Popcorn Story

[Chronicler1701]

I read something on here a while back, about a couple of kids who get transported into a virtual world through a Wii, where each new section is written by a different person. [Edit: it was "My Turn!" Begun by Wolfsong.]
Let's do the same here.

I'll start:

Priscilla

She was still gasping for breath after being set free from the Realm of the Dead.

"It took me the all my favors for the next three years to get you out and even then He said that if you ever sin again—" Ezekiel stopped mid-sentence and shook his head. "I told you, you would regret it forever. How long did it seem like you were there?"

It took her a full two minutes after he asked for her to answer. "I don't know. Five, maybe six years."

"That seems about right. You were dead for less than nine minutes."

She groaned, "What?!"

"You were there for eight minutes and eighteen seconds, which, due to the time differential between each of the Realms, would seem like about five years and nine months."

[Davidizer13]

"Differentials...?" Priscilla asked, her head still in a fog. Being brought back to life was playing havoc with her concentration.

"Yes, you know, differential passages of time between the various realms that populate our universe. Each one runs on its own internal time, and within each, time passes differently between them." Ezekiel pulled back his sleeve, revealing countless watches strapped up his arms. "This one's for the Realm of Combustion, this is for the Realm of Socks Lost in the Dryer, this one is the Meat Dimension, and this one" - he pointed to a golden watch with its hands spinning furiously. "Confound it. I can't remember which one this one is for, but rest assured, it would behoove us not to go there, yes? Anyway, you've proven my paper on the time differential within the Realm of the Dead. You do not know what sorts of strings I had to pull with the One Above to get you out of there, but now that my experiment has been completed, we can leave. The Gateway always leaves me cold."

"You mean to tell me," Priscilla said, coughing and staggering to her feet, "that you killed me, put me through Hell its-"

"Ah ah! The preferred term is 'Realm of the Dead.' Hell is another separate realm, and the denizens of both are very insistent that you keep them equally separate in your mind," said Ezekiel, wagging his finger.

"Fine. I went through the Realm of the Dead for five long, miserable years, just so that you could sit out here and write a paper on it when I came back?"

"Well, I certainly didn't want to be the one to do it myself! Besides, as I have said before, you have no idea what sorts of favors I now have to do for my Higher Up in order to - atone, shall we say? - for this breach of procedure. Rest assured, you are not alone in your suffering. In fact, to limit my suffering in this, I even had to deal your lot in with it too, unfortunately."

"What do you mean, 'deal my lot in?'"

"It's rather, ah, hard to explain, it's something you will have to deal with in time, and I'm sure someone will be around to tell you all the details eventually?"

"You seem to know about it, whatever it is. You tell me." She pointed her finger, still wavering, in Ezekiel's face. "You are going to tell me exactly what's going on. Right now."

[Chronicler1701]

"Okay. The first reason for doing this was to prove to you that these Realms exist and that there is a God. Second, it was also to prove to you just how much He loves us, and how just He is. Third, it was to show you what great danger your soul is in: imagine the complete misery you experienced, raised to an impossibly high power, and you would be approaching Hell. Finally, and least importantly, it was to verify my theses on the temporal differentials between all the different Realms." He finished speaking for a minute to gather his papers and books on temporal mechanics.

"And what about that 'deal my lot in?' You haven't answered that. What does that mean?"

He put everything into a small leather bag—far too small to contain everything that was placed in it—and slung it over his shoulder. He stood to his feet and started walking away. Priscilla stood there in a hazy fury at being ignored. A few moments later, he stopped in his pace, looked back, and asked her, "Are you coming or not?" He waited for her to run and catch up with him. As they resumed their course for Alädar, he glanced again at the gold watch on his wrist, the hands still spinning faster than the eye could register. He just could not remember which Realm it was for.

"So?" she pestered. After a pause, she demanded, "Dang it, TELL ME!!"

"I told you what I can. Someone will be here to explain it to you. Probably either Jordan or Bob. I'm betting on Bob."

Now she was confused. "Who on earth are Jordan and Bob?!"

"Minor angels tasked with personal revelations, like what you're asking about."

[Ante Bellum]

Priscilla, her lips curled, watched Ezekiel's eyes glaze over.
"Hey, Ezekiel! Back to earth!" she called, snapping her fingers in front of his face. The man recoiled with a violent shake of his head. "You need to stop dabbling in dimension jumping, it's screwing with your head. What were you saying about favors?"
"What?"
"...What?"
"What did I say?"
Priscilla huffed. "Never mind."
"No, Priscilla, listen-" His watched clinked together as he waved his hands.
"You listen, boy! You'll be lucky if you don't end up on another neuron drip, so you'd better explain to me now just what you offered! No, take off your shirt."
Ezekiel stood rooted to the spot. Priscilla repeated her demand, and he complied.
"Hell, it's started already-"
"I, uh, the denizens of Hell don't like it when people use their home as a curse, Priscilla," Ezekiel said as he rolled his shirt around his hands. "Ow! Don't pick at it!" The woman shook her head and waved him away. "I can inspect your back, if you want?"
"Put your shirt back on."

