Heart Of The Land

by EdBoii

Chapter: 3

The lost and forgotten tend to have the strongest of wills, the mightiest of ambitions, the fiercest of minds. Their reluctance to fail and die is amazing, for they refuse to let their souls fade into the heavens until their mortal desires are accomplished.

Some may call this a sin, a greedy and unholy aspect of mankind. But those who know, those who have felt the burning desire to be more and better, stronger and mightier, they are the ones who can truly be aware of the true meaning of their ambition and want.

Call it greed or pride, sin or blessing. It does not matter in the slightest when the sword is at your neck and the chains are at your back. Which will you chose? To spar with life and the mighty? Perhaps you would prefer to back away and chain yourself to the wall?

Well, they chose their paths, followed their destinies and accomplished great deeds in their mortal lives. They who walked the earth with dreams of greatness and power. They who perished with a scowl on their face as life stripped them of their power and might, leaving them to the communist grip of death.

For we are dust and to dust we shall return.

Or will we? Can a man have a will so strong that he is greater than death? Could life become so meaningless for those who are meant to be mighty? Perhaps mysteries shall remain unsolved and questions unanswered. But never forget those who wanted, because the world on which we stand was erected atop their bones and blood.

Darkness and shadow were the norm and rule. Solace was nowhere to be found as the merciless battering of hatred and rage was heard throughout the land.

Hear the pain and misery as the wind flies past the trees. Listen to the crackle of the flames as they rise up to consume the sky in their fiery embrace. Watch and despair as the earth and sky is devoured by hundreds of screams and acts of depraved mercilessness.

The land is harsh on those who are weak, for Minecraftia is home to the brave and daring, the ones who fear nothing except slavery and oppression. Those souls who would be exchanged so easily for power and might.

Let the night shower you in its darkness, its hate and horror. Face the darkness and then tear it to shreds with the light of your want, for such is the way of Minecraftia, such is the path that prevents death and a shameful end.

The moon glared at the men who opposed her. The shadow of her twisted children moved ever closer to them, led by the abomination of a hundred and one nightmares.

Chicahua's knife had ended the life of the largest beast, but the other three were fast approaching, moving slowly and carefully. Stepping over their agonizing comrade as he thrashed wildly on the floor, blood spraying the ground around him and tainting the snow a sickening dark color.

"Take the one on the right, I'll keep the other two entertained." The Spaniard raised his sword and advanced.

Chicahua nodded and moved forward, both friends remained shoulder to shoulder as they approached the enemy. The monsters looked at them without sentiment, without emotion, a cold and empty gaze is what it was.

They knew nothing of bravery or love, of hate or anger, the beasts only knew hunger and pain. It was their damnation and motivation. Their very existence revolved around those simple facts. Because they hungered they fed, and the suffering from taking a life made them hunger once more.

Their lack of anger and passion made them easy to manipulate, but it also restrained their ability for combat. Without anger and fear, how was a soldier meant to do battle?

Spaniard and Nahuatl, both so different from each other, and at the same time so similar.

Wether on the waters of Sicily or the jungles of America, on a galley as it rammed a pirate ship or in front of a pyramid to the gods, as they held a sword or spear in their hands, both had felt the same during battle.

Pride for the waving flag that symbolized their nation, rage as they saw the enemy across the battlefield, fear as steel met flesh and screams surrounded them.

But brave they had been and brave they still were. You could see it in the way the Spaniard stood as he awaited the beasts to attack, sword in hand. It was obvious in the steeled gaze of the Aztec as he ignored the flowing blood on his injured face and readied himself to do battle, unarmed.

These were no mere men. The days of humanity had been long left behind them, for now they were so much more. They were sons of Minecraftia, warriors of the land and proud survivors of the night.

The Spaniard looked behind the scavengers and noticed the moving shapes among the treeline, several skeletons and undead emerged from their hiding spots and formed a circle around the creeper.

The creature of nightmares let out a guttural growl and the scavengers broke formation. Each one of the three darted towards a different target. One raised his sword and charged the Aztec, another one growled and swung his weapon at the Spaniard, and the third...

He sped towards the unconscious gal behind the men.

"Bastardo hideputa! Chicahua! The gal!" Steel missed flesh by mere inches as the Spaniard jumped out of harms way before the scavenger's blade swung. The beast growled and attacked again with a backhand swing.

The Spaniard grunted and blocked the blow swiftly. The swords met and sparks flew, neither of them yielding any ground to the other. It was a battle of strength and might.

The monster leaned in closer and roared into the Spaniard's face, the stench and rotten teeth were more than enough to make the veteran soldier flinch and loosen his hold on the sword.

His eyes widened as the beast freed his weapon and slashed at the soldier's leg. A scream left his mouth as the blood began to flow, but he did not falter. The Spaniard took a step back and readied his sword yet again, eyes full of rage met an uninterested gaze and both fighters charged at each other.

Chicahua heard his brother's warning and turned his head to see the third beast rushing up the hill towards the unconscious girl, sword in hand and murder in his mind.

The Nahuatl cursed under his breath and ran uphill. The beast behind him missed by a second as his strike hit the snow covered ground. Growling and screeching, the scavenger followed the warrior upwards.

No time was to be lost, as there was no time left. The hordes of the night were converging upon the builders, quickly darting out of the forest with the intention to destroy and murder. The creeper hadn't been able to maintain his grip on control of such a large force and individual skeletons charged forward with their retinues of undead following.

The Builders had to hurry or die, make haste or perish at the merciless hands of the beasts. The day was not too far away, they could still survive if they fought well. They would have to stand their ground until morning came.

