Destruction of the Overworld

by Mark Cheverton

  “You hear it too?” Gameknight asked.

  Stitcher nodded her head, her deep brown eyes filled with worry.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Gameknight shook his head. “I don’t know, but we need to find out.”

  He looked at Monkeypants.

  “Do you hear it?” Gameknight asked.

  “I can now,” his father replied, “and it doesn’t sound good. This Oracle of yours must be battling some new threat.”

  The Oracle was an artificially intelligent antivirus program that had been loaded into Minecraft after the Herobrine-virus had infected the servers. But they had destroyed that terrible monster in The End, and Gameknight couldn’t imagine what could be battling with the Oracle, unless . . .

  No . . . it’s not possible, Gameknight thought. I saw him fall into the void. Herobrine is dead. It must be something else.

  Across the grassy plain, Crafter’s village stood tall and magnificent. A high stone wall ringed the community and a deep watery moat curved farther out. Across the moat, a wooden bridge led to the village gates. Next to the bridge, twin cobblestone towers stood upon which archers waited, ready—always ready.

  Off to the right was a new addition: Gameknight999’s castle. A half-completed obsidian wall surrounded a large rectangular stone keep that loomed high in the air. Rocky crenellations adorned the top of the stone structure, the alternating blocks giving archers some protection during battle. Jutting out of the sheer walls were numerous torch-lit balconies, each with iron bars encircling the small terraces. Archer towers soared high over the incomplete obsidian walls. The stone structures extended upward and then out over the wall, giving them an unobstructed field of fire out onto the battlefield. Holes were visible on the floor of the cantilevered structures, allowing warriors to shoot straight down at those who might be trying to breach the iron gates.

  Around the base of the incomplete obsidian wall, Gameknight could see Grassbrin—one of the light-crafters—placing tall grass, the long leafy plants likely intended to ensnare any monster who moved too close. On the plain in front of the castle, the other light-crafter, Treebrin, was planting tall spruces and oaks, forming a narrow path any approaching enemy would have to take. This would force the attacking foe to cluster together when they approached the castle, limiting the advantage of a larger army and making them easier to hit with arrows. Through the opening of the incomplete wall, Gameknight could also see a string of oak trees planted throughout the courtyard, the trees spanning the distance between the wall and the keep. He knew the light-crafter had placed these trees in a careful arrangement so they could be climbed quickly to gain access to the top of the walls. They would also provide a supply of apples for food.

  Gameknight had been thrilled when the light-crafters had offered to help. He had wanted to build this castle with his father and politely refused the help of the other villagers. But the User-that-is-not-a-user had formed a close friendship with the two strange light-crafters, and his father had not minded their inclusion.

  Gameknight smiled as he looked down upon his castle. It far exceeded anything he could have built on his own. In the design, they had put to use his father’s bizarre knowledge of medieval castles and fortifications, creating arrow slits for more archers, hoarding holes from which water could be poured on any attacking army, and a complex system of tunnels and holes to ensnare the unwary. Monkeypants had thought of every possible defense for the castle and built it into the structure, not because they were expecting an attack (after all, Herobrine had been defeated), but because it put a smile on his son’s face.

  Looking at the incomplete obsidian wall, Gameknight now felt guilty. He had ignored his responsibility and left his father to do the tedious work and that had been wrong. Just as he had been about to say something to his father, Monkeypants ran off toward the village.

  “Come on, son,” his father called out. “I don’t like the sound of that music. Your Oracle must be in trouble.”

  “Yeah, let’s go, Gameknight,” Stitcher added with a smile. “You don’t want your dad beating you to the village, do you?”

  Flashing her a scowl, the User-that-is-not-a-user sprinted forward, catching up with his father. As they neared the village, Gameknight could see NPCs moving to the defenses: archers crossed the bridges from the fortified wall to occupy the archer towers and warriors moved to stand atop the tall barricade.

  Something was happening.

