A/N: Welcome to my second oneshot. This was written at 11pm on a Friday night (because I have no life) in the space of an hour after a sudden fit of random inspiration. I'm sure it's kinda weird, but I'm strangely happy with this. It's about all I'm going to be posting until NaNoWriMo is over.
Enjoy!
We weren't always the way we are now. I wasn't always the way I am now. And I should know; for I was the first of us, after all.
Sit down.
I have a story for you.
Listen.
The world was not always the frightening place it is now. It was once bountiful and gorgeous, with trees generously dotting the landscape, and crystal-clear streams running through the lands. Animals spawned plentifully, and even the creatures of the night were fairly withdrawn.
I know it's hard to believe.
Close your eyes and imagine.
The wind is blowing, softly and firmly, and it caresses your skin like the touch of a feather. The ambience of flowing water meets your ears. You hear the peacefulness of the world in the sound of the animals as they calmly graze throughout the meadows.
Impossible, you say?
It is not. The world once was this way.
I should know.
I was a Player once. So many seasons ago. Before I became… this. This abomination that I am ashamed to call my body.
Players frequently spawned. The world was fresh and new, and a wonderful home for the masses. I was one of them.
It all began when I wandered too far away from the village one day. In any case, here's a tip for you.
Never stay out after dark.
Ever.
I was young and naive back then, so long ago. I knew not how far from the safety of my home was, only that I wanted to wander like the explorer I was at heart. Like I still am.
How blissfully unaware was I— uncaring of the time or angle of the sun— and when the horizon met the great Square, I was miles from anything I knew. Hopelessly lost, all because of a momentary whim.
It became dark far too quickly.
I know what you are thinking. Build a shelter very quickly, you say. Make a sword, a pickaxe. Acquire some stone. Fight the monsters.
But I knew nothing of survival alone in the wilderness. I was a free spirit, brought up in civilization. A house had been there for me from the moment of my spawning. I had gotten any and all materials or tools from the community. I knew nothing of independence.
That was the reason I was doomed.
If only I had never left.
The darkness arrived quickly. Even the silver light of the moon did nothing to dilute the horrifying reality of my situation. I was alone and helpless, with nothing but a few flowers I'd picked along the way.
It didn't occur to me to make a shelter. I didn't think I would have been able to, even had I possessed the materials. Instead, I did the only thing I knew how to.
I ran.
Of course, I didn't last long.
The monsters, the creatures born of darkness, the fiends of the night— they caught up to me. The green things that are humanoid (zombies), the green things that are not (creepers), the deathless warriors of bone (skeletons) and even the gargantuan spiders. They all caught up to me eventually.
There were no Endermen. The race of Ender was nonexistent then.
I should know.
I was, after all, the first.
The creatures of darkness caught up to me. I was weak from hunger and fatigue. My soul was stretched thin over the framework of my physical form, and I knew it was hopeless then.
I gave up.
They killed me.
Or did they?
There is no such thing as respawning in this world. Death is swift and permanent, with no promise of new life to soften the blow. In your weakling worlds, where you can die and resurrect infinitely— suffering no casualties but perhaps valuable items— you are blissfully unaware of reality.
This is reality.
There is no respawning.
I knew nothing for the longest time except a few snatches of sound. A clattering of metal. A whispered voice. Perhaps a hushed conversation.
When I opened my eyes, I was alone, lying down in utter darkness. I looked around. I tried to move my head.
I could not.
I tried in vain to sit up, to prove to myself that I still existed. I could prove nothing.
Did I exist?
I feel it is safe to state that yes, I existed. I exist now as well.
But then, I didn't know that. I was terrified. I was sure this was the afterlife. My punishment was to lay paralyzed in nothingness for the rest of eternity.
I fell back into unconsciousness.
I remember nothing after that but sitting up sharply once I had resurfaced from my coma. I felt different, somehow. Stronger. Taller. Infused with life.
I stood. There was light coming from the crack under the door. I walked on remade legs, stood on reworked feet. I was a new person.
No. Not person. Creature.
But I was still blissfully unaware.
The door opened easily. I slipped into the dimly lit hall to find myself in front of a door. A different door.
In the feeble light, I could make out basic shapes and colors. As I reached toward the knob, I noticed something that chilled me to my core.
My hand was not a hand. It was a dark appendage that connected to my arm—
My arm. Oh, Notch.
I stumbled blindly to the end of the hall, abandoning the door, finding solace in a bucket of water someone had left in the corner.
I looked at my reflection.
I almost fainted.
I was myself no longer.
I was a dark, mysterious creature. I had no nose or ears. My legs and arms were ridiculously long and slender, and my torso was smooth and lacking in any form of clothing. In the meager reflection of the water, I could see my most striking feature.
My eyes.
They were beautiful. Hauntingly so. An otherworldly violaceous purple-lavender-violet.
I reached towards the surface of the water to touch it, to assure myself that I was still conscious of heat and cold.
It hurt me. Burned me. I screeched— a horrible stifled sound that terrified even me— and backed away.
Water was my friend no longer.
There was nothing more for me here. In this place where someone had changed me. Mutated me. Transformed me to be something I had never wanted to become.