Chicahua reached the spot were he had left the gal earlier. She still lay peacefully on the ground, her chest heaving as she breathed. But the calmness that radiated from her was but a mask that shielded the reality. For the beast was standing above her, sword raised and ready to strike a deadly blow.

The brave Nahuatl wasted no time. Swiftly he increased his speed and jumped, tackling the hideous beast and sending it tumbling a couple of meters back before it fell downhill.

Chicahua grinned and noticed the beast had dropped the sword as he fell, the iron weapon shone with the moonlight reflecting upon its surface. Chicahua picked up the sword with his hand and turned to meet the approaching monsters. The one that had been following him was almost upon him while the other one was getting back on his feet.

The Nahuatl warrior stood between Twilight and the darkness, determined not to let any harm befall her. He steeled his gaze and readied his sword.

The Spaniard grunted and cursed as his foe pressed onward with his attacks. The beast readied a thrust and took a step forward. The soldier parried and slashed, his attacks losing strength as the blood flowed out of his wounds and into the ground. The scent was driving the creature mad with blood lust, its attacks increasing in savagery and brutality, but also lacking coordination.

"The corsair galley outside of Malta, the fires of the cannons and the stench of blood. I have lived through worse hellholes than this!" And he had. The waters of the Mediterranean were no peaceful place and no strangers to war. "Alfonso, Wolf of Sicily they used to call me, and damn right I was!"

To sail the seas and murder the dangers that in them lurked, to fight for your meal every day, to stare death in the face as the splinters of a ship fly around you as the cannonballs tear the men to shreds. Alfonso, the Wolf of Sicily, that was the name bestowed upon one of the greatest bounty hunters the Spanish Empire had, and he would honor the name, even after death.

Alfonso shouted at the monster, he shouted at the world, he shouted at death and life. The pain of living through death twice was not something he was about to accept.

With might and strength worthy of only the strongest of warriors, the Spaniard drew back his arm and then thrust forward with the blade aiming for the beast's head. The scavenger did not react, no fear was painted across its features, no sign of anger or fury left its eyes. The creature only brought its sword to level with the Spaniard's shoulder and delivered a thrust was well.

Alfonso did not flinch nor scream as the blade pierced his right shoulder, he only pushed his own sword deeper into the scavenger's head, the motion made the undead's sword sink deeper into his shoulder as a result but he did not care. The bite of steel had been an all too familiar feeling back in Madrid and Italy, where a simple glance could drive men to a duel for honor.

In the end, the beast collapsed and died. Alfonso retrieved his blade from the monster's bleeding skull and pulled the sword out of his shoulder, wincing as he did so. He knew he was just about useless in combat for the rest of the night, both of his shoulders were badly mauled and he was limping. Chicahua would have to fend for himself and the gal.

Alfonso looked around his home. The house was mostly intact, the door being the only thing beyond repair as it lay smashed by the previous encounter with the beasts. The floor around him was matted in blood and footprints, the stone wall around the hill was still unfinished and it would not hold back any monsters should they charge.

Alfonso then decided to expose himself to the harsh truth. He looked over the wall and towards the treeline. He let out a frustrated groan as he saw what lay there, waiting its turn to attack.

At least seven more undead were rushing out of the forest with hunger and cannibalistic intentions in their rotten hearts. The wind began to grow colder for a moment, but whether it was Alfonso losing hope or the wind aiding the beasts in their fight, he didn't know.

All he knew was that they were outnumbered and wounded, and unless the gal woke up and grabbed a sword, they were in for quite the battle.

Chicahua fared no better. The scavenger that had been following him slashed and stabbed without mercy, growling and spitting blood and saliva. The brave Nahuatl did his best to block or parry the creature's blows, but he was unaccustomed to the iron sword in his hand. All his life as a warrior had been spent with either a spear or a macuahuiti in his hand and a shield in the other.

The strange sword was heavier and uncomfortable, unbalanced in his hand and of poor craftsmanship. But he still fought with bravado and courage unmatched, darting in and out, thrusting and slashing with no fear of death. His torso and legs had several small cuts and gashes from the hits asserted by the beasts, but the monster was in no better condition.

The scavenger howled in pain as Chicahua pushed the sword deep into its entrails, blood pouring as the intestines were pierced and rendered useless. The monster waved its arms frantically, seeking to slam a fist into the Builder's face or arms, needing to feel the warm flesh between its claws and fangs.

Chicahua made no noise as he lowered the hilt of the sword and brought the blade upwards. With a final thrust he drove the iron sword through the stomach and liver, to finally end piercing the heart. The beast was suspended into the air by the momentum of the thrust, screeching madly as it writhed in pain. Chicahua felt the cold blood oozing out of the wound, gushing over his hand and into the dirt below him.

"That is for my face." He grimaced as he felt his own wounded cheek sting as the cold night air brushed past it. The Builder pulled out the sword and let the body fall to the ground. The scavenger howled horribly as its ankle twisted and snapped upon collision, but it was short lived.

In few moments the beast convulsed and its eyes lost all glimmers of life.

Chicahua sighed and looked around.

The scavenger that had fallen downhill was on its feet by then, but it was clumsily making its way upwards, limping badly. It would be a minute before he had to worry about it. The Nahuatl looked to the foot of the hill and saw Alfonso cleaning the blade of his sword in the snow, but never letting his eyes part from the stone wall.

The beasts that were barely arriving were fresh and hungry, ready for battle.

