Then, finally, the cold, black emptiness of his subconscious embraced him as the dream faded. But the feeling of pain and dread still filled Gameknight’s soul.
CHAPTER 2
A NEW WORLD
R
eality gradually formed around him, the blocky confines of their hastily prepared cave coming slowly into focus. Torches lit the interior of their hidey-hole, the flickering glow showing walls of rock and dirt, with his companion, Crafter, sitting opposite him. Crafter was a young boy with shoulder-length blond hair and bright blue eyes, but the odd thing about him was the look of knowledge behind those blue eyes. They showed a wisdom forged through years of living as his village’s crafter on the previous Minecraft server; the one that they had saved with terrific blasts of TNT.
Every village had a crafter—a village elder who was responsible for identifying the things that Minecraft needed. These items were then built by an army of villagers, or non-player characters (NPCs), who populated all of the servers. The NPCs worked deep underground crafting their wares, then distributed their work throughout the digital world of Minecraft using a complex rail network, with minecarts delivering the items as needed. Their purpose was to populate the land with items for the users to find: a chest here, a weapon there . . . It was the job of the village crafter to keep the mechanism of Minecraft working. Gameknight’s friend, Crafter, had been the oldest village crafter on his server—maybe even the oldest NPC on all of the servers across the Minecraft universe.
But in this world composed of textured blocks, all was not as it appeared. Gameknight was a long-time user, playing the game every chance he had, but he had assumed—like every other user—that this world was just a game, electronic lines of code being executed within some computer’s memory chips. Now he knew the startling truth, a fact that shocked him to his very core—the creatures in the game and the NPCs were alive! They had hopes and fears, dreams for their children, and felt moments of happiness and joy, as well as despair at the loss of a loved one. Gameknight had learned this digital truth after he had accidently activated his father’s latest invention, the digitizing ray. It had blasted him with a burning white ray of light that scanned every facet of his being and then pulled him into the program running on the control computer, which in that instant had been Minecraft. Gameknight had been transported into the digital realm, and now he was fighting, not just for his own survival, but for the survival of all living creatures, both physical and digital.
A great war had been waging across the servers of Minecraft, with the zombies, spiders, and creepers trying to destroy all of the villagers to take their life force—their experience points (XP). With enough XP, a creature could be transported to the next server, moving higher and higher up the planes of digital existence until it reached the Source. The Prophecy, known by all creatures in Minecraft, foretold that the destruction of the Source would usher in the Gateway of Light, which would then transport all of the monsters into the physical world, where they would be able to destroy all living things. Gameknight had inadvertently created that bridge while the Source was still intact by activating his father’s digitizer, and now his own world could very well be destroyed. And Gameknight999, the User-that-is-not-a-user—as he was named in the Prophecy—was the only person who could close that Gateway.
After killing Erebus, the King of the Endermen, and successfully stopping the monster horde on the last server, both Crafter and Gameknight had been propelled to this next server plane, one level closer to the Source. He’d thought that they were now safe, but his dream gave him second thoughts. He could feel that the war for Minecraft still raged here on this server, his dream about Erebus proved this. Should he tell Crafter about Erebus speaking to him, threatening him and this server, or had it been just a silly dream, a silly-but-terrifying dream?
“Are you OK?” Crafter asked, his blond hair matted and tangled after sleeping on the hard ground all night.
It still felt strange seeing him as a young boy. On the last server, Crafter had been a gray-haired old man, but after transitioning to this new server, he’d respawned into the form of the young boy before him.
Sometimes Minecraft does what it wants, whether you like it or not, he thought.
“Yeah, I’m OK, just didn’t sleep very well,” he said truthfully.
Standing up, Gameknight pulled out his shovel and faced the dirt wall. Looking down at the shovel, he realized how lucky it had been that they’d come across these tools in that empty village, though he still wondered where everyone had gone. It had been half destroyed, with many of the buildings burned to the ground.
What had destroyed that village . . . and where had everyone gone?
Gameknight was still puzzled by this. A crafter would never have abandoned his own village . . . unless he had been . . . he didn’t want to think about it. Shaking his head, he pushed the disturbing thoughts to the back of his mind and turned to face his friend.
“Is it morning?” he asked his companion.
“Yes,” Crafter answered with a nod. “We can dig our way out.”
It was always important to know whether it was day or night in Minecraft. Zombies, giant spiders, slimes, creepers, and the terrifying endermen came out after sunset, hunting the unwary. The best way to survive was to have a home to hide in, or to dig a hole and seal yourself in for the night. That’s what they’d been doing for the past few weeks: traveling by day looking for villagers, and hiding in caves at night.
They needed to find villagers so that they could form an army to defeat whatever was threatening this server. The Last Battle for Minecraft was drawing near and the only thing standing between the monsters and all the electronic lives on all the servers was Crafter and Gameknight999 . . . and that was not going to be enough. They needed villagers . . . lots of them.
