Epoch of Erasure [CH 3]
There's a space witch in your brain now.
If you haven’t read the first series, End of the World Influencer, you can read them all (or the summary) below.
Once we reach 10 paid subscribers, the Void shifts. Timelines fracture. Some things—or some people—may not stay dead…or gone.
Or alive, really, I mean who knows re—
Remember that?
Turns out, you all love to tempt fate.
You not only have agreed to Elliot hitching a ride in your brain, but we’ve also reached ten paid subscribers! Congratulations!
—or “I’m Sorry,” depending on how you feel about this next part.
Roll the tapes!
Where we left off:
“My magic runs on emotion,” he says softly. “That barrier only held because I siphoned off of your fury. But fury burns bright and dies fast—plus, gods process emotion differently. We can’t sustain power on an ember alone. If I’m going to keep you safe, I need a permanent anchor: a constant well of feeling in this reality. Someone who never runs dry.”
He pauses, letting the weight of it settle.
“Someone… like you.”
The words land like a death sentence.
All eyes land on the human who, legally, I may or may not have kidnapped.
“Well…?”
You chose: Hell fuckin’ yeah, god-man. Hop in my brain.
Elliot’s lips curl into an unreadable smile. He tilts his head, eyes glinting like molten gold. “Very well.”
His form begins to dissolve—slowly, elegantly—like smoke unraveling in reverse. Then you feel it. It starts as heat, then blooms. A flood of emotion—immediate and endless.
It builds like a crescendo with no music, only sensation. Love, hunger, sorrow, joy—all at once. Every moment you’ve ever loved, hated, wanted—dragged up and laid bare in an instant.
Gradually, it dulls.
Your skin tingles as if waking from a century’s slumber. There’s a low hum at the base of your skull—the edges of every sensation soften even as its intensity surges to a divine pitch.
“That’ll fade, don’t worry.” Elliot’s voice drips through your mind like warm honey.
What. the. fuck.
That was pretty much my reaction too, back when I realized you were all weirdly okay with giving a god the search bar to your brain.
Let’s call it…practice. You're going to need it.
“That must be disconcerting to witness as a mortal.” Elliot’s tone is too casual, laced with a soft chuckle. “That form was just a sensory distortion for your sensitive human brain.” A pause. “A mirage, if you will.”
What did you think I meant when I said “Do you consent to Elliot hitching a ride in your brain?”
That he was just going to poke around?
Nah. We are full Cyberpunk meets cosmic sin now.
And Elliot? He has zero respect for your privacy, boundaries, personal space—
“Oh, and don’t mind me. I’m just taking inventory. That blade you are currently in possession of, you see, it killed Victor which I still don’t entirely underst—
—wow.
You still haven’t let go of 2020, have you? Tough year—blame Selene. Greed is a hell of a drug.”
—yeahhh…this is going to get cramped.
Hey, don’t blame me. I warned you in Subscriber Chat. I told you how important that vote was going to be. But no—you let him in anyway.
This one’s on you, friend.
Anyway, think of this like a psychic group chat. Space witches communicate psychically. You are now a space witch. See how this works? Basically, you can “reply all” or reply to one, privately. Just remember that for later wh—
—“Alright Elliot, you’re co-pilot with the big sack of emotions. If you’re done bonding, let’s move.”
Rude. Accurate. But rude.
“Right. Adam—remember where you first met Thalia? The door, that dark alley entrance. That was dramatic. But we can drop in there anytime.” His words unfold in your subconscious like a map.
“Just pull back the curtain—stiffen your arm and swipe. You’ll feel resistance—a bend reality. Know your destination. Don’t let missing memories slow you—imagine it.”
Like brushing aside a curtain, Adam’s hand slices through the air, carving a hole into the fabric of reality itself, revealing the nothingness of the Void. In the distance, there’s a shimmering galaxy—Vantablack, peppered with golden flakes—where Pride had made his ideal galaxy epochs ago.
“Back to the soul-eating space spiders. Awesome.”
“Don’t worry about them. They’re pets. Like humans keep cats, or dogs.
…Yes, that means your little show with Thalia was nothing more than her trotting out a few party tricks. Feels a little silly, now, doesn’t it?”
Leaked Footage™ Adam’s Face Right Now
There’s no arrival.
Just a shift in presence, a blink between moments, and you’re standing before the palace—a towering monument built of polished obsidian and gold. Your head feels fuzzy, vision blurs. A memory.
Elliot’s.
In every tragedy, someone stands at the center, certain that what they are doing is right. And at the center of it all: Pride.
The memory ends. The palace returns. The world outside hasn’t even blinked.
Adam’s eyes flick across the walls, settling on a vast map laid in the center of the room—constellations of sin stretching across galaxies.
“There.” He spits, “That’s where Thalia is.” Adam’s voice causes the air to vibrate—transitioning from a mortal learning how to be a god—to a god, with a declaration of war. “She’s going to pay for what she did to me—to Alex.”
“Woah, let’s slow our roll here. Pay? For Alex? Adam, I thought you understood—”
Adam’s voice tears through the sanctuary, ripping across the obsidian halls, shaking gold filaments.
“I am so damn tired of people telling me what I need to ‘understand’! Feeding me scraps. Secrets. Just enough to keep me confused, and obedient, waiting for the next reveal.” His voice crescendos into a roar. “I don’t give a fuck about your riddles, Elliot!”
