Chapter Text
"...and that is the story of how our great-great-great grandfather ruled the world"
Deep within the suffocating bowels of the Nether—the hottest expanse in Minecraft existence, where rivers of glowing orange magma surged and cascaded like bleeding veins through the netherrack—lay the monolithic Nether Fortress. Dark, jagged brick walls towered over the fiery abyss. Here, in a grim ash-choked courtyard, a massive congregation of Wither Skeletons had gathered. They stood motionless, dark charcoal bones gleaming faintly in the ambient volcanic glow, their hollow eye sockets fixed intently on an elder Wither Skeleton.
The middle age raspy voice cut through the constant, low roar of bubbling lava. His words carried a heavy, accent weight, weaving a tale about the First Wither. It was a legendary narrative of absolute power and dominance that sent a visible jolt of adrenaline through the crowd. The younger Wither Skeletons stood completely transfixed, their jaws slightly agape, utterly mesmerized by the sheer grandeur of their bloodline's history. A collective wave of pride and burning ambition rippled through the horde.
“Wow, that’s crazy…” whispered several young skeletons in unison, their voices filled with genuine awe.
Suddenly, a screeching, high-pitched voice shattered the reverent silence from the very back of the crowd.
“Hey yo! That is sick!!”
The surrounding skeletons simultaneously slumped their shoulders and let out a heavy, synchronized sigh. They were universally exhausted by the antics of their youngest, most eccentric brother.
“Can I meet him?!”
A broad, goofy grin stretched across the face of young Grox, causing the skeletons around him to instantly recoil in disgust. His tone was entirely devoid of the proper, solemn respect, blurted out as a thoughtless, impulsive outburst. The storytelling elder narrowed his glowing eye sockets, his heavy brow ridge furrowing deeply in sheer disapproval.
“Absolutely not!” the elder roared, the sheer force of his anger vibrating through the dark bricks. His teeth clicked sharply with venomous emphasis. “Only the best of our kind are ever permitted to stand in his presence!”
At his harsh rebuke, the rest of the horde immediately broke into harsh whispers, pointing their bony fingers and mocking young Grox for his complete lack of self-control. But Grox remained entirely unfazed. The mockery slid right off his charred ribs. Instead, a fiery conviction ignited within him. He looked around, desperately trying to convince his cynical family of his grand destiny.
With unbridled enthusiasm, he thrust his fist into the air and yelled “Bro, I’m telling you, one day I’m gonna be rich and famous!”
The crowd collectively rolled their eyes, turning their backs on his ridiculous delusion.
“Grox! Grox! Grox!”
Suddenly, the panicked shriek of an even younger skeleton echoed down the narrow fortress corridor. The entire crowd froze, snapping their heads toward the commotion.
Grox simply leaned against his stone sword, entirely relaxed. “What’s up, bro?” he called out casually.
The breathless messenger finally burst into the courtyard, his ribs rattling as he gasped out the terrifying words: “The Lord… he needs to speak with us. Right now.”
.
.
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The wither skeletons sprinted toward the throne room, rushing to attend the decree of the First Wither. The skeletons crowded together, each wanting to be the first to line up near the Lord. Young Grox, who was shorter than the rest of his kind, struggled to get through.
"Bro, what's going on?" he said, which prompted one of the wither skeletons to shove him aside. Grox almost lost his balance but luckily managed not to fall. He glared at the other wither skeleton, but the skeleton simply stuck out his black tongue and quickly walked away.
The throne room never failed to impress young Grox. Its elegant yet chaotic interior showed that its occupant had been a leader since ancient times. On the throne, his great-great-great- grandfather sat with a commanding presence. Guards stood by his side, while all the attending wiher skeletons immediately moved to the sides and bowed out of respect for the leader of destruction.
"Yo, that's the Lord" his iris-less eyes seemed to glow with awe. The First Wither, seeing the actions of one of his descendants, remained silent, wearing an inscrutable expression, even for creatures of his age.
