Images played through Gameknight’s mind then, as if he was watching a movie, but it was one that he was unable to look away from. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it made no difference. The images were playing within his mind.
He saw Malacoda emerge from the portal his father’s digitizer had formed, the massive creature barely able to fit through it. He knocked over piles of boxes and stacks of books as Malacoda floated through his basement. When he reached the steps, one of his tentacles shot upward and grabbed something at the basement door, slowly drawing his prize in. Gameknight could see that it was his sister, her face pale with fear, tears streaming down her face. Malacoda held her firmly as he floated up the steps. The monster squeezed through the basement door and into their kitchen. Blazes and zombie-pigmen followed their king as he moved through the house, looking for other victims. Quickly, Gameknight’s parents were herded into the living room by some skeletons, their sharp arrows pointed at the adults’ defenseless backs. Striking out with his long tentacles, Malacoda also grabbed Gameknight999’s parents and held them tight, drawing them near their daughter. Their struggles made no difference; they were prisoners, and completely helpless.
With the flick of another tentacle, Malacoda had some blazes blast open the side of their home. Fireballs from the flaming creatures smashed into their living room wall, blasting it to a million pieces, their sofa and chairs instantly aflame. Smoke started to billow out of their home as Malacoda drifted out into the street, a constant flow of monsters following their king. With the flick of his tentacles, he had his forces attack all the homes nearby. Zombies smashed in doors and creepers exploded walls, letting giant spiders and skeletons into the homes to attack the defenseless inhabitants.
The scene replayed itself all across his neighborhood, then his city, then his state, the attacks relentless. The citizens were unable to resist the flood of monsters that were flowing from the Gateway of Light in his basement. With his defeat in Minecraft, Gameknight999 had unwillingly caused all this destruction; it was his fault. Looking over at his sister, he saw her terrified face staring up at him, expecting her big brother to somehow take care of all this and save her. He felt like a failure and wriggled to get free. Malacoda held Gameknight’s family tightly within his tentacle grip, forcing them to watch the destruction of their world; the ghast was saving these three for last.
Gameknight tried to push the images from his brain, but he was helpless. Malacoda seemed to be in control of his mind.
“Noooo,” he moaned, tears streaming from his rectangular eyes.
Malacoda laughed. “Yes, I will save your family for last and force them to watch the extermination of their species,” he said, his deep voice resonating with pride. “Then I will extinguish their useless lives and become ruler of everything. My army will sweep across the physical world like an unstoppable storm, cleansing everything in its path.”
“Noooo,” Gameknight cried again, his eyes now stinging.
“Yes, I am certainly looking forward to meeting that sister of yours.”
The monster laughed again as icicles of fear cut into Gameknight999’s heart. He thought about the look of complete terror on his sister’s face and shook uncontrollably. She was terrified, and I was supposed to protect her, he thought. I’m her big brother, and that’s my job—to keep her safe!
Anger started to well up within him, not directed at the hideous monster that had its cold tentacles wrapped around his body, but focused inwardly on himself.
I can’t fail her. I refuse.
“And by the way, User-that-is-not-a-user, tell that runt of a crafter that I’m coming for him next,” Malacoda said with an especially vile tone, his tentacles squeezing a little tighter, making it hard to breathe. “I’m building something special, and it’s almost complete. There is a place of honor reserved for him.”
Just then, images of the Nether flooded into Gameknight’s mind. He could see a massive fortress, built out of dark stone, standing atop tall columns, raised walkways stretching out around the massive structure. Gameknight’s view of the fortress sped before his eyes as if he were flying, his point of view slowly drifted across the landscape. He realized that he was still within Malacoda’s icy grip. The monstrosity was floating about the fortress within the Land of Dreams, peering into raised balconies and through barred windows. Gameknight was shocked by the size of the structure. It must have been at least two hundred blocks tall, if not more.
