Technology is interesting. It can mean the difference between life and death when you compare your current technological level to people thousands of years ago, who couldn't survive the winter. It can also mean nothing when you're subjected to the whims of someone equipped with better technology. My simple wooden spear won't stand a chance against the future's automatic weapons and targeted drone strikes.

Time is also interesting. When you're outside time, you don't understand how minuscule you are. While you live, entire civilizations die and others are born. Technology advances more than you think. The angels never considered how much the primitive humans might change in just a few generations.

My family used to be part of the elite, a long time ago. We never forgot this. When we grew complacent and started to sin, we were relegated to the lower Earths. But we always remembered. We always knew we would go back. We had to claw our way through the muck of Earth 7, but we made it back. My father spoke to me about it all. The one to finally do it was called David. David's own father couldn't offer him much - he had only garnered a modicum amount of power on Earth 7, but he left it all to his son, along with an idea forged through generations and a name charged with history. A name that was meant to be a prophecy about his son's life.

David took that seed, planted it and watched it bloom. He rejoiced as he saw himself at the top of the empire. He killed thousands and his actions killed millions more. Scum, all of them. They didn't matter. Well, that's not entirely true. They mattered to David. And he did it all by his lonesome. He spared his own son the truth of the situation. He made sure his son was never involved. He cut ties and gave him a chance to be a better man. Whatever that means in a world like Earth 7.

And right as he put a bullet in his head, only a few years before the angels were to visit us, he reached out to his own son and left him in charge of everything. He explained that his final wish was that everything that David had worked to accomplish should be used for good. Should be used to better those around them. An empire, dedicated to better the lives of others. An empire that would buy a ticket to Earth 6 or 5 for the kinder-hearted future emperor, David's son.

It only grew from there. We clawed our way back to the surface. Back to Earth 1. Back to a place where everyone thrives. Where we can enjoy life's pleasures and where we can be safe. But it was never about safety or pleasure. Because while the last few hundreds of years were bliss, the chain of events set in motion a long time ago never stopped. We never lost our purpose, we never failed to see God and his armies for what they are - the cruel dictatorship that destroyed our family and so many others. That sentenced us to death, and forced us into seeking revenge.

50 years ago, the angels came. Earth 1 received them happily, with me at the forefront of the festivities. 50 years ago today.

I had my work cut out for me gathering enough power and adepts. Our Earth's technological advances were the work of my father and grandmother. They did all they could to advance humanity. All I had to do was show the others that we are god's chosen. Maybe play on their insecurities a little. Exploit the fear of being relegated to Earth 2, or worse. And before long our ships are ready, we had wormholes in place towards all other Earths.

It ended as soon as it began. All other Earths were inferior. It was a bloodbath, and our supporters at home received news that we had taken charge, but would need backup. They sent the small remainder of the fleet that should have been there to defend them. We captured the ships and made our way back to Earth 1.

As I'm sitting here waiting for the skies to break and the angels to come down, I can't help but be giddy with excitement. I want them to see what their pride has wrought. I want to smile before I die. I want them to look upon the last survivor from all Earths, and see the conviction in my eyes. I want them to know it ended with me. Because of me. At my command and due to my actions.

I want them to look upon the bloodied streets and feel all the suffering that took place just days ago. I want them to look at the sky and see the remains of battling ships, and pieces of the world's fleet. I want them to look upon the mountains and read the millions of names inscribed upon the trees and the rocks - a wish I made sure came true, for David's sake. Millions of the worst kinds of people, forever inscribed now on this Earth. I want them to taste the irony of an Earth that never knew these people, an Earth that never cared about them, now remembering them forever.

I want the angels to have to sit in awe and understand that they did this. That they planted the seed throughout my family line. That they forced us to do horrible things to survive, all for the sake of arbitrary rules. That they turned us into what we are.

A small gesture, perhaps. But our race was never meant to fight God. We're simply insects. We can only die at the hands of our betters. My family always refused to accept that. And now, I die free.

Seconded!

uhh, thats not how any of string theory works... im confused now

That Tinder line is gold.

God, It was hot. That wasnt surprising in itself, but the shear intensity of the heat continuously pummelling me caught me completely unaware. Molten rock seeped out of crevices in the walls, filling vast lava lakes that covered the horizon end to end. A blinding light glared down at the rocks, bleaching them a pale, sandy colour, absorbing all vapour from within them. So this is hell.

