Herobrine's Message

by Sean Fay Wolfe

  Before long, the Wither started to tire. It was clearly taking heavy damage from the barrage of arrows, and its rate of fire was beginning to drop.

  “Come on guys, keep going!” Ben shouted as he knocked two more skulls out of midair in a double explosion. “It’s almost dead!”

  As the three players continued to send arrows into the giant mob, the Wither stopped firing for a moment. Ben was confused and a little disturbed. Why would the Wither cease its barrage? He watched the boss mob open its mouth and, as if in slow motion, it fired a single projectile out of its center mouth.

  As Ben raised his sword to deflect the blast, he realized that it wasn’t in slow motion. A single skull had shot out of the Wither’s mouth and was moving toward him at a crawl. Unlike the other projectiles, which were black and charred like the heads of the monster, this one was a cerulean shade of blue. Ben hardly had time to question what this was before the slow-moving blue skull was upon him. He raised his sword to block the attack, cutting through the air in front of the skull and sending a Knockback shockwave slicing into the skull.

  As soon as the wave of energy made contact with a skull, it ruptured into a massive black explosion, which knocked Ben off his feet and sent him flying backward. Bob, Commander Crunch, and Sirus had no time to react as Ben slammed into them, sending them all falling to the ground in a crumpled heap.

  Ben felt as though he was covered in some sort of corrosive sludge as he lay there on top of his friends. He had taken the full brunt of the blast from the blue skull, and he felt his energy draining as he tried to force himself to get up. It was futile, though. He felt as though he suddenly weighed several tons, and was unable to move. He watched in dismay as black smoke began to rise out of his body and drift toward the Wither floating above them. Upon reaching the Wither’s body, the dozens of arrows sticking out of its rib cage began to pop out, falling to the rooftop with a clatter.

  Ben was stupefied, and found himself unable to move as his brother, his friends, and Ivanhoe struggled to push him off them. The Wither was floating closer and closer to them. It was all he could do to watch, his heart stopped in place, as the monster’s three mouths opened and began to glow. Ben heard three collective gasps from behind him as he closed his eyes, his face screwed in anticipation of what was to come. . . .

  “Hey!”

  The shout came from Ben’s left, and he opened his eyes just in time to see a diamond pickaxe flying through the air and lodging itself into the right head of the Wither. As the head let out a ghastly wail and rolled limply to the side, the tool still sticking out of its skull, the Wither turned to face the noise, letting out a wail of outrage. Ben turned as well, as did his three fellow fighters, and he had to do a double take to ensure that he was seeing correctly.

  There, on top of the house immediately to their left, standing next to a loaded TNT cannon made out of cobblestone, was the Mechanist. Another diamond pickaxe was clutched in his right hand, and his left hand held a lever on the side of the cannon. He was staring at the Wither with daggers in his eyes and a glower on his face.

  “Try this on for size,” he said as he yanked down on the lever.

  There was a hissing sound from within the mechanism next to him, and a second later, a muted explosion rang out as a lit block of TNT came soaring through the air on a collision course with the Wither. The ignited explosive struck the Wither in a massive burst of light and sound, and the skeletal demon proceeded to let out a ghastly wail of agony as it slowly sank down to the ground.

  Ben watched, awestruck, as the Mechanist sprinted as fast as he could toward the edge of the building. He leaped over the gap between the two buildings, touching down as the Wither reached the ground, still dazed from the blast as an odd white force field seemed to envelop it. What the energy field surrounding the Wither did, Ben never found out, as the Mechanist jumped into the air, delivering a flying kick that knocked the monster to the ground. Without missing a beat, the Mechanist raised his pickaxe and drove it as hard as he could into the skeletal chest of the monster.

  All at once, a horrible, high-pitched screech rang out from within the Wither, causing all in the vicinity to cover their ears. The Wither’s eyes and mouths flew open in agony, glowing with a radiant white light as the skulls began to crumble, turning into a fine black dust that was immediately blown away by the soft wind. The Wither began to shake, and the ear-piercing screech continued as all the bones and flesh that composed the monster began to vanish, turning into dust on the wind.

