Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ey everybody!! Welcome to my first ever x-reader fic!

Also, the song will make sense by the end of the chapter.

I hope that it meets all your greatest expectations!

You look out over the immense starry void that surrounds the floating island of pale-yellow stone that you call home. Your long, thin black legs dangle over the veil of nothingness, and your bare, four-toed feet sway to and fro. It is completely silent. Tall, thin stalks of chorus grow in a thick grove behind you, blocking your thin black silhouette from any intrusive eyes. This is where you go to find peace, where no one can judge you for your appearance.

And you are decidedly different than most Endermen, not by too much, but enough for it to be annoyingly noticeable
And you are decidedly different than most Endermen, not by too much, but enough for it to be annoyingly noticeable. You are only twelve, but the adults don't even bother to hide their stares when you accompany your mother to the marketplace. You know you're strange, but they could at least try to pretend you're normal, for the sake of your self esteem if nothing else.

But here, with only the quiet twinkling beauty of the void sky for company, you finally feel comfortable. Free to let your thoughts roam to wild places, like the incredible adventures in other worlds that your mother reads to you at night. Here, you can imagine that you are the epic hero, the leader, the best fighter in the world. You dream of all kinds of stories and live a hundred lives in the span of a few breaths, all while sitting on this ledge. Here, is your peaceful oasis, away from...

"Y/N! Y/N!!!" a distant voice shouts your name, breaking the blessed silence that wraps around you like a comforting cloak. You sigh, and stand up, taking one last minute to stare off into the abyss before turning to find the source of the shout.

You weave through the thin purple stalks that you know so well, bare feet treading almost silently on the smooth, cool, stone beneath you. The chorus grew so close together that you have to squeeze sideways through some of the gaps. You don't mind though, the untamed chorus forest adds to the solitude you feel in your quiet place.

After a minute, you come out of the grove, into a cleared area close to the center of the mid-sized island. There, Ktarll is looking for you. Ktarll is your neighbor, and the closest kid to your age on the island. You suppose you could call him a friend, but you really only interact with him because your parents are friends. You know from the strange looks he gave you that he thinks you're weird.

"Your mom is going to be looking for you. Our parents are taking us to the marketplace to buy new clothes for Becomings Day. Remember?" He explains briefly, then turns towards the direction of your house, obviously expecting you to follow.

You don't want to go to the markets. You don't want to have dozens of eyes staring at you like some freak, whispering about you behind your back. You don't want new clothes for Becomings Day, you don't want Becomings Day to happen at all. Anxiety overtakes your senses, just thinking about the event you've dreaded for most of your life. Your vision blurs and your hands shake, but you quickly try to snap out of it and follow Ktarll before he looks back and sees you in this state of panic. You have to stay strong.

As you walk towards the yellow stone structures, you quiet your thoughts with your latest fantasy. You are exploring the uncharted depths of the Nether, uncovering ancient lost artifacts and fossils. They will write dozens of books about your adventures. You'll fight off hordes of invading humans with ease, earning the respect of the Piglins. You'll be a legendary hero in both dimensions...

And then you are there, standing in front of your simple, flat-roofed home. It is incredible how the world melts away when you lose yourself in your own mind. The way space and time flash by in an instant is almost frightening. Almost like teleporting, which you will hopefully be able to do soon.

Ktarll's parents and yours are already standing outside, ready to leave. "About time you came back, Y/N. Did you and Ktarll have a nice walk?" Your mother asks kindly. She try her best, despite the questions and embarrassment your strange appearance brings.

You give a quick side glance at Ktarll, or up glance more accurately, he is much taller than you, despite being so close to your age. It isn't that he's abnormally tall, you are just abnormally short. He smiles and nods easily. You always tell the adults that you will be together, so that they don't worry, but Ktarll never really wants to hang out with you. You don't mind though, you enjoy the time alone. So, you leave the house together when your parents are talking, then part ways once you are out of sight, agreeing on a time to meet back, so that you don't raise their suspicions that you ever separated.

"Yes, I did. It was very peaceful." You answer, truthfully enough. At first you felt guilty about lying to your parents, but you realized that it didn't really make any difference for them. What they don't know will never hurt them, and this way Ktarll gets to do whatever he goes off and does, and you get to do your own thing. Sometimes you wonder where Ktarll goes though...

You get lost in another train of thought as your family and Ktarll's begin walking to the harbor. You imagine Ktarll somehow learned to teleport on his own, and is some sort of secret agent collecting info on you. Could he be reporting to the Council all of your activities? Your imagination roams free, but none of your theories disturb you. You know that it is extremely unlikely the Council would hire a child to spy for them. Also, Ktarll has blue eyes, so he wouldn't be able to teleport all the way to the Capital anyways. He came back too soon for him to have island hopped all the way there and back, which would have taken a lot of energy. He would have to be some sort of prodigy to manage all that. The facts don't hinder your wild imagination though.

Before you know it you are looking out into the void through the harbor's mesh railing, waiting at the relay station. Surrounding your families are a couple other groups of Enderman, but your island is small, so there is never too much traffic. Also, most Endermen have purple eyes, so they can teleport wherever they need to go without having to go through relay. The only ones who use the relay station to teleport are children and the elderly. Even Endermen with blue or pink eyes mostly just island hop unless it's a really long distance.

You wait for your turn in line at the station, thankful that the wait won't be too long. Sometimes it would take hours to get a relay during the most busy seasons. Only a few more days and you will just be able to teleport yourself.

Hopefully.

You dread that possibility more than anything else that might happen on Becomings Day. Enderman eyes reflect the power of their third "eye", the "eye" inside of every Enderman that acts as its life force. From your inner "eye" flows all magic that Endermen possess. An Enderman's outer eye color reflects the power of the inner "eye".

Purple eyes are the most common, they reflect exceptionally long-range teleporting ability, even across dimensions. Pink eyes reflect the ability to teleport large objects or other beings, but over much shorter distances. Those with pink eyes require portals to cross dimensions, which is why there are fewer of them inhabiting the Overworld and Nether. Blue eyed Endermen are the rarest. They have the shortest teleportation range, but have the ability to teleport objects without touching them, as well as the endurance to teleport several dozen times without tiring. Enderman eyes come in three colors, and three colors only.

Except yours.

Your eyes are completely different, which meant there is a possibility that you won't be able to teleport at all. You are a defect, so who knows what might happen. Teleportation is what makes an Enderman an Enderman, without it, you don't know what you would be. It would certainly bring even more shame to your family, and it would crush your dreams of exploring the other dimensions. Without the ability to teleport, you would be vulnerable to humans who would hunt you for your "eye". You'd be stuck on an island in the End for the rest of your life, alone, shunned by your own kind. The thought is unbearable.

But it does give you an idea.
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Meanwhile...

A ghast lazily drifted through the thick, hot Nether air, flying on its regular pattern through the Nether skies, the cave like roof hanging above it. Below it was a sea of lava inhabited by the occasional strider and her calf, but for the most part empty. That was how the ghast liked it. Away from any landmass, there was no reason for any humans, Piglins, or otherwise to interrupt its peaceful life, floating above the smoldering lava seas.

Suddenly, a dark frame appeared in the sky only blocks away from the giant flying white squid. It opened its eyes and churped in surprise. The black portal frame held a swirling purple vortex within. The ghast hovered in place, mesmerized by the hypnotic glow, then shrieked in panic as something came flying through the portal. The ghast summoned a fireball, heating the back of its throat, but swallowed it again as it realized the thing was not flying, but falling, and falling fast.

The ghast looked down at the falling figure, a human it realized, but it did not feel threatened. The human was going away, down and down and down. It looked into its face. If the ghast had been a sentient being, it would have seen the pain plastered across the human's face. The betrayal, the agony, the loss, the defeat etched in the sorrowful lines of his young visage. The burning tears that flew upwards from its eyes, for he fell faster than the tears could keep up. The giant wound on his chest, which was revealed as his white infirmary robe whipped wildly in the wind from his descent. The skin surrounding the gaping hole in his rib cage was mottled ugly shades of purple, yellow, and green that clearly indicated painful infection or poison. But the ghast was merely a beast, and didn't register any of these details. It simply watched as the boy plummeted into the lava below.

It did notice his eyes though. His bright white eyes momentarily confused the ghast, halting any lingering desire it had to attack the poor creature.

But then he hit the lava, and the piercing wail of a dying animal erupted from his mouth, before it too filled with lava as the rest of his burning form was engulfed in the thick, scorching liquid. The sudden loud noise startled the ghast, and it quickly floated away.

Deep in the lava below, the young boy still burned, his clothes had long since been incinerated, but his body was still holding out. His mouth open, unable to scream as the molten rock filled his lungs.

Burning, burning, burning

Thick and heavy and hot. It fried his open, poisoned wound.

Burning, burning, burning

Slowly eating away what little bit off healing skin there was. He felt all of his skin peeling and blistering from the agonizing, unbearable liquid fire.

Burning, burning, burning.

MAKE IT STOP!!!!

He felt the weight of the thick substance squishing him as he sank deeper and deeper, unable to struggle because of the complete and overwhelming pain.

Burning, burning, burning

Everything burned. Everything was fire. Nothing else existed anymore. He couldn't think, couldn't breath, suffocating with no air, lava eating him away from the inside, oh so slowly.

Burning, burning, burning

Absolute torture, he wanted nothing more than for it to end, for it all to just end. He hated the fact that he ever existed. All he knew was pain, agony, and fire.

Burning, burning, burning.

MAKE IT END!!!!

Burning, burning, burning.

But he could not die.

_______________________________________
LiKe SuBsCrIbE aNd HiT tHe BeLl.

Lol. Hope you enjoyed.

Edge out.

Chapter Text

Me: Don't we all love school?

Other part of my brain: Who are you talking to?

Me: No one! :D

Anyways, if anyone happens to read this, hope you enjoy!

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You keep your head down as you shuffle and squeeze through the packed Market. As long as you keep your eyes on the bare black feet around you, you can try to ignore the stares. You try to imagine that you are back in your little forest, and the tall thin legs are purple streaked instead of black. The difference is this forest moved, and you occasionally run smack into someone. They hiss and you quickly apologize before scurrying away in embarrassment.

No, this is not your forest. It's loud, a hundred voices ringing out at once. It fills you with stress instead of safety and calm.

But the good news is you are finally close to your destination. The sea of lower appendages begins to thin out as you come closer and closer to the edge of one of the biggest islands in the End. Eventually, they disappear altogether, and you are comfortably alone once more. You look up from the yellow endstone beneath you, to the giant purpur crystal ship floating above you, just barely off the island.

As usual, a pang of worry reverberates through you, sometimes he listens better than others. You really hope you won't have to dive right back into that crowd, you need a break.

So you take a deep breath, and shout at the top of your lungs, "HKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIH!"

You gasp, out of breath as you wait for a response. After several minutes of waiting, which is fairly normal, an old, hunched Enderman appears on the deck, peering down at you with his squinted pink eyes.

"Whose down there! Oh, its just you, uhm................." He ponders, scratching his chin.

"Y/N," you sigh, after all this time, he still can't remember your name.
"Yes, yes! I knew that! Come on in!" he shouts back, turning away to walk back inside.

You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration, is he really going to make you... ugh, never mind. "Hkeriih!" the old Enderman looks back at you, "I can't teleport yet!" Or maybe ever... You think with a shiver.

"Oh yes! Heh heh, I'll be right dow-" and with a burst and hiss of pink sparks he is standing right in front of you, "-n."

Close up, the sagging wrinkles on his face and smooth black bald head are his most prominent features. His back is so hunched that his face is only barely above yours. He holds his long-fingered, bony hand out for you. "My lady." He teases with a wink, and you can't help but smile at his antics. He is the only Enderman you've ever met that doesn't treat you like a freak.
You take his thin, bony hand, and the world swirls and then goes black in a dizzying split second, only to reappear before you, but completely different. Now walls, ceiling, and floor of purpur crystal surround you.

Furniture of different kinds of wood and luxurious blankets and rugs of many colors decorate the interior of the ship, rare relics from the Overworld. The conglomeration of so many colors always dizzies you, vivid orange, bright yellow, rich green, all new and exciting. Your world is dominated by the pale endstone and the dark void above and below it.
It surprised you at first, that this loony old hermit's home was so richly adorned, but nearly all of the items are gifts, for Hkeriih is one of the last surviving veterans of the III Interdimensional War. His rare pink eyes, along with the abilities that went with them, got him the position of transporting wounded soldiers from the field. Many families whose loved ones had been saved by his unique gift had brought precious treasures as tokens of gratitude. There are even a few that Hkeriih had taken from the Overworld himself.

Even though he hadn't fought on the front lines, he still has his share of scars, such as the one pale line on his cheek that creased every time he smiles. Just like he's doing right now. He motions for you to sit in one of the cyan-wool cushioned chairs, and you plop down gladly, sinking into the unusually soft surface. He sits down on another one across from you.

"So, what troubles you this day, my dear Y/N?" Hkeriih asks gently, knowing well that you are troubled by many things indeed. From the first day you stumbled across him, he had let you into his strange home, and made sure you felt comfortable. He is the only one who knew how you truly felt, more so than even your parents.
"Becomings Day is tomorrow." You answer, and a period of sympathetic silence follows. There is nothing else you need to say.

Hkeriih sighs, melancholy exaggerating the hundreds of wrinkles on his face. When his bright smile fades, his true age shows through. At over two hundred years old, he is pushing the limit of the standard Enderman lifespan. "You know, when I was your age, I regretted being different too."

You tilt your head with curiosity, surprise showing on your face. "But there are others like you."

"Not when I was younger there weren't. It was unheard of to have anything other than purple eyes. I spent all of my younger years wallowing in self-pity, wishing I were normal. Then came the war, and I discovered my true potential. Because of my strangeness, hundreds of lives were saved..." And then his eyes glaze over with a glossy blankness, as they always do when he thinks of the war.

You have only heard about the war in history books, but the way Hkeriih shakes and quivers at the mention of the lives lost tells you everything you need to know. The blankness in his eyes, such as they are now, and the way he could suddenly jolt from shock at any given moment. Hkeriih wasn't even on the frontlines. You can only imagine the immense casualty proportions. Blood and bodies of all different kinds from all different dimensions piled on the battlefield by the millions. The III Interdimensional War was the only one that involved all three dimensions, and the only one the End had ever been involved in. It was by far the deadliest war of all history. You shudder to think that it had taken place less than two-hundred years ago.

Abruptly, Hkeriih snaps out of his daze, and looks at you with the usual twinkle in his eyes, tinged with a hint of sadness. "Y/N, all I'm saying is don't waste any part of your life regretting who you are. You are destined for greatness, and it is difficult to believe sometimes, I know. But you a different for a purpose, just be patient, you will find out why. Be grateful for the things that make you strange, and don't listen to what anyone else says to you."

"Not even my parents?" You ask with a teasing smile.

Hkeriih laughs, a gusty, creaky laugh, "Oh ho, I'm afraid you will still need to obey your parents."

You laugh as well, yours much more even and higher pitched. "I will try."
You knew you had come to the right place for advice, Hkeriih has given you much to think about.
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Brilliantly glowing orange waves lapped up on the dark umber Soulsand, caused by varying heat currents deep within the vast seas. The lava's surface was mottled with furiously bright colors, livid red, ferocious yellow, and vehement white. Perhaps from a distance they would look beautiful, but any heat intolerant creature who came to close would feel the waves that also rippled through the air, the waves of extreme temperature.

There, lying half-sunk in the thick dark sand, was a corpse.

It could hardly be called a corpse actually, just an unsightly mangle of burnt flesh and blackened bones in no particular order. Just a mass with no shape, nothing to distinguish which race it was. A crisped, rotting blotch.

But the odd thing was... nothing washed up on the lava's shore. Nothing except a few choice kinds of stone, or the intact bodies of heat-resistant lava dwellers that had perished due to old age. Anything else was instantly incinerated. It was miraculous actually, that any trace of a normal body would be left after it had full contact with lava.

But this was no normal body.

Over the lapse of several hours, the burnt bones began to slowly inch back into there original position, forming a blackened skeleton with a tangled mass of flesh clinging to it. A day later, and the tissue sluggishly began to repair itself. Over the course of a week, the internal organs and exterior muscles had regrown. After two weeks, the delicate details of the face, eyes, and skin had reappeared, and oddly enough, a set of clothing had materialized as well. Navy pants, a teal T-shirt, and short black boots. Only moments after the last details finalized, and a complete human body reformed, the boy regained consciousness.

Indeed, he had never truly lost consciousness.

Even after his brain had smoldered to ash in the great lava sea. He still felt connected to his body. The only true different between then and now was the fact that he could see currently. He had felt every last ounce of pain from being slowly disintegrated in burning rock, and felt every twang of discomfort as his woeful remains knit themselves back together.

He had gone through and beyond any standard death experience.

He should have been dead, unconscious, and far away from his body and the following pain mere seconds after hitting the lava.

But he wasn't dead. No, that blessing of relief had been wretched from his existence.

He could not die.

Groaning with effort, he shakily pushed himself onto his elbows, and from there into a sitting posture. Every part of his new body ached from the ordeal. But at least, for now, he was not in pain. Not in real pain.

No where close.

He scooted himself away from the lava, as far away as he could before his stiff muscles demanded rest. He shuddered violently as he looked at its orange vastness, terror and shock blinding him and causing him to shiver in the hottest place in existence. He never wanted to repeat that ever again.

He scoped the area around him, trying to take his mind off of just how hot magma could be. He was surrounded by towering cliffs of red and brown speckled stone, and far above him was a vast ceiling of it. Netherrack. Behind him was a gigantic Soulsand dessert, white bones and living skeletons carrying bows and swords dotting the landscape as far as the eye could see. Great streams of lava poured from the walls and ceiling, gathering into treacherous molten pools everywhere. Flying, fire-breathing creatures polluted the thick, stuffy air, wailing and hissing occasionally.

Here he was, a young boy of twelve with no weapons or supplies, trapped in a place where everything wanted to kill him.

But he could not die.

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Edgy out!

Chapter Text

Hey everybodeeeeeee...

Had a close call this morning! Almost got my sketchbook taken by my teacher, but don't worry! I still got it!

Anyways, hope you enjoy Becomings Day!

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You look at the front of the lineup, a mere two kids ahead of you. You grit your teeth, trying your best to prevent yourself from shaking. After all, everyone is watching.

Today is the day. The day you find out what possessing red eyes truly meant. You are at your district's learning center, Learning Center #41 (what a creative naming system the Council came up with), a massive Endstone complex made up of many indoor and outdoor classrooms. The huge structure takes up most of the small island it is housed on.

Currently, you are in the large, open room in the center of the building. The Announcement Chamber, reserved for center-wide meetings and the yearly Becomings Day ceremony, where all the Enderkids who have turned or are turning twelve this year will begin their magic training. They celebrate this monumental moment in every Enderman's life with a ceremony, where friends and family watch as they use magic for the first time. You parents are out there too...

"What do you think?" You hear someone whisper behind you. The voice of one of your instructors. He is more than likely conferring with a colleague. You know it's wrong to eavesdrop, but it is hard not to do it all the time, since you have no one to talk to at the center. No one wants to be friends with the short weirdo with red eyes.

"Who knows what the Little Oddity might be capable of. I think it would be safer." Another instructor whispers back, just as you suspected. You inwardly scowl at the name your instructors use to refer to you, "Little Oddity". Of course, the other students call you worse things. Shorty, Spider-eyes, Halfy, and the most popular, Endermite. No one seems to realize you already had a name.

Distracted by this train of thought, you jump when you are lightly tapped on the shoulder.

You turn. It is the first instructor who had spoken, the other is standing behind him. The first kneels down to your level, which requires a considerable amount of effort considering he is nearly three times your height, and whispers softly in your ear. "A decision has been made to make your Ceremony private, Y/N. Your parents will be informed as well, and will join you shortly." The instructor strains to stand up again. He subtly nods his head in the direction of the back door leading off of the platform. "Come with us."

A mixture of anxiety and relief flood through your mind. Do they think you are dangerous? At least you won't have to stand in front of that huge crowd. You try to stamp out any other concerning thoughts, instead focusing on where you are going.

You are walking down the main hall, towards the Advanced classrooms. If all goes well, you will soon be spending your learning days in these rooms, with the others who are learning magic. All required studies other than magic end when you become an Advanced student, but you still plan to take a few optional standard studies as well as magic classes.

Lost in thought, you don't realize when the instructors in front of you stop, and nearly run into them. You blink back into reality, and realize you're standing before the doors of one of the largest outdoor classrooms, the one reserved for Blue-eyed telekinetics to target practice. The walls are reinforced in case they threw an object with a little too much mental force.

They really do think you might be dangerous. It's a possibility you have considered. What if you just blow into smithereens like a creeper?

Your instructors open the doors, to reveal your parents already standing within the massive walled stone yard, with another Enderwoman you don't recognize. They more than likely had just teleported. They both have standard purple eyes, so teleporting is their specialty. It also makes your oddness more baffling. They have purple eyes, your grandparents have purple eyes, all your great-grandparents have purple eyes. In fact, the only Enderman in your family who doesn't have purple eyes is one of your fifth cousins who lives in the Nether. His eyes are pink.

No one knows what happened to you, but it is very embarrassing for the family reputation.

The young enderwoman you don't recognize approaches you as soon as you enter. She smiles down at you, and announces herself, "Greetings Y/N, my name is Inst. Tkeerah. I have volunteered to be your personal magic tutor."

You return the smile, and dip your head in the customary respectful nod, "Thank you, Inst. Tkeerah." But inside you are quite surprised. Someone actually wants to tutor the weird kid? Volunteered? You can't help but be a little suspicious. Most don't want to be associated with you, for the sake of their reputation.

"Alright then let's get started. This will be just like the standard ceremony, so try to relax" She informs you, leading you toward the center of the training room. Unfortunately, you can not obey her latter instruction, you have been trembling with stress since you woke up this morning.

In the center of the large, open-ceilinged room, you stopped and face your "private tutor". You can no longer hide you shaking, nerves taking over your senses. Inst. Tkeerah gives you a small, encouraging smile. "You're going to do great, Y/N." She murmurs softly. "Close your eyes."

You do as she says, trying to keep your breathing steady. You aren't standing in front of a huge crowd. It's just your parents and a few instructors. It's fine. No one's going to laugh or tease you. These thoughts don't help.

"Now, I want you to put your hand on your chest." Her voice is steady, quiet, tranquil. It helps a little. You lay your hand over the center of your rib cage, you feel a rapid, but steady pulsing. Your inner eye, pumping blood into your veins and feeding magic into your soul.

"Focus on the beat, tune out everything else. Wait until it slows down, and let me know." You try your best. It's hard not to overthink everything, but you do your best to quiet your thoughts. Deep breath in. Hold it. Let it out slowly. Again. Again. Again.

Finally, the beat slows down, calm and peaceful. "I'm ready." Your voice comes out in a barely audible whisper.

"Do you feel the power contained within it?" She asks. You focus, hard. After a minute, you can feel it, a warm, tingly sensation, tightly contained in the small space. Like a thousand tiny starbursts compacted together.

"Yes" You answer softly, feeling awe at this new sensation. How have you never felt it before?

"Let it out." Inst. Tkeerah says, such a simple command.

You think it will be hard, but it isn't. It feels as simple as turning a knob and opening a door. Your body instantly floods with that same hot, tingly sensation. You gasp. You had no idea just how amazing magic would feel. You keep your eyes shut, lost in this new euphoria.

Finally, you feel the feeling fade, but not going away entirely. You can feel it flowing though your veins with each pulse of your eye. Once let out, magic can never be contained again. You finally open your outward eyes, and see everyone staring at you, shell-shocked. You look down at yourself self-consciously, panicking and wondering what is wrong.

Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

You are on fire.

Red flames lick at your skin, clothes, and hair. It feels warm, but not hot. The base of the flames are white hot, with a purple tint. How are you not burning? Your clothes aren't even affected. Despite the lack of unpleasant symptoms, your pulse still sky-rockets, and the danger-detecting side of your brain goes hay-wire. You are on fire.

Yet you don't scream. Some other part of your brain quickly intervenes, telling you that everything is fine. There is no danger. Nothing to worry about. This is normal. Not just normal, good. Your pulse slows, and you are once again overwelled with a sense of calm and awe. You are on fire!

"Dragon breath..." One of the onlooking instructors finally manages to gasp out, breaking your sense of serene wonder, and bringing your focus back to the both awe-struck and terrified Endermen surrounding you.

"I never seen anything..." The other babbles, unable to take her eyes off you.

"Y/N?" Your mother calls out to get your attention, though it sounds like a question. As if she doubts it is even you anymore. You kind of doubt it's you too. It all feels surreal, dreamlike. Is this another daydream? How is this possible? What does it mean?

You look over at your flabbergasted parents helplessly, wanting to go over to them, but you are still on fire, and you doubt they're as immune as you are. Wait. How do you make it stop?

Before you completely lose it in utter horror at the fact that you might be on fire, forever, Inst. Tkeerah regains her lost composure, and informs you, "This is normal, well, not exactly, but, anyways. It's normal for students to not be able to stop or control their flow of magic immediately. I should have told you that first." She pauses, blinking rapidly, regaining her train of thought, "Anyways, the first step in your case would be... to... maybe... think of something cold?" She guesses.

So, she really doesn't know.

That's reassuring.

After several different experimental exercises, you are finally able to... un-set-on-fire... yourself, by counting the void-stars above you. You still aren't sure what to think about your newfound power. There has never been an Enderman in the history of time to have magical abilities unrelated to teleportation. You aren't sure whether to feel special or terrified.

Looking at your flustered "private tutor", you wonder whether she is regretting her commitment. You suppose there is nothing preventing her from walking away from it though, especially after that.

The other two instructors who had accompanied you are long gone, informing everyone in the center and more than likely the Council itself of this recent development. What if they decide you were too dangerous? What if they even go so far to declare you aren't even an Enderman? What if they banish you? Anxiety from all the possibilities begins to overwhelm you.

Then you remember what Hkeriih had told you the day before. You are different for a purpose...

You hope it's true.
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"Steve, are you ok?" A red-head boy of around thirteen asked his slightly older companion, who seemed to completely zone out of their conversation. It was unlike him to simply stop mid-sentence. It wasn't like the topic had been anything heavy. Which cook made the best stew was hardly a reason to become suddenly lost in deep thought.

They were walking through the colorful and fragrant gardens, bees-buzzing all around and the sweet smell of spring filling the air, going towards the training yard, where they spared for fun. It was sunny, but not glaring, warm, but not hot. Perfect weather really. Tutoring sessions were finished for the day. They had until the annual spring feast tonight to do whatever they wanted. Really, Nilan couldn't find anything wrong with the situation.

Unless...

But that was weeks ago...

Surely, Steve wasn't still thinking about...

...him...

Nilan's face wrinkled in agitation, but he quickly smoothed his features, hiding his annoyance. It was not proper when accompanied by a royal. "Prince Steve?" He asked again, hoping to regain his colleague's attention.

The richly garbed brunette shook his head, his short royal-blue cape flapping in the slight breeze. His deep ocean-blue eyes finally clearing. "Yes? What were we talking about?"

Nilan sighed a muffled sigh, "Cook Harold's stew. Tonight's the Spring Feast remember?"

The prince's lip curled in disgust. "Of course, I remember. How could I not be thinking about..." Steve trailed of, casting his eyes downwards, kicking a pebble from his path with his gold-lined boot as the pair neared the end of the cobbled walkway.

Nilan let the silence reign for a moment. Trying to think of the right words to console his best friend and future king. "I know that it is difficult, but you must stop dwelling on the past Steve."

Anger flashed across the heir's face, "How can I simply forget? With the feast coming up, all I can think of is that he won't be there. But no one else seems to even notice!" He yelled out his frustration, entering the packed-dirt training yard, and viciously yanking a wooden sword from the rack, causing several others to fall off their hooks.

Nilan huffed, wishing this didn't come up in almost every conversation he had with his friend. He knelt and re-hung all of the fallen swords except for one, which he took with him as he jogged to catch up with Steve, who had stomped off towards one of the wooden dummies littering the yard.

Nilan ran in front of him to cut off his path. "Steve, you can't keep doing this. Hitting that armor stand is not going to solve your problems. Stop running away from me and listen to what I'm saying." Very improper of him. His father, the Head General, would be very displeased if he were here. But he's not, so that's irrelevant.

For a second, Steve looked like he would plow right over top of Nilan, but instead, he dropped his sword and fell into a sitting position on the dusty ground. "Fine." He said dejectedly. It was Steve's way of saying, "you're right".

"I know that its painful to lose someone you love, but you can't grieve forever. You have to pick yourself up and move on. You're the crown prince, people are counting on you to be their king one day."

"Some king I'll make. I couldn't even save my..."

"Don't start that again Steve."

"But it was my fault!!!!"

"No Steve it wasn't. There was nothing you could have done." Steve's eyes only narrowed at this; he knew it wasn't true. He could've prevented everything...

"It's not just that!!! You don't even know about..." Steve's voice faded, heavy guilt weighing down his features.

"I knew him well Steve. I know some of the things that caused the divide between you, but you were both young. He held grudges too long."

"Even so, why does everyone, even the King himself, just act like he never even existed!!!" Steve's face shriveled in internal agony, tears welling in his eyes as he hung his head. The gold, diamond encrusted circlet, on his forehead tumbled off, rolled on the ground, then fell with a poof of dust.

Nilan paused, selecting the best way to answer. Telling the truth, that he had in fact been rather easy to overlook to begin with, wouldn't help the situation. "Life must go on, Prince. Everyone has a different way of coping."

Steve was silent after that, simply sitting in the dirt, staring with blurry eyes at a patch of dead grass below them, getting his expensive clothes filthy. While he understood some of what Nilan was saying, it didn't make the heir feel any better. Nilan didn't know everything, couldn't know everything. Steve himself hadn't been able to fully comprehend it.

Until it was too late to fix it.

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Oh no! No Hero boy in this chapter! Don't worry, he gets the majority of the next chapter!

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

Hello, everyone!

I forgot to let you guys know sooner, but I publish this story once a week.

I also started another story to attempt to avoid getting burnt out on this one. You can find it on my account or possibly in the search. It's called Herobrine in Highschool, and I will try to update it once a week, but it's not my priority so updates will fluctuate with my inspiration levels.

Enjoy!

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You sit on the endstone floor of your quaint square house, eating dinner with your family. Chorus fruit. That is all that grows on the desolate end islands. Unless someone wants to pay for something from another dimension in the Market, they eat chorus fruit. You don’t mind the monotony though, it’s all you’ve ever known. In fact, the concept of having to pick what to eat is confusing. How would you decide?

“Have you heard about Keeper Kralh?” Your mother asks your father, which snaps you out of your thoughts. What’s going on with the Keeper?

You father, who is sitting in front of you to your left, nods after taking a bite, “Retired didn’t he?”

“Yes,” your mother, who was sitting opposite of him, responds with a thoughtful glance at the high ceilings. “Thankfully his term was rather uneventful.”

“Indeed, the tournament is in three days, right?”

“I believe so.”

Little do your parents know how raptured you are in their conversation. Usually you zone out during meals. But this time their light chatting has your full attention.

The Keeper retired.

The tournament is in three days.

You had just turned seventeen yesterday.

You are eligible.

Your mind reels at this possibility. Could this be it?

Ever since your Becomings Day five years ago, you have been training daily with Inst. Tkeerah. To your surprise, she stuck with her commitment, even years later. She is an amazing teacher and an unexpected friend. She has helped you uncover many new secrets about yourself.

Not only are you pyrokinetic and fire resistant, you also could teleport, albeit short distances. Your average is about the maximum of a blue’s range, so about thirty blocks. You definitely don’t have the endurance of a Blue though. About five teleportation and you’re shot. But hey, it’s something.

You have a couple other obscure abilities that go along with your dragon flame. The same way a dragon can charge crystals with their fire, you can do the same on a smaller scale. These crystals act as power reserves that you can use for emergency teleportation after your exhausted, or for healing if you get injured. All in all, pretty cool stuff.

But also not very useful in daily life. You still have to use the relay station which is annoying, and not many people need fire in the End. Overall you feel kind of useless.

But the tournament might change that.

The End Keeper is the only high-ranking position that anyone can be eligible for, as long as they are over seventeen and under one hundred. It is hardly an easy position though. The Keeper handles anything that pertains to Endermen outside of the End. This includes but is not limited to, alliances, negotiations, extra-dimensional laws, extra-dimensional law enforcement, invaders, and if it comes down to it…

…war.

The Keeper becomes the Head General as well during war.

All this isn’t what excites you though.

The way the Council decides who is fit for the office is through combat, a bracketed tournament. You have thought before that your abilities are perfectly suited for fighting, but now is a time of peace. Maybe this is a way you can find a use for your strangeness, just like Hkeriih said.

You sadden at the thought of your old friend, who is slowly losing his health. He can barely walk now, and it hurts you to see him like this. It has been about a week since you last visited, and you’re itching to go back.

Maybe now you can make him proud. Make your parents proud. Keeper was the highest position you can possibly get into without being born into it, and it could raise your family’s honor astronomically.

Your mind is made up.

“Y/N, are you done eating?” your mother’s gentle voice jolts you out of your concentration.

You look down at your unfinished dinner, a smile stretching across your face. You were far too hyped to eat more.

“Yes,” You answer, gulping a breath of air, “I’m registering.”

“What?” Your dad questions in shock.

“I’m registering in the Tournament.” You repeat, determination shining through your features.

Your father frowns slightly, blinking several times as if moving his eyelids will help him comprehend information. Your mom clicks her tongue, slowly shaking her head, but a small grin stretches across her face. “You never cease to amaze me Y/N.”

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“AGH!!!” a young teen with long brown hair and ash-coated clothes screamed in frustration, throwing yet another half-eaten mushroom into the nearby lava pool. There was always a nearby lava pool, he was forced to get used to that, though he still shuddered as he watched his unfinished dinner sizzle into nothingness.

Too many memories.

'Quiet, or you’ll bring the whole of the Nether on yourself. Also, why won’t you listen? I told you those wouldn’t work.'

The boy growled at the Whispers in his head that had steadily grown louder since his fall. He wasn’t disturbed by them any longer, they had become as normal as breathing, not requiring any extra thought. “Shut up.” He replied out loud, though in a much quieter voice. “They should work.”

'Well they don’t. I think after twenty-seven of them that should be obvious, thick-skull.'

“But why?” The boy looked up into the stuffy, burning air. Yes, burning. Burning every time he breathed in. He had gotten used to this also, it was nothing compared to the lava. Tears failed him, though he wanted to cry. He hadn’t drank anything except one bowl of mushroom stew since falling into this forbidden place. Falling, yes he refused to consider it otherwise.

His weak, bone-thin body spasmed, nearly causing him to lose his balance. Bone-thin was an understatement, he quite literally blended in with the living skeletons in both body and skin-tone. Surprising the undead had never given him trouble in his weeks here, but the other inhabitants had. The boy spent his time running and hiding from fire-blasting ghasts and razor-tusked hoglins. But now he was to the point he could no longer run, he could barely even stand.

No matter how much he ate his hunger was never satisfied, as though he were swallowing air. The Whispers had told him it would be so, the boy didn’t believe him, didn’t want to believe him. Hunger and thrist dominated his every breath, he hardly thought of anything else.

Suddenly, a smell drifted through the air. The boy flared his nostrils, white eyes widening and bulging in his skull. It had been so long since he had smelled anything except fire. So, so much fire and smoke and ash….

But this was different. It smelled good.

WHAT WAS IT?!?!?!?

He turned his head to look through the thick stalks of the angry crimson forest behind him. It was infested with hoglins, but he had hoped the different kind of mushroom would end his starvation, but of course it didn’t. Red pollen filled the air, making it hard to see very far.

The boy lurched to his feet in one single, unsteady motion, not paying the least attention to his weakened state. His stomach spasmed painfully, and he coughed and gagged at the sudden agony. Yet it didn’t stop him. One stumbling step after another, he followed the delicious odor. His joints cracked and popped with each movement, and he truly appeared and sounded like a skeleton, minus the clothes hanging off of him.

He tripped on a small rock, and smashed into the ground with a grunt. The ground here was made of that orangish-red stone, the kind that never stopped burning. So the effect was equivalent to face-planting on broken concrete.

Yet he still kept going. Dragging his pitiful excuse of a body along the rough ground, between tall red mushroom-trees, his long, jagged fingernails clawing at the surface, grabbing onto any small vegetation in reach. After nearly an hour of this, the source of the smell came into sight.

A hoglin.

An arrow stuck out of its bleeding chest, and its mouth gaped open in a silent scream, its sharp, white six-inch tusks pointed upward. Its eyes were wide open and glazed over, staring into the void. It was dead. The first thing this miserable boy felt was envy. This stupid animal’s pain was over, but his own never would be. He growled in the back of his throat.

But soon starvation overtook his senses and he had but one goal.

EAT!!!!

'You need to make sure that whatever shot that arrow isn’t still around. Hey! Listen to me!'

But the boy was not listening, he could not hear his own thoughts, much less the Whispers. Animalistic instinct and hunger became the entirety of his being.

Suddenly a sharp pain twanged in his chest. He growled and jerked up his much oversized teal t-shirt, eyeing the patch of pure black skin on his chest where his wound used to be.

“Stop doing that!” The boy muttered aloud, it didn’t hurt badly, but it was annoying.

It’s the only way to get your attention! At least just look around first.

The boy narrowed his eyes, gazing around for a split second, “Satisfied?”

'Hmm, yes. It is rather odd that something would have hunted this down and simply left it…'

But the boy was no longer listening, he dove down onto the fresh corpse with a fervent desperation. It must have stepped in fire at some point, because the skin on its left back leg was burnt, and the flesh underneath it cooked. The boy instinctively went for this first.

But as he tore away a mouthful with his strangely sharp teeth, a horrid scent filled his nostrils and the mouthful tasted disgusting. He immediately spat it out and gagged. Even his extreme hunger couldn’t make him eat that.

What had smelled so good then?

The boy turned his gaze, picking up the good smell once again. His eyes fell on the wounded chest of the beast. At last, he understood where it was coming from.

Blood.

He reached out his skeletal hand and swiped a bit of the thick red liquid from around the arrow. As he licked his fingers, his eyes widened.

It was by far the best thing he had ever tasted.

Not wasting a single breath, the boy ripped into the raw tissue just below the rib cage, wolfing it down and making beasties noises of pleasure as the bloody raw meat slid down his throat and into his shriveled gullet.

'Don’t eat too quickly. Or you’ll…'

But it was too late, the boy’s stomach spasmed yet again, and he threw up. It didn’t hinder him at all, he kept right on tearing into the corpse. In the span of a few minutes, the body was little more than scraps and bone. The cooked leg was also left intact.

The boy licked the blood from his lips and chin, a huge grin stretching his face, showing the bits of flesh stuck between his teeth. He felt truly alive for the first time in months.

Now it was time to get out of here.

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Alright, so how are liking the story so far?

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

Welcome again dear readers!

This is a bit of a suspense chapter, because the next one is going to be wild!!

Enjoy!

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You nervously tangle and untangle your long fingers, your eye beating fast, and glowing red through your black shirt. It is rather annoying. Ever since you unlocked your powers, your eye emits a glow from your chest whenever you are nervous or excited. Right now you are a little bit of both. A lot of both.

You stare up at your name on the tournament board. You had signed up the day before, and have been practicing almost incessantly. Your mother finally made you sleep, saying you would need your strength for the big day. You don't feel ready at all. You are going to be up against seasoned fighters, most twice your age. The only thing going in your favor is that no weapons are allowed. It is a test of pure power.

Your eyes wander the vast list of names written in black on the yellow stone wall. Several other Endermen, most likely your opponents, surround you, peering at the first-round match-ups.

"My, this one is going to take awhile. There's at least enough to last a week." One of the older Endermen beside you comments.

"You know that it won't last that long. Half of them will drop out." Another responds, and the first gives a thoughtful nod. Many other similar conversations are happening all around you, banishing any attempt silence makes to cover the Arena hall.

You yourself are tempted to drop out. How can you possibly win? Even if half the contestants drop out, you will still have to defeat over thirty Endermen in hand-to-hand combat. The thought sends a cold shiver down your spine.

As your softly glowing red eyes roam the seemingly endless list of names, they land on something familiar.

Ktarll Lyrith.

Ktarll is entering too? Something about fighting someone you know makes the whole ordeal even more terrifying. Thankfully, his name is fairly far away from yours, so there is a good chance one of you will get eliminated before you have to fight.

You don't recognize the name listed beside yours, the one to be your very first opponent. Tarkii Hert. The board doesn't list age or occupation or eye color, so you really know nothing going into this.

Suddenly, you realize that the Endermen around you are dispersing, and your anxiety peaks when you realize the first duel is about to start. You tear your eyes off the names on the wall, and hurriedly make your way down the long hall that leads all the way around the vast Arena.

