Battle for the Nether Page 24

  Before he could react, Hunter had destroyed the diamond crafting bench. Grabbing Crafter by the arm, she looked down then shoved him off the pedestal.

  But the destruction of the diamond crafting bench did not stop the teleportation field from forming. The purple field of distortion was getting brighter across the stone island, deep blue particles starting to float about in the air.

  Crafter fell and landed on the empty horse with a thud.

  “What is this?” he asked Gameknight, who rode at his side.

  “A server update gave us something new . . . horses . . . and now a cavalry,” the User-that-is-not-a-user replied, patting the horse affectionately on its neck. He then looked up at Hunter. “Come on, JUMP!”

  Hunter considered the timing, then ran to the edge of the dark pedestal and jumped, flying high through the air, hoping to land behind Gameknight. But before she had completed her arc, cold, clammy tentacles wrapped around her body and pulled her upward: Malacoda.

  “So, you’ve come to join me?” the monster said.

  “We’ve come to stop you, and we did,” she snapped. “I destroyed your little diamond crafting bench and your plans.”

  “You are a fool,” Malacoda boomed. “It has already begun. Once started, it will not stop.”

  Hunter looked down and was shocked at what she saw. The island was now glowing purple, small particles dancing along its edges. She could see Gameknight and Crafter riding through the masses as clawed arms reached out to grab them.

  “Run, Gameknight!” she yelled, a tear seeping from an eye. “RUN!”

  He looked up and met her gaze, then looked around and saw the transformation continuing. He knew that they had to get off this island, or they would be pulled away with this monstrous horde—and that meant certain death. Sighing, he gave his friend one last look, then charged off the island, their steeds running over any creature that stood in their way.

  “EVERYONE OFF THE ISLAND,” Gameknight yelled to his cavalry.

  The mounted warriors leaped off the island just as the portal formed. Looking over his shoulder, Gameknight saw the thousands of monsters fall through it, disappearing into the purple mist. Malacoda still floated above the center of the island with Hunter struggling in his tentacles. Drawing his bow, Gameknight stopped his horse, turned and aimed at the ghast, but he couldn’t fire while knowing that he might hit his friend as well.

  Just then, a mass of Overworld monsters surged out of the fortress and crossed to the island: zombies, spiders, creepers, and endermen, all led by none other than Erebus. The King of the Endermen disappeared in a cloud of mist and reappeared on the obsidian portal at the center of the island, Malacoda floating at his side.

  “So, your failure is complete, User-that-is-not-a-user!” Erebus screeched, giving one of his spine-tingling cackles.

  Reaching out with one of his long dark arms, he stroked Hunter’s curly hair. She shuddered as her eyes locked onto Gameknight’s, pleading.

  “Shoot,” she yelled. “SHOOOOT!”

  But he couldn’t do it, and lowered his bow.

  “Our battle is not over,” the enderman cackled. “We will meet again, this I promise you, and then I will finish what I started in the Land of Dreams. Goodbye for now, User-that-is-not-a-user.”

  The King of the Endermen stepped off the obsidian pedestal and fell into the portal, disappearing from sight, his cackling laughter still filling the air.

  Malacoda boomed with laughter as well, glaring straight at the User-that-is-not-a-user. “You have failed, as I have foretold,” the King of the Nether said, an eerie smile stretching across his vile, childlike face. “And now, the Source will be mine. Goodbye, fool.”

  Malacoda then slowly lowered himself into the portal, disappearing into the purple mist and fading from view. All the while, Hunter’s terrified eyes were glued to Gameknight’s . . . and then she was gone.

  CHAPTER 26

  THE SOURCE

  T

  he ironclad warriors all surrounded Crafter, sounds of joy and celebration echoing across the Nether. Everyone wanted to pat him on the back, hug him, or just be near him. He had survived the unthinkable as the personal captive of Malacoda, and a huge smile stretched across his face, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  Captured NPCs shuffled out of the fortress and joined the group, their clothes tattered, their bodies worn to exhaustion. They had huge smiles on their faces as well, knowing that they would now survive, but many had to be helped to stand, their HP nearly gone.