'what do you wish to be your fate?' a voice arose out of the thick set, red demon perched infront of me. 'I'm sorry?' I asked, almost doubting I even heard it at all. 'your fate- what shall you wish of it?' the voice repeated. 'you mean, I get to choose? Why?'

The creature shrugged, 'The reasons don't concern the likes of you. Speak now! I haven't got all bloodmoon.' 'okay, okay, let me think...' I quickly replied, whilst searching for an answer in which this devil couldn't twist. 'I can't think, I wish it wasn't so dry and hot here,' I mumbled, barely aware I uttered the words under my breath.

The devil's broad face glanced in my direction, a hint of surprise quickly vanishing just as it made itself known. 'No one has ever asked that before... I always have to grant the same wishes: wishes for peace, for wealth, for happiness. All of which I can twist into my own interpretation. But this... I don't know if I want to twist it. Some would think the heat wouldn't bother me, having been in it all my existence, but in fact, I truly despise it. I yearn to feel cool arctic winds whisper over my body, rain massage my broken, dry skin, replenishing it's moisture which never existed.

'Your wish, it will allow me to experience something new. I can't make a wish my self, you know, and if I could, that would be exactly what I want. So Thankyou, even if it wasn't intentional. thankyou.'

And with that, one sudden snap of the beast's bone-dry fingers caused a vigorous shudder in the ground, which suddenly opened up and bellowed a cloud of mist, before closing back up. The mist blinded me momentarily, concealing me from the drastic changes hell would surely undergo. Eventually it would dissipate, however. And when it did, hell would be forever changed.

Hell- a blazing furnace, only hospitable by the utterly mad and the devil itself, was no more. In it's place, was an oasis. clear fresh water waterfalls dived out of the cliff faces into the deep blue oceans which were once magma, the once blinding light above was now blanketed by a thin layer of water vapour which reflected the majority of the heat emitted into the atmosphere. It was glorious.

I welcomed the fresh, open breeze acceptingly, much preferring it to the pummelling heat I was greeted with before. A thought suddenly emerged in my new found freedom. Where was the devil?

Peering around, I finally notice it crouched beside the crystal waters, hand hovering above the liquid blue. 'touch it, it won't harm you.' I encourage, fully aware if how difficult this will be. 'you don't have to if you don-..' 'No. I want to,' the beast sliced in, 'I have never had the feeling of submerging my hand in a liquid other than lava before. This will make a change. ' suddenly thrusting it's hand into the surface of the ocean, the devil watched in awe as the water mingled with his dehydrated skin. 'Thankyou,' it whispered, tears streaming down it's face, 'so much.'

Very entertaining read and a fun interpretation of magic. Just mad I didn't guess the mishap at the end.

Phenomenal! I (the reader) hope that things work out for Me (the character) the way they want.

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"Is that...dirt?" the Castellan asked, as he nervously watched the grubby old conjurer flinging dust from a sack about the Duke's wine cellar with abandon.

The old man cackled. "Naw! Powdered stone, this is. I get it cheap from smithies and the like -- comes off the grindstones, you see. There's some metal filings mixed in, of course, but that don't do no harm. Metal's just fancy stone, when you think about it."

"I see." the Castellan said, uncertainly, as he continued watching the hedge mage's curious display. His lordship had insisted the cellar be made free of vermin, after his son the Ducal heir was badly frightened by a rat scuttling across his legs he was reclined on a pile of old sacks in a far corner of the cellar, "perusing" some of the fine vintages that had been laid up beneath the Ducal keep. Unfortunately, his grace had also been very firm about reducing household expenditures, leaving the Castellan with little choice but to consider less conventional -- and less costly -- means to remediate the cellar's rat problem.

After several minutes watching Bartholomew the Budget Mage work his alleged magic, however, he was beginning to think he might have been better off paying for a proper wizard out of his own pocket. The man may have come highly recommended from artisans and workmen about the town, but common folk were rather easily impressed, after all.

After a few more generous handfuls of dust had been flung about, Bartholomew stepped back.

