Battle for the Nether Page 25

  “Crafter, you have been like a brother me,” he said, his voice choking with emotion. “I will always cherish our time together, and will remember the many lessons you have taught me . . . if I survive. That soothing tune you are always humming, I will keep it close to my heart as I step through to the Source, and will sing it when hope seems elusive. Thank you for being my friend.”

  “If you go through that portal you will die,” Crafter said. “Please. Don’t do this thing.”

  “Don’t you understand, I have no choice.”

  Turning back to the portal, he took up Stitcher’s hand and stepped forward. Stitcher took one step forward, then hesitated, pulling back on Gameknight’s hand.

  “Stitcher, are you alright?”

  “I’m scared,” she said in a quiet shaking voice. “It feels wrong . . . so wrong. I can hear the portal in my mind and it is terrifying. It sounds like a monster gnashing his teeth while at the same time also like the grinding of broken gears. User-that-is-not-a-user, I think it knows I’m coming . . . and it is waiting for me to come close.” She paused and looked up at Gameknight, her dark brown eyes filled with terror. “I’m so afraid.”

  “Stitcher, you don’t have to do this. You can stay here with the others. It will be . . .”

  “NO!” she snapped. Squaring her shoulders she turned and faced the portal, her unibrow creased with determination. “I won’t abandon my sister!”

  The young girl took a step forward . . . and then another . . . and another until she was on the very edge of the portal, the purple mist of particles circling around her ankles. Gameknight stepped up to her side, then glanced over his shoulder. He saw Crafter slowly raising his hand into the air, fingers spread wide, tears of mourning rolling down his cheeks. Giving his friend one last smile, he turned and looked down at Stitcher. She gave him a weak, terrified smile, then closed her eyes as they stepped into the portal. The instant her foot touched the purple distortion field she screamed as if in terrible agony. Her cries pierced Gameknight’s soul, but all he could do was hold on to her hand as pain raked his own body and pray that she . . . that they . . . would survive.

  CHAPTER 27

  ALONE

  G

  ameknight999 fell on the ground in a heap, his face buried in blades of grass. He was disoriented and confused. Looking back over his shoulder he instantly understood. The portal back in the Nether had been horizontal, sitting on the ground, but here on this server, it was vertical, standing straight up. Brushing himself off, he looked around.

  Stitcher, where is Stitcher?

  “STITCHER, WHERE ARE YOU?” he shouted.

  He looked around, frantically looking for the young girl, but he saw nothing.

  Oh no . . .

  “Here I am,” a voice said from within the thick grass.

  She stood and pulled tufts of grass from her curly red hair. Gameknight rushed to her and enveloped her in a warm hug.

  “I thought you were . . . you know,” he stammered.

  “I’m OK,” she said. “But I certainly don’t want to do that again. That was terrible . . . it felt like I was dying.”

  “Well, its over and we’re here now. Rest assured, we’re gonna find Hunter.”

  “And save Minecraft?” she added.

  “Yeah, that too,” he replied, smiling.

  They glanced around at their surroundings to see where they had landed. The portal had deposited them into a new land of grass-covered, rolling hills. Tall, majestic birch trees dotted the landscape, with clusters of flowers here and there adding a bit of color to the green sea of grass that stretched out in all directions. The sun was high in the sky, shining its warmth down onto the land, but the color was somehow off. Instead of the bright yellow he’d come to expect from the Minecraft sun, it had a reddish stain to it, as if someone had spilled a cup of crimson paint across its radiant, square face—or maybe it wasn’t paint, maybe it was . . . He shuddered, not wanting to think about it. He could feel the wrongness of this land. Here, the music of Minecraft was dissonant and strained, like a motor someone had dumped sand into, so that its gears and axles ground against each other in a way that would lead to the inevitable death of the mechanism in a cloud of smoke.

  That was how this land felt, and it made him feel sick.

  “Can you sense it?” Stitcher asked. “Something’s really wrong here.”

  He nodded and sighed. It was clear that Malacoda and Erebus had already been here with their massive army. Before him lay a swath of landscape that was blackened and disfigured because something terribly evil had moved through it, the vile presence scarring the land and killing everything that it touched. The damaged pathway stretched off in the distance, with small piles of pork, beef, and wool floating along the path. The inhabitants of this area had likely been killed just for sport.

  What kind of creature would do this? he thought. Killing just for sport? And then he remembered that he had been like that once—killing animals just because he could. But that was a long time ago, when Minecraft was just a game to him. Now he knew better.

  Looking at the diseased scar that stretched off into the distance, he knew clearly which way to go. Adjusting his diamond armor, he reached down and took Stitcher’s hand once again.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, trying to hide his own anxiousness, “we’ll fix it. We’ll fix Minecraft.”

  “Alone?”

  “If necessary,” he answered. “We won’t give up, will we?”

  Stitcher shook her head, her red hair flying wildly. Then she gave him a warm, uplifting smile. Holding her hand tight, he started to walk, staying on the green, living grass and off the darkened blemished path.

  The silence was deafening. He’d never felt so alone, so vulnerable, so afraid.

  “Can I do this on my own?” he asked Stitcher. “Last time I had Crafter and Shawny, but now I’m truly alone. Maybe I can contact Shawny on this server. I should find a village and start building a new army, but how much time do I have?”

