by Mark Mulle
silver. She picked it up, and her eyes widened then narrowed into a sly smile.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “we've got a magic sword.”
We all fell upon the books, sorting them into the tools indicated by the glyphs on the pages. These were for armor, and these were for swords, and these were for bows. All in all, we had ten books.
We deemed Anne to be our new designated enchantress, and by the end of the hour, the stash of newly-magical tools we had included three swords, a bow, two helmets, a breastplate, and three pairs of boots. Near as we could tell, we were properly magicked-out, and for the rest of the day, we laid out battle plans for when the black things came. Buckets of water lined the roof of the house, and we built parapets where we could hide inside and shoot from. Austin primed our music box so we'd fight in good spirits, and for good measure, he reinforced the front doorway of the house with the black stone he'd managed to get from the mine.
The time came, and at sundown, as a huge bank of clouds rolled in over the house, I stowed myself in a parapet on top of the house and waited. Four on top of the house, two inside the house at the windows, we waited. Sure enough, at around midnight, we heard the shuffling sound of creatures dragging and walking and scrambling up toward our house. Nearly two dozen of the black things appeared from the treeline.
That many? We didn't stand a chance.
All of them carried a single cube of iron with them, and they began to put them together, joining them together with what must have been their acrid body-fluid (which, I suppose, would explain the violet shimmer) into those t-shapes. We waited. Austin and James downstairs would give the signal, and dash out with swords drawn. Each had a magic sword, a pair of magic boots, and a helmet. Austin wore the breastplate. When they dashed out, we would give cover with arrows and water, until there was a good opportunity to jump down and begin attacking with water.
A few of them were carrying something we had not yet seen in the t-shaped idols, though— pumpkins. Pumpkins? I watched as one of them placed a pumpkin on top of one of the t-shapes.
The thing stepped back, and it took a second or two before I noticed that the pumpkin was changing shape, that the whole iron structure was twisting and shaping into a massive, almost three-meters-tall figure with hulking arms and chest covered with green, glowing veins.
“Stop the pumpkins!” I heard James yell. They had seen it too—good.
“Arrows!” I cried, and the four of us on the roof let arrows fly toward the ones with the pumpkins. From that far away, they could not see the attack coming, and the sharpened points bit into the brittle, black flesh of four of the creatures that held the yellow squashes. The screeching that echoed through the night indicated that the battle had begun.
Austin and James burst from the doors, and they charged for the nearest creatures, a bracer of bottles of water strapped across each of their chests. Austin's sword sang, bit into the flesh of one of the black things. Instead of it instantly teleporting, however, it was lifted off the ground and flung far back toward the trees. As soon as it hit the ground, it skidded for a half-second and then disappeared. I could almost feel Austin's laugh resonate. He liked his new sword. James, for his part, severed one of the thing's limbs in one clean snikt, the thing shrieking and flailing about for a second before disappearing, and reappearing far back behind the iron t-shapes.
A thunderclap suddenly resounded high above us. Lightning flashed across the sky, and a resounding crash of lightning struck down on one of the iron totems, the smell of ozone filling the air.
In that moment, the iron monster finally took its shape. It reared back, opened its mouth, and bellowed as the rain began to fall. It started lightly at first, but quickly graduated to coming down in sheets, a heavy, solid cloudburst.
The sudden stillness on the field of battle was eerie, but worse was the curdling cry that followed as so many of the twisted, angular monsters suddenly were being consumed by the water from the sky. Almost like a hive-mind decision, every single one of them disappeared at the same time.
What did not disappear was the now fully-formed iron giant lumbering toward Austin and James. I drew back my bow, felt the tingle of magic setting into the arrow, and let it fly, speeding straight at the giant. It struck the behemoth in the side of its head, its wicked, curved nose twitching at the impact. The arrow shattered into splinters, but it did manage to knock the giant back a few steps, keeping it from being in range to presumably pick Austin up and rend him in half.
We were not prepared for this.
James shouted to us, “Gonna need backup down here!” The four of us immediately jumped down from the roof, discarding the bows and drawing out more conventionally closer-range weapons. Six of us, versus one terrifying beast made of iron? Sure, no problem at all. I hoped.
Mary had the third magic sword, and as she ran toward the monster, she let the tip of it drag lightly on the ground, leaving a line of fire behind her. She jumped, and brought the sword down onto the shoulder of the golem, its magic blade finding purchase and biting into the metal. At the same time, Austin's sword slammed into its legs, sweeping it to one side enough for James's sword to attack the melted gash that Mary's sword had created. In the meantime, Katy's axe came spinning from the side and slammed into the thing's back. It roared again, the sudden onslaught apparently damaging its near-impenetrable frame, and one of its great arms seized James around the waist, flinging him high into the air.
He hit the ground with a wet thud and coughed, spitting up a gout of blood. I threw down a loop of stout rope at the thing's feet, and as it stepped forward into it, I yanked on the rope, trying to force its two legs together and throw it off balance. The rope snapped like a spiderweb, and it spun, its fist crashing into my chest and tossing me aside like a ragdoll. Mary, too, tried to attack it again, her sword burning red with fire even in the heavy rain, but the great fist of the monster sent her tumbling back at the house, where she struck the black stone-rimmed front door, her flaming sword carving a nick into it. The monster followed after her, but suddenly she wasn't there. In the door frame, a dark, blackish fog billowed, obscuring Mary from view. She started to yell something, but then her voice suddenly lowered and stuttered, as though she was moving away from us at a high speed. The golem fumbled into the fog after her and disappeared as well.
A gust of wind in the storm cleared some of the fog just enough to show that the doorway into our house was no longer that at all—the scenery through the black archway was that of some hell-blasted landscape, burning stone and sulphurous air. I caught a glimpse of Mary scrambling to her feet, turning with her sword again in hand, before the fog obscured the portal again.
The others looked at me. I didn't have time to ask what they wanted to do. I took a deep breath, nodded, and we all dashed for the black door.
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About the Author
Mark Mulle is a passionate Minecraft gamer who writes game guides, short stories, and novels about the Minecraft universe. He has been exploring, building, and fighting in the game ever since its launch, and he often uses in-game experiences for inspiration on creating the best fiction for fellow fans of the game. He works as a professional writer and splits his time between gaming, reading, and storytelling, three hobbies and lifelong passions that he attributes to a love of roleplaying, a pursuit of challenging new perspectives, and a visceral enjoyment the vast worlds that imagination has to offer. His favorite thing to do, after a long day of creating worlds both on and off the online gaming community, is to relax with his dog, Herobrine, and to unwind with a good book. His favorite authors include Stephen King, Richard A. Knaak, George R. R. Martin, and R. A. Salvatore, whose fantasy works he grew up reading or is currently reading. Just like in Minecraft, Mark always strives to level up, so to speak, so that he can improve his skills and continue to surprise his audience. He prefers to play massive multiplayer online games but often spends time in those games fighting monsters one on one and going solo against the toughest mobs
and bosses he can manage to topple. In every game, his signature character build is a male who focuses mostly on crafting weapons and enchanting, and in every battle, he always brings a one hander sword and a shield with as much magical attributes as he can pour into them. Because he always plays alone, he likes to use his game guides to share all the secrets and knowledge he gains, and who know—he may have snuck some information into his fiction as well. Keep an eye out for his next book!
Other books in this trilogy
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The Obsidian Chronicles
The Obsidian Chronicles, Book Two: Hell and Back
The Obsidian Chronicles, Book Three: Of Dragons and Demons
