Rory figured it. Echo was right and wrong as always ahead of time. Hitheroth was Tetra reborn now through fire and smote of chance—essence of the beast released to presume part of that soul in Ecatosh—holding the portal open which all of Rheinmasst would flow through for hope remade to land in real again; The Foundry would take all destined for the simulative container in which Boreál made home.

Semblance had seen them both and recognized what needed to be done. Rory’s presence was a blessing of Echo here and changed her heart upon arrival. Seeing Ashe again would be most wholesome. That other now found would prove to change much upon their reappearance.

Alan Undroth’s death was shrouded in mystery until Rory Tyrell returned and ripped the intelligence core from Sanctuary which had been infected with Beatrice Undroth herself. The grisly details were unlost by many and a cruelest notion to consider—Chloe seeming to have dealt the blow to all unfortunate enough for watching that clip and see it back in disgust of the wrong woman.

Other dead weren’t here. Something deep in the mines of this connective tissued hell of voidful space-fabric, and what it had to hold of hope, would usher a survival of spirit for one. Alan had lived here and would aim to return. Echo would love nothing more than to see him have another chance now having witnessed the truth of Rheinmasst.

Mother of above and below would show a change of understanding—something missed—someone who’d been forgotten and unseen and misheard before cruelest makings either way would prove a greatest recompense of heart.

The way both Echo and Semblance had broken into joyous release in the arms of a Ashe would prove beyond what was expected and the same in return. They were meant to do things together and The Foundry would prove the better for it.

Minerva would show a face of one—Alan on high was a twisted chamber of etheric goddesshood, or godhood, or whatever they might call it. He would know his soul and find a balance upon return to materiality. Rory was more than a sister. They were the one Echo would see the most change with. They were that chosen to rest for time on the throne of Ecatosh before it was undone entirely—they were Olmec.

Polyamorous notions of connection were stirring amongst the people of Rheinmasst and Boreál alike—orgies of knowing—sights seen through time.

Rory saw the shot. She was going to take it.

Time was broken forth and back by the doings of Echo of Ecatosh and it had been this one beside her so off and rarely on who’s soul had taken part in the plans of remaking in their way. Simultaneous happenings were found around and about and within Rory’s consciousness. Back and now and forward together remade and rebecome something witnessed but more but less and great.

She’d been everywhere. She’d been everything.

Holding back and driving forward—the part of her from Ecatosh gripping both Echo and herself in form—as was her other in that compartmentalization. Sisters to the death. Fighters until the end. Their game would never stop. The challenge to bleed them dry. The change to rule their worlds and worlds.

Echo had been driven by them their whole life more than herself as had Rory in reverse. They hated and loved each other in unequal but divine measure because of the deviants and lovers and teachers and healers the other were and were not.

Succubuses both would ruin each other as they had in a myriad of bodies and timelines in different ways and configurations.

Semblance within and for now without would prove to reflect the burden of truth in fact a blessing. Choice and consequence were nothing but a bleakest blankness of beckoning toward futures of myriads and lost dreams to be refound. That visage made woman would corrupt it and feel herself worse off always. She had been.

This Echo who lived on would know herself the luckiest human being of all time. She would win her prize—the fight in their timeline had been hers all along.

Portals were many now and in the infirmary was the largest.

Minerva’s ghost would show to rebirth the man Echo once knew into something holy and justified and unendingly kind for what they knew to have once failed at—taking care of themself first to take care of those they loved.

Suction shot a tear into the ripples of wholeness through life-bearing fruits of hurt. He was gone and not arrived—walking a plane—as would each on their journey back or forward or what have they.

Operations had begun in haste by revolutionaries of counter-growth. They’d been killing people through merciless brutality—needed in all its terror to suppress the uprising in their thoughts—truthfully pointless and heeding to solidify their dying with this place alone by preventing another from taking a longer journey all would wish in legacy towards Ecatosh.

Interiors were seen by Ashe within the twisting vortex of cellular dismemberment and reconstruction that twirled them forward towards a place where healing meant more than ever before and holding would allow them to reach velocities needed in present.

Sumptuous unbecoming was happening in foreword of this portal’s closing. Final chances to taste a pleasure unknowable elsewhere. Rory and Echo were fucking.

Echo rocked her first. They’d not the stamina to compete and never truly had; Rory. They would tap out first every time. It was weakness within them.

Nebulae Ecatosh was in witness itself.

Portholes of etheric bliss opened to all. These two would prove to prove the proof. Magick was real sometimes. Sometimes is was really real. Sometimes people fucked and it changed things. Sometimes worlds would change because of it. Sometimes clits would radiate in ways unseen before in time forward and not back. Sometimes assholes would bleed—sometimes.

Echo’s pussy was freshest. Panick was stricken as was the wrongness before. Wholeness wrought throughout and beneath and within and without in another.

Rory needed it. To take it. It had ruined everything before and they hated what was there before—the object—for its torture of her heart. She’d been broken once and Echo hadn’t seen it. That first round at The Foundry. The very thing which would truly be the reason she’d burn out beyond the fires of flame seen in that first version of Scarlet—Echo told them she would keep it.

Nothing inside felt more wrong and right but to destroy something precious and own the leftovers made of joy and gratitude. Materializing how she had so brutally to effectively eviscerate the holdings of denial and fear within Echo by giving her no choice—driven by Echo of Ecatosh’s consciousness the whole way within Monarch. She’d feel right to hold her hand inside.

Echo felt right too—very right—she’d be welcoming this as much as they would seek to give it for her good sense’s makings in their own life. She would want to do good for them by helping her feel right this way and that’s what they knew they always wanted along with a manipulative bitch who owned them into owning them like the slutty polygamist drudge-keeper they were in their heart who needed a momma bear to break them honest.

Time had seen it done in Rheimasst and the portal would be closed by dawn with all aboard towards a better future.

Vysara would reside here with all of her selves and those who’d earned place beside her through actions most recent of blasphemous hope-slaying—one returned from Gargantua to consume them most.

All the worst would prove to be the one who was she—they weren’t a person at all. When they realized they would cease to be and all who failed to learn from their ways and taken place within her would rebirth into a new chance of life more earnest and futilely winnable.

Time Throws Fire | Part Nine | Chapter Fifty-Five

the second novel in The Foundry series

Time Throws Fire

Part Nine | Depths of Bliss

Chapter Fifty-Five

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