  Then, without warning, a white light flashed from within the Wither. The daze was so bright, and so unexpected, that Ben, the Mechanist, and all the others on the rooftop were momentarily blinded. It only lasted for a few seconds, though, and by the time their vision returned, all that remained of the Wither was a stain of black dust on the roof of the building.

  The Mechanist took no time to reflect over his kill. Instead, his eyes were immediately drawn to the limp body of Ben, still lying sprawled out on the ground as the others attempted to untangle themselves from the pile on the ground. The Mechanist pulled out a red potion that he had gotten from a dead soldier, just as Bob realized what had happened to his brother.

  “No,” he said, his voice uneven as he awkwardly pulled himself over to Ben. He shook his head back and forth as he clutched Ben by the shoulders. “No . . . you’re okay, bro . . . you’ve gotta be okay. . . .”

  “He’s fine,” the Mechanist replied, gently pushing Bob out of the way before he could object. He poured the potion down Ben’s throat.

  “What . . . what happened to him?” Bob asked, still staring at his brother as Sirus and Commander Crunch pulled him up and helped him remount Ivanhoe.

  “The blast range of the blue skulls is bigger than that of the black ones, and more powerful, too. The blue ones can blast through anything except bedrock,” the Mechanist said almost robotically as he put his hand to Ben’s head. “He got hit by the blast and inflicted with the Wither effect. It’s a worse kind of poisoning that can be fatal if left untreated.”

  “So . . . is he gonna . . . ,” Bob stammered, his face as white as a ghost.

  The Mechanist turned to face him and smiled. “Your brother will be fine, Bob. The potion I just gave him will give him enough strength to survive until the Wither effect wears off.”

  “Mechanist . . .”

  The Mechanist looked down at the source of the feeble voice and saw Ben looking up at him, his eyes fluttering open. Bob’s face broke out in relief, but Ben only looked up to the old redstone mechanic with the wild white hair. He looked exhausted, yet still a smile crept to the corner of his mouth as he spoke.

  “Thank you. And . . . I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be,” the Mechanist replied, returning Ben’s slight yet earnest smile.

  Ben opened his mouth as if he were about to reply, but then shut it and gave a sigh of contentedness as his eyes closed, his head rolled to the side, and he passed out.

  Leonidas emerged from the rabble of brawling players, and he took a deep breath. The fighting that had now spread across the entire plaza was intense, and he had just sprinted right through the thick of it. Everywhere he looked, the glut of republic soldiers and citizens were teaming up to bear down on the Noctem soldiers with full force, and the black-clad forces were fighting back just as hard. Twice, Leonidas had halted his run through the crowds, taken aim, and sent an arrow into a Noctem soldier, thus preserving the life of a citizen the soldier was about to overpower.

  He might have stopped more than twice, but he had a job to do.

  As he was fighting, he had seen Bob run with his brother into an old run-down store, above which one of the Withers floated, firing its deadly blasts down into the crowds. Leonidas knew that, with the only archer as good as he was occupied fighting the boss mob, there was a very important task he had to do.

  Even if it wasn’t his job, he still would have sought the task out anyway. This was personal.

  Leo
nidas walked slowly around the outer ring of the battlefield, and the further away from the courthouse he went, the higher the number of Noctem soldiers in the crowd. The soldiers of Lord Tenebris were truly giving it their all, charging into the battle with weapons blazing and fire in their eyes, but Leonidas could also see another trait present, written all over their faces: fear. For the first time, as the Noctem soldiers gave it their all against the thousands of republic players, a pit opened in their stomachs as they considered the possibility that they might not win this battle.

  Leonidas was nearly back at the execution platform, and he saw that this was the only place on the entire battlefield where the majority of the players wore the black colors of the Noctem Alliance. This was where the Noctem Alliance was digging in their heels and fighting most ferociously. Even as he watched for just the space of a few seconds, Leonidas saw nearly ten Elementia players try to fight their way into the mass of black leather and get cut down in the process.