Chicahua looked back at the gal in the floor, sleeping soundly despite the massacre taking place. She was regaining warmth faster with his clothes on, good ones too. Best leather one could get out of the ox from the plains biome always came from the southern villages. The natives had a knack for trading on those parts.

Chicahua smiled softly, making sure not to strain his wounds. Distracted as he had been by the multiple attacks from the undead, he had not forgotten how excited he actually felt about the arrival of a new Builder. It was a matter that called for all minecraftians to gather.

Chicahua remembered his first gathering, it had been his day of rebirth after all. He recalled the others, so grim and powerful, so old but young in appearance. They had gathered to greet him into the new world, they had made him one of their own and taught him of the land and its ways.

Akio Daichi, master of the land, oldest warrior alive and the wisest. His tutor and friend. For a hundred years Chicahua had roamed the expanse of Minecraftia beside his teacher, learning from him the tales of the past and present, absorbing the information of the hundred lives his teacher had lived.

Two thousand years of age were of rare happening, and Akio Daichi had recently achieved it. No Builder aside from the original one had managed to outlive the thousand five hundred mark. The land was cruel even to the gods it harbored, biting with fangs, slashing with claws, tearing the inhabitants to shreds withing centurial spans of time.

But not as much now, thanks to the efforts and strength of the teacher and his disciples. The oldest minecraftians alive had been drafted into the only form of authority there was in the land, with Akio Daichi leading the triumvirate. Chicahua had been reborn when Akio Daichi was a thousand and two hundred years of age, and the Nahuatl had been of great importance when it came down to convincing his teacher of installing a form of government.

While all minecraftians despised being controlled or enslaved, they all hated being attacked by waves of monsters a little more. And so it was agreed, the first council was established by the five oldest ones. A former king of Gaul and a general of modern times leading the council while Akio Daichi and three others enforced their dictates.

But alas that the council did not last! War erupted from within as the Gaul attempted to assert his domain by slaying his foe. Alliances were made, assassinations carried out, battles were fought and the number of Builders dropped from the original twenty, to six.

Both leaders were slain, many others died as well, but Akio Daichi and two other council members survived. The triumvirate was formed and the number of builders was duplicated with the passing of time, although it did not reach its former glory. Chicahua had been tasked with roaming the land and saving all Builders reborn into Minecraftia. Out of his eight centuries alive, Chicahua had been roaming the expanse of the land for six hundred years in search of all who were worthy of life.

He found Alfonso during one of his pilgrimages, naked and dying in the central woods of the snow biome. The Spaniard had been hostile to him for a long time after they met, shouting in his native tongue as many foul words as he found towards the Nahuatl. But a persistent mind and a several decades of tutelage in the ways of the land finally forged a friendship stronger than steel between them.

Both were proud to consider each other as brothers.

And once more the bond they shared was at stake, once more they would stand shoulder by shoulder against the dangers of the night. To perish together or find glory as one, such was the way of life in Minecraftia, such was the reality of the land.

So, with thoughts of camaraderie and valor in his mind, the nobleman turned to face the remaining scavenger as it made its way to the top of the hill once more. Coldness in its eyes and hunger in its mind, the beast approached steadily despite its limp.

Chicahua was in pain and very annoyed at the beasts, having taken much of the joy out of seeing his brother after fifty long years. He was eager to see the night come to an end, and he would see to it that the undead did not bother them for a while longer after the battle.

The warrior charged.

Alfonso slowly retreated uphill, wanting to have the higher ground if the zombies got too close. Regular undead were no match for a Builder, but the fight against the scavenger and the battle from earlier that night against the skeletons and their minions had left him wounded and tired. Seven undead were three too many for him to handle at the moment, should he wish to win, he would need Chicahua's help.

"Bastardos infelices, couldn't you lot just stay dead?" The Spaniard turned around and clumsily made his way up the hill to regroup with his brother and the unconscious gal. The moon remained atop of the sky as the clouds made their way through the darkened ceiling of the earth, moving like vessels in open sea. Not caring for anyone who would see them, not heeding the call of life as they lazily moved without noticing existence itself as it unfolded below them.

But not all who roamed the planes of the universe had the luxury of living with no worry or despair, as it was fact that most who drew breath were to see it taken from them in the most brutal of ways. For it was blood that was demanded by the land, and blood it would have.

The Spaniard moved as fast as his wounded self would allow, the sounds of battle were echoing from atop of the hill. Groans and screeches of pain were audible as Chicahua dispatched the remaining scavenger, making short work of the rotting piece of flesh.

The thing with scavengers was, they were highly disciplined and were good in a defensive role, but they lacked the savageness of their regular counterparts. Having exchanged their ferocity for fencing ability was useful to an extent, but when wounds and injury prevented them from remaining in groups, they were vulnerable.

A lone scavenger was worth less than a regular zombie, but five zombies were worth less than a pair of scavengers.

Alfonso reached the top of the hill just as a loud scream of pain roared over the stillness of the night, it hoarse and broken, sounding of age and suffering. There was no mistaking the screech, Chicahua had ended the monster's life.

Alfonso stood before a corpse, an exhausted warrior, and a sleeping gal. Panting, sweating and bleeding, the Spaniard gave a tired smile and nodded towards the stone wall besieged by the undead group of seven.

"Ready my friend? Or would you prefer to lay down and whimper like a beaten dog?"

Chicahua smiled and grimaced as his torn flesh screamed in protest. Doing his best not to upset the wound he replied with a determined nod as he raised his blood drenched sword.

"After... You."

Both men turned to face the beasts as they raced towards them, salivating and wildly clawing at the air in desperation as the shapes of the Builders appeared in their sight.