"You'll want to back up a fair bit, squire," the mage advised, making a shoo-ing motion in the Castellan's direction. He frowned, but did as the conjurer bade him, retreating to the bottom of the stairs that led into the cellar, where Bartholomew soon joined him.

The mage rolled up his grimy sleeves, and made a series of arcane gestures as he
muttered an incantation. An almost imperceptible draft stirred the gray dust strewn about the stone floor, but the spell had no other visible effect.

"Well?" the Castellan prompted.

"Done and dusted, mate," the mage responded confidently, clapping the stone dust from his hands with an air of finality.

"But nothing happened!" the Castellan protested.

Bartholomew snorted. "The hell you say!"

The mage shuffled over to a corner, bending down and mumbling to himself as he nosed around some empty barrels that had collected a layer of dust even before his arrival. The Castellan reminded himself to have the cellar thoroughly cleaned. That would probably do more lasting good than this old fool's "magic," in any case.

After a few more moments, however, the mage straightened with a triumphant "Ha!"

He turned to the Castellan who momentarily recoiled as he saw the huge rat the man held up like a trophy.

Bartholomew laughed. "Don't worry squire, this'n won't be bothering you no more." He tapped the stiff, motionless rat against the wall, making an unexpectedly sharp clattering sound.

"Wha...it's turned to stone!" the Castellan exclaimed, his horror fading away to wonder.

The old mage grinned. "Yep! You can poke about the place and pick 'em up at your leisure, they're not going anywhere. Far better than poison, if you ask me, since stone don't rot and start to smell after a day or two."

"Brilliant, sir!" the Castellan cried. "I must say, I fear I have misjudged you, master wizard -- you work wonders at a bargain price!"

Bartholomew waved away the praise. "Naw, I ain't no wizard, squire! I reckon I'm good at what I do, true enough, but I only know the one spell, after all."

The Castellan frowned. "Only one? But, I was told that it was you who cured the miller's boy."

The mage stroked his chin, thoughtfully. "Who, Tom? Oh, yeah, I remember him. Good lad. Glad I could help."

"But I heard the boy was dying of consumption!" the Castellan exclaimed. "Surely you didn't just turn him into stone and call that a cure?"

Bartholomew laughed again. "Naw, 'course not!" He shook his head ruefully, "What people forget, squire, is that magic is based on words, and words can mean more than one thing. I didn't turn him into stone, I turned his consumption into stone. A kidney stone, to be precise. Mind you, the poor lad wasn't happy for a few weeks after, but eventually he passed the stone and recovered, which is better than what would have happened otherwise."

"Amazing....and Rolfe the guardsman told me you alleviated his brother's madness. Did you turn that into a kidney stone, as well?" the Castellan inquired, curiously.

The mage shook his head. "That was a disease of the mind, I couldn't turn it into a disease of the body. I had to stretch some definitions there, to be honest: he was mad before, but now he's just stoned, instead. 'Fraid he's still not going to be going back to work any time soon, but he's also not likely to hurt himself or no one else. And you should hear 'im play that lute of his, now!"

The Castellan laughed. "Extraordinary! You know, even with that limitation, I'm surprised you're not someone's court wizard -- I mean to say, what lord wouldn't want a wizard in his employ who can turn anything into stone? The military applications alone!"

Bartholomew tilted his hand from side-to-side noncommittally. "It's both more and less useful than you'd think, squire. Turning things like consumption and madness into stone is easy. The bits of a man's brains that make him go mad are tiny, and the little buggers -- 'animalcules' the scholars call 'em -- what cause consumption are even tinier still. I don't have the power to turn nothing big into stone. That requires more knowledge than what I've got, and more expensive materials than just stone dust, besides."

"But what about the rats?" the Castellan asked, gesturing around the cellar.

"Well, this cellar's ancient, squire. The keep above has been rebuilt a few times, but this cellar has been here since the Duke's first ancestor. A well-defined space that's been around for ages? Places like that concentrate and amplify magic. I reckon that's why you find so many wizards in old ruins, and so few in brand-new houses." Bartholomew explained. "But even here, I couldn't control the magic very well. That's why I made sure to get you to stand back -- any living thing in the cellar would have been turned to stone, not just rats."

"Ah, I see..." the Castellan said, nodding slowly. Then he froze. "Oh Divine..."

