Chapter 20: Hope
I didn’t know what to do. For once in my life, I was completely and utterly lost. Back in the Overworld, all I needed to do was build and survive. The world was mine and I crafted and rearranged it to align to my image of beauty and creativity. As the silence pervaded the lands and oceans, my next objective, be it a building or a machine, would come to fruition as I would plan and mine. Though difficulties arose and blocked my way, I would persevere. No monster could stop me, no landmass could slow me, no darkness could misdirect me.
I was so very lost in the new world. This land was not mine to command. I was an invader, a blight upon the earth. For once, I did not know what to do.
These creatures fought with courage and tenacity to rival my own. When I heard the stirrings of the dying day in the Overworld, I had a blade in hand and a stout heart. Though shadows lengthened, my heart did not go astray until the first lights of dawn. I fought the monsters to protect myself and my precious creations. The buildings and constructs I had poured my heart and soul into were extensions of myself that I could not bear to see harmed. The hiss of a creeper, the gurgle of zombies, I feared not the night but what it heralded. I was not afraid of the dark, but I knew it is the harbinger of something terrible.
I wondered if these creatures that surrounded me with scared and worried eyes viewed me in the same manner as I see the creatures of the Overworld. I saw a town not once, but twice, built by hands most certainly not my own. Its interiors and borders were protected with a furiosity inherent to what I would expect one to protect heart and home with. Juggernaut had left my presence, but I saw same spirit in her eyes whenever we met. I did not belong. This was not my home.
Home... I missed home.
I could not help but sigh in fatigue and exasperation. Darkness and questions clouded my mind; it tired me to no end. I could not help but take out my journal and start chronicling my experiences once again. A horned creatures that replaced its weary predecessor eyed my book with a hungry look, but made no moves other than its overt curiosity. I knew not why, especially because its reaction did not resemble my guard’s reactions by any means.
Was I really so grave a threat to these creatures? My only moves against them was an attack on Lierah out of fear, regrettable as that was, and defending myself against Soldier and Juggernaut. I could perceive the mistaken intent with Lierah’s attack as malicious instead of an act of defense. That could be possible.
These creatures, other than the curious one, glared at me as if I were a creeper ready to blow. I saw tense muscles, hard eyes, unblinking stares. All of them were still, ready to pounce with the slightest wrong move on my part. They were not the only ones jumpy; I – too – was nervous around my guards. I did nothing to give them justifiable cause for their fears. All I did was sit down and write. The more I wrote, the more I thought, and I really needed to think. I had never been so ensnared in my entire life. I felt like I was stranded on a platform in the middle of a sea of lava with no way to escape. I felt the undeniable urge to run, but I had nowhere to run to. I could use the Ender Pearl or the potion, but those two items were my only trump cards. I could not use them. Not yet. Not until the last, possible moment.
I sighed again, sinking my head into my palms. I could see the horned one through the gaps in my fingers, still staring at me. I didn’t like that one anymore; it made me uncomfortable. Its gaze reminded me of my curious fascination that I gave redstone when I first discovered it. ‘What was it? What could it do?’ I felt like some experiment under its eyes.
I could feel the familiar burst of power and flash of material down my arm. The comforting and familiar weight of a sword weigh in my grasp, causing each and every being in the tent to shift uncomfortably. I knew I was trapped, but I could not help but feel a perverse pleasure that my mere presence or the thought of violence on my part gave them cause to fear me. By no means would I win in a scuffle with over a dozen of these creatures. Yes, it was likely I could wound or even kill some of them, but I would fall given a little time. I did not want to die. I have nothing to live for here, but I did not want to die. That impulse is buried in me so deep it has become second nature in every situation. Does the other side of a stone wall contain the bubbling heat of magma? I have a bucket on hand to combat that. Does a darkened cave contain legions of monsters? I have an escape route planned for such an occasion.
I did not want to die. I fought death with every iota of strength and wiles I could muster. That instinct of self preservation was buried deep, it talons yanked on the darkest depths of my soul. I wondered why I fight so hard? All I do is build.
Upon that thought, my sword shifted into that of my familiar pickaxe. Such a simple compound tool of wood and diamond was above all my most precious tool other than the sword. With it, I consume and recreate the vast resources of a limitless world into any construct I can fathom. Only the very bottom of the world is immune to my power. The bedrock is the very foundation of the Overworld and Nether; what secrets lie beyond the eternal darkness of the Void Fog? I’ve dropped items into the only hole I’ve managed to find in the bedrock in a vain attempt to discover what lies in the darkest depths. My tests to date have produced no results. Even pouring a bucket of water into the shadowy depths does not produce results or an identifiable bottom. More than once I’ve contemplated jumping into that hole and discover what mysteries lurk in the dark, but that instinct to preserve my monotonous life reared its head and I obeyed.
The sword and the pick. My trusted friends.
At that moment, I looked at my pick in a whole new light. I could just dig straight down to this world’s bedrock, covering up my descent as I go. I had not seen these creatures display any abilities similar to mine. It was possible then. It was a hope. A mad hope, but it was there like a torch pushing back the tendrils of night.
I could just dig straight down. I hadn’t thought about such a tactic in my fight with Juggernaut - Barrakade, as she called herself - due to my weakened state and her vigilance in my capture; it simply was not an option I could do without her instant and vicious counterattacks. I was close to death and the same options shot through my head. Do I use the potion or the Pearl? I could not, and the realization was cerebral. Using the Potion of Swiftness would kill me through sheer exhaustion alone. I was wounded enough that simply using the Ender Pearl would injure me enough that I could not further escape if it did not kill me in the process.
