Herobrine's Message

by Sean Fay Wolfe

  Leonidas was vaguely aware of Stan and Enderchick beginning to fight, but he was in too much pain to fully comprehend what was going on around him. Beyond the stinging in his legs from jumping off such a tall tree, his left arm, which had struck Lord Marrow across the head, was now in such agony that he found himself unable to move. And as Leonidas gritted his teeth, tears streaming down his face, he realized there was no reason to move. Arachnia and Lord Marrow were both down for the count, and Stan was fighting Enderchick—there was nobody left to harm him.

  Then, all at once, Leonidas became aware of the monster directly above, preparing to bear its fangs down into him. His deflating adrenaline levels suddenly pumped up to maximum yet again. Leonidas reached into his inventory and threw the bottle of Potion of Weakness, which he had been saving for weeks now, directly into the face of the Zombie villager. As the monster flinched, Leonidas plunged his hand into his inventory again, and forced the golden apple into the mouth of the Zombie.

  As soon as the glimmering fruit disappeared into the mouth of the mob, it stopped trying to attack Leonidas. After a moment of standing still, the Zombie villager fell backward onto the ground, no longer pursuing Leonidas but rather shuddering as the wisps of smoke curled up off its body. Realizing that his job was done, Leonidas flopped back onto the ground, taking in the joy of lying still as he tried to catch his breath.

  “You seem like you’re having a totally awesome time, Stan!” giggled Enderchick, as she warped around Stan, dodging every strike of his enchanted diamond sword.

  Stan panted with exhaustion, a slight growl of frustration escaping his mouth. He had no idea who these people were, and he was baffled as to how this player named Enderchick apparently had gained the ability to teleport at will. The one thing that he did know, however, was that he was beginning to tire, and he hadn’t landed one single hit on her yet.

  “You know, sweetie, if you just surrendered,” simpered Enderchick, “then we could stop all this right now and just, you know, cut to the chase and stuff.”

  Stan’s vein pulsed in his temple as she gloated, and he rushed toward her at top speed. Drawing back his sword, he launched himself into the air and spun around like a blender, trying as hard as he could to emulate the technique that he had invented on his day of axe training in the Adorian Village. Shockwaves shot out of the spinning sword, and one of the Knockback blasts slammed into Enderchick, who had teleported to avoid Stan’s attack. Caught unaware, she toppled to the ground, giving Stan a free shot to her right leg before she warped away.

  Suddenly, Stan sensed something approaching behind him, and he ducked to avoid the arrow that flew past his head. The glowing projectile stuck into a nearby tree, and the wooden block caught fire. Realizing that the other player must have a bow with Flame on it, Stan spun around to face the archer, who he had heard Arachnia call Lord Marrow. He was loading another arrow, but Stan saw that this one was different. As he squinted at it, he realized that the tip of this arrow had a tiny Creeper head on it. Baffled at what that could mean, Stan found himself forced to sidestep the arrow. It landed not too far from Stan, and there was a massive explosion at the spot where it landed. Stan had to raise his hands up to block the force of the blast, and he turned to face Lord Marrow again.

  A horrible realization dawned on Stan. These players must be hackers! And Lord Marrow had several deadly types of arrows in his arsenal.

  Frightened by the idea of what these arrows could do, Stan clutched his sword tightly and prepared to approach Lord Marrow. He knew how to approach archers; he had done it before. And if he could just get into close range, he would have the advantage.

  Stan rushed forward as Lord Marrow fired another arrow directly at him, this one trailing purple, Enderman-like smoke behind it. Stan ducked under the arrow and it curved downward in midflight, still aiming for his head. The smoking projectile snagged onto Stan’s black leather cap, pinning it to the snowy ground behind him.

  Stan was too stunned to speak. Did he see that correctly? Did Lord Marrow have homing arrows?