  “Thank you, everyone, for coming for me,” Crafter said, his voice cracking with emotion. “We have done a great thing here, and all of Minecraft will hear of this.”

  A cheer filled the air as swords and bows were lifted high above heads. Mason moved next to Crafter and patted him on the back, a smile painted firmly across his big square face. His green eyes seemed to glow with joy as he looked at Crafter, the stocky, muscular NPC overwhelmed with happiness.

  Gameknight stood near the edges of the celebration, his heart heavy. He was glad that they’d saved Crafter, but it had cost him his friend, Hunter, and he grieved her loss. Even though she was frustrating at times, with a temper that always seemed to be lit and ready to explode, he still missed her, and felt like someone dear to him had been taken away. Rage started to bubble up from within—rage at her loss—but it was also coupled with venomous fury toward his enemies: Malacoda and Erebus. He’d failed to stop them, and now they were on their way to the Source.

  They have to be stopped, he thought. THEY HAVE TO BE STOPPED. His thoughts were like thunder within his head.

  “THEY HAVE TO BE STOPPED!”

  The joyous celebration abruptly ended as Gameknight’s voice echoed across the Nether. They turned and looked at the User-that-is-not-a-user, confusion on their smiling, blocky faces. Crafter came forward, a look of concern on his face, Mason following close behind.

  “Gameknight, what is it that you said?” his friend asked.

  “I said that they still need to be stopped,” Gameknight replied, his irritation barely held in check. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m thankful that we were able to save you, my friend, and I am indebted to each and every one of you here, but we also lost someone special . . . Hunter . . . and Minecraft is still in danger.”

  At the sound of her name, hands started to stretch up into the air, fingers spread wide.

  “For Hunter!” someone yelled, and more hands sprouted upward.

  Crafter looked at Gameknight with compassion in his eyes as he too raised his hand, fingers stretched wide.

  Tears streamed down Gameknight’s cheeks as he looked across the sea of faces, all focused on him, the villagers’ fists in the air. They waited for him to complete the salute to the dead, the closest friend of the deceased always going last. Slowly, he raised his arm, his hand shaking with grief. With his fingers outstretched, he turned and looked at the last place he’d seen her—there in the middle of the portal that still glowed purple. And suddenly, he was overwhelmed with a burning wrath that threatened to devour his soul.

  No, I don’t accept this, he thought. I won’t let her die.

  Pulling his hand down quickly without clenching it into a fist, he turned back and faced his warriors.

  “He refuses the salute,” someone murmured.

  “Again?”

  “What is he doing?”

  “Why?”

  Questions rippled through the masses as Gameknight looked down at the ground, lost in thought. Contemplating everything that had happened to him on this adventure in Minecraft, he realized that it had all been necessary to prepare him for the decision he was about to make. Learning what it meant to sacrifice for someone else, how to stand up to your fears, how to focus on the now, and coming to the realization of what it meant to be a hero; all of these things—these lessons—resonated within him, and he knew what he had to do.

  “She isn’t dead,” he said softly, then confidently raised his voice. “SHE ISN’T DEAD!�
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  The crowd hushed.

  “Just because she was taken by that vile creature doesn’t mean that she’s dead.” He scanned the faces of his army, an angry glare in his steel-blue eyes. “I’m going to save her, and I’m going to save Minecraft. I will go through that portal to the Source, and I will stop them somehow. Who’s with me?”

  Shock spread across the crowd, everyone taking a few steps back.

  “Gameknight, no one has ever been to the Source,” Crafter explained. “It is forbidden. It is where the Creator resides, and the rules of our programming do not allow us to go there.”

  “The Creator . . . you mean Notch?” Gameknight asked.

  Crafter nodded.

  Mason looked up and stared at Gameknight, while others did the same.

  Crafter moved a step closer to Gameknight999 and spoke in a low voice. “If we go through that portal we will die. Each of us can feel that thing, that obscenity to Minecraft, and we know with complete certainty that it will kill anyone that passes through to the Source. There is no chance of survival for NPC or User. Our journey stops here.”