  Looking over his shoulder, Gameknight scanned the terrain for the presence of monsters, but he saw none. The User-that-is-not-a-user glanced in Stitcher’s direction as he ran and saw a look of concern on her young face; she had the same confused thoughts running through her mind.

  Suddenly, the iron doors leading into the village burst open. A squad of cavalry burst forth, the horses and riders all wearing iron armor, some of them decorated with bright colors—a remnant of his sister Monet113’s artistic touch.

  Monet, you see the armor? Gameknight thought, his words flying out to the chat.

  I do, it looks cool, she typed back.

  His sister Jenny was sitting back in their basement in the physical world. She had not come into the game with Gameknight and their father, rather she was watching their progress on the computer, ready to give aid if needed.

  It seems like you not only had an effect on the zombies in Zombie-town with your art, but also on some of the NPCs here in the village, he thought.

  Gameknight could sense, somehow, that she was smiling.

  The horsemen and horsewomen rode across the wooden bridge spanning the moat then split off into smaller groups. Each cluster of warriors went in a different direction to scout the surroundings.

  Gameknight ran across the bridge and into the village. He found NPCs hustling in all directions, preparing for battle by putting arrows in chests and food near the defenders in case they were wounded. As he ran through the commotion, no one spoke a word or acknowledged his presence. This village was full of seasoned warriors who had been attacked numerous times by the monsters of Minecraft; all of them knew their jobs and were serious about performing them to the best of their abilities.

  Gameknight ran past multiple wooden buildings, following the gravel paths that served as walkways. As he ran past the village’s well, he saw NPCs lowering buckets into the stony ring; water had proven to be a powerful defensive tool in the past.

  He could smell the furnaces working overtime as he streaked past the blacksmith’s shop. Plumes of smoke rose from the dark cubes, the fire within lighting the bottom half with flickering orange flames. As he moved by, Gameknight saw Smithy withdraw stacks of iron ingots and hand them off to one of the crafting chamber workers. The NPC took the load of metal and ran toward the tall cobblestone tower that sat at the center of the village. Gameknight reached the door of the watchtower first and held it open for the worker. The blocky character quickly shot through and stepped to the secret tunnel, which was already open, and disappeared down a long vertical ladder. Gameknight followed close behind him.

  In a minute, Gameknight999 had traversed the tunnels and reached the entrance to the crafting chamber. The iron doors stood open. Stopping to take a breath, the User-that-is-not-a-user could hear the banging of hammers, the bending of metal, and the splintering of wood. When Monkeypants271 and Stitcher reached his side, they walked into the chamber together.

  Below him, Gameknight could see every person working hard at a crafting bench. Weapons were spilling out onto the floor: swords, armor, bows, arrows . . . all the tools of war slowly formed mounds beside each bench. NPCs ran throughout the chamber, gathering the items and placing them into chests. The entire scene reminded Gameknight of a beehive, with each worker knowing his task and moving without thought or word to complete his job.

  And then he spotted Crafter right in the center of everything. The young NPC stood out in his black smock, a wide gray stripe running down the center. He was directing the workers as needed. Gameknight ran down t
he curving steps and moved to his best friend’s side.

  “Crafter, something is going on,” Gameknight blurted out. “The Oracle, she is—”

  “Yes, I heard the music, we all did,” Crafter replied.

  “I don’t like it. Something is going on,” Gameknight said.

  “Well, until the enemy shows itself, all we can do is prepare,” Crafter explained.

  “You don’t think we should send riders out into the minecart network to warn the other villages?” Gameknight asked, a little surprised that his friend wasn’t as troubled by the changing music as he was.

  Throughout the crafting chamber ran a series of minecart tracks, the iron rails weaving a complex, winding path, each moving past as many crafting benches as possible and then disappearing into dark tunnels. The tracks moved throughout Minecraft, connecting all the villages and temples together in an intricate spiderweb-like network, keeping everyone connected. The network was invisible to users; it was one of the many great secrets of Minecraft. When sections of the network did become visible, workers would disguise the tracks as old abandoned mines, leaving behind chests filled with supplies and treasure. The network would then be rerouted around the visible section, keeping the connection between villages and temples.

