video | un: CherylBombshell

[sweetwater]

[ Cheryl is sick. despite that, she's done her hair and makeup and dressed herself in a red silk robe. a lot of effort went into her appearance, but it does little to hide the fact that she's unwell. she looks tired. at home she was a pro at snapchat, and she holds the camera out at arms length. all that's missing is the puppy filter! ]

By now you've all heard of the great tragedy that's befallen us. I was caught right in the middle of everything, an innocent bystander in someone's very cruel plan to shake us all to the core. I don't scare easily and I don't wilt, but I could use your help in this trying time.

First: obviously i am confined to bed until I recover. You can entertain me by chatting with me and telling me your stories. Make sure they aren't boring.

And secondly: If you're able-bodied, perhaps you can avenge me. [ she pauses. smiles. ] Us. It's the right thing to do.

[ and as she ends the video: ] Hashtag Olympia Strong. [ yes, that's right. hashtag. this is Cheryl Blossom, after all. ]

Comments

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[knitpick]

[Rather than the rapid-fire style of her responses up til this point, what follows is a lengthy pause before, all at once, a wall of text:]

There will be no "once upon a time" here, for time can be a nebulous thing in this story. Assigning order to the flow of events is something of a Herculean task to ask of a narrator. Still, all stories must begin somewhere, so we shall begin with this:

The world ended.

Lamenting that fact is pointless, for it was as inevitable as the sun rising each day up until the moment it didn't anymore. Nothing could have prevented this end - an end that came not by Storm, but by meteors and fire, the crumbling of the planet in the midst of the death of the universe. All universes have a natural lifespan dictated by some unknowable force, reality tidying up by cleaning out that which has run its course, and ours had simply reached the end of that lifespan.

But if you raze a forest to the ground, seeds will remain to take root in the fertile ash and soil. A system for propagation is intertwined with the system for destruction. The infinity mechanism of reality is a forest fire, and the pinecones that might release their seeds in its heat take the form of a game.

It's impossible to guess at just how many people attempted to play this game. A great many surely did, and it's almost certain that most failed to win. Perhaps there were one or two or even a handful of other groups that played and emerged victorious. Like the various species of animals that reproduce in large numbers, the ultimate point is that with such great numbers, at least a few might survive to pass on their genes. But those hypothetical other victors don't matter in this story.

The group we concern ourselves with here were always fated to play this game of universal death and rebirth. Paradoxically, the game itself was responsible for their existing at all, and their roles were prescribed for them from the very beginning: Heir of Breath, Seer of Light, Knight of Time, and Witch of Space.

Their obstacles in the beginning were many, but they stumbled their way through the mire of difficulties and succeeded in their first tasks to begin the game. Success to that extent would allow players to escape their dying world into the space in which the bulk of the game would take place, something of a minor universe in itself. The players would find themselves on new worlds tailored to them and their personal quests, all centered around a battlefield wherein the forces of light and darkness would wage war.

But it was in these first steps, during the escape from the universe's death, that the outcome of our heroes' game was decided for them. Simultaneously because of their mistakes and through no fault of their own, a villain was created that would prove impossible to defeat. The demon shattered the typical structure of the game. It spilled oceans of blood, tore the game apart, and would eventually escape that session of the game into another - one that had been played by a group from a different dying world altogether. The players of that session found their victory stolen from them by this unexpected foe right when they had won, and were forced to flee to the edges of their game's universe. There, they managed to establish contact with our heroes via messages unrestricted by the traditional flow of time, sometimes harrying and sometimes helping, and retroactively they contributed to the creation of the demon.

In contact with these foreign players, faced with an insurmountable enemy, and knowing in advance their inevitable failure, our heroes worked stubbornly against their fate. The Witch sacrificed her dreaming self to save her brother, the Heir, so that he might wake and dream as she had. The Knight learned to weaponize time and exploited every rule and loophole possible to give them some advantage. The Seer raged against the game itself, putting her faith in dark gods as she tore her world apart searching for answers. The Heir was equal parts tricked and guided to his death by one of the otherworldly players, ascending to godhood and gaining great power.

The demon, however, tore through them all the same. The Heir was killed before he could even make a stand against their foe. The Knight was gunned down. The Seer dueled the demon but was struck down despite all the dark magics fueling her. Fortunately, death in this game is not always so final as one might expect. The Heir rose again thanks to his godhood, his death deemed neither just nor heroic. The Knight and Seer were each revived with a kiss from a friend, a trick that could be used only once per player provided they still had a dreaming self left to act as their "extra life". Only the Witch had been left untouched, as a part of what had given the demon its overwhelming power also forced upon it a strange fondness that wouldn't let it harm her.