  He had no intention of sticking around to find out as Lord Marrow readied his next shot. Stan ducked behind a tree to avoid another purple-smoked arrow, this one also curving off its path to find him but sticking in the corner of the tree before it could. Stan sprinted between the trees, as arrow after arrow flew after him. Some zigzagged their way through the branches, missing him by inches. Others connected with the trees in a massive explosion, clearing the woods of places for Stan to hide. And still others set the trees on fire, causing entire groves to go up in flames in a matter of seconds.

  It wasn’t long before Stan was exhausted, and he ducked behind a tree trunk that had avoided the blaze to dodge another homing arrow, this one coming within a centimeter of his foot. Stan glanced up, seeing what type of arrow Lord Marrow was going to fire next—an explosive one. Stan readied himself to dash out of the way, when suddenly, a shout rang out through the burning forest.

  “Hey, Lord Marrow! Check out what happened to our little villager pal!” Enderchick screamed, her voice sounding bitter.

  Stan’s heart skipped a beat, and he peered around the side of the stump, preparing himself for whatever may have happened to the Zombie villager. But to Stan’s total shock, the villager, who he didn’t recognize, was now completely cured, no longer showing any signs of Zombie-hood. He merely looked around in a confused sort of way, the typical behavior of a villager.

  “He’s, like, totally useless to us now,” Enderchick spat in disappointment. “Hey, Marrow, you should totally take a break from Stan for just a sec . . . take care of that villager for me, will ya?”

  And Stan watched in horror as Lord Marrow loaded his bow with another arrow—a new type, this one sparkling with electricity—turned his back to Stan, and took aim at the villager. He let the arrow fly, just as the cry “NOOOO!” escaped from Stan’s mouth.

  And yet, to Stan’s surprise, relief, and alarm, he wasn’t the only one to utter this cry. He looked on as Leonidas dived out of the shadows of the forest, flying in front of the oblivious villager right into the path of the arrow, which sunk into his stomach. There was a massive crash of light and sound as, without warning, a bolt of lightning dropped out of the clear night sky through the power of the hacked arrow, striking the dark form of Leonidas. He went through a short fit of spasms in midair before he finally fell lifeless to the ground, smoke curling off his singed black leather armor and sparks dancing around his body.

  Stan acted without thinking, moving purely through some primal, animal instinct as he charged into the clearing, a war cry escaping from his mouth. He sliced his sword across the unarmored back of the totally unprepared Lord Marrow. The archer tumbled across the clearing of snow, his pained face illuminated in the light of the burning forest, and he landed with a thud next to Enderchick, who was nursing her leg beside the still-unconscious Arachnia. When she saw Stan rushing toward them, sword raised and eyes blazing with unfathomable hatred, Enderchick, with a shriek of horror, grabbed on to both of her companions and disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke, leaving Stan to sink DZ’s sword into nothing but dirt.

  Stan didn’t care that the players had escaped. He didn’t even care right now why they had come in the first place. All that mattered to him was the player lying in the snow, covered in the soot of the lightning blast, the rising and falling of his chest slow and strained. In desperation, Stan pulled off Leonidas’s charred chestplate. There was a noticeable wound on his left arm, where Stan assumed the Enderman from earlier that night had probably hit him. His leather chestplate had stopped the arrow from entering his body, and the place where the lightning had struck him bore a scar in the shape of a snowflake-like pattern, directly over his heart.

  “Leonidas? Can you hear me?” Stan asked, desperate to hear a response.

  “Yeah,” Leonidas breathed, with no hesitation, “I . . . can hear ya, Stan.”

  Stan’s heart flooded with relief, and he let out the massive brea
th he had been holding in.

  “Leonidas . . . that was . . .”

  “Pretty stupid of me?” Leonidas asked with a faint chuckle, followed by a raspy cough.

  “No . . . it was amazing,” Stan replied, tears of joy streaming down his face.

  Leonidas gave a faint smile, immediately followed by continued coughing and wheezing. Stan reached into his inventory and pulled out a raw pork chop, the only bit of food he had left. He put it into Leonidas’s mouth and, slowly but surely, Leonidas began to chew, and eventually the entire piece of meat entered his system. Leonidas sighed in relief.

  “Thanks, Stan,” said Leonidas softly, though noticeably stronger. “That helped.”