The Arena is the only building on the Council Island open to the public, and even so it's rarely used. During war, it could be used to house refugee Endermen, or to execute traitors. Otherwise, it is only used for the annual Great Renewal festivities, and, of course, Keeper Tournaments.

At the thought of the Great Renewal, the immediately recognizable voice of the monotone narrator begins droning in your head: "Long ago, before Endermen crossed into the End..."

You groan softly, you and everyone else has heard that same story year after year after year, and yet they continue to drill it into your heads at every Great Renewal. You have the entire thing memorized, word for word, all in that ear-grating monotone voice. You will never be able to forget it, which you suppose is the point.

"...this story, the reason we celebrate Great Renewal, reminds us of two of the most integral parts of Endermanity, respect and unity..."

Respect especially is the defining factor of your status. The Endermen had observed noted the imperfections in both the Piglin and Human ruling systems. One of the biggest flaws in both is the constant infighting over resources. Since the End has very few resources to begin with, Endermen had to find a way to avoid this issue.

The solution is that there is enough chorus growing on nearly every inhabited End Island, and nearly infinite End islands, so there is no competition for food or living space. Endermen also don't have currency. They don't put value on shiny rocks. If you want an object from another dimension, you can go get it yourself, or trade an extradimensional object for someone else's. Or someone could give one to you as a gift.

Endermen society is set up so that the amount of things you have has nothing to do with your status. This fosters unity while focusing on respect.

Respect starts with the family you grow up in. You being born undersized and with red eyes lowered the respectability of your entire family, essentially knocking them down on the social ladder.

But there are several ways one can earn respect. One such way is to become a scholar or an instructor, as Endermen highly prize learning and knowledge. Another way is to become an explorer. Gathering information and artifacts from other dimensions is seen as highly beneficial to Endermen society. Having a job as simple as being a Relay can even raise your status.

You have considered all of these options, minus being a Relay of course. You can't teleport with anyone. You don't really want to teach or be stuck sitting around with books for the rest of your life. You like to read, but not that much. Being an explorer sounds very interesting, but going into unknown places without being able to teleport more than thirty blocks would be very risky.

Which leads you back to where you are now, competing with nearly a hundred other Endermen for the renowned title that can raise your family's respectability tremendously. As you near the entrance to the section where your parents will be watching, you stand up straighter, hold your head up higher. You are determined that you are going to win this tournament.

For them.

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You stare with rapt attention, glued to the fights happening below you. Your family is seated near the top row of the gigantic endstone stadium. The Arena below you is currently divided into four sections, so that more than one duel can take place at a time. Right now only three of them are in use, which means that one or two of the First Wave contestants have already dropped out.

You understand why. The six contestants below are being silently stared at by thousands of Endermen in the stands, while fighting for a position that could change their lives forever. It was polite and customary for an audience to be completely silent, even in situations such as this. In your opinion, that makes it even more intimidating. Thousand of pairs of eyes staring right at you... you shudder violently at the thought. If your going through with this, you will have to go through it dozens of times.

You're tempted... No! Your resolve hardens, and your eyes narrow. You are going to win this.

For the first two minutes, the fighters below you "circle up". In this time frame, they are not allowed to use their abilities on their opponents. They can use melee combat and show off their power without hurting the other contestant.

"Circling up" is designed so that if you feel extremely outmatched, you can surrender before the fighting gets serious. One of the contestants below does just that. Within the first few seconds, she holds both arms up, while staring at the ground, the standard sign of surrender.

Both contestants walk out through a tunnel below the stands. Suddenly, a ram's horn reverberates from the Council section, a separate box set above the rest of the stands, where the Council members can sit and observe the matches. The ram's horn signals the end of the first two minutes, and the beginning of the true fighting.

The two occupied sectors begin flashing in a brilliant purple light show as the contestants teleport, trying to gain an advantage and catch their opponent by surprise. Fists swing and legs kick, bodies lunge and dodge in an intricate and dangerous dance. In the matter of a minute, both duels are over.

You swallow, hard. The fighters are very intimidating. Dedicated, talented, trained. For the first time you fully realize just how deep in you are. Your only hope is your fire. It's the only reason you might win.

Thankfully, the duels are hardly vicious. It's rare for someone to walk away with more than a couple bruises. The vow all contestants take prohibits excessive violence. Most fights end in a peaceable surrender, but occasionally they will continue until one contestant passes out from exhaustion.

Your father lays a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you look over at where he is sitting to your left.

"You're in the Second Wave, Y/N." He quietly reminds you, an encouraging smile on his face.

On your right, your mother lays her hand on top of yours. "You're going to do great." She encourages you. You take a deep breath, and one last glance at the Sectors. They're empty now.

You shakily stand up, and scoot your way in front of several Endermen, being very careful not to step on any of the bare feet. When you get to the end of the aisle, you look back and give your parents a nervous smile, before continuing up the stairway into the hall that goes around the entire Arena.

You walk down several flights of stairs and three more halls until you come to a door with the word "CONTESTANTS" written in black above it. Your eye skips a beat as you reach out a trembling hand and take hold of the purpur crystal door knob. As you turn it, your confident your chest is glowing like a Redstone torch. The feeling you get before taking a big exam is what you're feeling right now, but times a thousand. Your brain is numb with the anxiety.

You walk in and see five other Endermen already waiting inside. The room is blank and empty except for a couple benches, presumably for you and the others to wait on. You keep your head down, knowing that the others are staring down at your short form. You feel like a child again, the disapproving stares of your classmates drilling into the back of your skull as you try and fail to pay attention to the instructor.

"Hey kid, are you lost?" one of the other contestants approaches and kindly asks you.

You cringe and mumble, "No, I'm a contestant. Y/N." Of course, it was a reasonable assumption considering your size, but it still rubs you the wrong way.

"Oh," He states, clearly surprised, "I apologize. I'm Tarkii."

Now it is your turn to be surprised. You timidly look up at him. An average size Enderman, purple eyes, so nothing complicated. That is a slight relief. "Yes, I saw your name on the board. We are Match 3."

"Indeed, I was not expecting..." Tarkii stops rather awkwardly, clearly trying to recover from his embarrassment. To his relief, the door behind you swings open and the remaining two contestants file in around you, breaking the awkwardness of the moment.

You take the opportunity to follow them over to the benches. Some are sitting and fidgeting, others are standing and pacing. Everyone is silent. A feeling of anticipation hangs from the walls and floor and ceiling.

After what feels like an eternity of this heavy silence, the door finally swings open, and someone pops their head in the door. "Right this way everyone." She guides us out of the waiting room and down yet another long hallway.

You nervously tug at your hair, making sure it's securely tied back. You don't want hair getting in your face in the middle of the duel. As the group continues down another flight of stairs, you notice yet again the way they side-glance at you. You can almost hear their thoughts.

What is she doing here?

Poor kid, she has no idea what she's getting into.

She's so small! I'm surprised they let her enter!

What's up with those red eyes?

You take a deep breath. They all expect you to give up or fail. You'll have to prove them wrong.

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Crown Prince Steven of the Overworldian Kingdom knelt by his father's grave. A very fresh grave. The late king had only passed away two nights ago. At the early age of forty-seven, King Notch VIII had died of heart failure due to being morbidly overweight.

Steve was torn between sadness and shame at his father's inglorious death. He had never been close to his father, and his mother had been cast out of the palace when he was five. Yet another stain upon the late king's reputation. He changed queens and consorts like clothing, often charging them with treachery or some other crime and having them banished to attempt to make his reputation look cleaner.

Everyone knew the truth though. Notch VIII was a terrible ruler, feasting and reveling in his own riches while his kingdom was threatened by illagers and the infamous necromancers that had sprung up like weeds in every corner of the Overworld.

He didn't live up to his namesake, that was for certain. Notch the First, conqueror of the First Interdimensional War and Savior of all three dimensions, had become a godlike figure to all of humanity. Temples and shrines for the ancient king could be found nearly everywhere humans inhabited.

Steve winced at how his own father had stained the glorious name of the First King. He did think that his ancestor was a bit over glorified though, but he still was a legendary king.

Steve swore long ago that he would rebuild the kingdom his father let fall apart. He just didn't expect his opportunity would arise so quickly. He wasn't even twenty yet. Steve expected to have much more time to grow in strength and wisdom before claiming the throne. He still hadn't healed from what had happened four years ago...

Steve shook his head and sighed, wiping the tears he had unconsciously let form in his eyes. He slowly stood and turned away from the grand, freshly carved marble grave marker.

He gasped as he nearly collided with someone who had been standing silently behind him.

Alexia looked up at him with wide green eyes framed in long, vivid orange hair and freckles, her elaborate blue dress swishing as she took a step back.

Awkward silence reigned as the pair stared at one another. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." Alex finally spoke.

Steve sighed again. "It's fine. I'm sorry for not noticing you, it was rude of me." He admitted with a small half-hearted grin.

"I didn't give you much notice." Alex chuckled awkwardly.

Steve's relationship with Alexia was... complicated. They had been betrothed since they were toddlers, but hadn't had much interaction with each other growing up. Steve felt like they should be able to talk like they were at least friends, but they simply didn't know each other. They had only started interacting on a minimal basis a few months ago.

Steve supposed they would have to get used to each other pretty quickly. They were to be married on his coronation day in two weeks. They were young, but it was simply tradition. There had been far younger marriages in his family's history.

Steve could tell that Alexia was, uncertain, to say the least. She was very strong-willed and independent. It would make her a wonderful queen, but Steve had long suspected she wasn't exactly eager about the arrangements.

He couldn't exactly change it though. He couldn't override such a ancient tradition, not without some sort of revolt anyways.

Steve gently reached out and wrapped one of his strong, tanned hands around one of Alex's delicate, pale ones. Alex winced slightly and looked away.

Steve tenderly reached out and took her chin in his hand, lifting it so that she was looking right up at him.

"Look Alex, I know this isn't what you wanted. I know this wasn't your choice, and it wasn't mine either. But I just want you to know that I am going to be the best possible husband that I can be for you. I will do anything to make you happy, because in two weeks I'm going to be yours. I will love you to the Farlands and back, because that's what you deserve."

Alex looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes, her freckled cheeks alight with a bright red blush.

"I just want you to know that, no matter what, that will never change. I'm not going to be like my father." Steve finished, pouring all of his sincerity and raw emotions into his words.

To Steve's absolute delight, a small smile graced Alex's face. She wrapped her fingers around his, and gave a light squeeze.

"Thank you, Steve. That means a lot." She said quietly.

Steve realized he was smiling too.



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Well there's you some fluff.

Funny isn't it? This is a reader x Herobrine and the first romantic moment is Steve x Alex. Lol.

Anyways, next chapter is going to be a finale of sorts, so get ready for some excitement!

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

POV:

You're sick.

You're whole body aches.

You're exhausted.

You have to go to school.

You're mom takes your phone on the day you're supposed to update.

Welcome to my life.

I feel better today though, so I'm hoping to get the sketch out at least by tomorrow.

I hope you love reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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As you and your opponent kneel to each other reciting the vow that is required before all duels, your thoughts race like an enraged endermite. There are thousands of people staring down at you right now, it's all you can do to remember to breathe. How in the three dimensions are you going to fight in such a condition?

Before you even realize what is happening, your standing up and staring directly into your opponent's eyes. The large yellow endestone box that surrounds you seems to collapse in on you, and you can't take your mind off the countless condemning eyes boring into your soul.

It barely registers when the beginning horn is blown; you're too frozen in stage fright times-ten. You have no time to react when a black fist comes hurtling towards your face. It collides with you face with an impact so forcefully that you nearly topple over. Thankfully, you shakily maintain your balance.

Another fist comes flying out of thin air.

Something snaps within you, and your instincts take control. A rush of adrenaline replaces your overwhelming fear.

You duck out of the way just in time as the fist swings barely over your head. A kick comes flying up. You roll to the side and retaliate with a swift leg sweep. You swinging leg knocks Tarkii right off his feet.

He looks up in shock for a moment, clearly surprised you can fight at all. A second more and he is back up on his feet, lunging at you once again.

Dodge, retreat, dive, swipe, you quickly fall into the rhythm. All that combat training you had done with Tkeerah is paying off.

The watching crowd no longer exists, and neither do the walls that once surrounded you. There is nothing except for the enemy before you. Nothing but your instincts kicking into overdrive as a release of all the pressure that has built up in your system.

After what feels like an hour at least, the second horn reverberates all around you, shaking your insides with its low, sonorous tone.

Suddenly, a smile breaks out across your face. You see Tarkii preparing a tactical teleport, but you aren't going to give him a chance to use it.

You feel the heat already pumping in your veins rise as you focus in on it. And then...

Whoosh!

Tarkii jumps back in jolting shock, gasps ring out from the once silent crowd. Your simply lost in the feeling of power enveloping you.

You are encased in red flames. Glowing brightly against your pale environment.

Tarkii stares at you for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Slowly the realization creeps up on him that he can't even touch you, much less fight you.

His arms go up, and his face drops. You're filled with a rush of... victory... yes that's what this feeling is. You feel unstoppable, utterly invincible.

You look up at the stands, and finally your eyes land on where your parents should be sitting. You can't make out their features from this distance, but you can imagine the proud smiles on their faces.

As you walk out of your sector, suddenly your wild dream seems a little more possible.

One down, about fifty more to go.

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You walk confidently towards the contestant room. It has been over a week since your first fight, but it certainly wasn't your last. It took three days to get through all of the competitors in the first bracket, but after that the tournament has gone at a rapid-fire pace, going through several brackets in a day. Now there are about twelve contestants left, and you are one of them.

Your wildest dreams are becoming reality, but you are having a hard time making yourself believe it. You wake up every morning, panicking, thinking it was all only a dream.

You honestly haven't been in that many duels, only about nine. That's mostly because whenever someone gets paired with you, they immediately drop out. After your stunt on the first day, most realized they don't stand a chance against your fire.

You remember walking up to the board on the day of the Second Bracket duels to see who you were paired with. There was already a crowd around the name wall when you got there, so you waited, leaning against the opposite wall. You heard a conversation going on at the edge of the cluster, and you couldn't help but listen in. Old habits die hard, it seemed.

"You got paired with the fire girl?" one middle-aged Enderwoman asked another, younger Enderman, who looked absolutely defeated.

"Yeah, I'm dropping. I don't stand a chance against that."

"A shame, I'm sorry for your luck."

All the while you had been leaning against the stone wall behind them, smirking to yourself. Well, who knew? The short Endergirl with strange eyes was becoming something after all.

In the following days, the only topic of discussion at the board was: "Who got paired with the fire girl?" Anyone who actually went through with the duel ended up much like Tarkii, unable to even come close to you after the two-minute horn blew.

On the days your opponent dropped out, you spent the day at home resting, gathering energy for the next fight.

Now, as you walk towards the contestant room, you are both eager and slightly nervous. As it turns out, Ktarll has also made it this far. You haven't had any encounters with him yet, not even just walking past him in the hall. But now he will be in this room. You aren't paired, at least not yet. You aren't sure whether to hope you get the chance to duel or not.

Your friendship with your old "friend" has hardly improved over the years. You don't hold anything against each other - at least, you hope he doesn't hold anything against you - but you have only grown more distant. Still, the thought of fighting someone you know personally is a little bit of a strange concept.

You enter the familiar blank room, and are shocked to see only one Enderman sitting on the bench. You frown, where are the other four? You thought you would be the last one here.

The lone Enderman looks up as you step towards him. Blue eyes stare up at you, and you freeze.

"So you did show up, hmm? I thought I was going to win the wave by default." Ktarll states blandly, looking very unconcerned.

"Has everyone else in the wave dropped out?" You ask, taking your seat beside him, feeling extremely awkward.

"Not just this wave, but the other one too. The semi-finals are canceled, only the finals are left." Ktarll fixes his gaze on the door, clearly attempting to avoid giving away any emotion. You pick up a twinge of nervousness in his voice.

"Why? I mean, why did everyone drop?" You ask, panic setting in for the first time in days. The finals!?!?!

"They didn't drop. The Council decided that we were the only ones fit for the position, so they eliminated everyone else." Ktarll mumbles absently.

"What?!" You blink rapidly, and your chest begins to glow red. The thought of the Council specifically picking you as worthy makes you both elated and terrified. You forcefully push back your anxiety. This is not the time to have a mental breakdown.

Ktarll says nothing after your outburst, continuing to stare at the door. There is a moment of awkward silence in which you feel like you should be talking, but at the same time you don't have much to say. What are you even supposed to talk about? You feel like you should know him, but you just don't. He's really no different than any other stranger. Your parents are just friends.

Finally, the door swings open and Hylre, the Enderwoman who leads the contestants to their sectors, pops her head in. "Congragulations finalists! Come right this way!"

She seems more excited than usual, probably because this is the last time she'll have to do this.

"Everyone's been dying to see this duel! You two have been the topic of every conversation since day one! Especially you, fire girl!" She chatters excitedly as we walk down the familiar, empty halls.

You glance up at Ktarll, and see a look of annoyance on his face. Is he jealous of the attention you're getting? The thought is unnerving.

After a long, very quiet walk, you come to the door on the ground level leading out into sector one. You take a deep breath, trying to slow your rapid eye-rate. You are NOT nervous, you've done this before, you've got this. Your mental pep talk, as usual, doesn't help.

"Oh! I forgot to mention! The sector dividers have been taken down for the finals," Hylre exclaims, "I wish you the best of luck!" She nods to both of us, before turning and opening the door.

You and Ktarll enter the massive arena, and you look up at the stands. They're even more packed than usual, which you guess is to be expected for the finals. The sector walls have indeed been torn down, leaving the arena feeling absolutely gigantic and empty, but also very full.

As you walk toward the center, you feel like the air is thick with silence and anticipation, and you have to struggle to push forward in it. The ground is littered with thousands of stone pebbles and shards where the walls had been taken down in such a rush. You are careful to maneuver your bare feet around the debris.

When you reach the center, you turn and face Ktarll, looking into his blue eyes one last time before kneeling down to say the vow. Ktarll copies your movements.

"Today I fight, not for the good of myself, but for the benefit of all Enderkind. Today I fight, not to wage war with my brethren, but to unite with them. Today I fight, not for glory or fame, but to serve my people and my nation. I shall treat my opponent with respect, knowing that we are not enemies." It's short, but to the point.

There is a split second after we stand, where silence reigns. And then the ram's horn blasts from above us.

Ktarll pounces instantly, but you're ready. You roll out of the way and lunge for him, aiming your fist for his middle. He dodges and comes back at you with a punch dodge combination.

This dance continues for what feels like barely a minute, and then the second horn trumpets, vibrating your insides.

Instinctively, your body bursts into flames, but your not so confident that Ktarll will just give up. He's a blue; he can move things without touching them. You're prepared for anything.

A moment of stillness follows as Ktarll closes his eyes, a small smirk growing on his face.

The hundreds of yellow stone shards littering the arena begin to vibrate.

Your eyes widen. Maybe you aren't prepared for anything.

The entire floor begins to glow with bluish light as the shards begin to float into the air. Your gaze snaps to Ktarll, who's brightly glowing blue eyes are open and now he's is grinning down at your suddenly very vulnerable form.

How is this possible?!?! Only extremely talented blues with dozens of years of experience can pull off such a feat. The thought flashes through your mind that maybe this is what Ktarll was always doing when you went out as kids.

And then thousands of sharp stone shards comes speeding towards you from all directions.

You hiss in pain as several puncture your sides and back. You make a split second decision to use one of your precious few teleports to zap to the other end of the arena. You aren't supposed to use weapons, but there is no rule against using the arena itself.

Your mind scrambles, you have no idea what to do from here. The blue-glowing stones filling the air like flying endermites suddenly changed direction, and start speeding towards your fiery form again.

You swing your arm in front of your head to protect your face. Fwoosh!! The fire on your arm lashes out as you move it, sending an arc of red flames whipping the nearest stone shards away, blackening them in the process.

Your instincts suddenly click, and you begin blasting columns of fire out whenever the air tries to stone you. The movement all around you has completely distracted you, and you lose sight of Ktarll.

You feel a presence behind you a split second before a rock the size of your head slams into your back. Crack! You feel your spine snap! You screech and fall to the ground.

The audience goes from dead silent to shrieking in an instant. This is not what is supposed to happen!

You weakly shove your arm out, forcing your face off the ground as you roll over. You scream in pain as you roll onto your broken back. You stare up at Ktarll with wild fear in your eyes.

What is he doing?!?!

Suddenly the swirling storm whirling in the air above you freezes. Ktarll glares down at you, cold hatred in his eyes.

Why is he looking at you like that?!?!

And then the storm comes crashing down. Your body spasms and arcs as your screams are choked by thousands of razor-like stone shards biting through your black skin and into your dark flesh.

The flames around you have long since died, now you can barely find the strength to breathe. You feel Ktarll's powers forcing the stones deeper and deeper into you, and the pain is all consuming.

You shudder and tremble violently, unable to control your own movements anymore. You dimly hear the vrrrrrp of someone teleporting nearby. You look up with tormented eyes at the Enderman who came to end this madness. One of the Council members.

Ktarll growls at the sudden presence of another. You see him raise an arm, and you shriek and jolt as you feel the shards being ripped out of your flesh, black blood spouting out of each deep puncture wound.

You barely see the air all around you fill up with bloody shards, because your vision is starting to tunnel. No one can get through. No one can save you.

"How does it feel to have your dreams ripped out of your hands in the blink of an eye?" Ktarll suddenly speaks in a low voice, each word dripping with venom. "I've been training for this day for years! This is my sole purpose in life! And you just think you can waltz in and take it all away? The Council should never have let you enter, much less use your stupid freak powers. You're just a failure who will never deserve this. Even if I can't win, I'm going to make sure you never will."

Through your blurring vision, you see that same huge rock that crushed your spine rise above your head, filling the entirety of your fading vision.

That's when it truly sank in.

Ktarll is going to kill you.

Desperately, you reach into your pocket and fumble around for something. The blue glowing rock comes plummeting down onto your skull at the same time you weakly drop two little, energy-filled crystals on the ground.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!

The tiny red crystals explode with a massive blast of fire and light, knocking Ktarll, you, and all of the stones back in the shock wave.

You go flying through the air and your broken back collides with the wall of the arena. You howl in anguish as you crumple to the ground, bones cracking and snapping. Black blood pours out from a thousand different places, and you feel yourself losing conscious.

No! This is not the end!

With your last reserves of strength, you mentally tug on the power reserves in the last crystal in your pocket. You don't control how quickly the energy flows into your body, and you immediately start convulsing with nausea at the sudden flood of magic. You hack up a mixture of blood and chorus fruit as you shrivel up into a ball.

But it pays off. You feel your bones and muscles painfully begin to pull themselves back together. In a minute, you are still bleeding, but the deepest wounds and broken bones have at least started to heal.

You shakily push yourself into a sitting position, then use the wall as support to stand. You shudder as your hand trails through your own black blood smeared on the pale-yellow wall.

You scan the arena for Ktarll, dearly hoping he had been knocked out by the blast. To your dismay, he's still standing near the opposite end of the arena, but he's surrounded by armed guards, who conveniently decide to show up after you almost die.

Ktarll is covered in nasty burns, one of his eyes is completely blackened and you can see the bone of most of his right arm. The audience gasps and murmurs as you shakily walk forward. Clearly they thought you were dead. With shrieks of joy your mother and father teleport to your sides, helping to support you, lost in wordless relief.

The guards containing the dazed and damaged Ktarll grab his arms - even the one that is barely intact - and yank them over his head, and one pushes his head downward so that he is staring at the floor. He yelps at the jarring movement of his injured body.

The crowd roars wildly at this position of surrender, hurling insults and cheering all at once. The ram's horn sounds for the third time from the box above the audience, and everything else becomes silent.

Abruptly, an elderly Enderman with purple eyes and black robes teleports to the center of the arena. Raktar, one of the highest ranking members of the Council.

"Today! The respectable Keeper's tournament has been dishonored by one of the finalists. Ktarll Lyrith has broken his vow and nearly killed his opponent! Such disrespect for one of our most honorable traditions will not be tolerated! Trials will follow!" a synchronized shout of mass consent sounds from the audience, and hundreds of black fists punch the air.

"Today! The respectable Keeper's tournament has been won by one of the finalists! Y/N L/N has risen victorious over her traitorous opponent! To honor her victory, the Council announces her as Keeper of the End, as all the victors before her!" another shout sounds from the onlookers, even louder than the last one.

Two other older Endermen appear beside Raktar, one holding a white cloak and the other holding a large iron scythe, shimmering with enchantments. They walk towards you, but it is surreal. You are overwhelmed by everything that is happening.

At the last moment, you remember to duck your head in respect as the Council members approach.

Your parents step away from you as the Enderman holding the cloak steps behind you.

Raktar announces, "We, the Council of the End, bestow upon you this cloak, which has been worn by every Keeper before you. It shall keep you safe and dry as you enforce justice and peace in all three dimensions."

The bright white cloak is lain over your shoulders, pooling at your feet due to your minute stature. It all feels surreal. It's the only clothing worn by Endermen that isn't black, waterproof and fireproof.

"We, the Council of the End, bestow upon you this scythe, which has been wielded by every Keeper before you. It shall protect you and others as you enforce peace in all the three dimensions." Raktar continues. The large, heavy, enchanted weapon is lain in your outstretched hands, and you grip it tightly, as if the tighter you hold it, the more real it will be.

"Today, we entrust the safety of all Endermen in any dimension to you. May you grant wisdom and peace in all your decisions, and protect those in your hands with the greatest care. Hail the Keeper!" Raktar finishes with a shout, bowing his head to you. The Council members on either side of him do the same, as well as the guards holding Ktarll, who is still being forced into the surrender position.

You look around in awe, your parents and every single Enderman in the Arena is bowing their head. Bowing to you. Paying respect to you.

Your chest glows warmly. It didn't go quite like you expected, but you're here. You did it.

You're the End Keeper.

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Yay! You did it!

That marks the final chapter of the introductory mini-plot! You get to meet Herobrine next chapter and I for one am very excited!

Also, in case you didn't pick it up...

Black skin + White robe + Red eyes = ???

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

Heyo!

Sorry for the late update guys! I got grounded again.....

...yay...

Anyways, now that I have a follower - shout out to Honest_Healer! - I have decided on a name for them.

Drum roll.....

Edgelings!

I don't know, I just felt like it. Also I got two new kittens!!!!

Anyways, hope you enjoy, my Edgelings!

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You stare before you in starstruck wonder at the red-rock landscape sprawling out in all directions. In the distance you can see red mushroom trees springing up, giving off a soft glow from the shroomlights on their undersides. The air around them is hazy with their red pollen.

Across a glowing sea of lava are columns and columns of grey stone. Huge black and orange magma cube leap over miniature pools of lava, and the air over there is thick with grey ash.

Even the air is incredibly different than the air of the End. Aside from the immense heat, which actually doesn't bother you, you can feel the air. It's a very strange sensation, as if you can feel the particles moving around you and clinging to you every time you step forward.

Of course the air in the End is the thinest of all the dimensions, most closely resembling the top of a very high mountain in the Overworld. By contrast, the air in the Nether is the stuffiest of all the dimensions, due to the amount of lava and the lack of fresh air in the cavernous world.

After you finish taking in the striking scenery, you ask one of the guards who had just appeared through the portal behind you, "Which way to their Arena from here?"

"Over there," he answers, pointing in the general direction of the crimson forest. "I believe the Piglins call it the Great Hall, Keeper."

"Good to know, thank you Ekiir." You nod, waiting for the rest of your entourage to come through the portal.

In the weeks since you became Keeper, you have had to get used to many things. For one, everyone bows to you and calls you Keeper all the time. Second, you are constantly having to go to official meetings, seeing the high and exalted council members everyday is quiet an adjustment. And lastly, it's now your job to command all peace enforcement guards. Most of them already know what to do, and are doing more to help you than you are to help them, but you're still technically their superior.

Finally, all the light armored and iron sickle wielding guards are through the portal, and you can begin your short trek through the Nether waste. All of them except you are wearing iron boots instead of going barefoot, because of the smoldering netherrack and prevalent fires. You are immune to both heat and fire, so you opt to go barefoot, because that's how you're most comfortable.

You walk in the front, and the rest dutifully march behind you, twelve in all. After a while of walking past skeletons and the occasional ghast, the black walls of the massive fortress known as the Great Hall comes into view.

Your first impression, it's massive. Easily twice the size of the Arena back home. The black brick walls tower endlessly above you, outlined in gold accents. Ominous pillars support towering walkways, bridges, and ramps sprawling in all directions. It's quiet impressive, more so than you were expecting. You've always thought Piglins aren't capable of such organized engineering.

Speaking of Piglins, as you make your way around the gigantic structure, you come to the arching entrance guarded by three hulking Piglin brutes, glaring at your party of tall, thin people, axes strapped to their backs. The entire feel of the place is very unwelcoming.

Despite their unfriendly looks, the brutes step aside to let your parade through. It was tradition after all. Ever since the last interdimensional war, the Endermen and Piglins have formed a strict alliance. It is fairly simple, Piglins don't interfere with Endermen living in the Nether, Endermen don't interfere with the Piglins, and the End Keeper attends the annual Brunt Trials to renew the treaty.

The moment you walk inside, you're greeted by chaos. The hundreds of thousands of Piglins crammed into the stands are squealing and shoving and punching. The fighting hasn't even started yet, and the noise is almost deafening. You cover your ears to block it out, and eye your surroundings.

Unlike in the Arena, the stands surrounding the huge crater in the ground, the fight pit, have no benches. They are simply raised platforms in which the audience must constantly push and shove to retain a position at the front.

You scowl in disgust at the savage way the pig people are acting. You have learned in your books that Piglins do not operate on respect the same way Endermen do, but to see it in action is something else entirely. Not only that, but the books didn't warn you about the stench. It is nearly as bad as the noise.

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You glance back to see that Ekiir took one of his hands off his ear to get your attention. He points to a black box above the rest of the stands, then makes a popping motion with his fingers. I nod and take my hand off my ear to hold my arm up. All the guards behind me nod in understanding.

In one synchronized moment, you all teleport into the special stands set apart for you. The setup reminds you of the Council stands in the Arena. You remove your hands from your ears and sigh in relief as the noise dims and the smell vanishes.

You walk over to the wall overlooking the fight pit, which is sealed by glass. This room was constructed by Endermen then. Piglins don't use glass.

Suddenly, the muffled noise outside intensifies and the other Endermen approach the overview beside you, peeking down curiously. Normally the highest stands are reserved for the leaders, but not in the Nether.

No, the leaders are down there.

Far beneath you, several heavy muscled Piglins step out from hallways in the sides of the pit, armed to the teeth, mostly in gold. There are two things Piglins value above all else. Strength and Gold. If you are strong and have gold, you automatically become a leader, even if you have no noble birth or education or credentials. It is a disgusting, greedy system in your opinion, but your not here to change the Nether hierarchy.

You're here to get this event over with and re-sign the treaty with whoever comes out of this dog pile alive. Hundreds of Piglins entered, and the goal is to have twenty-five left to rule the different districts of the Piglin-inhabited Nether.

You watch with a grimace as the gold-plated Piglin warriors crack down on one another, the crowd roaring the entire time. There is no mercy and no vow, it is a fight to the death. Not only is it a way to determine Piglin rulers, it's also considered entertainment for the savages.

Many of your companions look away, unable to watch the cruel madness any longer. Unfortunately, it is your duty to observe, so you continue peering through the wall of glass. When one body falls, another Piglin rushes in to join the melee. They are all more than willing to fight and die for glory.

You sigh and press your forehead against the glass, your eyes already hurting from seeing so much 'entertaining' bloodshed.

This is going to take awhile.

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A young man growled in the back of his throat as he nearly slipped into the hidden pool of lava beneath the grey basalt pillar he was balancing on. Oh, how he hated this place! It was the worst of every biome in the Nether, which is why he hadn't crossed it until his other searches had come up empty.

He had only managed to find a couple broken portals, and without the proper tools those were utterly useless. He needed to find an active portal, one that humans were currently using. He scowled at the thought of the abominable creatures, hatred boiling up merely at the thought of them.

He would do anything to destroy them all.

But that was aside the point for now. Right now he needed to focus on not falling in fiery molten rock or getting squished by a giant magma cube. Finally, he saw a glimpse of dull red through the pillars of basalt towering all around him.

He quickly jumped from platform to platforms, avoiding the ones too close to the lava. Who was he kidding? They were all close to the lava.

At last, he landed in a crouch on the netherrack ground. As he stood to scan his surroundings, a black mass in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He eyed it curiously.

'Strange isn't it? Most bastions aren't in such good condition, or built so well to begin with.'

"Indeed" The brunette answered the voice in his head aloud, apparently talking to no one.

Suddenly, a roar sounded from the large structure, a unified roar of many voices together. The man instantly recognized them as the voices of Piglins, not zombified ones. He frowned. The zombified ones were far less annoying, they left him alone. The regular ones he had to avoid like the plague, or else they'd swarm him.

But this noise caught his attention. Piglins were usually fairly peaceable with one another. So if they weren't fighting each other...

Humans.

His nostrils flared as the faint scent of blood wafted through the air. So far away, yet it smelled so good.

Where there are humans, there's a portal. The white-eyed man began to run.

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Finally, the man stood below the looming black walls of the fortress. The main entrance was guarded by Piglin brutes, so he opted to look for a safer route in.

Down below the building itself was a small side entrance leading in below the ground. The shouting and blood-scent had only grown as he approach, and it was maddening when he hadn't been able to find a way in for several minutes.

Minutes? Hours? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? What did it matter in this giant cave? He had no idea how long he had been in this fiery dimension.

He entered the dark underground passage without giving it a second glance. He didn't really care what was inside, his mind was fully set on finding that portal and getting out of this hellish dimension. If he got ran through with an ax or a crossbow bolt, so what? He'd been 'fatally' injured enough times to know he wouldn't die.

It was preferable to avoid this though, as it hurt like Nether.

No pun intended.

Surprisingly, the dark hall was empty, as his glowing eyes revealed, but the noise and smell grew with each step. He unconsciously licked his lips, a small amount of drool leaking out, though he wasn't overly hungry at the time. He had never smelled so much blood in one place, and it was making his senses go crazy.

What he came out into was nothing like what he expected. Above him were rows and rows of hundreds of thousand of Piglins, yelling and cheering. The noise itself made his insides vibrate.

What was in front of him is what was most shocked him most.

Dozens of Piglin bodies, covered in gold, lay scattered around the huge Blackstone pit. Dozens more were fighting each other while the massive crowd watched.

And then they spotted him.

Oh Nether, this was not what he signed up for. Trapped in a big hole with countless heavily armed Piglins was not what he wanted. It would turn into one of those situations where he wished he could die.

Mauled over and over and over, trapped by these brutish fiends. He could image it all too clearly. They'd imprison him, and every time he healed they would try and kill him again. His breath quickened as he panicked at the thought.

He backed up, aiming for the tunnel from which he came, only to run into a metal surface. He spun around to find a hulk of a piglin, wielding a gold ax and dripping in gold armor. It's disgusting hot breath snorting out of its snout as it glared down at the intruder with pale yellow eyes.

The man wildly turned his head in all directions, hoping to find another exit. All he found were more Piglin warriors with heavy weapons closing in on him.

He was surrounded. Outnumbered and outgeared. They were all wearing full armor, gold armor but still, and had at least one weapon.

He regained his composure, standing straight and glaring at all of them through narrowed white eyes. He swiped the longish brown hair out of his face, and sized up his opponents in a split second.

In that split second, the Piglins charged him, covering the distance in only a couple huge steps.

He ducked under a swinging ax aimed to cleave off his head. Side-stepped a gauntlet punch aimed at his gut.

He dove out of the circle surrounding him by diving under the legs of one of his assaltants. Another with a sword broke the circle and ran at him.

He dodged, and the Piglin ran right past him. The man swung his bare, pale fist directly at the Piglins armored back.

The metal gave a resounding clank as the fist collided with it, caving in and snapping the Piglin's spine. It squealed in agony as it fell, unable to get back up.

The others momentarily halted their charge, marveling at this intruders inhuman strength. Bending metal with his bare fists? It didn't deter them for long, and soon they were back upon the man.

He snatched up the gold sword of the fallen piglin and grinned. Now this would be fun.

With deft precision and ease, he swung the blade around, decapitating on of his enemies as they came too close.

Another chopped it's ax downward with enough force to split the man in half. He raised his sword over his head, and redirected the ax, but lost his sword in the process.

Oh well, he never liked gold anyways.

Now he was really getting into the battle rush, and he was loving it. He punched in a fury, left and right, up and down.

Heads, chests, guts, anything his powerful fists made contact with was crushed with a resounding thud. Metal, organs, bones. Bodies fell on all sides. Only three were left. Screams of pain echoed out. For once the crowd was silent.

But the man was not invincible.

Out of no where, an ax head sliced through the air to his left. One of the fighters had backed away from the melee and thrown its weapon at him.

He didn't have time to react before the sharp metal wedge buried itself deep into his chest, cleaving his flesh as blood shot out from the force. Ribs snapped and a lung deflated as it was punctured.

The man threw his head back and let out a blood curdling howl of immense agony. He collapsed to the ground, and curled up in a ball, appearing to be fatally wounded.

The previously silent crowd erupted in raucous cheering at the victory. There were supposed to be twelve victors, but three would do. The exhausted surviving Piglins stepped forward, raising their arms in the air as a form of triumph. Turning their backs to the intruder.

'Get up.'

Gah! To Nether with the Whispers! The man thought as he lay in a slowly forming pool of his own blood, pain ripping through all of his senses.

'Let me restate that. Get up or you'll be thrown into the lava with the rest of the corpses.'

At this the man jolted, awakened from his pain haze. What he was feeling now was nothing compared to the lava. He could not go back.

Shakily, he grabbed the handle of the ax still embedded in his chest, and ripped it out with a breathless silent scream. He pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly from the pain and blood loss.

His eyes narrowed as they locked on the Piglin several blocks in front of him. The one who threw the ax.

With a groan, he lifted the ax above his head, feeling the severed muscles in his chest tear at the movement, causing even more bright red blood to gush out.

Then he swung the ax back around and chucked it at his attacker with inhuman strength.

The crowd gave a collective gasp as they realized the intruder was still alive. But it was too late to warn the warriors. The ax sliced right through the Piglin's armor and through its back, coming back out of the front of its chest.

It fell to the ground silently, and unlike the man it would never rise again.

The other two fighters watched in shock and terror as the deathly injured man lurched towards them. No one could survive those wounds! Much less fight with them!

A nauseating smile stretched across the man's pained face as he saw the fear in his opponents eyes. He loved their terror.

In one quick motion, he leaped forward and ripped the axe out of the dead Piglin's back. He didn't even turn to look at his target before flinging yet again at the other Piglin. It cleaved its skull from its spine before it could even blink.

The last Piglin began to back away from the unnatural being, clearly planning to run

Can't let that happen can we?

The man pounced on the warrior, landing on top it as it fell to the ground. He raised his fists and punched the squealing pig over and over, each punch stronger than the next. Even after the body ceased to live, he kept on punching, enjoying every crunch of bone and spurt of blood.

Oh, how good it felt to release his anger!

Finally, fatigue began to take over. He looked down at his blood splattered arms. Wow, he was pale. Blood loss was really taking its toll. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the pain began to set back in. He winced at its sudden return.

Abruptly, hundreds of Piglins began pouring into the fight pit through the hallways dotting the sides. In mere seconds, he was surrounded. He moaned. He wouldn't stand a chance against so many under the best of circumstances, much less injured. He had little choice but to resign to his fate.

Something small and hard hit him on the head. Were they going to stone him? But as he eyed the small object after it fell to the ground, he realized it was gold. Gold? They began to gently toss more at him, and soon there was a mound piling up at his feet.

'It seems you have gained their favor.'

"What?" he whispered low, unable to speak clearly since one of his lungs was not functional.

'If the armored Piglins were in some sort of contest, then it appears you have won.'

The man stared around in wonder at the bowing and cheering Piglins. Something up in the stands caught his eye.

There, in a Blackstone box above the rest of the platforms, were two glowing red eyes staring down at him.

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There you go! The beginning of everything...

It only gets more intense from here!

Also, I will add some fluff in later on. Its not all angst, just mostly angst...

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

Heyo my Edgelings!

I've actually had a very nice weekend in contrast to the past few weeks! How about you all? How's your week been?

Unlike the last one, this chapter is going to be entirely in your perspective. I'm thinking that I will probably switch the POV between you and Herobrine about every other chapter from now on.

So the chapter after this will probably be from Herobrine's perspective. That will be fun...*insert evil laugh*

Anyways, enjoy!

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Finally, it is almost over.

You rub your tired, drooping eyelids. The entire pit below was splattered with blood, and bodies of the fallen warriors lay scattered in piles. You are beyond the point of nausea, beyond the point of disgust. You just want it to be over so you can go back home already.

