Read Thrash & Churn: HERE
Check out my playlist on Spotify: HERE
Snapped—whipped—flustered in the split-seconds before, he found purchase of the reason; Elliot was struck by vibrations of sound and through his footed-chassis alike.
The carriage was falling—dropped by a sliced severance.
He jumped, fired full-back out of his rear plating. Lower reaches of his chassis took the most damage on exits through the carriage’s front walls. Its windowpanes left the least of a mark upon his cross-arms and tucked chin. Construction principles for Elliot had made him human-like in shape, but of more, and from the outside-in he was a warrior.
We are free again. Be it a fight.
Furious making for upwards and outwards—would prove needed from his sighted course. Hope would be a matter of facts, when calculating fuel reserves, carving for distances before unclaimed at his current ratios—Elliot was too low, seemingly too far off from grasping or effectively scaling the towering cliff face he had meant to reach, let alone for claiming purchase on its looming landing platform which towered well above his range.
There was a challenge in the calculation itself, as Elliot cut thrust, apart from a burst out of his right palm and forward-facing shoulder gauntlet.
He flushed, folded, twisting flattened, then only as seeing that carriage—falling freely from the lack of support beams. cables cut at the high-station platform—would Elliot again use thrusters from the rear. His soles and palms would guide, as each backward facing passive-scope was busiest in calculation.
The air itself was of vectors in weightlessness he might utilize. Updrafts were sighted.
Divine. We be divine.
Anomalies would come to Elliot. Nothing could prepare his data for the furies of passion crafted inside the Universal Container, other than what Elliot witnessed within his own code farms, and by simulative calculation delivered in summation to his consciousness, for that was apparent; Elliot was a left-borne fire burst away from hitting the strongest up-force of pure elevating capacity his body would ever come across, and only just in time.
Within the flow he had found again his height of form. He was a dart of thrust within the surging power the Earth supplied. Elliot was flying like a human rocket on its climb into space.
He knew it right to say the things he thought. Especially when they came through in presence of clear intelligence.
“You have made mistakes,” was all Elliot transmitted, at first.
“Grave mistakes.”
Clashing patterns were felt to come. On the final thrusting of vectored differential, bent forward, right then, and only just after Elliot landed his feet upon that platform, he was still calculating. Held back were his resolutions of equative simulation. His enemy was unknown, but of hopeful reminiscence in which he discovered comfort.
What was apparent: there was to be a fight.
