Herobrine's War

by Mark Cheverton

  “You think Carver and the other villagers were glad to see us leave?” Fencer asked. “After all, we did bring a war with us to their doorstep.”

  Gameknight looked at the NPC. He wore a light-brown smock with a white stripe running down the middle, the clothing only visible around his neck and near his feet; his iron armor hid all the rest. He was a large villager, bigger than most, with muscular arms and strong broad shoulders. Salt-and-pepper black hair ringed the sides of his square head, but the top was completely bald. In the harsh desert sun, Fencer was slowly getting sunburned, and would need to put on his iron helmet soon. Most of the villagers had taken off their helmets; they were uncomfortable to wear in the hot sun. But Gameknight kept his metal cap on his boxy head.

  It was part of his disguise. He’d been posing as the great leader Smithy, the blacksmith, and the helmet hid his small nose and user-like features from the other villagers. As far as he knew, his real identity still remained hidden from them.

  “We didn’t bring war with us—Herobrine did,” Gameknight said. “They were just unfortunate enough to be in its path, just like all the other villages and NPCs he’s attacked.”

  “Yeah, I know, but they’re probably still glad we’re gone,” Fencer added. “Now they can get back to their regular lives.”

  “None of us are going to get back to our regular lives until Herobrine is stopped, for good,” Gameknight said. “But I’m glad we destroyed his army back there in the desert. I think it’ll be a while before the monsters are ready to attack again. The ones that survived that battle are probably scattered all across the Overworld. But you can be certain Herobrine is planning some new and evil scheme, even as we speak.”

  “You sound a little paranoid,” a young NPC said as a small pig trotted up to walk along at their side.

  “Oink,” the pig said.

  “Now Wilbur, don’t you go taking Weaver’s side in this,” Gameknight said with a smile.

  “I can’t help it if Wilbur is a smart pig,” Weaver added.

  “Oink, oink.”

  Gameknight smiled at Weaver. The boy’s dark-brown hair was matted against his forehead, the tangles falling down around his shoulders. Those locks always seemed to be in need of a comb, though combs didn’t exist in Minecraft. Gameknight still marveled at the adolescent’s bright blue eyes. It was as if they were glowing from within, lit by his exuberant and positive personality. He was the ancestor of one of Gameknight’s friends in the present day; Weaver was Crafter’s great uncle.

  Somehow, for reasons still unknown, Game-knight had been transported into Minecraft’s past when he used his father’s invention, the Digitizer, to travel into the game. He wasn’t just a user, but something more (or less, depending on how you looked at it); he was the User-that-is-not-a-user, the protector of Minecraft.

  It wasn’t clear when the Digitizer would bring him back into the physical world, but until it did, Gameknight was going to do whatever was necessary to protect the villagers he met, to prevent his friends’ ancestors from being harmed. If someone like Weaver, his friend’s great uncle, was killed, then what might happen to his friend in the future? Gameknight999 didn’t know, and was determined not to find out.

  Suddenly, a cat-like yowl filled the air, followed by what sounded like a baby’s cry. Gameknight instantly drew his diamond sword and glanced skyward.

  “It’s just a ghast,” Fencer said. “You don’t need to worry about them. All they do is play around up in the clouds … they’re completely harmless.”

  “So you say, but I don’t trust them,” Gameknight replied.

  He saw a single cloud moving slowly across the sky, a group of nine tentacles hanging just below the misty rectangle.

  In Gameknight’s time, ghasts were deadly creatures that only lived in the Nether. He’d fought them many times, and had seen the floating monsters destroy countless NPCs. But, for some reason, in Minecraft’s distant past, ghasts where harmless, like innocent children the villagers basically ignored.

  An angry cry filled the air again. Gameknight drew his iron sword, now holding two blades. It was how he’d earned his moniker, Smithy of the Two-swords. Glancing to the east, he saw one of the floating white cubes slowly descend from a cloud, the nine tentacles of the ghast squirming and writhing like a nest of vipers.

  “Everyone, get ready!” Gameknight shouted.