When I awoke from unconsciousness, Juggernaut was waiting for me. Not attacking, waiting. I was thrown off guard by the sudden realization. I was not attacked with the intended result to die, I was attacked so I could be captured. It was absurd. I was stunned into submission, not sure what to do. I had never hesitated attacking monsters. Ever. Of course, I may simply evade a monster if I do not need to fight, but if it my intent to attack, I do not yield until the deed is done or I am far too wounded to complete my intended task. Juggernaut could have killed me on her own with ease, and she did not.
I surrendered. Just like that, I surrendered. I feared death with a passion. If I knew without any semblance of doubt or uncertainty that Juggernaut was going to kill me, I would have fought with even further tenacity, but that was not her intent. I was to be captured, and I allowed it to happen out of self-preservation. By the Powers, what could she possibly want with me alive?
Until she escorted me to my current position, those thoughts pervaded my conscious like a pestilence. Even now, I do not know why I was left alive. It does not make any sense. I was an invader, and I was shown mercy for the second time. By the Powers, why!?
Every creature in the tent advanced a step; in a fit of anger, I had swung my pickaxe in an arc. My momentary rage and confusion cooled. It would not help me to force a confrontation, so I forced myself to take some deep breaths to calm my shaky nerves.
In...
Out...
In...
Out...
I set the pickaxe head on the soft earth, my hand tight around the shaft. I cannot understand these creature’s speech, but I expected they could recognize intent. I disarmed myself for them. I did not wish to provoke violence between myself and their kind. As I predicted, there was a noticeable relaxation of muscles and softening of glares. They did not trust me as far as they could throw me, but it was progress. Slowly, the creatures backed their hindquarters up against the walls of my impromptu cell. That other creature – Scholar, as I now call it – still stared at me with that curious shine in its eyes. I must have missed it leave, for a second creature had left and only just returned with a bucket of water. Scholar nudged the bucket towards me. What did it want me to do with it? Tricks?
I sighed once again, lifting my pick up for examination. The lights shined through the crystalline, scattering the meager light into a blast of hues. It was yet another feature of this world, but for once... I could not bring myself to care. Right in front of me was a marvelous sight, an event that would fill a library with my thoughts if I witnessed it in the Overworld. Each hue spoke of feelings and sensations I could not hope to ponder as of yet, but I could not embrace it through the looming sense of apathy that had taken root.
One of the creature’s seemed unnerved by my recent actions and sent one of their ranks out the tent flap. How I longed to follow and enter the night with its torrential rain and stupid moon. It was not meant to be, for I knew I would never be allowed outside in my state and with their concerns.
My pick fell to the ground with a thud before I blinked and hefted the pick once more. I knew it was only in my mind, but the pick felt heavier than usual. I switched to my sword and gave it a few practiced swings, ignoring the twitchy responses it produced in my wardens. The blade was perfectly balanced, exactly equal to the wooden handle. I had never overcompensated a swing, never felt the weight to be any more than an extension of myself. It was a part of me.
The pickaxe did not share that sentiment. It was cumbersome and topheavy, requiring a full-body effort in order to properly utilize the tool. It did not rend nearly as much damage as a sword and I could not deflect skeleton arrows with it. It was, in almost every aspect, an inferior tool. It’s only redeeming grace happened to be I could tunnel and mine resources. It is a wonderful tool, but hardly something special.
So why does the pick feel so natural in my grasp?
My internal clock claimed it has only been a little over two days since I was deposited in this room like a useless pile of gravel. Okay, that was unfair of me, but that does not change my opinion on my situation. Why was I just sitting in a room doing nothing? Surely, I was not there to keep such dour and serious faces company. These comrades of Juggernaut – Barrakade. I should start using her name – looked ready to kill.
Despite the unpleasantness, I could not help but admire their fortitude and stamina. It took every ounce of strength I could muster to sit on that cobblestone block without a fuss. It is in my blood to move and create, slay and harvest, mine and place. I cannot tolerate being sedentary. I could at least build a better cell, if that’s what they want. It would represent the cessation of my freedom, but at least I would stop being bored. I always think best when my hands are busy.
Winged things, let me build a better cell for you. It will only take two minutes.
I hoped they don’t make too much of a fuss if I do a little bit of work. Some is needed out of necessity rather than desire, however; I could feel my strength dwindling little by little. If I did not get something to eat soon, I would not last much longer. I still had those seeds. A little farm was in order.
I stood tall, stretching my limbs to their utmost limits. Bones and tendons cracked under the strain. A jerk to the left, and a few pops echoed and died within the tent. Next came the right, and a few of my captors winced at the sound.
Alright, time to get to work. I did not have a workbench on me, so creating one of them would be necessary. That wouldn’t be too hard. But first, I would require some water, and I know just where to get it. But first, I needed a proper farm.
I rubbed my hands together in preparation. My movements had stirred my guards out of their languor, piquing their curiosity and concern as to what I was up to. Well, they were about to discover that for themselves. I cracked the knuckles in my hands, producing another synchronized wince.
Quick as a flash, I thrust my closed fist into the dirt at me feet. Upon contact, the dirt shifted and buckled as if suddenly composed of liquid. It was not enough, so I punched the ground once again. That time, my target successfully lost cohesion and became naught but energy for me to absorb as I pleased. A singular gasp echoed through the tent.
I couldn’t help but stop for a moment. If they were surprised by my abilities, than I could conclude that none present had ever seen anything similar to what I do. That begged the question: how did they live in buildings if they didn’t craft them? Another mystery to unravel at a future point.
