Battle for the Nether Page 18

  “But my first command to you is to stop this foolish killing of NPCs,” Malacoda continued. “Instead, you will collect them for me, especially the crafters. I have a need for more laborers in the Nether, and you will gather them for me. You may kill some of them to encourage the others to obey, but do not harm the crafters . . . they are special and cannot be injured.”

  Malacoda pointed one of his tentacles toward the village’s crafter; the black-robed NPC was standing in the corner, surrounded by iron-clad villagers. A group of blazes pushed through the crowd and surrounded the crafter, the other villagers cowering in fear.

  “All you monsters of the Overworld,” Malacoda boomed. “I am preparing a way to the Source that can include all of you, if you serve me well. Your pitiful King will act as one of my generals and help to accelerate the collection of NPCs and crafters. Everything depends on the collection of crafters, and they are becoming scarce, for some reason. You will all help me, or meet the same fate as those bones on the cavern floor.”

  Monstrous eyes shifted from the floating ghast to the pile of bones that hovered on the cavern floor; they also surveyed the smoky outlines of three-headed withers that were forever burned into the stone surfaces. They then shifted their gazes back up to their new leader.

  “Those villagers that are strong and healthy will be taken back to the Nether to work for our cause. The weak and infirm can be dealt with as you wish.” Malacoda then scrutinized Erebus. “Bring me villagers and crafters, and you will be rewarded. Disobey, and you will be destroyed. I will be sending blazes and ghasts with you to make sure my orders are followed.” He then floated down so that his massive, square face was level with Erebus. “Understand?”

  Erebus stuffed his rage into the deepest, darkest place within his soul and swallowed. He bit back his pride and nodded his head.

  “Good,” Malacoda replied. “Bring me my villagers and my prizes quickly. I want you to personally deliver them to the Nether. The blazes will show you the location of my portals.” He then leaned in closer and spoke in a low voice so only Erebus heard him. “Do not delay if you wish to avoid being punished.”

  And at that, the King of the Nether turned and headed back up to the chamber entrance, a circle of ghasts following close behind, the crafter in tow.

  Erebus glared at the ghast’s back, completely outraged. How dare that creature treat me like this? I am Erebus, King of the Endermen.

  He paused, then grinned ever so slightly as a thought percolated up through his evil brain. Just when that floating monstrosity doesn’t expect it, I will have my revenge . . . but first, the User-that-is-not-a-user . . . then this fool of a king . . . and then the Source.

  The pieces of the puzzle started clicking in place within his violent, twisted mind, and a malicious smile crept across his face.

  CHAPTER 18

  RESCUE

  T

  he crafting chamber was a bustle of activity as groups of diggers expanded the cavern, making room for all the NPCs that were flocking to this village, Crafter’s call still resonating within the music of Minecraft. There was a nearly constant flow of NPCs arriving by minecart, and the homes on the surface were full. Diggers were carving out new tunnels and excavating rooms off the new passages for the newcomers—homes for the new warriors for Minecraft.

  Not only were diggers expanding the crafting chamber, but many were also mining deep down into the ground. Gameknight watched with curiosity as the NPCs emerged from the mine, each carrying a massive load of stone, iron ore, and coal. Those who had been digging deeper emerged with small amounts of diamond and obsidian. They had been at it for days, carving their way into the bowels of Minecraft, looking for rare materials. Of course, obsidian was the main target of their efforts. This was the fundamental block needed to build a portal to the Nether, and the safest way to get it was to dig down to the lava level and mine it with diamond picks.

  Once pockets of lava were found, the miners dug passageways around the molten stone, marking its perimeter. NPCs with buckets of water then created flowing water sources and carefully allowed the streams to flow over the lava. As soon as the flowing water met the lava, it quenched the molten rock and formed the dark purple blocks. Then the miners went to work digging up the newly formed obsidian with their diamond pickaxes—the only tool that was strong enough to break those precious cubes.