The other Endermen who accompanied you are not obligated to watch this brutality. As such most of them are sitting on chairs in the back of the room, chatting.

You hadn't seen a new Piglin come out in a while now, which must mean that they are at the end. It's so unorganized! There isn't even a set ending time! There are a little over twenty still left in the pit, and it is over once it gets down to twelve.

Almost there.

A small movement from one of the tunnels catches your attention. You see a light shining from inside it, and its moving. Could it be the clean up crew coming to dispose of the bodies?

Someone walks out.

It takes you a moment to register exactly what is standing down there.

...A human?

"Guards, come look at this," you call out without taking your eyes off the brown-haired human in the pit. It appears to be male judging by his body type.

How did he get there?

He simply stands there for a moment, and you find yourself willing him to run. You aren't fond of humans, but you don't really want to see the poor creature mauled by the Piglins.

Suddenly they spot him.

"I pity the human," Irah, one of your guards, says as the Piglins quickly form a circle around the intruder.

Apparently just snapping out of shock, the human begins to back up, but its already too late. He backs right into a large, muscular fighter with bloodlust shining in his pale eyes.

A second of silent anticipation follows, and then snaps as several Piglins charge the human at once.

It takes you a minute to realize the human is still not dead. He's holding up for himself rather well, dodging attacks like a trained warrior. Odd, he isn't wearing any marked clothing to denote him of belonging to any army. His ragged appearance makes him look more like an exile or a criminal.

Then he swings a punch at one of the Piglins. Useless really, they're all wearing armor. His bare fist won't...

With a resounding clang the armor caves in and the Piglin falls to the ground with a screech.

...what?

How is that?...

The battle continues in full swing, the human keeps holding up for himself while at the same time taking down several of his opponents. Through all this, the crowd is quiet. No one knows how to comprehend what is happening.

Suddenly, a Piglin throws her ax and it hits home in the human's chest. With a haunting howl, he crumples to the ground.

The crowd erupts in raucous cheering.

"Well, that was interesting," Herlii, finally breaks the silence, all of the guards are gathered around you, eyes glued to the fighting beneath.

"He certainly did some damage," you admit. "There's only three left."

"How was he able to do that? Bend metal with his fists, kill with one punch?" Irah ponders.

"I guess we'll never know," you sigh.

Suddenly, the human's body moves.

Everyone gasps.

The human stands up in slow, jerky movements. The ax still buried in his chest, blood pouring out of his mouth.

How?...

He rips the ax out of his chest and throws it with vicious force at the female Piglin warrior from which it originally came.

It strikes home, and she falls with a dying squeal, he rushes over, yanking the ax back out and throwing it to behead another Piglin.

With only his fists, he rushes and kills the last one, punching him over and over again even after he's long dead.

"That's not a human..." You murmur.

"What is it then?" Ekrii asks no one.

The Piglins begin flooding from the stands and into the pit, surrounding the... humanoid thing. Blood is still pouring out of his chest wound, and he appears to be weakening as he shakily stands before them.

They begin showering him in gold.

"What are they doing?!" Irah exclaims.

You look on wide-eyed as the Piglins perform the traditional initiation ceremony. "They are declaring him their leader." You realize aloud.

The revelation of just how significant this is hits you with the force of a speeding projectile.

You quickly snap out of your shock and turn to your charges, who are murmuring in disbelief.

"Ekrii, take Telke with you and teleport to the Council immediately to inform them of what has happened." You command.

"Yes Keeper," Ekrii salutes, "What is your plan?"

"There is no rule or exception accounting for this kind of change, so I am still obligated to go renew the treaty with their leader of choice." You answer, mentally preparing yourself to face whatever that thing is down there. Familiar anxiety springs up univited.

"I wish you the best of luck," Ekrii salutes one last time, then he and Telke disappear in a flash of purple. Your stomach drops, and even though they are simply doing what you told them to, you suddenly feel more alone.

"The rest of you, remain up here. I will signal if I require your assitance." You announce. You can't risk them getting hurt.

"Are you certain Keeper? He appears highly dangerous." Irah states her concern.

"That is why I believe it is best if I approach him alone. I will appear as less of a threat." You explain, and the rest nod their consent. You almost wish one of them would object, insisting that they come with you. But no, they all trust your judgment, something you don't trust yourself.

Your white robe swishes around your ankles as you turn once more towards the glass wall.

Two glowing white eyes are staring up at you.

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You teleport to the bottom of the pit, close to the edge of the crowd. Your nerves are fluttering wildly within you, as well as a little fear. You have no idea what you're up against.

The stinking crowd parts when they see your white robe. Even they respect customs.

You finally reached the middle. Up close, he looks very, very much like the pictures of humans you've seen in books. Dark brown, tangled hair falling to the length of his chin. Pale tan skin. Tall, muscular build. He might have looked normal if it wasn't for his pupil-less, glowing white eyes. Oh, and the gaping, bleeding hole in left side of his chest.

His stance portrays just how weak he feels, pain haunting his face. Gold continues to pile up around his shaking legs. He looks far from victorious.

His eyes narrow as they lock on you. "What are you?" he asks in a grating, wispy voice. You look back at the position of his wound. Is one of his lungs damaged?

You straighten, standing to your full height - just barely as tall as him, which is embarrassing - and proclaim, "I am an Enderman. Y/N, Keeper of the End and of Endermen in all dimensions."

For a moment, he looks confused, then he cocks his head to the side as though listening to something. You strain to hear it as well, but all you hear is the snorting of Piglins and the clicking of gold all around you.

"So what should I do?" he whispers as though talking to someone else, or maybe himself? This is only getting stranger, but at least he doesn't seem immediately aggressive.

Deciding his question even though it isn't directed at you, you answer, "As the new leader of the Netherians, you are required to fulfill your vows with the End."

He remains silent, listening to nothing for a few more seconds before responding, "How do I do that?"

You're honestly shocked at how civil this previously brutal creature is being. "Well, usually, the leaders already have their side of the treaty memorized so that this process goes smoothly. In your case, I suppose I'll have to teach you."

The Piglins have apparently finished throwing gold, which is good because the pile now rises past his knees. They step back to give you both space for the legalities.

As custom, you recite your half of the treaty first. It took you three whole days to memorize the dang thing. It is very long with a lot of unnecessary legal terms for something that basically states: "You let Endermen live in your dimension in peace, and we leave you in peace. Oh, and also if you get involved in a war we aren't helping you."

That last bit used to be different; it used to promise aid in times of war. That singular clause was the only reason Endermen got involved in the IV Interdimensional War to begin with, so they changed it because they weren't going to let that happen again.

Finally you finish your side of the recitation capping it all off with, "I, Y/N, Keeper of the End, vow on behalf of the End that Endermen will abide by this treaty, and any who do not shall be punished through our legal system. We also give the Netherians the right to put on trial those who do not abide by the treaty, as long as they observe Endermen laws and customs during the trial."

Now is the fun part, teaching the entire other side of the treaty. Good thing you had memorized it as well. It felt good being prepared.

It takes nearly an hour, and he is relatively cooperative, but has a short attention span and keeps forgetting what you just said.

Eventually, you get to the end of the multi-paragraph dialog, and say, "Now you have to vow in your name for the whole of the Nether," you pause, having a sudden realization, "What is your name?"

He physically jolts as though someone had shoved him, a look that is a mixture between hurt and confusion flashing across his previously bored expression.

What did you say wrong?

After yet another moment of silence, he finally stutters, "My name... my name is... Herobrine." He sounds so unsure, as though it's more of a question than an answer.

Finally, he says the final vow. You're free to go.

But Herobrine isn't looking so good, he's trembling and slouching over, clearly struggling to stand up. You self consciously lay a hand on your abdomen, memories of the pain caused by your own injuries not too long ago springing up.

Despite the warning bells going off in your head, telling you to stay away, that you have no idea how dangerous he could be, you can't help but pity him.

"Are... are you ok?" Is all you manage to say, not entirely sure what to do.

His eyes widened in shock, and he simply stares at you for a moment. Why did he look as though no one had ever asked him that before?

Suddenly Herobrine collapses onto the pile of gold surrounding him, moaning softly. His skin had gone from pale tan to pasty grey. He was still bleeding excessively, covering the shiny metal in glistening red.

You jump, startled by the sudden movement. The Piglins around snort curiously, but make no move to help. They believe that if someone is too weak to get up by himself, he doesn't deserve to get up at all.

There are exceptions to this though. Usually they will assist their leaders if they are injured, but perhaps they are still uncertain about this humanoid they have chosen.

You sigh, you're going to have to intervene.

You turn and point to two nearby Piglins, they snap to attention under your gaze. Technically you have no authority over Piglins, but they might listen to you anyways if you appear powerful enough.

"You two! Take your leader to the nearest chamber to rest." You command, sounding authorative. Thankfully, they did listen, and proceed to pick him up by his shoulders and legs, clearing a path and disappearing through one of the tunnel exits.

You huff out a breath. Now that that is taken care of, it's time for you to go meet with the Council.

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As you walk through the portal, you're temporarily overwhelmed by a wave of dizziness. Portal travel is nothing like natural teleporting, it's less smooth and more jarring.

You come out in one of the Council building antechambers. Portals from the End to the Nether work differently than standard Nether portals. They require special experienced Endermen to charge and light them, and you can only build a portal from the End to the Nether, you can't build a portal from the Nether to the End. They always go to the Overworld if you do.

Ancient Endermen, as the engineers of the interdimensional portal system. Created them this way to prevent anyone from getting into the End at random. They must travel through one of the major End portals in the Overworld; we always deactivate all Nether portals after they are used.

After your ears stop ringing, you begin to hear the loud voices of the Council members in a close by chamber.

You hurry down the yellow endstone hall tried in chiseled purpur crystal. These buildings were nothing like the standard Enderman home. They were ancient, dating back to before the II Interdimensional War. Narrow walkways of purple crystal connected the towering structures the Council used on a daily basis.

As you walk in to the main room where the black-robed members are gathered, you are immediately bombarded with urgent questions.

"Did he attack you?!"

"Are you injured?!"

"Were any of the guards attacked?!"

"Where are the guards?!"

You have never seen these composed old men and women so shook up, you can practically feel their anxiety permeating the air.

Raktar, the Enderman who declared you Keeper at the tournament, shoves his way through the throng of worried Council members swarming around you.

"Peace everyone!" He declares, and the room quickly fell silent, "Let us hear what the Keeper has to say."

"I was neither attacked nor injured," you assure them, "All of the guards are also unharmed, I left some to guard the portal on the Nether side, and the rest are waiting back in the antechamber."

A nearly synchronized sigh of relief is released, letting out some of the tension in the room.

"I would like to verify some facts with you, Keeper. The new Nether leader appears human?" Raktar begins.

"Yes."

"But has many times the strength of an average human?"

"Yes."

"He defeated over a dozen of the Piglins' most skilled and brutal warriors with nothing but his bare hands?"

"Yes."

"He was fatally injured, and not only lived but also continued to fight?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm," Raktar hums thoughtfully. "Yet he made no move to attack you?"

"That is correct. He was actually very civil in conversation, agreeing to say the vow without any trouble or complaint. I deduce that he was only being violent out of self defense." You reveal.

"That is reassuring, yet we still must figure out what he is. Why was he in the Nether to begin with? Where did he get such power from? What exactly is he? What are his intentions now that he has effectively taken control of the Nether? These are all questions that we need answered." Raktar contemplates.

"So we need someone to stay and keep an eye on him. Interact and see if he will reveal his origins." You deduce. Several Council members around you nod in agreement.

"But who shall we send? If he is truly unstable, then who can we afford to stay in the Nether this threat?" Another Council member interjects. The room once again devolves into murmuring discussions.

"It only makes sense that I go," you offer.

"But you have other responsibilities here," Raktar reminds you.

"But if this is a truly serious situation, I need to be present and ready," you counter. You don't want anyone else to be in danger.

A moment of contemplating silence reigns, and then finally Raktar answers, "You do have a point. Fine, does the Council oppose this proposition?" Silence once again reigns, revealing their consent.

You almost wish just one of them would oppose, saying it was too dangerous for you. You really don't want to go back to the Nether. It's fine for a little while, but it's just so different. You shake off your negative feelings, accepting the fact that this is what you signed up for when you became Keeper.

"It is settled then," Raktar annouces, "We, the Council, charge you with the responsibility of analyzing this new threat and reporting everything you find back to us." The Council members nod their approval.

You sigh internally. Back to the Nether it is then...

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Your first conversation!! I'm squealing on the inside right now! Eeeeeeeeeee!!!

Also, there was a book that inspired me to write the story not only as a Reader x Herobrine, but also a Entity 303 x Herobrine, where Entity 303 is the reader.

It is the only good Entity 303 x Herobrine book I have ever found, and I highly recommend you all read it! It's on Fanfiction.net and the link to it is right here:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13424994/0/

Also, I know your not called Entity 303 right now, but how you get that title will be revealed soon...

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

What's up my Edgelings?

My life has been pretty crazy lately, and I am lucky to get this out in time!!

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Herobrine groaned as he lay on the pallet of hoglin skins that the Piglins had carried him to. Though it had slowed, blood continued to pour out of his chest wound, through the Piglin's unskilled bandage job. His heart was only beating faintly now, and his skin was grey from blood loss.

His brain ached and his thoughts blurred as his tissue began to die from lack of oxygen. His muscles locked up so that he could barely twitch.

With the last of his breath, he whispered to the Piglins to leave him alone to rest. He did not want them to see him in this weak state. He had no trust for them.

Pain overwhelmed him, throbbing with each rapidly perishing cell. Hours and hours and hours. Oh he healed so slowly!

After so long of being in such agony, Herobrine was finally becoming numb. Depending on the seriousness of the injury, the numbness settled in at different points. For injuries involving vital organs, like the one he had now, it could take anywhere between an entire day to several days for the numbness to settle in.

And numbness didn't mean the pain went away. Oh, not at all! It simply meant that he got to the point that the agony was normal, and his senses finally accepted it. Every movement still sent jolts of horrendous torture through his body. He just got to the point that he no longer cared.

"Why did you tell me to do what the Enderman said?" Herobrine's lips moved, yet no sound or even air came out. The Whispers didn't require speech though, Herobrine's thoughts were sufficient. "I could have killed it easily."

'Not in the state you were in. You're weak. You should've seen that ax coming and then we wouldn't be in this mess.'

Herobrine attempted to growl, but again, there was no sound or air, just a violent, jerking movement of his torso.

'Besides, that was no ordinary Enderman. That was the End Keeper, an Enderman specifically picked out for the purpose of fighting. You wouldn't have stood a chance.'

"Why was it here?"

'I assume it was to renew the End's treaty with the Nether.'

"So that's what it was making me say? Why did you tell me to go along with it? I don't want ties with Endermen!"

'If you didn't it would have likely incited war with the End. We don't want the Endermen getting involved. They are not our targets. Their armies are the most well-trained and organized of all the races, but they don't like to get involved in the matters of other dimensions unless it affects their brethen. We need them to stay away.'

"How the Nether do you know so much about Endermen?!"

'That is irrelevant.'

"Uhhh... no it's not! I want to know! By the way... where did you even come-"

'I SAID THAT'S IRRELEVANT!' The Whispers loudly interrupted, making Herobrine's head ring.

"GAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" Herobrine wailed, silently.

His body violently convulsed as pain once again flooded him in fresh waves, radiating from the patch of black skin that was slowly growing bigger on his midsection. He shuddered and curled up in a ball, whimpering, silently.

The pain made him immediately lose track of whatever the Nether he had been thinking about, and brought a new issue to his attention.

His stomach, which had been grumbling off and on for the past several hours, convulsed, letting him know that he couldn't ignore his hunger any longer. Normally, he could have waited a couple more days before eating, but the battle had greatly drained him.

How would he get food in this condition?

'Unless they have already disposed of them, there should still be the corpses of the Piglins nearby.'

As he was unable to breath, Herobrine was also unable to smell and detect exactly where they were.

'Just feel for them.'

"Feel for them? What the Nether is that supposed to mean?!"

'As long as they're dead, you can feel anyone you've injured.'

"What?! How am I supposed to do that?"

'Just reach out with your senses, it's not that hard you idiot.'

Herobrine gritted his teeth in annoyance. Yeah sure, it must be so easy! Yeah, just like harnessing his strength took several weeks! So easy!

Despite his complaining, Herorbrine attempted to reach out, closing his eyes and concentrating. Suddenly he felt something, almost like a vibration, a lot of vibrations. They were close...

'I told you didn't I?' The Whispers taunted.

"Shut up."

Herobrine sluggishly pushed himself to his feet, nearly slipping and face-planting in his leather mat. He winced as the pain increased with each movement. This would extend his healing time a good while, but he was too hungry to care.

Any normal living creature would be unable to move in such a condition. Then again, any normal living creature would also be dead in such a condition.

Without lungs breathing, without a heart beating, he walked, one unsteady step after another. His wound had stopped bleeding, because the blood no longer flowed through his veins.

One step after another. Oh! This reminded him of the first time he ate in this cursed dimension. He was not as starved now as he was then, yet just the thought of blood and flesh was maddeningly strong. He needed more...

After an hour of slow progress, he stumbled his way into one of the dark tunnels connecting to the pit. The vibrations here were so strong that, if he concentrated, he could feel them reverberating in his core.

Faintly glowing white eyes guiding his way, and one hand traced the hot stone wall for support, he staggered his way towards a vague mound piled in the center of the hall.

Bodies.

He could only feel vibrations from a few of them, yet he didn't pay attention to that. He practically fell on the pile, sinking his razor sharp canines into the first piece of exposed flesh he landed on.

Ripping and tearing and slurching followed for the next several minutes as he gorged on the feast. Salty, metallic blood slid down his throat along with hunks of organs and tissue.

His healing immediately began to speed up with the introduction of the gory sustenance. He wiped the blood from his chin, momentarily basking in the satisfied feeling. He leaned his head back on his bed of dead bodies.

'Before you get too comfortable. There's one more thing I'd like to test.' The Whispers rudely interrupted Herobrine's reverie.

"For Notch's sake! Could you leave me alone for just five seconds?!?!" Herobrine growled aloud, his left lung was mostly repaired now, due to his rapid healing, and he was finally able to breathe again. It wouldn't be too long now before his heart started beating and his blood flow resumed its normal course.

'How about no. It's not like you can sleep anyways, you might as well be productive."

Herobrine groaned. Yet another one of his new symptoms, he was unable to lose consciousness ever, for any reason. No sleep, no passing out from pain or hunger or thrist or heat or drowning. Nothing.

'Oh, stop whining like a baby hoglin and just do what I tell you. Remember those vibrations? Can you feel exactly where each body is?'

Herobrine nodded absently, testing his strange tie to each one.

'Now pull on them.'

"Wait, what? You want me to dig them out of this pile?! My ribs haven't even regenerated yet!" Herobrine exclaimed. If there had been anyone there, it would've appeared as though he was yelling at no one. But as it was, no one was near enough to hear him.

'No you fungus-brain, pull on your connection to them. Must I spell everything out for you like you're a toddler?'

"It would be nice if you would clarify things every once in a while." Herobrine mumbled in exasperation.

'Just do it!'

Herobrine concentrated, focusing on one specific tie, the one closest to him. He mentally pulled on it, not knowing what, if anything, would happen.

Shockingly, he felt it... move...

Suddenly, the bodies beneath him began to shift, and he had to sit up to avoid falling. Eyes wide, he watched as a hand burst from within the pile. It clawed its way out, followed by a second arm, a head, a torso, and legs.

But the most surprising part was that the animate corpse, gaping stomach gouge and all, was gradually changing. The normal pink and brown hues of the skin and even the clothes faded into a void black. The darkness slowly ate away its entire form, like some sort of wither sickness.

Finally, its entirety was swallowed by the black, leaving only a 3D black silhouette of what had once been a living being. Herobrine had to look close to see and details or definition even though everything, even the wound, was still there.

And then its eyes lit up in brilliant white light.

Herobrine felt a sudden jolt in the connection he had with this new Withered Piglin. It grew from a subtle hum to a blaring static. Herobrine shook himself, unsettled by this strange sensation.

After a second, it faded into internal silence, only the buzz of the other corpses remained. Yet Herobrine could somehow still sense the strong tie he had to the Withered, though it was silent.

'Command it to do something.' The Whispers said.

"Like what?"

'Figure it out yourself! Do you expect me to think for you?'

"Make up your mind! Do you want me to do whatever you say or do you want me to think for myself?"

'Just shut the Nether up and do it!'

"Sheesh, fine," Herobrine rolled his bright, blank eyes. He refocused on the new oddity and ordered, "Kneel."

Instantly, the Withered fell to its knee before him. He pointed upward, and it stood. He used only thoughts to command it to walk, and it obeyed. Herobrine's face slowly stretched into a crooked grin. This would be very useful...

'You're finally catching on are you?' The Whispers mocked. 'Now do it with the rest of them.'

Herobrine grudgingly obeyed, his mood soured by the jeering thoughts. Over a dozen more black Withered mutilations crawled out of the mound of dead, standing before him in a stiff soldierly line.

"Why can't I do this with the other dead bodies?" Herobrine questioned, trying and failing to make a connection to any of the rest.

'You didn't kill the other ones.' The Whispers explained.

"So it only works with the ones I kill?"

'That would be the deduction, genius.' The Whispers dripped with sarcasm, 'But if my calculations are correct, it should spread in a similar way to zombification.'

"So if one of these bites a living Piglin, then it will also become Withered?"

'Yes, but it should also work as long as some part of the Withered comes into contact with an exposed wound of the living. Also, it should work on any living creature.'

An idea clicked into place in Herobrine's twisted mind. A sickly wide grin spread across his face, and a new, malevolent light sparked in his already glowing white eyes.

"Humanssssss..." he drawled each syllable, his voice dripping with new greedy hunger. Imagery of all the things he could do flashing through his dark mind.

'I like where this is going.'

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The king paced anxiously outside of one of the hundreds of richly engraved wood doors marking the long, extravagant chiseled stone halls of his castle. His face tight with worry and anticipation.

Nilan, his long-time friend and Head General, laid a hand on his shoulder, momentarily pausing his mindless route.

"My liege, you have been up all the day and nearly all the night. For the sake of your health, I beseech you to go and rest." Nilan spoke, concern shining in his brown eyes.

"Rest? How can I rest? It has been taking far too long!" Steve exclaimed, pulling away from Nilan and resuming his errant pacing.

Nilan sighed, "This is why they asked you to wait outside. Your frantic anxiety would only make Queen Alexia more stressed than she needs to be right now."

"How can I help it?!" The king yelled, quickening his pace.

Nilan shot him a sympathetic smile as he passed, "It's quiet normal, I imagine. Though I can't say I've had the same experience."

Abruptly, a piercing wail rang from the other side of the door! King Steve shot like a lightning bolt and flung open the door, nearly smashing the nurse waiting on the other side. Thankfully, she stepped back just in time.

"Is everything alright?!?!" Steve shouted urgently.

The nurse nodded, a kind look of exhaustion and accomplishment on her plump face. "She's done."

"Oh, thank Notch above!" the relief flooding through him was indescribable. "Is she alright?"

"Exhausted, even more so than the rest of us, but yes, her highness is in good health." The nurse answered.

Just then, a baby's gurgling cry swelled from the room behind her.

Steve had to use all of his willpower not to shove the kind lady out of the way. Instead, he politely walked around her, entering the sterile room lit by the glow of the Redstone lamps set in the ceiling. The world outside the window was dark, veiled by a starry sky with a half moon smiling down from it.

Laying in a white bed, covered by soft sheets, was Alexia. Just as the nurse said, she appeared utterly drained and was still breathing heavily, but otherwise seemed OK. Steve rushed over to her side, kneeling down to gently kiss her cheek.

"Oh, thank goodness you're OK. I've been so worried." Steve murmured close to her ear, gently caressing her curly red hair.

Alex attempted a breathless chuckle, both grateful and amused by her husband's concern. "We've all had a long night," she admitted, leaning into Steve's hand.

"It was a long, hard journey..." a midwife standing off to the side began, drawing the ruling couple's attention, "But I'm pleased to say that you have delivered a healthy baby girl."

Steve stood and turned as the midwife approached, holding the source of the loud cries. His eyes widened at the sight of the freshly cleaned baby. She was so tiny, so delicate, so perfect.

Steve felt his heart swell in a way it never had before, not even for Alexia. This was something new, something completely unique and different than any other feeling.

The midwife laid the balling child in her mother's arms, and Steve watched, completely mesmerized. Her minute fingers and toes, each so intricate and perfectly crafted, wiggled in wondrous new life. Steve was totally amazed.

"Did we make this?" he asked in wonder. Her detailed grey irises, sculpted facial features, fuzzy brown hair, all wholly perfect.

Alex smiled up at Steve, tears of joy trailing down her cheek. She gazed at the baby as if she were holding the entire world in her arms. "Yes," she answered quietly, her voice cracking from emotion, "We made her."

Carefully, as though she was holding a glass sculpture, Alex lifted the baby up toward Steve. With more gentleness and caution than he had ever used in his life, Steve cradled his newborn daughter in his arms. Tears began blurring his vision and pouring down his face as well. She was so warm and soft...

As she wrapped her tiny hand around one of his fingers, Steve whispered softly to her, "Welcome to the world, Reigna."

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So yeah... there's a baby now... I'm sure that's not going to be important later... ;)

Also, for clarification: Steve is 21, Alexia is 20, and Y/N and Herobrine are both 17.

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

Heyo, my Edgelings!

This chapter includes the one and only p0tat0-g0ddess . I have been reading her stories since I was 10 and she has been my idol, role model, and mentor through all of my writing projects. Thank you so much for being an amazing writer and person!

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Your vision swirls with dozens of sparking purple vortexes as you step back through the portal, once again entering the stuffy heat of the Nether.

As the dark red Netherrack fades into view, your first thoughts are of how Herobrine's injuries are fairing. He was so weak when you left, would he even be alive when you got there? Considering he hadn't died from the wound in the first place, his death from the aftermath was unlikely.

The Endermen you had commanded to stay and guard the portal duck their heads to salute you as you stepped through the obsidian frame. They hold their iron sickles at ready, prepared for any attack. You smile your approval.

"Return to the End and resume your duties there, my fellows. Remember to disable to portal when you are back on the other side," you repeat the orders the Council have given you.

They gaze at you in surprise. "You are staying here Keeper?" Irah questions, concern written on her features.

"Yes," you answer, a look of grim determination set on your features, "The Council has deemed it necessary for the activities of the new Nether ruler to be monitored and his origins investigated."

"Shouldn't you have a least a couple guards here to aid you?" She asks.

"Since he has shown no aggression towards me when I am on my own, the Council has decided it would be best if no one else becomes involved." The word 'endangered' replaces the word 'involved' in your head, but you are trying to soothe your comrades fears, not heighten them.

It feels rather nice that they care about your safety.

"But if the portal is disabled, how will you be able to reach out for assistance if needed?" Herlii ponders.

You sigh. That would be the biggest downfall to this arrangement. "The portal will be reopened once a week so that I can report back to the Council. If things go badly before the portal opens, I will go seek assistance from a Netherian Ender community." And hope they help, you silently add. Endermen in the Nether were notorious for resisting Council rulings, so they may or may not decide to assist you.

Their worries finally satisfied, the last of the guards step through the portal, back to the End. You are momentarily jealous, and have to again remind yourself that you are the one who chose this. You stand there before the portal for a moment, waiting.

Then with the sound of shattering glass, the portal breaks, frame and all disappearing into nothingness.

You feel a spike of anxiety shoot through your stomach, making you slightly nauseous as the reality of your situation sets in. You're trapped in the Nether.

You take a deep, shaky breath, squashing your emotions and choosing to focus on your plans for the week ahead. You hope Herobrine will be in good enough condition to talk. You have a set of questions already planned out.

You get lost in your mind as usual while you walk over the highly elevated land surrounding the lava ocean, moving steadily towards the fortress.

What was he? How could survive such wounds in the first place? Why did he look so much like a human?

You fall down a rabbit hole of all the theorized possibilities you have come up with so far. Before you realize it, you've nearly ran into the rugged Blackstone walls of the Great Hall. You're just happy you didn't accidently walk into a lava pool, though you are fireproof, so it wouldn't do all that much damage.

Shaking the clutter out of your head, you proceed to walk back around to the main entrance, where the Piglin Brutes guard the door just as before.

They nod as you pass between them, back into the huge arena. This time it is completely empty and eerily quiet in contrast to the absolute chaos of only a couple hours ago.

You glance down into the pit. Dried blood still cakes the Netherrack floor and Blackstone walls, but the bodies have been removed. You briefly ponder where the Piglins discard their dead, and come to the conclusion that they are most likely thrown into the lava, similar to the way Endermen bodies are ceremonially thrown into the Void.

You walk through the empty stands, making your way to one of the stairwells leading into the true fortress. The pit and stands only takes up about half of the Great Hall, the rest is set up like a normal fortress with barracks, storage rooms, and meeting halls.

You make your way down the hall of one of the many levels of the place. You honestly have no idea where you are going; the whole place is just a huge jumbled maze with a sloppy layout.

Blackstone hall after Blackstone hall, pretty soon you worry that you are walking in circles. Where are all the Piglins? Then you hear something, a faint sound of footsteps on stone from further down the hall.

As you make your way towards them, a feeling of unease settles in the pit of your stomach. You are cautious in your approach, wary of what might be around the corner.

At the end of the hall, there is a door, but unlike the many other doors, this one is open...

...and guarded.

Two black figures stand rigidly on each side of the door. They look like solidified Piglin shadows, and glare at you with dull white eyes glowing faintly on their otherwise pitch black countenance.

What are they? You never learned about anything like this. Does Herobrine have something to do with it?

Maybe he is inside...

You slowly approach the doorway, never taking your eyes off them, watching for any signs of attack.

They remain unmoving until you put your foot down inside the doorway. Immediately, they both become animate and roughly shove you back, causing you to fall on your bottom.

You stand and narrow your eyes, drawing your scythe from its harness strapped on your back. You swing it around, fight mode activated. Though the shadow pig things make no further move to attack you, instead resuming their stoic stance on either side of the door.

You replace your scythe, and decide to take a different approach. You squint through the doorway, peering into the dark room. You can make out several more pairs of faintly glowing white eyes, but one pair glows much brighter than the others.

"Herobrine?" You call out. You wonder if he can even answer you. Has anyone even attempted to treat his injuries?

"What do you want Enderman?" he growls back, a detached voice in the shadows. You are surprised at how loud and normal his voice sounds, he could barely whisper only a couple hours ago.

"I wish to speak with you," You answer simply, your voice devoid of emotion. You aren't going to let his foul mood get to you. You wonder if he was only being cooperative before because he was injured. Would he prove more difficult when healed?

"Well I don't. Leave," he ordered.

This slightly irks you. Did he think he could just order you around? "I'm afraid that I am required to stay. So I suggest you be civil. All I ask is that you answer my questions, then I shall leave you in peace."

"Required to stay? Says who? I thought I am in charge now."

"You are ruler over the Nether, but if you remember, I am an Enderman."

"Sulfer and Soulsand, I don't care. Go away or I'll order my Withered to attack you."

"So that's what these entities are called?" You motion to them. "I have no doubt I could destroy them all faster than you could blink."

"Oh really?"

This guy has some nerve. You narrow your eyes and feel your blood heat up. Not with anger, with literal heat. In a split second, red fire roared up around you as you set yourself on fire.

In the flickering red light, you could fully see into the room. Herobrine's sitting on a pile of Hoglin leather, surrounded by his Withered. A bloody bandage is carelessly throw to the side, and you assume that it used to be wrapped around his chest. The wound is still gaping wide open, ribs exposed, but it is considerable smaller than it was only a short time ago. He must heal very quickly.

He stares at you with wide eyes, which he quickly narrows. "Your not going to leave me alone, are you?"

"No."

"Well, we can speak just fine with you out there. Why did you need to come in anyways?" his voice drips with suspicion.

"I was simply curious how you were faring."

"Why do you care?"

You sigh, "Is it wrong to be concerned for your wellbeing?"

"You have no idea who I am." He answers blandly.

"That doesn't mean I can't be polite, unlike you."

He sneers and moves his head as if rolling his eyes, though you cant know for certain because he has no pupils. "Fine, whatever. But I want to ask the first question. I'm not going to be interrogated."

"If you wish," you shrug and allow your fire to go out with a hiss, plunging the room before you into darkness yet again.

"Why are you so short?" Is the first question Herobrine, his voice now detached from his body, asks.

You scoff and glare at those two glowing eyes in disgust, "Really? That's the first thing you can come up with? Do you have any shred of good manners?"

"You said I could ask." Amusement drifts into his tone.

Now it's your turn to roll your eyes. You liked him better with only one lung. "I was born this way."

"Ah, so that explains the fire too. You're a mutant."

At this you physically recoil in disgust, stepping back as though you have been assaulted by a foul odor. How dare he?! "I am not a mutant!! I'll have you know that I am a highly respected individual for my age!! You have no idea who I am!"

"Creepers! Calm down, Spitfire! Clearly 'mutant' means something different to you guys." You can almost imagine him holding his hands up in fake surrender.

You are momentarily absorbed in the irony of him saying 'creeper' and 'calm down' side by side. "A mutant is a mindless beast, a hideous caricature. They are the embodiment of broken code and shame. How do you interpret that?"

"Wow, that is bad. To humans it just meant you were born different than the rest of your species."

You are slightly confused by his abrupt switch from rude to almost apologetic, but you also aren't complaining. "To humans? So you are a human then?"

A hiss echoes off the walls from within the room. "No, I am not human. Not anymore." The cold hatred and resentment drenching every syllable startles you.

Man, this guy has a lot of mood swings.

Judging by the way he answered you, you deduct that it would be best to wait and ask more questions about his origins later. "I see.... By the way, did you call me Spitfire?"

Maybe changing to subject will help lighten his mood.

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Why? Did you forget my name?"

"Yeah, and also you caught yourself on fire when you got all riled up."

Eyes widening in surprise you look down and realize that you are back on fire. You extinguish it quickly, chest glowing slightly from embarrassment.

"So... what's your name again?" Herobrine asks.

"Y/N."

"Alright Y/N, what's the year?

You frown, what an odd question. "198 since the III Interdimensional War. Why?"

"Notch! 5 years?!?!" Herobrine whistles. "I didn't think it had been that long."

"What has been that long?"

"That's how long I've been in the Nether. 5 years..." he murmurs in disbelief.

You decide to take a risk. "So you are originally from the Overworld?"

His eyes bob up and down absently, and you can only assume he is nodding. You can't help but get the feeling that he is listening to someone else, but there is no one else here. You shake the odd feeling off.

"Why are you back here? What do the Endermen want?" He asks abruptly after a strange second of silence.

"There has never been an instance like this, and the Endermen Council is concerned about your intentions now that you are in power." You explain, straight-forward and blunt.

His eyes narrow into glowing slits, "So you are going to ask me questions and leave?"

"No, I am going to remain here and monitor your behavior to make sure that you have no hostile intentions."

"So you are planning on openly spying on me in my own fortress?" He chuckles, "I don't think so."

"You are obligated to host me while I am in the Nether. It was in the vow you swore just a couple hours ago." You remind him.

"To Nether with-" He abruptly cut himself of with a shocked yelp of pain. You listen in confusion as he spends the next couple minutes whispering and mumbling to himself. You can't hear anything he's saying.

You just don't understand, one minute he is having a normal conversation with you, then the next he devolves into this near-insanity.

"Fine! Fine! It can stay!" he yells to himself, while your standing directly in front of him. Rude.

"I'm not an 'it'." You say with contempt.

His gaze suddenly snaps up and meets yours, jolting him out his weird spell.

"Uhhh... then... what...?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose and huff a sigh, "I am a she, and it is very rude to talk about someone right in front of their face."

"It is just a bit of a new concept. I thought Endermen were just mindless monsters until today. I had no idea you have names and can talk and are so... humanlike." Herobrine explains.

"I suppose it is necessary for humans to spread such propaganda about Endermen so that they will be more excepting of mass murdering them to rip their life-force from their chest." You narrow your eyes and snarl.

Herobrine blinks, "I have never thought of it like that, but that does make sense."

At this point you have had about enough of this conversation, drained by the social interaction.

"Well, this has been interesting, and I will be back to follow up and continue this conversation tomorrow. Could you summon a Piglin to lead me to my chamber? I was unable to locate one eariler." You announce.

"Uh, sure." Immediately, one of the statue-like Withered by the door thaws into movement, walking past you and down the hall, you assume to go find a Piglin.

Silence reigns for a while.

"Y/N." Herobrine asks in a surprising vulnerable tone.

"Yeah?"

"I never answered your first question."

"Oh?" You forgot about that.

"I'm..." he began, stuttering slightly, as though he doesn't really know how to answer, "I'm doing fine. Thanks for asking."

Your eyes widen in surprise, did he just... thank you? He is only becoming more confusing...

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"Heeeeeyaw!" Lydia yelled as she skillfully swiped a wooden head off of a dummy. Sweat dripped from her brow as she quickly stabbed through another one behind her. "Hichaaaah!"

"Are the sound effects really necessary?" Cedrick chuckled from his comfortable position leaning on the border fence of the training yard.

Lydia ignored him as she knocked down the last dummy standing. "You don't have the right to criticize my technique, Mr. Lost-the-Last-Duel."

Cedrick smiled his beaming white smile teasingly, his golden eyes twinkling, "Oh? And what about all the matches before that?"

"They don't count." Lydia nodded dismissively, readjusting the bun holding her auburn hair mostly out of her face.

Cedrick straightened and stretched, drawing his own diamond sword from the sheath on his belt. He swung it through the air in practiced, thoughtful precision. "So that means after today's duel, yesterday's will also be irrelevant?"

"No."

"And why is that?"

"Because I won."

Cedrick chuckled, "It's not like that's the only duel you've ever won. We have a fairly even record."

Lydia frowned and rolled her magenta eyes, "Stop trying to be Mr. Humble. We both know you're the better of the two of us. Otherwise you wouldn't be the First General."

"I'm still not as good as Nilan." Cedrick shrugged it off.

"Well no duh, Mr. Obvious. He's the High Commander; what do expect of yourself?"

"To be a good and loyal soldier, willing to defend my country, my loved ones, and the royal family. I don't want to be better Nilan, it was simply an observation. I'm very content with my position, unworthy really..."

"Alright, alright give your speech later and fight me!" Lydia cut off any further ranting. She squared her shoulders and spread her feet out in a balanced posture, raising one of her curved diamond swords.

"Do you want to use both of your swords this time?" Cedrick asked, copying her stance directly across from her.

"Nah, that wouldn't be fair. I can beat you with one sword easily."

"I thought you said I was the superior?"

"Not right now you're not. Have you never heard of a little pre-duel hype?"

Cedrick smiled, "Oh I've heard quite a lot of it, being around you."

Lydia fake scowled as she charged her opponent taking the first attack. Cedrick deflected her swiping sword and countered with his own lunge.

This dance went on for several minutes, until both were sweating, but neither was backing down.

Suddenly, as Lydia side-stepped to dodge an undercut from Cedrick, she accidentally stepped on one of the wooden dummies still lying scattered all over the training yard.

It slid, and her ankle rolled as she fell with a yelp. Cedrick quickly sheathed his sword and knelt to help her. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Lydia said, grabbing ahold of Cedrick's hand and pulling herself up, "Let's keep going!" She wiggled her ankle around a little to verify that it was fine.

"We should probably clean up the dummies first." Cedrick suggested.

"Oh fine..." Lydia huffed in mock exasperation.

"Haven't you always been taught to clear the area before dueling?" a new voice rings out from behind them. Both snap to attention immediately at the sound of that voice.

"Yes sir, Commander Nilan." Lydia and Cedrick both salute as the tall High Commander enters the dusty training yard.

"Then why didn't you?" Nilan asked intimidatingly, his sharp, dark brown eyes fixated on his subordinates. Suddenly Lydia felt like a child again, caught stealing cookies from the kitchen.

"We were... caught up in the moment sir. We promise it won't happen again." Cedrick confessed, never dropping his salute or rigid stance.

"It better not. There is no excuse for sloppiness. Second General Lydia could have easily broken her ankle just then, and would've been unable to defend the kingdom if there came an attack. We are leaders, and as such, we set an example for all of the soldiers below us."

Lydia glanced at Cedrick as they both knelt to pick up the fallen dummies and rolled her eyes.

"He's worse than my mom," Cedrick whispered. Lydia coughed repeatedly, barely covering her laughter.

Nilan stood watching them with a steely gaze the entire time they cleaned up the yard. Indeed, even though, at 20, he was nearly a decade younger than the other two, he always carried himself like a veteran. Unlike other military positions, who became High Commander was mostly determined by your social status.

The title had been held by the firstborn in Nilan's family since the time of the II Interdimensional War. Because of this, Nilan had been held to extremely high standards his entire life, training ever since he was old enough to hold a small wooden sword.

