Uni Markeros was trying for acclaim. There was a drive within her. Something fierce shown through teeth. She’d need a place to show it—to prove herself the fighter and intuitive known to Echo in her private chambers. The opponent wasn’t a push-over. They’d not a hope to show an ounce of mercy to the woman. Jocé Remance was cutting glass with her movement.

Apocalypse was the focus of The Foundry once more.

Poe and Rory had been planning something in the quiet. Begging was not a symptom they’d show. Example would shower wisdom upon all of the need to prepare—to become what they’d best be. Each unique facet of this institution would need honing in times to come. Light-barriers were emplaced once more but with little thought to holding. Elaria’s homestar fleet had been denied and dented. The destruction of Ulysses battle-cruiser Opus was not the loss they’d hope to have rung—Echo alone knew the truth of their victory; removing a Hex was the key.

Jocé’s design splicings were found present in the simulation. Her body held in perfect meditative harmony upon her hardchair before the class of initiates and eager onlookers—the feeds now blaring about the entire Foundry fleet.

Seven sabers of air and thrust without lack for the speed desired within limits of coding would be wielded mercilessly. They’d phase and recreate themselves at Jocé’s will as would her warrior. Silence was less in Apocalypse—but the most.

Uni came prepared. Her warrior was a maker of change. She’d fight for the home of all beside her. She wouldn’t leave a moment spent in lack or of disregard. She was a gorgeous spirit made real among the people of Boreál, a native of Atreya—her anger towards what had been done—the whispered threat Echo shared with her alone—would see her engage every flame of eye.

Each slice of air flown blade was deflected by Uni’s shields. Each instance a projection of her own meditative abilities found through speed. Her own body gripped the hardseat’s armrests throughout and would prove to leave a permanent indentation lauded by her fellows.

The ground had fallen. Cracks turned craters turned to nothing. Thrust alone was keeping the women afloat above the ever-crumbling seep and inferno below them.

Thunder roared in the senses of Uni as she’d hit the switch of thought. Defense turned offence. Force would fly from the shield walls of her many surrounding forcefields simultaneously placed to throw down on Jocé.

Being underneath, they’d show was not an affliction to their ability. Jocé phased as the blast sent her towards eruptions of yellow fire.

Ruby sky would show her backdrop a fright. The shot was taken.

Olympus was fallen and remade a shell. A hoard—the battalion within a single slug. It was a seeker and found every target it held in sight. It’s contact with the remerged shielding around Uni had been a clash of mass and scenic devastation played back by all for days on end. The conductive reaction to the electric-psionic blowback saw them both in head-over-end backflips until they’d each transformed in flow to their warships and powered skyward.

Twists of windward twirl would see them dogfight. Shots would land. Scars would bleed fuel. The limits of simulation were transcended. An impact of surrender on both sides at fullest velocity and harnessing the frustration of their equality in match had seen to its end.

This apocalypse was a draw.

Time Throws Fire | Part Six | Chapter Thirty-Nine

the second novel in The Foundry series

Time Throws Fire

Part Six | Whirls of Wind

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Discussion about this post