Both men stood shoulder by shoulder and faced death and danger, steel in their eyes and iron in their hands, resolve in their hearts and pride in their lives. They were the sons and warriors of a land not their own, but at the same time as theirs as it could ever be.

Taken from a world and tossed into hell, snatched from the playground of men and thrown into all out war against a foe they could not defeat, but only battle against for the rest of eternity, till their flesh be hacked from their bones, till their blood drenched the fields of their land, till their bodies drew their last pained breath and all became numb to their limbs as the world turned to blur in their eyes.

Till life departed their worn out corpse, exhausted from the wars and battles no man could ever hope of wining. Until then thwy would stand, they would fight, and they would prevail. Proud sons of Minecraftia they were reborn, and proud overlords of the land they would depart.

The beasts reached the top of the hill. The warriors raised their blades to greet them with their sharp edges.

Blood splattered the dirt.

"What is it Twilight? Is something bothering you?" Princess Celestia asked as the lavender mare trotted into the castle, a hurried pace and worried look in her eyes.

"Princess!" Twilight Sparkle ran through the hall that led to her mentor's throne room. The walls seemed to be of wood instead of marble, and the floor was cold to the touch of her hooves. It was different from what she remembered but the warmth in her heart as she saw her teacher once more was enough to calm any unease she might have felt.

As Twilight approached the great hall of her sovereign and beloved mentor, the floor began to freeze. A light layer of ice began to expand from her hooves and spread towards the farthest reaches of the corridor. The walls shattered as the stone turned into walls of ice, unable to hold its own weight.

But Twilight kept on running, ignoring the destruction around her as the physical world gave way to a black void of nothingness, expanding forever and ever into the depths of existence itself. Into the nothing.

Celestia started to vanish as Twilight reached her, in the middle of a stone island surrounded by nothingness.

"Princess Celestia, I'm scared! I... I think I'm lost and I can't find my way back. Please help me!" Twilight sobbed in front of her mentor's hooves, wishing that the mirage of Celestia would aid her, but it did not. It muttered a few unheard whispers into the air and disappeared completely into a grey mist that lost itself in the void.

Twilight did nothing but weep as the island of stone around her began to dissolve, slowly but surely as the blackness consumed it inch by inch. Sparkle, unicorn of great magic and power lay motionless between it all. Doing nothing as the void devoured what little remained of her world.

Not that there was much she could do, after all. The void was the mistress of pain and suffering, the harbinger of heartache and ambition, the lady of death and freedom. It was the call of the land, it beckoned and taunted, it whispered and called. There were none who could defy it, for it was absolute. There were few who could survive it, for it was without mercy.

Weary traveler! Fearful page! Tread the roads of the land not. For it is mighty and strong, menacing and unfair. It will take hold of your body with its fangs and tear you asunder with its rage. But should you wish to carry on, should you desire the pain and hurt, then come in. I shall not welcome thee to the undoing of many, for you are not welcome in the slightest. But know this and know it well, should you defy and conquer, resist and survive, then you will be free of all and any who assumed themselves your masters...

A body in the snow stirred as magic took hold, a soul in submission rekindled as the fire of torches and the warmth of the arcane were felt. It was a sensation of power and mastery, a feeling of control like no other. Fear those who seem weak, for it is under their weakness that strength unmatched hides.

As soldiers and beasts battled and waged war, as blood and steel were joined, a simple being of a world untouched by anger began to recover life. And slowly but progressively, Twilight Sparkle came to life.

Her hands twitched and closed, taking hold of the biting snow beneath their palms. Her feet moved their toes, and the unfamiliar sensation of legs as they knelt was felt. Her arms applied pressure against the frozen dirt beneath them and her body began to rise.

Twilight Sparkle was not conscious, not yet. But her soul was unwilling to die.

Mere feet away from her moving frame, two men and warriors, two fighters and gods, faced their foes like true sons of the land. Slashing and hacking, severing limbs and tearing flesh off the bone. Warriors with steel, men without fear. The undead were reduced to three as the rest rolled down the hill in pieces.

"You're supposed to cover my right!" Alfonso growled as another of the beasts broke through Chicahuas defense and almost clawed at his sword arm.

The Aztec warrior did not respond, his injuries were painful and his mood was dampened by the addition of a large gash running down his left arm. It hung by his side, useless as the tendons and upper muscles had been shredded by the teeth of one of the beasts.

The remaining monsters were wounded horribly, their torsos were filled to the brim with hideous gashes and stab wounds. Blood flowed freely and in torrents from every single one and the beast to the far left was without an arm. The sun was raising fast on the horizon by the time, and without a hasty retreat they would surely burn.

Their master had left, their armies were gone. But the last order they received from the beast of beasts was to slaughter the girl, and even in their crazed murderous minds. They knew it would be suicide to return without her head.

And so they battled on. Without a sense of duty or pride, without anything but indifferent hunger and want. The beasts of the night stood their ground until the sun rose above the treeline and roasted their flesh, scorched their eyes and burnt their beings into nothingness.

They screeched and writhed in pain as the sunlight caressed their rotten skin. They attempted to run back into the forest where they would be safe from harm, but the fires licked and slithered across their bodies with faked love and concern for the impure bastards of the land.

In the end, the flames consumed them. Minecraftia cared little for the existence of a few weak ones, it ignored their cries of pain and misery as they died a slow and painful death. Perhaps it even chuckled? Maybe, maybe the land was cruel enough to take satisfaction in the poor and desolate who perished daily on its hills and mountains, on its plains and valleys.

Such was the way of the land, such was the way of Minecraftia...