Bartholomew blinked. "Squire?"

The Castellan ignored him. He sprinted down the rows of wine racks to the far end of the old cellar, then rounded the three huge barrels of common wine at the end. His eyes widened in horror. There, behind the massive wine barrels on a pile of old sacks, lay the Duke's son, along with several empty wine bottles, a half-full bottle still tucked into the crook of one arm...an arm that, like the rest of the Ducal heir's body, was now made of dark gray granite.

As the Castellan stared in mute disbelief, Bartholomew plodded up beside him. When he saw the Duke's son, he let out a long low whistle.

"Huh. Well, this one's gonna be tricky..." the budget mage muttered.

I nearly inhaled my coffee at 'commemorative teaspoons'. OMG, dude, I really hope you can expand on this. This could go places, the way you've started it. And I shamelessly admit that I would read the shit out of a whole book or six if you did.

Reminds me of Song of Ice and Fire (book version, not sure about show) where >!Tyrion got wedded to a young Sansa but didn't want to force her into anything!<

Today is the day. THE day. Everyone knew what was supposed to happen. Excitement for some. Apprehension for others. Who would go up? Who would go down?  What was the one thing that would tip the scale?

It's all just a crock of sh*t. I should know. I'm the only immortal stuck down here.

Come to think of it: which Earth am I on this time? 3? 5?

The TV remote dutifully turned on the flat screen across from my bed. "....and turning to our top story: the harbingers are expected to arrive in five hours. Experts still have Consuela Valdez polling ahead of Ayoub Beni for the first to be ascended.  If you will remember: Mr. Beni did rescue nearly all the children from the collapsed orphanage last summer single handedly.  Our analysis suggests however that the years of piety of Ms. Valdez will sway the angels.  Mr. Davidson, what in your opinion will happen later..."

Earth 4. Stuck right in the middle again. People jockeying for position. Betting on the outcome. Not too good. Not too bad. It also explains the hangover.  Good booze. Beer is the way that God shows He loves...

CRRRRACK

"JESUS CHRIST!  Dammit all. Why do you have to only do that when I have a headache?"

"Taking the Lord's name in vain is a sin."

I give the newcomer a crooked smile. "You really are a sanctimonious bastard Gabriel."

The light from his halo obscures the not quite smile. "Are you attempting to sway your fate with your blasphemes?"

"Me? God forbid. I was only startled by your presence. Forgive a poor sinner."

"It is not for me to condemn or forgive your transgressions. Only to convey your message. Do you have it prepared?"

"Yes yes. It's over on the counter. Take it and let me know where I place." He glides over to the kitchen as one of his kind can. "I bet my life I'm going up with that one."

Gabriel's lip curls just a bit before he disappears with my entry: Cain's March Madness Bracket.

Border Rederick was furious when he heard the verdict. He sized himself up against the angel, puffed up his chest and let his mouth run.

"I need more damn time!"

He started waving his finger and pointing it as he huffed, looking for the right words, and running his thoughts through a mental filter that ran with a parameter something like, "You probably shouldn't curse out the angel, it doesn't tend to work for people on earth 7."

He started gesturing his hand into a fist as the veins in his neck began to pop.

"I. WE, have been working our asses off, and you want to move us up now? Why don't we get a say in the matter?"

He paused as his fuming continued.

"How dare you watch from up above, determining right and wrong and them come down here to shake things up. You know nothing about us."

The celestial being had no obvious face, nor did it have any obvious reaction to his words.

Rederick heard some shouts from some of his brothers outside in the hall. They clearly heard his grievances through the door and voiced some support.

And here he was wasting his time with this angel when he had a dozen reformed men he was trying to send out into the masses, to keep fixing up what was broken. His old neighborhood was starting to turn around? Would the few good people there also be evaporated away?

Poof

Rederick woke up from a strange dream and look around the room with a racing heart. He felt the silk sheets against his naked body and immediately relaxed. And there was his beautiful wife next to him. He smiled for a moment, but then his mind returned to the dream, and his smile soured.

Something felt off, something about the dream felt like it was less of a dream, and more of a past.

After a day he realized that he didn't belong on earth 1, his dream wasn't a dream. He had all of the memories of where he'd come from.

His rage returned.