It made him a bit of a killjoy at times.

By the time they had set all the dozens of dummies back up under the small storage shed in the corner, the sun was dipping lower in the sky.

"You ready?" Cedrick asked, once again drawing his sword.

Lydia sighed, glancing up at the sky, "I am scheduled to meet with the queen in a few minutes, so we're going to have to finish tomorrow."

"The queen?" Nilan interjected, his interest clearly perked.

"Yeah, I've been checking up on her a couple times a week, chatting a little, you know... talking about women stuff. Juliara will be there too. We have a little women's castle group going on."

"Well, I happen to come here not only keep you two in check, I came here to train as well." Nilan revealed. "First General Cedrick, I will accompany in a match after I warm up."

"Yes sir," Cedrick nodded, "have fun talking about women stuff Lydia." He smiled and chuckled.

Lydia laughed, "I will!"

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Yay! That was a fun chapter to right! Just a fair warning... the next one will be much darker...

Also, in case you didn't know, Lydia is p0tat0-g0ddess' name.

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

Greetings Edgelings!

Me when writing this be like:

...heh, heh...Heh, Heh...Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!! *divulges into more sadistic laughter*

5 minutes later...

*Rocking myself back and forth while curled up in a dark corner* "What have I done?"

5 minutes later...

*more sadistic laughter*

So yeah... There's that.

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'Alright, I believe its safe to say the emissary has been settled into her chambers by now. It's time to act.'

"Why does it matter whether or not she knows what I'm doing?" Herobrine mumbled.

His feelings on the Enderman, or Enderwoman he supposed, were mixed. She was a threat, but also the first being who had shown any concern about his wellbeing in years. Then again, it could all be an elaborate ploy to trick him into trusting her.

A small ounce of him clung to the hope that it wasn't the case. He kinda liked the thought of someone actually caring about him...

'Nether to Hero, Nether to Hero. We are still in the Nether so get your head out of the freaking clouds!' the Whispers yelled into his skull, instantly giving him a massive headache.

'It matters because she's a spy! Did you remember nothing I told you fungus brain?'

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Herobrine mumbled, rubbing his temples. "Is it really necessary to give me a throbbing headache whenever you talk to me?"

'It's not every time. It's only when you're annoying.'

Herobrine growled as he heaved himself to his feet. After several hours, his flesh, skin, and clothes had healed, but the ribs were still fractured, and dug into his side every time he moved.

Bones took far too long to heal.

But Herobrine wasn't content to wait any longer, he was getting restless. He stormed out of his impromptu chamber and nearly ran straight into a Piglin standing in the Blackstone hallway.

"Greetings, m'lord," he snorted, dual gold ear hoops jangling as he gave a casual nod. "Would've come in to see how you were doing, but your new butlers are so ugly that I couldn't get near 'em. Where'd they come from anyway?"

Herobrine was shocked by both the fact the bipedal pig could talk and the fact that he seemed so casual. Were all the creatures he had believed to be monsters sentient? He narrowed his glowing white eyes. "Who are you?"

"Apologizes, m'lord. My name's Poggo, and I usually serve as Advisor to the lord of the Gormad Sector, but since your lord of all the Sectors now I suppose it still counts."

Just as Herobrine was about to tell him to scram, the Whispers interjected.

'Perhaps he can be useful. He might know where there's a portal.'

"Is there a portal somewhere in thus fortress?" Herobrine asked bluntly.

"Hmmm... no, we disassembled them all, but I believe the obsidian and a pick or two are still kept in the old portal room. Why?"

"Take me there." Herobrine commanded.

"Alright,"Poggo shrugged, apparently used to no one answering him. "Could I ask you to leave the butlers here? They give me the heeby jeebies."

Herobrine narrowed his eyes further, "No."

Poggo held his arms up in mock surrender, "I get it. No need to give me the death glare. I see you're going to be one of the crankier ones."

Herobrine scoffed at this blunt comment from the unarmed subordinate. Was he always this rude to his leaders?! Was that just normal for Piglins?

With a careless wave of his hand, he instructed the Withered to tail him as he followed Poggo down the monotonous black hallway, lit only by the unevenly placed glowstone in the ceiling.

Poggo slowed as they approached a particularly large doorway on the left of the hall. Thankfully the walk wasn't very confusing, just a couple turns off of the original hall. Herobrine was certain he could navigate back by himself with ease.

"In here, m'lord," Poggo announced as he pushed open the heavy stone door with a grunt.

"Stop calling me that."

"What?"

"My lord. It sounds weird."

Poggo snort-chuckled, "Is that so? Do you prefer the whole title, Lord Herobrine?"

"Just Herobrine. It's not like anyone's going confuse me with anyone else."

"So we're going on a first name basis, huh Herobrine? I feel so much closer to you already."

Herobrine rolled his invisible pupils, but found himself becoming less angry at the smart aleck comments. Perhaps it was Poggo's casual unassuming tone, but Herobrine somehow picked up that no real insult was meant by them.

Besides, he had no real grudge against the Piglins in general. They hadn't done him any real harm. Other than that time one shot him in the skull with a crossbow bolt to chase him off their territory, which he had accidentally wandered into. Well, and when they tried to kill him in that tournament thing he stumbled into. Neither one of which he could really blame on the Piglins.

Herobrine analyzed the room as soon as he stepped foot inside. Just like everything else, it was constructed with Blackstone and relied on glowstone for light. It had a higher ceiling than any of the other rooms he had been in, tapering slowly into a point in the center. On the floor was a raised dais, which happened to be just slightly bigger than the base of a portal frame.

At the far end of the room was a double chest, otherwise, it was completely empty.

Herobrine walked over to the chest and lifted the squeaky-hinged lid to examine its contents. He was surprised to find nearly three stacks of obsidian in there, as well as a singular diamond pickaxe.

"How many portals did you all have active?" Herobrine asked Poggo, who remained leaning on the doorframe. The Withered stayed in the hall, per the silent instructions of their master.

"One for every major fortress at the time of the II Interdimensional War. But at the end of the war they got cursed, so there all useless now." Poggo explained absently.

"Cursed?"

"Yeah, have you never heard? Any Piglin who steps through a portal turns into a zombie. That's how the whole Zombified Piglin situation started here."

Herobrine nodded thoughtfully. "I see. But even so, why is there only a single pickaxe left?"

"All the other ones got repurposed as weapons, but that was hundreds of years ago, so they're all broken by now. That one was a gift from the Endermen as part of the First Peace Treaty formed at the end of the I Interdimensional War. Ancient, the thing is."

"You sure know your history."

"Unlike being a lord, you have to have more brains than brawn to be an advisor. Still, I'm shocked that humans aren't taught more..."

"I'm not human."

Poggo arched a brow. "Right, and I'm actually a ghast."

"Oh really? And how exactly would a human survive the wounds I've had?" Herobrine countered with narrowed eyes glowing white hot. He clenched his sharpened teeth. There was nothing in the world he detested being compared to more.

"Oh I'm not saying you're a normal human. You've clearly got some strange magic in your blood. What I am saying is that there is nothing else in the three dimensions that you could possibly be. We all come from somewhere."

Herobrine clenched his fists, nearly drawing blood with the force of his nails digging into his own flesh. "You know NOTHING about me, and don't pretend that you do! Leave before I rip your tongue out of your arrogant mouth!" He seethed viciously.

Poggo jumped and blinked repeatedly, clearly shocked by the abrupt force of his threat. He had seen this man rip his own kind to shreds with his bare hands, so he wasn't willing to risk any confrontation. "Alright! I'm leaving!"

Herobrine glared at the doorway long after it was left barren by the retreating Piglin, attempting to get a grip on his sudden burning rage. It took little to trigger him into a murderous mood.

'Good job idiot. You scared away our source of information.'

"What more do I need? I have obsidian and a pickaxe."

'How about flint and steal, brain dead.'

Herobrine snarled and shoved the stacks of obsidian to the side, revealing a very dull and very old piece of iron accompanied by a scarred lump of flint.

"See? It's right here!"

'I doubt that ancient crap will spark anything.'

"We'll see about that," Herobrine growled, scooping up eighteen obsidian, as well as the diamond pickaxe.

Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was not only bigger and more decorative than a normal pickaxe, it also glimmers with enchantments. He set it down on the floor momentarily as he placed the obsidian blocks. Perhaps it would work as a weapon...

He built the black four-by-three frame he remembered so well from his nightmarish memories, shuddering momentarily at the grip of nauseous nostalgia.

'Go ahead, wise guy, just try to light it.'

He knelt, and struck the old flint and steel carefully, so as not to shatter it with his immense strength.

Nothing.

Herobrine growled, and struck the flint and steel in one sharp movement. Not a single spark ignited. He struck them again, using slightly more force. Still nothing. Furious anger welled up deep within him.

'I told-'

He cut off the Whispers with a roar as he threw down the flint and steel. He grabbed the pickaxe off the floor and lifted it over his head before catapulting it back down. It smashed right through both the iron and the flint, as well as leaving a gaping hole in the dias. A shower of sparks flew up from this violent impact, landing directly on the obsidian frame. A blast of air gushed out, whipping Herobrine's wild brown hair in every direction. A swirling purple vortex exploded within the frame, creating a gateway to another dimension.

'Heh, rage much? You could've just made a torch; it's not like there isn't enough fire in the Nether.'

Herobrine snarled, but otherwise ignored the comment. He was fixated on the portal that would bring him to the Overworld. Bring him home. He had just lifted his foot to step through, when a certain annoying voice interrupted.

'Let me guess. You were just going to step through that thing with no plan? You have no idea where you're going to come out. Use your worthless brain a little.'

"If it's worthless then what's the point in using it?" Herobrine countered aloud, unwilling to admit that the Whispers were right. "Seems like I should go ahead and see where I come out, and then deal with it afterwards."

'No, you fool. You really are useless. What if we come out in the center of the Capital? Hm? You just going to "deal with" being overpowered and captured by the guards? No, we have to play this carefully, we want to keep the element of surprise.'

"Sooooo... I bring the Withered with me?"

'That's the first step, but you need a better plan than that. Thankfully for your sorry existence, I have come up with one. I'm hoping we will come out in the middle of nowhere, preferably near a large cave. That way we'll have a place to hide the army until-'

"The army?!"

'What did you think you were going to do? Barge into the most heavily guarded fortress in the three dimensions with your dozen or so piddly Withered? Did you have any forethought at all?'

"Not really..."

'Oh for the love of the sun, you really are brainless aren't you? Well anyways, yes, we will need an army. Please tell me you remember what I told you about the infectious properties of the Withered?'

"Yeah, and that it works on humans, right?" Herobrine smirked eagerly.

'Exactly. If the conditions are favorable, we will take the small band of Withered and find a tiny, isolated village. Then-'

"The fun begins." Herobrine smiled as the plan finally unraveled in his mind.

'Now you're catching on. We will then take the new army, and hide them in a cave. We will repeat this process until our forces are strong enough to take the Capital, or else we are discovered.'

Herobrine nodded, then picked his foot up once again to step through, but a sudden spike of pain shot through his gut, like he was being impaled by a broad sword. He gasped and clutched his middle.

"What now?!" He demanded the voice in his head that caused the pain.

'We haven't discussed what we will do if you come out in a city or other populated area.'

"Is there any other way you could get my attention?!" Herobrine huffed, still pressing hard on his throbbing midsection, where black still slowly ate away his natural tan skin tone.

'No.'

Herobrine thought he could detect a hint of amusement in the voice.

'If it is a small, isolated town or a single family settlement, then the plan continues as arranged. If it is a larger town or city, then we retreat back into the Nether, close the portal, and reevaluate. My guess is we will be alone when we arrive.'

Herobrine waited a moment after the Whispers ceased. "Can I go now?"

'Yes, but don't forget the Withered.'

Herobrine snapped his fingers, and his Undead guards immediately flowed towards him. With one last glance at the foreboding frame, he leapt through, not giving himself time to question anything.

His world swirled into a vibrant purple kalidescope, dizzying and thrilling him all at once, then the ground fell out from beneath him, and for a split second he felt himself free falling into the vortex. Suddenly the ground solidified beneath him once more, and he was back to standing on the obsidian portal frame. He stumbled forward, too dizzy and disoriented to make out anything clearly. His stomach was churning and his head swimming from the abrupt world-shifting transition.

Once he finally oriented himself, he recognized the damp stone towering around him as the walls of a cave. Great Notch it was cold! Herobrine began shivering violently from the sudden temperature drop. It must be freezing down here!

'Actually, it is simply the fact that you have acclimated to the boiling temperatures of the Nether, making it harder to adjust to the Overworld.'

Whatever. Another thing he noticed was the air. He had never noticed it when he lived in this dimension, but now it stood out strangely to him. It was full of water! He could feel it touching his skin, entering his nostrils and exiting again when he exhaled. It was strange to be able to feel anything but ash in the air. He looked around him in awe, his white eyes illuminating the otherwise pitch black cave.

Everything was so watery!

Suppose it is true, you never miss things until they're gone, or in this case, until you have them back.

Herobrine had forgotten how much he missed water.

'This cave must be under a lake or stream for it to be this wet. Also, look at the walls. Notice how straight they are? This cave was man-made, or more accurately, pig-made. It must be one of the Piglin bunkers from the II Interdimensional War.'

"I thought they couldn't come here?"

'The curse was set into place near the end of the War, because the Nether was close to winning.'

"I see." And with that, Herobrine began walking down one of the halls branching off of the chamber. He walked for a long while down the dark, damp tunnels, until he felt the ground finally begin to slope upwards.

He followed the incline through several turns, until he finally found a slimy, narrow staircase leading towards the surface. There was no sound except his own short leather boots clunking on the stone and water dripping from the cracks in the ceiling.

He reached the top of the staircase, and found a heavy stone door waiting for him at the top. He pushed it open with ease, ancient hinges grinding with the strain of disuse. He came out in the entrance of yet another cave.

He passed beneath the huge arch that marked the threshold to the outside world he had been yearning for for so long. It was night. He gazed up at the sheer vastness of the cool night sky, the blinking of the distant stars, the bright glow of the gibbous moon. The land stretched before him endlessly in all directions, with no walls restricting any of it. Spruce trees sprung up in thick droves, forming a dense, serene forest. The lush life and grandiose nature of it all brought tears to Herobrine's eyes. Oh, how he had missed this!

'Sappy much are you? Well suck it up, we have work to do.'

Herobrine sighed at the reminder that things could never be normal again. Immense sadness and bitterness welled up in his chest, but he pushed them back. His emotions would do him no good now.

He scanned the horizon, this time with more focus and less sentimentality, though he could not deny its beauty. There, over at the far edge of the forest, were a couple dim lights of the artificial sort.

Streetlights.

Target acquired, Herobrine turned to begin making his way down the small cliff the cave entrance opened up to, only to bump into one of the Withered. It instantly stepped out of his way. Huh, he had forgotten about them. It was almost unsettling how silent they could be. He turned around and did a quick check. Yep, they were all there.

He grinned widely, his razor sharp teeth showing. Now the fun began.

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HUGE CONTENT ADVISORY HERE!!! IF YOU ARE IN ANY WAY SENSITIVE TO: INTENSELY GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, CHILD DEATH, OR CANNIBALISM. PLEASE SKIP THIS SECTION!!!! THERE WILL BE ANOTHER BREAK AFTER IT IS OVER, SO THAT YOU CAN RESUME READING.

"You've been cranky this evening, honey. What's the matter?" Tillary asked as she swayed back and forth, cradling her one month old baby bundled in soft blankets. He squeakily yawned back, staring up at her with his sleepy gray eyes.

"I know you're tired, so why won't you let me put you to bed?" she cooed gently, her own eyelids drooping. Being a new mom was much more work than she expected, but it was worth every precious moment.

Aaron's eyelids fluttered shut for a split second, only to open wide again as he desperately tried to stay awake, even though it was nearly midnight, and it had been hours since his last nap. She had no idea why he was acting like this, he usually laid down easily. He was fed and clean, so she was out of guesses. He cried every time she even tried to lay him in his crib.

"Do you want me to sing you a song?" She asked, and he stared up at her with those gorgeous eyes. She could stare into them for hours, but right now she was struggling to keep her own open. Of course Emmit had to be out the one night Aaron wouldn't lay down. She couldn't even get a break.

"~Hush little baby don't say a word~"

"~Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird~"

"~and if that mockingbird won't sing~"

"~Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring~"

Tillary's soft gentle voice sang quietly to her exhausted infant, lulling him into a light slumber. Her voice was far from the fairest, but Aaron didn't care.

To him, all that mattered was that she was there, cradling him and sharing her warmth, holding him in loving arms and pouring out her love through her imperfect voice.

She sang until she was sure he wouldn't wake up immediately, then carefully walked over to his crib, laying him down on the cushy wool mattress.

Sighing in relief to see his eyes still shut, she quietly shuffled over and put out the lantern, then collapsed on her own bed.

For the next hour, Tillary was unable to fall asleep. Every time she drifted off, a noise from outside would wake her up again. Sometimes a crash or a bang, and sometimes what sounded like a muffled scream. She listened for a minute or two, heard nothing, and then tried to go back to sleep. This repeated about ten times before she began to get seriously concerned. She lived and grew up in this small sleepy town called Greenside, and she knew that no one was awake after ten.

These strange noises were spiking her anxiety.

And then she heard the front door creak open.

She jolted upright, gasping for breath as fear seized up in her chest, making it strenuous to breathe. She glanced over to the crib, and was grateful to see Aaron still asleep. She tried to calm herself and slow her pounding heartbeat. It's probably just Emmit.

But Emmit was camping out in the woods tonight on one of his hunting and logging trips. Why would he return after midnight, when the monsters were roaming no less?

What was it then? The whole town was fully lit by the streetlamps, so no more than one or two Undead ever entered, and they were quickly taken care of by the guards...

As soft footsteps became louder, she snapped out of her daze, and leapt for the bedside chest. Shaking hands fumbling in the dark with the latch before finally throwing it open. The loud bang of the lid hitting the wall woke Aaron up, and he immediately started wailing.

She snatched up the iron dagger that she kept for emergencies and spun around, planning to rush to defend Aaron.

Only to come face to face with a tall man with a wide leering grin.

White glowing eyes bore into hers making her squint.

She was frozen, unable to breath, unable to move. The man stood, unmoving, staring at her unblinkingly, Aaron crying in the background.

Aaron.

Something snapped inside Tillary. In one sudden movement, she vaulted herself over the bed and in two steps reached the crib. She turned in a defensive position, ready to do anything in her power to protect her child, even if it meant giving her own life.

The man slowly ambled over to her, walking around the bed instead of jumping over it, his grin never fading and his gaze never faltering, illuminating the room in front of him. She noticed a faintly glowing diamond pickaxe swinging loosely in his hand.

He stopped directly in front of her and stood completely still for several more seconds, and Tillary began to wonder if he was going to do anything at all.

Then he lunged!

He ripped the dagger out of her hand, grabbed her arm and flung her to the other side of the room. She screamed as her back collided with the wall with a loud thud, knocking the wind out of her. In a split second the man was standing over her, staring down with that same nauseating grin and blinding white gaze.

She desperately tried to scramble upright, but he lifted his booted foot and slammed it back down on her right knee. Bones cracked and blood splatted out until her flattened knee resembled a squashed spider, her calve and foot limply and uselessly hanging off the end. She retched a silent scream, too winded to make any actual noise.

He lifted his foot up once more, and brought it down on her other knee, but this time more gently, so that it only barely pressed on her skin. He leaned down, slowly twisting his fingers around her left ankle.

Tillary stared up at him in pleading pain and horror, quietly begging him to stop.

He slowly began lifting her foot upward, all while pinning her knee to the floor with his foot. Her body heaved and shuddered as he bent her lower leg slowly in the wrong direction until...

SNAP!

Her leg snapped in half, the broken bone jutting out of the skin, and her calf barely clinging to the broken shards of her knee. Sticky blood pooled beneath her.

And then he turned away, leaving her in darkness as he walked towards...

AARON!!!!!!

His glowing eyes revealed the balling infant in a hand-carved crib, and he slowly reached a bloody hand towards him.

Tillary heaved for breath, struggling through pain and sobs, unable to even protest as the monster lifted Aaron up by the arm, causing him to wail even louder. The man ambled back over to her, her baby dangling like some sort of trinket in one hand, that huge pickaxe swaying in the other.

"I take it this is yours?" The man spoke for the first time in a low, amused tone. He even chuckled.

Finally finding enough strength to breathe, Tillary gasped through her shaky tears, "L-l-leave h-h-him a-a-alone. I-I-I'll d-d-do a-a-anyt-t-thing y-y-you w-w-want."

"Oh, but my dear, you're already doing exactly what I want." He answered with a smirk.

"P-p-please d-d-don't h-h-hold h-h-him l-l-like t-t-that. Y-y-you'll b-b-break h-h-his a-a-arm!" She begged, unable to take her eyes off of her tiny baby, so new to the world, tangling by one arm from the grip of a monster.

"Oh? Will I?" He asked with malicious glee.

He dropped his pickaxe with a clang, making Tillary wince, her eyes widened in absolute horror as he grabbed ahold of Aaron's other arm.

"N-n-no! P-p-please!" She begged, dragging herself across the floor with her arms, sobbing from the pain as she left a smear of blood in her wake. She grabbed ahold of his ankle, clinging to it and retching from sobs and sorrow. "H-h-hurt m-m-me n-n-not h-h-him!"

He leered down at her, "So eager are you? Don't worry, you'll get your turn." He kicked her in the face with such force that she went rolling backwards again. Her broken nose gushed more blood.

She squinted her eyes shut momentarily, whimpering from the pain as her limp, useless lower legs tumbled around like a ragdoll's, bending in any direction they pleased. She snapped them open, only to watch as the monster slowly started pulling on Aaron's arms. In opposite directions.

She screamed and wailed and sobbed, shuddering and heaving, unable to do anything but watch as Aaron was stretched farther and farther until...

HURK!

Both his arms ripped off in a gush and splatter of innocent young blood.

Aaron's face was scrunched up in a heart wrenching display of torment, his chest spasming from his cries, but no sound coming out. Tillary screeched like a dying animal, shaking uncontrollably as this hideous, heartless beast caught ahold of Aaron by his leg.

She wanted to close her eyes, to plug her ears, to somehow hide herself from what she knew was almost certain to happen next, but she couldn't. Her eyelids no longer obeyed and her hands remained balled up into fists on the floor. Was this death? No... this was worse than death, this was the worst pain imaginable. Oh, how she suddenly yearned to die!

HURK!

Another spray of blood, another two limbs ripped from Aaron's tiny body. This time he wailed a single high-pitched cry that shook her bones and made her head spin. She hugged her bloody, broken knees to her chest, silently begging for the end. She couldn't take this anymore.

And then the monster grabbed Aaron's head.

Now her eyelids finally obeyed her wishes, and they snapped shut, bathing her mind in darkness and shutting out the horrendous bloody scene before her. But she was not quick enough to block out the noise.

CR-SNAP!

She opened her eyes, just a tiny little slit, and watched as Aaron's decapitated head dropped on the floor in front of her. She stared into those dull, glossy eyes, so full of life only minutes ago, and felt her insides revolt.

Her stomach spasmed and vomit spewed out all over the floor in front of her, but she was too overwhelmed by pain to care. She howled into the night, a mourning cry for the one thing she loved the most, and had to watch be tortured to death. She howled for her own pain, one continuous breath that took everything out of her lungs and left her gasping on the floor.

Another noise began to bubble up in the otherwise silent room.

Laughter.

The sadistic monster, splattered in blood, laughed as he picked up his pickaxe and took a step towards her. His laughter echoed loudly off the walls, as if they too were laughing at this cruel sight. His glowing eyes gleamed in excitement.

He knelt down, close to Tillary's ear and whispered, "Now it's your turn."

With a shove of his foot, she was rolled onto her back, staring up at the dark ceiling through tear-blurred eyes. She desperately tried to roll over again, to somehow try to get away.

Her instincts had taken over and were screaming at her to run, but she could not.

He hefted his pickaxe, still free of blood at this point, over his head. She closed her eyes and resigned herself to the torment as he brought it down on her stomach. Her body heaved and she gaped a silent scream, as it struck down nearly going right through her, slicing through intestines and internal organs.

And then he slowly began to drag it upward, towards her head, fileting her abdomen open like a fish to be gutted. He stopped right below her ribcage, only to turn his pickaxe, causing more pain, so that it hooked around the underside of her ribs.

He left it there for a moment, smiling down at her tortured face. She felt the cold blade slicing through her tendons and muscles like butter. She had no idea anyone could be in this much pain and still live. It was blinding and deafening and inescapable pain.

"Are you having fun yet? I certainly am." He cooed.

And then he jerked the pickaxe upward.

CRACK!

She wailed another silent scream as her ribs were snapped by the violent force of the pickaxe ripping out of her body. Her body was beginning to twitch instead of heave. She could feel herself slowly fading away from the blood loss and injuries.

And he noticed too.

For the first time, she saw him frown. And then a simple frown turned into a snarl of absolute rage. He dropped his blood-dripping pickaxe, and pounced down on her. She looked up at his anger in absolute terror, but silently hoped he would just end this torture.

"You think this is pain?" he seethed through clenched teeth, reaching into her gaping mouth and grabbing ahold of her lower jaw. "You have no idea how lucky you are. You will never feel true pain. You will die first, and it will all be over!" He roared with vivid ferocity.

And then he grinned again.

"But I can make sure you are as close to true pain as possible."

He yanked down on her lower jaw!

HURK!

It snapped from her skull and hung limply by the tendons connecting the two. Tears streamed down her blood stained face as her vision began to fade. The horrid smells of her own blood and vomit, as well as Aaron's began to disappear as her senses faded into nothing. As she took her last breath, Tillary saw a flash of white light, and a silhouette with outstretched arms that she somehow recognized.

Aaron?

And then she seized up and ceased to live.

Herobrine stared into her blank eyes with a blank look of confusion. He felt both extremely satisfied and overwhelmingly disappointed at the same time. But as the adrenaline began to dissipate, a new sensation overwhelmed him.

A smell to be exact.

Blood.

But it was nothing like Piglin or Hoglin blood, it had its own fragrance, so different from everything else. The smell in itself was euphoric. Drool began to drizzle down his chin as inhaled deeply, drinking in as much as he could.

'Don't eat the woman, she could be a useful soldier.' the Whispers instructed nonchalantly.

Herobrine turned his starved gaze to the remains of the baby.

In an instant he was upon it, sinking his razor sharp teeth into the soft, moist flesh. His senses exploded and shivers of pleasure shook his body as his brain sent out waves of euphoric sensations throughout him at the mere taste of human flesh. He growled and devoured the entire body, crunching bones in his strong jaws.

By the time he had finished, his brain felt fuzzy and light, and he couldn't stop grinning. He tried to walk through the door, only to stumble into the wall, his vision shifting unnaturally, and his balance all ajar.

'Don't forget the woman, you drunkard.'

It took Herobrine several attempts to raise the body into a Withered, as his focus kept spasming in and out. He once again attempted to leave the room, and once again bumped into the wall, giggling and wobbling backward.

'For crying out loud, order it to help you walk you bumbling fool.'

The black shadowy humanoid limped over, the resurrection doing little to fix the broken legs, but enough for the Withered to walk. Herobrine threw an arm around its shoulders, letting it steer him down the hall and back through the front door.

Outside the doorstep, the rest of the town was waiting. That is, the Withered remains of the town were waiting for him. While he took pleasure in torturing a few, the dozen or so Piglin Withered he brought with him took care of the rest, spreading like the infectious disease they were until no one was left alive.

The limping Withered beside Herobrine was struggling to hold his weight, and when he tried to go down the steps leading onto the street, it collapsed.

They both tumbled unceremoniously onto the dirt path.

Herobrine lay there for a moment, staring up at the wobbling and spinning stars in the sky, chuckling softly at the light feeling in his head disconnecting him from the rest of the universe. Blood still covered his clothes and dripped from his chin mixed with drool that leaked from his slack-jawed face.

'Nether, these side effects are making you actually useless! Stand up already!'

He slowly managed to stand, his legs wobbling like slime beneath him. "Heeeeeey yoooooou," He pointed vaguely to one of the Withered, which blinked in recognition, "Heeeeeelp meeeeeee waaaaaalk." His voice drawled and slurred, but the Withered still understood, and came to replace the weaker one who stood dumbly to the side.

For the next hour, they slugged their way back through the forest towards the cave and the Nether portal. Herobrine stumbling along, being half-dragged at times, followed by over fifty Withered.

The beginnings of an army.

END OF THE CONTENT ADVISORY!!! THERE IS STILL BLOOD AFTER THIS POINT, BUT NO GRAPHIC VIOLENCE.

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Emmit stretched as he awoke from his last night in the forest, hunting and chopping firewood for the coming winter months. He sat up on his sleeping mat, yawning as he watched the dawn light gradually grow from the crack in the door-flap of his tent.

While he enjoyed his time alone in the peace of the woodlands, he was eager to get home and see his wife and son.

After the red light grew to an orange, and then to a vibrant yellow, Emmit knew it was safe to venture outside. By now all the undead would be crawling into their dark holes and crevices, waiting for the next night to come, when they would once again come out to prowl the lands.

He threw on a clean brown shirt, and pulled out a neatly folded pair of black pants. He smiled to himself, grateful for the care his wife put into sending him off with a clean set of clothes for every new day. He tugged on his favorite green tunic, the only thing that he wore more than once per day.

He chuckled to himself over his wife's pet peeve of wearing the same clothes for more than one day. He didn't quite understand her, but he loved her despite her mysteries.

A tunic was different though, he had convinced her that it was close enough to a jacket, which she was fine with wearing more than once for some reason. He couldn't figure out the difference, but he left it alone. It was far from the worst thing she could be obsessing over.

Emmit slipped his sturdy leather boots on, making sure to lace them tightly so that he didn't have any more tripping incidents. He lifted the dull tan tent flap and stepped outside, taking a moment to revel in the newborn golden sunlight bathing his front.

His tawny mare nickered her greeting from where she was pegged a few feet away from the tent. Vella shook out her silky black mane, showcasing her eagerness to get moving.

"Impatient much?" Emmit asked her.

Vella's response was a huff as she ducked to indignantly tear up a mouthful of grass.

Emmit fetched the brushes and combs from one of the saddle bags, and began to currycomb the strong mare, starting up high and ending close to her hooves. Small bits of tan hair flew into the air like dust from an unused bookshelf. Emmit sneezed.

"You really have to stop shedding, girl." He mumbled as he pulled out the next type of brush.

After he finished with her body, he grabbed a comb for her mane and tail. This time the procedure was opposite. He started down at the tips of her thick, soft black hair and worked his way up towards the roots. Just as he finished her mane, Vella turned and huffed into his short and straight black hair.

"Are you suggesting I need a comb out too?" Emmit laughed, his green eyes sparkling. They were a different kind of green. The color of the mysterious ocean depths.

After he finished tending Vella, he began to disassemble the tent, one iron pole at a time until it was all neatly packed away in the traveling bag. He double-checked that all of his supplies were in order and ready to go before making his way back over to Vella to hook up the wagon.

He had already smoked and packed away the game he had hunted on his first day out. It was in a chest in the front of the wagon, alongside the smoker itself. The rest of the space was filled with firewood he had chopped.

After the wagon was secured, he strapped the saddle bags filled with his supplies to Vella's back and released her from the long length of rope attached to a wooden peg staked into the dirt. It kept her from wandering off too far.

Emmit took a moment to look around and double check that he had gotten everything from his campsite. Satisfied, he clicked for Vella to begin walking, leading her by the reins of her halter.

As he began the long trek through the woods, he couldn't help but admire the beauty and serenity of this place.

Tall, sturdy spruce trees towered above him on both sides of the narrow forest path, their dark green leaves waving gently in the breeze. The dappled shadows they cast on everything beneath them gave it all a beautiful sort of texture. The dirt path itself seemed more alive as the shadows moved and swayed across it.

A blur of orange in the corner of his vision caught Emmit's attention. He glanced to his left just in time to see a red fox slink away into the shadows of the trees. He smiled.

When the sun rose to its precipice in the sky, Emmit stopped by a stream to have lunch and give Vella a break. They were still a good bit of walking away from Greenside; the trip home with the full wagon always took longer, but he should still arrive safely by evening.

He finished up his meal of bread and jerky, then hooked Vella back up and continued on his way.

Just as he predicted, the sun was dipping lower in the sky by the time began to see the wood planks of the buildings through the gaps in the trees. He had picked sweet berries on this trip, and was eager to show Tillary.

She absolutely loves sweet berries, but they were only ripe a couple months of the year.

As Emmit entered the main dirt road of town, he immediately felt something was off. Nothing moved, no one was milling about the street, the small food stand run by Mr. Darren was barren, the doors on many of the houses hung open like gaping mouths. Silence reigned except for the clopping of Vella's hooves and the creaking of the wagon.

Emmit took the liberty of peeking into a couple of the houses, only to find them just as empty on the inside. Some were in a massive disarray, objects thrown in every which direction and furniture lying on its side, others seemed completely untouched. Anxiety fell down on him like an anvil, and he instantly abandoned Vella and ran towards his own house close to the outskirts of the tiny town.

His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat when he saw blood smeared all over the doorstep.

No.

He hurdled inside like a wrecking ball, knocking down anything in his path. The kitchen, the dining room, and the living room all appeared to be in perfect condition.

But empty.

Where were they?!?!

Emmit began hyperventilating.

Then he saw the drips of blood on the wooden floor planks, guiding him right toward...

The bedroom.

As he ran forward, his flailing nostrils were assaulted by a horrendous strench. He slowed down as he approached the bedroom door, standing wide open, bloody handprints pressed upon it like a signature stamp.

Suddenly he wasn't sure if he wanted to look inside.

But if they were still in there...

He rounded the corner and nearly fainted from the sight.

Blood. Blood everywhere. Blood pooling in puddles on the floor and filling the air with a vile odor. Bones. Tiny white shards of bones scattered in all direction. And yet, just like the rest of the town, there were no bodies. It had been a massacre.

And Emmit hadn't been there to protect them.

Guilt and sorrow and grief and shame overwhelmed him, and he fell to his knees and screamed into the nothingness, "TILLARY!!! AARON!!!"

Over and over and over again until his throat was too hoarse and sore to continue.

Wailing and sobbing and mourning. The sun began to set and the world and the room began to fade into a dull orange, made dull by the sorrow. Emmit still wept.

Suddenly something clicked in his mind, he snapped his gaze back to the bedroom door. Those large, bloody hand prints were too big to be Tillary's, and they certainly weren't Aaron's. Boiling livid anger began to replace all other emotion.

Someone had done this.

It would have taken more than one person to take out the entire town of over thirty people. The undead were never this thorough, and there was always plenty of bodies left from that sort of ravaging. Someone was planning organized attacks.

Necromancers? Pillagers? Emmit didn't know.

All Emmit knew was that he would make whoever did this PAY.

But he would need some help.

His mind made up. He stalked out of his desescrated home and into the fading evening light. He returned to Vella, who was pawing uneasily at the coming darkness, and the undead that were certain to come with it.

He unhooked her from the wagon, abandoning it in the street, and swung himself onto her back, grasping the reigns in tight fists as if trying to choke them to death.

He clicked, and she began to walk as he steered her out of town. He clicked again, but she only entered a trot.

Suddenly, he was furious with Vella for not understanding what was impossible for her to comprehend. He kicked her roughly, digging his heels into her sides. She whinied and jumped into a full gallop, dashing through the forest with sudden tenacity.

Emmit wore a snarl on his usually gently face, blinding rage overtaking the fabric of his being; he blocked out all other emotions. He did not care that it was night. He did not care that he would be hunted by the hordes of undead. He did not care if he died. Only one thing matter to him. He would go to the Capital, and he would bring back an army to avenge his family!

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Well, that got dark...

For those of you who skipped the gory scene, Herobrine basically gets drunk/high on human blood and flesh... Which means a massive hangover in the morning...

Also, I am still considering whether or not to do a sketch of that scene... Could you guys let me know what you think in the comments?

Next chapter won't be so... heavy... It will be back in Y/N's perspective.

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

Heyo my Edgelings!

Why don’t we start off with a comment of how you’ve been today?

Now onto the chapter!

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You step out from the embassy bedroom for the sixth time, double-checking that your cloak is straight before heading out down the twisting maze of disorganized hallways you had been forced to memorize. You spent nearly your entire first day lost until you finally stumbled upon the barracks, which is where all the Piglins here slept and apparently hung out most of the time.

Which is why you couldn’t find them in all the hours you aimlessly wandered in the halls.

One of them offered you assistance after you explained your objective, claiming that he too was on his way to check on Herobrine. You learned that his name was Poggo.

Speaking of Poggo, here he comes now. “Good Prewake to you, Keeper,” he snorts as he comes out of one of the many side halls, falling into step beside you.

“Good Prewake, seems like you’re out early. How’s it been?”

“Oh, the usual. He’s been so cheery all prewake that he just had to go outside in the middle of a Hearing,” Poggo explained sarcastically. Despite his dry sense of humor, you have come to trust this Advisor for information.

“Sounds worse than normal. He usually holds up until midwake,” you comment.

“Well, maybe you can go and snap him out of his foul mood. He seems to listen to you better than me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, you haven’t noticed? Whenever I start trying to talk to him, it doesn’t normally take too long for the death threats to start flowing. When he talks to you though, he acts much more civil.”

“Hm.” you contemplate. Wonder why that is? Probably because he knows you’re going to report his activities back to the Council. Speaking of which, the portal would open this prowake. “Which entrance did he go out?”

“Number three.”

“Thank you,” You dip your head in acknowledgement of his position, and then turn off of another hall towards entrance three.

As you stroll down the hall, you ponder what all you’re going to tell the Council. So far Herobrine had been fairly uneventful in his proceedings. As required by Nether custom, he spent several hours listening to Piglins’ disagreements, and acted as an overall judge for them.

Instead of breaking into fighting over every disagreement, Piglins brought their pleas to the lord of their sector, and had them sorted out in that manner. Since Herobrine is the only lord, he usually spends most of the day judging Hearings.

You have only been present for a few of them, because they are notoriously boring, but from everything you have seen and heard from the Piglins themselves, Herobrine seems to be a fair judge, though temperamental at times. You haven’t witnessed anything that makes you feel concern for Endermen of the Nether.

Yet… there is something nagging at the back of your mind. You feel like something is going on, something big. You don’t really have anything to base your hunch on, but it bothers you nonetheless.

Not only that, but you have figured out next to nothing new about Herobrine. He clams right up whenever you even vaguely bring up anything about his origins, and only complains about boring Hearing sessions when you ask him about future plans.

Lost in your thoughts once more, you don’t hear the footsteps approaching you until you’ve rounded the corner and nearly collide into Herobrine, who is absently wiping his mouth with the neckline of his teal shirt.

“Oh, hey Spitfire,” He smiles in greeting.

“I was just looking for you,” You comment, turning on your heel and falling into step beside him as he heads back towards the Hearing Hall in the center of the fortress.

“Well, that’s convenient isn’t it?” Herobrine smirks, “Poggo snitch on me again?”

“Yep,” you smile as well, relieved to see that he is in a better mood than Poggo predicted. “And I told you numerous times to stop calling me that.” You side-eye him, slightly irritated.

He grins, “I seem to keep forgetting. It suits you though.”

You look away, hiding your own small grin. “What were you doing out there?” You ask to change the subject.

Herobrine shoves his hands into his indigo pants pockets, a clear sign that he isn’t entirely comfortable with the subject. Funny how much you have learned about his body gestures in the span of a week. “You know, just taking a short walk. Being in a big stuffy room beats being in a smaller one.”

You nod in understanding, you also missed the openness of the Void back home. “The Nether certainly is different… Do you ever wish to return to the Overworld?”

He blinks several times, silent for a moment. He does that a lot. Whenever you ask certain questions, he waits for a minute before answering you. “No,” he finally admits, but there is a tone of bitterness in his voice, “There is nothing left for me there.”

You ponder for a moment whether or not to push for more information, but decide its best to keep him in a good mood.

“It must be the exact opposite of the End here. How did you make the transition so easily?” He asks.

“Well, while it’s true that the End is the coldest dimension due to the lack of a sun or other heat source, Endermen are independent of the temperatures around them. The stuffiness of the air was the hardest thing to get used to, to be honest.”

“What do you mean, you’re ‘independent of the temperature’ around you?” He asks with a puzzled look.

“Endermen body functions are regulated by the magic in our bloodstream, which is completely independent of temperature unlike Humans and Piglins. That’s why we can adapt to living in any dimension.”

“That’s very interesting.” Herobrine pauses, “And the magic flows from your core or eye or version of a heart or whatever, right? That’s why Human’s take them, because that’s what has the magic?”

“Correct,” You grate your teeth in disgust, just the thought of your kind being hunted and dissected infuriates you.