A wither skeleton bodyguard standing next to the Lord looked displeased, considering the younger monster's behavior disrespectful. "Hey, shut up!" his voice barked, making several other young wither skeletons tremble in fear—except, of course, for the one he was targeting.
"My bad" Grox replied, his tone still lacking respect, but the bodyguard couldn't do anything about it since their Lord was watching everything.
Once all the wither skeletons were accounted for, the throne room went dead silent, with no sound except for the lava bubbling below. "Hello, my sons. My time in this world is coming to an end," the First Wither said, his firm voice making the atmosphere tense. His gaze pierced forward as if looking into the future. "As the God of all wither skeletons, it is my duty—"
"Bro really said duty!"
"—to have one of you continue my legacy by causing mass destruction..." His hands emerged from his thick robe with interlocked fingers. The Lord always knew everything—of course, in this case, every single one of his gestures had a purpose.
His eyes swept across the room. “Who should I choose?” He turned left and right, front and back. Although he already knew exactly who was destined for this fate, he had to appear convincing—at least convincing enough until the other god became interested in this game once more.
The heavy silence of the throne room was suddenly shattered. “Hey, hey! Choose me! Choose me!” A high-pitched, annoying voice echoed from the back, forcing every single monster to turn around in unison. Grox was jumping up and down excitedly, causing the surrounding wither skeletons to instantly back away from him in disgust. But Grox didn't care—why should he?
Seeing his wild enthusiasm, the Lord’s lips curled into a dark, fleeting smile. Though it lasted for only a fraction of a second and went unnoticed by the crowd, the alert bodyguard sensed that something was deeply wrong.
Suddenly, the air grew thick and suffocating. “Eugh… I don’t have much time to—” Thick, ominous smoke abruptly began billowing from the First Wither’s ancient body. The bodyguards gasped, instantly panicking, but the old Wither flashed them a murderous, piercing glare—a silent, lethal warning not to interfere with what was about to happen.
“𓁹—Grox!”
With a deafening crack, the Lord's body suddenly exploded, leaving behind nothing but a swirling cloud of black and white smoke. The sudden blast sent a wave of shock through the older wither skeleton members. Murmurs of outrage broke out. By tradition, the throne should have been passed down to them first since they all more powerful than Grox, and not to the weakling, most unreliable descendant—especially since none of them trusted Grox.
Hearing the Lord utter his name with his final breath, Grox’s eyes lit up with instant realization and triumph. He knew all along that the First Wither would eventually recognize his hidden greatness.
“I bet!” Grox smirked.
But just as Grox celebrated his victory, the temperature in the room dropped to freezing. The older wither skeletons bared their teeth, their grip tightening on their stone swords. Just as Grox expected, the others were not going to accept this easily...
•••
His grandfather was one of the most respected leaders, so they had no choice but to respect him as well even though he knows that all his siblings will definitely not approve...
However, feeling the need to prove himself further, Grox ultimately brought out a book and wrote down a list.
- Become rich
- Build an army
- Become GOD
As he wrote, he also began to envision a future filled with precious minerals—and, of course, with the money, he would certainly be able to buy everything. "Alright first I'mma need to get rich"
"I'll be building a giant army they better be on their knees!" Grox clenched his teeth, imagining the creatures of Minecraft—even those he had yet to encounter in the Overworld and the End—bowing before him.
He would be immensely proud of himself, and his great-great-great-grandfather and father would surely be astonished not to mention his siblings, who had once belittled him—they would weep upon realizing that they had actually been the kingdom's true burden all along.
Blaze, who happened to be passing by, caught sight of that sneer. Usually, he wouldn't have cared, but seeing young Grox like this served as a warning sign to him. He immediately flew off toward the left wing, knowing that many Wither Skeletons were resting there.
Upon arrival, Blaze recounted Grox's plan to gain 'recognition' The Wither Skeletons appeared deep in thought... In truth, they were strongly opposed to the idea of Grox becoming their next leader. They had no desire to bow to him or address him as 'Lord' After much deliberation, they huddled together and began plotting a way to force Grox to give up.