  Leonidas’s heart gave an unpleasant jolt as he saw these players die, but it confirmed what he had guessed. The execution platform was where the Noctem Alliance was fighting their hardest, and this would be by far the most difficult area for the republic forces to take. If his target was going to be anywhere, it was here.

  Trying to avoid attracting attention from the Noctem forces, Leonidas covered his face as he stealthily slipped into the decrepit house closest to the execution platform. Judging by the weathered sign Leonidas saw above the door, it used to be part of the Apothecary’s chain of potioneers. Indeed, as he made his way through the ground floor, he saw empty cauldrons and brewing stands strewn haphazardly about, shattered glass bottles covering the floor and making it appear to shimmer. Leonidas was careful to avoid making a sound as he scaled the stairs to the second floor.

  This floor was totally barren; Leonidas assumed it used to be someone’s living space, but not a single item remained on the flat wood-plank floor. He made his way across the floor to the window. From there, he could see all the way across the sprawling plaza in front of the Avery Memorial Courthouse, filled to the bursting point with players that Leonidas was sure, for better or for worse, were fighting the final battle of the war.

  Leonidas knew that the biggest thing he could do to ensure the republic’s victory in the war was to eliminate the opposing leaders, so he drew his bow. Notching an arrow in it and pulling the string taut, he looked out the window, scanning the cluster of black forms right below him. He scanned every single face that he could see, desperate to find one of the two players that he was looking for. His heart started to race as he searched. Leonidas knew that the longer he stood looking out this window, the better the chance that . . .

  “Looking for me?” a voice called out from behind Leonidas.

  Slowly, Leonidas turned around, his bow still raised, until he was facing Spyro. The Noctem general stood at the top of the stairs, his glowing diamond sword shining an eerie light on his black leather armor as he dropped into a fighting stance, a wicked grin on his face.

  For a moment, the two players stared at each other. Leonidas remembered, long ago, when Spyro had been a mere private, helping him to construct Nocturia. Back then, he had been so innocent, so curious, and so open-minded, even going so far as to question if the Alliance he had joined was doing the right thing. Now, though, Leonidas stood across from a savage killer, twisted by months of leading an organization of hate and intolerance. He knew that he had no choice but to destroy the Noctem general . . . but he also knew he had to at least try to avoid the conflict.

  “Stand down,” Leonidas said in a monotone, his bow still trained on Spyro’s forehead. “I don’t want to hurt ya, Spyro. You’re not a bad person . . . you’re just lost. The Noctem Alliance is gonna fall today. Please, don’t fall with it.”

  “That’s funny,” Spyro replied, raising an eyebrow. “The great General Leonidas who trained me would never try to negotiate a surrender. He would just start the fight as fast as possible, and end it even faster.”

  “The General Leonidas you know is dead,” Leonidas replied proudly. “I ain’t never pickin’ a fight again unless I have to, and I don’t want to do it today. Please, Spyro . . . I’m beggin’ ya . . . stand down. Stop this.”

  For a moment, Spyro’s mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide, as if he were in deep thought. Then, all of a sudden, his eyebrows creased, his eyes grew bloodshot, and his face contorted into an ugly mess of rage as he gave out a battle cry, sending a Splash Potion of Harming directly toward his former master.

  Leonidas didn’t even flinch. He may have promised himself to never start a fight again, but he would never hesitate to finish one. Within an instant, an arrow had shot the potion out of the air in midflight, and Leonidas had sent a flurry of arrows flying from his bow, directly at Spyro. Despite Spyro’s best effort to deflect the attacks with his sword, the arrows came too many, and too fast. It was only a matter of seconds before one of the arrows found a chink in Spyro’s armor, and he slouched down to the ground as five more arrows sunk into the weak points.

  As Spyro lay on the ground, six arrows sticking out of him, struggling to stay alive, Leonidas advanced on him, one final arrow in his bow. He stood over the Noctem general, staring down at him with pity, while Spyro returned a glare of utter loathing.

