Battle for the Nether Page 21

  Since Gameknight and Crafter were at the end of the column of warriors, he feared the ghasts would use them for target practice, but none of the fiery balls came down on them. The floating monsters instead fired balls of death at their men, the burning spheres enveloping villager after villager, rending their HP to nothing so that the NPCs disappeared without a shriek, a yell, or a goodbye. The ghasts slowly whittled down their forces from the fifty that they’d started with, to now only twelve . . . BOOM . . . make that eleven still alive.

  Gameknight shuddered and wanted to weep; all those lives had been lost for what? To his left, he could see Hunter running backward. Her enchanted bow was firing burning shafts of fire at the floating giants, the projectiles striking them, one . . . two . . . three times before they would die, dropping a crystalline ghast tear. Other warriors saw Hunter’s actions and spun to add their fire to her attacks. More arrows streaked through the air, sinking their pointed teeth into the floating, baby-faced creatures, the ghast tears starting to fall down like rain.

  Gameknight focused his shots on the TNT that Crafter was dropping. The striped blocks were not only wreaking havoc on those that pursued them, but more importantly at this point, also tearing up the landscape, making pursuit more difficult. But their party was just moving too slow. They desperately needed to move faster, because he could see that speed was the key to survival in the Nether. Gameknight could feel that this was an important puzzle piece, but he didn’t have time to ponder it. All he could do right now was concentrate on firing his bow as fast as his arm could draw back the string.

  A cheer rang out from the surviving warriors, drawing his attention upward. The last of the ghasts had been killed, the rocky ceiling of the Nether now clear of threats. Looking back to the soldiers, he saw them all start to sprint again, not having to fire backward any more. The massive quartz hill that marked the location of their portal now stood before them, but he knew that the horde of monsters at their backs was still hot on their heels. Looking over his shoulder, he was surprised to find that the creatures had halted their pursuit; they were now just glaring at him with their dead, hateful eyes.

  “Why did they stop?” he asked Crafter.

  “Who cares?” the young boy replied as he continued to sprint.

  Gameknight didn’t like this, but he knew that whatever the monsters were doing, it was better if the soldiers didn’t have to try to fight them. And so he too continued to sprint as he put away his bow and drew his enchanted iron sword. Maybe they could survive this after all.

  The party sprinted up the hill, gradually rounding the gigantic mount of nether quartz, the reddish blocks sparkling with embedded crystals, their shining facets reflected the fiery light of the Nether. Looking toward the front edge of the survivors, he saw Hunter sprinting forward, her shimmering bow still in her hand. She looked so confident, so brave . . . he wished he was more like her. Maybe he could be, someday, if he . . .

  Suddenly she stopped and drew back an arrow, the pointed top burning with enchanted fire. But she did not release it. The rest of the warriors caught up with her and also came to a quick stop, their apprehension quite apparent. Gameknight and Crafter continued to sprint as they finally rounded the base of the nether-quartz hill. They pushed through the few remaining survivors and stood next to Hunter. Looking in the direction her deadly bow pointed, Gameknight’s heart gave a sickly beat.

  They were doomed.

  Between them and their portal stood a sea of tall, lanky black creatures. Each had a set of angry purple eyes that glared at them with unbridled hatred. At the center of the shadowy group stood a single island of dark, dark red, a creature that emanated a thirst for violence that could never be quenched: Erebus.

  All hope left Gameknight999, and he was filled with the bitter taste of defeat.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE LOSS OF HOPE

  A

  sea of endermen stood between them and the portal, with Erebus at the front, his dark red form glowing with purple teleportation particles, ready to disappear and reappear anywhere his mind could fathom. Their tall, dark forms stood out in stark contrast against the reddish netherrack on which they stood, their black bodies and long arms making them seem even taller. Behind Erebus, the other endermen started to emit their own ender particles, creating a purple haze around the deadly creatures.

  Erebus chuckled his creepy, spine-tingling enderman laugh. It made the warriors cringe.

