• Published 18th Jun 2012
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My Little Minecraft: At the End - Journeyman

I hold the power of creation in the palm of my hand, yet these creatures still frighten me.

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Chapter 2: Tinman

Chapter 2: Tinman

It is a peculiar sensation and most extraordinary series of events that led me to this moment filled to the brim of panic and terror while and a dismal moon flood my body with sensations I had thought long since conquered. No, not conquered, simply forgotten. Actually even that does not do my situation justice. It is not that I am no longer capable of fear or resistant to the sensation by any conceivable means, but the situations that I had once entered under particular circumstances to experience such a primal terror had long since been neutralized. It is not that I felt no fear, but I had nothing left to fear. Until now that is. Now I lay in a hole, cowering under mounds of dirt with only the light of a torch to guide my hand, steady my tremors, and gather my sanity.

But I am getting ahead of myself. It is through these pages I have crafted, this pen I have molded, and this ink for which I have foraged that I can keep track of my thoughts and bring them focus. Through these items I can think and calm my rapidly beating heart. It is with the scratching of an iron pen that my eyes focus. It is the flickering of light that my panic settles. Be at peace. Calm down... calm down... calm down...

Just write down what happened...



I have built many creations since I acquired my first thoughts. My first instinctual desire hammered into me a purpose: to build and create. It is such a menial task, but I was and still am ridiculously good at it. To start my tale, I was gathering ores for that purpose; I had done the exact same thing a hundred million times before that. Maybe even more; I had long since stopped counting the repetitions in my routines. But this time, this one time was the same and yet so different. So frighteningly different.

I had mechanized what constituted the majority of my legwork. The only things I still did by hand are mining and crafting. It was not out of any slothful desires, but that same compulsion I have to create. I saw a means to make life easier for myself and so I set down an objective. Am I making extensive trips over land or vast bodies of water? Why don’t I make a rail station controlled by redstone circuits? A mountain needs to be flattened for future use? Set up a chain of explosives instead of mining it all piece by piece. Need more gold? Take a venture into an obsidian portal armed to the teeth.

It had been under one of these circumstances, a need for more iron to replenish my stores, when it happened. I was returning from my mines when I heard something. It was a sound, the faintest of whispers on the grassy plains. There were no animals nearby; I had them penned in long ago. My next guess ventured into more pressing territory: one of the wandering creatures that infested the Overworld. It was not out of the realm of possibility, even if it was improbable. The path I had taken to my mines was well lit with a series of glowstone street lights that illuminated the surrounding area for several meters into the darkness, but I saw no creature advance.

My next guess was the most likely: one of the wandering Endermen.

There a few non-domesticated creatures that inhabit this wide, wide world, but only two are of serious note. There are of course giant spiders and their poisonous brethren, skeleton archers that occasionally use spiders for mounts, a sickly slathering creature that resembles a sickly, twisted version of myself, a gelatinous mesh of fluid, and the silent and wily creeper that detonates itself in its attempts to slay me. The two of note are creatures similar to myself that inhabit rustic villages and do little besides mingle with each other, and the Endermen.

All Endermen are roughly three meters tall and posses skeletal frame. Their arms and legs are equally spindly and emaciated and their bodies are surrounded in an otherworldly purple haze. While their heads are vaguely humanoid in shape, they are solid black save for a pair of purple eyes (if someone besides me reads this, don’t look them in the eyes). They are a mysterious race of creatures which I know little about, but they seem fond of picking up objects and observe them for reasons I cannot hope to fathom. What is it about everyday objects that fascinates them so? I do not not understand, but I leave them to their own devices, even if it gets irritating when they remove sections of my buildings.

I suspected Endermen were never native to the Overworld. For one, I did not see one for many, many years since I started building. Secondly, Endermen construct their own portals. I have seen only one, but have not been able to enter it. The portal I found was blank, an empty greenish frame devoid of any signs of activity, with 12 green stone arranged in a square. All of the stones had small slots engraved in their sides. While most of the slots were empty, a few had a strange stone set in. The stones resembled the eyes of the ocelots I occasionally see in rain forests. I have not seen such stones naturally in the Overworld or Nether; I concluded that such stones must be unique to the Endermen’s own home on the other side of that strange, incomplete portal. But I did notice that they resembled the pearls Endermen left when they die. Upon their death, an Enderman’s body evaporates and the remains and leftover vaporous energy crystalizes into an iridescent turquoise pearl. I do not seek out pearls and I do not wish to slay Endermen, even by accident; they are formidable creatures that require all my wits and skill to defeat and not perish in the process.