  “Do ya have any last words?” Leonidas asked sadly as he pulled the arrow back, aiming directly for Spyro’s temple.

  Spyro said nothing. Instead, in a surprisingly swift motion for somebody who was teetering on the verge of death, he raised his hand to his mouth and let out a long, high-pitched whistle.

  Leonidas had no time to comprehend what he was doing. Seconds after he started to whistle, the wall behind Leonidas exploded, showering him with dust and debris and knocking him to the ground, sending his bow and the arrow notched within it flying out of his grasp. Leonidas squinted his eyes through the dust, and as he looked out the massive hole where the wall used to be, his heart stopped dead. There it was, floating directly above him, its raspy, metallic breath wheezing through its charred black rib cage as the six eyes of the Wither trained on Leonidas.

  “There!” Spyro coughed, and Leonidas tore his horrified eyes off the giant skeletal mob to see Spyro pointing over at Leonidas’s bow, which was still sitting in the corner of the room. As he saw his weapon lying on the wood plank–block floor, for the first time, it hit him like a stack of bricks that he was unarmed, and totally defenseless. No sooner had he begun to move toward the corner of the room, desperate to retrieve his bow, than he heard the sound of the Wither firing another attack from behind him. Leonidas barely had time to raise his arms over his face before the skull connected with the bow lying on the floor. The force of the explosion slammed into Leonidas, sending him tumbling back to the ground, now with black wisps of smoke rising from his arms.

  In horror, Leonidas looked over at where the patch of floor had been, only to see that the entire corner of the house had been totally blown to bits. His weapon was gone.

  Leonidas’s heart rate, already racing from the Wither’s attack, now skyrocketed to dangerous levels as he realized that he was totally defenseless. He still had a glut of arrows in his inventory, but nothing to fire them with. He had no way of fighting back against the Wither, which was now aiming for him again.

  It was all Leonidas could do to dive-roll to the side, desperately trying to avoid the onslaught of explosions tearing the ground around him to shreds. Leonidas’s head whipped around wildly and saw that nearly the entire floor had been blasted apart by the Wither’s attacks. Only a few wood-plank blocks remained levitating over the ground floor of the shop below. Leonidas looked above him and saw a window. Without thinking, acting on pure survival instinct, Leonidas launched himself off the floor, flying out the window before the Wither could blow him to bits.

  Leonidas felt himself falling through the air for a moment before landing with a crunch on the dirt blocks below him. He let out a shout as pain seared in
his legs, and he allowed himself a second to lay still to let the pain die down. In that second, he looked around him. He had landed in a narrow alleyway, about four blocks wide. The building on one side of the alley Leonidas recognized as the seafood restaurant next to the Avery Memorial Courthouse. The other side of the alley was the Apothecary store, or rather, what was left of the store. The Wither’s explosive attacks had blasted off huge chunks of the second floor, so the only things remaining that Leonidas could see were a few fragments of brick-block wall.

  A raspy breathing registered in Leonidas’s ears, and he knew that his brief respite from the fight was over. Although his legs still felt as though they were blazing with flames, he forced himself to stand, just as the Wither floated out from around the side of the house. All six of its beady white eyes trained on Leonidas, who was trembling as he imagined how he was going to fight this thing with no bow.

  All of a sudden, an Ender Pearl flew down from the second floor of the Apothecary store, and landed just below the Wither. Leonidas’s jaw dropped in disbelief as out of the cloud of purple smoke walked General Spyro. He was no longer full of arrows and clinging to life by the skin of his teeth, but he looked totally happy, healthy, and sadistic. As Leonidas stared at him, he noticed that the Noctem general was smoking with the red fumes of a Potion of Healing as he looked up at the Wither and pointed toward Leonidas.

  “Finish him off,” Spyro ordered with a cruel smile.

  The Wither took another breath in and fired three skulls directly at Leonidas. Despite the colossal strain on his legs, Leonidas still found the strength to hop backward, dodging the explosions that blasted giant holes in the ground.