As sunlight dawned and the beasts burned into the ground to meet with countless other corpses, the Builders collapsed to the ground. Exhausted and injured heavily, tired and mauled by the night. It was but mere luck that they survived assaults of such magnitude, even if they were not a daily occurrence.

Indeed they were not. Creepers launched a planned assault once every month, while skeletons led small raids almost every other night. Individual attacks by lonesome zombies were far more common than any other beasts attacking, and were much more easy to repel.

But now that the battle was over, it was time to gather arms and valor, mend wounds and bruises, fortify the defenses and await the next war to be waged. For there would be no respite from the endless battles, no rest for the wounded men and women of Minecraftia.

Alfonso and Chicahua knew this, and so they held no self pity for themselves. They stood up in silence and gathered the swords and armor of the fallen scavengers as well as their own. The extra supplies would aid in the battle to come, for it would be a month before a new wave of foes was led by the creeper.

The Spaniard groaned and picked up an iron sword from the ground, it was more like a rapier and the Spanish pirate hunter felt homesick as he saw it. The familiar shape, the weight, even the scent of the iron reminded him of the streets and plazas of Toledo. The women and wine, the bar fights and duels after a night of heavy drinking with some friends from a war not so long ago, on a shore not so far away.

Chicahua noticed his brother's sadness and placed a hand on his shoulder. His speech was badly impaired from the exposure of the bone to the chill of the night, so he simply nodded. Simple gesture, not hard to accomplish. And yet, it carried as much sentiment as a thousand words, written in the finest walls and murals of the most beautiful of temples in the Aztec cities of his former home.

Neither were immune to the moments of depression that lurked around every corner and behind every shadow of their eternal homes. Memories remained...

A former lover, a previous friend, a loving father or a worried mother. The days of camaraderie after long campaigns, the drinks and conversation among veterans of a war long past. The glory and pain, the joy and frustration, the pleasure and suffering... It was all in a life long gone, in a past forgotten by all except the ones it haunted.

Alfonso returned the gesture and both friends departed to different tasks. The Spaniard gathered the weapons and Chicahua returned to the gal.

The Aztec nobleman clutched at his wounded arm and grimaced as best as he could without upsetting his injured face. He was in poor condition, but he would not allow himself weakness. It was not the way a warrior of his heritage should act and he would not act in such a manner.

Chicahua bent down and thought of the best way to carry the sleeping gal. But then she stirred, almost unnoticeable but still enough to be recognized. Twilight moved her hand and frowned as a shiver ran down her spine. The cold was still making its presence known, and after a nightmare like the one she had, it would take more than fire to keep her warm.

But it was not only the fire from the nearby torches that had waken her. No, it had been much more. The will to survive and the power to make it reality, the magic and strength to force the body into a final push and last stand against death.

Chicahua did not attempt to carry her, instead he nudged her lightly in the shoulder, trying to wake her up. At first she seemed oblivious of his attempts, but eventually...

"Wha...? Where... Where am I?" Twilight Sparkle awoke, eyelids opening slowly as snow fell from her face. Her voice was hoarse from exposure to the cold merciless weather and her limbs were on the verge of freezing. She spoke in a paused and pained manner, needing more strength to form thoughts than it normally would have.

But she was strong and intelligent, a specimen unlike any other in many ways. It was obvious in the way her magic saved her, it made itself apparent in her resolve to survive. She was now a daughter of the land, a slave of its freedom and a master of her own destiny. Whether she liked it or not.

Twilight trembled as a current of air brushed against her skin, now bare and unprotected, naked but by the cover of a light fur coat.

She opened her eyes against her better judgement, having heard a voice of strength and care. She knew little of where she was or how she had gotten there, but help was welcome in any way it came.

"She's... waking... up." Chicahua said as best as he could despite the wounds in his cheek, blood had stopped flowing and had clotted around the gashes, but the bone was still feeling the cold brush of the frozen wind, and it ached in protest. The pain was horrible, but the Builder did not wish to scare the gal.

Alfonso heard his brother with ease since all was silent and calm, the monsters having departed long ago. He left the weapons in a pile and walked over to his brother and the gal. The Spaniard was not as excited to meet the newcomer, but it was a welcome break of routine, and some new allies would indeed come in handy should the monsters grow bolder and assault more frequently.

Both Builders knelt down beside the awaking girl, expecting a panicked reaction. Both secured their weapons away from her reach in case she had been a warrior back in the old world. One never knew whether death would come in the form of a foe or a possible ally.

Twilight closed her eyes again, feeling exhausted and cold, freezing and drained, but alive. She felt her mind recovering control of her body and movements. But something was amiss.

"Whe... Whe..."

"Shh, do not speak. Rest." It was a stallion's voice, it sounded like it. Twilight had regained control of her ears, as if it were a battle for her body. Her mind and will to survive aided by magic against the bitter cold that had so easily overwhelmed her before. But now she was regaining her dominance, recovering her body from the forces of ice and snow.

It had begun with her chest, the heat having retreated to the vital organs in a final stand to maintain the body alive. Then, with pure magic and determination, she managed to survive through the night, until the sun raised itself over the horizon and lent his aid along with whatever reserves of magical power remained in her.

And so it had happened. The many parts of her being began to be reoccupied by the forces of life, first it was her chest and head, then her stomach and neck before the warmth spread to her limbs. She had won the battle, she had survived the land for the night and even though many more skirmishes would be fought against it, she could rest for a while knowing she had won.

She would have let herself slip back into the warmth of unconsciousness, but being the curious mare she was, and having heard the voice of somepony. She was determined to see for herself who had helped her.

