Battle for the Nether

by Mark Cheverton

  “I’ve got it,” he said. “I have all the pieces. They’re barely connected by the finest of threads, but it’s all there. All I need is for you to lead us.”

  She moved quickly and aggressively across the cavern floor and stood directly in front of him. “I’m not a leader, and you know this,” she snapped. “I’m an angry killer, and these people here won’t follow me. They fear me . . . everyone fears me.”

  Not me . . .

  The room became silent.

  “But there is a leader here,” she said with a quiet voice.

  Gameknight looked about the room, then back to Hunter.

  “Where?”

  She moved next to him and grabbed his arm, then led him to the corner of the cavern. Villagers moved aside as the duo walked through the crowded chamber, all eyes on them. They parted like a great ocean, expectant faces all looking toward the User-that-is-not-a-user with hope—and a bit of trepidation. Pulling him to the farthest corner, Hunter stopped directly in front of the pool of water that had been put there for the villagers to drink, and pointed downward.

  “Leaders do not choose to be leaders, their followers choose them,” she said in a firm, confident voice. “Look around you. These NPCs have faith in you. They trust you and are willing to risk their lives to achieve something that is bigger than themselves. They will do this, not because of me . . . but because of you.”

  She then pointed down at the pool, gesturing to his reflection. “There is your leader,” she said, her voice ringing with confidence.

  Gameknight peered into the flowing water, expecting to see some sort of hidden mystery unveiled, but all that was there was his own reflection staring right back at him, Hunter at his side. He could see the confident look of expectation on her face, her warm, brown eyes boring straight into him, and then Crafter’s last words floated through his mind.

  Deeds do not make the hero . . .

  His friend’s words echoed within him. Can I do this? Can I face this threat . . . face my fears? He tried to wrap his mind around this possibility and thought about Malacoda and Erebus, the monsters wreaking havoc in his soul. But then his attention was brought back to Hunter’s warm eyes, her face ringed by her vibrant red hair. She exuded confidence and faith in him. Drawing his gaze from hers, he stared into his own steel-blue eyes, and deep within those terrified orbs, he could see Crafter’s bright blues looking up at him, confident and strong. But how could he save him? He wasn’t strong, wasn’t a hero. He was just a kid . . . a nobody.

  Deeds do not make the hero . . .

  He could hear Crafter’s staunch belief in him resounding within his own mind. His friend was counting on him, and he had to do something to help. He couldn’t let Crafter down; he had to save him, even if he was terrified. And then some of the villagers approached him and stood next to him, all of them staring down into the pool of water. Their eyes were looking expectantly at him as well, their faith and hope in the User-that-is-not-a-user something that would not easily abate. Maybe I can do this.

  But Malacoda . . . those eyes . . . those terrible red eyes. How could he face that monster . . . and also Erebus? He knew that both of his nightmares would be there in the Nether, waiting for him. He couldn’t defeat both of them. He wasn’t strong enough. But then his attention was drawn back to the villagers standing around him. He could feel more of them coming nearer, pressing their bodies against his in silent support. They all knew now that he was afraid—could see the fear on his face—but they still had faith in him. He was part of a community, and no longer just an individual or griefer. He had people to help him, to carry some of the burden of fear for him and lend him a little courage in return. They were together in this, and for the first time in a long time, Gameknight999 did not feel alone.

  Deeds do not define the hero . . . how they overcome their fear does.

  Maybe he could overcome his fear, maybe he could focus on the now and be the hero Crafter needed. He felt Hunter’s hand on his shoulder, and turned to look at her, her face framed by her glowing red hair.

  “You can do this,” she said quietly, compassion in her eyes. “We can do this . . . all of us. We just need you to lead us.”

  He looked about the chamber, the village’s supportive eyes all focused on him. He could see the small girl with the leashed pig smiling at him across the cavern, a look of excited hopefulness on her face. Glancing at the leash and then back at her, confidence flooded through him. He could do this . . . no, we can do this . . . and he looked at Hunter and nodded.

