Moving to one flank, Gameknight drew his bow, then notched an arrow and fired at the advancing monsters. But to his surprise, his one arrow did not strike the targets. Instead, fifty arrows hit them. The zombies fell like stalks of wheat. Another volley tore into the mob, then another until the group of zombies were destroyed.
A cheer rang out from the river behind them. Turning, he saw fifty to sixty boats sailing up the river, each one filled with a villager, all of them with a bow in his or her hand. The navy was coming from the distant savannah village. They fired another volley of arrows at the far edge of the battlefield, their pointed shafts stopping the zombies trying to sneak around the far side of the villagers’ defenses.
Drawing his sword, Gameknight charged forward. He found Weaver near the center of the battle and moved to the boy’s side. At the youth’s feet he could see multiple balls of XP and pieces of zombie flesh; his stone sword had done some damage. Gameknight smiled proudly.
He slashed at a zombie to his right, then blocked an attack aimed at his young friend. Together they fought, each protecting the other. Zombies fell under their orchestrated attacks; none of the creatures were able to even get close.
A roar of voices rose up from the river as the NPCs disembarked from their boats and charged forward. The monsters, seeing the new wave of razor-sharp blades approaching, lost their courage. They turned and tried to flee, but the villagers charged forward, attempting to destroy as many of the fleeing monsters as possible. The battlefield became chaos.
The villagers fell on the zombies in a rage. The monsters at the back all turned to face this threat, grappling with attackers face-to-face. Three of the monsters turned and fell on Gameknight and Weaver. A set of zombie claws scraped across his leather armor, doing no damage to his HP but cutting into his tunic. Gameknight slashed at one of the monsters, then spun and kicked the other in the stomach.
“Weaver, are you alright?” Gameknight yelled.
No answer.
Another monster charged at him. Gameknight spun to the right and slashed at the creature, then rolled across the ground to the left and attacked the vulnerable legs. The monster disappeared with a pop.
That was when the blazes opened fire. Balls of fire fell down upon the battlefield, some striking zombies as well as villagers. NPCs that caught fire instantly turned and ran for the river. The zombies hit by the flaming spheres had no choice but to run from the flames. But all that did was give them more oxygen and make them burn brighter. They did not last long.
“Pull back and get to the water!” Smithy yelled. “Let them go!”
The villagers stopped fighting the retreating horde.
“Weaver … where are you?!” Gameknight yelled.
Someone grabbed him by the back of his leather armor and yanked him backward, just as a fireball exploded at his feet.
“I said get to the river! What are you doing?” Smithy said from behind.
“Weaver … I need to find Weaver,” Gameknight said.
He turned and stared into Smithy’s steel-blue eyes, dark hair matted to his forehead from sweat. He saw fear on his face, but the User-that-is-not-a-user didn’t care; he had to find his friend.
“Oink.”
Gameknight spun away from the blacksmith and searched for Wilbur. He was surrounded by a group of villagers, one of them a butcher from the savannah village. The animal’s tiny black eyes were darting back and forth, nervously watching the NPCs nearby.
“Wilbur, come here!” he snapped.
The pig oinked and ran to Gameknight’s side. Some of the villagers gave him a dirty look, but Gameknight didn’t care. Looking at those who survived the battle, Gameknight could see expressions of uncertainty and fear on their boxy faces. Many had lost loved ones and friends. Their grief was visible; some groups of NPCs wept, while others stared mindlessly up into the darkening sky.
Can we do this? Gameknight thought. Can we stop Herobrine with just these villagers here?
He knew they had been successful in the past … well, in Crafter’s past. Crafter and Bookman had told many stories about the Great Zombie Invasion and how Smithy had led the villagers to victory, but looking at these NPCs here, he couldn’t see how it was possible. This wasn’t a cohesive fighting force like he’d had with Crafter and his village. No, these were a bunch of individuals fighting for themselves, just like the monsters. Gameknight couldn’t see any way they could be successful.
He sighed.
This seems impossible.