The silence that pervaded the tent had become an instant uproar. The creatures babbled to each other incessantly, not that I could understand them. I heard Barrakade’s name tossed about, and even that world Lierah used. Youkneecorn? I think that was it. Some creatures inched forward, but one of the leather-wings – the leader, I assumed – said something about Barrakade and their movements ceased. I felt the stirrings of a smile cross my lips; Barrakade intimidated more than me, apparently.
I missed my trusty workbench. It was not often I ventured without one, but recent events – raiding an unsuspecting town – necessitated me to travel as light as possible. It was a foolish mistake on my part, but I had the foresight to carry enough wood to create what I so desired. It took little effort to produce some wood and split it into planks. Four planks. With a single strike of my palm, a block of wood always produced four planks. It felt all too natural now, each step a dance I mastered long ago. Four planks, just enough to create a bench and continue my work.
Just as I set them down, a burst of winds flashed through the tent, followed soon by a shout. I could not stop my actions however. My hand was divine judgement, and I commanded my will be done. I felt the tug of magic draining from my own body and into the wood. It was an act of beauty, rearranging the natural order of the universe. Mass trembles, molecules rearrange and expand, and within the space of batting an eye, my creation stands proud. Nothing could have stopped me in the middle of my work. It was this strange compulsion of mine; whenever I set my sights on completing some objective, I did not dally; I simply performed it. I do not ponder on how to build a skyscraper that pierces the heavens, I simply do it.
How ironic; I ponder so much, but not on the things that I do best.
I knew the voice that tried to interupt me; how could I forget it? I turned around and saw exactly who I expected. Barrakade stood in the doorway next to a creature with a protrusion on its head. Barrakade stood tall and firm like some forgotten war god. I’m not sure why she appeared so angry, so I waved to hopefully cool her wrath. She ignore me and talked with her comrades, so I just returned to my work. I was hungry and in desperate need of food; as much as I respected or even feared her, the physical drain was a constant tug in my skull.
Wood into planks, planks into sticks; if I required farmland, I needed the proper tools. I could always beat a zombie to ashes with a fish, but I could not use it to till soil.
I should put that on a wall.
I admit, I was still nervous about the quadrupeds. I did not want to get attacked, especially by Barrakade. Using a few precious seconds, I took a moment to scan the room. The creatures surrounding me were all glaring at me, but their posture was controlled and still. Some of them glanced to Barrakade, eyes questioning.
Interesting... A hierarchical command structure? Was the glorious Sovereign ranked even higher on the chain of command then? What of Scholar? Soldier? Lierah?
Those were questions fit for another time. Two sticks, two stone cubes: the recipe for a normal garden hoe. Of course, I had diamonds stored within my very soul, but I did not wish to use such precious resources just yet. Diamond is stronger than stone, but stone would suit my needs at the moment. There was no need to squander, despite diamonds being plentiful in this strange place. Old habits die hard; I am wary of the shadows and conserve resources as if they are the last of their kind.
I danced the steps again, the motions a part of my very being by that point. I cannibalized my seat, but I could always get another. I could use simple dirt if I so wished. As I performed the motions – jamming a pair of sticks into the cobblestone – I contemplated darker thoughts. I have the power of creation in the palm of my hand. Why do I fear these creatures so? These creatures have brute strength and skill, wiles to rival even the cleverest creeper, and flight that can match the ghastly ghasts that haunt the Nether with their tormented cries.
I had power they did not. I could rip this world asunder beneath their feet. I could flood the streets with boiling magma and shield myself in a dome of solid diamond. I could make a tower and flood the lands with water.
I quietly banished those thoughts. I was not that kind of person. Despite my capture – unwilling as it was – I would not dare mistreat these creatures. Despite our misunderstandings, despite my own imprisonment, I was eager for emotional contact. Every time I encountered the Endermen, I gave them their due respect despite their hostile impulses. We have never interacted or spoken to each other...
Well... that’s not true. We have spoken. Or I should say I have spoken to them. How long ago was that? How many ages past? How many days? Over how many deserts, mountains, and oceans was that? My fateful meeting with the Endermen. I could never forget it; it was the last time I ever spoke.
Again, I shook off those thoughts. It was not the appropriate time to contemplate such bad times from my chronicled past. It was time to grow some food. I could feel my strength slowly slipping away like some phantasmal current. I dragged my hoe across the moist ground, but something didn’t feel right. The familiar drain of energy I feel from altering my environment was not present. Rough lines tore through the minute grassroots, but the absence of power from my own internal well did not come.
I cannot alter this world. I can mine its resources just like the Overworld, but I struggle with forcing my will against the matter here. I managed to absorb stone by the hundreds underground, but I had yet to try and force an indirect change.
I needed to absorb something for it to work. Interesting...
Clutching a fist, I thrust it into the ground adjacent to my hole, absorbed it, and quickly recast it back in its place. Scholar made a sound like a crying ocelot, but I gave up trying to understand Scholar since I first lay eyes upon it.
I tried it once again. As soon as my hoe touched the ground, I felt the subtle drain of power. I smiled and trailed the hoe across my tiny farm. I followed the same steps for each adjacent square for a total of four tilled spots of land. I only had four seeds, but it would do. If my theory was correct, I would have some fresh wheat in a day or two. However long my day is to these creatures, I had no idea. Several days should have passed already, but the darkness right outside the tent flap hid everything not illuminated by strange, glowing lights. So not only do the fundamental laws of nature work differently, but the days are far, far longer.