  As the miners trudged from the mineshaft with their prizes, the portal gradually began to take shape. Builders first set two obsidian blocks into holes in the ground, then added three blocks piled up on either side of the inlaid pair, and finally capped two black obsidian blocks across the top; ten blocks were used in total, and the ring of stone slowly became complete.

  Gameknight was amazed at how quickly the miners found the materials. As the ring was formed, he moved nearer to look at the beautiful obsidian. The dark blocks, with their purple flecks of color, stood out in dark contrast to the gray stone that covered most of the gigantic crafting chamber. They seemed to call out to him, the flashes of color reminding him of the dancing particles that always surrounded an enderman.

  Walking right up to the silent ring, he reached out and placed his hand on its smooth surface. The obsidian felt cool to the touch, but also seemed alive with energy. He could feel power pulsing within the stones: the power of fire and water—a remnant from the violent clash during the block’s creation.

  Reaching out with his senses, he wasn’t sure how, Gameknight could feel something on the other side of these blocks—not behind them, but on the other side of the dimension they were about to open. He knew white hot anger lurked in that parallel dimension—raging heat, either from the ever-present lava flows that crisscrossed the Nether or from the ferocity of the Nether creatures’ hatred for those in the Overworld. And then suddenly, he felt a violent burst of malice from the shadowy stone, the specter of something vile and malignant on the other side sensing his presence. It tried to reach out to strike at him, though the portal was not yet complete, the image of a pale snake-like tentacle flashing through his mind.

  Malacoda.

  Swiftly pulling his hand back, Gameknight stepped away from the obsidian ring, checking his blocky fingers for scars or burns. Glancing around the room, he looked to see if anyone had noticed. With the bustle of activity in the chamber—miners coming up from the mines, NPCs crafting armor and weapons, blocks of iron ore being smelted into ingots, minecarts traveling in all directions on the crisscrossing network of rails—no one noticed his reaction except for Crafter.

  “What was that?” the young boy asked, his old eyes showing a hint of worry.

  “Nothing,” he lied. “I was just feeling the stone before the portal became active.”

  “Well, it’s almost time. Are you ready?”

  A thousand thoughts popped into Gameknight’s mind—all reasons why he wasn’t ready—but he knew, deep down, that these were just excuses to avoid going. None of those reasons were real; they had all just been fabricated by the fear that had enveloped his mind. Looking to his friend, he could see the hope in Crafter’s bright blue eyes, the confidence reflected in his young, square face, and knew he couldn’t let Crafter down. He had to see this through.

  “Yeah, I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do this thing.”

  “Not yet,” Crafter said. “First, we need to dress you properly.”

  Gesturing to a group of NPCs nearby, he motioned for the village’s crafter. The NPC stepped forward and stood before Gameknight.

  “I’m sure you’re used to better, but this is all we could prepare for you on such short notice,” he said in a low, gravelly voice.

  Reaching into his inventory, he produced a suit of iron armor and tossed the pieces onto the ground at the User-that-is-not-a-user’s feet. The armored plating bobbed gently up and down in front of him, and for a moment Gameknight wondered why things did that in Minecraft, why the creator of Minecraft, Notch, had programmed it to be so.

  Now was probably
not the time to answer that question.

  Gameknight999 picked up the pieces of armor and put on the chest plate, leggings, boots, and helmet as they were retrieved. He instantly felt more confident, the metal coating lifting his spirits a little. Flexing his arms and legs, he was surprised by how light armor felt. He had long ago discarded his own iron armor, the metal having become cracked and gouged by the numerous monsters that had felt compelled to leave their marks. But this armor was something different. It had a fine crisscrossing weave of steel wire near the neck and waist, and elaborate designs across the knees and shoulders. Small rivets held it together with, a band stretching across the chest. The overlapping plates were covered with chain mail to close off gaps that would otherwise allow sharp points to seek flesh. In all, it was an incredible example of Minecraft workmanship. He felt honored to be given such a fantastic gift.

  “Does that feel better?” Crafter asked.