  “You still have me,” Stitcher’s high-pitched voice squeaked.

  “Of course I do,” he replied.

  Uncertainty and doubt clouded his thoughts. He pondered all the different options here—using the NPC minecart network, collecting the crafters . . . the options all bounced around in his head as he tried to figure out what the pieces of this puzzle looked like. He considered trying to find Notch, but where would he be? Maybe he was a user on the server, like Shawny had been. He could try to contact him, but how?

  A strange hum started to fill his ears; it was a melodious sound that interfered with his thoughts, but was somehow calming and reassuring. Pushing away the noise, he focused on the problem at hand . . . gather an army . . . contact Notch . . . follow the mob . . . . . . WHAT IS THAT SOUND?

  And then he realized what it was . . . someone was humming a soft, comforting song, in a high-pitched voice that was filled with joy and courage. The sound was then mixed with the shuffling of feet across the ground—not just a single pair of feet, but thousands of them . . . and horses, too, lots of them. Spinning around, he was shocked to see what had followed him.

  Crafter!

  “Why hello, Gameknight999,” the young NPC said, a smile on his face, his blue eyes once again glowing bright. “Imagine that, us running into you here . . . what a coincidence!”

  Gameknight looked beyond Crafter and saw the hulking form of Mason trailing behind, his smiling face shining back at him. Behind Mason followed their entire army, with foot soldiers and cavalry still flowing through the portal that stood out dark against the landscape. There were at least a thousand of them, most armored and carrying a weapon, but some without armor; they had been Malacoda’s prisoners and slaves, now freed by the army, and had chosen to join the battle for Minecraft.

  Stopping in his tracks, Gameknight faced Crafter, tears welling in his eyes. “You came to the Source,” he said, choking on his emotions.

  Crafter stopped walking and held his hand
up, halting those behind. “We talked about it, and decided that some rules were meant to be broken,” he explained. “And if the mechanism of Minecraft would let the monsters invade this sacred world, then it was our duty to come and help. Besides, we knew we’d be OK, since we were following the greatest rule-breaker of them all . . . Gameknight999.”

  He grinned, his smile contagious and infecting those near him, Gameknight included. Moving forward, the young NPC wrapped his arms around Gameknight’s waist, hugging him with all his strength, the User-that-is-not-a-user fiercely hugging him back. Releasing Crafter, Gameknight moved to Mason and patted the big man on the shoulder, Mason’s green eyes glowing with pride. As he moved further into his army, Gameknight noticed the same kind of look from the others; their eyes were glowing bright with satisfaction, the NPCs standing up a little taller. His warriors were bursting with pride at being able to do something for someone else . . . for something else . . . for Minecraft. They were here to make things right for the sake of their families and friends and people they didn’t even know . . . like Gameknight’s sister and parents. And for their sacrifices, he would be eternally grateful. He tried to speak, tried to put into words how appreciative he was, but all he could do was smile and brush aside the tears that ran down his cheeks.

  A small hand settled on his shoulder, pulling his attention from the masses.

  “Are you ready to go or what?” Crafter asked. “We’re tired of waiting around for you.” Those near him chuckled, the laughter rippling through the army, while Crafter’s words were being quietly repeated for ears farther away. “Come on, we have a server to save—no, we have countless servers to save. So let’s get going!”

  “FOR MINECRAFT!” Gameknight yelled.

  “FOR MINECRAFT!” the voices thundered at his back.

  Someone came forward with horses for Gameknight, Crafter, and Mason. Swinging up into the saddle, Gameknight sat tall, surveying his forces. Reaching down, he pulled Stitcher up into the saddle with him, her small form sitting in front of him. He was proud of every one of these NPCs, and clearly from the looks on their faces, they felt the same.

  But uncertainty about what to do still plagued Gameknight’s mind. He couldn’t see the pieces of the puzzle here yet as he did back in the Nether. And that uncertainty filled him wth dread. They had to stop the monster here . . . somehow.

  Mason must have sensed Gameknight’s uncertainty because he started to issue commands, sending out scouts in all directions. He positioned squads of warriors at their flanks and instructed a group of horsemen to take up the rear guard. With their forces deployed to his satisfaction, he looked at the User-that-is-not-a-user and nodded. Gameknight, unsure as to what their plan was, did the only thing he could think of, he moved forward. Urging his horse forward, he followed the diseased path that had been gouged into the flesh of Minecraft.

  With his friends at his side, Gameknight traveled with newfound confidence and thought about his other friend, Hunter.

  “I hope you’re OK, Hunter,” he said aloud. “We’re coming for you.”

  “Yeah, we’re coming for you, sis,” Stitcher echoed.

  “All of us are coming for you,” Crafter added.

  “And for Minecraft,” Mason said with a booming voice, triggering a response from the troops.

  “FOR MINECRAFT!”

  Their upraised voices echoed across the landscape, driving doubt and fear from their minds. The army of NPCs moved forward with Gameknight999 at the helm, prepared to relentlessly pursue their enemy, and they would not stop until everyone in Minecraft was safe.

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  Gameknight999 loved Minecraft. He reveled in building structures, playing on servers, creating custom maps, and more. But above all else, he loved to grief—to intentionally ruin the gaming experience for other users. As the self-proclaimed “King of the Griefers,” Gameknight played the game for himself at the expense of everyone else, keeping the list of his friends in the game short.

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