The Wither King

by Mark Cheverton

  “Come on, everyone,” Cutter said, his booming voice startling the rest of the villagers. “We have a labyrinth to go through, then some zombies and a wither to destroy. It won’t get done if we stay here.”

  With a nod of agreement, Watcher took off running through the north exit of the tower, sprinting across the landscape toward whatever lay hidden in the dark passages of the Labyrinth.

  Krael smiled as the chaos spread through the village; the flames of rebellion lit by the king of the withers and the Broken Eight were doing their work. He floated away from the cliffside village and into the open air; far from the ground was his favorite place to be. He stared at the buildings and homes attached to the sheer side of the mountain, perplexed as to the purpose of this village. The NPCs had built their village on the vertical face of the cliff, their homes clinging to the wall as gravity tried to pull the unwary to the ground. From the other side, the mountain seemed like any other, but for some reason, the east side of the peak was completely missing. It was as if someone had sliced the mountain in half and took the eastern portion away as some kind of trophy. It made no sense to Krael.

  They’d come to the village in the middle of the night. The Broken Eight, only five of them present at the time, had climbed the thin stairways zigzagging up the cliff face, rousing the monsters they found. Word of the fighting between monsters and villagers had already reached this village, but the flames of hatred had not been sufficiently stoked here … yet.

  With pre-arranged lies whispered into ears and the occasional creature sneakily destroyed with NPC weapons, the monsters were soon frothing with hatred.

  The sounds of battle now filled the air as the enraged monsters fell upon the villagers, the NPCs doing their best to fight back. Flames licked up the cliff, consuming some of the buildings; many of the fires set by the Broken Eight. The blaze lit the night sky, casting a flickering orange glow on the cliff face, painting flickering shadows across the rocky surface that writhed and squirmed as if the shades were in agony.

  Slowly descending, the king of the withers followed his zombie warriors’ progress as they ran down the stairs until they reached the ground, then lit the staircase on fire. Flames traveled up the steps, the ravenous maw of the fire devouring everything it tasted.

  “Come, my friends, we must continue north, toward the Creeper’s Teeth.” Krael smiled down at the ancient zombie warriors.

  “Why did the king of the withers visit this village?” Ya-Sik asked. “This community could have easily been ignored.”

  “That’s true, but we are starting a revolution.” The center head stared down at Ya-Sik while the other wither skulls watched the rest of the zombies. “The discontent we are sowing here will spread throughout this land. Eventually, all the planes of existence in the great pyramid of servers will be in revolt, with monsters taking revenge upon the NPCs for their years of abuse suffered at the villagers’ hands.” Center smiled at the zombie. “All fires start with a single spark, and that’s what we’re creating: that spark.”

  “But why is this necessary? Ya-Sik does not under-stand.”

  “When the villagers figure out what we’re doing, they’ll try to band together, as they did in the Great War.” Krael floated closer to the zombie leader, Left and Right watching the monster’s sword closely. “But it will be too late. We’ll cause chaos everywhere; the NPCs won’t be able to come together in their common defense. It’ll be pandemonium on every server, and that’ll allow us, with the help of my wither army, to move through the servers, destroying every villager, until they are all exterminated.”

  “But when the wizards—”

  Ya-Sik’s words were cut off by the moan of a zombie, one the other zombie warriors knew well. Out of the darkness, a gold-clad zombie emerged. His helmet, which was shaped like the head of an enderman, was cracked and dented, as was his shimmering chest plate.

  “Ra-Sik, what happened?” the zombie commander demanded. “Where are Pe-Sik and Ne-Sik?”

  “Those zombies were destroyed,” Ra-Sik said, shaking his head.

  “What of the direwolves?” Ya-Sik stepped closer to the zombie, his short sword gripped tightly in his hand.

  “All direwolves were destroyed in battle.” Ra-Sik lowered his head in shame.

  The other zombies gasped in shock, then their surprise was gradually replaced with rage.

  “The boy-wizard must have used some trick …”

  “Maybe used an evil spell …”

  “Or summoned a demon …”

  “The wizard and NPCs did none of these things,” Ra-Sik said.