The User-that-is-not-a-user wasn’t convinced they had the will to fight. They lacked experience and courage in the face of the enemy, and Gameknight wasn’t confident they would hold their ground and not just run away when faced with seemingly impossible odds. Something was needed to galvanize them together into a cohesive fighting force, but Gameknight999 couldn’t see what it was. This whole thing felt hopeless.
Suddenly, he thought about his friend Weaver again. He hoped he would find his bright blue eyes somewhere in the crowd. Walking up and down the length of the army, Gameknight stared at the villagers, looking for the smallest among them. He found the other youths that had come from their village scattered among the warriors, but still no Weaver.
Gameknight sighed, then knelt next to Wilbur and peered into his innocent eyes.
“Find Weaver,” he whispered into the pig’s pointy ear.
The animal oinked once, then raised his snout into the air and sniffed. Moving forward, he crossed the battlefield, avoiding the many pieces of zombie flesh that floated on the ground. Gameknight followed close behind, inspecting every pile of weapons and armor—the last marker of NPCs that died in the conflict. The number of swords and pickaxes and shovels he saw lying discarded on the ground was shocking.
He searched frantically for Weaver’s stone sword, but only found iron in the heaps. They moved all across the battlefield checking everywhere but no sign of Weaver’s weapon. He was crushed. The feeling of guilt was overwhelming. Just like Herder, Gameknight was supposed to take care of Weaver and keep him safe, but he had failed … again.
“Gameknight, we need to set up a camp for the night,” a deep voice said.
The User-that-is-not-a-user turned and found Smithy standing right behind him, a worried look on his face. Tiny square tears began to tumble down Gameknight’s square cheeks.
“He probably didn’t survive the battle,” the blacksmith added. “Many died, but we can only hope Weaver managed to take a bunch of the stinking monsters with him before he disappeared. Now come on, we need to make some preparations. Trust me, Weaver will not be forgotten.”
Slowly, Smithy raised his hand into the air, fingers spread. He then clenched his hand into a fist, but Gameknight reached up and grabbed his strong arm and pulled it down.
“No … he’s not dead,” Gameknight said, almost pleaded. He wiped away the tears from his face with a dirty sleeve, then glared at the stocky blacksmith. “If he had been slain, we would have found his stone sword. He’s still alive. I think the monsters took him.”
“Then he won’t survive long,” the big NPC said.
“You don’t know that! We need to go after him, now, before it’s too late.”
“We can’t follow the monsters at night,” Smithy said. He looked to the west, where the sun was setting beneath the horizon for the evening. “That would be a foolish thing to do. The moon will only be a quarter full tonight and will provide little light. Besides, the young boy will likely be destroyed soon. Hopefully his suffering won’t last long. He’s gone; you have to let him go.”
Images of the terrified boy filled his mind. He could imagine the zombies scratching at him with their long claws, or the blazes burning him ever so slightly. A feeling of despair washed over him.
He was my responsibility, Gameknight thought. And now he’s gone … look what I’ve done.
But then he remembered the strength Herder had shown in the same situation, and he knew Weaver could do the same. He was Crafter’s anc
estor, the Great-Uncle Weaver that had taught Crafter so much when he was just a boy. Gameknight refused to just give up and abandon him. Weaver would keep looking for him. In fact, Weaver would move a mountain to help any of these NPCs, even the ones he didn’t know.
I refuse to give up! Gameknight thought as his eyes narrowed and a snarling grimace formed on his face.
“NO!” Gameknight shouted. He could hear grumbling from the army near the river, but he didn’t care. Weaver would not be abandoned … that was something he refused to do. “I will not just give up. He is out there and I’m going to save him, with or without your help. This is who I am, and I refuse to be anyone else, so you can either help me or get out of the way.”
“If you go out there, in the dark, and follow those monsters … you’ll be on your own,” Smithy said.
“Just keep heading north,” Gameknight said. “We’ll catch up with you … I promise.”
Before Smithy could respond, Gameknight stormed up the pathway that led between the two steep hills and followed the now near-invisible path of the monster army.