Malacoda suddenly flew to the massive tower at the center of the fortress, plunged through an open balcony, and emerged within the structure. Before him stood a large square room made of netherrack, barred windows dotting the exterior. Gameknight could see people within the structure—sad figures garbed in black with long gray stripes going down their fronts: crafters.
“Behold your friend’s future home,” Malacoda said in a sinister voice. “He will soon be a guest here, but his true place of honor will be elsewhere.”
The ghast then spun around and shot out of the massive tower. Without breaking any blocks, he passed through the wall of the fortress and emerged outside. Floating up high, he moved out over the massive lava sea and turned back to look at his mighty citadel. Gameknight could see a massive opening at the foot of the fortress, with steps leading up to the entrance. Countless numbers of creatures moved in and out of the citadel, some of them being NPC prisoners forced into labor. The entranceway yawned open toward the massive sea of lava that extended out into the distance, the opposite shore not visible through the smoke and haze. Narrow bridges stretched across the molten sea, reaching out to a circular island of stone. Around the edge of the island, he could see twelve obsidian blocks placed evenly apart, positioned on the island like the numbers on a clock. Atop most of the dark obsidian blocks sat a single bluish block of some kind—something that looked like a crafting bench but was not. It was different yet familiar at the same time. Gameknight noticed that not all of the obsidian blocks had this new thing on top, but most were capped. At the center of the island stood a large structure that was perhaps four blocks tall, with steps leading up from all sides; all of them were made of obsidian. And this was where Malacoda brought Gameknight.
“I wanted to show you where your defeat will come. This is where I will take my vengeance on you and destroy that little thing of a crafter you call a friend. His downfall will pave the way for my victory, and when I no longer have any use for him, I will crush him to nothing.”
The tentacles around Gameknight999 squeezed a little tighter, making breathing even more difficult.
Crafter . . . I can’t watch him die again like on the last server.
His anger started turning into a burning rage, now, while images of flames filled his mind. And in that instant, he looked down and saw that he was literally on fire. Strange bluish, iridescent flames danced across his body. They were the same color as an enchanted weapon, something between blue and purple, but had a feeling of power within them. As his rage increased, the intensity of those sapphire flames rose as well, their kiss starting to make Malacoda’s tentacles twitch and writhe.
Gameknight suddenly realized that the flames were coming from him—his imagination, his dream. This realization filled him with a glimmer of hope. He was overwhelmingly afraid of Malacoda, the King of the Nether, who was now in his nightmares, but something Crafter had said trickled into the back of his mind: “Deeds do not make the hero, Gameknight999, how they overcome their fear does.”
His friend’s young voice filled his head, driving the images of his sister and family back into the darkness; they had been banished from his head.
No, he thought. I will not let this happen!
Deeds do not make the hero . . .
His blue flames burned a little brighter, making Malacoda’s tentacles spasm more strongly, his grip still firm, but loosening.
NO, I will not play the victim anymore, Gameknight thought. The flames started to burn brighter, forming a blue circle around him within the mist.
<
br /> How they overcome their fear does . . .
“NO . . . NO!” he said aloud.
Suddenly, he was a blazing sun of blue fire, his flames biting into Malacoda’s tentacles like an enchanted diamond sword. The ghast released him in an instant, then floated upward, out of reach.
“So, the cub learns,” Malacoda said sarcastically, the smile on the square face replaced by an evil sneer. “All the better. Now, let me give you a little lesson of my own, but remember that Minecraft is mine. Soon, your world will be mine as well, and there is nothing you can do about it.”
A huge, orange fireball started to form between Malacoda’s tentacles. It burned brighter and brighter until it completely overwhelmed Gameknight’s blue flames. Malacoda then hurled the fireball at Gameknight with lightning speed. In an instant, he was enveloped by the ball of fire, pain resonating through every nerve, his mind feeling as if it were ablaze. And when he thought he could bear the pain no more, the fire went out, and Malacoda’s face was directly in front of his.
“You will fail, User-that-is-not-a-user,” the King of the Nether said. “And then you will be mine.”