  “Then how is this possible?” Ya-Sik asked. “The Broken Eight have laid waste to whole villages, destroyed thousands of NPCs, and stopped armies. How is it this small band was able to destroy two of our brothers and three direwolves?”

  Ra-Sik took a step backward, away from Ya-Sik.

  “The villagers fought like seasoned warriors. They worked together in battle and helped each other, instead of just fighting to save their own lives.” Ra-Sik took another step back but bumped into Krael.

  The wither glared down at the monster. “Continue, please,” Center demanded.

  “The wizard had a bow made of bone. That weapon destroyed our direwolves.”

  “Ahh … the bow stolen from the skeleton warlord.” Krael nodded in understanding.

  “And the wizard had some kind of magical weapon: a spiked ball at the end of a long chain.” Ra-Sik reached to his chest plate and ran his hand over the dents and cracks. “That weapon did this to my armor.”

  Krael nodded, then glanced at the zombie leader. “I know the penalty for failure amongst zombies, but there will be no executions today.”

  Ya-Sik started to object, but the wither drifted higher in the air, the eyes on each skull glowing bright. This stopped the zombie leader’s complaint; he knew this was a prelude to a barrage of flaming skulls.

  “We will need every one of the Broken Eight on this mission,” Krael said.

  “Broken Six,” Ya-Sik corrected, then glared at the wounded zombie.

  “Yes … Broken Six, I suppose.” Krael’s eyes dimmed as he moved closer to the ground. “Don’t worry, Ya-Sik, you’ll have your revenge. We’ll all have our revenge. I have no doubt the wizard found the map in the Tower of Shadow, and he’ll likely know their company cannot climb the Creeper’s Teeth. That leaves only one path open to them if they wish to reach the Cave of Slumber before we do.”

  “And what’s that?” a zombie with a helmet in the shape of a ghast asked.

  “The Labyrinth.” Krael smiled.

  “Why would this wizard be foolish enough to enter the Labyrinth?” Ya-Sik asked.

  “He’s still a boy and knows little about the history of the Great War. And I have seen little written about the Labyrinth in any books; it’s possible the truth of the place has been lost to time. Only a full-fledged wizard could hope to survive those passages, and this boy is still very young. He cannot survive.”

  “Then the wizard and villagers have lost?” Wi-Sik asked, the eyes on his ghast helmet glowing bright with excitement.

  “Not yet,” Right said. “The wizard may change his mind when he sees the entrance to the Labyrinth.”

  “That’s right,” Left added. “The wizard is probably a coward.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Center snapped, taking control of the discussion again. “We are going to make his choice for him. We’ll get to the entrance of the Labyrinth before they do, and then we’ll ambush them.”

  Krael stared down at the zombie commander. “All zombies must remove their boots.”

  “Why?” Ya-Sik replied defiantly, not understanding.

  Right scowled while Left hissed something, his eyes beginning to glow as he readied his flaming skulls.

  “Both of you be calm.” Center glared at the other skulls, keeping their tempers in check, then turned back toward the zombie. “The enchantments used to create you and your armor are extremely powerful. I
t cost the lives of many zombie warlocks to make these magical items. Their power leaks into everything you touch, including the ground; your boots damage the surface of Minecraft, leaving behind charred footprints. We can’t let the boy-wizard know we’re waiting for them by leaving a bunch of prints on the ground.”

  Krael floated closer to the zombie leader and stared into his eyes. “The boots must come off until we reach the Labyrinth. Once we’re in position, you and your zombie warriors may put them back on.”

  Ya-Sik paused for a moment, considering the request, then glanced at the other zombies and nodded. They all removed their golden boots and put them into their inventories.

  “Good.” The king of the withers smiled. “Now we can sneak past those foolish villagers and spring our trap. The wizard can choose to fight all of us, or flee into those cursed tunnels. I’m sure he will choose the latter and run; he is not foolish enough to try and face all of us with just his puny band of NPCs.”

  “He will choose the Labyrinth,” Right said with a cruel smile.