  Gameknight nodded and smiled.

  “Give it to him,” Crafter said to the village crafter.

  The old NPC turned around so that his back was to Gameknight, then reached into his inventory and pulled out a long, metallic thing that seemed to shimmer and give off an iridescent blue radiance. Turning back around, the crafter held out an iron sword that glowed a warm, cobalt blue, waves of enchanted energy flowing across its deadly sharp blade. Holding it out handle first, he extended it toward the User-that-is-not-a-user. Gameknight looked down at the blade and could see the incredible weight of responsibility that came with the weapon. He was afraid and took a step back.

  “I apologize, User-that-is-not-a-user, but we had to use all the diamond we found for the pickaxes,” the crafter said. “We had ample iron for this sword, and all the miners donated their XP so that you would have a proper blade. It has Knockback 2 and Sharpness 3.”

  Gameknight reached out to take the sword, but then hesitated. Crafter saw the trepidation flash across his friend’s face and stepped close to him.

  “My Great-Uncle Weaver once told me about the first great zombie invasion of Minecraft back in the old days,” he said softly as he moved closer. “He said that the monsters nearly overwhelmed all of the villagers on our server, but there was one thing that kept the NPCs from being destroyed—hope. Weaver told me, ‘Hope is a powerful weapon, even for those without a sword or bow. Hope keeps people from giving up and surrendering to their fears. It lets the terrified masses believe in something bigger than themselves.’” He paused to let the words sink in, then continued. “Hope is the dream that something better is possible.”

  Crafter moved nearer. He was so close that his lips brushed Gameknight’s ear as he whispered ever so softly, so that only Gameknight could hear his words, “All of these people have just accepted the possibility that they might prevail. Before this moment, they all thought they were doomed, Malacoda and Erebus and their two armies just too much to overcome. But now, with the User-that-is-not-a-user before them, they have accepted the idea that it might just be possible for Minecraft to be saved. And accepting the idea that success is a real possibility, even though it may still be difficult to achieve, is the first step toward victory.” Crafter paused for a moment and looked about the room, Gameknight following his gaze. Bright, hopeful eyes were focused on him, smiles starting to creep out from behind worried faces. “Accepting that you can do something makes that thing doable, no matter how hard it is, and you have given this gift to these people. You have given them hope.”

  If only I had the same hope for myself, Gameknight thought to himself, but he knew he couldn’t let Crafter and now these other NPCs down.

  Reaching out, he curled his blocky, stubby fingers around the hilt that was still extended toward him, and squeezed it tight. Gently lifting the blade from the crafter’s hand, he held it up high, pointing it to the ceiling. A cheer filled the crafting chamber, the walls almost bulging outward with the ferocity of the jubilant cries. Gripping the sword determinedly, he could feel magical power pulsing through the weapon, its keen edge ready for battle. As he looked about the room, Gameknight realized that maybe, just maybe, they could win this final battle and save Minecraft.

  As he lowered his sword, a couple of NPCs approached Crafter, their arms filled with TNT. They deposited the red and black blocks at his feet, and the young crafter quickly picked them up, putting them into his inventory.

  “What’s the deal with all the explosives?” Gameknight asked.

  The young boy turned to look up at his friend as he stuffed the rest of the TNT into his inventory. “Something else Great-Uncle Weaver taught me,” he explained. “He said, ‘Many problems with monsters can be solved with some creativity and a little TNT.’ I figure we might run into some monsters in the Nether, so it’s probably best to bring a lot of TNT, just to be safe.”

  Gameknight looked down at Crafter, but did not smile. The feeling of overwhelming responsibility sat heavily on him, like a leaden cloak. Shuddering, he tried to push away his anxiety as he turned to face the silent portal. Walking up to the obsidian ring, he sheathed his blade as the village crafter pulled out a piece of flint and steel. With a quick flick of his wrist, a spark leaped off the flint and hit the dark blocks, and in an instant a purplish field formed within the dark ring. Plum-colored sparks danced in the air before the gateway, the same kind that were always present near endermen when they teleported. The particles floated around the opening to the portal, then slowly drifted into it, as if pulled by some unseen current, the teleportation field coloring the dull gray walls of the crafting chamber with a flickering lavender hue.

