As I arrived I saw the hulking form of Fire depart at the head of a small group. I could pick out Destiny's scowl from a mile off, and I was pretty sure I could make out Lucy, but there were three people I didn't recognise with him. One endling, someone short enough to be a dwarf and a woman.

"More siblings?" I mused. Then I counted my blessings that he wasn't obviously reducing our strength any further.

I looked up at the hill.

"Well, well, well…" I murmured as the shape of a man in a cloak and turquoise shirt became clear.

He stood right at the prophet's side, hand stroking the stone pommel of his sword. Yellowed, chipped teeth chewed his bottom lip and ruffled his beard. On occasion, he would nod as the prophet shouted until he spat.

I looked around me. People were hanging desperately on the prophet's words. Some whispered that he himself was a god, and that Steve was an angel with wings beneath his cloak. Maybe they were right. With all this communication between worlds anything could happen. All that said, I couldn't stop seeing him as an old man spasming with each word that burst forth from him, eyes blind with terror and age, white hair aflutter in the wind. It didn't much inspire me.

I tried to wave to Steve, but I couldn't catch his attention, so I began the long climb up the hill. I tried to find a path that as few people as possible could see, so I commenced a long, winding ramble up the Eastern side of the hill (most people watching from the North and North-West). I didn't want to cause much of a stir, particularly as the Ender could return at any given moment.

On my way up, I clambered past a tree containing a lanky, green-eyed endling. Its branches were dead and soot-covered, and new clouds of soot emanated every few minutes from the endling's skin. I shook my head and returned to the climb, and after a few minutes, I found myself about half-way up the hill. I was tired at this point from the walk over, and very grateful I wasn't wearing armour. I contemplated taking the cotton shirt off for the rest of the climb. It was already soaked with sweat.

Just as I began to lift it over a stomach that I had devotedly toned, I decided to take a look up the hill. Steve was still there, chewing his lip and rustling his stubbly beard. I decided to yell up to him: "Oi! Steve!"

I didn't look to see if he noticed. Instead, I returned to lifting my shirt and received my answer. He was standing over me, gaunt and energised as I remembered. I straightened the shirt back down and sat up.

"How're we doing Steve?" I asked. "It's been a wee while."

"It has," Steve answered curtly. "Don't worry about it though. Your services are no longer required."

"Yes they are," I chuckled. "You've just sent Fire off to establish a little shelter for your congregation. You must have some other jobs going."

He sighed, then said: "Well, yes. Fire will fill those roles if necessary, but ideally he won't be doing it entirely alone. We could probably use some more help. Have you had time to think on what you might be able to do to help us?"

I turned my head and swept a look across the fringes of the crowd.

"You told me it would take one night at the Tower to regret my decision," I said. "It took less than that. I figured out they had Astro captive and we were out by morning. Half the prison was sprung. They're probably still cleaning that mess up. My team did that. Fire wasn't there."

Steve's eyebrows raised. "Your team?"

"The collection of individuals with whom I am currently collaborating. I won't say they obey my every command. I'll also concede that since we left the Tower one of us died of his injuries and another turned out to be being manipulated by a particularly opinionated work of literature but I'd give us top marks for trying."

"Inspiring stuff."

"I thought so too," I said with a sardonic grin. "But yes, I reckon with a bit of preparation, possibly the recruiting of a few mercenaries and naturally the full recovery of our group, we'll be able to sneak our way back in and bring down the Entity and his captains."

Steve's eyebrows raised. I thought, for just one glorious moment, he was impressed. I was mistaken:

"You think you can take down the Entity?" It was said with pure, deadpan disdain. "You're going to need an army."

I forced a smirk and parried: "I take it you've first-hand experience of fighting him?"

Steve gazed at me with eyes intense and distant. He sat down. "It destroyed my home."

"Anyone can destroy a building."

"The entire world. It's not there anymore."

I fell silent. The sky suddenly felt large and looming above me.

"How?"

"Not sure. I've been at it for years, and I'm still not sure."

"Could be a ritual or some sort of mechanism. Have you actually seen it fight?"

"I have followed it as it's tendrils have spread across the worlds. I have seen it at the head of armies, conquering nations. I have seen it raise an army of itself and swarm across cities. Once I saw a horde of knights charge one of its manifestations. After killing dozens, a lance went through its head and it fell as any mortal would. When they prised off its helmet, another man was found within. At that point, the skin of several of the knights turned grey and warped, like boiling tar in the shape of men. They became as strong and swift and efficient as the beast they had just slain. And soon the entire army fell."

I recalled the first time I had laid eyes on the Entity - how its servant had turned grey and boiling and tried to possess the Silhouette. How, when it had what it needed, the Entity left instructions for its men. The bronze shell had shuddered a second, before it collapsed. Within the armour had been an unconscious man, just as Steve here was suggesting. It was all adding up… except for one thing.

"With such strength, why does it need an army at all?"

Steve sat there a moment. "I have asked the prophet that many times. He was once a part of the Entity. He seems to believe he was the first to be subsumed in such a way."

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. I looked up the hill at the frail contorting form and felt pity well up in me.

"Of course, I have been able to gather from him a few explanations that may or may not contradict each other," Steve continued. "When it possesses another, it seems to weaken, like butter spreading across toast. When there are a handful of manifestations, it is strongest and smartest. When there's only one it might even be invincible. Conversely, when there is an army of it, it's about as good as your average zombie or skeleton. Tends to talk more when there's fewer of it as well. It grows less directed, loses itself a tad because there's just too much to keep track of. I've seen it let go of other copies in the heat of battle, renewing its ferocity wherever it needs to focus."

"Otherwise, it might need us because of a lack of creativity. It has wants, but it cannot think of how to achieve them without outside input. As such, it surrounds itself with voices other than its own. It can absorb knowledge, definitely, but it doesn't seem to know how to apply it in anything other than ways it has been used before. It's suffering from permanent writer's block as regards its own plans.

"And that brings us to the last explanation for why it doesn't just possess itself an army."

Steve stopped and started chuckling.

"What?" I asked, sitting up a little.

"You're going to love this," Steve chuckled further, anger flaring into his eyes. "The Prophet reckons it's lonely." He said it with acidity, as though the words physically repelled him.

I looked at Steve. He was sat on a tree stump, head in his hands. I noticed the age upon his face. The thinness of his arms. They were muscular enough, but they weren't prominent from exercise - they were prominent from hunger. His hunt for the Entity had thinned him out. Diminished him. Stripped him away. This chuckling bitterness was all that was left.

I tried to shake off the feeling I was looking into a mirror.

"So, what you're saying is that I'll probably end up as a red smear on a white wall if I decide to face him head on."

"Pretty much, yeah."

I paused. My thoughts drifted toward the night before, and Fristad's frank honesty. How willingly he had given up the Book. The words echoed in my mind:

"If it's any consolation. I actually don't care about the book's magic. To be honest, I'd rather be rid of it for good if it meant I could be free from its influence."

That's when I got one of my notions.

"Then, I must get stronger."

"Ideally, yes," snarked Steve, guardian angel of the Prophet.

I stood up.

"I may have found a quick fix. Talk to you once it's sorted. Try not to get captured."

"Wait-"

"Cheerio, Steve."

It was so clear to me now: I was going to get that damned Book and make it work for me.