  “So, User-that-is-not-a-user, we meet again,” Erebus screeched, his high-pitched voice piercing through the moans of the monsters that stood downhill.

  Gameknight started to shiver, the terrible memories from his dreams flooding back into his mind. He could still feel those cold, clammy arms squeezing his throat as Erebus’ fearsome, blazing red eyes bore into his soul.

  “What do we do?” one of the warriors asked. “User-that-is-not-a-user, tell us . . . lead us.”

  It sounded less like a question and more like a plea, but he knew he could do nothing. Here was the living incarnation of his nightmare standing before him, waiting to kill him. Fear overwhelmed his mind as he numbly stood there, unsure what to do. Hunter moved to his side.

  “Quickly, we have to do something.” she said, her voice still sounding courageous. “Gameknight, snap out of it.”

  “I . . . ahh . . . we can . . . ahh,” Gameknight stammered, indecision and fear keeping him from taking any decisive action.

  “I have an idea,” Crafter said. “Hunter, they want me alive for some reason. They won’t raise a hand against me.” He pulled out a block of TNT and held it over his head. “Ready your bow. If they attack me, I want you to shoot this block. Do not hesitate, do you understand?”

  Hunter’s brown eyes looked down into Crafter’s blues, and she nodded. Pulling a handful of red hair from her face, she tucked it behind an ear, then notched an arrow. With her free hand, she patted the young NPC on the shoulder, then moved to the front of the significantly diminished group of warriors.

  Crafter moved to Gameknight’s side and spoke softly, for his ears only.

  “Remember what I have told you, User-that-is-not-a-user . . . remember Fisher.” And then he whispered, “Deeds do not make the hero, how they overcome their fear does.”

  Then Crafter stepped forward, moving directly toward Erebus, the red and black striped block of TNT held high over his head.

  “What is this, a little present?” the King of the Endermen screeched.

  Crafter did not reply. He just slowly moved toward the crimson monster.

  “What are you doing?”

  Crafter again remained silent, moving slowly but surely forward. Now Hunter stepped forward, a flaming arrow drawn back, her bowstring stretched tight.

  Hesitantly, the other endermen started to back away, their purple eyes all focused on the block of TNT. Crafter continued on, his eyes focused on the ground, the explosive block held up high, making it an easy shot.

  Gameknight felt blocky hands push him forward as the few remaining warriors slowly moved forward as well, their swords now sheathed. They all knew that their weapons would do little against this many endermen.

  The scene began to come into focus as Gameknight surveyed the situation. He could see Crafter out in front, the TNT held over his head. He could vaguely remember Crafter saying something to him—something about deeds . . . the words were still obscured by his fear. But slowly, his fear faded into the background as he recognized his inevitable fate. A cold, calm reasoning spread over him as he realized that this would be the place of his death.

  Shaking the hands from him, Gameknight moved forward on his own alongside the few survivors who had their shoulders slumped in defeat. They too knew that this place would be their final battlefield, all except Hunter. She stood at the head of their party, back straight, blocky chin held high, her flaming arrow trained on the explosive block.

  “Hunter, you can’t shoot,” Gameknight pleaded. “It’s Crafter.”

  “Shu
t up,” she snapped.

  “But it’s—”

  “Be quiet, you fool,” Hunter commanded. “Just get up here with me and try to look like a leader for once.”

  He felt ashamed. She’d seen his cowardice, his acceptance of defeat while she still stood courageous and defiant. Moving forward, he walked slowly next to her. He drew his own shimmering bow and notched an arrow, pointing it in the general direction of Crafter, but unwilling to cause the death of his friend. The flaming tip of his arrow shook as he tried to hold it still; terror and despair still ruled his every muscle.

  “Move back, or I will order them to fire,” Crafter yelled. “Your master will not be pleased if I am killed, now, will he?”

  “I HAVE NO MASTER!” Erebus screeched. His eyes burned bright and deadly with renewed hatred filling his blood-red pupils.

  “And yet, you still move back,” Crafter said, a wry smile coming across his face.