As are the nights. Oh no, I do not like that.
Suppressing an urge to shudder, I walk to the bucket they creatures brought inside. The creatures scuttled around me, afraid to come close or maintaining a careful distance away from my grasp. I could hear the thunderous downpour just outside the tent flap. I was briefly tempted to bolt for the door, but I would have to fight past Barrakade and Scholar to do so while simultaneously outrunning over a dozen guards. I still had the potion and Pearl. I could do it, but I was still far too weak to attempt an escape. Not yet. A little longer. I needed my strength.
I turned on my heels, absorbed the bucket to convert it to my needs, conjured it again, and set it down on the ground. My shirt had been plastered to my skin for some time due to rainwater. After wringing the offending liquid out, I half hazardly put it back on and poured my water to hydrate the soil. I reserved a seed for each one, and at long last, my work was complete. All I needed now was a little time.
I sighed happily and conjured my last remaining loaf of bread. I was starving and devoured the loaf in seconds. While I admit my table manners were not up to par, it was not enough to produce the utter silence purveying the tent. Even Barrakade was quiet. Her eyes were not surprised or angry but... pitiful.
Before I could contemplate her actions any further, another horned creature stumbled into the tent. Just like with Scholar, I could not tell the gender of this creature with its heavy, black robes. I assumed Barrakade was female due to her similarities to the smaller female I encountered when trying to enter town. I was proven correct when she only just entered; her teats on her underbelly proved that. I was curious as to why these creatures randomly decided to wear clothes and then take them off. Another curiosity, despite the bindings now surrounding Barrakade’s abdomen and hindquarters.
BAMF!
Oh, crap.
I darted to the nearest corner, nearly running over the guards in my haste. I know the sound of a teleporting Endermen anywhere. That implosion was the universal warning that I had done something very foolish and was going to die for it. I dropped my seeds in panic and conjured my sword. My tent was not the best circumstance for a fight, but it was better than the darkened shadows and never-ending rain outside. There was limited room to maneuver, so my back to the wall was the best way to combat an Enderman’s teleportation skills.
I stood there, sword ready and muscles tight. The tent was tall enough to contain their massive height. I stood for a few moments, waiting for the oncoming rush of magic darkness and horrible, soul-rending scream.
It was an event that never happened. I know that implosion noise as well as a creeper’s deadly hiss all too well. I heard a buzz of conversation from the quadrupeds, but I ignored them. I had bigger concerns... but where did that Enderman go? Why was I not dead? Why was I not attacked?
Barrakade’s hooves moved slightly across the dirt and grass. I knew she held only concern for my safety and actions in her eyes, but she had no idea the danger a single Enderman posed. The language barrier still firmly in place, I closed my fist and opened it to reflect the Enderman’s teleportation flash. Barrakade’s brow rose in confusion, said something, and shook her head. Irritated, I repeated the gesture.
I could see the winding gears in her skull, the struggle to understand words across species and lands. Thankfully, the newcomer seemed to have a better understanding of what I was trying to say than Barrakade. They bantered back and forth until Barrakade tugged on my shirt and pointed at the newcomer.
BAMF!
Damn it!
I couldn’t believe it. My conscious mind understood what had just transpired, but my reflexes and muscle memory overrode all rational thought. Thousands of years of training and conditioning roared through every synapse in my skull. Fear. Courage. Strength. Attack. Defend. Danger.
It took a few seconds for my battle fury to quell and my death grip to relax. I pointed at the teleporter and made the sign. Barrakade nodded yes.
By the ghast’s grisly cries, these creature’s could teleport. If my daily supply of fear hadn’t been expunged by that point, I would have run myself through with my own blade.
In some desperate attempt to retain my sanity and grasp on my situation, I pointed to Barrakade and repeated the gesture, but she shook her head.
Thank you, whatever deities there may be.
Language was one problem, but pictures were another. I may not have been able to convey an Enderman’s nature through speech even if I was willing to talk, but I could do so through pictures. I strode to my workbench, quickly creating a simple wooden sign to write on. My drawing skills were as awful as my memory, but they would suffice to get my point across.
Not dying is more important than learning to properly draw, after all.
I quickly had three creatures scratched across the wooden surface: myself, one of these creatures, and an Enderman. I pointed towards the quarupedal creature and gestured, and she responded by grabbing my quill and ink and drawing a horn on its head like Scholar and Lierah.
So... the horns had something to do with it. I don’t understand how that was a prerequisite, or even how Sovereign has such a protrusion and wings, but I filed that query away for later. I pointed at the Enderman and gestured the same teleportation sign once again.
I could see the horror plastered across her face before I was even finished. Yes, oh-kicker-of-my-ass, that is an Enderman. The blight of the night, the only sapient entities in the Overworld, the soul screamer. The Endermen.
Swords spoke louder than words and it was easy to convey the thought of the Enderman’s violence. Frustrating as it was, it was possible. Barrakade began to immediately issue commands to her underlings and one very particular creature. This one, like the newcomer and Scholar, had the same horned protrusion on its head. I didn’t know what such a thing did to give it the same powers as an Enderman, but I wanted nothing to do with it. I had enough problems.
Despite its possible powers, my eyes were drawn to its hindquarters. Plastered across its skin was a cylindrical object with a thin, long protrusion at one end. As I pondered the mark, my mind regressed back in time to my encounter with Lierah. She - too - had a mark on near her haunches.