And with a flick of his massive body, Malacoda’s tentacles shot toward Gameknight’s head, hammering him with a mighty blow. Then the darkness enveloped him.
CHAPTER 15
SHIFTING THE TIDES OF WAR
G
ameknight woke with a start; it felt as if something had jolted him awake.
Are we being attacked? What’s happening? Where am I? Thoughts rocketed through his head as the fog of sleep gradually evaporated from his mind.
Sitting up, he looked around. Cobblestone walls surrounded him. Torches placed on each of them cast a circle of golden light that filled the room. Looking to his left, he could see Crafter sleeping in the bed next to him, the young NPC’s breathing a steady rhythm. He was still asleep.
Slowly getting up from his bed, Gameknight crossed his small room and looked out the window. It was nighttime. He could see monsters lurking about, zombies and skeletons looking for the unwary. But this village was well prepared. Blocks of stone had been placed in front of wooden doors to keep zombie fists from smashing them in. Torches had been placed all throughout the village, keeping the light level high; this kept monsters from spawning within the village. But with all the preparations they’d made, there were still monsters close at hand. There were always monsters close by at night.
As he looked out the window, Gameknight could feel that something was different. Something had changed. The music of the world had somehow been altered, so slightly that it was almost imperceptible, but nevertheless the grinding electronic mechanism that ran the world was playing a subtly different tune tonight. He could feel the difference, even though he couldn’t quite see it. It felt like the rules of the game had changed, as if there had been some kind of software update, but the effects of the upgrade were still unseen. Gameknight followed the movement of a zombie as he tried to sort out these changes, attempting to identify what was different. He had no luck; it seemed that the new music of Minecraft held its secret close. He sighed.
Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on the sounds of Minecraft—the grinding sounds from the mechanism that drove this electronic world—the music of Minecraft. But instead, memories from the dream surged into his mind. The crafters trapped within that netherrack cell and that circle of stone on the lava sea, these images seemed important, really important.
“Gameknight, is everything OK?”
Turning, he found Crafter standing next to his bed, his iron sword drawn. “Yeah,” he answered. “I just thought I heard something.”
Crafter took a few steps closer, then suddenly stopped as his eyes grew wide with concern. “Your jaw . . . what happened?”
Reaching up with his blocky hand, Gameknight rubbed his jaw. It was sore, slightly swollen, and bruised.
What did I do to hurt my jaw?
And then the end of his dream came back to him in horrific detail . . . Malacoda. The King of the Nether had punched him with a great tentacled fist, the blow knocking him into unconsciousness and sending him out of the Land of Dreams. This was the second time he’d been hurt in the Land of Dreams: first from Erebus choking him, and now by Malacoda punching him.
What did it all mean?
“I had another dream,” Gameknight said slowly, the images still trickling through his brain.
“Erebus?”
“No . . . this time it was Malacoda.”
Gameknight rubbed his jaw again as Crafter stepped closer to get a better view. “Crafter, he showed me what he was going to do . . . to my family . . . to my sister!” He paused as emotions choked his voice. Small, blocky tears flowed from his eyes as the dream repeated its agonizing performance in his mind. Shaking his head to force the images away, he continued. “He told me about the crafters. He has them down there in his fortress in a prison cell.”
“What? In his fortress?”
Gameknight nodded. “He has them in a prison cell. But there’s more.” He rubbed his jaw again as he looked down into his friend’s bright blue eyes. “He said that he was looking for you, and that he had a special place for you. It was on this stone island on a lava sea. There were these strange blocks all around the island, like crafting benches but made of diamond. I think there were maybe ten of them, maybe more, and they were . . .”
Crafter gasped, his eyes wide with fear. “What did you say?” the young NPC asked, taking a step closer.
“I said that there were maybe ten of them all around the island and . . .”
“No,” Crafter snapped, “before that. What kind of blocks did you say they were?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen anything like them. They looked like diamond crafting benches, but that doesn’t make any sense at all. How could they be—”
“Twelve,” Crafter interrupted. “There will be twelve of them, and then one at the center.”