  “They’ll never leave those tunnels … alive,” Left cackled in a scratchy voice.

  Center smiled and nodded. “Now, it’s time to move … fast. All zombies should eat something now, for there will not be time later.”

  The monsters took out loaves of bread and apples stolen from the villages and ate, quickly devouring the food.

  “Everyone, follow me,” Krael shouted. “We have a wizard to trap!”

  They took off running toward the distant Labyrinth as flames continued to devour the cliffside village above and shouts of pain and fear from the villagers filled the air.

  Watcher glanced to the eastern horizon, grateful for the presence of the sun as it rose into the air, even though its harsh light cast pale reds and oranges across the horizon, making the landscape appear stained with colors as bleak as the sun itself. This was not the beautiful spectacle the NPCs were accustomed to seeing at sunrise, but in Minecraft, sunlight was always better than darkness.

  They’d run all through the night after leaving the Compass. On the north side of the strange building, they’d come across more of the stone arcs. Half-circles of rock in different sizes dotted the landscape, the strange rings jutting up from the ground like the humps of a gigantic, stone sea serpent. Watcher thought these rocky curves might have been failed experiments by the wizards, but they’d probably never know for sure.

  Thankfully, once the sun started to brighten the sky, the intrepid warriors could see trees ahead. None of them enjoyed being near the “stony curves,” as Er-Lan called them, and were glad to be entering a forest soon, but as they neared the trees, their feelings of unease grew worse.

  “Do all of you see what I see?” Mapper asked.

  “Yep.” Blaster removed his black leather armor and replaced it with forest green. But when he saw what they were approaching, he replaced it again with dark brown instead.

  “It looks like something tore the leaves off all the tree branches,” Planter said. “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know,” Watcher said. “Maybe a big storm blew through here and ripped them off.”

  “Then how do you explain the grass?” Cutter pointed to the ground as they stepped into the forest. “It’s all dried up.” He reached down and ran his fingers through what should have been green, verdant blades, but were instead gray and brittle. The grass turned to dust with a simple wipe of his hand. “Whatever harmed the trees, it didn’t leave out the grass. It’s all dead.”

  “Effects of the Great War, that is what happened here.” Er-Lan’s voice sounded sad. “I can feel the echoes of terrible pain here.”

  “You mean there was a battle here, and villagers died?” Cutter asked.

  Er-Lan shook his head. “No, what happened here was an attack on the plane of existence itself, and the victim was the fabric of Minecraft. Something tried to damage this forest in hopes of shattering the land. Er-Lan cannot imagine why a wizard would do this.”

  “A wizard … why do you think it was a wizard?” Watcher turned and faced the zombie.

  “Er-Lan can tell,” the zombie said. “What was done here was by the hands of a wizard, not a warlock.”

  Watcher started to object, but Er-Lan put a hand on his shoulder. “It is not Watcher’s fault, nor is it Er-Lan’s,” the zombie said. “What happened in the Great War was the fault of our ancestors. Their crimes do not fall upon anyone in this time.”

  “Well, except for the wither king,” Planter said.

  “And the Broken Eight,” another villager said.

  “You mean ‘the Broken Six.’” Blaster grinned. “They gotta be renamed now because of us.”

  “I think we should get through this terrible biome as quickly as we can.” Watcher nodded to his friends, then took off running through the dead forest.

  The grass under his feet crumbled as he ran, his diamond boots kicking up small clouds of dust. Watcher scanned the forest for signs of life, but only saw the leafless trees and dried, crumbling grass. In places off to the side, he saw areas where the grass was already crushed. The dusty footprints seemed to move parallel to their path; it was likely just cattle or sheep moving through the forest looking for grass to eat.

  “I hope we’ll be out of this dead forest soon,” Planter said. “It gives me the creeps.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid.” Fencer smiled at Planter. “I’m sure Watcher will protect us all in case some monster comes out to attack us here.”

  “I didn’t say I was afraid, I said it … why am I talking about this with you? Never mind.” Planter veered to the right, putting other villagers between her and Fencer.