I had not yet thought anything of such marks, but now that I did so under this creature’s watchful eyes, my mind began to wonder. I had seen only four different types of creatures as of yet. Most fell into the winged kind, but I saw more and more of the horned ones as time progressed. I had trouble differentiating these creatures from each other, but perhaps these marks could help?
I would have started firing arrows at random and completely indiscriminately when my guards moved next. Compelled by some obscure and unknown impulse, they moved in unison, each standing at attention and bringing a hoof to their brow. Such strange antics were unknown to me. Granted, I may have had some strange quirks of my own in their eyes. To each their own, I suppose. Their eyes were all drawn to the door. I felt the moist wind caress my back, cooling the water and sweat still clinging to my shirt. My shirt would never dry at that rate, but I really did not care about such things. Curiously, I turned around, wondering what could possibly produce such a strange custom.
My brain froze. Thinking back as I currently am writing this, I cannot possibly fathom what I was feeling at that exact moment. The moment turned around, my soul iced over in the bitter-cold grip of death. Gold armor, hard eyes. It had come back.
I had never moved so fast in my life unassisted by potions. I had not even contemplated retreat or attack; I was suddenly in the corner, huddling in fear with nothing but my blade shaking in my palms. That same undiluted, belligerent sense of trepidation harnessed every particle of rational thought and cognitive function and ordered a complete retreat.
I was my own man in the Overworld. In a sense, everything I did was the ultimate accomplishment. If only those creature’s knew the trials I endured every night and day. When the sun rose, I collected resources from the deepest depths of the land. I did such a task on my own, without help and with only the tools I created myself. At night, I braced myself and my home against legions of undead foes and monsters.
At the end of the day, at the beginning of the night, I could feel proud that any accomplishment, big or small, was mine and mine alone. Building a monument, or simply surviving to see the next dawn, I was content.
That was exactly what made seeing that creature again so terrible. I felt proud of my accomplishments, but seeing those eyes, I felt those warm feelings stipped away. I was cowering in fear in a corner, but my mind was back in those dark tunnels once again. Back in the cold. The dark. The black.
Alone.
Piece by piece, what made me who I am was stripped away. There was nothing more terrible or perverse than taking everything you know and turning it into a lie. I built myself on self preservation and sustainment, but I was in the palm of something far greater than myself, something so fetid and effluvial it disgusted me. I was stooped to nothing, a shell of myself, and I hated it.
There is nobody stronger than someone that can take their emotions and fears and lock them away. There is nothing more hateful than something that could unlock each and every one of those boxes for the world to see. I was a plaything of something great, and instead of flourishing, I was crushed under the weight of its soul.
There is nothing worse than becoming nothing.
Everything around me faded into oblivion. I no longer knew what my guards were doing, what Barrakade was planning, or the state of the two horned creatures. My absolute and undivided attention was on those steely eyes as they retreated out the tent. I did not move or blink in the slightest. I didn’t care about my guards. I didn’t care about Scholar and the horned one’s abilities. My thoughts were of some eldritch horror walking the realm of the living once again.
After a few moments of abysmal silence, my conscious mind overrode my instincts. Instincts were good, but I needed to act more than I needed to survive, if that made any sense. I regressed to my basic means of self defense: digging a hole and hiding.
I ignored my guard’s protests as I conjured my shovel and dug straight down into the earth. Rather than coming across the hard stone or some underground cavern, what I discovered was something far stranger. I knew better than to dig straight down; if I encountered something such as a deep cavern or a boiling pit of magma, no miraculous potion or enchanted armor would save me from the impending drop. I hated myself for making such an amateur mistake. I hated that thing on the surface for reducing me to such a sniveling, crying mess. I was humbled by fear, and I had nothing but the deepest loathing for that creature and myself blasting across the confines of my skull.
But the object that halted me was not some cavern or superheated pit of stone. If I could describe it, it was Nether energy if was given corporeal form and a white facelift. It was always faster to use tools to absorb materials; I could just better focus with them in addition to the material’s own strength. No matter how hard I punch stone, a diamond pickaxe will always be stronger than my own fists. Despite the strength of my own tools, I could not puncture or absorb the ethereal haze.
Out of desperation, I switched to the pick and hammered through the barrier with everything I could muster. Every strike sent ripples across its surface. If sound was made liquid, it would be that barrier, and it was endlessly irritating. Why couldn’t it just break!?
I heard Barrakade’s voice from up high, her impressive follicle lengths cascading down the hole I had dug. My hole was only a square meter in width, so she didn’t come down; there was barely enough room for me down there. She tapped the surface impatiently and backed away.
Not a chance. I was not going anywhere near the surface with that thing still up there. If I could not dig out in that exact location, perhaps I could dig around it. Cube by cube, meter by meter, I dug through the underground with my trusty shovel. My hopes proved to be in vain. No matter how far I dug, that same barrier proves to surround the entire tent in a great dome. Left, right, forward, back, I was trapped. I was trapped. Contained. I couldn’t get out. No way out...
I could feel myself hyperventilate in the darkness underneath the tent. The solitary light source, that of the illuminated tent, shone down the hole. It beckoned me upwards, but that was the absolute last place I wished to go. And, oh, it beckoned fiercely. Despite me knowing what was up there, I had an equally deep-seated fear of the dark. No monsters spawned in the darkness like they do in the Overworld, but I lived with that notion in my head for so long I could not shake it. I had no choice. I was trapped underground with only one escape: that tent flap. I prayed that the white barrier did not extend that far.
Towers were the easiest creations to make. All I needed to do is jump in the air and place a cube of anything in the void of my jump. I could reach any height by this method. I stood under my hole, looking up into the light above. From the dark, and into the light I go. I was scared, but I was prepared to go down swinging if I needed.