“Yeah, that’s it. How did you know that?”
“There is an old Prophecy—the monster’s Prophecy—and it seems it’s being lived out in the Nether,” Crafter said in a low voice, his eyes cast to the ground. “Our Prophecy tells us of the User-that-is-not-a-user coming to save us during the time of trials, when the monsters of the Overworld will try to take over everything and get to the Source. But there is another prophecy . . . the Lost Prophecy.
“All crafters know of the Lost Prophecy. It tells us about the creatures of the Nether and a ring of diamond blocks, specifically diamond crafting benches. They can only be crafted by a full-fledged crafter, and are made at the expense of a crafter’s life. When twelve of these crafting benches are activated in a ring, with a thirteenth at their center, a portal will be formed to take the Nether creatures directly to the Source.”
Crafter paused to take a breath and let his words sink in. Raising his gaze, he looked up at Gameknight999, a look of uncertainty and fear apparent on his square face. Sighing, he continued.
“If he finishes this portal, then he can take his army straight to the server that houses the Source and try to destroy it.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought, then continued. “Did he have a large army?”
“I saw lots of monsters around his fortress, but I don’t think his army is that big—not yet anyway,” Gameknight said. “However, the thing that concerns me is the number of spawners I saw. He has hundreds and hundreds of them. In a week or two, his army will be so big that it will be unstoppable.”
“If they finish what they are doing down there and make that giant portal, Malacoda will move all of his monsters to the Source,” Crafter said, his voice now sharpened with a hard edge. “And if he continues to grow his army, then . . .” A look of desolation covered the young NPC’s face. “We have to do something . . . now.”
“What can we do to stop Malacoda?”
As soon as he’d spoken, an image popped into Gameknight’s head, an image of Malacoda screaming in rage upon finding his obsidian pri
son cell empty, its precious contents stolen and ushered back to the Overworld. A smile slowly grew on his face.
“I know what we have to do,” the User-that-is-not-a-user said proudly. “We’ll steal the crafters from him. That will stop him . . . for now.”
“Of course,” Crafter exclaimed, patting his friend on the shoulder. “It’s time we shift the tides of war. We’re going to bring the war to Malacoda instead of just reacting to him, and I know just how to do it. Come on . . . to the crafting chamber. We need supplies and the portal to the Nether. Let’s check on the miners.”
Crafter sprinted to the hole in the floor and slid down the ladder to the ground. Gameknight watched his friend leave, but hesitated.
The Nether . . . do I really want to go to the Nether? he thought. But what choice do I have? I can’t let Crafter go alone. I have to be there to help.
Images of zombie-pigmen and blazes and wither skeletons and ghasts filled his mind—all the creatures of the Nether that would love to kill the User-that-is-not-a-user. And, of course, the thought of facing Malacoda paralyzed his feet, making it impossible to move. Malacoda . . . he was Gameknight’s new nightmare, someone that actually made Erebus seem almost insignificant. He would have never thought there would be a creature in Minecraft that could be more terrifying than the King of the Endermen. But Malacoda . . . he was the most terrifying thing Gameknight had ever imagined.
What am I going to do? he thought as an overwhelming sense of terror coursed through his body, making him shiver.
Suddenly, a small head popped up out of the hole in the floor, two bright blue eyes staring up at the User-that-is-not-a-user.
“Hey . . . Gameknight . . . you coming?” Crafter asked.
“Yeah,” Gameknight999 answered, and moved toward the opening in spite of the fear roiling through him.
CHAPTER 16
EREBUS’ RAGE
E
rebus howled in anger; they had come upon yet another village without any villagers . . . what was happening? He wanted to kill NPCs, needed their XP so that he could move up to the next server and get closer to the Source, but he wasn’t making any progress. Someone or something was getting to these villages first, emptying them out before he could come and kill anyone. That was filling him with a burning rage.
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