Not far from the Nether Fortress, atop a small, floating island of netherrack, a green hand emerged. The creature seemed to be observing the unfolding events from above, yet instead of issuing a warning, it simply watched without stirring— its teary, pitch-black eyes remained fixed on the scene.
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.
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"Hey there, how's it going, everyone? What are you all up to?" Grox's voice rang out again, breaking the heavy silence of the corridor and causing the Wither Skeletons on guard duty to spin around instantly, their dark, hollow eye sockets flaring with irritation
"Oh, great—it's that weirdo again" one Wither Skeleton whispered to his companion in a raspy, scraping voice, shifting his stone sword from one bony hand to the other.
His companion responded with a soft, mocking chuckle that sounded like dry bones rattling in a bucket. "What do you want now?!" the guard snapped, stepping forward to block the narrow passageway. "Can't you see we're on guard duty? We don't have time for your nonsense."
"Just get lost, weirdo... go talk to someone else before we use your ribs for target practice" the second one sneered. Both of them glared intently at young Grox, their towering, ash-covered frames casting long, menacing shadows against the nether brick walls.
Grox gave them a puzzled, slightly hurt look. He tilted his skull, genuinely wondering why everyone in this fortress was always so tense. However, not wanting to be summoned by the older Wither Skeleton elders again and reprimanded for being a constant public nuisance, he simply sighed deeply and turned away.
As he walked down the corridor, he could hear their low jeering and mocking whispers echoing behind him. But Grox didn't react... not yet. He merely gripped his pockets, his mind already spinning with his next move.
Scanning the area, he noticed a larger group of Wither Skeletons gathered in a huddle, talking together at the intersection covered in netherrack—northern section of the ramparts, where the light from the lava is not visible there. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity, Grox decided to try launching his plan right then and there, without any preamble or hesitation. He puffed out his chest, put on his most confident stride, and marched right into the center of their circle.
"Hey yo, what's up, brothers!" Grox announced loudly, clapping his hands together to grab their attention. The group stopped talking, all eyes locking onto him with immediate distrust. Grox cleared his throat, chaneling what he thought was an air of supreme authority.
"Since the Lord has chosen me as his rightful successor—for the greater good and the bright future of our fortress, how about you hand over your money? Think of it as a mandatory investment!"
After this brief, theatrical speech, Grox genuinely thought it might work this time. He flashed a hopeful grin, waiting for them to reach into their armor for some gold nuggets. Instead, he was met with a chorus of harsh, echoing sneers and cruel laughter from the others.
"Didn't we already tell you to keep your delusions to yourself, brat?!" one of the massive Wither Skeletons shouted, stepping out from the crowd.
As the skeleton advanced, the flickering light of a nearby lava fall illuminated his cracked armor and a distinct scar across his brow. Grox's heart skipped a beat, he suddenly realized exactly who these individuals were—they were the same ruthless enforcers who had thrashed him the week before. A cold sweat instantly broke out across his forehead, and his confident posture completely melted away.
"Chill! Chill! I just realized—you guys look so much like... uh, some very busy people who clearly have no money on them!" Grox stammered, raising his hands defensively and taking a slow step backward. "Ayo chill!!!"
Realizing he was drastically outnumbered and outmatched, Grox spun on his heel and bolted down the stairs, leaving the shouting and angry curses of the enforcers echoing through the northern ramparts.
Breathless but unharmed, Grox managed to escape his aggressive kin at the main Fortress. He descended into the lower, red-lit foundations where the massive nether brick pillars met the glowing netherrack floor.
Spotting two figures conversing near the base of the Nether Fortress, he quickly ducked behind a thick corner pillar into hiding, holding his breath to eavesdrop on them.
A tall Wither Skeleton was talking quietly to a Zombified Piglin—the two of them seemed deep in a highly serious conversation, ignoring the ambient heat radiating from the nearby lava ocean.