  “But those rules aren’t real—clearly they aren’t. I mean, you just saw a thousand monsters go there. Don’t you think they were forbidden as well? It seems they could go to the Source without any problems. Now we have to follow them and finish the battle.”

  “But you don’t understand,” Crafter said. “Our task was to stop the mobs from getting to the Source . . . we failed. We reduced their number and did what we could, but we can follow them no further, it would be suicide. For all we know, Hunter is already dead for having gone to the Source and violating that rule. Minecraft itself may have deleted her. You see, in our minds that portal feels like . . . like death.” He looked toward the portal and cringed. “That thing is an assault on everything we NPCs feel as natural and safe. That monstrosity feels like it will devour us in a single bite and we will have no chance for survival. We cannot do this thing that you ask, nor can you, for it would certainly mean your death. Stepping through the portal would be the same as trying to swim through lava.” He hung his head down meekly and looked at the ground. “That portal is death.”

  “I don’t believe that, Crafter, or all those monsters would have been destroyed. Listen to the music of Minecraft, does it feel like those terrible creatures perished when they went through? No! They’re still alive.” He stepped closer to his friend and looked down into his blue eyes. “When all of those behind you left you for dead, I still had hope. No one believed that you could be saved, except for me and Hunter, and we still tried, no matter the risk.” He turned to glare at the sea of faces that were now focused on him. “Our friend is out there, and it’s not just Hunter, it’s every living creature in Minecraft. We can’t stop trying to save them. That would mean giving up . . . and I’ll never give up to Malacoda and Erebus.”

  He paused to let his words sink in, hoping for a response. The silence that filled the air was thunderous . . . oppressive . . . hopeless.

  Gameknight sighed.

  “It has been an honor to be chosen at the apex of this great conflict to be a part of Minecraft history forever, to stop the monsters of the Overworld and the monsters of the Nether and save everyone on the server planes. All of you here agreed to risk your lives to come to the Nether and save Crafter; now, I’m asking you to do the same for Hunter and every living creature in Minecraft. We have to go to the Source and stop the mobs.”

  Crafter looked up for a moment, then looked back to the ground, shaking his head. Many of the NPCs followed his lead and also cast their gazes downward.

  “Gameknight, we want to continue the fight, but it would be certain death, all of us know it. Sometimes, it is necessary to stop and be thankful for your accomplishments. Nobody blames you for this failure. It just is what it is,” the young NPC said with a sad voice.

  Gameknight stepped the rest of the way across the stone bridge and moved up close to Crafter. “Sometimes we can be greater than we thought we could be. You taught me that. But first we have to accept the possibility that we can overcome what lays before us, and that we can be successful. Once we accept the possibility that we can do something, the all we have to do is figure out how to do it.”

  Stepping back, he noticed that Mason had moved closer, his large, blocky frame leaning close to the User-that-is-not-a-user. A wry smile creased his stern face, his green eyes lighting up a bit.

  “You see, Crafter,” Gameknight continued, this time a little louder so that others could hear. “Anyone can be a hero, even a griefer like me. You just have to accept that it’s possible. Remember, deeds do not make the hero, it’s overcoming your fears that makes a person great.” He paused for a moment and looked around at the sea of blocky faces that were now looking toward him. “An NPC that I respect, whose friendship I cherish more than anything, whose lessons have taught me to be a better person; he told me this.” He paused and then continued, raising his voice even louder. “You can be what you want to be, and do what you want to do, all you have to do is accept that its possible, and keep trying until you succeed.” He then leaned forward and spoke in a whisper, only for Crafter’s ears. “Like Fisher.”

  Crafter looked up. “Gameknight, do not do this thing. I don’t want to see you die, for I’m not sure if I could bear that. Stay here on this server with us . . . please.”

  The User-that-is-not-a-user just shook his head as he stared at the defeated army, then turned his gaze on Crafter. His friend looked up at him, then sighed and lowered his eyes to the ground, a tear running down his cheek.