"I don't know why I put up with him, Selma," Priscilla said. She tapped the end of a pipe against her leg.
"What's your sentence?" Selma's voice cracked over the phone.
"Three years servitude to..." she lowered her voice despite being alone "...Se."
The sound of low whistling. "I'm sorry, honey. I could have guessed. Didn't want to consider it, though." Priscilla wished again that she could see her friend's face. She adjusted the phone's power settings and tried to start the video feed again.
"I was two years away, Selma. Two years. I've put in three more years than I should have, and another three on top of that. I don't even know if the academy will accept me now..." The video feed gave a half-hearted attempt to start before fizzling around. The already dim bedside lamp flickered. "These generators are terrible. I didn't sign up to chase a jumper - he's not even a jumper, he just stands around getting brain damage - around the wastelands. I should be in a lab right now, or a library, not at a waystation with barely enough power to run a fridge."
An uncomfortable pause in conversation.
"So, when you get back, will you show me?"
"Yeah. I'll show you."

[Davidizer13]

"Listen, Priscilla, I'm sorry you had to go through all of this, and if there's anything I can do to make it up to you-"

"It's fine," she sighed. "You didn't have any part in this little mishap, and honestly, I think the one who is responsible has suffered enough..." She glanced back at Ezekiel, his eyes hazy, gazing at the ceiling, then took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts. They had lost too many good jumpers lately, and today two more were out of the running. "Anyway. That's enough deep thoughts for one day."

"Jordan," said Ezekiel.

"It's going to be all right, Zeke, I'm going to take care of it. How's my brother doing?"

The ceiling disappeared, dematerializing completely, revealing a sky that glowed lavender, electricity crackling between the stars. Part of the sky folded back, and from the gap, a set of gigantic, whirling wheels descended, counter-rotating rims that spun around a single point. Made of brightly colored crystal, they were studded around their rims with eyes, the pupil of each one whipping in a different direction. Slowly, they came closer and closer to Priscilla's head, a keening wail filling the air. Finally, it ground to a halt, mere feet above their base, the spinning wheels' bass drone creating an eerie harmony with the whine. Selma yelled at Priscilla through the comm, but she saw nothing of the scene unfolding just above her, while Priscilla was too preoccupied to respond. The visions were real, she thought, over and over again. Ezekiel was right. With a growing horror, she realized what that meant for her.

A series of images started to go through Priscilla's head, flashing painfully quickly. Thousands of people, prostrate before a massive statue, shivering and moaning in religious ecstasy. Firestorms burning through a city, engulfing people and buildings in a massive, pitiless conflagration. Priests performing bizarre and violent rituals. "No, stop," said Priscilla weakly, hardly able to speak. But they grew in intensity. A vast line of creatures unknown to her, waiting their turn to be sacrificed on a granite altar, their blood running down the temple steps to a waiting crowd. She closed her eyes, but nothing could stop the torrent in her mind. Countless warriors ready for battle, howling and screaming for war in the name of their god. As they kept coming, a burning, twisting sigil pushed its way to the center of her view. Voices in every imaginable language, from all across the dimensions, shouted strange words into the vision, but in her heart she knew every one meant the same thing: the name of their god.

Se.

"We're getting a ton of interference on our side, what's going on over there? Talk to me, Priscilla, what are you seeing? Priscilla!" She saw one last image. A figure, glowing orange, standing above the rest of the maelstrom, watching it with an inscrutable expression - was it disdain? boredom? It looked up, into Priscilla's eyes; as far as she could tell, it was neither male nor female, and indeed, was hardly human. A hint of a smile played across its face, one of mild amusement. It stretched out its hand towards her. She stepped forward, drawn onward by an irresistible compulsion.

Left in Priscilla's place was Ezekiel, still staring blankly at nothing in particular. A trickle of blood had encrusted on his upper lip. Selma frantically adjusted her controls, focusing in on his voice. His lips trembled, and he started to laugh, a slow, distant laugh.

"Zeke, what just happened?! We detected a dimensional breach on your end just now, can you confirm? What happened to Priscilla?"

The wide smile stayed on Ezekiel's face. "Not Jordan."

"What? Zeke, stay with me here!"

"Not Jordan. Bob," he said, breaking into laughter again. The link shut off.