Twilight Sparkle once more forced her eyes open and slowly shook her head to clear the blurriness that tainted her eyesight. She slowly began to make out the features of what lay in front of her, the sky, pines and snow, a wooden house and several lit torches around her, a face...

She was not startled by it, for she was lacking in strength, she did little else other than look at it with mild curiosity. She tried to raise a hand to touch it but failed, her strength was non existent, having been spent on keeping her alive.

Twilight opened her mouth to speak but found a hand covering it gently, the face above her was smiling softly. The creature standing above her was not a stallion, but it was male. Dark colored skin and no facial hair, light brown eyes and a gentle smile, even if it seemed somewhat forced as if he were in pain.

Twilight knew nothing of him, and so she wished to learn. It was her impulse and born talent to wish to know more about anything she knew nothing about. The former unicorn mare had many questions, all of them of great importance, but she could barely remain awake.

The creature seemed to notice this and turned to face sideways, speaking to someone else. Perhaps another one of those beings? Twilight did not know. In the end they grabbed a hold of her by the arms and legs and carried her inside the wooden house while the mare wondered every passing second how she had become so elongated and where her hooves were.

She saw the strange limbs and awkward body she now possessed as her saviors carried her into the house, taking care not to harm her as they passed several pieces of furniture. Twilight noticed the blood on the floor as they walked, as well as the ragged clothes of the bearded male holding what should have been her hooves.

Twilight passed out yet again, sliding down the path of darkness that had shielded her before. The men carried her to a small bed at the inner depths of the wooden home, struggling despite her light weight. Both were exhausted and badly mauled after hours of endless fighting, blood had stopped flowing out of their wounds and instead clotted on their clothes and flesh, matting their hair and faces.

Alfonso felt his knees trembling over the effort, the slash across his leg looked menacingly at him, threatening to commence bleeding once more. Chicahua grunted and grimaced with ever step and shift in the weight of their cargo. But the bed was not too far anymore, a mere three feet away.

The Builders gently placed the unconscious Twilight on the bed and collapsed to the floor beside it, exhausted and drained.

Alfonso smiled and nudged Chicahua gently on the shoulder.

"Heh, seems to me, you're getting fairly weak, brother."

The Aztec attempted a smile, but he lacked the physical and mental strength to do so. Instead, he simply looked at the Spaniard before shaking his head and pointing a finger at him. Alfonso gave a tired laugh before standing up and walking over to a closet beside the bed.

"You forget that I single-handedly took care of a pair of archers and their lap dogs." Alfonso opened the closet and pulled out a pair of blankets and pillows. The blankets were old and had plenty of holes in them, while the pillows resembled rocks in texture and weight. Commodities were few and far between in the land of Minecraftia, for it was not the place to go should you desire comfort and peace.

The Spaniard laid the blankets on the cold wooden floor, pillows laying against the wall. Both warriors got as comfortable as one can get in a house with no fire, while the snow fell outside with merciless strength.

What is more dangerous than a trapped wolf? Than a wounded beast? What makes the hairs on the arms stand and the shiver run down our spines with such strength we become paralyzed? Tell me now, what is more dangerous than death itself?

Fear...

Not knowing what will happen, not wanting to know. Seeing the world burning in your dreams and waking up covered in sweat, praying it never happens. To fear is to be weak, it is to bend your knee to the world and those who are not afraid. But, who can resist fear? Who can look it in the eye and smirk as he drives a cold knife through its ribs? What monster could be capable of such deeds?

Oh, it is no monster my friend. Quite the opposite, for those who would see any danger in the eye and laugh in its face, those who smile at death and open their arms to welcome it in a warm embrace, in a final move to end it all. It is those who no longer hold anything dear to them in the cold, bitter world that has drained them of it all.

Those who fear nothing because their fears have come true, those who no longer have nightmares but memories, replaying over and over in their minds like a broken cassette. Do you imagine the pain and suffering? Cherish your nightmares and love every second of heart wrenching fear you experience, embrace the fear like a lover and learn to adore it.

Pray your fears remain being so, and do not turn into reality.

Those who are too late however, those who now see the world through cold eyes and depressed gazes, it is them whom we should be terrified of. For when everything has been damned to the farthest reaches of the nether, when the fires lick and bite into the few things we had ever loved, it is then that we no longer care.

For the native as he ran, for the wounded man as he escaped the burnt remains of his home, for him, it was reality. His unsought fears had turned into his reality, and forever it would haunt him in memories, of a slaughtered village, of worms and maggots writhing in obscene ecstasy through the exposed intestines of the only woman he had ever loved.

He wept as he ran, he mourned and damned it all into the nether. He prayed for death and an end to it all, he cursed at the gods in silence as his feet moved with speeds fueled by hatred and rage. But no fear, he was above fear as fire is above warmth, as frost is above ice.

This was no longer a man of weakness, he was no longer a peaceful being like he had always been intended to be. He had left a life of calm and peace behind when he gazed into the lifeless eyes that had once looked into his own with love, care, lust and adoration.

Never to return, never to hold her again, forever doomed to remember the worms and blood, the dirt and pain. His unspoken screams of terrified anguish as he had seen her die at the hands of a being so much more powerful than himself, unable to do anything but weep and suffer. Like a beaten dog, like a worthless animal.

Like a man in fear.

The native ran through the foliage, breaking branches and snapping twigs. Trying his hardest to create as much noise as his tortured soul needed to reflect in screams, taking out his rage on the flora of a defenseless forest. What else could he do? He was weak, he was pathetic. As far as Minecraftia was concerned, the worthless native had gotten as he deserved.