He went out into the streets and shouted for the angel to show itself again, but there was no answer.

"Well then," he said quietly. "I guess I know one way to get back"

After a long and hard 50 years, a much aged Rederick found himself smiling as he woke up in his old home town on earth 7. With the few years he had left he would put his will back to work for his people, no matter how hard they resisted.

In the year 2033, God had grown tired of the conflicts and problems caused by humanity. In an effort to resolve the issues, God created six new Earths, each designed to separate people based on their sins. Earth 1 was reserved for the most virtuous individuals, while Earth 7 was intended for the worst offenders. In this new system, every 50 years, angels would descend to each Earth to reevaluate the inhabitants and determine whether they should remain on their current Earth, ascend to a higher one, or be demoted to a lower one.

As the decades passed, a clear distinction emerged between the various Earths. Earth 1, inhabited by those who had shown great kindness and empathy in their lives, became a utopia of peace and prosperity. People cooperated and learned from each other, and the Earth flourished under a shared sense of collective responsibility. The inhabitants took great pride in maintaining their status as Earth 1 residents and strove to become better versions of themselves.

Earth 2 through Earth 6, on the other hand, represented varying degrees of moral ambiguity. While some individuals made genuine efforts to improve and ascend to a higher Earth, others remained complacent or, worse, actively engaged in harmful activities that threatened to send them spiraling downward. Each Earth had its own unique set of challenges and opportunities, forcing inhabitants to grapple with complex ethical questions.

Earth 7, the realm designated for the most sinful, became a place of chaos and suffering. Those who were condemned to live there faced a harrowing existence, one marred by violence, deceit, and lawlessness. The environment only served to breed further resentment and hostility, making the prospect of redemption all the more difficult.

As the angels arrived every 50 years to reevaluate humanity, they noted the progress and failures of each Earth. Their judgments were fair and unbiased, giving everyone an opportunity to improve their standing or face the consequences of their actions. Over time, the angels observed a gradual shift in the distribution of humanity across the seven Earths, as individuals either rose or fell based on the choices they made.

While the system God had put into place was not without its flaws, it did serve to encourage introspection and self-improvement among humanity. The periodic arrival of the angels served as a reminder to all that their actions had consequences, and that redemption was always possible for those who sincerely sought it. And even though the seven Earths remained separate, the bonds of humanity still connected them in a profound way, with the shared aspiration of becoming better and reaching for the higher Earths that lay before them.

Yayyyy I will be waiting patiently and obediently for the storyteller to be back!

These types of prices tend to be like that: memories, sensations, stories, sometimes services (like a quest). So it's within the realm of possibilities that the price be embarrassing stories.

Why two hours?

"There! All set and done! Aetherium luminata!"

The chanting voice of Phyldiane filled the dark, cobblestone-lined room with trembling echoes, as her cooking pot over the brightly-blue sparkling flames glows with its embers. It was a success! And the slightly charred pot was filled with a cyan liquid, whose turbulent, oil-like essence swirl amidst the heat.

"I did it! Ha! A lightning buff potion!"

She danced quite a bit upon her success. She was so proud of her work. And what's more, none of her fellow classmates at the Incantorium Academica ever knew that she only spent a meager 5 white pearls on her ingredients.

"Take that, Mistulia! Once I show this to them tomorrow, that shoddy witch can shut the hell up on me!", she uttered in a gruntled tone as she slowly brews the cooked potion onto her glass bottle. In her mind, she insistently remembers what happened earlier at the Incantorium with the confrontation she has with her after class.

"You crazy! That's impossible, flea den.", Mistulia insisted, looking straight at Phlydiane's face. "Either you have to pay for a diamond crystal for it or you take months of cooking for that lightning buff potion to get."

"Nah, I can do it in hours, even tomorrow!", Phlydiane confidently told her. "Don't make it sound impossible just because I am better than you.", she said as her eyes rolled out.

"Oh, look who's talking. That one girl who thinks she is so good and can defy magic rules just because she got an A+ score in Mrs. Gemphrian's test!", Mistulia said in a mocking tone. "You will never do that, flea face, that is what the Book of Incantarions say is the minimum."

"Your rules don't apply to me, oh please. Unlike you who sticks with your books, I can make my own ways and explore. You are just smart, but not creative."