I do not often hear or witness it, but Endermen do speak. I have never been able to ascertain the context, grammar, pattern, or syntax to these bouts of dialog, only vague impressions. General comments seem to be given a deep, gurgling pop while they reserve a higher, more musical sounding whistle for brief conversations with each other. I have spent many nights observing these beautiful and terrifying creatures; I even have several books dedicated to them and my collective accumulated knowledge on them in my central library. They seem content to go about their business and ignore me as long as I do not make eye contact. Are they unable or unwilling to acknowledge my existence for some reason? I do not know, but I dare not let my gaze wander around these formidable creatures, for if I do, I shall provoke their wrath. I refuse to do so, even though it is the only reaction I can pull from them. They are the only creature besides myself with a measurable degree of intelligence, and for that, they receive my respect of their desire to avoid eye contact. I like to do so whenever possible, but there have been accidents where an Enderman has forced my hand to violence.

I thought the whisper was another fragment of conversation lost on my ignorant ears. If that were the case, I would have kept my pace until I reached my home. But something held me back and I think it was the sound. No, not the whisper, but the ambient noises around me. I had long grown bored of the calm and the quiet that pervaded my many places of residence, so I set up my own underground complex that plays a different tune for each home.

Everything was silent. No sounds of my crudely orchestrated music, no sound of rushing water from the nearby streams, and no sounds of livestock from their nearby pastures. It was quiet. So very quiet. I could vividly feel the pulsing of my palm against the handle of my iron sword as my heartbeat began to race and my sweat slowly build. I heard the whisper again. It was quiet. Ethereal even. It was not quite like the fluid grace of an Enderman with their whistles and pops but something... else is all I can say. It brought the same chills down my spine as those I had felt when I saw a creeper for the first time. That experience was repeated again ages later when I found out I was not alone in the night with these beasts. Endermen, as I had named them, entered the world and my first startled glances brought the creature’s wrath upon me faster than anything I had seen before. By sheer luck and the grace of fate, I was in a cramped tunnel I had dug in the earlier daylight hours and was safe from their dark touches.

There was a darkness that I felt creeping upon me, a sense that I was being snuffed out by the very shadows I had parted from. I do not fear the dark and the horrors it brings. It only gives birth to another beauty and a field of stars that I never tire gazing upon. But this night brought forth something new and horrible from within me. It was quite like the primal fear of death a suicidal creeper or a vengeful Enderman or berserker cave spider induced in my heart during my earlier experiences in the Overworld. I still felt the rush of adrenaline and tightening of my muscles. I still felt the same flight or fight instinct. I could do either: wound and weave with an iron blade or run for my life as a Potion of Swiftness engulfs my guts in power. So why was it this one time that filled me with undeniable dread? What rationale did I have? No creatures stalked me. No Enderman accompanied me. No absurd creation of mine had gone horribly awry.

So why could I not overcome the overwhelming feeling that I was being watched?

I could not move. I commanded my legs to run at that instant, and my brain responded in earnest, but my limbs refused to respond. I could feel the endless reservoir of energy inside of me. That strength was always at my beck and call, to summon forth and seal away matter into streams of energy that quietly tucked themselves away inside my own being. It was akin to instinct that I could call forth whatever stored items I have into being, a siren call that could not be denied. But whatever devilry had locked me in place had paralyzed my abilities as well. Terror, for the first time I felt a very real, very undeniable terror. I had lived for such a long time. I had faced down terrible odds against superior forces and come out alive. But this time... I had no ability in me to fight. I have the skills, the tools, and the will to defend myself, but that is what made my situation sink cold, icy talons into my heart and freeze my soul. I had the capability to fight, but not the ability. I was in the palm of something that I could not face by any means at my disposal.