  Pulling her shimmering, enchanted bow from her inventory, she held it up high over her head and yelled, “THE USER-THAT-IS-NOT-A-USER WILL LEAD US IN THE LAST BATTLE!”

  The cavern erupted in joyous cheers, and many villagers patted him on the back, raising their own swords in excited jubilation.

  “OK, EVERYONE QUIET DOWN!” Gameknight yelled, trying to bring order to the happy chaos. He then cleared out an area on the ground and started placing blocks of stones, each one representing a piece of the puzzle, the different aspects of his battle plan. “We have to move fast so that we can hit them hard where they won’t expect it. And the first thing we’re going to need is diamond, lots of it. Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

  CHAPTER 23

  BATTLE FOR THE NETHER

  T

  he warriors surged out of the portal like an unstoppable flood. None of them paused to look at their surroundings; they had been told what to expect—a world of smoke and flame—and that was exactly what they saw. Moving off to the right, they headed straight for the ravine—the gash in the landscape that had been the scene of the last fateful battle. This time it would be different. This time they were not just a handful of soldiers, fifty warriors hoping to go unnoticed by the creatures of the Nether. This time, they were hundreds and hundreds of angry villagers, each heavily armed with only one thought in mind: Stop Malacoda and reclaim their crafters.

  Watchful eyes saw the mass of Overworlders burst through the portal and moved off to report to their masters. The remaining observers stayed close to the invading army, watching their every move, ready to report anything new. The little watchers flitted behind hills and hid in the few shadows that existed there, silently observing and moving with the army as it flowed into the ravine. What the flying observers didn’t see was a second army emerging through the portal after the first had led the watchers away. This new group moved in the opposite direction, away from the ravine and down the long, gently sloping hill that curved around and headed toward the distant Nether fortress.

  The main force moved quickly into the ravine, led by one of the new additions to the village: Mason. He’d come from a village that had been destroyed by Erebus and his mob. Having been out building a jungle temple, Mason returned to find his village destroyed, all of the people he’d know his entire life simply erased from the face of Minecraft. He had a natural sense of command about him, and the villagers had quickly chosen him to lead this army, his strong, muscular build making him a formidable presence on the battlefield. His short-cropped brown hair was barely visible under his iron helmet, his balding scalp hidden under the metal cap. A neatly trimmed beard outlined his face and made him seem wise and knowledgeable. In the village, he’d always seemed to have a smile on his face, making his green eyes light up, except when he was working, shaping and carving stone.

  Right now, a stern scowl was painted across his blocky face, for he was shaping something less forgiving than stone. Right now, he was shaping a battlefield. Scanning the area with his piercing gaze, he turned to his squad leaders and nodded, signaling for things to start.

  Half of the warriors stayed on top of the ravine while the other half moved within its rocky depths, securing both entrance and exit. The NPCs above pulled out blocks of cobblestone and quickly started to build a stone roof over the narrow chasm, sealing it from overhead threats. Those within the ravine built fortifications at the lower entrance, getting ready for the attack that they
knew was coming.

  Bats flitted about in the area, their little beady eyes taking in every aspect of the fortifications. Some of them tried to carry this information to their masters by flying out of the ravine.

  “The bats, shoot them!” Mason yelled.

  Suddenly, the air was full of arrows that tore the shadowy creatures to bits, the little flying informants unable to give away any of the NPCs’ preparations.

  In minutes, the rocky cover over the top of the ravine was complete, those below now safe from overhead attacks. Then they built rocky crenellations around the top of the high plateau—stone spires to hide behind once the battle had begun.

  Warriors could be seen running out onto the open plain and digging holes into the ground, only to be followed by other NPCs with TNT blocks in their hands. The striped black and red cubes were placed in the ground, with blocks of netherrack in front to hide their presence from the expected attacking horde. Working as fast as they could, the villagers prepared the battlefield, putting tripwires here and pressure plates there, each tied to little explosive surprises that would tear apart the monstrous horde that was sure to come.