“I’m coming for you, Weaver,” Gameknight said, then glanced down at Wilbur. The animal oinked. “Sorry … we’re coming for you. Help is on the way.”
CHAPTER 19
THE MAKING OF A QUEEN
The monsters continued their path to the north after the failed battle with the villagers.
“Do not fear, my friends, that battle was just a test,” Herobrine explained, hoping to buoy their spirits.
Some of the zombies growled while others moaned.
“What of the prisoner?” the zombie commander, Ta-Vor, grumbled.
Herobrine teleported to the zombie. With lightning speed, he reached out and grabbed the terrified villager by the arm and drew him close, glaring into his bright blue eyes. The boy’s dark brown hair was matted in a tangle across his forehead, some of the strands spilling down onto the shoulders of his bright yellow smock. The prisoner stared back at Herobrine and tried to look brave, but he was doing a poor job.
“You will never win,” the boy said. “My friends will defeat you and your stinking monsters.”
Herobrine laughed, then slapped the boy across the cheek. The force of the blow knocked Weaver to the ground, but he quickly stood and stared up at the virus, refusing to shed tears before the monsters.
“Ta-Vor, take this pathetic creature and keep him safe,” the Maker said. “He will be more useful alive than dead. The wellbeing of this villager is your responsibility. Do you understand?”
Ta-Vor approached and glared down at the prisoner, then looked up at Herobrine and nodded his square head.
“He will not be harmed … permanently,” the zombie commander growled, then shoved the boy to the ground and stepped on his arm. Weaver moaned in pain but refused to cry out.
“This villager’s pathetic attempt at bravery makes Ta-Vor laugh.”
The zombie chuckled as he reached down with a clawed hand and pulled the boy to his feet.
“Walk, villager, or feel the sting of my claws.”
“You don’t frighten me,” Weaver snapped. “When my friends—”
Before he could finish the statement, Ta-Vor raked a claw across the boy’s back, causing him to flash red with damage. Herobrine laughed when the NPC screamed out in pain, then started walking, a single blocky tear seeping from one eye.
They marched in silence through the rest of the night, passing through the savannah like ghostly shadows. As they neared the edge of the biome and began entering a birch forest, the zombie commander moved to Herobrine’s side.
“Why does the Maker lead the army to the north?” Ta-Vor asked.
“Our army will gather on the other side of the mountain range that borders a huge desert. The desert lies in this direction,” Herobrine said. “We will meet the rest of our army in that desert, behind the safety of those mountains. There is only one way through the mountain range: a narrow pass that starts between the two tallest peaks. No one knows of this pass but me, for I created it with my crafting powers. We will use that pass to get past the mountain, then wait as we gather more forces. With a larger army, we will be able sweep down upon the villagers and destroy them.”
“Herobrine means to destroy the blacksmith’s village?”
“No,” the Maker replied.
“What? Ta-Vor does not understand.”
“We will not just destroy that pathetic blacksmith’s one village. We will destroy all of the villages, and then the Overworld will belong to the monsters. This will be the beginning of a new age. All will call it the Age of the Monsters. If I cannot escape these terrible servers, then I will reshape them into a form that suits me, and having villagers alive does not suit me at all. Now, continue to lead the army to the north. I must go craft another leader for our army. Soon, we will have a spider queen to help us control all of those multi-legged monsters. I will call her Shaikulud, and she will unlock the violent nature of the spiders for us to use in this war.”
The Maker glared at the prisoner.
“Move that villager away from me,” Herobrine said. “His stink is repulsive and I cannot stand to even look at the coward. Ta-Vor, have one of your zombies escort him to the edge of the army. Use that one there.”
He pointed to one of the zombies, a medium-built monster that didn’t look very smart or strong.
“But that zombie is not very strong, my Maker,” Ta-Vor noted. “Perhaps a bigger zombie would be better?”
“You dare challenge my command!” Herobrine bellowed.
His eyes glowed bright white with rage as he stared at the terrified monster.