Herobrine senses your sudden dark mood shift, and gives you a moment of silence to sort your emotions out. It is odd how well he understands your moods and how you cope…

You distract yourself with a train of thought that you had been contemplating earlier. “Why do you think Hoglins love crimson fungus, but can’t stand warped fungus? Is it the taste or the smell? Is warped fungus toxic to them?”

Herobrine glances at you with a mixture of confusion and amusement, “Where do you come up with this stuff? Do you just spend your time comtemplating the details of life?”

“Beats going and listening to Hearings.” You shoot back.

He chuckles, “I can’t argue with that. And also, I would have to think its the smell. Warped fungus has a very strong smell, I don’t think it’s unpleasant, but maybe they do. And maybe it’s poisonous too, and that’s why they grew to dislike the smell in the first place. But when did they figure out it was toxic?… Gosh, now you’ve got me thinking way too deep into this.” He smirks.

“I never noticed any smell when I walked through the nearby forest, but Hoglins are notorious for their strong sense of smell, so it makes sense.”

You both lapse into comfortable silence as you come closer to the Hearing Hall. It’s strange just how comfortable you are talking about just random stuff with this not-human. You have never been this comfortable talking to anyone before, not your parents, not Tkeera, not even Hekrii.

“It’s strange how comfortable this conversation is,” Herobrine remarks, and you startle. How did he guess what you were thinking? Your panic deflates when you see he’s not even looking at you. Some coincidence, “I always struggled in social settings when I was younger…”

“Me too…” you add quietly. You thought you were the only one…

“Really?” He looks genuinely surprised, “I would’ve thought you would be the center of attention most of the time, since you have such amazing abilities and all.”

You sigh, “Well, I didn’t know about my abilities until I was twelve. Up until then, I was just an unnaturally short Endergirl with weird red eyes. An embarrassment. A mistake. Even after I discovered my powers, I was still a freak. Even now that I’m the Keeper, I still feel like I am not enough…”

You furrow your brows as you share your insecurities with this near stranger, who isn’t even an Enderman, who you have no reason to trust. You confuse yourself. You usually keep your personal feelings buried deep within you, bottled up so that they don’t interfere with your duties, but it’s just spilling out, erupting from within you almost without your consent.

Herobrine looks stunned by your sudden revealing honesty, “I… I understand…” He swallows, “I always struggled… with… still struggle with… with feeling like… like I don’t belong…” He suddenly looks like he’s going to have a panic attack, his eyes wide and his breaths coming out in short gasps. He abruptly stops in the middle of the hall.

You observe his odd symptoms with growing concern, not for the first time questioning his mental stability. You want to calm him somehow, before he goes off the deep end, but your not sure how to do it. You begin to panic as well.

Unable to think of anything else, you reflexively reach your hand out and lay it on his shoulder. His shuddering freezes, and his head snaps in your direction, staring at you with wide eyes. His gaze drops to his own shoulder, to your thin-fingered black hand, bathed in the warm light of the glowstone in the ceiling.

Seconds of complete silence tick by.

You clear your throat awkwardly, “We should probably get back to the Hearing Hall.”

He jolts, blinking repeatedly until the dumbfounded glaze fades from his features. “Yes.” He agrees, but doesn’t move, his eyes flashing from your face to your hand.

Wait, now what are you supposed to do?! Anxiety grips you as you are faced with a terrible decision. Do you take your hand off his shoulder? Would that be rude? Do you leave it there? How do you continue walking then? What are you supposed to do?! Your chest begins glowing bright red.

You shakily, awkwardly pull your hand off of his shoulder, and tug your white hood up, covering your hair, hiding your features, and hopefully making all your anxiety and embarrassment disappear. Nothing could hide your glow though.

You resume your journey to the Hearings Hall, just one more turn and you could leave and disappear and hide in a dark corner until you collect yourself…

Herobrine glances at you and then at his feet, “Thanks,” he says simply, at a loss for any other words.

“You’re welcome,” you mumble, and then you're finally standing in front of the small back door to the Hearing Hall.

“See you later Spitfire.” He breaks out his sharp-toothed grin as he pushes open the door, giving you one last look before disappearing inside.

As the stone door clunks shut, you realize your chest is glowing even brighter.

You shake your head, and decide to forget everything that just happened in favor of losing yourself in your own mind. You also decide to explore the Great Hall a little more. Great Hall, Hearing Hall, and all these maze-like hallways connecting everything. Piglins must really like halls.

You wander down one that you're fairly sure you haven’t been down before, peeking in any unlocked doors that pique your interest. Technically you're not snooping. Technically you have permission to go wherever you want here. And you are using it to your full advantage.

As you follow the snaking hall down another winding turn, something new catches your eye. A double door. Other than the Hearing Hall main entrance, all the doors you have seen so far are single doors. Which, by deduction, means there must be something important in there.

You push on the doors, but they don’t budge. You put your full force into them, but they only inch inward a little. Well, they’re not locked. They’re just ridiculously heavy. Since there not locked, it won’t hurt if you-

-vworp!

You teleport inside, and are startled by the sight that greets you.

An open Nether portal bathing the high-ceilinged room in shifting purple light…

…an open Nether portal?

Piglins can’t even go to the Overworld, and they certainly wouldn’t just leave a gateway open to their main fortress. So that means…

Herobrine.

You don’t know why, but you suddenly feel deeply betrayed. He just said he had no interest in going to the Overworld. He lied to you. But why did it bother you so much? Why had you trusted him to begin with?

You push your confusing emotions aside, and decide to focus on your next course of action. Do you leave and go confront Herobrine? Or do you enter the portal? What was he doing on the other side? Is it something important like you have been feeling for the last several days?

You decide it’s the best course of action to go through and see for yourself what is going on. With a tight sense of foreboding knotting in your stomach, you step through the swirling purple vortex and disappear from this reality and morph into another.

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Herobrine leaned his head onto his arm, supporting his cheek with his fist as he slumped on the golden throne which he was forced to sit in for hours at a time. This had to be the most uncomfortable and boring thing possible. He had just settled another territory border disagreement, and was waiting for Poggo to bring in the next round.

‘GET UP FOOL!’ the Whispers suddenly screamed into his thoughts, rattling his brain and shocking him into sitting bolt upright.

Herobrine clutched his head as a ringing headache pounded inside his skull. “NETHER! What is it?!?!”

‘THE ENDERMAN JUST WENT THROUGH THE PORTAL!!!!’

“What?!?! How the Nether do you know that?”

‘IT DOESN’T MATTER! SHE COULD RUIN OUR PLANS YOU IDIOT! GO GO GO GO!!!’

“Alright! Alright!” Herobrine found himself shouting out loud. He jumped from the throne and began sprinting towards the portal room.

How was he going to get himself out of this one?

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The moment that you materialize in the Overworld, you feel something plink onto your head. You freeze and shudder as the water droplet slides down your waterproof hood. Thank goodness you put it up, otherwise you would of had a big acid blister on your head right now.

You’re surroundings are grey and uncomfortably damp. Water puddles on the floor and drips from the ceiling, making you duly thankful that you are wearing your waterproof boots. You cautiously step out, observing your surroundings. You cough as the humid air causes your throat to burn slightly. You use the edge of your cloak to cover your mouth as you breathe.

You already don’t like the Overworld.

You look to the left and right. The cave goes on almost endlessly straight in both directions, too straight to be natural. It must be an ancient Piglin bunker.

You’re at a loss for where to go from here… You kind of just expected to come out and the evidence be right in front of your face. Guess you’re going to have to look for it.

Without any particular reason, you start walking towards the right of the long cave, carefully avoiding stepping in puddles despite your waterproof boots. Drip, drip, drip. The ugly noise makes you shiver and puts your nerves on edge.

After a minute of walking down the gentle downward sloping hall, you come to a dead end… Wait, not a dead end, a large chiseled stone door at the end of the hall…

You aren’t sure what to do. The door glistens from the amount of water trickling down it, and you aren’t wearing your gloves. So you can’t push it open. It would probably be too heavy anyways.

That leaves you with only one option if you want to go in.

Teleporting.

The problem with that is that you have no idea what’s inside. It could be a huge underground lake, and you might teleport right into the middle of it! You shudder at the thought of burning in water. Even if you got out quickly, the painful welting blisters would last for days and might permanently scar you.

But you don’t really have a choice do you? You need to see what’s inside.

So you take a deep breath in through the material of your cloak, and pop inside.

Thank the Void! Your feet land on solid ground, damp but solid. You let your breath out. This cavern is massive! Ceilings stretching so high you can barely see the top in the darkness. Your night vision isn’t all that amazing. The walls expand in every direction, rough and uneven, with many new tunnels leading off the sides. This is a natural cavern.

And it’s filled with…Withered.

Your eyes widen as you gaze at row upon row upon row of the black, white-eyed humanoids. There must be hundreds! No thousands!

You’ve never seen the Withered that hang around Herobrine’s room do anything notable, but you do know that they are fully controlled by him. They will do anything he tells them too. And in these kinds of numbers…

Your entire body goes numb as you realize the implications.

This is an army.

You're staring at the beginnings of a IV Interdimensional War!

Suddenly, you hear footsteps pounding and splashing behind you, echoing from the other side of the door. You spin around just in time to see Herobrine fling open the heavy ancient door as if it is made of paper. Panting heavily, he looks at you with wide, almost guilty eyes as you discover one of his many secrets.

“Please…let me…explain…” he pleads while gasping for breath.

Bitterness wells up in you. He broke your trust, something you never should have given him in the first place, but still. “I don’t need an explanation,” you reply coldly. You begin to walk past him, planning to immediately go to the Council.

“Please! Just give me a chance!” He begs throwing a hand onto your thin shoulder.

You freeze and look at his hand in shock, he stares at you with an equal amount of surprise. Suddenly you're reminded of your conversation just a few minutes ago, as well as the many that took place before that. Against your better judgment, you decide to hear him out.

“Alright, explain,” you nod.

“Thank you,” he sighs in relief, “First of all, today’s the day you meet with the Council, right?”

You nod again.

“And you were just about to go tell them about all this, so that they could stop me, right?”

Your brows furrow. He’s right. You had almost forgotten that you had literally announced yourself as a spy. That in itself would be a decent reason to keep his plans secret from you. How have you forgotten such an important detail?

“Yes,” you admit, “I think I see where you’re coming from a little, but I still...”

“I’ll explain,” he eagerly adds, “As you well know, I am not fond of humans. In fact, I hate them! They are vile, savage, and backstabbing traitors. All of them, even the ones you think you can trust…” Herobrine trails off, his gaze clouding over. He shakes his head to clear the memory resurfacing. “They are the reason I am the way I am.”

You nod in comprehension. Before, you might have questioned why super strength and all is such a bad thing, but you have witnessed first hand the pain he goes through when given a normally fatal injury. He can’t die to escape it, and living in the Nether, a place bent on killing anything remotely human, for five years… It must have been five years of constant torment. You unconsciously find yourself… pitying him.

“So this,” he resumes, motioning his free hand to the mass of mind-controlled humanoids before you, and then plants it on your other shoulder, “is my way of getting pay back. I want them gone! All of them!” His voice rises with sudden ferocity. He blinks rapidly and takes a deep breath.

“I think I am beginning to understand…” you say as the pieces fit together in your mind.

“And also,” Herobrine adds on, “from what I’ve heard from you, Humans are also a menace to the Endermen, massacring and degrading them for something trivial and unnecessary. And just this morning one of the Hearings was about Humans repeatedly invading and killing Piglins in the Galton Sector for more unnecessary things from the Nether. Humans are the problem. A problem that I plan to solve.” Herobrine looks at you with a look of complete determination, quietly begging you to side with him.

Again, he has a point. There is not a single time in history where humans have kept their treaties with the Nether or the End. They are brutal bloody creatures who destroy their own kind for objects they consider worthy, not to mention other races. Endermen are originally from the Overworld, and now they are all afraid of the place because of the merciless humans out to kill and dissect you and then leave your body to rot.

You meet his eyes, and nod, “I understand, and while I will report to the Council, I will tell them everything you just told me. I doubt they will get involved.”

His face breaks into a sharp, wide smile, and the relief on his features is immeasurable. He pulls you into a hug, “Thank you!”

You freeze for a moment, shocked by this gesture of gratitude, but eventually melt and pat his back rather awkwardly. His body temperature is much warmer than the air in the cave…

He pulls away, and looks at you with new excitement. “There’s something I’ve been dying to show someone, and since you're already here… Come on!”

He waves for you to follow, and then hops off like a giddy child. You find yourself smiling and shaking your head as you follow him with a bit more caution due to the water. Your chest is glowing.

You wonder what it is…

You follow him down the opposite hall, which slopes upwards instead of down. You climb a staircase behind him, and come up at the opening of yet another natural cave. The humidity is less here, so you let the edge of your cloak, which you had been holding on your face up until this point, drop. Bright light pours in from the arching entrance. You’ve never seen light so bright and white before, except maybe Herobrine’s eyes…

Speaking of which, he stands waiting for you below the arch. You slowly walk and stand beside him…

And are awed by what you see.

Green! The only times you’ve ever seen true green before was on Hkeeri’s relics. Now it was laid out endlessly before you in so many different shades and textures that it was overwhelming. The open blue sky filled with shining white clouds domes above you. The huge yellow sun beams overhead, bathing you in golden warmth and light. It’s all so bright that you have to squint to take it all in.

You stare open-mouthed at the beauty of it all. No textbook could prepare you for this wonder.

Herobrine smiles at your awe, gazing out at the beautiful scene himself. This is the first time he’s been out during the day. He must admit that it is gorgeous.

“Do you like it?” he asks, suddenly very satisfied to have someone with him.

“Yes…” You answer softly, unable to look away from the vibrant, living forest of color and wonder beneath you. Just beyond this tall cliff face, a wonder in and of itself.

Resolve hardens on Herobrine’s features, “I’m going to make it safe for you and your kind, as it should be.”

You smile softly at his care, “Thank you.”

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The Capital. A place of bustling commerce and ancient significance as the first major human settlement. The wide, cobblestone streets were lined with stall after stall, many with food, others with traveling supplies, even more stocked with trinkets that visitors were sure to pay too much money for.

The streets themselves swelled with traffic as wagons laden with goods rolled through the middle. Horseback riders carrying important messages trod alongside them. Pedestrians either ignoring or buying wares from the yelling salesmen lined the sides, pushing and shoving each other to get to their varying destinations.

There was order in a sense.

And that order was shattered as a galloping horseman plowed through the regular traffic going full speed, knocking aside other riders and tipping over wagons filled with apples and other goods as he raged through the street. Screams and protests went up as he broke from the standard path dedicated for horses and wagons and began rampaging into the pedestrian lane.

All the while fixated on one target.

Those tall turrets of the castle that jutted out over the rest of the grandiose buildings surrounding it. In a few minutes he was there, leaving a furious crowd in his wake, but he hardly cared. His horse nearly collapsed as he slid off her sweating back and onto the marble path, her nostrils flared and her eyes bulged from exertion. He had run the poor creature nearly to death over the past week, but again it wasn’t his priority.

Hardly caring what happened to his horse or any of his stuff, he simply left her and his saddlebags on the path. He couldn’t afford delays, not when he was so close.

He stormed up the marble stairs to the gate, where the two guards eyed him suspiciously. They stretched out their swords to bar his entrance as he approached. He was a vagabond looking man, with unkempt hair and deeply soiled clothing. He looked like the type of man up to some mischief or another.

He met the guards’ hard stares with a cold, gray-green gaze. “I demand an audience with the King this instant.”

The guards narrowed their eyes, and one of them spoke out, “The King isn’t your servant who you can just summon at will, get lost.”

“I promise I mean no harm. See! I’m unarmed!” he showed the guards the inside of his cloak, desperation breaking through into his face and voice. “My business is urgent! The kingdom is in danger!”

“Yeah suuuuuuuuuuure,” The second guard rolled his eyes.

“You think we don’t hear the spill fifty times a day? Like I said, get lost.” The first guard restated, pointing his iron sword at the man for emphasis.

He looked down at his feet. Had he come all this way for nothing?! NO!! He was not giving up!

Tears began to fall from his eyes.

He jerked his head up at the sky and screamed out his frustration until his throat was hoarse. The guards jumped, staring at him as if he were mad. He turned his attention back to the guards and glared at them with blurry, teary eyes, his nostrils flaring as sobs shook him.

“Let me make this clear,” the man growled through his sore throat, “My wife and baby are DEAD!!!! My entire village is DEAD!!!! MY ENTIRE LIFE IS GONE!!!” He gasped for breath as he gazed at them with wide bulging eyes, his entire face twisting and churning with so many emotions.

Still the guards made no move to let him pass through.

His voice took on a whole new pitch as he continued, “I HAVE NOTHING LEFT!!!! IF I CANNOT SEE THE KING AND RAISE AN ARMY TO AVENGE MY FAMILY, THEN I DON’T WANT TO LIVE!!!!!! KILL ME!!!!” He screamed, running forward directly towards the first guard’s sword.

The guard jerked his sword out of the way and reached a hand out to stop the madman from plowing into him. “Whoa there! No need for that!”

But the man wasn’t listening, he was clawing at the guard’s armored arm, desperately reaching for the sword in his other hand, tears pouring down his face as his body wracked with sobs.

Abruptly a light, feminine voice interrupted the scene, “Excuse me sir, I believe I can help you.”

There, standing on the other side of the gem-studded iron gate, was an elegant red-haired woman in a flowing green dress, an iron and diamond crown gracing her neatly fixed curls, her soft, kind eyes the color of emeralds.

“Queen Alexia!” The second guard saluted, and the first nodded his salute, his hands too busy holding back the madman, who had now stopped struggling.

“I was walking in the garden when I heard your cry and your plea. I will take you to my husband. He is in a meeting with a few of his generals at the present time.” the Queen announced. “What is your name sir?”

“My name is Emmit Timbaer,” he answered softly, sobs still shaking his body.

The Queen nodded regally, “You,” she said, pointing to the first guard, “Accompany me in escorting Emmit. And you” she pointed to the second guard. “Tend to Emmit’s horse, and then send in two more guards to resume gate watch.

“Thank you,” Emmit cried, his voice cracking several times within the short phrase.

Weak from lack of rest and nourishment, Emmit leaned on the first guard who now helped him through the gates as the second guard opened them.

Finally, he had made it.

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King Steve rubbed his temples in deep thought, surrounded by Queen Alexia, High Commander Nilan, First General Cedrick, and Second General Lydia.

The story of Emmit Timbaer of Greenside troubled him deeply.

He huffed out a breath as he paced alongside the map table where they had just been discussing frequent robberies along the main highway. Now the King’s attention was fixated on the North border, where Greenside was left unmarked due to its tiny size.

“Do you suppose it’s the Necromancers?” Cedrick volunteered, breaking the silence of everyone’s deep concern.

“I expect it to be so,” Nilan nodded, “They have been inactive for nearly five years, I imagine that this is all part of an elaborate scheme of theirs.”

“It took Emmit almost a week to get here, how many other small towns do you think have been devastated?” Alexia asked, worry warping her beautiful freckled features.

“I don’t know, but if they are using these attacks as a way to build their undead army, we could be in deep trouble.” Steve answered, coming over to lay a comforting hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“Are we completely sure that Emmit’s story is true?” Lydia speculated.

“I have no doubt,” Steve replied, “Did you see the condition he was in? Starved and exhausted, and his horse too! I got a report saying she was barely alive.”

“I just hope he recovers. Did you see the empty look in his eyes when he was escorted out? I fear he won’t be strong enough to live.” Alex pointed out.

“Grief can do terrible things to a man,” Cedrick sighed.

“Back to the task at hand,” Nilan interjected, getting the discussion back on track. “How are we going to prevent another raid? The last one was devastating, we only barely pulled out on top.”

“We certainly aren’t going to just sit here and wait for it,” The King announced, standing up tall, thinking of how his father failed, “We are going to take the fight to them.”

“I agree!” Lydia grinned.

“But we have to be smart about it,” Cedrick added, “We need some of the army to remain here and defend the Capital.”

“Indeed,” The King pondered, rubbing his lightly bearded chin, “Nilan, prepare half the troops, you and I will head out tomorrow afternoon. Lydia, Cedrick, you will stay here and defend the Capital and the Queen and Princess.” He leaned over and gently kissed Alex’s cheek.

“I fear we might have a war on our hands.”

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………

Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!

I’m super anxious to write the battle scene! First though, I need to write another chapter on Y/N, so that’s what’s coming up next!

Also! My book of WWC Extras was just published! Go check out the first chapter on my profile or use the link below! It describes the personalities of almost all the characters so far, as well as how I use personality types to improve the consistency of this book!

https://www.wattpad.com/story/357048999?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=edgyphaze4everr&wp_originator=lRoMfiZobFvVTtGM%2Fmmp%2FQWotRXGmcgwTxzCGDQ1lRN8yJlUpzpkHsBNmwEaPcH3LxYES6dIpQ94WWhSIBtKSsi4tMJ5bYKhifTsx%2BIoBARICg9bDisCConxBfVzC9Xe

See you there!

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

Greetings Edgelings!

This chapter gets pretty emotional, not in a violent way, but in you know... a sad way.

That's all I'm gonna say, you'll have to read it for more!

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You let out a sigh, along with all of the tension you have been holding back, as you exit the Main Chamber where you have just finished meeting with the Council. Just as you predicted, they do not intend on interfering with the affairs of the Nether, as long as the Endermen there or in the Overworld are not involved. If nothing that takes place affects Endermen, then the Endermen will keep to themselves and let whatever happens happen.

You decide that the first thing you're going to do is go see your friend Tkeera, you have missed her company since graduating from her tutoring sessions. You walk to the edge of the Council Island, where one of the largest relay stations in the End is located. You stare up at the twinkling, endless void and take a deep breath of the clear, open air that not even the Overworld could compare to. A small smile lights your face. It’s good to be home.

You had taken your heavy boots off and left them in the portal room. Now the cold smooth endstone slides underneath your feet as you walk, soothing and gentle compared to the heat of the Nether. You reach out and let your thin fingertips brush the cool stone railing surrounding the relay station and dividing up the ares for the lines.

Today must be a slow day; there’s no one here. You step up onto the platform, where a pink-eyed relay worker leans on one of the railing posts. His downwards gaze snaps up and meets yours, and his eyes widen.

“Keeper!” he returns his gaze to the floor to show his respect, “Where to?”

“Dragon Grounds #23,” you reply, also dipping your head in acknowledgement.

You formally interlock your left arm with his right arm in the protocol you had memorized since childhood. With a vibrating zap, you appear at the next station, two islands away. You repeat this process, telling each relay worker your destination, eleven times before you arrive. It is a fairly short relay compared to going all the way back to your childhood home out in forty-six.

In the couple years since you graduated from her tutoring sessions, Tkeera has only become more successful. Having proved her improvisation skills and gentle demeanor in training an oddity like you, she became a considered candidate for the Dragon Guardian program. After going through many rigorous tests and many skeptical officials, she became accepted as a Nursery Supervisor. Being a member of the Dragon Guardians at the extremely young age of 25 is nearly unheard of. She has earned the respect of many honored Endermen, and you are proud to call her your friend and mentor.

As you approach the open-roofed endstone building in the center of the obsidian towers surrounding the island, you slow down and eye the skies. You’re hoping to catch a glimpse of…

There!

Soaring over a hundred blocks above, gliding on massive beating wings at least four times as long as you are tall, is a majestic and rare dragon. Her shiny, smooth black scales reflect the vibrant purple light radiating from the End Crystals atop of each of the huge obsidian pillars. She cranes her long neck and looks down at you with her bright, cunning purple eyes. Recognizing that you aren’t a threat, she flaps her great wings, sending a gust of wind rushing down on you as she continues flying her rounds around the island.

Your short, dark gray hair whips around your face in the wind the magnificent creature left in her wake. You stare up at her huge, scaly bulk in awe, admiring the rippling of the muscles underneath her skin that show with each wingbeat. You hold up your hand and light a small ball of fire, feeling its warmth caressing your fingertips.

You look from the dragon to your fire and take a minute to realize just how wonderful your gift is. You share the same magic that gives this beautiful beast her fiery power and healing magic! You smile and think of Hkeriih. He was right! Your differences make you special, they make you important, they make you worthy. Warmth lights within you as your chest begins to glow. You’re going to go visit him after you talk with Tkeera.

You close your hand into a fist, and the fireball extinguishes. You once again begin walking towards the large building in the center. There are no guards waiting for you outside, but the large stone door is locked, as usual. You could just teleport inside, but it’s more polite to-

-Tap! Tap! Tap!

You gently knock on the door with your knuckles, and wait in the pleasant silence for an answer. After a minute, a purple eyed Enderman in a thin, long black coat opens the door. He looks down at you inquisitively.

“What is your business here, Keeper?” he dips his head in respect.

“Nothing formal,” you reply, returning the gesture, “I am here to visit Guardian Tkeera, the Nursery Supervisor.”

“I see,” he smiles, clearly relieved that you aren’t here on important business. He doesn’t question why you want to see Tkeera, your connection is well known. “Come right this way. She is currently with the new hatchlings.” He motions for you to follow him inside.

You come into the large, open-ceiling foyer leading out to the different rooms of the building. Unlike Piglins, Endermen have a tendency to avoid long, narrow halls in their architectural designs. Also unlike Piglins, Endermen actually mark which doors lead to which rooms, and you follow your guide through the door labeled ‘Hatchery’ on the sign above it.
The room is bigger than you expect it to be, even bigger than the foyer area. The walls are lined with various labeled chests, tables, and tools that you don’t recognize. In the center is an enormous obsidian pedestal, easily five times your height, surrounded by an obsidian ring.

The Dragon’s Perch.

Just beneath the perch, you see Tkeera and one other Guardian, both wearing the same black coats as the Enderman who escorted you in. The second Guardian is carefully collecting the purple-flecked black eggshells that are scattered beneath. Tkeera is carefully examining two small black forms.

Dragon hatchlings!

They are so tiny! Only a mere fraction of the size of the adult you saw outside, barely the size of her head if you include their long, sleek tails. Tkeera is currently wiping them off, they must have just been born before you arrived.

“Be careful around them: they startle easily. If the mother comes in, just follow the other Guardians and clear the way for her.” Your guide intructs you, and you nod in understanding. He turns and leaves out the door from which you came.

As you slowly, cautiously approach the newborn hatchlings, one of them turns their head and looks at you with bright, curious purple eyes. It is a boy, his stubby little grey horns peeking out from the blanket of black scales covering his head. You’re instantly captivated by his tiny, but already magnificent little face, each scale overlapping the next in a perfectly placed pattern that both protects him and makes him gorgeous. He will be a mighty behemoth one day.

Tkeera turns her head from where she kneels by the hatchlings to see what has caught the little guy’s attention. Her already wide smile grows wider when she sees you. “Hey Y/N! Would you look at these gorgeous little babies? Two healthy eggs! And two colts no less!”

“That’s amazing!” You smile back, craning you neck to see the second. He looks back at you, slightly smaller than his brother, but retaining that same, charming face. Stallions are much rarer than the mares, and a brood of two, both of which hatch healthy, is almost unheard of.

“I think we are finally starting to see recovery! These two will be essential for our research.” Tkeera explains excitedly, gently wiping off the smallest one’s back, the white cloth catching on the spiky grey scales sticking up from his spine. “How’s the Nether been? Rumors have been flying about the human ruling the Nether! Have the Piglins overthrown it yet? Surely they won’t stand such idiocy for long.”

Your brows furrow, for some reason her words make you feel offended. You quickly hide it from you face, resuming your smile. “No, the Nether Lord has not been overthrown. Also, he is not a human, only his appearance suggests such. From my time there, I have found him to be a decent ruler, certainly no worse than the Piglins themselves.”

Tkeera looks up at you inquisitively, “Well if he’s not human, what is he?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out over the past week, but I haven’t made very much progress. I have however discovered something even more important. I’ve already reported to the Council, so I’m sure soon everyone will know, but I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Yes?”

“He’s planning to wage war against the humans.”

Tkeera actually jumped up to her feet, startling a squeak out of the little colt she was rubbing. “WHAT!?!? A IV Interdimensional War?!?! But what about the Piglins?!?! They can’t go to the Overworld!”

“He isn’t using the Piglins to be his soldiers. He has his own personal army made of beings he calls Withered. Besides, it’s not that big of a deal, the End isn’t even getting involved. The Council themselves said so.”

“Not that big of a deal?!?! Do you have any idea the devastation war causes?!?!”

“It’s only humans Tkeera. You’re really overracting. It would be beneficial if they were devastated.”

“Not all humans are bad Y/N…” Tkeera pauses as she drifts into thought, “Wait, are you defending the Nether Lord?”

Your eyes widen, “No! I’m only stating the obvious facts.”

Tkeera raises an eyebrow, “So what are these Withered you mentioned?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Where do they come from?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Sounds like there’s a lot of mysterious coincidences going on here.”

“Indeed, but I’m getting closer, I’m sure I’ll have at least some of them solved by next week…”

“Wait, you’re going back?”

“Yes, I’m going back to monitor the war’s progress and insure that no Endermen are caught up in the conflict.”

The larger colt finally finds the courage to wander away from Tkeera, and wobbles over on shaky new legs to sniff your foot, his delicate webbed wings tucked to his side. You smile down at the precious young thing as his warm breath caresses your night-black skin.

Tkeera sighs, “I’m just worried about you. I know that there is no one more competent than you to be Keeper, but I am just concerned about the war in general.” She steps over and pulls you into a hug, leaning down slightly because of the height difference. “Please be careful.”

You squeeze her back, absorbing the comfort and encouragement in her embrace. “I will. I shouldn’t actually be in the war. I will remain stationed in the Nether.”

Tkeera pulls away and smiles, “Good,” A look of sudden revelation flashes across her face, “Oh! I meant to tell you. You should probably go visit Hkeriih…”

Worry bubbles up within you, “Any specific reason?”

“Yes actually, he… isn’t doing so well. His time here is drawing to a close.” Tkeera explains, dropping her head as she talks. She doesn’t know Hkeriih well, but she knows that you do.

Your stomach clenches and your heart skips a beat, your eyes widen and your knees feel weak. No, no not Hkeriih. You have known for some time now that his health is degrading, but you still never expected… never expected it to be now.

Tkeera pats your shoulder, and suddenly you feel like a child again, your massively tall friend unknowingly condescending you. “I’m sorry, I know he means a lot to you.”

As if sensing your emotions, the bigger colt below you rubs his side against your leg and lays his little claw upon the top of your foot, making a low rumbling sound in the back of his throat as he looks up at you with empathetic eyes. You flash a tiny grin at the colt, appreciative of his and Tkeera’s comfort. You kneel down at rub the area of his head between his horns.

“Thank you for telling me…” you whisper, your trembling voice failing to rise any louder. Suddenly, the air around you begins to shift, and in a split second strong gusts of wind blast into you. You stand and look up at the open roof.

The adult Enderdragon, the mother, is swooping to her perch.

Tkeera grabs your hand, and quickly drags you to the side of the room to give her space. Your eyes are once again glued to the beautiful creature, unable to look away. Instead of remaining in flight and hovering above the perch, she makes a tight circle around the perch before gently landing on the ground beside her colts.

She leans her massive head down and sniffs them both, nearly knocking them down with the mere force of her breath. Satisfied that they are fine, she spreads her massive wings once again and leaps into the air. Suddenly you understand why this room has to be so big.

As she disappears from view, you turn to Tkeera once more. She is staring fixated on the colts, her charges, her responsibility. After the humans began the Dragon Hunts, they nearly drove the species to extinction, which is what makes these colts so important. It is the Guardians job to monitor and protect them.

Still shaken from the news of Hkeriih, you abruptly tackle Tkeera in a tight hug, squeezing her waist, since that was the highest you could reach. She leans down and wraps her arms around you. “It’s going to be ok, Y/N. You can always come here if you need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you,” You mumble, glad to know there is someone you can always go to if you need something.

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Your knees feel weaker and weaker as you approach Hkeriih’s room. His ship feels barren and empty without him there with you. A layer of dust covers everything. It already feels abandoned.

Your heart drops remembering when he used to come out and teleport you up here when you were younger. The way he listened to you and gave you advice without judging you. The way his already wrinkled face crinkled up even more when he laughed. His kind smile, his wise eyes, his uncanny understanding of your problems.

Your whole body shakes as you take a deep breath before knocking on the door.

Tap, tap, tap.

Your knocking is as weak as you feel.

“Who is it?” Comes the weak, croaking reply from within.

“It’s Y/N,” You answer, your voice catching in your throat.

“Come in.”

Your hand fumbles with the knob for a moment before you are finally able to turn it. You push is open slowly, scared of what you might see.

Your heart breaks at the sight.

Hekriih lays limply on his wool pallet covered by a light blue blanket, his chest rising and falling jerkily, struggling for each breath. He lifts his head slightly to look at you, and a small smile lights his pained face, before he drops it back onto the pillow, too weak to hold it up any longer.

“Welcome Keeper Y/N,” he coughs, “I’m very glad to see you.”

You walk over to his bedside slowly, legs trembling the whole way. You feel the air being choked out of you just at the sight of his pained, weakened state. You feel it too, and it hurts more than you could ever imagine.

“Hkeriih…” you whisper breathlessly, unable to find any other words.

He looks up at you with dull, cloudy pink eyes, the wrinkles on his gaunt face now deep ravines, exaggerated by his gentle smile. “Do not be so distressed. Death comes for all of us, and I am content with it. It has given me a long life, and for that I am grateful.”

His voice, so broken and quiet, only makes you break further, until you can’t hold it together any longer. You collapse to your knees at his side and begin heaving dry sobs, for Endermen are incapable of tears. He reaches a thin, fragile hand over and lays it upon you head, paternally smoothing your hair.

“Shhh, dear, it is ok,” he comforts, stroking your head rhythmically until your violent shaking finally subsides. “Tell me Keeper, how you have been. I do not want you to focus on my departure any longer.”

You take a deep, trembling breath, attempting to regain yourself enough to speak. “I have… been in the Nether… monitoring the new ruler…”

“Yes, and how has it been so far? Do you like the Nether?”

“It is… different… I like it here better… I thought… he was fine… but then…” you pause hitching on your breath, unsure whether to tell this dying veteran that another war was on the way.

“Then what, my dear? You seem troubled.”

“Then I… discovered he’s… building an army… against the humans…” you admit, spilling all your troubles and worries out to him, just like you did when you were younger.

Hkeriih stills at this, staring up at the ceiling for a minute, and you are terrified that you have ruined his contentment with this news. You shouldn’t have said anything!

But then his smile returns, “While I am sorry for this news, especially knowing that you will be involved, I am glad to know.” You breath a sigh of relief, and Hkeriih looks directly at you once more. “I am proud of you, I knew you were special, and you have proven me correct. I know that you will be able to handle this challenge, but there is something more I would like to share with you.”

“Yes?”

“Never give up yourself. War is violent. Battle is bloody. You are so pure. No matter what you see or hear, do not let it change you. Let no one and nothing change you, for you are exactly who you are meant to be, and I love you like my own granddaughter.”

Emotion chokes you, and you once again begin to shake and sob, “I will… I mean… I won’t… I mean… I love you too!”

He chuckles kindly, “You will do great things, Y/N. I know it. Never stop believing in yourself.” His hand’s rhythmic stroking becomes weak and irregular as you kneel by his side, enjoying his company one last time. Finally, his arm drops onto the pallet beside him, and his breathing becomes shallower and shallower. You reach out and entwine your fingers with his long, fragile ones.

With one final breath he says, “We shall meet again Y/N. Until then, farewell.”

As you give one final cry of sorrow, Hkeriih’s spirit passes from this life into the next.

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Morning had come. The dawn of a new day, the dawn of a new chapter. King Steve exited his bedchamber, having finished saying his goodbyes to his Queen Alexia and his month-old daughter Reigna. Tears welled up as he realized he may not see them again for a year or more. Hopefully it wouldn’t be that long, but there was no telling how long it would take to defeat the Necromancers, especially if their undead armies were as large as he feared they were.

Now he must go out and greet the troops. They were scheduled to march in only a couple hours, and there was still much to do. One night was a terribly short time to prepare an army, but they had no time to waste.

The high arched ceilings rose elegantly above Steve, supported by ancient dark oak beams. The walls themselves were built of strong, intricately carved stone, with wooden support pillars at even intervals all the way down the hall. Between each pillar were little nitches for the lanterns that hung from the walls and ceiling to light the massive space. This castle was hundreds of years old, said to be built in the time of the first Notch.

Further down the hall, a figure immerged from one of the many heavy solid oak doors lining the hall. Not a servant, judging from his non-uniform attire. His freshly washed green tunic swayed at his knees, he wore black cargo pants and a brown shirt beneath the open-front tunic. His heavy boots clunked on the wood plank floors as he stepped further into the hall, looking from side to side in a lost manner, unsure of where to go.

Emmet Timbaer, Steve realized.

He had gotten reports that the man refused to eat and simply laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, not responding to anyones attempts to speak to him. Wonder what he’s doing out here.

Emmet’s stormy green eyes lit up when he saw the King, an eager smile lighting his gaunt face, thin from near starvation. Steve smiled back rather nervously. He was happy to see Emmet smile, but the look on his face made Steve cautious.

“Your majesty!” Emmet quickly bowed before him before springing back onto his feet. At least he was more energetic than he was yesterday.

“Yes Emmet?” Steve asked.

“I’m coming with you!” he declared, a strange hunger in his eyes. So that’s what this was all about.

“Emmet, I appreciate your offer, but I must beseech that you remain here. I do not mean to offend, but you are not a trained soldier, and we are heading for war.”

“I won’t be a burden!” Emmet quickly retaliated, “I was a part-time guard for my village! I have fought undead before! I’m good with an ax!”

Steve smiled a melancholy smile, “I’m sorry Emmet, but this is a very serious mission. We can not afford you getting hurt. Perhaps you could stay here and train. You could defend the castle…”

“NO!” Emmet said with sudden ferocity, “You don’t understand! I must avenge my family!”

Steve blinked repetitively and sighed. He was not used to such blatant disobedience of his orders, but he would excuse Emmet, for his grief was great. “It is simply too risky for you, Emmet.”

Emmet fell to his knees, gripping Steve’s expensive cloak desperately, tears beginning to fall down his face. “You don’t understand! I have nothing else left to live for! I don’t care how dangerous it is!”

Steve opened his mouth to reinforce his desicion, but then he looked into Emmet’s eyes. He saw a starving man begging for bread. A parched man begging for water. A broken man begging for justice. A falling man begging for a hand to pull him up. He saw in them a dying man begging for life.

And it was then that Steve realized he could not deny it to him.

“Alright,” Steve sighed, feeling the weight of being responsible for yet another life fall upon his shoulders, “You may accompany the army. You can serve as a scout, but you will not be in the actual battle. Also, you really must eat, you'll need-”

Emmet seemed to ignore everything after ‘Alright’, and instantly jumped to his feet. He pulled Steve into a bear hug and wept into his shoulder. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” he cried.

Shell shocked, Steve chuckled and patted his back, nearly choked in the force of Emmet’s appreciation.

Finally, Steve pulled himself away, smiling widely at Emmet, feeling deep within himself that he had made the right choice. Steve once again started down the hall to meet Nilan and the army, Emmet following closely behind. “Come now. We march out in two hours.”

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The next chapter is going to be the very first battle scene and I am absolutely hyped!!!!

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

What's up Edgelings?!?!

I'm not gonna lie, this might be my favorite chapter to write so far! I've literally been looking forward to it since before I wrote the first one!

Hope you enjoy!

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Steve rubbed his eyes, weary from the three long weeks of travel. He tried to look on the bright side, remembering that they were coming close to the North border. Somehow, knowing that he was approaching the battlefield didn't do much to cheer Steve up. Suspense and fatigue hung in the air as thickly as the fog that was setting in for the quickly cooling evening.

The King heard a slight difference in the monotonous stomping of horse hooves, and glanced to his left to see Commander Nilan approaching on his gray dappled steed. Steve tugged on the reins of his own palomino mount to narrow the gap between them as Nilan guided his horse flank-to-flank beside him.

"What's the report?" Steve asked, both tense and melancholy, making sure to keep a steady pace, since he was the first of the long procession of the army.

Nilan sighed, "The usual. The farther north we go, the narrower the road gets, forcing us to spread our forces thinner and make us more vulnerable. Supplies are still fine, but in a couple weeks we will have to start rationing if we don't restock. Winter is coming, which only makes the conditions worse as we head north, further lowering the morale of the troops. The horses are going to get thin when the grass starts to dry, and the foot soldiers and archers are going to complain when they have to share rations with the calvary mounts. I suggest we send back a courier requesting supplies now, so that they will be here before we have to cut rations."

Steve sighed along with him, "Very well, we haven't even reached the battlefield yet and already we are beginning to suffer."

Nilan looked at him with an incredulous gaze, "Your majesty, if I may be so bold, your mood is not helping to boost the troops morale."