I opened the door— taking advantage of my newfound height— and slipped out with nary a sound into the wide world.
I fled.
I had no destination in mind. After all, I was homeless. I had nowhere to hide, nowhere to run to.
I was alone. For the longest time, I ran alone.
I hated the loneliness. I was the only one of my kind.
The only one.
I blindly wandered the world for months, avoiding all forms of water. When it rained, I hid in caves. When the darkness came, I didn't.
The monsters no longer attacked me. I had nothing to fear in this world any longer.
Except water.
And loneliness.
One day, I discovered a marvelous ability in my possession. I had been looking at a small island far out to sea, out of my reach across the deadly water. I wished I was there, imagined I could be there—
And suddenly, I was.
I practiced this ability. This reappearing ability-thing.
It was a useful tool in my arsenal of things I had found I was capable of doing.
Sometimes, I tried to speak, to convince myself that there was a shred of humanity left deep inside.
But nothing ever came from my mouth except for garbled sounds that I myself could not make sense of.
One day, I heard it. I heard the voice. And I needed no explanation.
Come.
Why should I? I replied, somewhat perturbed at its impetuousness.
You are my creation, it said. You belong to me.
I belong to no one, I said. I am independent.
There are others like you, you know. I have them. I am their master. I created them for want of subjects.
As if you rule anything, I replied (rudely, it must be admitted).
I have my own kingdom, said the voice, trembling with fury now. And although you are the first of my creatures, you were certainly not the last. Would you like to see them? The others of your kind?
I thought. And I decided that the terrible loneliness was not worth it anymore.
I will come.
I did.
There was no fancy transportation needed. I simply closed my eyes and imagined myself at my home.
And suddenly, I was.
But instead of my already-built wooden home, where I had lived during my time as a Player, I was in an entirely new place. One of pale stone and pillars of obsidian, with a sky as distant and violaceous as the sun itself.
With others. Others with long slender black limbs, and glowing violet eyes, and the aura of purple swirls.
Others - like me.
I mingled with the other black creatures, teleporting whenever I saw fit. Enjoying their company.
This land was the only thing within infinity. It was a floating island in the center of oblivion. And the voice that had called me, the creature that had transformed me, my Maker, was the Dragon. The ruler of us all, of this bleak dimension in the middle of nothingness, surrounded on all sides by the grainy purple essence of the Void.
It was my home. It was my shelter, my haven.
And although it was cold and isolated, I loved it.
Life became easier with time. I managed to forget most of my previous existence, the time when I had been a Player.
I once hated Players.
You are a Player.
I do not hate you.
I hate no one.
I soon found that I could easily transport between dimensions. At times, I would feel the need to see a bit of humanity and travel to the other dimension, the Overworld. The land where I had once been a part of, the place where I had once belonged.
On one such expedition, I saw a light in the darkness. Lights were foreign in the Overworld once the sun went down. I followed the light, and in the distance I saw the village.
It was not a Testificate village. It was my village. It was the town where I had once lived, a part of community where I had once belonged.
I belonged there no longer, and this I knew well.
Nevertheless, this knowledge did nothing to quell my longing to see this village, to watch it, to merely observe the simple way of the Players' life that had once been my reality.
In the night, one Player emerged from a building and began to cross the gravelly stone road. I watched this Player, and I froze.
I knew this Player. This Player had once been my friend. I longed more than ever to escape this curse, this burden of my new existence. The knowledge that never more could I return to life with the Players who had once been my friends.
Just then, he looked upwards.
Our eyes met, glowing purple against simple blue. I hated his gaze. It enraged me. It felt judging and harsh. It seemed as if it were jeering at me, mocking me.
It provoked me.
Others emerged from the houses upon hearing his shouts of terror.
When they looked, I pounced. I attacked and I killed.
I felt no regret. This was my lot in life now.
I am accustomed to my life now. I love the place that hangs over the terror of oblivion, christened the End. It is a haven to us, the cursed. I enjoy my social life with the others of my kind, and I tolerate the Dragon.
We are the race of Ender. We populate this world, this dimension, this haven of the cursed. We will not hesitate to attack you if you provoke us, and if you are not aware of the time of day and are caught in the dark, you may become one of us. Those who die to the creatures of darkness become the creatures of darkness.
The race of Ender is one of darkness. We are a fair darkness, a just darkness. We will not pick fights.
But do not provoke us.
And never stay out after dark.
Ever.
This is a strange world, and you may not ever understand it. It is not beautiful as it once was, nor is it easy to live in.
But I am the first of the race of Ender. I am uninvolved in the fate of Players. I alone know of the terrifying emptiness that results in being the only one of your kind.
So listen closely.
This is reality, and in reality there is no respawning. One mistake can cost you your life, and if that mistake involves the creatures of the night, you will become one of us. You have one life to spend as a Player in reality. Death is swift and permanent.
So do not waste it. Be always vigilant, and never stay out after dark.
After all, there is no turning back.
A/N: And there it is. Not quite sure where in my mind this came from, and to be honest, I don't even know what my own story is insinuating. Who turned this guy into the Enderman? Was it the Ender Dragon? Herobrine? Notch?
Plenty of room for theories, I guess. Thanks for reading. Feedback is welcome.