I could feel a presence behind me, something greater and more terrible than I can possible describe with the ink I now wield. The shadows behind me slowly devoured the light from the waxing moon and glowstone lights I had placed. The once bright night now seemed meager in the presence of my dark companion. Then I saw them. There was a cluster of about a half-dozen pairs of phantasmal eyes gazing off into random directions about 50 meters out. They were in my peripheral vision and thus I did not incur the rage inflicted by direct staring, but for the first time ever, I was awfully tempted to do so. I wanted, no, needed to summon the Endermen to attack myself in hopes of dispelling the foul plague that crept up my spine.

The Darkness had stuffed out my once great castle, a sanctuary and pillar to my own vanity. There were faint shimmers in the Darkness, the last fight left in the light as it struggled to pierce the great, belligerent cloud consuming me. It was all for naught, as the lights were soon dimmed and vanished, dashed as quickly as my hopes for salvation. I started shivering due to the cold sweat staining my clothes.

But I could still make out the wandering gaze of the Endermen. A few were coming closer, but still seem unaffected by the Darkness. Why can they not see me!? Could they not feel my terror? In my darkest moment, they still shun me from their presence? Was I wrong about them? Are they no different than the beasts and monsters that prowl field and forest with me?


I am tired right now. So very tired. I need to sleep. I need to rest. I don’t even know if I want to wake up if I fall asleep...

I just want this to end...

But that self preservation instinct just kicked in when that thought crossed my fevered mind. I need to collect my thoughts and my bearings. There’s just a little more. Just a little more to write. Just breathe. Calm down. Breathe... breathe... breathe...

In... out... in... out... in... out... in... out...



May peace fill my mind and steady my hand. I am so very tired right now, in body as well as mind.

But I must finish my tale which only my lonely self will read.

The Darkness was... flickering. I had come to know natural darkness as a blanket akin to the one I tuck myself under every night. The sun rises, the moon sets. The moon rises, the sun sets. For each celestial body that commands the heavens, curtains of warmth and darkness enclosed the lands. The Darkness that flanked me did not abide by those same set of rules. It reminded me of the Void Fog at the bottom of the world. The Overworld, esistence itself, has a bottom. Why wouldn’t it? Well, that is not entirely correct. There is one, and precisely one, hole in the bedrock. I suppose after millions and millions of kilometers it would be reasonable to have a hole in there somewhere, a sinkhole into the great beyond. I have gazed into the Void and saw nothing save for an endless black fog. The start of the Void, or maybe its end?

The closer I get to the Void, the denser the Fog; the first several meters above the bottom of the world had increasingly thicker and thicker mists and shadows that hid everything from my gaze. But peering through that hole in the world, the darkness was absolute and all-consuming fog of black. The Darkness closing in on me from the rear and sides greatly resembled the whips and particles I see in the Void. But whereas the Void and the darkness at the bottom of the world were static, this one was freely moving. It was ensnaring me, cutting off my escape if I was mercifully granted the ability to maneuver.

It was at this time I realized that I had yet to hear that whisper again. Now sitting here writing in my journal I realize that I did not want to, but as if my thought summoned the resonance, I did anyway. It was low. Deep, almost guttural. Not a low, breathy sound, but short, staccato pulses.

I still had my sword, but I could not use it. I had my potions, but I could not drink them.

My sword... by the powers that be...

I really wish I hadn't done it. I really wish my mind was in ignorance to what had happened. I could not swing my sword, but I could still move my eyes and gaze upon the iron's reflection. It was utter Darkness, save for one, small detail. Whatever part of me that was not shaking in fear was after that moment. Oh, the irony. When I thought I was really alone, I saw the eyes of something looking at me.

In the reflection of my sword, I saw a pair of eyes. Ones not directed at my back, but at the reflection of my sword. Eyes in the dark behind a wall of violet energy.

An Enderman... and a Nether Portal?

A low gurgling brought my eyes forward into the chest of a rail-thin creature. One of the Endermen from the far away group had finally wandered over and its eyes were also on me. My eyes turned back to the eyes behind me. I was unsure if looking at an Enderman through a reflection would anger it, but that appeared to not be the case. However something was quite wrong with the situation, the Enderman was still staring at me. I have never before known an Enderman to view an object for more than a short period of time, so what was different now?