  The villagers laughed.

  He ignored them and moved toward the monster. There was something different about the creature. It had a sinister and evil look to its eyes, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint what had changed. It lacked the scars on its face that ghasts possessed in Gameknight’s time, and it didn’t have the infamous tear-shaped markings under its large eyes either. But there was still something about this monster that looked wrong … and evil.

  Suddenly, its eyes changed from narrow, dark slits to large circles, blood-red pupils at their center. The creature had an evil look to it, as if you were staring into the eyes of one of the monster kings, or maybe Herobrine himself. Its mouth opened wide and spat a large fireball directly at Gameknight. He was terrified. The dark-brown leather armor that he wore, part of the disguise to make him look like Smithy, would do little to protect him against this blazing sphere of death.

  The fireball shot straight at Gameknight999. Timing it carefully, he swung his diamond sword at the fiery ball just before it struck. His blade deflected it safely away.

  Putting away his swords, he drew his bow and began firing back at the creature, yelling as loud as he could.

  “We’re being attacked!”

  The other villagers now took notice, many of them staring at the ghast in disbelief, unable to comprehend how or why it had attacked.

  “Don’t stand still,” Gameknight shouted as he ran erratically across the sands, making himself as difficult to hit as possible. “Keep moving at all times.”

  The ghast fired again. The burning sphere wasn’t aimed at him this time, and the distraction gave Gameknight time to stop for an instant and aim. He fired three quick arrows at the monster, but as the missiles sped towards it, the creature rose. As a result, the arrows flew under its wriggling tentacles and missed their target.

  Another fireball streaked down towards the ground and hit one of the villagers. Instantly, he was engulfed in flames. But before the NPC could utter a sound, Weaver was there with a bucket of water, quenching the terrible fire. A builder and a baker came to the wounded villager’s aid, and caught him as he slumped to the ground, his HP dangerously low.

  “Shoot at the ghast!” Gameknight yelled as he fired three more shots.

  The first two of his arrows struck the monster, but the third missed; it was still alive. The monster’s eyes grew large again as it prepared for another attack. But before it could launch a flaming ball of death, a string of arrows flew up from the ground and hit the monster, taking the last of its HP. It disappeared with a pop, dropping three glowing balls of XP. But it left behind no ghast tears, which Gameknight would have expected in the present-day Minecraft.

  Turning, the User-that-is-not-a-user found Weaver standing nearby, his bow out and another arrow notched.

  “Nice shooting, Weaver,” Fencer said. “The rest of us were a little shocked. We’ve never seen a ghast do that before.”

  “Don’t talk; look around and see if there are more of those monsters,” Gameknight said as he scanned the sky.

  The blue sky shone down upon him from all directions. There were no floating white cubes drifting towards them, nor were there any tentacles visible below the clouds. The attack had just been from a single ghast; no armies of airborne monsters were about to descend down upon them, at least not yet.

  But the thought they might eventually attack again made Gameknight shudder.

  He moved to the three glowing balls of XP that floated nearby and allowed them to flow into his body. He then turned to face the villagers.

  “You see? I told you ghasts were evil,” Gameknight said. />
  “That has never happened before,” Fencer said. “We didn’t even know they could throw fireballs.”

  “Herobrine,” Gameknight said, spitting the name out as if it were venom on his tongue. “He must have done something to them, altered the ghasts to make them evil.”

  “That can’t be good,” Fencer said.

  The User-that-is-not-a-user shook his head in agreement.

  “We need to get to the villages and warn them,” Gameknight said. “I know how to fight them, so we must spread the word. But first, we have to warn Carver’s village back in the desert. They’re closest to Herobrine’s stronghold at Dragon’s Teeth, and will likely be the first to feel the sting of that evil virus’s latest scheme.”

  “I’ll do it,” one villager said. “I can go warn them.”

  By the look of his clothing, a dark-blue smock with a white stripe running down the center, the User-that-is-not-a-user guessed he was a fisherman.