  Gameknight999 sighed again. Reaching out, he lifted Crafter’s chin and looked into his eyes. For the first time, they did not seem to glow with that bright blue twinkle of hope. Instead, they were dull and faded with sadness and regret. Another tear rolled down the young NPC’s cheek as he tore his gaze from Gameknight and looked at the ground, his shoulders slumped. Glancing across the NPC army, Gameknight999 saw the same thing; eyes that had once been bright with hope were now pale with defeat; they had given up.

  The last one to look away was Mason. He stared at the User-that-is-not-a-user with a stony glare, his close-cropped brown hair and beard glowing slightly red by the light of the nearby lava sea. The thin smile had now faded to a grim determined scowl, his unibrow creased as if he were fighting some kind of great internal battle. He looked at Crafter, then glanced back at Gameknight, his eyes filled with bright rage, but then they seemed to fade as well as the internal battle was finally lost. The big NPC slowly lowered his head and stared at the ground, defeated.

  Gameknight was alone.

  He could feel the tension from the collection of NPCs, but no one was willing to follow him and tempt destruction. Fine, then he’d have to do it on his own.

  I started this adventure on my own, he thought. I’ll just finish it on my own.

  But then a lone voice spoke out; it was that of a child. Looking for the source, he could see a young girl walking through the crowd. Her clothes were tattered and torn from forced labor in Malacoda’s fortress. Though she looked exhausted, she stood tall as she walked through the crowd, pushing her way past warriors and tall horses. As she came to the front, he saw that she had long, curly red hair like Hunter’s, a pair of deep brown eyes looking up hopefully at him.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said in a weak voice.

  A murmur spread throughout the crowd. Some reached out to pull the young girl back, but she pushed her way through the sea of restraining arms, determination etched on her face

  “You can’t go with me,” Gameknight replied as he looked at her small size. “There will be—”

  “My name is Stitcher, and I will be going with you,” she said. “I dare you to try and stop me.”

  “You can’t go,” some of the NPCs whispered.

  “Your programming . . .”

  “You’ll die . . .”

  “You’ll be deleted . . .”

  Villagers near her all ga
ve reasons why she couldn’t go with the User-that-is-not-a-user, but she ignored their excuses and strode forward.

  “I don’t care about the rules . . . about the programs or lines of code,” the young girl said. “If I die when I go through the portal, then so be it, but I won’t just stand here and watch everything be destroyed.”

  The young girl glared at the shamed and downcast faces of the adults around her as she pushed through the crowd, daring any one of them to stop her. Boldly, she walked straight up to the User-that-is-not-a-user, a look of determined hope in her eyes.

  Gameknight smiled. This little girl had all the ferocity and tenacity that Hunter had, maybe even more. Her matted red hair glowed bright as she pulled some loose strands from her face. And then he knew who she was.

  “She’s your sister?” he asked, looking down at her.

  The young girl nodded and gave him a hopeful smile.

  “I won’t just let her go after I finally found her again,” she said in a confident tone. “I would rather die than do nothing. She’s my sister . . . she’s all I have.”

  He stepped forward and patted the young girl on the shoulder. She could have been the same age as his own sister.

  My sister . . . I miss my sister.

  Taking her hand, he led her across the stone bridges and walked to the edge of the massive portal, sparkling purple particles marking its perimeter. Turning around, he looked one last time at the people he’d come to think of as friends, then turned and faced the portal. He could feel teleportation particles being drawn into the gateway, sliding across his skin as they were tugged along some unseen current. Through the purple fog within the portal, he could just barely make out faint shapes: blocky trees, rolling hills, and mountains in the distance. Then the images faded away as the purple mist became thicker and more turbulent.

  Glancing over his shoulder again, he saw all of the NPCs watching him—all except for Crafter, whose gaze was still fixated on the ground. Letting go of Stitcher’s hand, Gameknight turned and stepped halfway across the stone bridge, then faced directly toward Crafter.