A beat. His voice calms, barely above a whisper—but his body is tense, as if his own anger is a power that he doesn’t understand.
“I don’t care about the Concord, or the sins, or your goddamn cosmic lessons. What I understand is Alex was the only thing in this entire fucked-up universe that mattered to me.”
The weight of that loss fills the room, replacing the heavy silence with something more devastating. Adams voice, however quiet, fills with an unwavering conviction.
“I made a promise. A promise I intend to keep.”
“Alex, yes,” Elliot’s tone is oddly light, considering the subject matter. “—Adam, in your shoes, I would feel the same. I’m not saying that you’re wrong—I’m saying you’re ill-prepared.”
The silence is loud—thoughts spinning fast behind Elliot’s calm tone. You don’t need to physically see his expression to know that he’s already reshuffling whatever plan he had. Then:
“Don’t you want to see the Book first? Not the children’s version. The real one.”
Adam’s expression twists with the full weight of his emotions. On one hand, it’s the Book. And on the other—
“Hold out your hand.”
Adam’s hand darts out, palm up and…what appear doesn’t look like a book. No ornate binding, no crackling vellum pages, no divine glow. Just a thin, flat object that catches the ambient light like gold-plated cardboard.
Adam snatches it without a word. His fingers flip it over, turn it around, search for a seam or a spine or something that feels real.
There’s nothing. No pages. No text. Not even a symbol.
“This is it?” His voice is flat, disbelieving. “This is the Book? The one that’s supposed to be my downfall? Elliot—there are no fucking pages.”
“It’s not meant to be read,” he says, as if explaining a metaphor to a child. “It’s meant to be understood. Felt. The Book doesn’t contain information—it contains knowledge.”
Adam doesn’t move. His grip tightens.
Elliot continues, quieter now. “There’s a force—call it holy, if that helps. A source that made gods out of nothing. That divinity formed the Concord.”
“The Concord wasn’t a treaty. It was a state of being. A harmony between six forces. Between us. But it shattered—”
“Envy?” Adam mutters.
“He wasn’t one of us. He was the manifestation of our shattering—Discord. A fracture made flesh. And once he existed, Concord could not. And we... fell. But with Envy gone, the cycle breaks. The sins, we, can return to what we once were.
This isn’t a curse, Adam. It’s the key to your ascension.”
Adam scoffs, contempt dripping from every word. “Oh, fuck me. You’re trying to save me now? Pitch me on some bullshit space gospel? And this”—he hefts the Book—“is your personal bible, isn’t it?”
His sardonic chuckle rattles the pillars. “I thought I left all that religious crap on the world that Thalia burned to ash. Now you want me to—not read a book, know it. And what? Forgive? So I can be saved? Newsflash, Elliot:” Adam hurls the Book across the chamber. It hits the obsidian wall with a dull metallic clatter. “I CAN’T BE SAVED.”
He’s speaking to Elliot, of course, but he turns to you, eyes boring into yours. “The only person with a chance is already fucking dead.”
Yikes. That was intense.
“Adam, you have to open it with more than your hands—”
“Fuck the fucking book! The book doesn’t change anything!”
“ADAM!” Elliot’s voice seems to shred through the air from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Adam’s eyes dart to you—as if you can control it. The psychic voice softens, the tone of an exasperated father, just trying to keep his kids from eating Tide Pods.
“For someone with no memories, you sure speak more than you listen.” He takes a very audible breath and sighs. “When I asked if you understood, you and Alex, I didn’t mean you needed to move on or that she didn’t matter. I meant that she’s not dead.”
The color drains from Adam’s face. For a moment, a flicker of hope lights his eyes—maybe there’s still a chance at his happy ending…right…? But Elliot’s in your head, feeding you memories of Pride’s worst atrocities—never a single thought of Alex…
Adam’s eyes gloss as if with tears, then he blinks them back when he catches your expression.
Yeah, good going. You always have had a problem hiding what you feel.
“…Is it true?” Adam’s voice is barely more than a plea. Silence stretches. Each tick of the metaphorical clock pulls his features into iron resolve. His fists clench—knuckles stark white.
The good news is that space witches can’t just… die. Other than Envy. And there’s a space witch in your brain. So, as long as you hold on to—
“Elliot, if you’re lying to me about Alex…” From thin air, Adam’s fingers curl around a blade’s hilt as it materializes in his palm. “That would be unforgivable.”
Adam’s gaze locks on you.
You had one job.
His will flares, bending the Void to his unspoken command—a sudden flare of light, a paralyzing pulse as Elliot’s voice is ripped from your mind, replaced by a deafening silence. For a single heartbeat, there is nothing but the echo of your own pulse.
Elliot’s voice crashes back in, sharper than before: “I’m not lying.”
Adam whirls around to him. “I’m not talking to you!” He turns on his heel, his eyes bore into yours. “Is he lying? Did you see her? Did you see Alex?”
Well… you could be honest.
Tell Adam the truth: you don’t know if Elliot’s lying—and maybe watch a space-witch die in your honor.
Or… you could lie. Say Elliot’s telling the truth. Save a life. Maybe even two.
I mean, it’s not like you're confirming Alex is dead. You're just... nudging. A gentle little “you should trust him.” A harmless, morally ambiguous nudge.
Until the next story is written in shadows & sins,
—Your Narrator
To return to the crossroads, click [HERE].
This was really fun, and I love the "choose your own adventure" aspect of the voting.
So so so so good 👌🏼