  “You’re welcome. Leonidas, do you think . . . are you gonna . . .”

  “I’ll be fine, Stan,” Leonidas cut him off, his breathing now more even. “I’ve survived a lot worse than this. Just give me a couple hours to heal up, and I’ll be ready to move again.”

  Stan smiled, not believing that he was feeling so thankful, relieved, and even overjoyed that Leonidas, who he had once called the most savage player in all of Elementia, was going to live. Finally, Stan managed to speak.

  “Leonidas . . . did you mean what you said before? Do you really want to help me?”

  Leonidas took a deep breath, and let out a heavy cough before responding.

  “Stan, I’ll tell it to ya one more time . . . I didn’t choose the Alliance. The Alliance chose me. But now, it’s about time that I start makin’ my own choices. And ya know what, Stan? I choose the NPC villagers. I choose Elementia. And . . . I choose you.”

  With that, a smile crossed Leonidas’s face, his head rolled to the side, his chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of sleep.

  Stan noticed something lying beside him, and he picked it up. It was Leonidas’s bow, the one Lord Marrow had picked up before Leonidas had knocked it out of his hand in the sneak attack. Stan turned the bow over, examining it for a moment, before looking back down at the sleeping player beside him.

  Stan reached into his inventory and pulled out an arrow, half-aware of the villager still wandering around aimlessly behind him (he did not recognize the villager but would be sure to point him toward his home in a little while). He notched it in the bow and got into a crouching position, ready to fire. When Leonidas had healed and he finally woke up, Stan would give the bow back to him. Until then, however, Stan stood crouched in the snow in the midst of the burning forest, ready to take down anyone or anything that attempted to harm his new ally while he rested.

  CHAPTER 13 HEROBRINE

  Even now, as Bob entered the courtyard of Element Castle, he could hear the sounds of hard labor taking place outside the castle walls. The sounds of toil and ruthless work were occasionally interspersed with cries of suffering as the citizens of Element City worked as hard as they could on their mandated task. These sounds alarmed Bob, and he prompted Ivanhoe to run faster as they entered the main hallway of the castle.

  As he steered Ivanhoe up the stairs, Bob thought about what was going on outside. He knew that what was going on was definitely necessary. While the Element City walls were still holding up, all it would take was one breach of the defenses for Element City to fall to the Noctem forces. Should that fateful day arrive, the citizens would need somewhere to stay safe, and the Mechanist’s solution was indeed a brilliant one, as his solutions usually were.

  For the past few days, under the authorization of the Mechanist and the oversight of Bob and his brothers, all citizens of Element City had been recruited to take up their shovels and pickaxes and construct a defensive bunker underneath the city. While the underground of Element City already held a series of mines from its founding days, the Mechanist had ordered these tunnels to be strengthened, fortified with defenses, and enlarged so that the entire population of Element City could be safe underground.

  However, in his messages relayed to the police chiefs from Element Castle via soldiers, the Mechanist’s orders had become increasingly demanding. The Mechanist had commanded the citizens to work through the night, constantly digging and building to upgrade the tunnels as quickly as possible. Countless citizens had collapsed from fatigue, unable to work any longer. In the dark mines, dozens of citizens had been wounded by mob attacks, lava flows, and falling gravel, including one player who had died via a TNT blast set off by a miner who was delirious with exhaustion. It was this player’s death that had finally made Bob realize that he had to confront the Mechanist.

  As he reached the top of the stairs, Bob and Ivanhoe dashed down the stone-brick corridor until they came to a stop at the door to the council room. Bob took a deep breath and gave three sharp knocks on the door. After a moment, a growling, irritated voice rang out.

  “Whaddaya want?”

  Bob was taken aback; he wouldn’t have been surprised if the Mechanist had sounded exhausted, or even hopeless, but he hadn’t been expecting any brashness. Tentatively, Bob pushed the door open. The Mechanist was sitting at the table, a mess of papers strewn out haphazardly before him, and, for whatever reason, he no longer seemed irritated. In fact, he was smiling in a goofy way.