  And as they had anticipated, two large groups of monsters emerged from behind the netherrack mounds in the distance. Blazes, wither skeletons, magma cubes, and zombie-pigmen could be seen slowly crossing the smoky plain, gradually and inevitably approaching the ravine while a cluster of terrifying ghasts floated overhead. In the distance, a pair of burning red eyes watched the coming encounter; Malacoda, the King of the Nether, was laughing at this new, foolish attempt to thwart his plans.

  The huge army of monsters approached slowly, moving casually across the sloping plain as if they were unconcerned about the threat that faced them. They didn’t notice the new features on the plain, or the recently added rocky structures atop the ravine. The villagers could feel the tension build as the monsters approached. Their moaning cries and angry wails filled the air, a thirst for killing resonating strong in their monstrous voices. Remaining completely quiet, the villagers endured the terrible sounds, waiting patiently for the tide of destruction to crash down upon them.

  When they were within bowshot, a hundred archers atop the plateau stood from behind stone blocks and opened fire. The sky darkened as a hundred arrows streaked through the air and fell down on the monsters. Painful moans filled the air as zombie-pigmen were hit, their rotting flesh pierced by the steel-tipped rain. Magma cubes quickly split into two as the arrows tore into their gelatinous bodies. The destruction amongst the monsters was terrible, but they continued to advance. Blazes at the rear drove the monsters forward with whips of fire, forcing the mob closer to the attackers.

  Another wave of arrows fell down upon them, wreaking more havoc. Moving forward to the front of the mob, the blazes flared and launched a quick volley of three fireballs up at the archers. Expecting this, the archers quickly ducked behind their rocky shields and waited for the flames to hit. As soon as they impacted, the archers jumped out again and fired another round of arrows, shooting as fast as their blocky hands could draw back the string.

  On the ground, more archers with enchanted bows started firing at the hidden blocks of TNT. Some of the monsters hit the hidden trip wires and stepped on pressure plates, triggering explosions that added to the destruction. The battlefield turned into chaos. Areas of the netherrack plain had become gigantic craters as the explosives detonated, taking many of the monsters with them, but still the main body surged forward.

  The first ranks of zombie-pigmen finally reached the entrance to the ravine. Their golden swords flashed through the air as they tried to push their way through the NPC defenders. The ferocity of their attack, coupled with their massive numbers, forced the defenders to pull back a little.

  “NO!” Mason bellowed. “STAND YOUR GROUND!” He looked up at the overhead walkways that Gameknight and Hunter had used in their last retreat. “Archers, fire on the lead monsters. We do not retreat . . . keep fighting . . . FOR MINECRAFT!”

  “FOR MINECRAFT!” the warriors shouted in return.

  The archers fired from their elevated positions, their arrows tearing into the rotting bodies. The swordsmen on the ground surged forward, driving the monsters back, those on the front line refusing to give an inch, using their very lives to hold back the press of the attacking horde.

  Some of the archers atop the plateau pulled out blocks of TNT and carefully leaned out over the sheer cliff on which they stood. Between dodging balls of fire from blazes, they placed as many explosive blocks as they could on the exposed edge, the TNT hanging out over the lip of the netherrack wall. Looking straight down, they could see the mass of zombies trying to push their way through the villager’s defenses; they had to hurry. Stepping back, one of the archers started lighting the blocks with flint and steel. The TNT instantly began to blink, then released from the cliff wall and fell straight down onto the attacking mobs.

  “INCOMING!” one of the archers yelled as the flashing bombs plummeted onto their intended targets.

  “Pull back and use bows!” Mason yelled as he notched an arrow and sent it into the soft pink underside of an attacking monster, a grim smile on his face.