  “Fisher is the fastest person from our village,” Fencer explained. “He’ll get through to them.”

  “Okay,” Gameknight said, then moved to the NPC’s side. “Fisher, don’t take any chances. If you see a ghast, run for cover. Don’t try to hit the fireballs away like I just did; it’s very difficult to do and takes a lot of practice. Just run and hide … you got it?”

  The villager nodded his head.

  “Okay, go!”

  The NPC took off sprinting across the desert as the rest of them moved to the opening of Two-sword Pass; it was the only way through the mountain range. They followed the winding, narrow passage in silence, their faces creased with sadness. The only sound filling the air was that of armored plates slapping against thighs and shoulders as the army walked.

  Every one of them could remember the battle that had happened here not too long ago. The zombie king, Vo-Lok, had led Herobrine’s forces against them. But even though the villagers had prevailed, destroying the king of the zombies and his army, the cost in NPC lives had been severe.

  Gameknight remembered the moment when the real Smithy had given him his armor and blacksmith’s hammer, just before he died. Only Fencer and Gameknight had witnessed the passing of the great leader, and only those two knew the truth: Gameknight999 was posing as their leader, Smithy.

  Now, it felt as if Gameknight were to come clean and tell the truth, the villagers might turn on him, and maybe even shun him from their community. He couldn’t bear that rejection. Instead, he and Fencer maintained the lie, convincing themselves that it was the only way the NPCs would have a leader; without Smithy of the Two-swords, the army would likely be defeated by Herobrine.

  That ghast back there had frightened a lot of villagers, and they looked to their blacksmith to keep them safe. But Gameknight knew the lone ghast had to be some kind of warning. Something about it seemed wrong. Gameknight had no proof, but he’d bet everything he had that Herobrine had something bigger in mind than infecting a single ghast. The evil virus always had enormous, destructive schemes, and if Herobrine could infect one monster with his vile hatred, then he could likely infect many.

  Gameknight999 glanced at the Oracle and gave her a worried look. She had been sent into Minecraft to stop Herobrine; he was a virus, and she was the anti-virus. But so far, they’d only managed to keep him in check, and had made little progress in destroying him. If he added an army of ghasts to his arsenal of monsters, then the NPCs were in serious trouble.

  CHAPTER 3

  DESPERATE RUN

  Fisher ran to the east, away from the army. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the villagers, his friends, as they disappeared into Two-sword Pass. He’d been there when the narrow passage through the mountain range had been named. Smithy, their leader, had somehow picked up two swords in battle, one of them his own, and the other belonging to that stranger from another land, Gameknight999, who everyone said had died in the fighting.

  Fisher remembered: he had been up on an archer tower when he heard Smithy’s battle cry. He’d looked down, and saw his leader heroically holding up two swords, with Gameknight’s armor lying on the ground next to him. That had been the moment when everything changed. The sight of Smithy with the two swords had been so inspiring, everyone fought harder than they ever had before, and refused to back down.

  Smithy of the Two-swords had charged out to confront all of the monsters by himself. But the other villages chose to run out with him and fight at his side, including Fisher. They had pushed the monsters deep into the desert, then finally destroyed them. Their victory had been incredible, and Fisher would never forget that moment when their blacksmith had stepped up and become a true hero.

  But now, running through the desert, alone, Fisher didn’t feel so brave. Every time a dried bush rustled, he jumped. Every time he ran up a sand dune and saw a prickly green cactus, he jumped. Every time he saw anything, like a cloud in the sky, he was terrified. It had seemed like a good idea to volunteer for this mission, to warn Carver’s desert village that danger was likely heading their way, but now it didn’t seem like a very smart move.

  Glancing at the sky, he saw some clouds moving in from the east, floating ominously over the desert in his direction. Something about those clouds caused an icy shiver to go down his spine.

  “I’m just imagining things,” he said aloud to the empty desert. “Clouds can’t harm me.”