Now that I think on the matter with a clearer mind, I have no conscious thought or guess as to how a Nether Portal came into being behind me without my notice. I have created other such portals and stepped into the hellish landscape of the Nether on the occasions in which I must venture there to gather materials and supplies. In such cases, mass farming of mushrooms and reagents for potions were my chief concern, but with another dimension comes a whole new set of horrors. Foul creatures inhabit that place.

The Enderman to my rear was behind the portal. The swirling energy and the Darkness consumed everything so that the only visible objects left in the emptiness were myself, the Enderman to my front, and the Nether Portal, and the Enderman behind said portal. Due to the phantasmal energy of the Nether Portal, the poor angle of my sword, and the all-devouring shadows that cut off escape, I could only see the ghastly eyes of the Enderman to my rear in my sword's reflection. Those eyes... they were still staring at me. I swear on my soul I saw emotion in those eyes, a deep, black, bottomless mass of hate. It was not a gaze, but a glare. It was a litany of curses and condemnations. I was in the presence of raw, seething hatred directed at my own pitiful existence and no more. An Enderman was fully prepared to kill me at will; its slightest touch burned like fire, dissolving blood, bone and tissue with a single stroke of its spindly limbs. But given my incapacitated state, I was in no condition to fight back. A portal into the Nether with all of its unholy inhabitants and boiling pools of magma can slay me just as easy. Legions of undead soldiers, creatures made of fire and brimstone that heave gouts of flame at the slightest hint of my presence, and the large floating ghasts with their bone-chilling cries and bolts of fire. I wasn’t being murdered, I was being left for dead.

The Enderman in front of me gave a series of whistles and the one behind gave off another dry whisper. It sounded so... foul. I had never surmised such creatures could contain such malice and disgusting traits. But the real horror came soon after. The eyes behind me moved slightly and the mists of the portal were disturbed from their languid patterns. I was about to be pulled in, but that’s not what drew out my last remaining stock of terror. I could not see the Enderman’s limbs in the reflection of my sword, but what I did see was an outline of purple haze that was the portal slowly shifting colors. The violet energy of the portal was slowly turning a bright, bloody red. The crimson blemish spread to the rest of the portal on its ethereal currents like a bloodstain staining a piece of cloth; it looked every bit as unpleasant as it felt.

Once the taint completely enveloped the portal, the once peaceful violet energies erupted in violence. The currents were fast and furious, driven by the vengeful presence of the Enderman to my rear. All of my portals were built to be as isolated as possible so I do not stumble into hordes of monsters after leaving one in the dark, so I had never experimented with what would happen with contact with those creatures.

I felt a tug on my shirt. I started to fall backwards, stiff as a board. All I could see through the reflection of my sword were those eyes, those cold, hateful eyes. Never from any of the monsters I have faced have I felt the need for blood, a lust for violence. I bear no ill-will to the Overworld’s night time inhabitants for their desire to expunge the one and only interloper this world knows. But their aspirations for my death are not unreasonable; I can understand the perception that I do not belong, that I am an invasive body inside this wide, wide world and need to be destroyed.

Please understand I bear you creatures no malevolence.

But those eyes... there was so much more than that. Those violet eyes, ones now shrouded in red with the creature’s poisoned touch on the Nether Portal mists, made me feel a lifetime’s worth of hate. This beast did not wish me just death, but the complete and utter eradication of my existence.

But then my body fell into the red abyss and I knew no more.

It is at this time where I must state the obvious once again for my own convenience. Because if I don’t, I may not understand the vividness of the following experience if I decide to read these pages at a later date. I have entered the Nether hundreds of times, but there was one key variation in this instance.

The Nether Portal is a door into another world. The mechanics of such a device are mostly unknown to myself, but there are some key points I am able to ascertain. There are two main features, but only one that I have been able to understand until this point in time. The first is the energy in the center of the portal. Upon entrance, the vortex tears my body into shreds and recreates it on another plane whenever I step into a portal. I hypothesize that, since the Nether and the Overworld are so similar in design, monsters aside of course, there will always be a Nether Portal in the Overworld where there is one in the Nether. Furthermore, since they are so similar to each other, very little energy is needed to shift myself from one world to another. It is also the reason why the creation of a Nether Portal in one realm would duplicate it in the other.

