His father nodded his monkey head and smiled, understanding the stress being put on his son.
“Morgana also gave me a few things for all of us,” Crafter said as he walked next to Herder, who was carrying the ender chest. The young boy had insisted on being responsible for the safety of the dark box.
Reaching into his inventory, Crafter pulled out bright yellow apples and tossed one to everyone. Gameknight caught his deftly in his right hand and looked down at it.
“Thank you,” Monkeypants said. “But what is it? It doesn’t look like a regular apple . . .”
“It’s a golden apple,” Crafter explained, “a mixture of apple and gold ingots. Not only will it eliminate hunger, but it also has restorative powers that will help whoever eats it survive pretty much anything other than the Void. It’s powerful medicine, and should be used wisely.”
“Uh . . . yeah . . . thanks,” Hunter said without the slightlest bit of sincerity.
“The sound from that box apparently drives away courtesy as well as patience,” Monkeypants said in a strained whisper, loud enough for all to hear.
Hunter gave the monkey a scowl as she put away her golden apple and rubbed the back of her head. Stitcher looked at her sister as if she was about to say something, but stayed silent. Gameknight could feel the tension building in the group.
“Baker, tell us how you came to live in Crafter’s village,” he said, hoping for a distraction. “You weren’t part of the community when the original king of the endermen, Erebus, was trying to destroy everything, right?”
“That’s right,” the NPC replied. “My village was destroyed by Herobrine when he was in dragon form. It was . . .” He paused for a moment as he swallowed, then continued. “It was terrible.”
“What happened?” Crafter asked, his curiosity peaked.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Baker said, looking away.
“Yeah, right,” Hunter said. “Because he probably ran when the monsters came.”
Baker flashed the redhead a glare, his eyes filled both with sadness and anger. For the first time, Gameknight noticed his eyes were a steel blue, something between blue and a cold gray. His hair was as black as night. Gameknight always thought he was an older NPC with gray hair, but now he realized that the villager always had a light coating of flour in his hair—a side effect of his job.
“I did not run,” Baker insisted as he removed his gaze from Hunter and focused on the ground before him. “We heard the dragon before we saw it. The beast roared while behind the forested hills that ringed the village. Our village was in the Savannah, but right next to us were steep hills covered with tall oaks and white birch trees. When the monster soared high over the hill, panic erupted in the village.”
“I can imagine,” Monkeypants said. “That dragon is terrifying.”
Baker looked at the monkey, annoyed and obviously not wanting to be interrupted.
“At first, the monster just flew around the village, probably looking to find any holes in our defenses,” Baker continued. “Some of the archers tried to fire up at him, but the dragon was just too fast and too high. After he made one circle around the village, the zombies started banging on the gates to the village. We’d all been looking up at the dragon and didn’t see any of the monsters come out across the Savannah to reach our doors. We let them walk right up to the walls without even firing a shot.
“My job was to watch the east wall, so I went to my position even though many were already running away through the minecart network.” His voice became louder. “This was my village, and I wasn’t going to let any monster take it away from me.”
Hunter nodded and smiled when she heard the tenacity in his voice.
“Archers fired down upon the zombies, but it was too late. There were too many of the rotting creatures pounding on our wooden doors. They splintered apart in seconds, and then the monsters were in.” A square tear formed and tumbled down his cheek. “My son was the first to charge. He was a woodcutter apprentice, just barely old enough to swing an axe. I saw him advance without any fear, and I was so proud. He swung his axe as if he were felling mighty jungle trees, cleaving through the zombies like a true warrior.”
He paused for a moment as his eyes drifted up to the sky, replaying the memory in his mind. But then his face took on a grim, dark look as an angry scowl formed on his brow.
“But instead of the other warriors running forward to help Woodcutter, they just turned and ran, leaving him out there—alone!” His voice rose to a shout, his whole body clenched with anger, and then he grew quiet, almost whispering. “That big zombie, the one with the golden crown of claws, came into the village. He pushed aside the other zombies and faced my son. I ran to him. ‘Stop!’ I cried. ‘He’s just a boy . . . stop . . . please,’ but that terrible zombie just looked at me and smiled. With one mighty swing of his golden broadsword, my son was gone, just a pile of items from his inventory to show he ever existed.”