  “Ah, look who it is!” the Mechanist cried, despite the fact that Bob could hear him perfectly fine. His voice was slurred and giddy, and his Texas accent had all but vanished. “It’s always a pleasure to see my favorite little pile of pork . . . oh, and you, too, Ivanhoe!”

  The Mechanist burst out laughing, clutching his sides and falling out of his chair as he banged the ground with his fist. Bob looked on, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Was this the same player they had agreed would run their city?

  “Okay, okay,” the Mechanist slurred after a moment of hysterics, grabbing the stone table and pulling himself to his feet. “All . . . hic . . .” A tiny hiccup escaped the Mechanist’s mouth before he continued. “All hilarious comedy aside, how’re you doing, Bob? Are the front lines holding up okay? And what about the tunnels? How’re”—the Mechanist gave a huge, open-mouth yawn—“how’re those coming along?”

  “Well, uh,” Bob said slowly, trying to keep his composure after the display that he had just seen. “Well . . . the front lines are holding up just fine. Our resources are starting to run a little low, but we won’t have anything to be concerned about for a while. As for fortifying the old mines . . . well . . . that’s actually what I came in here to talk to you about.”

  “Oh, don’t tell me something went wrong!” cried the Mechanist, jumping to his feet, an infuriated look flashing over his face. “We need those mines fortified as fast as possible, we can’t afford any setbacks!”

  “Calm down!” replied Bob in hasty alarm. He was totally caught off guard by the rapid mood swing. “There hasn’t been any setback! As a matter of fact the work on the mines is going at just the speed that you wanted.”

  “Well, then what’s the problem?” spat the Mechanist as he plopped back down in his chair, no longer furious but rather agitated.

  “Well, to be honest, I’ve come to request that you order the work schedule to slow down,” said Bob, deciding that it wasn’t worth it to beat around the bush. “The citizens are exhausted. They’ve been working nonstop, and they just need a break. Not to mention that several people have been injured, and a girl actually died earlier today.”

  “I’m sorry,” replied the Mechanist, glaring at Bob and not missing a beat, “but do you realize what we’re up against here, Bob? You’re the Chief of Police . . . you must realize that the Noctems are coming closer and closer to breaking through our walls every day.”

  “Well, I—”

  “And surely you realize that the second the Noctem Alliance breaks through that wall, they’re going to try to take as many Elementia citizens hostage as possible. And that underground tunnel is the only place that will be safe—if you designed it the way I told you to, that is,” the Mechanist spat.

  “Of course I realize—”

  “Then you should also realize,” the Mechanist
cut in, sounding more irritated by the second, “that completing those tunnels is incredibly important! Frankly, I don’t care if a few people get hurt just so the tunnel gets done faster. If it means that the people of this city have somewhere safe to go when we get overrun by Noctem troops, then it’s totally worth it! And I’ll thank you to shut up and not question my logic, because I’ve spent far more time alone in this room thinking about what’s best for this city than anybody else around here! Now go down there and get back to work! I’ll have the plans for the blast doors done soon, and when I do, I expect them to be installed with no hesitation! Do you understand?”

  As the Mechanist finished his rant, nostrils flaring and eyes bloodshot, Bob was more than a little disturbed. On the one hand, he knew that the Mechanist had a point; the Noctems could only be held at bay for so long, and it was imperative that they finish the tunnels before the walls failed them. But on the other hand, it frightened him that total control over their city was in the hands of the player who had just screamed at him.

  “I understand, sir,” Bob finally replied. “I’ll tell my brothers, and we’ll be ready to go when you finish the plans for those doors.” And with that, Bob steered Ivanhoe back to the door and, vowing to keep a closer eye on the Mechanist from now on, he left the council room.

  The Mechanist glanced in disgust at the door where Bob had just left. Preposterous it was, the Mechanist thought, that Bob had questioned his authority. He knew what he was doing, and clearly, if the people were demanding that they slow down their schedule, he was the only one with a clear scope of the situation.

  Well, I guess what they say is true, the Mechanist thought to himself. If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.