  “No, Gameknight, I think it’s best we prepare for now,” Crafter said. “Once we are ready for battle, we will send out riders. But more importantly, we should—”

  Suddenly, commotion sounded at the entrance of the crafting chamber. Glancing up at the iron doors, Gameknight999 could see Hunter bounding down the steps, two-at-a-time, sprinting toward the pair. She was in full iron armor and likely had been one of the cavalry that went out to scout the surroundings.

  When she reached their side, she stopped to catch her breath.

  “Hunter, is everything alright?” Monkeypants asked.

  Holding up a hand, she took a deep breath. She took another as she removed her iron helmet. Scarlet curls burst out, spilling down her shoulders and back. In the torchlight, her hair seemed to almost glow with magical power.

  Gameknight smiled.

  “Hunter, are you OK?” Stitcher asked, her own hair matching her sister’s in luster and beauty.

  “Yeah, I’m OK,” Hunter finally replied. “I sprinted here from the gates after riding through the forest. I was just a little out of breath.”

  “You have news?” Crafter asked.

  “Yes, we found something. Well, not something but someone,” she explained. “You all have to come up and hear what they have to say.”

  “Is it bad news?” Crafter asked.

  Hunter laughed grimly. “When have I ever brought good news?” she asked.

  “Not very often,” Gameknight said.

  “True then,” Monkeypants said, a look of pride on his face.

  “Daaad,” Gameknight whined. “It’s not ‘true then,’ it’s ‘true dat!’ You’re embarrassing me.”

  “True dat!” Hunter echoed with a smile. “Now all of you—come on, you have to hear their story.”

  Hunter spun and streaked back up the steps, her sister fast on her heels. Crafter bolted after the sisters, leaving Gameknight and his father on the chamber floor. Monkeypants flashed his son a goofy smile, then followed the NPCs, his long red cape flowing behind him, giving the impression that he was flying. Rolling his eyes, Gameknight followed as trepidation filled his mind.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE LOST

  They were met with a confusing scene when they emerged from the cobblestone watchtower. All the villagers were standing in a large crowd, surrounding a lone NPC. She was eating a slice of melon and was then handed an apple and a loaf of bread. As Gameknight pushed through the crowd, he gained a better view of the villager. By the look of her clothing, he guessed she was a farmer; she wore a light brown smock, a dark brown stripe running down the center. Her hair was the silver gray of a person that had seen many years in Minecraft, her face wrinkled, her hands worn. This was probably the oldest NPC any of them had ever seen.

  She was sitting on a block of stone someone had placed on the ground. She was obviously exhausted, likely having been near starvation when she was found. When she saw Hunter approach, she smiled and stood on unsteady legs to give her a big hug.

  “Thank you again,” Farmer said, her voice old and scratchy. “If you hadn’t found me, I would have died out there.”

  “You are welcome here, Farmer,” Crafter said as he pushed his way through the crowd. “I am this village’s crafter, and you are no longer a Lost. This is your new home.”

  Farmer looked down at the diminutive NPC, a look of confusion on her face. When her eyes drifted to his clothing, she saw the black smock and gray strip of a crafter. Smiling, a look of relief came across her square face, her hazel eyes brightening with hope.

  “Thank you so much,” she said. With her back bent with age and her old legs wobbling, she reached out and wrapped her tired arms around Crafter. Releasing the hug, Farmer looked down at him. “Only a few of us survived. I ran out into the wilderness knowing that I was Lost, but that was better than staying and being destroyed. I knew someone of my age had little chance of survival, but being Lost was better than the alternative.”

  “What happened?” Crafter asked.

  Farmer sat down and terrible memories returned to her.

  “We were attacked . . . my village was destroyed.”

  “Attacked? By whom?” Gameknight asked.