Another tear tumbled down his cheek.
“The zombie king flashed me an evil grin and then ran into the village with his zombies. I wanted to face him in battle. I wanted to kill him for what he did to my son, though I knew I had no hope of victory against that massive creature. But in my grief and anger I didn’t care; living with that loss seemed impossible.”
He sniffled as he wiped his eyes with his pale sleeve. Stitcher moved up next to the NPC and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her away, glaring at her for intruding. Hunter scowled and was about to say something when Monkeypants interrupted.
“I bet that was the most terrible thing in the world to watch,” Monkeypants said. “I don’t know what I would have done in your place.”
“Little did I know that it was just the beginning,” Baker said, his voice choked with emotion. “The next thing I heard turned my blood to ice. Screams of terror and pain came from my daughter, Sweeper. I recognized her voice over the commotion of battle instantly.”
His voice grew louder.
“Turning from my son’s items, I ran for our home. She cried out again and again, her voice filled with such terror. I could hear the zombies laughing and mocking her as she screamed, and then she grew silent.”
He paused for a moment, then continued, almost shouting.
“As I ran, I could hear my wife, Fletcher, crying out in grief: ‘Sweeper . . . my daughter . . . my baby . . . noooo.’”
Baker stopped for a moment to take several deep breaths to calm his nerves.
“I’ll never forget the sorrow in her voice when she realized the zombies had destroyed our little Sweeper. She was just a little girl. She’d just learned to walk. . . . Sweeper was our baby girl and they snuffed out her life as though it was insignificant!”
Baker grew silent as tears streamed down his cheeks. Gameknight could see his fists were clenched with rage and grief, his whole body tense like a compressed spring, ready to burst. Slowly, he reached into his inventory and pulled out his enchanted diamond pickaxe. The iridescent blue light from the magical tool cast a circle of illumination around the NPC that made him shimmer and sparkle as if he were magical as well. Slowly, Baker caressed the long handle of the pick, then ran his fingers down the shining diamond tip. Holding the tool seemed to calm him, allowing the flow of tears to subside.
“What about your wife?” Gameknight asked, his voice hushed.
Baker looked up, and the User-that-is-not-a-user saw such terrible sadness in the NPC’s face. Baker saw the realization in Gameknight’s face and nodded.
“I had to cut through many zombies before I reached my house,” Baker said through gritted teeth, his voice filled with anger and rage. “But when I finally made it, I found the house filled with zombies.”
“She was killed?” Hunter asked, her eyes filled with compassion.
Baker shook her head.
“She escaped?” Crafter asked.
Baker shook his head.
“Oh no . . .” Gameknight gasped wh
en he realized what had happened.
“The zombies left my house, allowing me to step in. I saw my wife at the far end of the room. The torches had been put out, probably knocked over when all the zombies had charged in, so I couldn’t see her well. I pulled out a torch and placed it on the wall, then looked down at something shining on the ground. It looked like the finest golden yellow thread, handfuls of it, and then I realized what it was—it was Fletcher’s beautiful blond hair. I looked up and found my wife staring back at me, her head completely bald, her skin a sickly green. Her midnight blue smock had changed to a light blue shirt, her brown pants turned a dark blue. She had been changed into a zombie.”
“No!” Stitcher gasped.
Baker didn’t reply. He just shook his head.
“I knew it was her because I could see the long scar that ran across her forehead—something she had received from a spider long ago when she’d been just a child. I tried to talk to her, but all she could do was moan and growl. Reaching out to her, I tried to take my wife in my arms, but that was when she attacked.”
