cathedral like suites. Echo knew those well, having been party to much here, and instructed Semblance to prepare the people for Rory’s arrival—another blind hope of trust in faith.
Grukagnan would be a needed party of accomplice’s vice. He’d know the people to be left behind. A man like him was a robot of judgement. Having to bear the cost of their Earth-like culture would show men with intelligence in Rheimasst that the only place for its existence was within cavernous internal spaces, then they’d be demeaned towards believing that right.
Most men would reject to listen and make it abundantly clear they believed in their mind, projecting all left unfelt which corrupted their wisdom—substitutions of wrath made for their relented social obedience—some collapsed into shells of what they might be through stowed sorrow in their bodies, others happening to fit just right being themself and embodying compliant velaforus-babies, resting in a mother’s pouch with ease of their simple spirit.
That first man Semblance would find to trust had only suffered in silence and taken the sorrow—withstood addictions for substitution of hope.
He’d know the worst offenders by gut—those who’d not release grip on the denial to their own upholding of mechanisms which oppressed them. He would go down fighting for that putrid, unseen intention through purest ignorance—Grukagnan rejected it all.
To continually be lumped in with these artifices of culture once in acceptance of who she was and beginning her physical transformation of sexual characteristics—as she was initially upon Earth—to feel, in variations of degree, within all but the most precious spaces forward until now, how deference from this weight was still illuding her had broken every part of Echo.
That had been the straw which buckled her spine in fourteen rippling eviscerations of bone mass, lacerating Echo’s skin by molten magmas of contempt towards all, creating the fiery beast of vengeance upon ignorance she’d become.
“Everyone is going to die.” Was the simple mantra beneath breath as she’d allowed fear to subside and entered the central suite she felt by heart as the station chosen by Vysara to ride this out. She knew her bravado false of will but true of spirit.
Despite lack in tact and disregarded worry regarding inception of her presence into their cental lair—Echo knew the hint of a plan she held would work—confidence was key—she’d trust a certain feeling more than any as it always saw her free, she believed herself able sense out to her own nearest future and confirm a path she walked struck true in terms of feelings wrought. Sometimes it proved a truth.
What happened next was going to bang her.
They presumed control upon Echo’s entrance.
She liked how easy it was to surrender towards this one so apt to manipulate from their own subconscious, tuned for her specific volume of preference and bearing tunes of those sweetest melodies her heart would search for, despite disparity to them.
Vysara was a sweetheart and something told Echo they had no idea.
Mounting Countess was pleasant—warming—doing as they’d asked a divine happening to her heart. It allowed their defenses to loosen as they owned her incompletely. They’d gone on so long Echo felt some sense of understanding in how this beast believed her absent, wasted to their ways.
“Bubble—pop.” She’d said in her most childish voice to play into some subconscious sickness within Vysara’s mind.
“Bubble—bubble—bubble.”
Vysara grew still and ceased to thrust—even pulled back out of the woman.
“Pop.”
Echo was corrupting The Countess’s corruption. Exploiting their weakness. They thought themself the controller when they were in fact the most precious submissive turned monster by the disgusting things they made to form and watched—how they fucked in defiance of everyone’s communal heart—making sick something pure.
Nothing would draw more ire from Echo than the projected and indulged corruption of what she was of heart and soul being broadcast by the despicable ideals of filth in charge.
Spinning the self-thought Empress made mental-child so feeble—Echo gave them a taste of medicine that cruel demon of a thing would see into all her subjects. She’d pounded them without mercy—with her fist. In that place was discovered at last the means to control Rheinmasst’s physical shell in the galaxy of large.
Visions splayed—Echo was in control where Vysara had been—some false display of Rheinmasst’s presence for benefit of Elaria was become by her own—despicable glimpses of how they’d made it to be flown.
Synthesis would prove their fuel—objects their kindling—Oculus a misunderstood key to point them straight and find means of manipulation in pursuit of consciously generating blatant mistruth in others to graft energy which would steer it.
Rheinmasst in real would be hers when she was inside a fool who’d not want it consciously, or the inverse, most holistic control could be found there.
Echo took it home on flash and allowed every soul trapped in split of spirit aboard for returning in whole to Rheinmasst’s beyond, witnessing with their completed attention a truth they’d missed; freedom was coming.
Stiggmatt was ugly—horrid to absorb through scopes of Rheinmasst. Echo felt pity for beasts upon the surface within their subterranean hovels who would suffer along with their master in deepest need of release.
The battleship had been loaded and primed—consequences would be damned—the soul of this demon perceived by Ecatosh would be freed. The future was changed again—Rheinmasst’s Titan Driver would now fulfill its destiny by bringing a god to its knees through defiant action.
Hitheroth was enjoying itself at last while realizing it had been blown to dust.