Prologue

Mot didn't remember much. He remembered falling, cold, a dull bellow of anger and pain in his god Dianite's voice roaring through his head. Spark fell to his left, eyes squeezed shut behind his green shades, trying to not cry at the thought of leaving his Ianite and family behind, and Jeriah and Alyssa to his right, gripping hands tightly. The two had become close, she often was giving him flowers and baked goods as her way to show their friendship. His adopted daughter's eyes were wide, her hair flying above her like a Taint tendril and bat ears twitching back and forth, searching for any sound other than the wind. The blood mage, in contrast, was almost serene, looking for all the world like he was taking a nap with his robes fluttering about his frame like the scarlet plumage of a diving bird.

And then the two of them were gone, and it was just him and Spark, Jeriah's robes snapping up to the void above and out of sight. He turned his head to look at Spark, reaching out to grab the older man's hand. Spark opened his eyes and looked over at him at the contact, brown eyes meeting one black and one green. Spark's dark hair was being pulled back on his forehead, sticking in points at the back of his head. Mot's eyes betrayed his fear to the older male, who simply smiled comfortingly. Talking was useless here, the words were whipped away. He had the trust of his goddess that she wouldn't put them somewhere where they would die instantly. But Mot had a feeling that things wouldn't be nearly as easy.

And then he was gone too. Mot was left alone in the void. He snatched Spark's shades before they could disappear, gripping them tightly in his green patched hand. It was so much like a creeper's skin, blast-proof and heat-proof. What would happen to him? Where would he be tossed out? Would he be near the rest of his friends? The thought of waking up somewhere unknown and without a familiar face around him made the man's stomach clench. What kind of world would he be in?

He didn't have much time to worry before the blackness flashed blinding white and he felt a strange lurch through the pit of his stomach, as though a rope was cutting his sharp descent and trying to slow him enough that he didn't die upon impact with the ground. The water still felt as hard as concrete when he hit it.

Mot came to slowly, aware that he was lying on his front with something cold swirling around his legs and something grittier under his cheek and fingers. Before he opened his eyes, he dug his fingers slowly into the surface, feeling the wet sand, seeking the grounding feeling of the solid surface amid the rocking, throbbing feeling in his head.

It was a long time before he mustered the strength to move, the weak sun barely warming his back, and when he squinted his eyes open briefly, the sun only glared into them and worsened his headache. His skin was thoroughly chilled and numbed by the saltwater behind him (while he could tolerate heat he absolutely hated the cold), his head throbbing to the sound of the waves. There was little else to hear.

When he finally managed to move, he could barely get onto his elbows before he was choking on salt water that came up when he took a deep breath, coughing it back up. There was a lot, he must have swallowed half the ocean, and his throat and lungs felt raw and tender by the time he finally coughed it all up. It hurt to breath.

He managed to drag himself to being with only his legs in the water before he collapsed again, resting his green speckled forehead against the sand. 'That was... That was enough moving for now...' He though weakly, dark eyes sliding shut slowly as the creeper skinned male succumbed to the darkness that had threatened to overwhelm him for the brief period that he had been awake.

"Mot." Someone was talking to him. They sounded familiar.

"Mot!" He felt cold, body numbed by water, and sore from the impact. Impact from what? He had fallen into the center of the ocean. The water? There was a feeling of someone thumping his chest. When did he roll over? The hand was burning warm compared to how he felt. Sun painted his eyelids in red.

Someone slapped his cheek. Mot groaned, blinking his eyes open and squinting them shut as soon as the sun cheerfully stabbed his retinas with its harsh rays. He lifted one hand to cover his eyes. The darkness was a blessing compared to the light.

"Mot, at least give me my shades back. You're going to break them if you hold them any tighter." Spark's voice said from over him, and the little bit of sun was cut out. Mot moved his hands and looked up at him, now that the sun wasn't glaring into his eyes. Spark's dark eyes looked down into the mis-matched pair below him. It took a moment for Mot to realize what was being asked, but he let go of the mentioned green shades, not aware of how hard he had been holding them until the release of pressure brought pain rushing to the muscles as they stretched.

Spark leaned back and pushed his shades back over his eyes while Mot struggled to sit up, rubbing his hand with his other one and flexing his fingers, trying to work feeling back into it. A brown blur launched itself at him, and he almost fell back again under the sudden weight of Alyssa, her skinny arms wrapping tightly around his chest, making his aching ribs groan in protest. Mot grimaced in pain, but hugged her back. "I'm glad you're safe too girl." He said, looking up at Spark as Jeriah padded up behind him. "Where are we?"

Jeriah handed over a paper that had been pinned to the only tree, wordlessly. He didn't talk much. The blood mage looked strange just standing there in his uniform, instead of the robes that he usually wore. Mot looked down at it as Alyssa peeked over curiously as he started reading out loud.

Welcome! The note read. To Trinity Island! This island is a midway point between worlds. To get to your destination, you must defeat three bosses: The Elder Guardian, the Ender Dragon... Spark made a sound of distaste at this, the Ender dragon used to be a pet of his lover's and he hated having to hurt one. -And the Wither! BUT be warned, in this world you have only one life! If you die to anything (such as a creeper) This made Mot sigh, he knew all too well how much creepers hurt when they exploded right on top of you. There will be no coming back! So treat your life well and watch your back, because on Trinity Island... There is no return!

~Dec

Mot squinted at the letter, reading over it again. His headache was abating somewhat, and after reading the message again, he looked up and looked around, seeing that they were on an island in the middle of nowhere. He scratched his salt-whited hair, looking back at the three in front of him. Jeriah didn't look impressed and seemed more annoyed about the loss of his items (namely his blood mage robes), Alyssa, now that she knew her adopted father was fine, was gravitating towards the rabbits on the island. Spark was the only one who looked as serious as Mot felt, no expression on his face but his eyes behind his black shades concerned.

"So." The creeper skin-patched male said, accepting Spark's hand to haul himself to his feet and putting his weight gingerly on his right ankle. "I guess we fight to survive on our own then."

Spark nodded solemnly. Jeriah crossed his arms and looked over the island. It was calm for now, in the light of day, but that wouldn't last. "We're fucked." He said softly. Mot looked over at the island himself, his daughter chasing the animals happily, the single tree. "Yes you bitter old man." He said. "I think you are right to say that we are completely fucked."