"...so, just like the rumors said, the Bastion in the west is indeed at war with the one in the southeast" the Wither Skeleton murmured, leaning against his polished stone sword as he spoke. "The scouts say the Piglin Brutes are completely out of control over there."
"Yeah, man, the fighting is so fierce that the Ghasts are wailing even louder than usual," the Zombified Piglin replied, his rotting ears twitching as a distant, agonizing shriek echoed through the cavern. He scratched his snout with a golden sword hilt. "They're tearing each other apart over a few chests of ancient debris"
They seemed completely engrossed in their chat, oblivious to anything else around them. In his hiding spot, Grox’s eyes lit up. War meant chaos, and chaos meant profit.
"Oh, and a heads-up: a Magma Cube floating near the border said an open portal was spotted in the Basalt Deltas" the Zombified creature added, looking at the skeleton with a slightly worried expression, his milky eye full of genuine concern that his friend might be ambushed by whatever came out of it "It's active, Overworld energy is leaking through"
"Hmm, a portal? In the Deltas?" The Wither Skeleton tightened his grip on his weapon, his expression hardening. "Alright buddy, I'll warn my kin at the watchtowers. We can't let any outsiders blindside us"
Smelling a golden business opportunity, Grox couldn't contain himself any longer. He immediately stepped out of hiding, abandoning all stealth—as usual, looking to make some quick money off other Nether creatures by offering his 'expert' services or information.
"Did someone say an open portal? For a small finder's fee, I can investigate that for you gents!" Grox beamed, rubbing his hands together greedily.
The Wither Skeleton instantly clamped his mouth shut, glaring at Grox with absolute annoyance, trying not to say another word to the fortress's biggest annoyance. However, the more passive, easygoing Zombified Piglin just chuckled lightly at Grox's sudden, dramatic appearance. He patted his skeletal friend on the shoulder, gesturing toward the exit, and told him to just let it go.
Finally, after a long journey, Grox arrived at the bastion in the western region. He carried nothing—not even the small stone weapon his kind usually bore, he wanted to appear braver before them. The Piglins were renowned for their strength and gold—they were incredibly wealthy, especially their leader, who wore full golden armor. Grox could already picture his future if the Piglins accepted his proposal (which was essentially a structured heist)
Just as he was about to enter the dark structure, young Grox was immediately blocked by the Piglins standing outside. "Hey, snot-nosed kid, what are you doing here?" the voice was deep.
Grox, realizing that Piglins possessed an arrogance similar to his own, felt confident that if he matched their haughtiness, they would accept him. "Greetings, Piglins! I am the representative of the Wither Skeletons—their newest leader..." Grox spoke with the utmost arrogance, trying his best to mimic the speech patterns of his great-great-great-grandfather. "I command you to hand over all your money!"
As soon as Grox finished speaking, the Piglins—even those who had been bustling about indifferently—fell silent. They looked annoyed, never in their lives had they seen or heard a Wither Skeleton speak like that. They began to close in on him. Grox tried to remain calm while watching their movements, each Piglin held a sword made of precious yellow mineral and Grox instantly realized what they were about to do.
"Who the hell are you talking to?"
Offended at being treated like mere scraps, the Piglins raised their weapons. Grox instinctively raised his skeletal hands in surrender, but it seemed too late. "Hey, square up—wait, chill, chill!"
Grox fled from the pursuing horde of Piglins— the hellish swine-folk chased him relentlessly, their eyes burning red and their faces the color of netherwart.
This escape was particularly intense, given the Piglins short tempers and vengeful nature, he knew they would hunt him to the ends of the world. His skeletal legs were exhausted—he was certain the bones were on the verge of cracking.
"Man, just a sec—"
*Thud*
Catching his foot on the uneven netherrack, Grox took a hard fall. He felt as though his bones had shattered, and the Piglins immediately seized the moment to unleash their fury. Grox was beaten with weapons until he could no longer rise from the netherrack ground. His eyes closed, heavy with exhaustion.
When he decided to shut up and hibernate, Grox suddenly felt a warmth that he somehow felt on his cheek...