  The other soldiers at ground level moved back from the attacking horde and drew their bows, firing from a safe distance. They saw the flashing blocks drop amidst the mass of zombies and then detonate. The explosives tore through the attackers with a vengeance, creating a huge crater in the mouth of the ravine. The concussive sequence of explosions was almost beautiful as bright flashes illuminated the area with intense light, one after another. Explosive balls of fire came alive and consumed many zombies, their bodies flashing red with damage as they were thrown into the air.

  Once the last block detonated, Mason sounded the charge. “ATTACK!”

  The soldiers drew their swords and cut down the surviving monsters from the initial wave, then charged through the massive crater and took control of the ravine opening. Arrows from skeleton archers fell on the soldiers, taking a terrible toll on those at the front. Bodies disappeared as their HP was consumed. Archers from the cliff top answered in kind, aiming for the skeletons. The sky grew dark with arrows flying back and forth, the flying projectiles dimming the light for the blocks of glowstone overhead. The steel-tipped shafts took life after life, but the archers above the cliff were stronger in number. They quickly cleared the area of skeletons, leaving the battlefield littered with pale white bones.

  The ghasts howled in rage and started to hurl spheres of fire at the NPCs. The floating gasbags drove the blazes forward, their overwhelming firepower boosting the morale of the monsters and making them fight even harder. Mason knew that these floating creatures had to be eliminated, as their blazing fireballs were wreaking havoc among his men.

  “Archers . . . target the ghasts!” he yelled over the din of battle.

  The archers turned their pointed shafts of death toward the floating menaces. Working in groups of six, they targeted the same ghast, simultaneously piercing it with half a dozen arrows and killing the monsters instantly. The spotter for each group directed the clusters of archers to a new target as soon as the last one was killed; the groups were working like intricate machines of death, just as Gameknight had taught them to. They tore through the ghasts like they were harmless balloons, the ghasts’ feline cries echoing across the landscape as they died.

  With most of the zombies, magma cubes, and ghasts destroyed, the NPC army surged forward, moving out onto the plain to hunt the blazes. Arrows streaked out from above the ravine as archers searched for the remaining monsters, while the infantry charged forward. A large group of warriors led the charge, but they had no weapons in their hands; instead, they held small white balls. As they approached the blazes, they threw the white balls at the flaming beasts. Snowballs fell on the blazes like a blizzard—something the creatures of fire had never experienced before. The snowballs were lethal to the burning monsters, the icy projectiles hammering their HP and extinguishi
ng their internal flames. Balls of fire streaked back toward the warriors as their white balls fell on their prey. It was a peculiar scene, what with white and orange-red balls flying back and forth. Many NPCs succumbed to fiery deaths, but most survived, tearing through the monster lines like a scythe cutting wheat, their snowballs doing more damage than the incoming fireballs. With the blazes occupied, the swordsmen were able to get close enough to finish off the burning monsters with a few quick sword thrusts. In moments, though it felt like an eternity on the battlefield, the blazes were extinguished and had become nothing more than piles of blaze rods lying scattered about with the rest of the battle debris.

  Small groups of NPCs spread out across the plain, now, searching out the remaining monsters. They fell on the stragglers, with four warriors surrounding individual monsters in a killing circle, and reducing their HP quickly and efficiently, just as they’d been taught. When the battlefield was finally clear, and the last remnants of the attacking mob destroyed, a cheer rang out across the landscape—something the Nether had never heard.

  A terrible scream came from the looming fortress, and Malacoda’s rage-filled voice echoed across the Nether. Many of the villagers laughed and jeered at him, mocking him from a distance. They pointed their swords and bows at the ruler of the Nether, daring him to come forth. But not all were celebrating. Many NPCs mourned the loss of a comrade or spouse, scattered inventories the only evidence of their existence. Blocky tears ran down dirty faces of widows, widowers, and parents, their weeping only making them angrier at the King of the Nether.

  “Quickly, form up,” Mason shouted, his commanding voice stopping the celebration and bringing the soldiers back in line. “Archers, come down and join the ranks.”