  Er-Lan moved up next to Watcher, the zombie’s green feet in lockstep with the boy’s.

  “I feel the Eight,” the monster said.

  “You mean the Six?” Watcher said with a smile.

  “They will always be the Broken Eight to Er-Lan.” He lowered his voice. “They are drawing near.”

  “You think they’re sneaking up on us from behind?”

  “Perhaps … that was also Er-Lan’s thought. A rearguard might be wise, just in case.” Fear and uncertainty filled the zombie’s eyes.

  Watcher motioned for Blaster to come near. “Er-Lan thinks the Broken Eight are getting closer.”

  Blaster’s eyes swiveled from left to right, scanning the dead forest.

  “He thinks, and I agree, that a rearguard might be a good idea,” Watcher said.

  “I’m on it.” The boy grabbed two other villagers, then ran back along their trail to check for pursuers and to watch the group’s rear, just in case the monsters tried to mount a sneak attack.

  “I see something up ahead.” Mapper sounded winded, but kept running.

  “I see it too,” Cutter said. “This dead forest is ending.”

  Watcher nodded. The leafless trees were thinning out, allowing the next biome to be visible. But instead of another forest, a huge mountain range loomed along the horizon, its tops sheared flat. The mountains were a mixture of grays, with stone, gravel, diorite, andesite, and spots of bedrock mixed in here and there. They all had a completely unnatural look to them, as each mountain butted up against another the same size.

  Watcher stopped and stared at the monstrosities.

  “Those must be the Creeper’s Teeth,” Mapper said. “You see all the holes covering the steep faces?”

  “Yep.” Watcher nodded.

  “I bet those are all filled with monsters the likes of which we’ve never seen.” Mapper shuddered and looked away.

  “Where’s the entrance to this Labyrinth?” Cutter asked.

  Mapper pulled out his map. “Watcher, touch the map.”

  A purple spark leaped from Watcher’s finger when he touched the torn piece of paper. Suddenly, the map changed, showing their position and the terrain around them. At the base of one of the mountains, a dark passage was visible on the map. It seemed to burrow under the mountain, then twist and turn as it took a
circuitous path beneath the Creeper’s Teeth. It crossed over itself so many times, it was impossible to follow; the map would be useless in helping them navigate the maze.

  “You sure you can get us through the Labyrinth?” Planter glanced at Watcher.

  “Of course he can,” Fencer said. “He’s a wizard … he can do anything.”

  Planter rolled her eyes again.

  “Yeah, I’ll figure it out,” Watcher said. “After all, what Fencer said is true; I am a wizard, and the Labyrinth was made by wizards. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

  Now Cutter rolled his eyes and shook his head doubtfully.

  “If the map is correct, the entrance should be right over there.” Mapper pointed with a crooked finger toward a large mound of gravel and stone.

  Blaster and the others returned from their patrol.

  “Nothing behind us. I think the Broken Eight must be somewhere else.” Blaster glanced at Er-Lan. “You must have been wrong about feeling them nearby.”

  “Feelings about the Broken Eight are never wrong,” the zombie said in a low, nervous voice.

  “Okay … let’s get moving.” Watcher drew Needle, the sparkling weapon instantly feeling as if it were a part of his body. “Follow me.”

  Leaving the dead forest, Watcher sprinted across the rocky landscape, weaving around large hills of stone and gravel. Some of the mounds were six to eight blocks high, making them difficult to see past. Choosing the easier path, he ran around the hills rather than going over them. As he ran, an uneasy feeling began tingling along his nerves, as if something were trying to warn him. The gauntlets on his wrists, instead of glowing brightly as they had in the forest within the Compass, were now dim, barely giving off any light at all … it was strange.

  “There’s the opening!” Fencer shouted.

  Watcher turned and found her at his side again. He looked in the direction she pointed. Sure enough, there was a dark opening between two huge mounds of gravel, their sides steep and impossible to climb. The entrance was jagged and misshapen, giving it the appearance of a large mouth, twisted and warped as if in terrible pain. A wooden sign with dark letters sat above the entrance. Watcher slowly approached it and read aloud.