Jump and place, jump and place. I slowly created a platform of increasing height that slowly shot up the hole. As I approached just short of the top, I slowly looked above the apex and quickly took in the whole room. I did not see the familiar flash of gold armor of that hellbeast, thank the Powers.
Upon hearing Barrakade’s deep voice I slowly rose. Still no gold armor. That was good; maybe it lost interest in me? Instead of the sword, I switched to the pick; I needed the pick to hammer through that barrier outside if the need to arose.. I seriously doubted I would be able to slay the creature anyway; it was just some gut instinct that told me I could not.
It did not come. I don’t know how that leviathan managed to get through the barrier and not me, but it had left and not returned. My guards, Barrakade, the two horned creatures, and a newcomer were all who were present. I exhaled the desperate breath I was not aware that I had been keeping. Barrakade and the newcomer left,, but I really didn’t care about that. That thing was gone and that was all that mattered.
I slumped to the ground in a heap, once again ignoring the buzz and shifting noise around me. My face was in my palms in an attempt to block out the light and gain control of my rapid breathing. I had no idea how long I lay curled up on the ground. After a while, I just sprawled myself on the grass. There were no stars to look upon, only the lit tent roof. The hushed whispers of my guards and the steady beat of rainfall were lulling my mind into a more relaxed state. White noise. I needed the white noise. If my brain was free of impulses, all I was going to do is think, and that was not something I wanted to do anymore. There was too much to think on, too much too fear and admire. I would take creepers and Endermen over this world any day. Just like my first day, I was exhausted, utterly spent of all emotion and enthusiasm.
I did not like the feel of grass tickling my skin for long, so I choose the more familiar option: dirt. My sluggish muscles pushed my worn body up and wiped away whatever smudges of dirt and grime that stained my skin. My grain farm was growing nicely; it only required about ten more minutes at that point. Rather than returning to the underground, I waited out the last remaining minutes. The gasps of surprise were still present as I used the grain to craft some bread, but not as pervasive as before; they were growing used to what I could do little by little. I devoured the bread with ease and planted some more seeds. They didn’t even stop me as I burrowed.
‘Fear not this night.’ No monsters could be conjured from the darkest depths of madness and despair. The deepest darkness and blackest nightmares lay inside the depths of my own mind. ‘Fear not this night,’ I repeated to myself. I had so little, and so much. I had my powers, but lost my world. I gained the tenuous trust of a prolific figure here, but I lost my faith that I could return home. It was theoretically possible that another Nether portal could return me to my rightful place. I knew not how to replicate the hellish hue, but I needed to try.
However, I could not gather lava, the most necessary ingredient for creating obsidian. I was so tired. The bread had restored my physical strength to tolerable levels, but my mind was too drained. It was becoming too much for me.
The column of light that led to the surface beckoned welcomingly, but I did not embrace its comfort. I needed to be alone. I conjured a single torch and placed it right next to me in the circular chamber I had dug underground. The barrier that contained me was circular, but that’s all I could discover about it other than I could not alter or absorb it. That was a rarity in of itself. The only other object I could not effect is bedrock. Was that phantasmal barrier of similar strength?
I lay against the dirt, resting my head against the wall. I did not care. About what? Anything. Whatever sense of professionalism and respect for my situation vanished as I sat in the dark of that room with only the light of the surface and my own flickering torch to guide me. Once again, I brought out my journal to write down my experiences and events.
The scratch of a quill against paper replaced the surface rain as the audio impulse to distract me. I did not want to think on my situation and was postponing the unfortunate inevitability as long as possibility. As long as I kept myself busy, I had the illusion of control to grasp and treasure in my strong hands. The thickness of dirt silenced the rain’s aria, but the strokes of my quill were adequate. They were enough, and for a while, I was content.
I don’t know how long I sat there writing. No creature on the surface bothered me, and I was grateful for the reprieve. The distant sounds and melodies were unceremoniously shoved into the same dark corner as all my fears and worries. I knew very well I shouldn’t do such a thing; cramming all the bad things together would only increase the potency of my panic when I finally faced them. I sacrificed the pleasure of temporary peace for the knowledge I would face a greater and more terrible fear on the black horizon.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some phantasmal haze soar across the room. I knew not where it came from or what it was, only that it was suddenly there and needed to be confronted. Tired as I was, I stood, a sword in place of the book.
“Luna.”
If a voice was crafted from cake and chocolate, that voice would have been it. My lower chamber was decently lit with my torch in the corner, and the voice led my eyes to the exact corner of the voice, but I could not make out the figure. Directly opposite of me, the light refused to touch the walls. That was most certainly not there before. I held my blade up to the corner, ready for whatever beast owned that haunting voice.
A creature I had seen only once before, one blessed by an otherworldly beauty and grace, stepped out of the darkness. No, such words were not adequate. The Sovereign was darkness made flesh. She was already in her element, having the unfortunate duty to remove herself from its bliss. I feared the dark, she embraced it. I was not certain I should be frightened or in awe of her.
She walked towards me, her hooves and silver finery shuffling softly in the meager light. Her deep cobalt skin and sublime, intangible mane of hair glittered softly in the dark. I knew not what constituted beauty in this world, but I felt I was in the presence of something glorious and wonderful.
She halted her pace halfway, watching me with her deep blue eyes. We could not understand each other, so I was understandably baffled as to why she would come to me. I made minute progress with Barrakade at best, and I wasn’t even sure if the majority of my intent was adequately understood in the slightest. What did Sovereign hope to accomplish?
