Chapter 13

"THE COMPETITORS HAVE ARRIVED!

WITH THIS, LET'S BRING ON THE DEATHMATCH!"

Arena Floor POV

Argos brought his eyes down on his challenger. They showed no mercy, like eyes of a man who has been accustomed to bloodshed.

"I really do pity you, you know" Argos said. "It's lucky of you to have been put against someone like me who will end you, rather than having built up a winning streak only to have your hopes of being a champion crushed under another's weapon."

"Now, now, do you re-really believe that y-y-you can beat me?" The Wild Eyed Man asked this with the same glassy eyes as always, never see through, but always seeing.

"Of course I think I can beat you, you have only a golden sword and no special talents; I've seen you about the prison. I don't know how you keep getting out, but you'll be out of there permanently soon."

"I b-beg to differ, actually, I-I-I think it is you who is going to fall; never un-underestimate someone-sss weapon."

Argos felt anger boiling in him, and he planned to finish the fight in the first blow. He took his cudgel high into the air, and brought it down upon the opposition. With a crash and fissuring ground his staff stopped. Nothing was under it, however, and it seemed his opponent had disappeared. Soon, he saw his opponent, and within the time the match was over. He found himself impaled with the same Golden Sword he mocked. This was strange; his armor was easily some of the strongest in the Arena, and would have been able to take a few hits from Nick if necessary. However, this Golden Sword defied all odds and pierced every bit of armor down to his ribcage. Yanking the Golden Sword out of Argos, the Wild Eyed Man turned to the gate he entered from, and left the Arena floor.

Arena Stands POV

Silence reigned about the stands of normally hyped civilians, and the first to break this juxtaposition was Bailey.

"Holy….crap… Gribbles, did you see that? That guy moved faster than you..."

"…" was the response given; total awe was imbedded in his look, and it appeared as if it took him a while to take knowledge of what Bailey had just said.

"Y-yea…he did move faster than I can…he might be faster than me in….oh my…."He felt sick just from seeing that display of speed, and sat down in a vain attempt at easing his stomachache.

"That isn't normal, hell, that isn't even possible! We've judged that of all the people we've met, Gribbles can't be out sped by any of them! Surely some crazy man can't be the only one capable" Balthazor yelled with great temper.

"Well folks….that certainly was…something, NOW ON TO THE NEXT MATCH!" Said the Announcer over intercom to the Arena.

"I must thank you for your kindness today. For such young men, you all seem to be set on a great path" spoke the Balding One.

"It's no problem sir, however, if you do not mind my asking where you got that Golden Hammer from."

"Oh, this" he held up the hammer "It is simply a gift from a friend. I suppose this is what keeps me going in the world. Notch truly is a kind soul… Well, before I take a tangent of the mind, I must be on my way. Do take care of yourselves, care for each other and keep in belief." He curtsied, and went on his way into the city.

"Hey guys, should we be on our way? It seems to be getting dark pretty quick." Nick said.

"Yea, we don't want to get beheaded, do we?" Gribbles replied.

The group had found a hotel relatively close to the Arena, arriving just before the night set on. Lights that lined the streets glowed, signaling official nightfall. The attendant of the friends applauded them on their arrival just before the street lights came on.

"I really am happy you all made it in when you did, with all of the murders occurring, nobody is safe. Not even Police Chief Barrett wanders past dark, and he's one of the strongest people in Ocelot outside of the Arena. Anyway, here's your room key. Enjoy your stay!"

The key had a little slip of paper attached, with the number 202 printed. On the bottom floor were rooms between 100 and 150, split between two corridors of 25 rooms each. Rooms of numbers such as 200 and 300 were on the floors above, 200-250 taking second floor and 300-350 the third.

"Hey guys, is it ok if we keep the window blinds open in the night" questioned Balthazor on the way to the elevator.

"I mean, I don't suppose we'll be in deep if we keep it open, none of the murders have been reported as breaking and entering; I would like to know, however, why you want to keep them open" replied Gribbles

"I would just like to survey our surroundings. It's been ages since I've been here, you know."

Given that Balthazor was a few centuries old due to his vampirism, it seemed appropriate that this was his purpose. Reaching the elevator, Nick punched the elevator request button, and all waited. Gazing outside, The Compound noticed an oddity about the streets.

"Does it appear to you guys that the air in the streets is being distorted in some way?"

It was still in the process of making speech more fluid, less robotic. The air indeed looked to be distorted, physically as the purplish-black of the sky had set, and was being moved like a much more dense gas.

"It does look that way, doesn't it?" Gribbles asked without purpose, for it was evident by the surprise in the eyes of his friends that it really wasn't a visual glitch.

DING! The elevator arrived at the bottom floor, and greeting our fellows, opened. It held a small red carpet that went along only decently with the tan of the rest of this hotel, and the walls matched every other wall in the place. After riding the elevator to the second floor, the elevator again opens to reveal a hangover giving a plain view of the bottom floor.

"Oh, hello there…"

This voice startled the group, not only for its unacknowledged happening, but also for who carried the melancholy tone. It was the very same man who surprised them, at this point, thrice successfully. The same who took down an Arena champion, out sped Gribbles, and stood up to the Police Chief of Ocelot within what was a matter of twenty-four hours. The Wild Eyed Man deserved not his title in this moment, for the trademark was absent; substituted by empty eyes of those constantly exposed to misery, woe, and any other fitting synonyms.