Then there is the second aspect of the Nether Portal: its obsidian border. I have never questioned why a Nether Portal can only be made with black obsidian since it is the only material that can create an operational gateway. I do not know the finer details, but the obsidian now makes sense. It is, by far, the strongest minable substance in the Overworld and the Nether combined. Its strength is of the highest grade, capable of resisting a creeper’s suicidal self assured destruction or any damage inflicted by my own concoctions or explosives, so I thought its use stemed no further than a building material.

I now know that to be false. I can explain why such materials are needed now, but I wish to follow my train of thought until I discovered it in real time. I will come back to this point shortly.

But the difference I pointed out earlier comes into play now and tangentially ties into the use of obsidian. Whenever I stepped into the vaporous gate and into the Nether before, it was naught but a simple tug on my navel and a feeling that my molecules were being rearranged. This time, under the influence of the Darkness and the hateful Enderman, the sensations diverted from the norm in that there was another sensation added to the queue: falling. No, not falling; pulling. I was pulled backwards into a bloody-red vortex of nothing but tempestuous leylines of energy. It always seemed odd to me that a Nether Portal sustained itself for so long without rest. How could it do so? To create a Nether Portal, all one requires is the obsidian border and fire to create the first spark.

It was here where I discovered that it was not fire that made a portal burn for eternity, but something else entirely. There were more than just violets and reds in the new space I was in, but blues, greens, browns, whites, blacks, yellows, the brightest of pinks, and the deepest of gold. I was in an endless space filled to the brim with currents of energy of every size, shape, and color. Every single fiber of this place ran its own course, giving the impression that this new realm, this world in between worlds, worked in uncountable numbers of different energy. There was far more than just the Nether Portal violet energy. So, so much more. There was so much raw power here. For all this time, for the countless millennia that I have lived, I had yet to bear witness to a fraction of the power this place commanded. It was a magnificent kaleidoscope of hues and shades, far beyond any of the dull greens and grays of the Overworld. Every shade of color had its own eddies and currents, its own streams and rivers and oceans that branched off into a million different directions and each of those into a million more. It was a maelstrom within a bright summer day that ensnared me in all of its beauty, glory, and splendor.

There were so many different paths to take, so many wonders to explore. I had only known what was on the other side of a docile violet veil. I could have never comprehended the sheer scale of what I was seeing. Oceans turned to rivers, rivers into rapids, rapids into streams, streams into brooks. Did... did each of these uncountable ribbons branch into other worlds like the Nether? Is my world only one of many?

I had no time to ponder such philosophical queries, for I was caught in one of the currents. It was the same bloody-red in color. It swept through me, carrying me across that colorful space. It was not like being caught in a river of stream in the Overworld. Natural rivers were brutish and arrogant by nature, always pushing and shoving against whatever was caught in their grasp. Those currents made no noticeable effort to attract or repel me, but I was still pulled with it nonetheless. I tried to fight the current, but every single movement and thrash had no effect. I was caught in the flow that was impossible to escape from no matter how hard I tried. So, quickly I sped through the tempest with only a ribbon of energy to guide my path. It was faster than any boat, boot, or minecart that I could create. The pace at which the red current pulled me was simply unbelievable. I did not feel wind in my face, but the pace sent an explosion of visual impulses to my brain that proved impossible to understand.

The current turned and twisted in every direction possible, in loops, knots, down tunnels of compacted energy, and then in even more twists and turns. My body did not flail at the extreme speeds or centripetal forces stressed on it; most of the natural laws I had firmly believed in did not seem to apply in this strange space. I did my best to keep track of my direction, but the velocity and frequency of turns the current made the task impossible. It seemed uncountable ages until the current straightened out and finally moved with relative ease. The current that pulled me across the space between spaces had been reduced to a mere trickle of its former raging flood of power. What would happen when the flood ran out of strength? I did not know for certain, but my suspicion was that I was soon going to be deposited into another world. I did not have to wait long for a confirmation of my suspicions.