Her horn flashed with light. It shined with a brilliance unlike anything I had ever witnessed in my entire life. The darkness that lurked beyond corners and silhouettes burned to ashes before my very eyes. Was it her way of finishing the deed other’s started?
My sword dropped with a dull thud as I held my arms to my eyes in a vain attempt to save my scorched retinas. I had no intention of using it on Sovereign once I discovered it was she that lurked on the edge of those shadows, but I kept it for security reasons. Now, nothing could save me if it so wished.
Behind my hand’s fleshy veil, I could feel the light dim. I uncovered my eyes and what I saw made me gasp.
The dirt ground had been replaced by a perfect topographical map of the town above. All of the little creatures that scuttled about in the darkness ignored the pair of us riding the wings of angels above. To the south was an orderly arrangement of tents and huddled creatures. Surely among their ranks were two creatures: a lonely god and a grandiose darkling.
The image raced northwest, passing some meager grasslands and an impressively sized gorge. It quickly passed smaller hamlets and towns, all lights cold and barren in the dreary night. Soon enough, the rain-splattered ground and waterlogged soil lessened the further we flew. I had fallen onto my rear in a most undignified manner by that point. My hands were dug into the moist soil. I could feel the tiny granules and particulates between my fingers and under my nails, yet even when I scooped up a handful of dirt, light and color reflected off it surface.
My mouth was agape. It was unbelievable. Absolutely resplendent, almost transcendental, in its wonder. Sovereign giggled, but was otherwise quiet. She observed me curiously and paid no attention to the images presented to us. Was it her doing? If so, it was marvelous magic.
The image raced further still. The towns slowly became larger and more plentiful. The wooden hovels expanded in size, although the lights were still dark. As the buildings became more lavish, they transcended from wood to stonework.All were modest by my standards, but for such small creatures, I could not help but admire their craftsmanship.
I could not admire for long due to the vision’s speed. Sovereign watched with an amused smile, but still did not move as the towns became cities. Out of nowhere, the urban development ceased. I blinked in confusion before the entire perspective shifted.
Instead of a flat topographic view, the image pulled upward. Before me lay a city that easily dwarfed all the other establishments several times over. It was a single, massive city built straight into the side of a mountain top. Battlements and thick walls surrounded the perimeter with a single, equally-massive closed wooden door denying access to its interior. The city’s innards were comprised of sprawling stone and woodwork. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, were grand and lavish enough for even my extravagant tastes.
As the vision flew deeper into the city, the buildings became even more posh and intricate. Some of the largest were adorned with several tall, spiraling towers. The largest construct, a several story sprawl, with several instruments on the roof I did not recognize, could have easily swallowed the camp my physical body stood beneath. Different markings stamped on cloth ribbons calmly tossed in the meager winds so far from the storm to the south. Whether they were important declarations of battle standards, I could not discern the answer with the vision’s speed. Intricate, colored glasswork interspaced with tiny metal frames reflected spectrums of light. Curved wooden beams – curved! – composed the roofs of several buildings, allowing for meager rain to drivel off the roofs and into iron gutters. Was there a city beneath the city?
I am glad I did not rise beyond my knees, for if I had, I would have fallen in sheer awe alone. The city itself could easily house thousands. If anyone had an eye for numbers and construction, it would be me. All I had seen so far paled in comparison to what lay before me. The largest building yet, a massive stonework castle - the obvious crown jewel of the city - lay bare with its pristine white towers and immaculate stonework. A little garish for my tastes, but the sheer dedication and work put into the structure, even for me talents, was simply astounding.
All the wood and stone masonry I had seen so far was excellent, but they were all mere pittance compared to the masterwork castle. Wood needed planks. The stones were sealed together was a tough, strong adhesive. Such standards did not apply to the castle’s design. The castle’s stonework was completely flawless. I did not detect even the faintest crack or weakness in its design. The tall, circular – more curves! – towers did not have even the slightest indent, bump, or displaced piece of stone to mar is perfection. I could not believe what I saw, but it had to be true. These creatures didn’t have the same powers as I, but they accomplished something utterly fantastic without it. The entire castle was constructed out of one, solid piece of stone.
To say I was humbled was an understatement.
The image raced up the broadest stonework to a large, colored window. I had no idea how they managed to color glass, but they did it. What the picture depicted, however, would forever change my views of the world I now stood in. A large circle stood in a field of stars. In the top half of the circle, an eight ribboned golden sun shined brightly. In the bottom half, a waxing moon stood as its brethren and companion.
Encircling the sun and the moon were two winged, horned creatures: a dark, demure shadow in an eternal game of cat and mouse with an alabaster twin.
The light and the dark. The sun and the moon. Crescent moon...
My eyes are drawn to her hindquarters and I saw Sovereign’s own marking. The waxing and waning moon.. Sun and moon, light and dark...
Sisters... one of the night, one of the dawn. By the Powers, I was in the presence of a deity...
I looked vacantly at the image once more, tracing the circle and the serpentine line separating the sun and the moon. The image vanished in a flash of light. When the spots cleared from my vision, Sovereign was kneeling next to me on the floor, her wings curling around my back.
I was taken off guard by the sudden and deeply personal embrace. For a creature I suspected to be a god... a hug was the last thing I expected to transpire. Perhaps worship, tribute, or reverence, but not that. That God of the Night – the god of this night – had embraced me.