Steve's expression turned even more sour as he replied, "I-" but then he cut himself off, and took a deep breath, letting his tense shoulders slump, "I am sorry. I'm having a hard time coping. I have been on the throne for three years, and already we are at war. By the time we reach the Necromancers, it will be a month since Emmet discovered his village destroyed. A month! Who knows how much damage they have done in that amount of time? How many lives have they taken? Already... I have failed." Steve vented to his childhood friend, who listened patiently.

"You must stop blaming yourself, your Highness. You and I know full well that you haven't failed. You summoned the army and marched out as soon as you possibly could. And just look at yourself! I doubt any king in history has made himself so sick with worry for the well-being of his people. Though I must plead that you allow yourself to rest, the stress is draining you. You must be prepared to fight!" Nilan implored.

Steve nodded, contemplating Nilan's words. His stern face broke into a small smile, "Thank you Nilan. You are a good friend. I am glad you are with me."

A young foot soldier in light armor suddenly appeared on the path ahead of them, and fell into step beside Steve's stallion. He saluted the King with a sharp movement and reported, "We are approaching the settlement of Grailden, my liege. We should arrive within an hour."

"Thank you, scout," Steve nodded his head in comprehension, once again resuming his serious air, "What size is the town, and in what condition?"

"I would estimate it to have around two hundred occupants, so a fairly large village for this far north. It is surrounded by a sturdy stone wall. I did not enter, so I am unsure of the condition or hospitality of the locals." The scout reported, tossing his light blond hair out of his face and a gentle wind blew it from where it was tucked into his helmet.

"Thank you for your service. Fetch the scout known as Emmet Timbaer, for he knows more about this area than most of us." Steve commanded, and the blue-eyed guard saluted once more before hurrying between the ranks of calvary to fulfill his mission.

After a few minutes of silence, other than the clopping of the horses' hooves, Emmet emerged from the ranks. He wore the standard issue iron armor, with the pickaxe and sword insignia emblazoned on his shield, but his clothing was not the standard issue white shirt and brown pants.

He still wore his original clothing, refusing to part with it when it was requested of him. The same was true for his old iron ax, which he refused to trade for any other weapon. It remained strapped on his back rather awkwardly with a leather sheath made for a bow.

"You summoned me, your Highness?" Emmet saluted.

"Yes, I just got a report that we are approaching Grailden. What do you know of the town and its people?" Steve asked, Nilan listening silently beside him.

"Grailden..." Emmet trailed off in thought, easily keeping up with the horses' pace with his long strides. Since joining the camp, his physical condition has improved dramatically. He was stronger than Steve had expected him to be. "It's a fairly large village, but I've only been once or twice with my father. He was a blacksmith and went annually to trade in his goods. From what I remember the people are good-natured and hospitable. They shouldn't cause any trouble, and they might even offer supplies."

"Good," Steve nodded, a smile of satisfaction spreading on his face, "Thank you for your help Emmet. You are excused to rejoin the rest of the scouts."

Emmet smiled back as he saluted, once again disappearing into the ranks.

"He is quite helpful isn't he?" Nilan commented.

"Indeed, I am glad that I agreed for him to come."

Several minutes of riding later, the spruce beams supporting the cobblestone walls of the town came into view, just as the scout predicted. Steve's smile widened. This was the first town they had happened upon in several days, and he was eager to greet the people and possibly replenish their supplies. As the sun sank lower in the sky, Steve reasoned that it would be best to set up camp here as well.

But as they approached the gate, both Steve and Nilan realized that something was wrong.

It was wide open, gaping like the stone jaws of a beast. and completely unguarded. At this time in the evening, there should at least be someone monitoring it.

"Tell the troops to set up camp in the clearing," Nilan commanded the high-ranking horseman behind him, pointing to a treeless area beside the town walls, "And send twelve of the calvary with us. We are going in to investigate."

While most of the troops branched off of the road and began setting up the torches that would ensure the camp's safety for the night. Steve, Nilan, and twelve other horsemen peeled away from the mass and headed into the open gate, dust billowing up from their horses' hooves on the dirt path that served as the main road.

"What the..." Nilan muttered under his breath as they entered the silent town. Not a single soul in sight. The doors of all the houses either busted down or hanging open like dozens of empty eyes all staring at the small band of armored horsemen. The whole place looked abandoned. Empty.

But one particular house caught Steve's eye.

Purplish black dried blood mopped the wooden stairs and front porch like an ugly coat of paint. Dread clenched inside Steve's stomach, sickening realization rushing in on him.

"Dismount," he commanded, his voice only slightly giving away his unsettled nerves. "Search all the houses for occupants, but I fear we are too late."

The soldiers all did as they were commanded in silence. Only moments ago they had been laughing and jesting with each other, but the almost haunted air of the town sent shivers down even the bravest warrior's spine. The horses were well trained not run off for at least a few minutes, so they were left where they stood in the streets as the soldiers headed in different directions to check for any signs of life.

Steve made a beeline for the house with the bloody porch, his richly embroidered teal cloak flapping in the light breeze. Nilan followed closely behind, his gold trimmed Commander's uniform doing much the same. The silence of this place was such a stark and unsettling contrast to the hubbub of the army. Even the wind felt airless.

At first, the inside of the house looked normal, if they just ignored the blood they had to step over to get in. The couches in the living room were all straight, the rugs in the foyer were all fresh and clean, the table in the dining room was fully intact. Nothing much looked amiss.

Except for the dried blood trail on the floor that is. Basically everything was fine until they looked down.

"What happened here?" Steve asked in futility, well knowing the answer. It just felt better to try and fill the silent void with the sound of his voice, yet even that was suppressed. The words came out in a mere whisper.

The two men followed the trail into the kitchen, wooden floorboards creaking eerily beneath them. Steve resisted to urge to spin around in terror when he thought he heard an extra set of footsteps. It was nothing. Just his imagination. Yes... that's all...

What was that awful smell?

And then they turned the corner, and stepped onto the crime scene.

Several different knives lay scattered on the floor. A chef knife, a couple steak knives, a pairing knife, even a few butter knives. All covered in dried blood. Broken glass from cups and bowls and plates littered the floor as well, glued down with sticky red adhesive. There were some spots on the tiled floor where the blood was puddled so thickly that it was still wet and sticky, even though it must be a day or two old. There wasn't a single clean spot on the kitchen floor it was all varying shades of black and purple and red. The colors of death.

And the overwhelming odor was horrendous. Steve gagged and struggled to keep his lunch down as the smell of rot and decay filled his nostrils.

Blood was splattered on the cabinets, on the furnace, in the sink, and even on the ceiling somehow. How did it get there? No! Steve didn't even want to think about it. He saw enough without making even more disturbing inferences. He was caught between horror and surreal disbelief in facts his eyes and nose were forcing into his brain.

Yet there was no body.

Unable to look at the hideous site any longer, else he vomit, Steve turned on his heels and began walking in the other direction.

Only to freeze mid step when he saw find four crooked, uneven words, written in blood on the wall across from the kitchen.

NO ESCAPE FROM ME

Tears sprung up in Steve's eyes as the reality and finality of this masacre fell upon him like an anvil from five stories high. The horror of it gripped his heart like the claw of a beast bent on ripping him to shreds. He was frozen and momentarily blinded by it, his instincts screaming at him to run. That the danger might still be near.

Suddenly his senses kicked into overdrive, and his wild blue eyes nervously scanned the room. He only saw Nilan, who was still staring at the kitchen. Steve couldn't see his face, but could imagine his tumultous expression as he struggled to grip this unforgiving reality.

Steve breathed deeply, squashing his fear deep within and using it to instead fuel his anger.

He would stop whoever did this.

"This..." A new voice choked from the doorway, "this is exactly... what it looked like..."

Steve whipped his head around, his short brown hair flying, and there he saw Emmet, staring at the scene with dull eyes and skin pale as bone. He must have gotten curious and followed them.

Steve had nothing to say, the trauma on Emmet's features told him enough. No meaningless words of comfort would come anywhere close to soothing the fresh, throbbing wound in this man's heart.

Nilan swallowed hard, forcing down his own nausea before speaking, "Let's leave this place."

Steve nodded, and began to make for the door, but Emmet didn't budge. He was glued to the spot, fixated on the horror as emotions and memories he had been holding back flooded him in a brain-numbing wave. Nilan laid a hand on his shoulder, and steered the nearly unresponsive man towards the door, not saying a word.

Once outside, they found the other soldiers already waiting by the horses, either staring hard at the ground or up at the sky, some shaking their heads slowly. No one made eye-contact with anyone else. No one spoke. Battle? Battle they could handle. Fighting willing soldiers; they had grown accustomed to that. But this? The complete annihilation of a town of two hundred innocents? This they were struggling to handle.

"We should take what we can find," Nilan finally broke the silence, hardening his face against his increasingly distressing emotions.

"You mean?..." Steve trailed off, eyeing his friend in disbelief, "Loot it? How could we?..."

"Their lives shall not be in vain. We should gather the resources they worked for, so we can avenge their deaths." Nilan explained, making eye-contact with every soldier, forcing them back into reality. He nodded to the King, "Your majesty, let me and my men deal with this. You should go back and check on the camp. Emmet... also needs to be seen about."

Steve looked at Emmet, silent tears trailing down his pale cheeks as fresh pain was reawakened in his heart. He nodded to Nilan as he wrapped an arm under Emmet's arm and around his shoulder opposite. Immediately the shorter man collapsed, leaning heavily on Steve, making him carry almost his entire weight. Steve didn't mind though. What was he, if not someone for his people to lean on in times of need?

"Do what you must," he tried to keep his voice blank as he spoke to Nilan. With that, he turned away and headed out to the camp. He understood the logic in what Nilan said, but something inside him was still screaming that this was wrong.

It would save them from having to replenish supplies for a while though. And would it really be better to let their provisions sit there and rot?

The sun had set, but the light of the torches made the camp as bright as day. Steve felt all of the guilt and sorrow within him harden into a knot of resolution as he passed through the rows of tents. This was his army. And with it, he would destroy whoever was doing this.

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In the darkness, a figure stood atop of a ledge jutting out from the sheer, jagged stone mountainside. His narrowed glowing eyes surveying the camp beneath him, bathed in warm torchlight.

So they were finally here.

A crooked, sharp-toothed smirk grew on his face.

Let the fun begin.

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Emmet slipped quietly through the narrow gaps between the great trunks of the towering spruce trees he knew so well, searching for anything he thought might be necessary to report back to the King. So far nothing, but at least the walk helped to clear his mind. Last night was rough.

The King suggested he stay back and rest, but Emmet insisted on being on the first round of scouts today, looking for any signs or trails the Necromancers might have left. Emmet didn't do well sitting and brooding on his emotions. He needed something else to take up his brain space.

It was fairly early in the morning, but the army was already on the move, a new fire of determination driving them to defeat this enemy. Though most had avoided entering the town, everyone had heard of the haunted emptiness of it.

Last night's fog still lay thick in the forest, like it always did at this time of year. Emmet was accustomed to the lower visibility, relying on his senses of hearing and smell to guide him. He knew this forest like the back of his hand, not a single natural noise or smell was unknown to him.

As he came out in a medium-sized clearing, he immediately recognized that something was off. His eyes scanned the meadow like a radar. There, in the center, was a lone figure, a dark silhouette outlined by the dawn line shining through the dense fog.

Emmet approached slowly, silently, cautiously, but as he grew closer, he realized that this wasn't a Necromancer. They wore no robes and no mask. Instead, as their features became more clear, Emmet realized that it was nothing more than a teenage boy with a mop of messy brown hair. His eyes remained shut as he stood completely still, his rising and falling chest his only sign of life.

He bore a striking resemblance to the King...

"Greetings, young man!" Emmet announced himself, expecting the boy to startle or at least open his eyes, but he still didn't move. Was he perhaps another survivor? Was he mourning the brutal death of his loved ones? Emmet immediately felt his heart go out to the boy, oh how well he knew that pain. "I am Emmet Timbaer! I hail from Greenside and have come with King Steve and his armies to avenge mine and the other fallen villages. Are you also a survivor of an attack? From where do you hail?"

Finally, the boy moved, his plain teal short-sleeve shirt flapping in the chilly breeze as he lifted his head, though his eyes remained shut. My, he was underdressed for this cold weather! Though he wasn't even shivering...

"So you are the snitch," The boy said in a low, unsettling voice, immediately putting Emmet on edge, "Greenside... Greenside... If I remember correctly, that was one of the very first villages... the first village." he murmured to himself, trying to remember all the little details.

Silence reigned for a solid minute as Emmet struggled to understand what he meant. Snitch? How was he a snitch? What did he mean by first? Was he from a family that travelled? What...

...and then it clicked.

The revelation of his words finally dawned on Emmet.

"You...?" his voice shook with emotion, but still he was too full of disbelief. How could this teen possibly...

The boy's mouth twitched into a tiny smirk, so he finally put it together? Took him long enough. Time to move things along.

He opened his eyes.

Two glowing white orbs stared back at Emmet from beneath those eyelids, boring into Emmet's very soul. Something was very wrong with this kid!

"Me." the boy stated simply, and a huge grin suddenly erupted on his face, as though he was unable to hold it back any longer. Razor-sharp canines glowed in the early morning light, stilling Emmet's heart and chilling him to the bone.

This was no ordinary kid.

This was a monster.

"YOU-" His voice trembled, but not with fear, with livid ANGER. Rage filled Emmet's senses until he was hyperventilating and seeing red. He suddenly forgot his mission, so consumed by rage he was. Emmet was barely holding himself back from attacking. "YOU KILLED MY WIFE AND BABY!?!?!?!"

The monstrous caricature of a kid cocked his head to the side slightly, rubbing his chin in contemplation. His vicious smile only grew wider as he said, "I do remember a certain infant from Greenside... He was," he paused, licking his lips for full effect as he looked Emmet right in the eye, "Deliciously sweet."

Emmet staggered backwards as though he had been punched in the gut, reeling at the implication of what the monster had just said. Blinding emotion took over every part of his being, and he drew his ax, finally able to take out his hatred on the source. With a loud battle cry, he charged, recklessly running forward at full force, swinging his ax at random.

The monster didn't even attempt to move out of the way. In one fluid movement, he swung a diamond pickaxe out of seemingly nowhere, and caught Emmet's ax in the hook of it.

Emmet stared at him in shock, then began yanking on the handle to rip his ax free, but the man kept it hooked in place effortlessly, "Tsk, tsk... Is that really the best you can do? Pathetic."

And with that final comment, the monster drew back his other fist.

Time slowed down for Emmet as he watched that fist come torpedoing towards him. It smashed into his chest, sending him flying through the foggy air. His back finally made contact with a solid object, abrupt and painfully ending his rocketing flight. He slammed into the tree trunk with and choking thud, his skull ricocheting forward from the force of the impact. His entire body slumped as he blacked out.

He might even be dead.

It hardly mattered.

The monster chuckled at Emmet's weak failure, tossing aside his dangling ax carelessly. He scanned the area for anything valuable that might have been lost in their little scrimmish. Laying on the damp grass was a dark shape, something Emmet must have dropped. The boy knelt and picked it up, examining it with a grin. It was a ram's horn, a way for the scout to call for the army in a time of emergency.

The pitiful man had forgotten his duties. Oh well...

The boy brought the horn to his lips and blew out one single blast, the tremendous noise reverberating off of all the nearby trees. Such a thunderous sound for such a tiny object to make! He smiled to himself as he crushed the horn in his fist, its single purpose fulfilled.

Now all there was to do was wait.

After several long minutes of silence, he was beginning to tire of standing completely still with his eyes shut. But his wait was soon rewarded when the scent of fresh human flesh reached his nostrils. It took all his will power to keep himself from drooling. So many of them...

Once again, a man approached him, and thanks to Emmet, he knew exactly who it would be.

"What...?" Came the breathless question. This time, he couldn't hold himself back for as long as he had with Emmet. He opened his eyes and stared into Steve's dark blue ones. Oh, how long it had been! Rich armor and the mighty crown revealed Steve's rank.

"So dear old dad kicked the bucket, ey?" The boy chuckled. "More than likely the bucket kicked him in the shape he was in. A shame really... I was looking forward to ending him myself."

For a moment there was no response. The boy waited as patiently as he possibly could, until finally...

"B-B-Brine?" Steve stuttered in disbelief.

"GAH!" Herobrine yelped, clutching his head as a sudden headache ripped through his skull at the sound of his old name. "THAT IS NOT MY NAME!" He screamed, all pretense of amusement gone. The pain awakened his bitter hatred and anger, ripened over several agonizing years of brewing.

"You're...alive..." Steve trembled. Pain, pain that he had finally locked away after five years flooded his senses afresh. He couldn't believe this. He truly couldn't...

"NO! No I'm not.. heh... HEH HEH!" Herobrine divulged into hysterical giggling. Behind Steve, Nilan and a small band of foot soldiers emerged from the forest. "I am not ALIVE.................. I am the ANGER... I am the HATE... I am the PAIN... I am HEROBRINE!!! AND YOU WILL REMEMBER MY NAME!!!!"

His bright white eyes shone through the fog like two piercing lasers, his face churning with so much bitterness and emotion it was difficult to judge whether he was laughing or sobbing.

Steve hesitantly stepped forward, approaching the one he had thought dead for so long, ignoring the countless warning bells going off in his mind. He didn't know what he was supposed to be feeling, but right now he was somewhere between confused and terrified. There was also a small spark of longing, a longing for something forgotten and buried deep within his memories.

"Brother... come back with us... we can talk about this..." Steve coaxed.

"Oh? So now you want to talk? You didn't say a SINGLE FREAKING WORD when I was thrown into the Nether, but now, NOW YOU WANT TO TALK?" Herobrine gasped for air as laughter consumed him.

As he laughed, he raised his enchanted diamond pickaxe from where it had been leaning on his leg. He began cutting across the gap between him and Steve with long, fast strides, stone cold rage and eagerness set on his chuckling face.

Steve looked from the pickaxe to the hatred on his little brother's face, and his eyes widened in fearful realization. He... he was trying to kill him... He... he... was the one who caused all this? Emmet's family... Grailden... all of them?

New emotions of guilt and betrayal flooded Steve, the guilt greatly outweighing the betrayal. This was all his fault...

Herobrine was almost upon him, yet Steve was frozen to the spot, overwhelmed and unable to move. Nilan instantly recognized the King's peril, and stepped in front of him to intercept the attacker. "Knights! Defend the King!" he commanded, his deep voice ringing loudly in the lonely fog.

In a single unified movement, over a dozen armored soldiers with iron swords instantly charged the seventeen year old boy, who was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and pants, and wielding nothing but a pickaxe. The battle looked as though it would be over quickly.

But of course, none of them could have been prepared for what happened next.

Herobrine smiled a vicious, gleeful smirk and he slammed his pickaxe into the first unlucky soldier's chest, his breastplate immediately shattering under the force of the inhuman strength. He fell with I dying groan, blood gushing as Herobrine yanked the pickaxe from deep within the soldier's chest.

At the same instant, three soldiers were charging him from behind. He swung his fist around in a circular swipe, knocking the first over, right into the second and third. They all tumbled in an unceremonious heap at Herobrine's feet. Without a second thought, he hefted his pickaxe up and brought it down on the pile with earth-shattering strength, skewering all three of them like meat on a kabob. Bones crunched and blood seeped into the damp ground beneath.

He jerked the pic out and rolled out of the way just in time as a sword swiped through the air where his midsection had been only moments before. Herobrine kicked out his leg and tripped the attacking soldier, and she fell flat on her back.

Herobrine sprung back up and brought his boot down on the fallen soldier's head, crushing her skull in a crunch and splatter of organs and fluid, her helmet doing no good as he only smashed through it as well.

It was only after this fifth death that the remaining soldiers realized exactly the kind of threat they were up against. They hesitated.

Suddenly, Steve himself charged through the ranks, swinging his diamond sword around with lethal force, aiming for Herobrine's neck. Herobrine effortlessly blocked the blow, using the curve of his pic once again to hook and rip the sword from the wielder's hands, sending it flying out of sight into the fog.

Steve stared in wide-eyed terror, completely defenseless and vulnerable. No one would be able to save him in time. In a split second, he accepted that this was the end, and tried to prepare himself for the killing swipe of that pickaxe.

"Oh Steve, I thought you wanted to talk~" Herobrine taunted, lashing out but with his boot instead of his blade and kicking the weaponless King in the stomach. Steve was sent tumbling to the ground, rolling uncontrollably, gritting his teeth at every little stone, stick or thorn that jabbed into him on his violent path. He finally stopped rolling, dizzy, disoriented, and in incredible pain, clutching his gut and seething. Several of his organs must be damaged...

The remaining solders jolted out of their dumb shock as their King fell. They roared and charged Herobrine, but it was all in vain. In only a couple lethal swings, the doomed band of faithful soldiers met their fate in much the same manner as their comrades. Surrounded by dead bodies and broken armor, Herobrine made his way over to where Steve was struggling to rise.

Just as the King managed to push himself to his knees, Herobrine kicked his side once more, sending him sprawling across the muddy ground. Again. He finally stopped roughly tumbling, and ended up on his back, staring up at the foggy sky, glaringly bright from the new light of the steadily rising sun.

Before Steve could try anything else, Herobrine gently brought his foot down onto the King's throat, pinning him down and restricting his air supply enough to weaken even further him. "It truly is pathetic how weak you humans are," Herobrine leered down at his brother with a nasty grin, "Just a tad more pressure, and I could quite literally squash you beneath my heel."

"So why don't you? Why kill the others and keep me alive? I know you could've killed me. I am the one who you are angry with." Steve rasped through the uncomfortable pressure on his throat. Guilt stabbing him as he thought of each of the soldiers who had just perished. It should've been him...

"What would be the fun in that? The others mean nothing to me. You on the other hand..." Herobrine's grin clasped shut in a tight sneer as his young voice deepened menacingly, "I want to make you suffer. Why should I let you taste the relief of death so early when it has been permanently denied to me? No... I want you to feel my pain. I will not forgive and I will not forget until I am satisfied that your life has become nothing but living torment."

"I will take everything from you, slowly and painfully as though slowly ripping your very heart out piece by piece. Though you will beg for death, I will not let you have it until every last piece lay bloody and splattered across the world for all to see. I will take EVERYTHING!!! You will regret that you were born..." The sharp-toothed smile grew once again on his eerie face, illuminated by the bright glow of his violent white eyes, making the glare of the fog seem dim.

True pure terror washed over Steve in an overriding tsunami as he took in every threat his brother made. His troops, his kingdom, Alex, Reigna, all of the people he was meant to protect were in grave danger, all because of Steve's past mistakes.

Abruptly, Steve's fear was interrupted when he glanced up and noticed a dark, shadowy figure appear behind Herobrine. Steve's eyes widened.

Sensing, or more accurately smelling the person behind him, Herobrine spun around with a snarl, barely blocking the ax as the newly awakened and vengeful Emmet hacked it down toward his head.

Now that the foot no longer pinned his throat to the ground, Steve wasted no time grabbing the iron sword of a nearby fallen soldier. Allowing his impulsive fight or flight instincts take over any thoughts or feeling that might get in the way. He aimed and stabbed the sword upward, piercing Herobrine right through the back of his chest. His brother howled in agony as the cold hard metal ripped through his flesh.

Steve slid his weapon back out, and watched in horror as the body of his long-lost brother fell limp before him. He stared at the blood on his weapon in nauseous disgust, a sense of both relief and yet more guilt overwhelmed him. He just killed his own brother... Or was it even him anymore?

Emmet panted heavily, clutching his chest where he had been punched, looking down at the corpse with a look of satisfaction. "My family is avenged." he stated simply, wearily.

"Are you injured?" Steve questioned, trying to distract himself from his own internal turmoil and also the external pain in his stomach region. The the way the young man held his chest worried Steve. Where had Emmet been this whole time?

"Nothing more than a nasty bruise... I think. And you, your Highness?"

"I am well enough." Steve let his face fall as tears began to surface on his lower eyelids. "But I don't know how I shall ever forgive myself."

"For what, my liege?" Emmet asked in confusion. Other than the death of a few willing soldiers, he saw nothing bad about this outcome. He didn't understand...

Before Steve could explain, Nilan burst from the dense treeline on the back of his hot-headed grey battle horse, followed by most of the calvary, as well as a large party of foot soldiers. "King Steve! Are you alright?! I returned as quickly as possible!"

"Do not fear Nilan. The enemy is defeated." Steve motioned to the remains of his brother, unable to turn and look at him himself.

Emmet, knowing his purpose was fulfilled, staggered into the tree line towards the camp to get some medical attention. He wouldn't admit it, but he was fairly certain that his chest was more than just bruised.

Nilan gave a passing glance at the receding scout, before turning his attention back to the King and his fallen soldiers. Nilan looked that one particular dead body, then back at the distressed King. He gave Steve a single nod of comfort from atop his horse. Nilan understood. At least somewhat.

Just as Steve was about to command the troops retrieve the bodies for burial and march out, he heard a strange gurgling noise slowly growing louder, coming from behind him.

It took him a moment to register what it could possibly be...

Then it hit him.

...laughter.

Steve whipped around in disbelief, only to see Herobrine slowly rising to his feet, the wound in his back still pouring blood, as well as his mouth as it bubbled up from his torn lung.

"Really Steve?" He gurgled through his laughter as his own blood dripped from his chin and nose. "You really thought that after FIVE FREAKING YEARS IN THE NETHER that I would die so easily? I would have thought you of all people would have figured it out by now... You can't kill someone... WHO'S ALREADY DEAD!!!!!" He screamed and then divulged once again into sadistic laughter.

Steve took a trembling step backward, fear shining in his deep blue eyes. What? How was this possible? Before he realized what he was doing, he resumed a fighting stance, the bloody iron sword gripped tightly in his hands. He was determined to not let his mistakes hurt the ones he loved.

"Soldiers! ATTACK!" Nilan cried, recovering from his own shock in a split second. He charged forward on his eager steed toward the undead monstrosity.

"You think this is the end? THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING!!!" Herobrine shrieks, and snaps his fingers.

Suddenly, the tree line surrounding the meadow came to life in one violent second as rank upon rank of black-skinned, dull white-eyed undead burst from the fog in countless numbers.

The calvary cried and the foot soldiers ran forward with their swords drawn, as the forces collided, chaos reigned and bodies fell in alarming numbers. Horses were cut down as their riders were dragged off by hungry, clawing black hands.

The Withered were stabbed and cut in the chest, stomach, and neck. Their arms and even legs were chopped off. But no matter where they were hit, they fought on, tackling soldier after soldier to the ground. They felt no pain, and no injury seemed able to kill them.

Whenever their black skin made contact with an open wound, whether it be through a bite or a mere scratch, the victim was immediately poisoned. Screams rang out as man after man fell to the ground, infected. Moments later, they would rise again, Withered and thirsty for destruction.

Hundreds of feet slid and pounded and slogged in the increasingly muddy clearing, blood mixing with the soil to create a rank mixture of death. Battle cries rang out, but the human army was quickly losing momentum. With every loss, the enemy gained another soldier in their dark ranks. The first wave of Withered didn't even possess weapons other than their teeth, but the new Withered that rose from their own fallen brethren retained their ability to wield swords, putting the humans at an even greater disadvantage.

Nilan, having fallen from his mount, fought back to back with Steve in the mayhem. They did their best to at least slow the enemy down by chopping off their legs, which was the only method they had found relatively affective, but they were quickly tiring.

"Your left!" Nilan screamed at Steve. Steve instantly jerked his attention away from the small undead he had just kicked off his boot. To his left, was one of the recently arisen Withered preparing a deadly blow.

Steve ducked just in time for him avoid the Withered's sword shopping off his head. Reflexively, Steve lashed out with his own iron sword. It slashed the enemy right across the face, cutting through both of its blank eyes. To Steve's shock, it collapsed limply to the ground, and remained unmoving.

"The eyes!!! The eyes are their weakness!!! Aim for the eyes!!!" Steve attempted to shout over the deafening clamor of metal on metal, and even worse, metal on flesh. The screams, each one pierced Steve's heart, for he was responsible for the life of every soldier lost on this field.

Even with this new weakness discovered, it quickly became apparent that the battle was doomed. They were quickly becoming outnumbered as their ranks shrank and the enemy swelled. Herobrine himself charged through Steve's troops, swinging his pickaxe with wild strength, taking out several soldiers with each strong swipe. His wide, bright eyes wild with bloodlust as he cleaved through the ranks like a ravager through leaves.

Just like his Withered, he was slashed and stabbed multiple times across his arms and chest and stomach, yet nothing slowed his rampage. Bodies fell like ripened wheat from a harvest when met with his wrath.

They were desperately outmatched.

Steve realized that if anyone was to survive, they would have to run now. "RETREAT!!!" He cried over the noise, drawing a ram's horn from his belt and blowing a single shrill cry. "RETREAT!!!" He urged once more.

Several soldiers around him took up the cry and began to run as quickly as their exhausted yet terrified legs could carry them. Back to the trees, back to the rest of the army.

Steve fully expected to be followed as he ran towards the cover of the forest, but as he glanced back, he saw Herobrine and his army standing still, simply watching their retreat instead of giving chase.

Saliva dripped from Herobrine's mouth. The people he killed himself did not immediately become Withered, and the smell of fresh flesh and blood was making his senses go crazy. He was surrounded by a feast of fresh bodies.

"Until next time brother!" Herobrine shouted, his own blood frothing from his mouth and spraying out as he laughed.

Steve wasn't looking forward to it.

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So yeah... things aren't looking great for the King or the humans in general...

Oh yeah, and Herobrine and Steve are brothers... There's a lot more backstory there, but I ain't telling y'all until later, cause what is a good story without its mysteries?

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

How've you been Edgelings?

I've gotta say that Steve isn't doing too well right now... The song above is called 'I'm trying' by Alexander Stewart, and it perfectly describes Steve. Give the boi some love ya'll.

Herobrine: "Hey! I thought I was your favorite!"

Me: "We both know that you're my favorite, but I'm trying to be fair to all my children, so don't tell Steve."

Herobrine: "No guarantees" :)

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Steve, still in shock from the brutality of the battle, wandered around the camp, checking up on the soldiers. His soldiers. The lives he was responsible for. Many soldiers laid in their tents or by the campfires, asleep, or like Steve, too restless for sleep, simply laying there. Very few injured soldiers had returned from the field. Most who were injured had become infected.

The scouts he had sent out to count the number of troops who returned had just reported to Steve moments ago. Three hundred and twelve soldiers made it back to camp, two hundred and three foot soldiers and one hundred and nine horsemen. Not to mention the low percent of horses who hadn't been slain or bucked their mounts and ran off. Barely half of the troops who Nilan had originally led onto the field survived. A staggering casualty rate.

Numbly, the King had digested this information, plagued by many emotions, but keeping a strong, cold front for the sake of his soldiers. Their morale was already low enough. There was no playful tousling, no raucous laughter, barely any conversation at all. The horrors the remaining soldiers told of, as well as their lost comrades stilled any spark of cheer that might have otherwise been there.

Over the past weeks, many strong bonds and friendships had formed, not to mention brothers, sisters, fathers, sons, daughters, mothers, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews who had marched out together. Most of the army was mourning. It had been centuries since the last true war, and the army was nothing if not unprepared for the emotional toll of loss. In a few days, the shock would fade, and they would once again be able to joke and laugh to cope, but for now, the weight of their situation pulled them all into solemn silence.

As Steve continued his way between the rows and rows of tents, all eerily quiet except for the crackling of the occasional cooking fire, movement from his periphery drew his attention.

Emmet strode out from behind one of the tents, dark, weary circles defining his cloudy eyes, his face blank. His chest was wrapped in thick white bandages, a couple splits preventing him from twisting his torso and damaging his broken ribcage. He noticed the King, who had stopped his mindless treading, and came over to join Steve. They began walking again, side-by-side, silently in the chill autumn air. With the bright sun now shining directly overhead, the fog had finally burned away.

"What are we going to do?" mumbled Emmet finally, the shock and despair amplified by his monotone voice as he desperately tried to hide it. He gazed blankly forward at nothing in particular.

Steve sighed, running his fingers through his smooth, short brown hair once before grabbing it and pulling it to vent his frustration. "I don't know," he answered softly, his voice croaking from pent up emotion.

"How do we defeat something we can't kill?" Emmet pondered aloud, staring up at the sun with unsheltered eyes, as though blinding himself in the glare would help him think, maybe even blind his emotions.

Deep down, Steve knew Emmet wasn't even asking him, yet he took it personally anyways, adding it to the stress and pressure already building within. The off-hand comment was all it took for the dam to violently burst open.

"I DON'T KNOW!" He screeched, pulling out a fistful of his hair. It was HIS responsibility to know. It was HIS responsibility to have a plan. It was HIS responsibility to protect his citizens. The lives of possibly millions of people were in Steve's hand, and already he let three hundred and four of them fall. What a miserable failure of a king he was!

Emmet flinched at the King's outburst, then sighed, "I'm sorry. It's not your fault."

"But it is," Steve wept. Emmet didn't respond. They were approaching the Royal tents.

Nilan stood outside the meeting tent, watching them approach. How long had he been waiting for them? Or more accurately, for the King. Nilan eyed his distraught state with concern weighing wrinkles down onto his brow.

"Your Highness, we need to discuss our next course of action." Nilan stated, no other emotions showing on his face. Out of everyone in the camp, he alone seemed to be holding himself together. After all, battle had been the entire focus of his life ever since he could remember. He didn't understand why no one else had expected to lose soldiers. They should have prepared themselves better.

Steve nodded, heading inside the large diamond blue tent. But just as he was about to lift the entrance flap, he turned back to Emmet, who had begun to walk away.

"Emmet," The young man looked back at the King. "Please join us."

Nilan gave a sharp glance in Steve's direction, but quickly soothed his indignation. If the King wished to invite an untrained scout to this crucially important meeting, then it was none of Nilan's business. No matter how much it annoyed him.

Emmet looked just as surprised and confused as Nilan. "Sire, no disrespect, but I have no experience with such things. I doubt I will be much help."

"Well if nothing else, come sit inside, you need to rest." Steve insisted.

"If only you'd take your own advice," Nilan mumbled under his breath, unheard by the others.

Emmet hobbled after Steve, struggling slightly with ducking into the small doorway. The interior of the tent was much bigger than he had expected. It was easily the size of the lower level of his old house, the sunlight penetrating through the semi-transparent material, bathing everything in an aquamarine glaze.

The walls were lined with neatly organized travel chests filled with the King's provisions and various extra armor, weapons, sleeping mats, and clothing. This tent was easily big enough to hold a couple dozen people, even with the table and supplies taking up much of the space. A large, foldable, lightweight wood table had been erected in the center, and a huge tapestry map had been rolled out and pinned down on top of it.

Steve nodded to one of the nearby piles of extra blankets, "Please sit, Emmet."

Emmet did what was asked of him, and as soon as his body relaxed into the soft improvised chair, he realized just how exhausted he had been. The inside of the tent was warmer than the chill air outside, and suddenly Emmet was having trouble keeping his eyelids open.

"Sleep, Emmet," Steve smiled gently down at him, "You have pushed yourself too far."

It didn't take long for him to obey.

Steve gave a small sigh of satisfaction as the weary man's eyes closed. At least he had helped one of his subjects.

Nilan cleared his throat. Steve turned his attention back to the High Commander, who was standing beside the giant map of the Human Kingdom.

"Are none of your generals joining us?" Steve asked, coming over and staring at the intricately sewn map of his entire domain.

"No, I've charged them with waking up their troops. We must pick ourselves up faster, so that we can be ready for the next battle. If we become this lack-luster after every fight then this war is lost." Nilan explained, eyeing the North Border on the map, their current location. He took a risk, and looked Steve directly in the eye when he said, "That includes you too, your Majesty."

Contempt flashed across the King's face, and he narrowed his eyes, staring down hard as he quipped back, "Am I not allowed to mourn, Commander?"

Nilan saluted his apology. Only when Steve was truly angry did he use Nilan's title instead of his name when addressing him. "I apologize for overstepping my rank, your Highness." He backed down humbly.

Steve sighed and shook his head, "No, I apologize. You are right, but I simply don't know how to make these feelings go away. The more I think, the more it hurts."

"Think about it like this then," Nilan suggested, snatching up his opportunity, "It is only in times of hardship that you see the true mettle of men, or in your case, the true strength of a king.."

"Then I have failed." Steve numbly stated.

"By your permission, I have not finished yet." Nilan continued, ignoring the King's comment, "In this time of hardship, you have never ceased caring for your people. Even to the point of neglecting yourself. When we first returned to camp, you let every other soldier be checked by the nurses before you let yourself be checked. The first place you went was the infirmary to encourage those who were injured. All morning, you have been walking through the camp, speaking with those who had lost loved ones. Look!" Nilan pointed to Emmet, sleeping peacefully by the wall, "Even when you are dealing with pain, you put your own well-being aside to help others. But it is just as you told Emmet. You have pushed yourself too far, you must give yourself a break from the strain."

Steve listened and allowed Nilan's words to wash over him like a soothing balm for his internal aching. He took a deep breath, "Thank you, my dear friend. I could not do this without you."

Nilan allowed a faint smile to grace his serious face, "It is my duty, sire."

Steve looked back at the map, honing his focus in, "We need to move the camp to higher ground. We are too easily ambushed in this forested valley."

Nilan gave Steve a questioning look, "So you have decided that we remain here instead of falling back to the Capital?"

"Yes," Steve confirmed, once again thinking of how he would not be a coward, not like his father. "We must keep fighting out here. We cannot lead... him... back to the Capital. We must keep the civilians safe and out of the cross fire."

Nilan nodded, "I agree then, on moving the camp. Judging by where the last battle took place, I'd say that our enemies came from the Eastern side of the border." Nilan tapped a portion of the vast mountain range that served as a natural barrier between the Human Kingdom and the uncharted tundra beyond. "Unless of course, he planned the battle to make us think that, so that we would march right into his lair."

Steve shook his head, "No, he's never been one to think so far ahead. We should move west, and find a plateau somewhere around here," Steve tapped a segment slightly closer to the coast, not more than a day's journey away. "Once we have the high ground, we will have a far greater advantage."

Nilan nodded. "We should set out at first light. Also, I believe it would be wise to send a courier. We need reinforcements, especially archers and additional long range battlements."

"Reinforcements already? Archers?" Steve questioned.

"The courier bird takes approximately two days to reach the capital, and reinforcements of any size will take at least two, but more than likely three weeks. We may need some back up by then." Nilan explained, "And archers are going to be crucial in this war. We need a way to thin their ranks without losing our own, which means long-distance weaponry."

"But those... things... could only be killed by destroying their eyes. Even if we had the best archers in the world, that is an extremely small target." Steve pointed out.

"That's why we need to request for all the gunpowder arrows and TNT we can get."

Steve nodded, but inside he was nervous about taking battlements from the Capitol. Nervous about taking protection away from Alex and Reigna, but Steve knew that the supplies would do no good sitting at the Capital if the armies lost out here.

"I will write the message myself," the King decided, "I need to explain the situation..."

"Do you want to talk about... him?" Nilan asked cautiously, knowing what a tedious subject it was.

The King let out a long slow sigh, then whispered in a trembling voice, "No."

Nilan nodded, "Alright, I'll retrieve your writing supplies and prepare the courier."

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You huff impatiently as you pace outside the portal room, debating whether or not to go through. You returned from the End a couple hours ago, and were shocked when Poggo informed you that Herobrine had gone into the Overworld and still hadn't come back. At first you thought he was just checking on his army, but that was hours ago. It must be at least noon by now!

You are getting concerned about his well-being.

Maybe you should go through and check.

Just as you are about to teleport past the heavy stone doors, you hear the distinct hiss of someone coming through the portal on the other side. Moments later, two Withered shove the doors open, and stagger out. You quickly step back so that you're not hit with the door.

Wait... are they carrying something?

You gasp, and feel your insides seize up and your stomach drop in horror as you recognize Herobrine being limply supported between the Withered, his feet dragging on the ground as they awkwardly hobble forward.

His entire body is stained red with fresh wet blood, and you can see at least fourteen deep stab wounds on his arms, chest, stomach, sides, and neck. Blood gushes out of the open chasms like spouts of a fountain. Dizzying nausea overwhelms you when you see his bones and internal organs through the windows cut into his body, making him a living anatomy display. His head lolls to the side due to a deep cut on the left of his neck.

His skin is gray from blood loss, and his eyes dull from the pain.

You stare at him open-mouthed. So, so much blood! His clothes are drenched pure red, the liquid stains his face and mats in his hair. His head lifts slightly, not much more than a twitch. He flashes you a tiny, weakened grin.

"Heghhh Spihfir..." his raspy, gurgling voice burbles as more blood gushes out with each syllable, dribbling down his chin. "Whon geh figh..."