  Farmer stared at the ground for a moment, then slowly raised her gray head and looked at Gameknight999. Mouthing the glowing letters that floated over his head, she realized he was a user, but then her eyes drifted to the air above his head. She instantly recognized who he was when she did not see the server thread—the User-that-is-not-a-user. Farmer’s eyes grew wide with surprise.

  “Endermen,” she said, her voice sounding like sandpaper scratching wood.

  A gasp came from the villagers.

  “An enderman attacked your village?” Gameknight asked.

  “No, not an enderman,” Farmer replied. “Many endermen!”

  “Great, not just one enderman, but lots of them,” Hunter said. “This just gets better and better.”

  “Hunter, be quiet and listen,” Stitcher reprimanded. The younger sister rolled her eyes at the older while Stitcher said, “Please, Farmer, ignore my rude sister.”

  The old farmer sighed and continued.

  “They came out of the west. It was a few days ago . . . a normal day like any other, but then suddenly they were there at our walls. Watcher sounded the alarm and we ran to our battle positions but then it slashed through our walls, and the gaping hole let the monsters just walk in.”

  “How did they destroy your wall?” Crafter asked. “Was it made of dirt or wood?”

  “Of course not!” Farmer snapped. “Our crafter would not have been that stupid. We know that endermen can take naturally occurring blocks. We used cobblestone—something that they cannot remove.”

  “Then what destroyed your village wall?” Gameknight asked.

  She sighed again, then stood and looked at all the NPCs around her.

  “They destroyed everyone in the village without a single thought of mercy,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “Men, women, and children were snuffed into nonexistence as if they didn’t matter. My family was destroyed—my husband, my daughters . . . my grandsons . . .”

  Tiny square tears flowed down her rectangular wrinkled cheeks as the memories of her deceased family overcame her. Reaching a hand high into the air, Farmer spread her fingers wide and then clenched them into a fist; it was the salute to the dead. The villagers around her saw the anguish on her face and did the same, raising their hands out of respect and then clenching their boxy fingers into angry, vengeful fists.

  Slowly, Farmer lowered her hand and looked up at Gameknight999, grief filling her eyes. The User-that-is-not-a-user reached out and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “Yo
u are safe now; we won’t let anything hurt you here,” he said.

  She nodded her head.

  “You said something destroyed your fortified wall,” Crafter asked. “What was it?”

  In a low voice, almost a whisper, she said, “The Ender Dragon.”

  “The Ender—” Hunter started to exclaim, but was silenced by a rueful look from Stitcher.

  “How can the Ender Dragon be here in the Overworld?” Monkeypants asked. “I thought we killed that monster. And besides, they are only supposed to be in The End . . . right?”

  “That’s correct,” Crafter said. “But whenever an Ender Dragon dies, an egg is produced to allow a new one to be born, maintaining balance within Minecraft.”

  “We don’t care about balance!” snapped Hunter.

  “That may be true, but this is the way Minecraft works,” Crafter replied. “Balance keeps all the systems working together.”

  “Balance should have kept an Ender Dragon out of the Overworld,” Hunter growled.

  “An Ender Dragon in the Overworld,” Gameknight said, grimacing. “This must be why the music sounded as if it were in pain.”

  “What do we do?” Stitcher asked, looking from Crafter to Gameknight999.

  “First we go to Farmer’s village and see if anyone needs help,” Crafter explained. “And then we find this Ender Dragon and have a little talk with him.”

  “Just what I want to do—have a chat with a dragon,” Hunter said sarcastically. “Sounds like it will be very productive.”

  “We’ll take a small group in case some of the endermen are watching our village,” Gameknight said.

  “I’m going with you,” Farmer said, her scratchy voice filled with determination. “This is my village and I won’t abandon anyone who might need help.”

  Gameknight nodded his head then turned and faced Crafter. “Let’s get this done. Everyone get ready. We have a dragon that needs tending!”

  The villagers exploded into motion. Groups of NPCs collected horses and supplies while others went into chests to equip Farmer. Gameknight watched with appreciation as the community moved into action like a well-oiled machine. Gameknight examined everyone around him, but looked for one in particular.