My next experience will be difficult to describe, but I will do my best. I was still being pulled along the ribbon of red energy that was slowly degrading into nothing. Particles were breaking off from the central mass and decomposing at the deprivation. But I believed I saw my intended destination. There was a spherical mass of blue and white energy constantly colliding and reforming in a never-ending dance. For every advance one of the semi-corporeal ribbons of energy made, it had to give up ground in another space. It was every bit a war as it was a dance, a constant struggle for momentum that never seemed to end. But neither side seemed dead set on devouring its pair, only seeking to continue the battle. No, I was wrong. It wasn’t a war, it was a contest of wills, a playful game between friends where the game was played for the game’s own sake. I would have laughed a little if I wasn’t so terrified from recent events.

Attached to the glowing twins were five black spheres, each a separate mass of swirling black energy ribbons akin to the one that guided me. While the twins were busy in their play, these black spheres were completely still. Each one had growths over their surface, a massive construct of interweaving black tendrils that branched across the twins in a confined shell. The twins continued nipping at each other playfully, both seemingly completely unaware of the prison of black fibers they were concealed behind. Nonetheless, the conjoined twins were simply doing what was in their nature, just as I then rode ruby-red rapids across an unknown expanse. It made sense when seeing those stagnant black spheres, those silent sentinels concealing their charge within. I need more information to make a hypothesis.

The current made a small correction and set a course dead set on one of the great black spheres. I would have started thrashing against my bonds if I believed it would have proven fruitful in the slightest. But then it happened; the vaporous streams of red evaporated into nothingness and I saw what was at its core: a single midnight-black strand of energy.

...what in the Overworld...?

The black strand came into contact with the black sphere and I heard them again: a low gurgling and a dry whisper. I then knew what was so off about that whisper. It wasn’t a type of conversation, it was laughter, a deep, growling chuckle at my predicament. Now that I think about it, I hope I am not being followed by the Enderman. No matter where I am going, I don’t want to see them. Not now, not ever anymore. The thought crossed my mind, is it possible that they were? Could they follow through that great expanse? Was I approaching their own homeland? I could not look behind me to verify and I was still so unfamiliar with that strange space.

As soon as I entered the sphere, the entire space seemed to resonate with a ripple. It was like moving through molasses or sludge, but that ripple resonated across that particular sphere's capillary network. When the pulse reached the end, the ripple branched off into the networks of the other four swirling black ribbons. But as quickly as I entered, I left the black energy and was facing the playful twins. Size was difficult to ascertain in that chaotic space, but my estimate was that each ribbon was about twice my mass. The black thread came into contact with the pair of energy ribbons, myself along with it, and my vision vanished in a flash of white.

There was something unique and inexplicably calm in that bright light. I can't put the sensation down in words; heh, that's been happening a lot recently. I've experienced so much I never thought possible in a few minutes; so many more emotions, so much fear and terror, but for a few moments I basked in a blissfully cleansing light. I really didn't care about my predicament anymore. I was so emotionally exhausted from my ordeal that I accepted this rest without query or complaint. It was warm; pleasant even. I could just let my immobile body relax and let the light envelope me like a warm blanket made out of a pleasant sunlight. I could forget my new and frightening experiences, the feelings of hatred and betrayal I mutually felt for the Enderman, and the long tedium my life had become in the Overworld.

I was... happy.

I didn't need to build, or worry, or feel. I could just... be at peace...

But then the cold came.

It was not an unpleasant chill, but proved to be a stark contrast to what I had just felt, the warm embrace I was forced to leave. I gasped for breath, tasting fresh oxygen for what felt like the first time ever. The air was crisp and clean; it tasted like wood smoke, freshly-cut grass, and the stirrings of water on distant winds.


The remaining traces of warmth depleted themselves as I began to feel more and more sensations. Although I do not believe my limbs were working at the time, my sense of touch was coming in stronger. I was lying down on my side; I could feel the thin blades of grass tickle my neck and the moist ground dampen my dirty clothes. I could feel the air nipping at my sweat-stained back and neck. It wasn't too bad, but still colder than what I am used to and it reminded me what I was just deprived of only moments ago. If I didn't get a dry shirt, the air might prove too cold for comfort later on. Was it night then? That could explain the temperature.