It takes you a minute of dumb staring to decode what he was trying to say. Won the fight? There had been a battle while you were gone?!?! "It doesn't look like you won!!!" You cry out. How was he still alive?!?! You have no idea what to do!

Too weak to hold it up any longer, Herobrine's head snaps downward, hanging limply by the undamaged portion of his neck. You gasp and feel your insides revolt at the sudden sickening jerk. His chest was rising and falling in shallow, agonizingly uneven, wheezy breaths. It hurt you to even look at him in so much agony.

Realizing that you have to do something besides just stand here and stare, you quickly turn to one of the Withered. "Take him to his room!" You command in a panic, and to your surprise, they listen and begin awkwardly staggering down the hall, dragging Herobrine between them, the toes of his dangling blood-soaked boots squeaking on the smooth stone floors.

As they pass you, you get a glimpse of his back, and you have to lean on the wall for support. His back looks like it went through a meat-grinder. So many shallow slashes and cuts adding to the countless deep wounds puncturing his back!

What was that sticking out of his back? You sway slightly when you realize it's half of the hilt of a dagger, the blade buried so deep that half the handle is also embedded into his ribcage. Sparks fly across your vision and you're reminded of how you felt after your first teleport. Lightheaded...

No! You can't pass out right now! Herobrine needs your help!

You shake your head and stare at the floor as you hurry after the Withered, but when you see the trail of blood puddling on the black stone, you quickly shift your gaze to the ceiling. You had no idea you were so squeamish before just now.

"Sulfur!!! What happened to him?!?!" You hear Poggo yell from an unseen side hall ahead of you.

"He got into a fight! I assume with the Human armies! Get me medical supplies! Hurry!" you command the Piglin Advisor, you don't even see him before he disappears again to obey.

You wish the Withered would walk faster! What if there wasn't much time? You have seen Herobrine survive one fatal wound, but what about twenty? You need to hurry!

The procession finally arrives at Herobrine's chamber, and you slide around the Withered to fling open the door. "Quick! Lay him face down on the pallet! Be gentle!" You panic, your voice rising far above its normal pitch and your eyes wide.

You wince as you watch the Withered put the limp bloody body down, sucking in a pained breath with every jar and sudden movement. You hate seeing him like this. Finally, they finish laying him face down, and back away to stand in a corner. You rush over to check his vitals, just as you had been taught in basic first aid. You gently press a finger against the right side of his neck.

You seize up.

He has no pulse.

You stare hard at his back. No movement. He's not breathing.

First Hkeriih and now this? Your entire body is shaking, trembling, violently spasming. No... What?... You... you just...

Then you see a tiny movement out of the corner of your eye. His blood stained hand. You watch intently, and are unimaginably relieved when you see his hand curl into a thumbs up.

"Oh thank the Void," you take a deep shaky breath, trying to slow your pounding heart. Ok... He's not dead... Somehow...

...how?

Suddenly Poggo crashes in behind you, and you spin around to greet him. He is dangerously close to dropping the mound of cloths and bandages in his arms, and you quickly rush over to help.

"Thanks," Poggo sighs in relief. He glances past you at Herobrine's still form. Poggo's eyes widen. "Is he dead?"

"No, somehow he's still alive, and in a lot of pain." You respond as you drop the supplies by the pallet and kneel down to begin cleaning the wounds... and the rest of him...

Oh wait...

Oh no...

You turn your head to see Poggo walking back out the door.

"Where do you think you're going?!" You yell at him.

He jumps and turns around, eyes nervously darting from you to Herobrine's blood drenched figure lying prone on his pallet, "I'm leaving. I'm not cleaning up that mess, and besides, I have to go attend all today's Hearings since the lord's out cold."

"No! The Hearings can wait. You are staying here and helping me." You demand, narrowing your eyes.

"Since when are you in charge? And why can't you just do it?" Poggo protested hotly.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. You're really going to have to explain this aren't you? "Let me make this a bit clearer for you... In order to prevent infection, you need to clean all of the wounds and the areas around them. And that means we will need to undress him, clean his entire body, and get clean clothes on him."

Poggo opens his mouth to protest, a look of stone hard determination set on his face, when suddenly his pale yellow eyes light up in realization. He blinks repetitively, dumb-founded, but quickly regains his cool composure.

"But... It's not like he's gonna know..." Poggo tries to reason.

"POGGO!!!" You screech, your chest lighting up from both frustration and embarrassment at the suggestion.

Poggo instantly raises his hands over his head in defeat. "Alright alright! Just don't cook me!"

"Sometimes it's tempting..." you mumble as you turn back to Herobrine. A small blackstone jar, half-wrapped in cleaning cloths, catches your attention. "What's this?" You lift it to show Poggo.

"That's glowshroom pulp. We use it for cleaning. Some say it's got medical properties, but I wouldn't know." Poggo shrugs.

You nod and open the container, setting it down beside you. You pick up one of the cleaning cloths and take a deep breath, preparing yourself. Now the dirty work begins.

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"Alright I'm done," You hear Poggo call from inside Herobrine's chamber. You had done all of the cleaning you could before you stepped out and let Poggo take over. He had complained many times that he had no experience, but you hushed him every time with a dirty look. Guess what? Neither do you.

You cautiously open the door and step inside. Herobrine is still lying facedown on the pallet, completely still. You have to ask him every once in a while if he is still there, and he will twitch his fingers or barely nod his head to reassure you. Other than that, he never once moved.

Almost every exposed area of skin was now covered in white bandages wrapping around his wounds. Most of his unexposed skin was also wrapped in bandages. His most serious wound was an angled stab wound running through his lower back up into his chest, but the one on his neck came as a close second, nearly severing his throat.

His bleeding had stopped, not because the blood was clotting, but because his heart was no longer pumping it, so it was no longer moving. You walk over and lay a hand on the thick bandages on his shoulder, compassion overwhelming you. What was it like to exist like this? Painful. Extremely painful.

You glance over to where Poggo was wiping off his bloody hands beside the unsettlingly large mound of blood-stained rags, including Herobrine's sliced up old clothes. Now he was wearing a brown tank-top and leather shorts. Standard Piglin attire. It was all they had.

"Thank you," You smile as you eye the bandages Poggo wrapped. For all the trouble he gave you, he did a good job.

"Oh, we aren't done yet." Poggo walks back over with a couple more cloths and the glowshroom pulp.

You eye him questioningly. "Why?"

"I wanted to ask you about this before I did anything, since you've had training and all. I didn't want to do something wrong." Poggo admits, lifting the back of Herobrine's shirt enough to reveal the almost entirely embedded dagger still sticking out from his pale skin.

You inhale a sharp breath, and let it out in a long, slow sigh. You had forgotten about that. "Well, we'll have to pull it out."

"How? It's so deep in there that there's almost nothing for me to grab onto."

You hold up your long, slim-fingered hand in front of you. "I suppose I'll have to try then."

You gently slide your fingers around the hilt, brushing lightly against Herobrine's cold, gray skin. As an afterthought, you gently press on the bandaged area around the dagger, and wince as the skin gives way on both sides. "I think it's lodged in one of his ribs." You explain when Poggo gives you a curious look.

"Do you need me to pull too?"

"No, let me try first." You slowly begin to pull on the hilt, wrapping your other hand around the handle as well for maximum grip. You begin pulling harder, but the cruel implant doesn't even budge. To make matters worse, Herobrine is responding to this in a way he never did to any of the rest of the treatment. His body is trembling, and his hands are clenched into tight fists.

Notch, this must hurt horribly!

"I think you're just going to have to yank it out. Slow isn't working." Poggo remarks, and Herobrine jolts. He must not like that idea.

But you know Poggo is right.

You lean over to Herobrine's ear and whisper, "I'm sorry." His muscles tighten. He must be preparing himself.

You take a deep breath, purposefully looking away from your hands, and jerk on the dagger with all your might.

Herobrine, still incapable of using his lungs, spasms violently, and you can hear his silent scream ringing all too clearly in your ears. You take a risk and glance down at your hands, scared that the knife was still in there, and you had only made it worse.

"Oh thank the Void!" You cry in relief, seeing the knife loose in your hands. That's when you realize that you are trembling too. Notch this was stressful!

"Here I'll take that," Poggo offers, and you gladly hand the disgusting bloody tool over. Poggo gives you the rags and ointment, and you quickly begin cleaning the gaping wound. You inspect it for dirt, and gag when you see the fractured white rib just below a thin layer of purplish severed muscle. You think you would've gotten used to such things by now, but guess not.

You clean this wound just like all the others, thoroughly yet gently rubbing it down with glowshroom pulp until all of the dried blood and other grime is gone.

"Help me lift him so I can bandage this." You call Poggo over, "And bring me the bandages too please."

"What am I? Your servant?" Poggo jokingly complains as he carries over the materials.

"I'm really not in the mood for it right now, Poggo." you side-eye him.

"Fine," he shrugs, and glances at the wound. "Wow, that is one broken bone right there. Should we do anything special for that?"

"No, we can't do much for it, unfortunately, he'll just have to lay still for a while. But I do think I will need to stitch this one. Do you have any more thread, or did you use it all on his chest?"

"Nah, there's some spare," Poggo goes back to the other side of the room to retrieve the needle and thread from the clean pile. You eye the dagger lying on top of the dirty pile.

"Thanks," You take the needle from him, and focus back on your task, "What are you going to do with all the laundry?"

"Throw it in the lava," Poggo answers nonchalantly as you deftly poke the needle through Herobrine's skin. You've already done this six times.

"That seems wasteful."

"Well how do Endermen do it? You guys don't have water either."

"There is no dirt in the End."

"Well, I guess that makes sense. We just throw everything we don't find useful in the lava."

"I've picked up on that."

It doesn't take you long to finish, and you have Poggo gently lift Herobrine slightly off of the pallet so you can wrap the bandages. Finally, you're finished. As you clean your hands off with a rag, someone knocks on the door. Poggo struts over and opens it.

"Whatcha want? Yeah he's fine. No, not that fine. Alright, I'll be there in a minute." Poggo shuts the door, and walks back over to wipe off his hands.

"Hearings?" You ask sympathetically.

"Yep!" Poggo answers enthusiastically, catching you off guard.

"You sound excited..."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"What is there to look forward to? It's just a bunch of Piglins arguing over gold and territory and rules."

"Exactly!" Poggo winks, "What's not to love?"

You stare dumbfounded as he strolls out, shaking your head in disbelief. He was a strange one for sure, but hey, you're strange too aren't you? You glance back at Herobrine. His body is finally relaxed. He has to be more comfortable now that he's clean and bandaged up.

You should probably leave him to rest.

"I'll come back and check on you in a couple hours. Ok?" You ask. He nods slightly. You smile.

As you walk out of his room and back out into the hallway, one thought dominates your mind...

Humans must be the blood-thirstiest, cruelest creatures in existence. No wonder Herobrine hates them.

You're beginning to hate them too.

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Queen Alexia sighed contentedly as she laid precious little sleeping Reigna into her crib to take one of her afternoon naps. She technically could have a nurse taking care of her baby for her, but Alexia enjoyed being a mother, and couldn't imagine letting anyone else snuggle her precious angel to sleep.

Of course, it wasn't all sweet hugs and soothing lullabies. Nope, there was still dirty diapers and spit-up to take care of. Not having a nurse meant that everytime Reigna woke up at night, Alexia had to get up to nurse her or take care of whatever else she needed. This happened every two hours at least, and sometimes even more often. This left Alex exhausted most of the time, but she knew even in the hardest moments, that she wouldn't give it up for anything in the world.

Waiting for her outside the bedchamber was Second General Lydia, Alex's closest friend, even though she was nearly ten years older. Lydia smirked and stretched her back from where she had been leaning against the stone wall. "The little rascal finally cooperated, hm?"

Alex chuckled, "Indeed, the little princess has quiet a temper when she gets tired."

"That's a sign of good character," Lydia commented as the two of them began walking down the extravagant hall towards the library.

"Really? I've never heard that."

"It must be," Lydia said very seriously, "Because I'm just like that."

Alex laughed, her emerald green eyes crinkling happily as her rosy, freckled cheeks dimpled, her perfect white teeth showing through her smile. Her entire figure was the epitome of elegance and strength. She took each stride with grace as her delicate silver sandals slapped gently on the stained wood planks. Her long, elaborately embroidered green dress swished with every step, shining in the golden sunlight beaming in through the tall, narrow windows. This same light touched her luxurious bright orange curls, and made them glow like strands of fire.

Her appearance perfectly matched her personality. Gracious and strong-willed. Curious and talented in any area she wished to succeed in. Truly, there was no one else more worthy of the crown.

But sometimes it was more of a burden than a privilege.

Alex eyed Lydia with subtle jealousy. She was not jealous of Lydia, but of her freedom. She chose her own clothes, pink leggings and a white t-shirt, comfortable clothes that one could run or jump or simply sit down in without having to worry about them ripping or wrinkling. Lydia's auburn hair, dyed with a pink streak on the side, was pulled back in a partial messy bun. She didn't need to sit through an hour of combing and styling every morning like Alexia.

Lydia's gait was relaxed, and her posture a comfortable slouch. But it wasn't even really a slouch, it was simply a comfortable swing in her shoulders and a relaxed arch of her back, just tiny details, but Alexia wasn't allowed any such liberty. Her head must always be up, her shoulders back, and her spine straight. Under no circumstance was this allowed to change.

When she was much younger, Alex had dreamed of being an adventurer, exploring unknown temples and ruins, or a craftsman, shaping and creating things with her own hands. Of course, it didn't take long for reality to hit her. Her life was chosen for her the moment she was born. A queen must stay in her palace, only leaving when it was necessary for her to make an appearance before her people. She must always keep her hands neat and clean and well groomed, never doing anything that might cause something as dreadful as a broken nail.

Steve did his best to give her as much liberty as possible. She was allowed to go wherever she pleased on the castle grounds, whenever she pleased. When she was younger she had always been told where to go, so this was a wonderful relief. Yet she was still confined to the castle and gardens. Sometimes, when Steve got a spare moment, he would even teach her some basic sword handling. But he was busy almost all the time, almost as restricted as Alex was.

Simply waking up, knowing that you could choose what you were going to do that day, was a feeling alien to Alex. She longed for it with all her heart when she was little, but now she had grown up. Now she had a husband and a baby and millions of people to take care of. She had given up dreaming of freedom long ago.

But she could still find joy in the little things. For instance, walking down the hall and smiling at servants and guards passing by. Laughing at Lydia's jokes as they made their way to the library. Life was not bad, in fact, many women dreamed of having her life. Sometimes Alex just wished for more. How selfish of her.

Finally the two women arrived at the library. Just like the rest of the castle, it was a huge, grandiose room with rows upon rows upon rows of intricately carved, ancient oak bookshelves almost rising enough to meet the tall, vaulted ceiling. And of course, the shelves were filled with thousands upon thousands of books. Alex breathed deeply, taking in the soothing smell of old parchment. She loved spending time in this quiet place.

"Is the young princess finally resting?" Juliara, the Royal Bookkeeper, asked, peeking up from behind her book, her thick black braids pinned to the back of her head. Juliara was Alex's other close friend. There weren't many people she trusted.

"Yep," Lydia answered as she plopped down on a cushioned reading chair near Juliara's. "Whatcha reading, Juli?"

"'An Encyclopedia of Discovered Entities: Detailed Descriptions and Illustrations.' Authors Riley Harmen and Jenevieve Clarence. Illustrator Gerard Kate. Publication date December 8, 1997 III. Publisher-"

"Again?" Alex cut off her rant, knowing that it might go on for an hour if Juliara felt like it. Alex carefully smoothed down her dress and slowly seated herself on one of the chairs.

"Indeed," Juliara answered, effortlessly brushing off her slight annoyance at being interrupted, "I'm going through and reading the whole library a second time. I decided to go ahead and consider this one in the C category because even though Jenevieve is a secondary author, she still plays a crucial role in writing about the more elusive mobs. She was quite the adventurer and..." Juliara stopped mid-sentence, realizing that this wasn't the correct audience for such a conversation.

"How could you possibly be on your second time reading through the whole library?!?!" Lydia exclaimed, "I mean, I like reading, and I'm pretty sure it would take my entire lifetime to read everything in here."

Juliara shrugged, her deep brown eyes twinkling, "It is my job. I not only record the Royal records, I also need to know as much as possible so that I can be as helpful as possible whenever the Royal family requires me to provide information."

"Overachiever," Lydia smirked.

"I didn't go from being a simple book-binder's daughter to serving in the Royal Castle by being lazy." Juliara faintly smiles back. She was so serious all the time! She seemed so much older than thirty-three.

Suddenly, another pair of footsteps came clipping through the open library door. Alex turned and saw First General Cedrick striding towards the women. He wore his characteristic bright smile, illuminating his dark skinned face.

"Afternoon ladies," he nodded to Lydia and Juliara, "Your Majesty." He bowed before Alex.

"Whatcha need Rick? Us ladies are trying to relax! Get back to your job!" Lydia taunted playfully.

"Did it occur to you that he might be here to speak with the Queen because of his job?" the ever-serious Juliara questioned.

"Yeah, I was just kidding." Lydia smiled, used to Juliara's literal interpretation of everything.

"Indeed I am here on business," Cedrick winked, clearly in a good mood, "We just received a courier bird from the King."

A smile lit up Alex's face. A message! "Have you read it yet?" she asked.

"No, I came to let you do the honors." Cedrick handed her a tiny rolled piece of paper. She eagerly broke the wax seal and unraveled it.

She read in silence for a minute, and her smile slowly faded into a look of horror.

Lydia jumped from her seat, "What?!?! What's wrong?!?!"

Alex handed the note back to Cedrick, holding her face in her hands and taking deep breaths as she tried to process what she just read.

Cedrick frowned, and began to read the note allowed, his deep voice ringing ominously:

'Dear Queen Alexia,

I hope that you are handling yourself well back home, because I'm afraid to say things have gone badly here at the North border. We were attacked and lost the fight terribly, suffering heavy losses. It is not the Necromancers. Do you remember Brine? He is back and is bent on my destruction. We need reinforcements to march out immediately. Two thirds of the troops that remained there need to march to the North border with Cedrick the moment you read this letter. Bring all of the archers and all of the explosives and mobile battlements. This is going to be a hard war to win I am afraid. I do not know if or when I will return, but until then I wish you luck, my love. I know that it is a lot of pressure, and with Cedrick gone it will only increase. Please know that we are doing everything in our power to keep you safe. Give Reigna a kiss for me. I love you to the ends of the three dimensions.

King Steve'

Stunned silence veiled the room in oppressive melancholy. They had been hopeful that the war would end quickly, but clearly that would not be the case.

Cedrick took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "Well, I better prepare then."

Lydia walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder, "I'll help."

"No," Cedrick said, subtly nodding towards the distressed Queen, who was desperately trying to maintain her composure, "She needs you more than I do."

Lydia nodded, and knelt to hug her friend, who had begun to weep.

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Well...

Now I've got to ask... Who are you cheering for? Pick your side...

Also, poor Y/N! She's only getting one side of the story and getting caught up in something that doesn't even have anything to do with her.

Chapter Text

Heyo Edgelings!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!! Consider this my Christmas present to you!

Now... I'm sure you guys don't have the best opinion of Herobrine right now... but there is more to the story... I hope this chapter will help you understand a little more...

Also, the song above is one of my favorite songs, because it describes me almost perfectly. It also describes Herobrine right now... It's called 'if you only knew' by Alexander Stewart. Just listen to it. You'll understand...

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Herobrine groaned in pain and risked a small amount of movement to adjust his position slightly, shuddering as yet more waves of pain rippled through his body. His stomach rumbled, yet the mere thought of eating made him sickeningly nauseous. He was starving from his hangover, nauseous from the pain, and full from the unhealthy amount of flesh he had consumed before collapsing from blood loss.

His vision flashed in a kaleidoscope of dizzying flashes as his head felt like it was being clubbed to pulp from his massive pounding headache. Not to mention the horrendous aching in his bones every time a muscle twitched. The broken rib in his back festered painfully, resisting his regen's attempts to knit it back together. He could feel his wounds slowly, painfully knitting themselves together, starting with his internal organs. His thin lung membrane was one of the first things to heal, so now he took shaky, shallow breaths, an improvement from the painful choking stiffness of being unable to obtain oxygen.

His heart had been next, and now beat in irregular, agonizing spasms, haphazardly thrusting new blood into his painfully tingling limbs, only making the terrible pins-and-needles feeling worse. The blood leaked out of his stitched wounds, the stitches unable to contain the amount of blood pooling within the deep canyons carved into Herobrine's body. They soaked the white bandages wrapping all around him, and then the blood dried in the oppressive Nether heat, making his bandages stiff and itchy.

Sweat dripped from his pores, wasting precious water as it immediately evaporated into the dry, ash-laden air. His head swam with dazed thoughts as pure pain coursed through his veins. Dehydrated, brutally chopped up like an animal for slaughter, and hungover to top it all off.

Herobrine was miserable.

One of the hazy thoughts that kept drifting through his unstable brain was: Is this really worth it? Why was he doing this to himself?

When he first began to attack villages to create his army, Herobrine had justified his actions, saying that he had no other purpose. Not to mention all the pain he had experienced because of humans.

But now, in his intense pain, he began to question himself. He began to think.

Was this really necessary? Was any of this necessary? He was lord of the Nether. He had something to do. He had purpose and responsibilities. Why was he inflicting this pain on himself? What was the point anymore?

Was this revenge really worth it?

It felt so good in that moment. It felt so good to swing his pickaxe through flesh and rip the life out of those weak mortals. It felt so good to threaten Steve, to see the terror in his eyes. It felt so good to make him pay. To laugh at all of their pain. To consume their flesh and feel tingling and light and numb. But now, as he laid in agony, unable to move, horribly hungover, he began to grasp the truth.

The temporary pleasure fixed nothing. Even though he longed for more, he realized that the pain lasted so much longer than the pleasure.

He felt satisfaction in others pain, because he didn't want to accept his own. He thought taking it out on others would fix it, but it didn't. Maybe if he had more... Maybe more would fix it... Maybe more fear, more pain, more flesh, more numbness would fill this empty void inside him...

For a brief moment, he grasped the horror of what he was doing, taking a step back from himself to view it from a bigger perspective.

Slaughtering innocents, eating people, raising an undead army, killing hundreds of soldiers, all for the sake of revenge and his own petty pride...

What had he become?

But then this moment of clarity vanished in the wavering, muddled mess of his brain. And he forgot. What was he thinking about?

Another shaky breath, another spasming heartbeat, another gushing of pooling blood, another flash sickening pain.

P A I N...

Why oh why did he do this?

Now that he thought about... Why didn't he just stop? The humans still didn't know he returned to the Nether. Maybe if he stopped now, he could go on living peacefully, listening to boring Hearings, and looking forward to talking with Y/N.

Y/N...

The more he thought. The more Herobrine was ready to quit.

The Whispers did not like it when Herobrine began to think. The Whispers needed him to not think, only to do.

Maybe, Herobrine thought, maybe he would just close the portal and never go through it again... then there would be no more pain... yes...

'NO." The Whispers screamed into his brain, exponentially raising the intensity of his throbbing headache.

"What do you mean 'no'? You can't tell me what to do." Herobrine said in his mind, moaning from his newly increased headache.

'Yes, actually I can. And I will. You WILL return to the Overworld, and you WILL continue this war."

"Oh really? I don't want to. I hate this pain. I don't want anymore. I'm not going back."

'Heh heh. So your own pain is the only reason? Selfish as ever I see. Well, I think I can change your opinion.'

"Why do you want to change my opinion? You are my own thoughts."

'Is that what you think? Heh heh, who am I to tell you otherwise? Well, I think you'll find it's much more painful to disagree with me than any injury you could obtain in battle.'

"Pfft! There is nothing- RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Herobrine howled aloud, shrieking through his quivering lungs, his entire body reacting. He convulsed and shuddered, wriggling violently and falling off the pallet onto the floor, ripping open his wounds, trying to escape this new intolerable sensation.

OH HOW WRONG HE HAD BEEN!!! HE HAD NO IDEA WHAT PAIN WAS BEFORE NOW!!!! HIS ENTIRE CORE SHOOK WITH TSUNAMIS OF TORMENT!!!! EVERY FIBER OF HIS BODY RADIATED PURE TORTURE!!!!! HE WRIGGLED AND SQUIRMED AND CRIED AND TORE AT HIS BODY TRYING TO MAKE IT STOP!!!! HIS FINGERNAILS DUG NEW WOUNDS INTO HIS SKIN DRAWING NEW BLOOD!!!!! NOTHING MADE IT END!!! MAKE IT STOP!!!! WHY WON'T IT STOP!!!!! MAKE IT END!!!! HE WOULD DO ANYTHING!!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After what felt like an eternity of horrendous unending pure torture, the feeling finally faded. Every muscle gave way and collapsed from the physical strain of the pain. He shakily gasped for breath, shuddering violently and bleeding a puddle on the black floor. Tears that he had no idea he had left fell down his face as his entire body shook with childlike sobs. So great was his distress that his pores were now sweating pure blood, mixing with his pathetic tears.

'That was only a few seconds you pitiful fool. I can make you feel like that for all eternity. I will never tire of it, and neither will you. You can't become numb to something created by your own mind. I did nothing to injure you. It was purely an illusion. And I can make it permanent.'

"Please no... please please no... no... please... please no... not again... no... please no... it hurt too much... please no... it hurt... please please... I'll do anything... just please never again..." Herobrine whimpered, curling up and rocking himself back and forth, weak and vulnerable. Suddenly, he realized that he was not powerful. No he was cursed. Weak and cursed and useless. Why couldn't he die? He wanted to die...

'Simple, you weak, pathetic child. Do as I tell you. Continue the war. As long as you obey me, you don't need to feel any more."

"Who are you?"

'What do you mean?'

"You're not me. I thought you were just a voice I made up to talk to when I was alone. But you know things that I never knew. You plan things that I never thought of. You make me feel pain! I would never do that to myself! WHO ARE YOU?!?!"

'So you finally realized it huh? Well, that's none of your business. All you need to know is that you are nothing but my tool. I do with you as I please, and if you don't do as I say I punish you as I please. Understood?"

The Whispers were so much louder now than they had been at first. Consuming his brain with their powerful authority. The black skin had spread so much further, and only covered more of his body by the day, now spreading up around his shoulders and nearly down to his knees. A physical testament how much control the Whispers had over him.

"Yes..." Herobrine finally sobbed out, accepting his defeat, terrified of the pain.

'Good. Now heal. You have much work to do.'

And then there was silence.

Herobrine's sobs finally subsided, and he sprawled out on the floor, not at all caring about the fact that he was laying in a pool of his own blood. He was comfortable. In pain? No, no this throbbing discomfort was not pain. This aching hurt was not PAIN. No... what he felt now was a wood splinter in the finger compared to a Netherite sword through the skull. A mere candle burn compared to being dunked in lava. This? This was nothing. This was not pain.

The door creaked open. Herobrine tensed.

"HERO!!!" A voice outside his head screeched. He knew that voice. Y/N. Herobrine relaxed. She wouldn't hurt him. She bandaged him when she had no reason to do so. She could've just let him bleed, but instead she cleaned his wounds and stitched him up. She cared...

Why?...

"Why are you on the floor? So much blood!" She exclaimed. Then Herobrine felt two long, delicate arms slipping beneath him and lifting him with a grunt. He felt himself sink back into his soft pallet as he was set down again.

He felt a fresh cloth wiping across his face and arms, cleaning away his sticky blood, undoing and redoing the bandages. Suddenly he felt embarrassed that Y/N was seeing him in such a weak state.

"I'm sorry..." She whispered to him gently, her voice soothing and calm. She laid her warm hand on his shoulder. Her touch was warm, not hot and oppressive like the Nether air, just warm, comforting and warm. "You must be in so much pain. I'll do everything I can to help you."

Herobrine felt his cold heart break at her kind words. If she had any idea what he had done... who he really was... she wouldn't be so kind... she wouldn't care...

Which is why she could never know.

Herobrine needed someone to care. He realized this suddenly, and longing filled him. Longing to hear her comforting voice, to feel her warm touch, to be in her comfortable presence. He needed someone to care about him, to care about his pain. He needed it more than anything.

"I'll leave you to rest..." She whispered, and began to lift her hand from his shoulder.

No!

He reflexively jerked his hand out and grabbed hers tightly. He didn't care about the pain. He needed her.

"Stay..." He rasped quietly. It was all he could manage.

She looked down at him with wide, shocked red eyes glowing faintly against her smooth black skin. Her expression melted into one of gentle understanding. Her long, thin fingers entwined with his own, and she sat down beside his pallet. "Alright... I'm right here."

Herobrine took a deep, contented breath, and let his eyes fall shut, relaxing and basking in Y/N's presence. She was like a beautiful fire, shining in his pit of darkness.

He could not lose her.

He needed her.

She was all he had left.

He would not lose her.

No matter what it took.

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You smile slightly, gently rubbing the back of Hero's hand with your thumb. He seems much more content now. It makes you happy to see him comfortable. Happy to know you were helping. It has always been your goal in life to help others. First your family, then when you became Keeper, all of Enderkind. Now it's him...

It has been almost two days now since he came through the portal, and his condition has improved dramatically. For one, he started to breathe and regain his pulse.

Ever since that time you found him lying in blood on the floor, he has begged you to stay with him for long periods of time, becoming distressed when you have to get up to use the bathroom or grab a chorus fruit to snack on.

At first, it was extremely awkward, but it has slowly become normal. Sometimes you even fall asleep, sitting here holding his hand. Holding his hand...

Your chest lights up.

Of course, you are only doing this out of pity for the poor guy. You definitely don't feel a strange bubbly feeling in your stomach when you hold his hand. You definitely don't blush horrifically when you take his shirt off to change his bandages. No, there are definitely no feelings other than pity.

Who are you kidding?

Why are you lying to yourself?

It's just surreal, you think to yourself as you absently watch Hero's chest rise and fall, that you have these strange feelings for him. Why? Is it the way he smirks when he calls you Spitfire? Is it the way he jokes around and makes you laugh? Is it the strange way you feel comfortable talking to him and almost no one else? Is it the way he understands how you were an outcast as a kid?

Honestly... you have no idea. But there is no denying the way your chest glows when you think about him.

You don't know whether to feel embarrassment or shame or something else. What would the Council say? What would anyone say? Your soldiers? Tkeerah? Your parents?

The weight of the responsibility you hold suddenly makes your white cloak feel very heavy on your shoulders, as if it is made of stone. You can't let your teenage emotions get involved, you have a people to serve.

You shake your head, reeling at the impossibility of it all, and for the first time you consider that you are too young for this job.

No. You will not fail.

Well, you reason with yourself, these feelings for him are probably only temporary. You'll get over it and then no one has to know. It'll never become a problem.

But then again... what if the feelings don't go away? What then?

You suppose you'll just have to live with them. No one can find out. The only reason you are here is because you are the Keeper. It is your job to monitor the war. Nothing else. As soon as it's over or the Council decides otherwise, you will go back to the End and not return again until the next Nether Tournament. Then the feelings will go away.

Then you will feel them towards someone else, and you can continue with your life as normal. With a normal relationship.

Not this. You can't let your emotions affect your responsibilities. They are temporary and will go away.

You just wish they would go away sooner, because right now they are hard to ignore.

You lean your head against the blackstone wall and yawn, drowsiness weighing down your eyelids. Maybe you just need to rest. You can deal with your confusing emotions later.

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Juliara grunted as she heaved a heavily laden backpack onto her tall, proud shoulders, smoothing out her colorful orange and yellow patterned tunic and yanking her dark blue, official librarian vest straight. She observed her reflection in the full body mirror hung up by her bed, and inspected herself for imperfections.

Her curly black hair was still tightly braided and neatly pulled back, and her deeply tanned skin was smooth and flawless.

She would never allow herself to go out into the palace if her reflection revealed anything close to messiness. She didn't work her way up to this job by being sloppy. No, it took years of hard, diligent work and careful planning.

Her father and mother had moved from their home in the hot, dry savannah in the south to the Capital before Juliara was even born. Her father was a tanner, specializing in leather book binding, which is how Juliara came to read so many books at a young age. Her father always had new ones being sent in to receive their covers.

Smart, ambitious, and organized, Juliara was unstoppable when she put her mind to something.

Which would come in handy with the current task at hand.

As she strode out of her quarters near the library, and into the main hall, her sharp, dark brown eyes immediately spotted First General Cedrick, his usually cheerful face set into a grim frown. How convenient, he was just the person she planned to meet.

The General was speaking with one of his Lieutenants as they sped walked down the hall. Juliara picked up bits of their conversation as she waited for them to reach her. They were discussing how much food they should take, since the letter from the King had not specifically requested provisions.

"He could've been too distressed to mention it, we should bring enough for them just in case," the Lieutenant suggested, his hazel eyes fixed on his superior.

"The extra wagons will slow us down. He said he needed reinforcements immediately, and the TNT cannons will slow us down enough as it is." Cedrick countered, his brows furrowed.

They reached Juliara, who began walking alongside them.

She nodded to them both, "First General Cedrick, Lieutenant Jacob. Might I add a suggestion?"

Cedrick's face lit up with a bright smile as she joined them, "Of course Juliara. I am always happy to have an additional opinion."

"Why don't you march out in segments? Send the calvary out first, for they will be able to reach the King's forces much faster than any of the rest. Send foot soldiers out on the second march. Afterwards, send out the cannons and ammunition, and finally send out the extra provisions in the back. That way you are not slowing down the troops by making them keep pace with the heavy machinery and wagons. Smaller groups travel faster." Juliara explained quickly as they approached the exit to the North Courtyard, where the troops would be gathering.

Lieutenant Jacob chuckled, running a hand through his long, light brown hair, "You remind me of my wife. You women are always thinking. It's why I can't ever win an argument. That, and she threatens me with the 'I cook the meals' card."

"It is certainly the best idea I've heard all day," Cedrick nods, "And I plan to implement it immediately. Thank you."

Juliara's lips curled into a thin, satisfied smile, "You're most welcome, General."

"What is the pack for?" Cedrick asked, leaning back to look around Jacob.

"I am coming with the foot soldiers," Juliara stated simply. It was not a question.

Cedrick sighed quietly. "You know I can't allow that. You need to remain here and attend the queen. You are a dear friend of hers and she needs you, especially now that she is preparing for a siege." He reasoned with her, his deep voice calm and gentle and hopefully persuasive.

"While I am well aware of that, this castle is full of many educated scribes who are very capable of helping her majesty. The battlefield, on the other hand, doesn't have a single scribe who I trust to record this monumental moment in history. This is a major war, and it needs to be recorded with detailed accuracy. I need to be on the frontlines as an eyewitness in order to do that properly." Juliara explained coolly. Clearly she already had this conversation planned out.

"And I'm assuming that pack is full of your writing materials?" Cedrick asked, slightly exasperated. He knew that he wouldn't win this argument. Juliara was too head-strong to back down once she set her mind to something. It was one of the qualities he admired about her.

"Yes, as well as a few informational books and historical catalogs. This entire situation with the Ex-Prince Brine is very odd and suspicious and needs further investigating. Another reason why I intend to go."

"And there is nothing I can say to change your mind? I know you already know this, but I'm going to say it again anyways. The battlefield is dangerous, and I don't want you caught up in it."

"Why would it matter to you? There are plenty of other capable people eligible to become the Royal Librarian. If I die, then the only real loss will be that I didn't get to finish my records. Even at that, it's not like someone else couldn't continue them." Juliara stated with cold confidence, not even flinching at the mention of her death. She talked about it as if from an outside perspective casually looking at the coming events.

Cedrick, on the other hand, did flinch at the way she casually talked about death, "I am simply concerned for your well being. It is my duty as a General to protect the people."

"Indeed, but I do insist on going. I know the risks, and accept them. This is also my duty, General." Juliara quipped back, ignoring Cedrick's worried gaze and knitted brow.

"Uhhh..." Lieutenant Jacob interrupted from his awkward position walking between Cedrick and Juliara, "We're here."

They had arrived at the grand oak double doors leading out into the North Courtyard, where the noise of hundreds of men and women gathered to fight could be heard.

Juliara shifted the weight of her pack. "I shall go join the ranks of foot soldiers currently," she announced.

"Just be safe," Cedrick nodded, his mouth once again etched into a frown, grudgingly accepting her decision.

"As safe as I can be," She somewhat reassured him as she pushed the door open and strode outside.

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Thus begins a very questionable relationship that definitely won't go down in flames... ;)

Anyways... yeah... I'm just now realizing that everything and everyone in this story is either depressed or depressing... Don't worry! It won't be like this forever!! Fluff is on the way! Eventually...

I'm going to be moving over the next three weeks, so there is going to be a break in my regular update schedule... But I have big plans for when I come back!

I'll go ahead and drop some hints on what is to come... Animation vs Minecraft references... Several new characters and a new OC ship... I'm excited! Also also! I just publish a new One-shots book! It will contain 1-5 chapter short stories and backstories!

Merry Christmas and Edgy out!

Chapter Text

Heyo my Edgelings!

I'm finally done moving and it's good to be back! I will now return to my usual once a week schedule!

I hope you have fun reading this chapter, cause I sure had fun writing it!!!!

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From the west coast of the Main Continent to the sprawling grasslands in the east, a grand mountain range stretches across the North, separating the southern taiga from the northern tundra, and serving as a natural border for the human kingdom. The mountains are towering and jagged, like rocky teeth protruding from the cold ground. The peaks are capped in pure white snow, untouched by the footprints of any creature, the elevation too high for even the mountain goats built for such climates.

Chunks away from the coast, nestled on the southern side of the range, was a large stone plateau raised high above the taiga. Smoke from hundreds of campfires rose into the cold cloudy sky, and the plateau was covered in a multicolored blanket of tents.

Down amidst the tents, two men, one dressed in a gold-trimmed white shirt and the other in a blue-trimmed white shirt, both wearing coats. They spoke in low voices as they weaved between the shelters and campfires, making their way towards the Royal Tents.

"When did you say the foot soldiers are going to arrive?" Nilan asked, his gold-trimmed garments flapping in the chill wind, his thick fur coat wrapped tightly around his thin, muscled torso.

"They should be here either tomorrow or the next day. The battlements will be a couple days behind them." Cedrick replied, holding his warm hood up with one hand to prevent the wind from blowing it down. The fluffy grey hood exaggerated his extraordinary height.

"Smart of you to set out in segments. If we were in dire straights, it could've prevented a catastrophy." Nilan complemented.

"It was Juliara's idea." Cedrick smiled, but then his face resumed its seriousness, "What do you think he's waiting for? It's been over two weeks, correct?"

"I have been pondering that myself. His army didn't suffer any casualties at the last battle. In fact, it grew. In theory, he should've continued the attack, chasing us back to camp while we were retreating. I do not understand his reasons for holding back."

"That is odd..."

"The King has suggested that the Ex-prince is trying to catch us off guard, hoping that our troops will relax if he waits long enough."

"Was the Ex-prince himself injured?"

"Yes, he was dealt several fatal blows, but continued to fight anyways, singlehandedly taking out dozens of our men. He is undead, so I assume he cannot be killed by normal methods."

"Is it possible that perhaps such wounds can't kill him, but do weaken him over time? Maybe he needs to heal before attacking again." Cedrick contemplated.

"Mmmm..." Nilan hummed, searching this hypothesis for errors, "That is indeed a possibility. But we don't know how long it takes him to heal, so we still have no way of predicting his next attack. He has always been a bit unpredictable."

After a moment of thoughtful silence, Cedrick asked, "Why is he back? And how?"

"I don't know. I have a feeling that the King knows more than he is letting us believe, but he refuses to talk about his brother, so as of now, you know as much as I do." Nilan shrugged.

"Hmph." Cedrick huffs, "Well, have you sent any scouts to track down his location?"

"Our very best, but his trail ends at the base of a mountain a couple days east of here."

Cedricks brows furrow in confusion, "How does an army disappear?"

Nilan sneered, "By the same sort of dark magic that brought it forth, I suppose. The entire mountain and every cave in it has been throughly gleened. They can't find a trace of them."

"How deep did they go?"

"All the way down to deepslate. The only notable things they found were a couple mob spawners, a vast abandoned mineshaft system running through this entire section of the Northern Mountains, and the beginnings of an Ancient City."

"I'm guessing that's where they ended their search?"

"Indeed, three scouts against a Warden are not good odds."

"A dozen well-trained warriors against a Warden aren't good odds." Cedrick added.

"Precisely." Nilan nodded.

"How's that guy who lost his family been?" Cedrick inquired, remembering that the Queen had asked him to check up on the man. Shoot! He forgot his name...

"Which one? That pretty much describes half the army." Nilan chuckled humorlessly.

Cedrick rolled his eyes, "You know who I mean."

"Yes, yes. Emmet has been faring well. He's been helpful in navigating the region and predicting the weather patterns. Turns out it's hard to come by someone with any knowledge on the North. I sent out several scouts to check on other villages close to the border, and there's not a single one left untouched until you get to Windcrest to the south."