[Ante Bellum]

"Bobareth. Se's own taxman. We've got records of it going back over two hundred years. We think there was more before that, from what we could recover, but..." Selma shook a bothersome strand of hair out of her face. It bounced back with her next step. "If there's a beginning, it's ashes by now."
"Scans?" the resident asked. He cradled a video camera and watched Selma carefully.
"If there were any, they were wiped long before we got to them. I don't know he'd send it now." She pressed the stack of copies to her mouth, eyes losing focus. "It's too early to take her, she said her stigmata was just a spot, and leaving Zeke behind? There's little to compare it to, but nothing's right about this."
"His stigmata's spread alarmingly fast. If this rate keeps up, he'll have a full Claim within a month. What do the records say about that?"
"Nothing. I don't know. Just let me think."
The sound of their hollow steps echoed down the hall, floating heavily over the worn-through carpet and settling at B67: quarantine room 6. Beyond the thick, lead-core door, past the showers, and under the watchful eye of an armed guard, Ezekiel sat on the floor, a thick sheet wrapped around his shoulders.
"You, show me. Now. And get that camera ready!" Selma pointed at Ezekiel. He grinned at her while he stood and dropped the sheet.
A dark, gangrenous vein spread across Ezekiel's torso and up his neck, converging in the center of his chest. His hair hung limp and greasy over his forehead.
"I did it, Selma. I've tricked a god." A bubble of saliva and blood burst at his mouth. He wiped it away on his arm, which was already cracked dark red.
Selma, extending her arm to keep distance, handed the papers to him. "I need you to tell me what this is."
"That's Bob. Bob. Bobareth. The Collector. I found him. I found him for you," Ezekiel said. He inhaled sharply. His lungs rattled, racking his body. "He's an angel, Selma. And now she's an angel, too."
"Keep talking. You need to tell me exactly what you did," Selma demanded, her voice tense.
"She's safe. Se can't harm her."
"How long does she have, Ezekiel?"
"She won't remember anything."
"How long?!"
"As long as we need." Ezekiel said. His head snapped as Selma backhanded him, and the vein seemed to pulse. He slowly raised his head and locked eyes with her. "Everything we worked for, Selma! Angel physiology! Your theories, your research...the Archive! We'll build the Archive again. I promised, I would build it for us-"
"What did you take, Zeke?"
Ezekiel paused at the interruption. "I took Jordan."

[Davidizer13]

Selma's mouth hung open for a moment, her jaw slack in disbelief. She swung her hand to give Ezekiel another slap, but stopped short. A triumphant grin crawled across his face - Selma slapped him even harder for that. "You idiot. You just sold yourself and my best friend to a god who's been called...let's see here..." She flipped through her paperwork, digging up the more gruesome epithets. "Master of the Land of the Dead, She Who Burns With the World's Judgement, The One Who Herds the Hurricanes, The Great Devourer of the Living!"

"That last one was a mistraducir - a mistrial, no, whatever it is when something comes out wrong, mistreatment. Miller and Kobayashi wrote about it in the last Dimensionia Divinitus."

"Well, Kobayashi's a total idiot, and Miller would shoot her own grandmother for an author credit. Something you would know a lot about; I'm surprised she hasn't come by to propose to you."

"There was that one time a couple years back at the big jumper-"

"No, stop, I'd rather hear you try and argue how what you did was so perfect and wonderful."

"Look, it wasn't the ideal solution, but I did what I thought was best at the time, and what would be best for us in the future!"

"And you thought what was best was to kill your partner, sell her to the first deity you met on the Planes, and then swallow one of their angels for kicks."

"We could learn so much, just give me a chance!"

"Shut it. Are you getting this?" she said, turning to the cameraman, who was shifting uncomfortably. "Hold still, traitor." With a flick of her wrist, she pulled out a ruler. She leaned towards his chest, bringing it close to the vein for a measurement."

"Speaking of Miller, she did the same thing just before-"

"I said shut it, Zeke. Zoom in on the ruler. We've got two point five four centimeters of expansion in the past four hours. Also note the bleeding in the respiratory system has increased slightly since last examination. We are unclear as of yet to whether this is a part of the process of hypostatic union or due to a form of jumpers' syndrome, but keep an eye on this next time. Also...oh god, that isn't what I think it is, is it? Come down here, get this big and centered!"

There was a mass of pink, scabby flesh on his side, just below the ribcage, where the stigmata's spear wound would have been. It was a complex design, surrounded like a circle - the mark itself looked like a brand or burn, only that it was pointing outwards instead of being an impression. Selma flipped through her papers, and found one that matched its design. The sigil of Se.