So far they’d come across three NPC villages, all of them abandoned and partly destroyed. None of the villagers remained. The silence within the collection of buildings had been deafening. Gameknight could imagine the terrible battle that had driven them from their homes . . . or worse. Could it have been Erebus? If it had been the King of the Endermen, then Gameknight would have somehow sensed him here in this land. No, this was the work of something else. Maybe it was some new creature that was worse than that dark red nightmare.
Pulling his mind back to the here and now, Gameknight drove his shovel into the wall of dirt. He quickly loosened the blocks, making them fall to the ground. The brown cubes hovered momentarily, then somehow moved into his inventory; he still wasn’t sure how that worked. Pushing his stone tool hard, he quickly made an opening in the wall, allowing golden shafts of sunlight to stream into their little burrow.
Stepping out into the open, he quickly put away his shovel and drew his wooden sword, scanning the area for threats. A small group of cows grazed lazily nearby, their gentle moos filling the air. Gameknight walked toward the cows as Crafter stepped out of their hidey-hole. They would need food soon; their supply of bread and melons was steadily shrinking, and cows were a good source of sustenance. But he didn’t want to attack the cows for food, not unless he had to. Turning, he looked at his companion. He wished Crafter could do it for him, but the young boy had his arms linked across his chest like all villagers did, their hands hidden within sleeves, unable to use a tool or weapon. Until they found some wood to make a crafting bench, Gameknight could not release Crafter’s arms. That meant that he had to do all the killing, something he was not ready for . . . at least not yet.
Shaking his head, he stepped away from the cow and turned back to his friend.
“Let’s wait for another day before we start killing animals,” he suggested.
Crafter nodded; their hunger was still manageable . . . but not for much longer.
“Then let’s get moving,” the young boy said, turning to face the distant mountain range. The landscape before them revealed gently rolling hills covered with grass, with the occasional splash of yellow, red, or blue flow
ers dotting the scene. “I think I can feel something in that direction, toward the mountains. The sounds of Minecraft’s mechanism, the music of Minecraft as we call it, seems to be calling me in that direction.”
“That’s what you’ve been saying for days now.”
“I know, but something still feels strange about this world. Something is out of balance, somehow. The dissonance in the music of Minecraft is somewhere in that direction.”
“OK, lead on.”
Crafter headed toward the looming mountains at a quick pace, humming a playful tune as he walked. Gameknight trailed behind, his head swiveling to the left and right, looking for threats. They were in a grassy plains biome with no trees in sight. The only threat would likely be the occasional giant spider or creeper, but with the terrain so flat, they’d see those monsters from far off; their danger level was minimal. But he was still afraid. The battle that saved the last server had been horrific, and had drained every ounce of courage from the User-that-is-not-a-user. The memory of all those claws and teeth tearing at him, the overwhelming pain and sheer panic still haunted his every waking moment, and apparently now his dreams as well.
“I wish we had some trees for wood,” Gameknight muttered softly.
“My great-aunt once told me of a time when she found a land that had no trees at all. She said there were only giant mushrooms instead,” Crafter said. Gameknight could tell this was going to be another one of Crafter’s stories and rolled his eyes. The old NPC in the young body loved telling stories. “She and her friend decided to go out looking for adventure. They sailed off in a boat, to see what was on the other side of the great sea.”
“That doesn’t seem like a very smart thing to do.”
“Probably not, but she was known for doing dumb things that always seemed to lead to great discoveries. Well anyway, they took this boat and sailed away from their village. They sailed for days and days, through stormy nights and blazing hot days, until finally they came upon a new land. My great-aunt—her name was Milker, but I used to call her Milky—anyway, she told me that this land was covered with gigantic mushrooms. They were huge red things with white spots on the side. She thought that maybe it was some kind of testing area that the Creator was using, experimenting with some kind of new server update.”
“The Creator . . . you mean Notch?”
“Yes, of course, Notch, the creator of Minecraft,” Crafter said, as if it was obvious.
He stopped walking for a minute to survey their surroundings, scanning the area for danger. They were alone with nothing but cows and pigs nearby. Satisfied that all was well, the duo continued.
“Anyway, she said that it was an incredible land, but she was glad to get home again.”
“Did she get in trouble for going on that adventure?” Gameknight asked.
“Of course. I was told that she was always getting into trouble for trying new things like that.”
“Wasn’t she afraid of doing these new, crazy things?” he asked, feeling his own fear coil about him like a venomous serpent.
“It’s funny you say that, Gameknight, because long ago, when Milky was the oldest person I knew, she told me something that I’ll never forget. She said, ‘Remember, boy, things that are new only seem scary because they aren’t old yet. After you finally do the new thing, then the fear it held over you will fade away like the morning mist, because the new will have become the old. Focus on what it will be like after you do this thing, and the new will become the old in the blink of an eye.’ She died the next day. That was the last thing she ever said to me.”
Crafter stopped walking again for a moment, and then slowly raised one hand up into the air. Gameknight was shocked; his hands . . . were separated! Before the User-that-was-not-a-user could speak, Crafter held his hand up higher, his fingers spread wide, then slowly clenched his hand into a fist, squeezing it tight. He bowed his head slightly, then brought his hand down, his arms linking again across his chest.