“Ta-Vor will do as Herobrine commands,” the zombie said.
With a shove, the zombie commander ushered Weaver to the edge of the zombie army and handed him off to a smaller, weaker monster. Herobrine smiled as the small monster appeared confused, but put a tiny clawed hand around the prisoner’s arm.
“Perfect,” the Maker said in a low voice.
A clicking sound then brought his attention to the other side of the monster formation. Gathering his shadow-crafting powers, Herobrine teleported to a group of spiders walking along the rear of the army. Three of the black fuzzy beasts huddled together a few blocks behind the others, wanting to be near the group, but still wanting to be able to run away if needed. All three looked up in surprise when Herobrine materialized before them.
In a blur of iron, the Maker slashed at the three creatures. The attack was so sudden and fierce, the spiders could do little to defend themselves. In seconds, Herobrine had brought the three dark monsters to the brink of death. As the spiders collapsed to the ground, he glanced back at the army and could see that young villager watching. He knew the NPC had heard his plans for his monster army, and he knew that he would try to escape and take the information to that horrible blacksmith—good. Herobrine smiled as he watched the NPC glancing around, looking for an avenue of escape. With the stupidity of the zombies, he would likely be successful, just as Herobrine planned.
Laughing, he turned to the three spiders and knelt at their side. Herobrine closed his eyes and concentrated on his artificially intelligent programming powers. As he focused on these skills, he plunged his glowing hands into the spider’s bodies, drawing them together into a large fuzzy lump. He pushed the flesh this way and that, slowly crafting a new creature out of the three wounded ones. Herobrine’s eyes grew bright with evil thoughts as he sculpted the new spider queen. This creature would forge the spiders into a cohesive fighting force. They would now be able to scale any wall and immobilize warriors with their sticky webs. It would be the perfect addition to his army.
With the crafting nearly completed, Herobrine gathered all the malice and hatred and vile disgust he had for the NPCs and drove those emotions into the monster. He wove the emotions into her personality so that the spider queen would emanate a loathing for the villagers that would be passed down to the other spiders.
Finally he was finished.<
br />
The new spider tried to stand, but she was too weak. In a blink of an eye, Herobrine disappeared, then returned with a green block of mossy cobblestone. With two fingers, he pulled the strands of moss off the block and dropped them before razor-sharp mandibles that clicked hungrily.
The spider shoved the moss into her dark mouth, stuffing it faster than Herobrine could drop it. Soon, the spider queen became strong enough to stand on her eight legs. She moved to the mossy cobblestone and continued to strip the green vegetation from the gray stone. In seconds, she had scoured the block clean, all traces of green completely eradicated. She then peered up at her Maker, eight bright purple eyes glowing with evil.
“Rise, queen of the spiders,” Herobrine said in a loud voice. “Behold, I name you Shaikulud, the spider queen.”
The zombies and creepers in the army turned to look at the spider, but said nothing.
“I have given you the ability to communicate with your brothers and sisters,” Herobrine said. “Reach out to them with your mind and command them to come here.”
The spider closed her eyelids and concentrated. Herobrine could feel the invisible threads of her psychic powers reach out and ensnare all the spiders in the biome. She then drew them to her. The fuzzy monsters had no choice but to obey, her mental powers overpowering their own free will. Soon, a clicking sound could be heard from the woods as the spiders answered her call.
Herobrine could see there were two kinds of spiders approaching. The larger black ones were the Sisters and were the females. The smaller blue ones were the Brothers, and they were the male cave spiders. They drew near and clustered around their queen, her power over them complete.
Herobrine smiled.
“Bring more of your brothers and sisters, Shaikulud,” Herobrine said. “I have something special planned for them, soon.” He turned and faced the army that had stopped to watch the making of the queen. “All of you, forward, to the north. We must meet Vo-Lok, the zombie king, in the Great Northern Desert. There we will grow our forces, then come back southward to destroy all NPCs in every village.”
The Great Zombie Invasion Page 12