  This made Erebus start to shake with rage, his eyes burning even brighter.

  “Careful,” Crafter advised. “You don’t want to do something you might regret.”

  “Not killing you right this instant is something I might regret, but there will always be time for you later. The cowardly User-that-is-not-a-user, however—him, I can kill now.”

  Crafter took two quick steps forward, pushing the endermen back, opening a pathway to the portal.

  “NOW!” Hunter yelled. “RUN!”

  The warriors sprinted forward, diving through the portal. Hunter stood right in front of the portal, one leg within the purple, wavering field, her flaming arrow still aimed at the TNT. Gameknight stood next to her, unsure of what to do.

  “Go through, you idiot,” she commanded. “I’ll take care of this.”

  And at that, Gameknight dove through the portal. The purple shimmering field filled his vision as the view of the Nether slowly faded away, only to be replaced by the stone wall of the crafting chamber. He stepped away and turned, facing the purple gateway. One leg stuck out of the portal; it was Hunter’s. Drawing his bow, he aimed at it, ready for the flood of monsters that might come through.

  “Get ready to seal the portal!” he yelled.

  NPCs surged forward, blocks of cobblestone in their hands. Some of them started to fill in the back of the portal, leaving the front open for Crafter and Hunter. Suddenly, Hunter materialized with Crafter next to her. A cheer rang out from the multitudes that watched. It seemed to Gameknight that nearly the entire village was there, hundreds and hundreds of NPCs crowded within the enlarged crafting chamber.

  “You made it,” Gameknight said, a smile on his face.

  The workers started placing cobblestone on the portal opening as Crafter and Hunter stepped forward a few steps, the block of TNT still in the young NPC’s hands. But before the masons could place their last blocks of cobble, Erebus materialized within the crafting chamber, his blazing eyes filled with rage. He stepped forward and wrapped his long arms around Crafter’s small body, gave Gameknight an evil, toothy grin, and then disappeared in a haze of purple ender particles.

  Crafter was gone.

  The chamber grew instantly silent as the shock of what had just happened struck the observers.

  “Seal it up,” Hunter yelled. “DO IT . . . NOW!”

  Her voice echoed through the deathly still cavern, snapping the workers into action. They sealed the portal with blocks of cobblestone, stopping any further invasion from the Nether.

  “Crafter . . . Crafterrrrrrr!” Gameknight wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks. He fell to his knees and wept, his face held in his blocky hands, bow falling to the ground.

  How could this have happened . . . what have I done?

  Overwhelming anguish flooded through him as the last, surprised look on Crafter’s face was seared into his mind. It was a look of shock mixed with a grief that struck deep into his heart. His friend had known that this was the last moment of his life, and all hope had left the young face. Erebus had won—no, Malacoda had won.

  They were doomed.

  One of the surviving warriors looked down at Gameknight, and then slowly raised his hand, fingers spread wide, arm reaching up to the ceiling. The others in the cavern lifted their hands as well, their extended fingers rising from the collection of bodies like flowers on a blocky plain. They stretched their arms up high, each person trying to reach the rocky ceiling overhead, and then they slowly clenched their hands into fists of despondent acceptance of what had happened. They saluted their fallen comrade, their leader . . . Crafter. As their fingers transformed to fists, the villagers bowed their heads, their knuckles turning white as they squeezed their hands with every last bit of strength left in their strained muscles.

  Crafter was gone, and all hope was lost.

  CHAPTER 22

  THE FACE OF DESTINY

  G

  ameknight slowly raised his own hand, fingers held out wide, but before he could clench his outstretched hand into a fist, offering the salute for the dead, a sound began to bubble out of him. It started deep within his soul, in the darkest recesses of his being, where the shadow of his elusive courage resided. It was a guttural sound, like the moaning of a wounded beast, but it slowly changed into a blazing wail of rage, a refusal to accept the things before him.

  “Nooooo.” It began as barely a whimper, then louder, almost like a battle cry, “NOOOOOO!” He brought his arm down and stood up, glaring at the villagers in the cavern.