He put away the diamond pick, reached over, and pulled up the sleeve on his left arm. Under the shirt were three long scars, recently-healed wounds that had left their mark both on his body and his soul. “She did this to me, her razor-sharp claws tearing into my arm. That was when I realized I had lost everything. I should have attacked her with my sword and ended her misery, but I couldn’t . . . so I ran. I went down to the crafting chamber and took a minecart through the tunnels. I don’t know how long I rode through the darkness, but I finally ended up with you. When I found your village readying for war, I knew I was at the right place. I vowed to take my revenge on zombies until I could no longer draw breath and take vengeance for my son, Woodcutter, vengeance for my little Sweeper, and finally for the love of my life, Fletcher.”
“Baker, killing will not bring them back—” Crafter started to say.
“I will make them pay for what they have done to my family,” Baker growled. “Nothing will stop me short of my own death, for that is the only way I can be at peace.”
“You know, it’s possible to bring her back,” Gameknight said. All eyes shifted to him. “I read about it on the Internet. If you hit them with a potion of weakness and then give them a golden apple, they will change back to a villager. If we could find her, we could bring her back.”
“Find her, amongst the hundreds of zombies probably chasing us right now?” Baker said. “That’s impossible.” He wiped a tear from his cheek, then looked down at the ground. “For all I know, she was killed in the battle that destroyed Herobrine. No, my wife . . . my Fletcher . . . is gone. With her loss, I’ll never know joy or happiness again. I haven’t smiled since she was taken from me, and will never smile again. All I have to look forward to is the day of my demise, so that my suffering will finally end. But until that time, I will continue to fight against the monsters of the Overworld and resist everything Herobrine does, even if it costs me my life.”
Looking up from the ground, the NPC’s face was angry and stiff, letting them all know the discussion was over. An uncomfortable silence filled the air as he held the enchanted pick again in his hands.
Gameknight sighed as he contemplated what he had just heard. Beside him, the whining sound from Herobrine’s XP seemed to grow louder, then softer, then louder again, as if the glowing balls in the ender chest were somehow laughing. Clenching his hand in a fist, he resisted slamming it against the chest. He took a step toward Herder, who was still carrying the box. The young boy saw the move and turned to shield the box with his own body, a look of anger on the dark-haired boy’s face.
“I hate that thing,” Gameknight said in a low voice as he stared at the box under Herder’s arm.
Looking from the box to Herder’s face, Gameknight found that strange look in the boy’s two-color eyes again. They were almost foggy, as if he were lost in a dream. It made Gameknight feel like something was slightly off, and he began to think it might be some kind of warning, but the constant whining drilling into his brain drove this thought away and replaced it with anger and frustration.
“We need to hurry!” Gameknight ordered, shifting from a walk to a sprint.
“Who put you in command?” Hunter complained, the whining sound working on her nerves as well.
The User-that-is-not-a-user ignored the comment and just ran. He could still hear the footsteps of his companions behind him; they were following his orders—good. Gameknight knew everything depended on getting rid of Herobrine’s XP so that Minecraft could be safe again, and the sooner they threw that chest into The Abyss, the sooner everyone would be safe . . . he hoped.
CHAPTER 8
WOOL
They ran throughout most of the day and into dusk. Gameknight found that if they ran hard and kept sprinting, it kept the arguing to a minimum; their fatigue masked the effects of Herobrine’s whine. As they approached the edge of the oak and birch forest, tall spruce trees became visible, their dark trunks stretching high into the air. Dispersed here and there, Gameknight could see blocks of mossy cobblestone—they were passing into a mega taiga biome.
“Let’s slow down and take a little break,” Monkeypants suggested.
“Yeah . . . I’m getting tired,” Hunter complained.
Stitcher grunted in agreement.
Sighing, Gameknight slowed to a walk and then stopped for a rest. As soon as he did, the whining sound from the ender chest returned and he gritted his teeth in response. A howl pierced through the darkening forest, and the few wolves that Herder had brought with him replied in kind. The lanky boy cast a glance to Gameknight, a bone already in his hand.