“Your arms . . .”
“The salute for the dead,” Crafter explained. “It is the only thing NPCs can do with their arms . . . paying tribute to those loved ones we’ve lost over the years.”
Gameknight looked at his friend and could see the sadness in his eyes as he thought about his Milky. Crafter then looked up at him and gave his trademark life-affirming smile, and continued walking. Starting a melodious tune, the young NPC began to hum, the music raising their spirits. In lockstep, they continued across the grassy plain, eyes scanning the horizon for what they desperately needed: A village with NPCs.
They began to run, and as they did Gameknight could feel the square sun slowly creep away from the horizon and move high up into the sky. Its illumination made his skin feel warm and alive as it bathed the landscape with a cheerful glow. He loved the morning, mainly because it was far from the night. The thought of that boxy sun gradually kissing the horizon at sunset gave him brief stabs of fear that covered his arms with goose bumps.
This is ridiculous, he thought to himself. It isn’t even dusk yet, and I’m already afraid of the coming sunset. He shook his head, trying to dislodge his irrational panic.
“Are you alright, Gameknight?” his young companion asked.
“Yeah, just thinking,” he lied.
“Seems like more than just thinking,” Crafter said. “It’s important that we work as a team on this server, for I’m sure we will encounter perils that will make the last server look like a child’s playground.” He paused and turned to look at his friend as they ran. “You have something you need to tell me?”
Gameknight hesitated. He wanted to tell Crafter about his worries, hoping that sharing them would unburden him of all this fear, but he knew it would do nothing except make him look pathetic and weak.
How would telling him about my fears do any good?
Instead, he just sighed.
“Nope, just thinking about my parents and sister,” he said truthfully. “I hope they’re alright; I mean, gonna be alright . . . you know?”
“You mean you hope we can stop this war and keep the monsters from flowing into your world.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, User-that-is-not-a-user, I think it’s safe to say that we all hope that. For if the monsters get to the physical world, it would mean that the lives on all the Minecraft servers—across all the planes of existence—would have been destroyed. I’m guessing nobody wants that,” Crafter said almost playfully.
Gameknight smiled.
“Except Erebus,” he added softly.
“What?” Crafter asked, his bright blue eyes seeing into the very depths of Gameknight’s soul.
“Ah . . . nothing.”
Turning quickly away from his friend so that those intense blue eyes would not see the lie on his face, Gameknight looked forward and continued to run. They were starting to climb a gentle hill, and having to jump up every few blocks or so as they made their way up a grassy mound. Gameknight drew his sword, unable to see over the crest, while unknown threats prowled just past the summit, lurking in his imagination.
When they reached the top of the hill, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Turning, he scanned the terrain, looking for anything that might help them: a tree, a village, users . . . anything. But there was nothing. The land was bare, with the exception of the cattle, pigs, and sheep that lazed about, grazing on the grass that was abundant in this biome. And then two specks crested a distant hill to the north.
“You see that?” he asked, pointing toward the specks with his wooden sword.
Crafter turned and looked.
“I can’t be certain what they are from this distance,” the young boy said. “But my guess is that it’s either two villagers or two users. I’m not sure which.”
“We don’t care which. They’d be a welcome addition to our group, no matter who they are.”
“What are you thinking?” Crafter asked.
“I’m thinking we need help and we need information. We could
keep running all over this biome and never find a village. Maybe they know where one is. I say let’s go talk to them.”
“OK, let’s go.”
The pair turned and headed toward the two specks on the horizon. As they ran across the rolling hills, they lost sight of the two visitors frequently, only seeing them when both groups were at the top of a hill. This made Gameknight nervous. He wanted to get a good look at the two before they were too close, but it didn’t seem like that was going to happen.
Were they trying to avoid being seen? Gameknight thought as feelings of uncertainty spread through his mind, slowly changing to fear.
Glancing at Crafter, he wondered what his old friend was thinking, but kept his own fears to himself. He was probably worrying about nothing—just two villagers out looking for game to feed their village.
As they crested the next hill, he stopped, pulling on Crafter’s arm for him to stop as well.
“What is it?” the old NPC asked, his young eyes still looking in the direction they had been running.
“I have a funny feeling about this, Crafter. Let’s wait here and see what we can see.”
The pair stood motionless and waited, watching the hill the visitors should soon be reaching. But then, two large black bodies suddenly sprinted over a closer hill, and in an instant his blood turned to ice; spiders, two of them.
“You see ‘em?” Gameknight asked.
“Yes, and I’m sure they see us,” Crafter answered, his voice filled with tension. “We need to run . . . NOW!”
The pair sprinted back down the hill they’d just climbed. When they reached the bottom, Gameknight turned to the right and followed the gentle ravine, keeping out of sight.
“What are you doing?” Crafter asked. “We need to run away from them, not sideways.”
“No, we need to go where they won’t be expecting us, and that’s off this way. Now come on.”
Battle for the Nether Page 2