For being weak and small, for not being as strong as the gods made his foe, for being what he had been intended to be. He suffered because of the same principle by which he had lived his entire life, a peaceful existence, a life of not harming and sharing, a life of kindness, honesty, loyalty and generosity.

The native stopped running and looked around at the destruction he had caused. There were broken twigs and snapped branches littering the floor, birds had stopped chirping and animals had abandoned the area, everything was silent. And he hated the silence, he despised it. His eyes grew wide and his nostrils flared as he looked at all he had accomplished.

Nothing.

His love was still dead, his home destroyed, the bastard was still alive and well. Everything he did was tire himself, and cause a nuisance for the local fauna. He fell to his knees and wept yet again, hearing the voices of the gods laugh at him and mock his pain. He wished for something, for anything.

Be it death and a sad ending, he did not care.

Unbeknownst to him, the world's silence became one of fear. The gods ceased their laughter and instead gazed curiously at the broken man as he recollected himself. The land of Minecraftia, beautiful woman, dreadful executioner, turned her head to look at the native. It was completely unknown to the man, but he had just broken the seal that bind him into a world of submission.

Slowly, carefully, viciously the loving mistress of Minecraftia extended her arms and took the native's soul in her palms. She took it and elevated it high into the heavens before crushing it with such anger and rage that any mortal man to have seen it would have feared the very sight of the heavens.

The land destroyed the innocent soul all natives held upon birth, she ravaged it, depraved it and transformed it into something new, something more powerful. The native stopped weeping and stood up, his eyes gazing into the horizon as the sun began to lower, giving way to the night.

He felt the urge to run back and hide inside his home, but he crushed the thought beneath his anger. Minecraftia smiled.
He knew what would happen should he stay outside when the moon rose, but he cared not. Minecraftia urged him onward.
He thought of death and pain, he considered the years of hiding like a lesser being, and he felt fury. Minecraftia held his hand.
He thought of the man that had taken everything he held dear, and only one thought crossed his mind. Revenge.
Minecraftia embraced him and made the native her acolyte.

The broken and suffering initiate stood and gazed in the direction of his burnt village, his eyes shining with a new feeling, sweet and bitter, sour and burning. He felt ambition for the first time. The heretical feeling washed over his mind and body like the crystal waters of the fountain of youth. His past life of sharing and communitarian ideals burnt and writhed in the floor as greed and want overtook him like flames did to lumber.

He had a plan, but he needed help.

The native decided to end his past life and all he had been up til then, starting by his lack of a name.

Natives had never held names, for it was a separatist tradition and it would have only lead to the death of them all. Such were their customs, that no man was to hoard property as his own. All goods were communal and belonged to everyone, homes were not of private use as it had been all whom had helped in building them. Families were nonexistent since children needed to learn how to love all and everyone in the community as equals. Having them prefer a group over the whole would separate their village and lead to disaster.

It was only through complete union that they had survived, through lack of individuality and through the sharing of everything. For the night wanted them to be separated, the moon desired for them to be fighting amongst each other so her children could slaughter them all.

But the native saw no more usage in those customs if a single man could deal so much damage despite their union. He wanted to have his revenge, not the village's, not the community's. It had been the love of his life that had died, and so, despite having broken the rules of his people by loving a single woman, despite having being a heretic for loving her and being loved back by her. He wanted his revenge.

The native knew little of names, but he chose one that had always made him proud.

"Blacksmith..."

His trade of old, his one particular ability that had always made him feel different from all. Once a source of shame and religious worry, his trade was now much more.

It would be the name he wrote in the floor of the land with the blood of the Builder. It would be the name written down in books of history after his passing. It would be the name his fellow natives would inscribe above his grave after having him crucified for treachery.

His eyes shone with eagerness, both for delivering retribution and being killed in such a grisly manner. He no longer cared for death, but he would welcome it once it came, for he no longer had anything to look forward to.

In silence he made his way back to the ruined village, ignoring the howls of the undead around him, and, as if by Minecraftia's doing, the undead ignored him as well.

It was midday, the sun shone through a window on the side of the house, illuminating the dark room and announcing itself to the sleeping figures inside.

Twilight Sparkle sneezed and groaned, she covered her eyes with a hand and turned sideways on the hard bed.

"Ugh... Spike... What time is it?"

She searched for her pillow to cover her face with, but found nothing. Frowning, Twilight groggily opened her eyes and looked around.

She gasped when she noticed she was no longer home, in her library, in her bed and room. She tried to sit up like she would have had she been a pony, but felt herself moving strangely, in a manner alien to her. Twilight fell facefirst into the mattress, her scream of shock muffled by the fabric.

She regained her balance and looked down at her body, what she saw was not what she had expected.

Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat, and her former hooves shot up to hold the sides of her head.

Twilight Sparkle screamed.

"Que carajo?!" Alfonso's eyes snapped open and his hand darted to meet the hilt of his sword.

"Tlein pano nikan?!" Chicahua's hands shot to his injured face as soon as the words left his mouth. He had strained his wounds too far.

Twilight screamed again as she waved her hands frantically in front of her face, she kicked the covers off of her and looked at her feet and elongated body with confusion.

"Calm down! Maldicion! Calm down!" Alfonso was on his feet in a second, trying to get Twilight to stop screaming. He held her by the wrists and looked into her eyes, speaking words of solace and calm to her.