“Give the ender chest to Monkeypants,” Gameknight said as he nodded to the young NPC. “Be sure to stay close, and take your other wolves with you for safety.”
Herder glanced nervously at Monkeypants, but held out the dark chest. As Gameknight’s father took hold of the chest with his two monkey hands, there was a brief moment where it looked like Herder might not let go. He gripped the sides tightly, but then released it.
“Don’t worry, Herder. I’ll take care of it while you’re gone,” Monkeypants said in response.
Herder’s face looked strained and tense, as if he were in the middle of some kind of internal struggle. But once the box was out of his hands, the boy’s face relaxed, his attention drawn back to his wolves. He took a step away, then turned and looked at Monkeypants. The lanky NPC smiled his usual ear-to-ear grin that always reached his eyes.
Gameknight hadn’t seen Herder smile like that since before they left the village—no, since Herobrine’s defeat. It was good to see his friend in such good spirits again. Herder spun and bolted out into the forest with a skeleton bone in hand, the four wolves following close behind.
“That boy certainly loves his wolves,” Monkeypants said as he shifted the ender chest from one hand to the other.
“For me, I never fully trust the animals,” Digger said angrily, his tone almost accusatory. “You never know when they will turn on you. I don’t even know if we should have them with us now.”
“Why?” Gameknight asked. “They saved Hunter when she was captured by Malacoda. And they saved us all during the battle on the steps of the Source. His wolves have always been there for us and have never turned on any villager.”
Digger shrugged as he grumbled something under his breath, his unibrow creased in a scowl.
“Crafter, which way is this Abyss of yours?” the User-that-is-not-a-user asked.
The young NPC was staring off at the setting sun, watching the sky turn from a bright blue to a deep red, stars shining through the darkening sign.
“Ahh . . . what?” Crafter said.
Hunter laughed, then groaned when Stitcher punched her in the arm. She spun as she rubbed her arm and glared at her younger sister, eyes bright with anger.
“Now girls, be calm,” Monkeypants explained. “This is not the time to fight amongst ourselves.”
/> The two sisters scowled at the monkey, then turned and glared at each other again. The tension between them was running high.
“I said, ‘Where is the Abyss?’” Gameknight repeated.
“He already told us it’s in the Northern Desert,” Digger said, annoyed he had to answer for Crafter.
“Ugh, not the Northern Desert,” Hunter grumbled. “I hate it there . . . nothing but sand. I do know how to get there, though. The best way is through the great roofed forest to the northeast, then cut through the mesa to get to the Northern Desert. This way, nobody will know where we are going until we get there.”
“That would take too long,” Gameknight argued. “We should just go straight there.”
“You never listen to my ideas!” Hunter said in an angry voice.
“That dark forest would provide good cover from monsters,” Stitcher added.
“I was just going to say that,” Hunter said. “I don’t need you fighting my battles!”
“THIS ARGUING MUST STOP!” Gameknight shouted, but barely anyone seemed to pay any attention to him.
“It’s that whining sound,” Monkeypants said to his son over the increasingly loud bickering. “It grates on our nerves until we become so agitated that we break. We have to do something so we can’t hear it, or at least reduce its volume. If only we had some headphones or ear plugs.”
“Ear plugs—that’s it!” Gameknight exclaimed.
Reaching into his inventory, Gameknight pulled out a block of black wool. He tore chunks off the fuzzy cube and then split those into even smaller pieces. He walked over to Hunter, stood directly in front of her, and looked into her deep, brown eyes. She instantly stopped arguing with her sister and faced the User-that-is-not-a-user.
“What on Earth do you plan to do with that?” Hunter asked.
Reaching up, he carefully inserted the wool into her ears. Instantly, her face relaxed as the constant droning of Herobrine’s XP was reduced to but a whisper. Smiling, she put a hand on Gameknight’s shoulder, then turned and grabbed handfuls of wool from Gameknight’s cube. Hunter tore at the pieces of wool in her hands as she walked toward Stitcher.
Gameknight999 vs. Herobrine Page 5