I decided to take a risk and open my eyes. Honestly, I was afraid at what I might see, but it wasn't nearly as unpleasant as I thought. If I could see anything, anyway. All I could make out was a dull blur and a rainbow of pastel colors. I saw browns and greens and yellows; what colors I couldn't make out were blurs of a dark gradient. I did see a few flickering shades of yellow. I guessed they were torches; I couldn’t be sure until my vision cleared. My limbs were starting to twitch a little. I don’t know how long it took for me to become this aware of my surroundings. My hands fidgeted ever so slightly and I could feel my nails raking at the ground, collecting dirt under my nails. I always hated the sensation of dirt under my nails.


I noticed that the hand I just used was my right hand. And it was empty. I tried moving my head to search for my weapon, but everything was still a blur of colors. Between being able to move and seeing properly, I needed mobility in case danger would come for me. I needed to will my body into working properly. My legs felt like lead as they slowly pushed a groove into the moist earth. My feet pushed aside something growing in patched, but I couldn’t make them out yet. I then realized that my head was resting against something soft as well; was I in a garden of sorts? I couldn’t tell just then; I felt as if I had mistakenly drunk a Potion of Weakness and was suffering through its effects.


Success; I managed to sit up. I was still weak as a newborn kitten, but it was progress. I was beginning to make out the rough shapes of large brown objects all around me, each with their own torches to light up the area. I thought, if the place at least had decent lighting, I need not worry about creatures coming out of the woodwork and munching on my toes.


I really was in a garden and what a sight it was. I saw arrangements of flowers of at least a dozen different colors and several other different leafy green shapes dotting the ground in neat rows. It was still too fuzzy to make out finer details, but I could at least identify a garden and discover that the brown shapes were buildings. A civilized area; that is always good to see.


It took five attempts to stand before I managed to do it right. My knees were shaking non-stop and I needed to brace myself against a wall to hold myself up. My vision was clearing and my body strengthening. Don’t get me wrong; I was still in no shape to fight, but I needed to move. I needed to move to get the blood flowing and to find a more secure position. I made a quick search of the ground to check if I could see an Enderman out of the corner of my eyes and my search proved - thankfully - fruitless. But I needed shelter in the case my instinct proved wrong. The garden I landed in was lit up enough for my comfort, but shelter would be better, so I ventured deeper into town. I wondered if those peculiar milling villagers in the Overworld have anything to trade. That is assuming that the town was their home, of course. I really needed a sword right right then and there. But I did not see any villagers with their odd clothes and big foreheads. Everything looked abandoned.


How strange is it that life comes full circle like this? Now that I write this, I realize how closely it mimics my experiences and memories of when I first became aware in the Overworld. I awoke, I began testing myself, I searched for danger, and lastly I sought safety. I am reborn and the cycle continues anew. I woke up in the grasslands without a name to call my own. I don’t know how I got there, why I was there, or where I came from.

The cycle continues anew.

I am near the end of the entry, but there are still three events of note to write. The Portal, the creeper, and the other creeper. Each one was just one mistake after the other. I shouldn’t have attacked that creeper and angered the big blue creeper, or whatever it was. Stop rambling; bad Crafter!

I digress.

My weakness made my time difficult. I was correct in assuming exerting myself would help clear my foggy head and strengthen my limbs, but having that fatigue in the first place was most unhelpful. I was making very poor time and needed a wall to support myself at almost all times. But on to more interesting thoughts; what an odd place this turned out to be. Every door I tried to open was locked and there was debris all over the cobblestone roads. The latter surprised me more than the former; why have such an impressive, if horrendously garish, town and not have it look at least presentable? Why go through the effort and not have it be able to stand the test of time? Why did I see a building that looked like a cake?

I found out how wrong I was very shortly. The debris was not due to the lax building and maintenance ethics of this town’s creators, but from an all too familiar source. For a brief moment, my weakness took a hold of me once more and I stumbled to the ground next to a...cake? A cake building? I honestly have no idea what the place was, but it too was locked. As I got back up, I glanced through a display window and froze. It was not the vaguely similar confectionary treats I saw under display cases and jars, but an object in the window’s reflection. For all this time, I did not do one thing that I should have done: look up. On the top-most part of the window, I saw the reflection of a great black border.