Twilight was afraid, she had seen the face before but had lacked the coherent thought to feel anything. In her mind a dozen thoughts sped through, none were comforting, but the man before her spoke and his words were as honest as the sea was blue. She saw no malice in him, but still found no innocence. It was as if he were a mixture of the two, and still lacked either.

In the end she stopped and looked frightfully into his eyes, seeing little other than his irises.

"Where am I? Where's Spike? Wh-"

"Shh, quiet. My friend and I will explain, but first you must eat and we must tend to our wounds." The Spaniard pressed a finger against Twilight's lips and loosened the grip on her wrists.

He was not a man to allow his impulse cloud his judgement, but it had been so long since he had last held a woman in his arms. He felt himself lost in her eyes, deep purple and beautiful, young and innocent. His mouth felt dry and his body warmed up, his hands were reluctant to let go of the flesh they held.

Twilight retracted her hands from the man's grip, eyeing him curiously. She did not notice the eager look in his eyes as he explored her figure like a poor man does to a chest full of coins, nor did she see when the other man placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Alfonso... We... Should get the... Food..."

The Spanish veteran violently turned to meet his friend's gaze, glaring at him. But the look on Chicahua's face spoke more than his words did.

The Aztec was looking at him warily, reproaching his actions and telling him to leave the gal be. Both had been young when death took them, both had been eager to taste all the pleasures life had to offer. From drink to food, to battle and women, they had seen it all. But the Spaniard had done all of it in a more savage way, drinking till he stood no more, eating till his coin ran dry, killing to his heart's content and being with as many women as his pay could afford.

Life at sea was merciless, and so he had taken every chance to enjoy life as much as he could.

Chicahua had been a nobleman, of highborn family and of refined tastes. He refused common drinks and kept from drunkenness as it was unfit for royalty. He had eaten the foods that a noble would eat, but never ate more than what manners would allow. In war he had killed, but preferred to take prisoners so his gods would be glad with him. As for women, he was not one to take any and all. Only the fairest and pure had he allowed himself to hold, and all in secrecy and privacy.

Yet both were of noble intentions and kind hearts, neither would do harm to an innocent, for such reasons they became friends.

Alfonso broke eye contact and nodded, acknowledging his error. He slowly walked away from the bed and refused his body the pleasures of a forbidden fruit, as he walked over to another room of his home.

Twilight had her eyes closed, ignorant of the battle of will that had taken place before her. The young gal now tried to recollect her thoughts, and make sense of the strange situation she found herself in. Her eyes opened and she sighed, defeated.

Chicahua looked at Twilight as she looked around the room, her curious gaze trying to make sense of it all. He understood why Alfonso had felt the way he did, it was rather obvious and understandable for a man to react that way after hundreds of years in solitude. For the few women in Minecraftia were difficult to... convince.

Twilight's mind was a blur, she did not know where she was, she knew nothing of the men she was in company of and her body was no longer her own. The former mare had tried to cast a spell but found herself depleted of magical energy, it was at least a comfort to know she could still summon the arcane powers.

Twilight concentrated and asked her magic to levitate a small pebble from the ground, simple and easy. Her magical aura traveled from her mind and heart and coursed through her veins like it always had, but this time, instead of going up to her head and into a horn she no longer had, the magic traveled to the fingers on her hands.

She recalled the fingers from many a book on anatomy she had read. Many bipedal races and animals lived in Equestria, and thus it would be stupid to assume she would be surprised to see the appendages. Although it was certainly disturbing to see them on her.

The magic went into her fingertips and she tried to direct it towards the pebble, but the energy failed to leave her fingers. It stuttered and died, leaving a frustrated Twilight glaring at the pebble.

The Aztec warrior smiled and decided to make a friend in a land where allies where hard to come by and enemies were aplenty.

Chicahua cleared his throat to grab Twilight's attention, she turned to face him and eyed him curiously if a bit warily.

"May I ask your name?" The Aztec asked rather eagerly, for it was a rare treat when any of them were able to meet new Builders.

Twilight blinked and words failed her, she noticed the eagerness and wondered how much information was safe to share, and which details to keep to herself. She was no longer in Equestria, after all, and she was not certain whether the inhabitants of this new land were friendly or not.

"I'm Twilight Sparkle, and I... Well, kind of just appeared here..." She smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of her neck with a hand, but the still alien feeling of fingers made her jump a little.

"Oh, yes, I was the one that found you actually. You were reborn by a clearing just west of here." Chicahua smiled again but found himself forced to cover his wounded face with a hand after the outburst of speech reminded him of his condition. Twilight noticed and cast a curious glance at the man.

Her eyes widened when she saw the hideous scars and deep wounds all over his bare torso and face.

"By Celestia! What happened to your face? Are you hurt?" Twilight gasped as she saw the many wounds and clotted trails of blood on Chicahua's body, she knew not much of the man but still worried over his well-being like any good pony would have. "Do you want me to call your friend?"

Chicahua waved a hand dismissively and turned his back on her, shielding her eyes from the worst of his injuries.

"It's nothing... We'll explain after tending to our wounds... Please, rest awhile." He managed a quick bow before walking off in the direction the other man had gone, leaving Twilight alone in the room.

She was confused, very confused. As if life had not dealt a heavy blow with almost having her killed, she was now in a strange body, with two strangers and their wounds. Twilight Sparkle knew little as to how she should react. Panic would help her not, yet she felt on the border of a breakdown, it had been blood on his face after all. But there would still be more in store for the little innocent young woman.

She felt the cold air brush against her body.

"Thank Celestia I still have my fur..." The thought died as soon as it had formed. The fur that covered her body was not her own. "Oh my..."

Twilight Sparkle screamed once more.