  Then, a faint feline cry slowly drifted to him on the wind. Fisher couldn’t tell where exactly it was coming from, or if it was just his mind playing tricks, his fear getting the better of him. Gritting his teeth, he continued to run across the sandy dunes, intent on reaching the desert village as quickly as possible, but also knowing he was still very far away.

  Another soft, cat-like yowl startled him, and this time it was unmistakably coming from overhead, followed with what sounded like a baby’s cry. Glancing up to the sky, Fisher saw nine tentacles slowly drop through the cloud above him, a large, square body attached to the writhing, snake-like things.

  “Ghast!” he hissed.

  Quickly, he pulled out a shovel and began to work. It was easy digging through the sand, and he soon had a hole that stretched down three blocks. He placed a cube of sandstone over his head, sealing himself inside. Holding out a torch, he saw areas in front of him that were made of sandstone, and started to dig those up, while still keeping one block in place so the sand overhead wouldn’t crash down upon him.

  Fisher stuck the torch in the ground as he worked. It cast a wide circle of flickering light, filling in the shadows and driving back the imaginary monsters his scared mind was creating. Moving up to the topmost block, he pressed his ear against it and listened. He could still hear the cries and yowls, but they were growing softer; the ghast must be moving away. Maybe it hadn’t seen him?

  Fisher stood there, getting sand in his ear as he pressed his head against the block, listening to the world above. When fifteen minutes had passed and he still hadn’t heard the terrible creature, the young villager broke the sandstone and peeked around aboveground. The desert looked clear. Glancing to the sky, he saw more clouds drifting overhead, but no tentacles were hanging down from them; it appeared to be safe.

  He climbed out of the hole and continued his run to the east, toward the rising sun, its square face shining down on him and making him sweat. Ahead was a large sand dune. Picking up speed, Fisher sprinted toward the hill, leaping up the single-block jumps with practiced efficiency.

  As he ran down the other side of the hill, there the sound was again: a feline cry that echoed across the desert from behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, Fisher saw the writhing tentacles of a ghast out of the corner of his eye. The monster was close, and surely had spotted him this time. Hiding underground would do no good, for the monster would just blast the sand with its fireballs and eventually uncover him. His only weapon right now was speed.

  “I must make it to the village, so I can warn them about the ghasts,” Fisher said in a low voice.

  Ahead, he
could see a desert well that stood at the top of another sandy mound. If he could make it to the well, he could jump into the waters and be safe from the monster’s attacks; but he had to outrun the ghast first.

  With a burst of speed, he zigzagged across the desert. A fireball exploded into the sand just to his right, leaving behind a small crater. If he had been standing there, he likely would not have survived.

  Fisher leapt over a small brown bush just as another fireball struck. The brown leaves were instantly engulfed in flames as the frustrated cries of the ghast echoed across the desolate landscape.

  Not bothering to look back, the villager continued to sprint, driving his body with everything he had. He wove left and right. Fisher tried to make himself a difficult target to hit. Fireballs landed all around him, some of them singeing his armor.

  BLAST!

  A fireball struck the ground right next to him. Terrifying fingers of fire grasped at his arm, burning away part of his smock and scorching his armor. Pain radiated up his arm and shoulder as Fisher flashed red, taking damage. The lanky NPC could feel his HP decreasing, and that had been just a glancing hit. If a fireball struck him head on … he was a goner.

  “If I can make it to the well, I’ll be safe,” he said in a low voice, hoping the words would motivate his legs; they didn’t.

  Fisher’s legs started to burn and ache as his energy reserves were slowly consumed. Gasps of hot desert air wheezed in and out of his chest and he struggled for breath. He was exhausted, but quitting was not an option.

  One of his legs began to cramp. Pain of a different kind shot through his body as his HP plummeted from sheer fatigue. His sprint slowed to a run as the ghast gradually gained on him. The large sand dune now loomed before him; the well was only twenty steps away. With a burst of speed, he shot up the hill, timing his jumps so he would not falter or slow. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the ghast had almost caught up. Fisher tried to move even faster, but his legs felt as if they were made out of iron, his feet stumbling on the edge of blocks.