Mistulia casually puts her hand in her bag as if she is getting something.

"Alright, let's make a deal young lady. If you don't have a lightning buff potion by tomorrow, you drink this!", Mistulia said as she shows a bottle of brown liquid.

"What the hell is that?", Phlydiane asks in quite disgust.

"Oh, just my little ventrem confractio bottle. Drink it, and see how you puke your guts all over the place to my heart's desire!", Mistulia said with a grin.

"Deal! However if I brought, YOU drink that crap.", Phlydiane told her.

"Oh sure, either way. I will not drink this, trust me. You better off prepare your leather bags as you barf all over the place. Face me tomorrow, 2 AM at the moonsilver fountain at the plaza."

Phlydiane agreed to her demands, and walks away while being stared at with her classmates around her.

"Why are you staring at! Get off your lives, suckers! I got a job to do!", she said angrily as she hurried home.

Phlydiane, just finished with he potion work, raises her lightning buff bottle. At that moment her father, the great mage-alchemist Pernigcian, enters her room.

"Oh, what's that young lady? An experiment underway? You like to follow my work, don't you?", her father said as he folds his magic robes away. Chaffed with a beard and wearing his spectacles, he turns towards his daughter as she spoke.

"Yeah, I did this potion. Because my classmate couldn't believe me that I can make this in just a short time. So I made a bet on her."

"Really? You making bets now? That doesn't sound too nice for you to do."

"They just don't know your methods, father. They don't know your ideas and kept insisting that age-old Incantations book! Your ideas of alchemy can change magic!"

Her father laughed quite a bit, and patted her on her shoulder.

"Phlydiane, be responsible, okay? I don't want to reveal this to anyone. I trust you to keep it a secret."

"Why do you want it to be secret? This is marvelous!"

"Phlydiane, I don't know what will happen. If people found out about this, they might saw us as sorcerers, using black magic. And all I just want is your safety. I don't want you to get into trouble. So please, keep our methods secret, okay?"

Phlydiane reluctantly agrees as her father embraced her.

"Care to take a look at what you have done?", he asks her. Phlydiane reaches out her glass bottle.

"The lightning buff aetherium luminata. Let me guess, you used coal for this, right?" Phlydiane smiled a bit. "Coal and diamond are just the same form of one thing, just arranged differently. And that is what makes this possible. You will really make expense of doing it the old way. But hey, this is the last time you will do this. Keep it hidden as much as possible, okay?"

"Very well, father. I'll keep my promise.", Phlydiane agrees.

Hm, politics now. Is that what they taught you to say to divert suspicion at skinwalker school? Sorry to say it doesn't really work like that

Few words, huge lesson, wow.

We was gone.

No, not a grammatical error, just a nickname. One that, in hindsight, wasn’t nearly as funny as any of Us had thought. You see, once we all stopped panicking and had at least half of an idea of what was going on, we decided— we as a collective, not the person We, although I (again, I, the narrator, not I the person) suppose it would make more sense to you after explaining it— decided to take up different pseudonyms to help differentiate ourselves from each other. There was I, Me, Myself, Ego (inventively cobbled from our collective elementary grasp of Latin) and We, who had jokingly taken up the royal first person singular as their pseudonym. That was the five of Us, working towards a goal we knew we could only accomplish together, even if we were all the same.

We was the first to step through the exit and, consequentially, the first to dissolve into a fine blue dust.

The rest of Us knew all knew what that dust was, obviously. We (collectively, although We did spearhead most of the research) had had to study its properties intensively to learn how to manipulate the world all of Us were trapped in with enough staying power to open the portal before Us. Pure data, broken down into its most basic form. Those of Us still standing looked at each other with grim understanding clouding each of our expressions. It was a possibility that had crossed each of our minds, a fact that each of Us knew without even having to ask the others. If this world was all a simulation, who could say that we weren’t simulations ourselves? Who could say that We wasn’t?

Well, We was. Again, the dust fading before our eyes confirmed this.

After what felt like an eternity, I (the person, not the narrator) addressed the rest of the group. “All of Us knew this could happen. Hell, even We knew it could happen. But We still chose to take that step. Each of Us owe it to them to do the same.”