  Suddenly a voice could be heard yelling from the cavern’s entrance. The words were unintelligible, but the tone was clear. Someone was angry and in quite a fit of rage; Gameknight could easily guess who it was. Turning from the portal, he looked up at the two iron doors that stood open at the crafting chamber’s entrance. Hunter burst through the doors, her red hair flowing behind her as she ran down the steps to the cavern floor.

  “Get out of my way!” she shouted at other NPCs as she moved down the steps that led to the crafting chamber floor.

  She walked across the chamber with her enchanted bow in her hand, headed directly toward Crafter and Gameknight, her iron armor clinking and clanking as she walked. The sea of workers parted for her as she strode confidently to them. Most NPCs wanted to keep their distance from her. A person that had a thirst for killing was a good person to avoid.

  “Are you two insane?” Hunter barked as she came near, making no attempt to keep her voice low. “Going to the Nether with just a handful of troops is madness!”

  “Hunter, I know how it might seem, but many of us have talked, and we feel that this is the best path,” Crafter explained. “We’re going to sneak in with about fifty NPCs and free the crafters from Malacoda’s fortress. With only fifty, we can move about the Nether relatively unseen. With a large army, we’d be spotted right away. This is the best course; sneak in quick and quiet.”

  “You’re insane,” she snapped, then turned from Crafter to glare at Gameknight. “Do you agree with this ridiculous plan?”

  “Well . . . ahhh . . . I think that . . .”

  “Well . . . ahhh . . .” she mocked. “I think that you’re an idiot.”

  Just then, a group of NPCs entered the crafting chamber, each wearing a full suit of iron armor, blades shining brightly in their hands. They approached Crafter and Gameknight but stopped a few paces away, wary of Hunter.

  “Shhh,” Crafter snapped. “We’re following this path for good or ill. I’m tired of reacting to Malacoda. If we continue to stay one step behind the King of the Nether, then he’ll win. I know what he’s building there in the Nether, and he must be stopped or all will be lost. It’s time we took the initiative and took the battle to him.” Crafter looked at his fifty ironclad volunteers and smiled, then put an arm around Gameknight. “It’s about time we attacked the monsters of the Nether and let them know that we won’t go quietly into the night,” he said in
a loud voice, so that all could hear his words. A cheer rang out through the chamber. “This is our world! These are our families, our friends . . . our community, and we won’t let them take it from us. Now is the time to push back and say NO MORE.”

  Crafter looked up at Gameknight and smiled, the User-that-is-not-a-user smiling back, knowing the part he was expected to play. Drawing his enchanted sword, Gameknight held it high overhead, the shimmering light from the magical blade filling the area with its peaceful blue illumination. He then looked at Hunter and gave her a nudge with his elbow. Rolling her eyes, she held her bow over her head and squeaked out a meek battle cry.

  “Yay,” she said unconvincingly.

  “For Minecraft!” Gameknight yelled.

  “FOR MINECRAFT,” the chamber replied, the battle cry shouted at the top of everyone’s lungs. The walls of the cavern vibrated slightly.

  “COME ON, FOLLOW ME!” Crafter shouted, and ran toward the portal that glowed ominously at one end of the crafting chamber.

  Turning to look over his shoulder, Crafter gave a wry smile, then sprinted into the portal, Gameknight at his shoulder and Hunter following close behind.

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this,” she said as she leaped through the portal and disappeared from the Overworld, the wave of ironclad troops at her back.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE BEST LAID PLANS

  T

  hey emerged from the portal expecting the monsters of the Nether to be waiting for them. But to their surprise, there were none, just the overwhelming heat of the land hammering them in the face, the acrid smoke stinging their throats.