Everlasting Tempest
Disclaimer: I don't own Minecraft.
Final revision: 1/9/2018
"We welcome you, our savior, our new King," you hear the people say. An ignorant, long-nosed villager presents you a golden crown, embellished with diamonds, emeralds, lapis lazuli, and an ender pearl from those nasty endermen that you frequently slay to experience the thrill and speed of their teleporting abilities. These villagers, or too say more accurately, city dwellers, hand you the best weapons, armor, treasure, and food for your bravery. Robed men and women along with their children surround you, bowing respectfully as the man before you places that handsome crown upon your head, the impermeable obsidian castle that they tediously built as your exquisite residence looming over all of you, its shadow casting for hundreds of meters onto the commoners' homes.
After you receive the title of King, the people chant, shouting out your name as you smile, now the new King of Minecraftia.
You stand there before thousands of enthusiastic people, and what they presume is a smile from the joy within you, is actually your smirking from your recognizing the sheer ignorance of the people you can now control without opposition.
At least for now.
They hail you, faces glimmering with hope, that you, almighty King, can restore peace to the broken, cruel world that has been persisting since the villagers first settled, thousands of years ago.
You, however, are no person to perform such a task. The one responsible for the hostility, the mobs, the destruction, the ruins of the old civilization, and the lack of the glorious humans that are perceived as gods in the villagers' eyes…
It's you, the "great" hero. You have been the prominent threat to this land ever since your conception, well before the days any city dweller coherent and currently living can remember.
The past haunts you, as you view our temples, dwelling under desert sand and under the thick canopy and humidity of the jungles. Our former cities and villages have almost completely crumbled into dust, and sadly, you are the sole human that can remember the days when our towers stretched into the skies, when our markets flourished, and when our villages were peaceful and populated with happy human beings.
We remember, you pompous usurper, when you destroyed everything, including us, the humans that once had been. Now we quiver in rage that you are assaulting our descendants millennia later, repeating the same cycle that you have practiced with us.
We continue to stop your tyranny, the centuries-old hostility intertwined in our immortal souls, as we, the undead, creepers, and endermen, degraded or excelled forms of our ancient ancestors, strive to prevent you from further inhospitable actions.
At night, you venture out of your castle of safety, knowing that all the humanoid beings of the darkness were similar in appearance to you, dictatorial King. The forces of undead roam, armor equipped and weapons in hand. Once brave warriors and archers trained defeat your pitiful loyal armies, they continue to fight against you, and your destruction is the prime focus on their fading or non-existent minds. It's sad, to think that the zombies' hunger has to be satisfied by our descendants over you, but it's a small cost to pay to strike you down. Even if the villagers are lost, after their demise, they will join our side, learning that you are the problem, not us.
The next warriors of the mobs are the creepers, the mutated humans. Ordered to eradicate the lives of themselves and their targets, creepers silently follow you, blowing you into oblivion. A sacrifice for us it seems, but creepers are reborn again, more apt to kill you at the most inconvenient times.
Lastly, there are the elusive, otherworldly endermen. Their beginnings started when former humans hid from you within the strongholds, structuring portals within to escape your wrath. After millennia passed, living in this dimension eventually altered the people into this new species. These hardy forms allow many more opportunities to decimate you when the time is right. Like the undead and creepers, endermen are everlasting as you are.
We are not without help. When the spiders, slimes, silverfish, and witches joined our side, our goals have become more obtainable than ever before.
It sickens us, to see that after all the injury you caused, all the lives you took, all the things you demolished, and all the false promises you made…
You think you're a hero?
You are the scum of this realm, King. You are the monster that needs to be terminated to restore the world of those at the bottom of our family trees to the tranquility that we've enjoyed, so long ago. Not one mob will stop to break through the secret of your (and our) immortality, even if we need to go until the end of time.
Enjoy your reign, King. Your dynasty will end utterly and forever soon.