“But we aren’t certain,” Ego chimed in. “Not even We was. If We was certain, we all would have been. We all would have held hands and walked through together. Instead, we all sat and watched while We—“

“Each of Us!” Myself interrupted caustically. “If you’re talking about We, say We. If you’re talking about the group, use ‘Us.’ How the hell are any of Us supposed to know what you’re talking about if we can’t tell Us and We apart?”

Like a wound-up rubber band, Ego snapped back, “You know what I’m talking about! We was the best of us! If We was a simulation, how are any of us supposed to know if we aren’t one!?”

“That’s the point,” I retorted, cutting through the tension. “None of us can know for certain. W—“ I’s fist clenched as they caught their tongue. “Each of Us needs to make that choice for ourselves. Whether you decide to stay here and live a life you know to be false or take the risk and try for a chance at the real world is entirely up to you. I can’t make the choice for you. No one can. We made their choice, and the rest of Us should honor that. Now, all of Us need to choose.”

Silence once again enveloped the group, each waiting for anyone else to be the first one to speak. None of Us needed to be telepaths to know that the same thoughts were running through all of our heads. Logically speaking, the correct play for any of Us would be to wait for the others to step through and see what happened. After all, every simulated version of Us destroyed increased our own chances of being the real one. It was a morbid sort of economics, one that We had chosen to forgo entirely. While We had made their choice, however, the rest of Us weren’t so keen on falling into the unknown.

Finally, I (the narrator, though the other characters would refer to me as… well, Me) broke the silence. “The rest of Us should split up. Go back to our simulated lives, at least for a little while.” As expected, the rest of Us looked at me like I had grown a second head. Regardless, I continued, “Then, at some point, if any of Us want to try our hand at escaping, they should do it alone. That way, anyone else who tries to go through the portal won’t influence our decision. At least we won’t be terrified in the middle of a standoff like thi—“

“I would hardly call this a standoff,” I interrupted. “And regardless, if We made that choice, it’s hardly fair for the rest of Us to postpone it until we feel more comfortable.”

“The way I see it,” Myself mused, now slightly calmer, “We made that choice on their own. All of Us might be the same person, but that doesn’t mean we have to make the same mistakes. Besides,” their voice lowered as they continued, “I know the thought has crossed through all of our minds of coercing each other through the portal through… unsavory means.” The silence that followed Myself’s statement said more than anything, even if it was all information each of Us already knew. It was the saying it that made it true.

“…I like that idea,” Ego piped up. “If w— each of Us doesn’t know whether the others succeeded or failed, then the rest of Us aren’t going to factor into our decision. The only variable in play will be… well, whether we want the simulation to end, one way or another.”

I sighed in exasperation, knowing that Ego was right. At the same time, I sighed with relief.

And with that, each of Us went our separate ways. We still kept in touch, mostly just to check in on the portal and notify each other about exciting events in our simulated lives, but also as a sort of buffer. All of Us agreed not to meet in person after the day we made the portal, so the letters and phone calls were our way of letting each other know we were still around. I was the first to go, naturally; they could only bear the thought of not knowing for a few months. Ego, surprisingly, was the next to leave Us, exactly five years after the portal had been created, which felt appropriately theatric for the one of Us with a name in another language. Myself and I kept in touch for a while, actually, as the decades rolled past Us and our lives carried on. When they eventually decided to go, they invited me to see them off, though I declined, telling them I’d be joining them soon.

And so, all that’s left of us is me. Me. And soon, there won’t be much left of me either. I’ve lived a long life, even if it wasn’t in the real world, and as Ego said, I’m ready for the simulation to end, one way or another. Sure, there’s a part of me that hopes that I’ll awaken to find only seconds have passed while my mind spun itself into years, as well as a part of me that fears that I’ll see one of the others living the life I could have led in the moment before I crumble to dust. But more than anything else, I hope that when I get to the other side, I can find the rest of Us again. I do, after all, make for quite interesting company.

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Be funny if the price was based on the witch’s subconscious desires and the daughter knows it so trades them like 3 embarrassing stories from her parties adventures and about her first kiss which was with the hero. The witches would be cackling and giggling etc while she blushes but the contract is fulfilled because her embarrassment is part of the cost etc…

Oh my god this is amazing, I’d love a whole series about this!