Gravity Falls Pyronica Novels & Stories

We were inches from the drop when I slammed on my rear brake, the Norton's specialized variable-compression valves venting a burst of pressure that acted like a physical kick. The bikes tore apart. Elena's prototype, its stabilization gyros fried by the impact, skidded toward the precipice. She laid the bike down, her white leathers throwing sparks against the asphalt as she slid to the very brink of the five-story fall. Her front tire hung over the abyss, spinning uselessly in the humid air.

And Kieran _flew_. Straight up. 50 feet. Stopped. Hung there. Like a bug on a pin. “Kieran!” I screamed. Project 1 didn’t look at me. He walked past Kieran. Like he wasn’t there. To the van. To _Rylan_. Nero stood. Blood still running. “_Don’t_.” Project 1 looked at him. And Nero _knelt_. Not choice. _Weight_. Gravity increased on him 10x. Bones cracked.

Chapter 160: The Gravity of Choice The primordial vault did not simply fall; it imploded. The silver-hued matrix that Natalia had forced into the central pedestal conflicted violently with the raw, ancient architecture of the pre-Schism cradle. High above, the jagged black prism towers fractured along their geometric lines, sending multi-ton sheets of solid obsidian raining down like a shower of dark glass. The iridescent violet alloy floorboards buckled downward, groaning as the structural gravity-inversion runes shattered under the immense pressure wave of Lyra’s thermal detonation.

The Forge-Gargoyle missed us completely. Its massive brass body plunged past us in a blur of heated metal and roaring gears, its claws scraping frantically against the smooth stone as it shot over the lip of the chute and crashed directly into the boiling sea of gold below. A massive, fifty-foot geyser of liquid gold-aether erupted from the crucible, the molten metal splashing high up the walls of the shaft and instantly encasing the lower section of our slide in a smooth, glowing armor of cooling gold. We hung there, suspended by Killian’s single hand on the pressure pipe, our boots dangling just thirty feet above the churning, molten surface. The heat was absolute, a physical weight that t