The sheer scope of the vision – the citizens, landscape, and twin gods – impressed and awed me. I could not ravage this world like I did the Overworld; it was not rightfully mine. These creatures and their gods rightfully ruled this place as much as I have a claim on the Overworld. I was by every right an invader. I could have been destroyed right then and there, and I could have agreed with Sovereign’s actions. Desired them, no, but I saw the logic as rational and sound. To freely open herself up to attack was a sign of trust that I had not come to expect form these creatures. I had been attacked repeatedly by creatures of this land. For once, just this once, my weary mind could rest. Instead of violence, I was offered something else. Peace.
I could not deny that being in her presence was a comforting turn of events. The Sovereign’s warmth consumed and surrounded me like a blanket as her earthy scent pervaded my nostrils. Her wings cut off all light that intruded in on our private domain, but I was not worried. I was... content. Wrapped in her feathered embrace, I felt truly relaxed. I could hear her steady heartbeat through her breast bone. That one word she said earlier, whatever it may have meant, was the only word spoken between us, yet no more were needed.
I didn’t need to be afraid of this place. I was extended an offer of something more than peace, but possible companionship. I was not alone.
Sovereign parted from the embrace, folding her wings by her side once again. I felt the chill of the underground. Although tolerable, it was abrupt and noticeable after the pleasant warmth she had just imparted me. A smile tugged at her lips and I could not help but copy the impulse. She bowed respectfully, which I in turn repaid.
She backed away, walking towards the column of light. She gave me one last nod before she vanished into a cloud of missed and snaked through the hole.
Fear not this night...
I don’t.
After meeting with Sovereign, I was in a chipper mood to be sure. I was incredibly bored, but happier than I’d been for the last few days. My guards seemed to take my improved attitude as a sign of caution. I didn’t blame them; I was most dour in our most recent encounters and seeing the shift in attitude when it was out of their line of sight would be unnerving. Some of them were snickering after I extracted myself from the underground. It was just Sovereign and myself all alone with the visions, so I could not fathom their mirth.
I spent the majority of my time crafting diamond blocks into normal gemstones and back. I had no other means to entertain myself and I did not have the resources of the leeway to build anything. I could not help but be inpatient in my actions. When done building or mining, I move on to my next objective without a second thought.
Now that I think about it, that seems cold of me. The moment I complete an objective like building a bridge, a superstucture, or stripmining a mountain, I take no time to appreciate the structure as I should. Of course, I take a moment to admire past works when walking through my many stone and wooden cities, but many times I just continue to my next work.
Boredom makes me think too much. Still... that is something to think about at some point in the future.
My guards have relaxed a measurable deal around me. While those with steel and white manes still observe me with calculated and hard eyes, the younger winged creatures seem to have accepted my uniqueness in stride. Over time and one by one, each guard was replaced by a fresh replacement. I had difficulty telling them apart in their concealing armor, but I could tell the weary apart from the invigorated substitutes by the way they held themselves. I don’t need to sleep, other than to simply pass the time. True, my mind and body become weary, but sleep is not necessary for the likes of me. Perhaps those creatures weren’t blessed with such stamina?
It took an ungodly long time for something to actually happen in that barren tent. I quickly acquired several days worth of bread with little trouble. I could have expanded my farm even further, but I wished to have the room to maneuver if need be. Besides, I had crafted enough bread to sustain myself for some time before I saw Barrakade.
It was close to thirty days between her initial departure and eventual return. When she opened the tent, I could see the early rays of dawn filtering over the plains. I could not see much further, for even though the early rays of the sun shined, the sky above me was still bloated with rain and the cloak of falling droplets hid much from my gaze. Seeing the sun, I wondered if I would ever see Sovereign's companion self.
Barrakade entered with a smile on her face with that same frumpy-looking horned creature at her heels from before. After a brief chat with one of the leathery-winged ones, she walked right up to me.
Out of impulse, I extended a palm and conjured her helmet for her to reclaim. She shook her head and tugged on my shirt, willing me to follow her. Sighing, I closed my little underground burrow with dirt, collect my water and seeds, and follow her out the door.
I wasn’t sure what she was planning, but I cooperated. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, but some illusory, white barrier halted it before it touched us. Not a soul was in sight, but as the two of us walked, the leather-wings filed out and followed us in a loose circle. Barrakade was in the middle with her companion on her right and myself on her left. Still curious and marginally intimidated by the horned one’s powers, I kept a careful eye on it. It seemed more interested in Barrakade, though. I wasn’t really sure why, especially because the two spoke to each other minimally at best.
Little of interest happened, and using my previous experiences with my new landscape, I was most grateful for the decrease in tension. I calmly walked with a hand in each pocket, letting Barrakade lead the way.
After a day’s walk (How long are these accursed days?), we arrived at a fairly large tent structure. I did not take much time to observe it, for we had guests, and one of them I recognized well. Waiting in front of the entrance was Sovereign. She seemed weary, but no less worse for wear with her calm smile. She accompanied six other diminutive creatures, each one a different shade of color and staring up at me with slack jaws and fearless wonder. One of them looked like it was about to vibrate through the ground out of sheer excitement.
Well, well, well, what surprise did you bring for me, Harbinger of Night?
One of their ranks, a cream-colored winged creatu–
By the Powers, it was Barrakade’s diminutive twin! The one from my visions!
Then she started to moan and whimper in fear. What did I do now?
Minecraft/MLP:FIM crossover.
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Chapter Commentary: LINK
Barricade is a character by KnightMysterio that I have been graciously allowed to use. Click the link to check out his stuff.
Edited by: Cor Thunder, Material Defender