  “What are you doing?” Hunter said quietly. “You must honor the dead.” Her arm was still raised, her hand in a fist. “We have to all honor Crafter’s passing before we can move on.”

  “NO! He is not dead. Malacoda needs him for some reason. HE’S NOT DEAD!” Gameknight yelled, his voice echoing off the cavern walls.

  “He’s as good as dead,” Hunter said, her arm now resting on his shoulder.

  “I won’t accept it,” he snapped. “Put your arms down, ALL OF YOU! Crafter is not dead.”

  The villagers looked at him, perplexed and a little worried, but they brought down their arms. Some of them murmured to each other, unsure what the User-that-is-not-a-user was doing.

  “Gameknight, you must accept that—”

  “NO, I will not accept this,” he interrupted. “I can feel that this is not over yet. There is more to do here, and surrendering to defeat is not the answer. Crafter is still alive, and we can save him.”

  A hush drifted across the NPCs in the chamber, sad eyes looking at each other in disbelief. Gameknight leaned in closer to Hunter and spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “We know where he is.”

  “Where? In the Nether?” she replied, her voice loud and challenging.

  “Yes . . . in that Nether fortress. Malacoda has him there, I know it.”

  The villagers were now listening to the debate, the tension in the room building.

  “You think we can just walk in there and take him back?” she asked, her voice edged with mockery.

  “Well . . . I ahhh . . .”

  “You know they’ll be waiting for us, and a group of fifty soldiers is going to do nothing.”

  “I know,” he answered, feeling as if he were now defending himself. He was starting to feel frustrated and angry. “But we can—”

  “We’d need a plan—a real plan. We can’t just sneak down there and hope they won’t see us, because they will. There needs to be a real plan with real strength behind it. Who’s gonna make that plan . . . you?”

  “I’ve been thinking about how to—” he tried again, his annoyance at not really being listened to building up even more.

  “And how are we going to move fast enough to keep those ghasts off our backs? How are we going to stay ahead of all those monsters in the Nether . . . how?”

  Finally, he’d had enough.

  “Hunter, would you just shut up and listen to me?” he snapped, his voice filled with indignation.

  A gasp sounded across the crafting chamber. He lowered hi
s voice and moved closer to her, speaking only for her ears. “I have a plan,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about the pieces of the puzzle we learned while we were in the Nether. And I almost have it all figured out. But Hunter, I don’t have the courage to pull this off. I’m not strong or brave like you. I’m terrified and have been since coming to this server, and I’m so tired of being afraid.” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, then continued. “I can figure out how to get us to that fortress, but I’m not a leader and never have been. It doesn’t matter what name these villagers call me . . . I’m just not that person.”

  “You have a plan, huh?”

  “Yes, I do, but I haven’t solved how we can move fast enough so that we won’t be where Malacoda expects us to be. I know the answer is out there somewhere, though . . . and it’s close by. I feel like I just have to open my eyes and find it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A grating, grinding noise came from one of the many minecart tracks that extended into the dark tunnels. New villagers were arriving; Crafter’s call was still resonating throughout Minecraft.

  “I’m not sure,” he answered as he glanced at the minecart tunnels, the grating sound echoing through the stony passage and filling the cavern.

  Many of the NPCs moved toward the newcomers, helping them out of the minecarts and moving them up to the many tunnels overhead, finding the strangers a new place to live. And then Gameknight saw the last piece fall into place. It was the thing that had changed since the last server and would be the key to their success. A small girl, the most innocent of NPC children, climbed out of a minecart with a pet pig, the animal on the end of a leash, and he finally understood what had changed after that nightmare with Malacoda. The servers, they’d been updated, and the leash reminded him of the upgrade preview he’d seen on YouTube, the latest snapshot video. The Source had sent them the solution, and the User-that-is-not-a-user hadn’t been able to see it . . . until now. Smiling at the young girl, he turned and looked at Hunter, his own smile growing.