Cedrick eyes widened, and he whistled low, "How many villages is that?!?!"

"Twenty-three," Nilan answered, not even flinching. "There aren't very many here in the North, but the estimated loss just from those villages is two thousand."

"Great Notch!!! And that's how the Ex-prince made his army? By raising them up as Undead?"

"Indeed, his strength is far greater than what he revealed to us during that one battle. He only had about two hundred there. That makes me believe that he is only toying with us, and has some bigger plan in store. The King, on the other hand, is convinced that he wouldn't think to plan ahead like that. He believes that Brine has simply gone mad, and that explains his strange strategy."

"And you disagree?" Cedrick questioned with an arched eyebrow.

Nilan side-glanced at the First General, then sighed, "I'm afraid to say that I do. His behavior suggests that he has gone mad, I'll admit that. But his previous actions, such as the way he carefully took out village after village with such a high success rate that there is only one known survivor? That is far too organized for someone who is completely mad. He is either faning insanity so that we will underestimate him, or..." Nilan trailed off into silence.

"...Or?" Cedrick prompted after a second.

"Or it is possible that he is working for someone else, such as the Necromancers. That he is simply following their plan."

"He is undead, so that does make sense, but we have no way of knowing for sure..."

"That is why preparing is so difficult. We know next to nothing about our enemy, and have almost no way to predict his next move." Nilan huffed in frustration, then stopped abruptly in front of a diamond blue tent. "We're here."

They entered the meeting tent and found it full of lower ranking generals gathered around the map table in the center, dicussing plans amidst themselves. Off to the side, the King was quietly speaking with a man in a thick green tunic.

Cedrick recognized him immediately. Emmet.

".. and your ribs aren't healed yet. I believe it is best if you do as I said to begin with and go tell another scout to complete this mission." the King continued in a low tone as his two highest military officers approached.

"I assure you, your Highness, I will be fine! I have been at the base of them before, and I know the quickest paths to get me there. I will be faster than any of your other scouts, and time is of the essence." Emmet pleaded, not taking his determined eyes off of the King as the others came near.

"Fine," Steve relented, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You have leave to retieve a horse and set out as soon as possible. The supplies have already been prepared and are in saddle bags at the entrance of the tackle tent."

"Thank you, your Majesty! I won't let you down!" Emmet said brightly as he quickly headed to the entrance flap, walking past Nilan and Cedrick without a second glance.

"Arguing with you again is he?" Nilan commented disapprovingly, " What is this mission he's setting off on?"

"Evening Nilan, and welcome Cedrick! I hope your forces have settled in well. I just sent Emmet off to seek weaponary from the Floating Isles."

"Thank you, your Majesty. The new calvary regiments have already set up camp." Cedrick smiled warmly.

"Don't the Floating Isles unofficially consider themselves independent?" Nilan asked.

"Perhaps, but they are within my kingdom, and as such are under my rule. If they wish to become otherwise then it would be considered treason, and they would have to contend with our armies as soon as we are out of this mess. Besides, enchanted weapons will be extremely useful in the coming fight." Steve directed his attention back to Cedrick, "Speaking of which, did you bring the inherited weapons?"

"I did, sire. They will arrive with the heavy weaponary in a few days."

"Good, the powerful weapons of our ancestors will help us turn the tide in this war." Steve nodded.

"It's a shame that enchanting has become a lost art, and we must turn to the finicky people of the Isles to obtain such things." Nilan commented haughtily.

Steve sighed, "You're very right. But in times like these, we must be prepared for anything."

"Yes, your majesty!" Both High Commander and First General saluted in sync.

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You smile slightly as you lean against the warm blackstone wall, waiting outside Hero's room for him to take his bandages off one last time. Two weeks... only two weeks and every single wound was completely healed! The speed of his recovery astonishes you, especially considering his wounds had appeared healed almost a week ago, but he told you he was still having some internal pain, so you kept the bandages on and made him stay in his room. Your only concern now is that he hasn't eaten anything, but then again, you've never seen him eat anything ever, so your guess is he just doesn't need to.

You stopped staying with him to comfort him a long time ago, as soon as he became strong enough to change his own bandages. You couldn't help but feel bored during the day. The only thing to do is go listen to Hearings with Poggo, which you don't particularly enjoy. You want to go explore the Nether, but your post is here in the Great Hall, and you are obligated to remain within its walls unless you are going to monitor the war.

That had been the Council's instructions to you the last two times you went back to report. You are supposed to observe the next battle to verify that no Endermen are endangered. Some members seem anxious and worried, like Tkeerah, about the prospect of a IV Interdimensional War, others seem to approve of the idea, believing the humans need to be stamped out, and still others, including most of the highest Council members, are entirely indifferent on the whole situation unless it somehow ends up involving your kind.

The bickering voices of Council members still ring in your ears. You had no idea that the Council was so divided until you became Keeper. The dizzying scope of feuding politics is brand new to you, and it confuses you to realize that the same people who preached to all Enderkind that Unity is one of the Three Major Principles, didn't follow their own teachings. When you first walked in, they had all been calm, but then they started talking about the war, and began yelling heatedly at each other, breaking yet another Principle, Respect. It shakes you slightly... more than slightly...

Abruptly, the chamber door swings inward with a screech, and you jump at the sudden noise. Herobrine struts out with a bounce in his step, eyes glowing brightly and his characteristic crooked, sharp-toothed smirk stretching across his lightly tanned face. He grabs his hands above his head and leans backward, sighing happily as his back pops. "Nether! It feels good to be up again!" he turns his attention to you and you swear his eyes glow brighter, "What's up Spitfire? Did I miss anything?"

You can't help but chuckle at his cheerfulness, "Nothing but more very interesting Hearings as far as I know."

"Ah yes... Poor Poggo huh?" He chuckles slightly, not sounding the least bit sympathetic.

"He actually seems to enjoy it, oddly enough. He joins right in the arguments, and seems only happy to stir the conflict. By the end of it, both sides are so busy arguing with him that they seem to forget what they even came in for, so I guess it works."

"Mm. Sounds about right. Poggo doesn't stop until he's proven his point. Annoying sometimes..."

"I suppose it can come in handy though," You suddenly notice something odd about Hero's appearance. Is he...is he wearing his old clothes? He is! It's that same teal t-shirt and indigo pants! What? How?

Your staring becomes noticed as Hero arches an eyebrow and comments with that same devilish smirk, "Watcha looking at?"

Your stomach drops and your chest begins to glow at the remark, and you quickly brush it off, "I was just wondering how you got those same clothes back, and also where the Piglin ones went. I personally saw Poggo throw that shredded outfit into the lava, but now you have it back on. How?"

"Oh, well, the clothes that Poggo found for me are back in the room," he says, pointing his thumb behind him, "and these? For some reason my clothes... grow back... I don't know how it works or why."

"Oh..." you reply, still confused. You suddenly remember something that you have been wanting to ask him about, "And also... Why is the skin on your torso black?"

He blinks, processing how to answer, a strange look quickly flashing across his face before disappearing, "Well... uh... it just sometimes grows back like that... I... uh... don't know why." His voice sounds nervous for some reason, and you assume that it's because you're asking too many questions... he doesn't like questions...

You open your mouth to apologize when he suddenly changes the subject back, "I guess my clothes growing back comes in handy. If they didn't I would've been naked after I fell in that lava-"

"You fell in lava?!?! When?!?!" You exclaim, knowing he isn't as fireproof as you are. How did he get out?!

"It was... a long time... ago..." Herobrine stutters, his glowing eyes flickering slightly. Crazy the little details you begin to notice when you're around someone a lot. But wait! Why are his eyes flickering?! That usually only happens when he's...

...in pain.

"Oh no..." you murmur under your breath, your red eyes going wide when his breath begins to come out in fast, short gasps. Not this again!

"Shoot! I'm sorry Hero, I didn't mean to bring something up!" You quickly try to apologize, but he doesn't seem to hear you, already lost in the throws of a painful traumatic flashback. His eyes are dim and glazed over, and he sways as if about to fall down.

Soulsand and Sulfur! This is all your fault!

You jolt as his arms jerk up, fingers curled into grasping claw shapes, desperately trying to reach for something that isn't there, grabbing at thin air as if trying to hold on to it. You're sickened at the sight of the desperate pain on his face and the shiny tears leaking out of his eyes.

You have to do something!

Quickly you remember the last time something like this happened. When he was shaking in the hall before, you laid your hand on his shoulder and he calmed down. Now you have to try that again.

You step forward and reach your hand out, but yelp as one of his wandering hands snaps around your wrist, yanking you forward as he tries to pull himself out of his waking nightmare. You struggle to free yourself from his grip, but when you pull, his grasp only tightens, and his other hand reaches out and grabs your left shoulder.

You gasp in pain as his unnatural strength unintentionally crushes your wrist and his fingernails digging viciously into your black skin, his eyes still glazed over so he couldn't tell what he was doing. "Let go Herobrine!" You yell at him, tempted to light yourself on fire and force him to let go, but you know that will only make the situation worse if you burn him.

Suddenly he yanks you even closer, and lets go of your wrist to wrap his arm around your back. His other arm snakes around your neck and he pulls you into a tight hug, holding onto you for dear life. You stiffen as he lays his head onto your shoulder and begins to shake with sobs. Thank goodness your cloak is waterproof, or his tears would be burning you...

At least he isn't breaking your wrist anymore.

You kind of just... stand there and let him get out... whatever it is he's doing... You reach a hand around and awkwardly pat his back. "Umm... It's ok... You're fine now..." You attempt to comfort him.

Eventually, his shaking stops, and he lifts his head and looks at you, his eyes back to their usual glow. Thank the Void that's over...

And then you suddenly realize just how close his face is.

Your chest blushes bright red as his warm breath caresses your face. His tear-stained face turns pink as well as he stares into your wide eyes, getting lost in their ruby depths. Once again he felt himself drowning, but not in incinerating molten rock. This time he is drowning in longing. Longing for something he had given up on years ago. Longing for someone to care about, longing for someone to care about him.

He thought he killed that desire long ago, because caring only ever caused him pain before. Now the longing resurfaced with unbearable strength, radiating from him in waves. He clung to it now with his last bit of sanity. He had been drowning in his inner darkness for five years, and now he clung to this last, flickering scrap of light that still burns within him.

He needs you.

Meanwhile, you simply stare at the new expression on his face with a small amount of concern. You don't dare move, in case he might crush you in his arms. Honestly, you're just not sure what to do...

Then he ducks his head forwards and kisses you, squeezing you so tight you almost struggle to breath. Your eyes widen and your eyebrows shoot up as your lips touch someone else's for the first time. Hero's eyes are shut as he leans into you, and you don't have much of a choice but to stand there and...

What is this feeling?!?!

A warm fluttery buzzing ignites in your chest, and your head starts to spin. Are you going to faint?! No... that's not it... why does this feel... good...

He pulls away and opens his eyes, looking at your shocked face with half-shut eyes. You just stare back, speechless, unable to form words and you wrangle with this new, unknown feeling that you can't stamp out.

What the Nether just happened?!?!

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Herobrine abruptly snapped out of his trance, staring at Y/N in surprise. Did he really just do that? He hardly believed himself... but did he regret it?...

No.

He slowly unwound his arms and released her from his embrace. She swallowed and blinked repetitively, flustered and confused. She tugged her white hood over her dark gray hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, ducking her head to hide her face completely. But nothing could hide her glowing chest.

Herobrine smirked. She was... adorable.

"I-I... need to go..." She stammered, then popped out of existence with a flash of red sparks.

Herobrine stood there for a moment, just smiling dumbly as he stared at the place she had been standing. Huh, her reaction was... hard to read... he couldn't tell if she was mad at him or not. The blush could've been one of anger, he mused idly.

But even if he could go back, he wouldn't have done anything different, well, except the flashback part. He did hope that she wasn't too upset with him though; he already missed her company. Funny. All it took was knowing someone to realize just how lonely he really was.

'Are you done being stupid yet?'

Herobrine sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing there is something you want me to do?"

'Oh no, you just keep right on having weak mental breakdowns and kissing a freaking Enderman of all things. Don't let me get in the way of your degrading childish stupidity.'

"Just tell me what you want so I can get this over with." Herobrine huffed, not even realizing he was talking aloud.

'Why? So you can go back to making out? I swear you would get emotionally attached to a Piglin if you had the chance, you mentally weak idiot.'

"Oh right, and it's not like you have anything to do with my mental state, huh?!" Herobrine yelled, his slight taste of happiness quickly overwhelmed by angry annoyance.

'Don't get smart with me, boy.'

"Is that so? I thought you were just complaining about my stupidity? So which is- AHHHHH!" Herobrine cried out as a stabbing flash of pain twisted in his gut.

'Need I remind you why you shouldn't test my patience?'

"NO! No..." Herobrine gasped, struggling to push back another mental breakdown, memories of yet more searing pain bubbling up. "Just tell me what you want... please..."

'That's better. Go to the Overworld and figure out where the human army is camped. Their reinforcements should've arrived by now.'

"Isn't that what you wanted to happen?"

'Yes. It's all part of the plan. Now GO already.'

"Alright! Alright! I'm going..." Herobrine reassured the Whispers as he made his way down the Blackstone hall toward the portal room.

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Emmet pulled gently on the reins of his horse to stop the mare as a couple children ran, laughing, in front of her. Emmet followed them with his eyes as their mother confronted them, scolding them for running across the street without looking. Sadness overwhelmed him and he looked away, tears blurring his vision as he thought of what could never be.

He shook his head, tossing his straight black hair around as he tried to clear his mind. He had a mission and he needed to focus. After an entire day of constant riding, both him and his mount were exhausted, thankfully he had arrived at Helenport, a large trading city located on the Helen River, which ran from the Northeast of the Main Continent all the way to the Jungles in the south.

The Helen River served as a natural divider between the North region and the East region of the Human Kingdom. Emmet had only ever been to the East region once, on honeymoon with Tillary... They went through Helenport but didn't stay, because Helenport wasn't just a port, it was also a crime hub, known for the violent gangs that roamed the city. Emmet just hoped he was inconspicuous enough to get through and stay the night without running into trouble.

Right now, he was just entering the outskirts, but the ominous multistory cobblestone buildings were already coming into view. With twilight quickly approaching, Emmet needed to get into an inn before dark.

The closer he got to the center of town, the quieter it got. There were no more children playing outside, only sketchy merchants in stands by the road, and even sketchier customers buying their wares. Emmet didn't like all the dark alleys, too many places for thugs to hide.

There, Emmet finally spotted the sign for an inn only a few buildings away,

A shadow flashed across his peripheral vision.

Emmet jerked his head to the right, but saw nothing. Unease settled in his gut, and he urged his mare into a trot.

The sun was setting, and the shadows grew long and ominous as everything turned gray. Emmet quickly jumped off his horse at the entrance to the inn, but before he could get there, a tall figure in a mask stepped out of the shadows and blocked his path.

Emmet reached behind him to grab his ax from the saddle, only to find three more masked thugs with swords and daggers pointed at his throat.

"Think he's valuable?" one asked.

"No, search him and take the horse. I don't care if you kill 'im" another answered.

But before they could do anything, five figures emerged from the other side of the building. At first, Emmet was afraid it was more members of their gang, but he quickly realized they weren't. They weren't wearing masks, instead, they all wore strangely bright colored clothes. One wore all blue, one wore all yellow, one wore all green, one wore all red, and the one in front wore all orange. They were all young, and a couple of them barely looked fifteen.

"I suggest you leave. Otherwise we will have to intervene." The guy dressed in orange threatened the thugs, who glared at him menacingly. Emmet's eyes darted between the group of boys and the gang members.

"It's ok kids, don't get involved," Emmet tried to warn them away.

"We happen to be going in this inn, and you happen to be in our way." The orange guy ignored Emmet, narrowing his bright lime green eyes, remaining cool and composed.

"Get lost. There's more than one inn in this city." One of the thugs growled.

"Fine then. You leave us no choice." The orange guy drew his sword, and the rest of the boys followed suit, except the blue guy drew a bow, and the green guy pulled out... a fishing rod???

It was four against five, but the thugs seemed confident in their superiority, standing their ground without flinching.

Then the colorfully dressed boys charged!

The red guy ran to the front of the attack, tackling the guy behind Emmet with a kick. The thug quickly regained his footing and began to stab at the kid with his iron short sword, but the red guy dodged the attacks with ease. He began to add in his own attacks, using his fist as much as his sword.

The orange and green guy ran up next. The green guy flicked his fishing rod and hooked it on the back of one of the thug's shirts, pulling him off balance and finishing the move by punching him in the chest. The orange guy locked into a duel with another masked thug.

A second later, the third thug tried to jump the orange guy from behind, but before he could swing his dagger, an arrow embedded itself into his shoulder, and he dropped the weapon with a yelp. The yellow swordsman ran to back up the green one and the blue archer stayed behind to continue backing up the others.

Emmet stared in shock as the kids easily began to overpower the trained criminals, but quickly snapped out of it and spun around to grab his ax. By the time he turned back around, the thugs were retreating into the shadows, and the colorful group was approaching him.

"Thank you," Emmet said immediately as he lowered his ax, "Who are you guys?"

"The name's Chance Becker," The man dressed in orange nodded to the rest of his crew, "And we are the Freelancers."

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Let's gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!

I gotta say I was not planning on having a kissing scene in this chapter, but hey it works!

And yes, the Freelancers are the Color Gang from Alan Becker's Animation vs. Minecraft!!! And don't worry! I'm adding Purple and Kind Orange too!!! Of course, they are a little different in my story, but they retain the same personalities and general backstories, though I do tweak a couple things...

Edgy out!

Chapter Text

Wassup Edgelings!?

Sorry for being a little late on the update, but it took me a bit to get really inspired. I've written tons of angst, but these happier scenes (spoiler alert ig) are a bit harder for me. I'm trying to make my stories more balanced and I'm just now getting to a point in my life where I'm beginning to value the happy scenes as much as the angsty ones. So cut me a little slack if it isn't the best. It's still a work in progress.

Have fun!

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Emmet walked down the creaky old stairs after dropping his belongings off in his room at the inn. He needed a bit to eat before heading to bed, and the main level of the inn was a tavern. The smells of roasted beef and fried potatoes had been tempting him since the moment he walked in.

His gray green eyes scanned the long, narrow room for a suitable table. Waitresses ambled between heavy wooden tables, taking patrons orders. Various paintings and mob heads hung crooked on the wall in no particular pattern. The windows were small and high up on the wall, probably so that they were less likely to be broken by object hurled by feuding customers, and also less likely to be broken into at night. The smoke from the lanterns hung from the ceiling floated around in the air with very little ventilation, making the narrow room warm and stuffy. Emmet didn't expect much more from a place like this, he wasn't travelling to stay in high end resorts.

Emmet's eyes rested on a small empty table near the door, and he began weaving through the others to get to it. He kept an eye on a couple suspicious characters sitting at the bar, wary of what kind of people he might encounter in a place like this.

He had almost reached the table when he felt someone tug on his tunic, he tensed and turned, and saw the kids who helped him earlier. He relaxed slightly, thanking Notch that he hadn't gotten himself into more trouble.

"Why don't you sit with us?" The guy in red, the one who presumably tugged his tunic, offered.

Emmet eyed the empty sixth seat, it was in between the guy dressed in green and the guy dressed in yellow. He thought for a moment, "Is the rest of your group alright with that?"

"Of course," Chance smiled, a small scrap of chicken stuck between his teeth. "Go right ahead and sit. Dinner's always better with company."

Emmet smiled back and nodded, "Thank you. It sure beats eating alone."

As soon as he sat down something bumped into his leg from beneath the tablecloth. He dismissed it, but then something began noisily sniffing his shoe. He peaked under the table and saw a pig of all things staring back at him.

"That's Reuben," the guy in yellow informed him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "He's Cardinal's pet, and I don't for the life of me understand why he can't stay in the stable with the horses for just one night."

"Because he would get lonely without me!" the guy dressed in red, presumably Cardinal, protested through his mouthful of potatoes.

The yellow guy rolled his eyes, "The stable is full of animals."

"It's not the same!" Cardinal snapped back, taking one of the carrots from his plate and sticking it under the table. Munching and happy snorting sounds immediately followed.

A waitress noticed the new addition to the Freelancer's table, and sauntered over to collect his order. "What can I get for you, hun?" She asked in a heavy accent.

"I'll take-" Emmet began.

"Not pork," The green guy interrupted with a wink.

"Right..." Emmet continued, "I'll take a steak and some potatoes please."

"How would you like your steak?"

"Medium rare please."

"Alright sugar, I'll have that out in a minute." She answered, scribbling the order down on her worn little notepad as she sauntered over to the next table.

"What's your name by the way?" The guy dressed in blue asked.

"Oh right, I'm Emmet Timbaer."

"Well, since Chance over there didn't bother to introduce the rest of us, I'll do it." The guy in green teased, "I'm Forrest."

"I'm Cardinal!" The guy in red eagerly chimed in. "But people call me Wild Card."

"No one calls you that..." The yellow guy mumbled.

"I'm Ocean," The blue guy nodded.

"I'm Xanthos." The yellow guy finished.

"Hey, I said I was going to do introductions." Forrest said with mock indignation.

"Are you guys brothers?" Emmet questioned.

"The four of us are," Ocean answered after swallowing his bite of chicken. "Chance is our older cousin."

"But basically our brother." Cardinal added, spitting out bits of his carrot as he spoke.

"Cardinal, please don't talk with your mouth full," Chance scolded, "It's disgusting. You're nineteen for Notch's sake; I feel like I'm talking to a five year old."

"Yeah, yeah whatever," Cardinal rolled his eyes.

"That reminds me..." Emmet quickly took his opportunity, "How old are the rest of you guys? You look really young."

"I'm twenty-two," Chance explained, "Forrest is sixteen, and Ocean and Xanthos are both fifteen."

"We're twins." Xanthos clarified.

"Aren't you guys a bit young to be traveling to places like this?" Emmet inquired.

"Well, we're here visiting friends currently, but usually we come to trading hubs like this to exchange artifacts we've found, or occasionally we'll escort and protect traveling waresmen from thieves along the way to their destinations." Chance explained.

"For a price obviously." Xanthos added.

"First time's free though, so don't worry." Forrest winked at Emmet with a grin, pushing his empty plate away. He was the first to finish eating.

"When did that become a rule?" Cardinal asked in genuine confusion.

"He's just trying to be funny." Ocean rolled his eyes with a smile.

"So we are making him pay? I mean, that doesn't seem fair since we needed to get in the door anyways..." Cardinal went on.

Xanthos slapped his forehead, "Cardinal. No. He doesn't have to pay us."

"But... Ocean said...?" Cardinal continued, still confused.

"Just eat for Notch's sake," Chance shook his head.

Emmet smiled at their shenanigans, "I guess what I meant was... Shouldn't you be with your parents?"

"Eh, nah. They trust us." Cardinal shrugged, forgetting his previous confusion.

"You mean they trust Chance. They definitely don't trust you." Xanthos corrected.

"Hey!" Cardinal said indignantly as he held another carrot under the table for Reuben, "I can be responsible too!"

"I'd like to see that," Forrest chuckled, then turned to Emmet. "And also, as I'm sure you've noticed, we can hold our own in a fight."

"True," Emmet admitted, then turned to the waitress as she set his plate of food in front of him, "Thank you." She smiled and then left them to their conversation.

"So where are you heading from here? You don't seem like much of a trader." Chance asked.

"I'm not. I'm a scout for the Royal Army heading to the Floating Isles." Emmet explained as he eagerly dove into his food. Notch! He was hungry.

"The Royal Army?! I wouldn't have guessed that, since you're not a great fighter and all!" Cardinal exclaimed brightly.

"Do you really need to say everything that comes to your Notchdang brain, Cardinal?" Forrest mumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Technically, you have never seen Emmet fight." Xanthos defended.

"Yeah, but he's slow, and he walked right into-" Cardinal obliviously continued on.

"Enough! Just enough..." Ocean interrupted, then smiled apologetically at Emmet, "Anyways, isn't there a war going on with the Necromancers somewhere in the North? Does your trip have something to do with that?"

"Yes, I'm going to the Isles to request enchanted weapons and armor, possibly soldiers if they are cooperative." Emmet explained, wiping some excess fried potato from the side of his mouth with a cloth napkin.

"The people of the Isles aren't usually very accepting of strangers. They are very reclusive." Chance commented.

"I have been warned, but we are facing grave danger and need all the assistance we can get. I won't leave them alone until they send help." Emmet said with strong determination.

"Is it really that bad?" Ocean asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"The King's armies were easily able to take the Necromancers five years ago. They were only able to take the castle for a short period of time, and that was only because they had the element of surprise. I'm shocked they are putting up such a fight." Xanthos added.

"Thanks for the history lesson," Forrest said sarcastically, and received a glare from Xanthos.

"It's not the Necromancers." Emmet interrupted the brewing argument with a grim, shadowed look, dropping his head to stare at the table.

"Who is it then?" Ocean questioned.

"It's... Herobrine..." Emmet choked out as if spitting out something disgusting, his mouth curling into a snarl and his eyes narrowing.

The table fell silent, weighed down by a sudden gravity.

"Who's that?" Cardinal asked, breaking through the solemn silence.

"Cardinal, I don't think-" Chance tried to explain, before getting abruptly cut off.

"I'm going to bed." Emmet abruptly stood, shoving back his chair with so much force that it fell over with a loud crash, causing the whole tavern to turn and see. They were hoping for a fight.

They were disappointed to watch as Emmet simply walked off towards the stairs.

"Hey! You didn't finish your food!" Cardinal called out.

"Just let him go." Chance said.

"But-"

"Cardinal..." Xanthos warned.

"Just don't..." Forrest continued.

"Leave the man alone..." Ocean added.

A moment of silence followed, but when Emmet reached the base of the stairs...

"Can I give the potatoes to Reuben!?" Cardinal called out, unable to keep it to himself.

"CARDINAL!!!" The whole group exclaimed in exasperation.

Emmet stopped and turned slightly, "Thanks for letting me sit with you, and sure, he can have them." And Emmet continued to his room.

"Thanks!" Cardinal answered, and quickly reached over the table to grab Emmet's unfinished plate.

The rest were glaring pointedly at him.

"What?"

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Your mind sparks and statics like a broken redstone engine as you speed walk down the hall. You meant to teleport straight to your room, but with your thoughts so scattered you ended up teleporting to a hall near the Piglin barracks. You aren't going to risk teleporting again, so you rush down the hall, stare at the ground, and hope to the Void that no one notices your strange behavior.

Your chest burns so brightly you might as well be a beacon.

Your stomach fizzles with a feeling similar to nausea, but more... hot, and less sick... It's the best way you can think of describing it.

You're just, shell shocked, brain numb. What the actual NETHER!

You just need to get to your room, so you can sort out all of this alone, without feeling like every freaking living thing out here is staring at you.

"Y/N?" you hear a familiar voice ask from your right. You keep your head down and keep walking. Now is not the time...

"Y/N!" Poggo called again, running to catch up with your brisk pace. "Is something wrong?"

"No." You answer softly, your voice cracking. Sulfur! Now he's definitely going to know something's up.

"Don't do me like that. I'm trying to help ya." Poggo snorts, matching your stride, even as your pace quickens.

"Not right now. I want to be alone." You attempt to explain, choking slightly on some of your words. What is wrong with you!?!

"Just let me help you." Poggo demands. "Tell me what happened."

"What part of 'I want to be alone' do you not understand!?" You snap at him, and immediately regret it. None of your internal conflict has anything to do with him. You begin to apologize, "Look Poggo, I'm sorry... but I really-"

"It's Herobrine isn't it?" Poggo interrupts you.

'

Your head snaps up and your red eyes widen as they meet his pale yellow ones. You duck your head and immediately try to brush it off. No! No. How did he guess? Ack! You definitely don't want to talk about this.

Poggo snarls, startling you, you've never heard him get angry before... "I swear if that slimy bastard laid a single finger on you I'm gonna throw him into the lava..."

"No! It's not like that!" You quickly stop that train of thought. Since when is Poggo so defensive over you anyways?

Even though you're still staring at the blackstone floor, you can very clearly imagine Poggo raising an eyebrow. "Then what is it like? What did he do to upset you?"

Suddenly you feel like you're being interrogated, and anxiety rises up on top of all your other tumultuous emotions. You really REALLY don't want to talk about this!!!!

Poggo takes your silence as a bad sign.

"Y/N... What did that son of a slime do to get you this worked up? I can take his sourness when it's directed at me or the Brutes... but you don't deserve that. And something tells me that it's more than just his permanent bad mood that's getting to you." Poggo pressures, laying a hoof on your shoulder as you turn down another hall.

Some Keeper you are... Walking through the Nether having a fracking panic attack in front off all it's residents. Great job! You're doing such a great job representing your people...

"Alright then." Poggo finally gives in, lifting his hoof off your shoulder. You take a tiny glance up as you watch him begin to walk toward another hall. Your eyes widen further as you watch him unsling his golden ax from the strap on his back. You've never seen him take it out before. "If you can't tell me, then I'll go get the story from him. And I swear to Nether if he-" Poggo rants venomously.

"Wait!" You call out, and Poggo stops still in his tracks. "Don't do that... please..."

"I have to know what happened Y/N." Poggo stubbornly insists.

"Can you please just trust me Poggo? It's nothing serious. I just don't want to talk about it." You desperately try to persuade him. You really don't want anyone to know. You yourself want to pretend it didn't happen...

"I'm not going to just let this go. First you ignore my existence, then you yell at me, and now you're trying to convince me it's nothing. I'm not stupid Y/N. This isn't nothing, and I'm not stopping until I get to the bottom of it." Poggo declares determinedly, turning once more to go find Herobrine.

Why is he so much more loyal to you than his own lord?

And why for the love of the Void is he so stubborn?!?!

"He kissed me." You blurt out, your chest burning a million degrees hotter as you hear your own voice echo down the hall. Sulfur! You hope no one else heard that...

Poggo stands frozen, as if turned to stone. He slowly cranks his neck around to stare at you as if you've grown three more heads. The shock and confusion on his face would be hilarious in any other circumstance.

"What now?" He asks dumbly.

"I'm not saying that again." You spit back and storm off. You can't believe he made you say that out loud!! Sulfur! Now he's going to go tell all his Piglin buddies and soon the whole fricking Nether is going to know...

Poggo doesn't follow you the rest of the way to your room. You viciously swing open the stone door and slam it shut behind you. You stomp over to your pallet and collapse face first onto it. You clutch your head in your hands and force yourself to think of nothing to try and clear your mind.

Just... what? Why?!

Ugh... nevermind... You're going to try to sleep and forget about it...

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Several sleepless hours of tossing and turning later, you hear a knock on your door.

You stretch and stand, rubbing your bleary eyes and composing yourself. You straighten your wrinkled cloak as you step to the blackstone door. Your hand rests on the gold knob for a minute, hesitating, before you finally take a deep breath and turn it.

"How can I help-" Your eyes grow wide and your voice stops short, no longer responding to the signals coming from your brain commanding it to form words. You frantically slam the door in the face of your visitor, your chest lighting up once again. Dang it!! You just got it to stop doing that!!!

SULFUR!!! IT'S HEROBRINE!!!!!

Another knock sounds behind you, your eye pounds at a thousand beats per second as you lean your back against the door.

"Um... Hi Spitfire?" you hear Herobrine's muffled voice through the door crack. "Look. I just came back from the Overworld and uh... Poggo came and told me I needed to talk to you about... you know..." He clears his throat nervously.

You don't respond.

"Look... I... I just don't really know what to say. You seem upset though so... Do you want to come out and talk?" He awkwardly continues, feeling kinda stupid for talking to a door. "We're...I'm planning on attacking in a couple days... Do you at least want to discuss that?"

You take a deep breath, building up courage, knowing that you're going to have to go out some time. You still have a job to do.

You quickly slip on your boots and grab your scythe. You turn to slowly crack the door open again, this time stepping out. There he is, messy brown hair more windswept than usual, crooked grin intact. His smile falters for a second though, and he mumbles something under his breath.

You look at him incredulously, "What?"

He jumps slightly, turning his attention back to you and resuming his grin, "Oh... nothing... Anyways... Yeah, the human army is camped a couple days away from here. I'm going to set out shortly so that I'll arrive day after tomorrow."

"I suppose I'm coming with you." You mention, focusing very hard on the glowstone in the ceiling as the two of you head down the hall.

"What?" Herobrine exclaims.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you? The Council wants me to watch the next battle." You shrug.

"Oh...ok..." He answers, then falls silent for a minute. "What?! No! I'm not-!" He starts to yell, but then cuts himself when he sees your shocked and confused expression.

"Umm..." You begin, hoping he explains.

"It's nothing," He smiles nervously, "I wasn't talking to you..."

"Okaaaaaaaaaaay."

"So!" He clears his throat and quickly tries to change the subject, shoving his hands into his pants pockets, "Do you want to see where we're heading? It's nighttime in the Overworld now, and I thought you might want to see that too since you haven't before..."

"Uh, sure. That's fine."

Herobrine opens his mouth as if to say something else, but only comes up with a blank stare before shutting it again. Clearly he doesn't know what to say. Neither do you.

So you walk in silence to the portal room, but you still feel his glowing white eyes boring into the side of your skull. You just ignore it, hoping he'll just stop.

He doesn't stop.

"Could you please stop staring at me!?" You finally snap as you turn and stare right back with narrowed eyes.

"Sorry, but I just can't help but be captivated." He smirks with an awkward wink, his whole face scrunching up with the effort.

Nether, he's bad at this.

Wait...WHY ARE YOU BLUSHING!!!

"You're cute when you glow." He comments with that same brazen grin.

"Are you actually flirting with me right now?!" You demand, flustered and embarrassed that it's so obvious to see.

"Um... yeah... You don't seem too mad... Poggo made it sound like you were really upset or something." He shrugs. A mysterious expression flashes on his face for a split second, and he shakes his head several times as if trying to shake something off. He runs his fingers through his hair and shuts his eyes for a second before looking back at you.

"How do you know I'm not mad?!" You exclaim, frustrated by his nonchalant confidence.

"Well, when you're mad you get all quiet and try to communicate through gestures and facial expressions, kinda like you did with Poggo when you were trying to get him to stay to bandage me up..." Herobrine explains.

"Wait?! You heard all that?!?!" You choke out in a whisper, lighting up like a freaking redstone torch, mortified.

"...yeah?" Hero answers with uncertainty. "So anyways... You're not upset right?"

"Well... I WAS upset... You can't just... do that..." You slowly trail off, not knowing how to explain how you feel. You don't even know how you feel. Part of you feels light and fluttery, but the other part of you is queasy from uncertainty.

Hero pauses for a moment, "Soooooooo, you WERE upset... as in, you're not upset anymore, right?"

You smack your forehead, "That's not the point!"

"Oh, we're here." Hero turns and flings open the heavy door. You just stand in the hall and stare after him for a second. Did he just blatantly ignore you?!

After Hero realizes you've stopped following him, he pops his head back out, "You coming?"

You blink twice slowly, "Yeaaaaah..."

You step in and stare into the radiating purple vortex inside the obsidian frame, momentarily hypnotized by its alluring glow. It's the only lighting in the room.

Herobrine jumps onto the dias and spins around, holding his hand out towards you. "Come on, let's go!"

"Wait! I need to put my hood up..." You tug at the edge of your white hood until you finally maneuver it over the ponytail holding back part of your dark gray, shoulder-length hair. "Ok, I'm ready."

You hesitate though, staring at his outstretched hand with uncertainty.

You take a deep breath and step forward, slipping your long, thin black fingers over his shorter, stronger ones. Your stomach explodes again with that strange fluttery feeling.

Internally, you half-heartedly laugh at yourself. What are you doing?

But then he pulls you through the portal, and you plunge into the dizzying drop out of physical reality, tightly clutching Hero's hand despite the fact you know there is nothing to be concerned about. It's disconcerting nonetheless...

'COULD BE USEFUL'

What was that?!?!

You gasp as your body reforms itself in the damp cave in the Overworld, clutching your chest with your free hand, trying to calm your pounding eye. What was that voice?! It was loud and quiet and everywhere and nowhere at the same time! Your ears are still ringing from the static. Or is that just the portal after effects?

You glance over at Herobrine. He's clutching his head and staring wide-eyed at the floor, his face the definition of panic.

"Did you hear that?!" You ask him, your voice echoing along with the drops of acid water falling from the ceiling.

He glances back at you and attempts to smile confidently, but just looks even more nervous. "Uh, what voice? I'm just...uh... sick from the portal." He explains.

"That's odd. It didn't affect you when we came through last time..." You comment suspiciously. You are almost certain he's lying to you, but why?

"Look, I just don't feel good alright?!?!" He half-yelled his irritation bursting out.

"Yeah, me neither..." You shake your head and release Hero's hand, trying to rid yourself of the static. "I think I'm going back..." You step towards the portal again, but hesitate fearfully. What if it happens again?

"No!" Herobrine cries desperately, reaching out and grabbing your hand again. "I-I haven't shown you- outside yet..."

You sigh, torn. You don't really want to stay, but you also don't want to go back through the portal. "Alright."

Hero's breaks out into a wide, relieved smile and he starts to tug you down the tunnel toward the cave entrance.

"Wait! Go slower! There's a lot of water here!"

"Oh... right."

You come out through the arching stone cave entrance onto the bare stone ledge jutting out from the staggeringly tall cliffside. You stop dead in your tracks. Your jaw drops as you stare up at the beautifully clear starry night sky. The bright particles of light look so similar to the Void, but so much brighter! Each one twinkled as if dancing to an unheard song flowing through the huge open atmosphere hovering above you like a gigantic black cloak blowing in a gentle breeze.

The sweeping, graceful crescent moon shines brightly making the crystalized white snow luminous and serene. Everything else, the tree trunks, the bits of exposed ground, and the stone walls of the mountain, is a deep gray or even black in contrast to the glowing white snow. The air is clear and cold and crisp, such a refreshing contrast to the stuffy Nether or the musty cave. You close your eyes and take a minute to soak it in.

Hero gently squeezes your hand, such a contrast from how powerfully strong those same hands could be. "D-d-do you l-l-like it-t-t?" He chattered, shivering in the intense cold of this extreme altitude.

"Yes." You smile peacefully, then suddenly realize how cold Hero must be, "Oh! Here!" You quickly unclasp your heavy white cloak, fling it off, and drape it around his shoulders. This leaves you in your standard black T-shirt and pants, but the cold doesn't bother you.

"N-n-no," Hero removes the cloak and holds it back out to you, "You t-t-take it-t-t."

"I'm not affected by the cold. You keep it." You insist, pushing it back.

"I'm used t-t-to it-t-t though. It-t-t won't-t-t k-k-kill me." He chuckles dryly, pushing it back again.

"Just put it on!" You snatch it back then tackle him from behind, clasping it around his neck before he could protest further, "Just because you won't die doesn't mean you need to make yourself miserable!"

He sighs then smirks, "This isn't-t-t how it-t-t usually works..."

You look at him confused, "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," He shakes his head and chuckles, "T-t-thank you."

"No problem. Here." You whip out your scythe, and ignite the blade so that it emits a warm, red heat. "You want to hold it?"

"Nah," He smirks his signature crooked grin and tosses his hair dramatically, "My good looks are disarming enough."

You roll your eyes and desperately fail to stop yourself from laughing at his antics.

He leans closer to you, releasing your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulder. You find yourself leaning into him as well, staring into the beauty of the night, so much more gentle than the blistering light of the sun.

You sigh, feeling like you need to get something heavy off your chest, "Hero, I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Of what everyone will think of... this... I'm the Keeper. I'm not supposed to..." You trail off, not knowing how to finish your sentence. "I just don't want the Council to be disappointed in me. Or my friends and family for that matter. Even if I wasn't the Keeper, I don't know how they would react." You spill out your concerns, the awkwardness between you and Hero has disintegrated, once again leaving that strange comfort that you've always felt around him.

"I don't see why they have to find out."

Unease settles into your stomach, "I don't want to lie to them..."

"You don't have to. There are no Endermen in the Great Hall. They can't find out unless you tell them, and not saying anything technically isn't lying."

"I guess..." You admit. The unease doesn't go away though.

Suddenly, you feel a cool touch on your cheek.

Your chest lights up once again as he gently kisses your cheek, all of your worries suddenly melt into a tingly dizziness that you can't help but fall head-first into.

"We can figure it out later. Just enjoy the right now." He whispers into your ear, and you lean your head onto his shoulder, letting all your cares melt away with this new light feeling. You barely even realize that you're smiling.

We.

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WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

That was fun to write!

I know it was a lot of dialogue, but it just felt necessary. I hope you guys don't mind too much. Anyways... I have big plans for this chapter's sketch ;) so just be patient with me... I'm also going to be updating sketches on chapters 12-16. Give me some time though, it takes a long time for me to be happy with a sketch.

Edgy out!