"Hello there…you…" the group reacted in conjunction

"How are you doing sir?" asked The Compound, unintentionally cracking the awkwardness, one that would need to be chiseled away.

"I guess I'm good…I was just on my way out, looks a little foggy though…."

The Melancholy Man continued, maintaining tone. He walked toward the elevator, bringing his hand up to keep the elevator door open. Before he could make his exit, The Compound questioned.

"Excuse me, before you depart, would you have a 'nick' you would like to go by", nick in this case referring to a nickname, not the tiger.

"What is a name but something to pollute the mind, you should focus more on your relationships rather than their labels." The elevator descended with the press of a button on the inside.

"Alright…well, that was really, really strange" stated Bailey.

"Should we go to our room now, before any more weird shit happens?" Nick asked almost in response.

"Wait, I would like to investigate something. Let us wait for just a minute longer, and then we shall be on our way to rest" projected The Compound.

He peered beyond the railing of this hangover to see the Melancholy Man exiting the building, ignored by the Attendant, just as it appeared the Balding One was by most of those passing him.

"Does he really believe he can make it out there? For something to be keeping Barrett of all the egotistical people in this city at bay, this thing must be really formidable." Gribbles stated, more than asked.

"I don't know what that freaky dude thinks. One minute he's all twitchy and stuff, and now he's, like, practically dragging himself to move. I truly have no idea what to think about him."

"That is true, Nick, he did change disposition rather quickly. Maybe he has multiple personality disorder?"

"Again, I truly don't know what to think about him. Do we want to go ahead on to our room?" Nick responded to Bailey. A nod from the friends warranted a yes answer, and they turned to the right to rooms 214-200.

As they entered the room, Balthazor's first notion was to open the blinds; however, Nick's was to open the refrigerator. The Compound investigated the television, and Gribbles sat down with Bailey on a sofa located near one of the walls facing the TV. Of the few channels had, the local news was the first on, and a report was being broadcast. "To all who are currently indoors, we urge you to stay inside. The streets are still not safe to walk, however Police Chief Barrett is currently working out this situation. He plans to send troops in groups along the city streets to patrol nightly until these homicides cease. This has been Sophia with your nightly news. Please, Ocelot, stay safe."

At the end of the message the channel entirely cut out, leaving the screen black. Many of the channels on the screen appeared black, except a few music channels. Gribbles chose an alternative electronic music channel, and hopped off the couch, tossing the remote back.

Quite a few hours passed, and Balthazor was the only one left remaining in room 202. Everyone else left about an hour earlier for an arcade on floor 1. Balthazor was reading a book on their couch, legs kicked up over the right arm, head on the left. "Book of the Immortals" was printed on the front cover, taking up most of the space with the text. The book was, for all intents and purposes, a bible of the modern age. Though Balthazor tried to keep out of others' beliefs, he saw the book in one of the drawers and decided to give it a read. Subjects of the book's "plot" were the Immortals, Notch and Herobrine. Notch and Herobrine were brothers who had been turned Immortal at some point in their youth unbeknownst to all but them. Immortals were an uncommon, however known of prospect. Mostly occurring in half-breed Minecraftian Humans, there have only ever been recorded to be two immortals at any given time, and they often took exceptionally differing roads; while not necessarily at first, one will begin to drift towards darkness, and the other toward light. Anyone who has tried to fathom why has assumed that the power got to them, taking hold and forcing one into an extreme karmic view with the other Immortal taking the opposite view entirely. Perhaps it is a way of nature balancing out immortality with karmic uncertainty, but no one truly knows. There's also a trend of Immortals being the only ones to kill another Immortal, for no mere mortal has succeeded in any attempt to rob an Immortal of immortality. Though following, it appears that in every fight between Immortals, both die if one does fall in battle.

The two Immortals, Notch and Herobrine take up light and dark, respectively. Notch is an exceptionally caring being often thought of as a messiah, and is the primary subject of this text. Herobrine, rather, is an exceptionally cruel being, often going to sadism and sin for entertainment. Notch avoids conflict, while Herobrine seeks it. This "trend" is also supposed to be reinforced by their weaponry of choice, but through the times the weapons have been mixed up, jumbled, or confused entirely. Unlike many other Immortals, Notch and Herobrine have never fought in any case that has been recorded. The only point that could be made of conflict is Herobrine's banishment to the Nether for murdering their mother. Whether this was the event that brought the two to alignment, or if it was one prior is not known.

Casting a glance to the free view, Balthazor saw an image shift among the black. It took its time walking, but any other person wouldn't have been able to make out the image; this is not Balthazor, however, as his kind thrive in the night. The thing was decently tall, more than likely about 6' precisely and clad in a silver armor. He was certain that action needed to be taken when he evaluated the weapon in hand; a scythe readied for strike.

Following instinct, Balthazor opened the window as quietly as possible; surely the inner predator was taking effect. On the street he saw a woman carrying a small child, surely making it home late that night. The specter of a being along the rooftop instituted a small trot. Gradually, however, this small trot evolved into a full on sprint aimed about 5 meters superior of the woman's current position. Balthazor somehow managed to keep pace, ready to jump before the thing launched. The plan was to intercept the weapon. He had to hope, nevertheless, that he hit the handle and not that blade…