My heart had sunk to my stomach before I even turned. I already knew what I was going to find, but I had to see it anyway. I needed confirmation for this demented madness this night had wrung from my mind. My head turned upwards and I saw it. Hovering in place was a titanic Nether Portal, a gateway far larger than any I had thought possible. I know for a fact that a Nether Portal must be built 4 meters by 5 in dimensions and made of solid obsidian; I have tried dozens of other variations to create a Nether Portal with only that one schematic for success.

So why did I see a Nether Portal in the sky well over a kilometer wide? And why was it deactivated? That was a thought for later because I immediately had more pressing matters to attend to. I should have been aware of my surroundings. I should have realized that something was wrong from the start. I should have heard the noises coming from the buildings. I should have noticed the door opening beside me.

I had walked into town a small ways to get a better view of the Nether Portal. My shock and awe at seeing such a massive gateway clouded my instincts for a moment and I was no longer aware to the sensations around me, despite my vision being sufficiently clear. I heard a noise and turned to the right—


Alright, I did not need to write it like that, but that was my first thought down to the letter. I saw the green quadruped staring directly at me, mouth open, only 5 meters away. Instinct kicked in faster than rational thought and I summoned from deep within myself that vast well of power. I had stored away several potions inside myself for future use and I desperately needed one at that moment. I had one potion of Slowness left and that was the first one to come to mind; I had no weapon to fend off the explosive beast and so my first course of action would be retreat. The energy well inside answered my call and coalesced in my palm, forming the glass ampule of vile liquid. I threw the potion at the creeper and ran. My aim was true, but that’s exactly what startled me.

I heard the glass break as soon as my back was turned to sprint and heard a screech of torment from the creeper. My fatigue vanished from the terror of that scream; I made the same noise several times before I stopped speaking altogether. But creepers do not scream; they don’t have the vocal chords to make noise. There was something very wrong here.

The cloud in my mind lifted with a dose of adrenaline and another took its place under the guise of an all-consuming fear. What was going on? What was going on!?

What was going on!? CREEPER’S DON’T SCREAM!!!

I sprinted as fast as I could out of town, away from that strange creeper and... it had golden eyes. And an odd lump on its head. My mind didn’t come to terms with the fact it might have been something else out of sheer reflex and years of conditioning. I attack or run from creepers because that’s what I do. But creepers don’t have golden eyes, but solid solid black ones.

So if that wasn’t a creeper, what did I attack?

It was about here where my third problem came into play. I exited town immediately with a wake of noise following me. I looked back for a brief moment and my jaw dropped; creepers of every shade I could possible imagine and more were exiting the wooden buildings to investigate the screaming creeper’s location. By the Nether...

I still have no idea what happened in that little town. Why so many different creepers?

Next came two noises: the first was a chatter from the creepers. I couldn't understand what they were saying at my distance, and I didn't want to. The creepers could converse apparently; that was a surprise indeed. The second was far more chilling. There was a steady, deep noise that was rapidly coming upon my position from my flank. I did not turn to seek out the noise, I only wished to get to the forest as fast as possible. I was almost there, just 20 more yards...

I was flung off my feet with a blast of wind as something very large landed behind me. The trunk of a tree stopped my flight and my head snapped back at the whiplash. Blinking back the pain, I saw my pursuer and immediately wished I hadn't. It was another creeper, but this one was almost twice as large as the first and given the color of a deep blue; it must have come to the other creeper’s aid when it saw my flight, but that didn’t make sense. Creepers don’t help each other either.

This place was rapidly throwing all my preconceptions into a pit and flooding it with magma. If these creatures weren’t creepers, what were they? My best guess was a form of cattle due to the longer ears, extended snout, and hooves, but this one had wings and a protrusion atop its head. The first creeper didn’t have the first boon, but had the second. A separate breed perhaps?

The strange(strangest?) thing about this creeper, however, were the eyes. Its gaze was piercing beyond measure, as if it attempted to force its way into the corners of my own mind to reveal whatever little secrets might be lurking there.

Have my secrets, I just want to stop being scared.

Minecraft/MLP:FIM crossover.
Chapter Commentary: LINK
For updates and my ramblings, visit my page on Fimfiction HERE.
Edited by: Viktor Lionheart, Ebony Eliis

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