Alex ducked as an arrow whistled over her head, then replied with one of her own. The Enderman simply teleported away. Where did that bloody bastard even get a damn bow, anyway? Alex growled under her breath, drawing her bow and firing again. In the blink of an eye, two zombies were reduced to flaming lumps of flesh. Alex wrinkled her nose. Even though her current campsite was situated at the top of a very tall tree, she could still smell the unpleasant odour. The zombies' revenge, she supposed.
She picked out her next targets with a quick scan and pulled the bowstring back to her cheek. She let loose a barrage of arrows, her hands moving so fast they were a blur. One. She counted in her head as a creeper went up in flames. Two. Three. Four, five six seven eight-
She heard a gasp of awe from behind her and quickly put her bow away. Dammit, the idiot is awake again. She cursed to herself and imagined the source of annoyance being torn apart by hungry zombies, which helped a bit.
"Lady Alex! Such skill I have never seen in my life!" The idiot exclaimed loudly, attracting more mobs to their tree house. Alex wished nothing more in that moment than for a human TNT cannon to fire the fool to the Nether with. She should have never agreed to take the halfwit on as an apprentice. She'd seen him at a village she saved from a creeper invasion, and he had begged her to take him with her. She agreed because he had the gift of magic, but she never foresaw his lack of a brain.
"You are a goddess of, uh, killing things!" The fool went on. "You must take a name for yourself, a hero's name! You know, to look cool." Alex wondered if the stupid boy had being reading too many superhero stories. He did seem immature enough to still be obsessed with those things.
Alex's brain cells were about to flee out of her right ear to escape this atrocious stupidity.
"You can be the Flaming Arrow!" The fool said happily after a long pause of trying to think up a decent superhero name. "And I can be-"
"-The Moronic Idiot." Alex interrupted. "Fits you perfectly."
The dimwit just nodded happily, which just made her angrier. "My lady, you are the perfect heroine. You have beauty as well as bravery. Your eyes are as green as, uh, really, really green cabbage..." He trailed off, thinking up more stupid things to say. Alex rolled her eyes. The boy had a brain like a peanut.
"You can fight like, er, a really fierce rooster." A farm boy. Alex scowled. And an illiterate one at that.
"And your hair is the colour of, um..." The moron's eyes brightened as he found a word. The perfect word. The paramount of all descriptions.
"The colour of carrots!"
WHANG.
"And your aim with a frying pan is legendary." The boy added before promptly collapsing in a dead faint. That made Alex very, very happy.
Bloody nincompoop.
Alex peered over the edge of the treehouse again and almost fell backwards. The zombies had found a way to sort-of climb, and were now piled higgledy-piggledy up the side of the tree trunk, looking for all the world like a giant sewerage pipe had leaked all over the tree.
Alex cursed the gods soundly, using a lot of none child-friendly words. Time to bring out a blowtorch. Alex definitely was not lacking in a blowtorch.
She thrust her hand out, palm facing outwards, and shouted a war cry. An explosion of orange flames shot from her hand and blasted the unsuspecting zombies into ashes, and sending a very bright signal flare into the sky in the process.
Oh, joy. That probably got the attention of every living being in a twenty-mile radius. More mobs to disturb my rest. Hooray.
Still worth it.
Horus and Steve were just over the hill, ignorant of the fact she decided to follow them. Well, until now, that was. After the really, really bright fire show, Horus was bound to smell a rat. A killer rat with bright orange hair and a slow-witted companion.
Alex hoped Steve hadn't managed to get mortally injured. She didn't bother to hope for Horus' safety. That was like giving a five year old a marshmallow and expecting them to not eat it. The universe hated Horus, and he hated the universe. The very world seemed to want him dead. Steve's luck may have taken a tumble into some forgotten ditch, but that was nothing compared to his.
A moment later, a crack of lightning shot up from somewhere over the hill. Yep. He definitely smelled a rat. And I'll bet my left foot Steve still has no clue about- well, everything.
As long as Horus managed to keep his not-so-little secret from escaping into the world, they were sort-of safe (Safe? Those two? Ha! Not in this lifetime!). Though it depends on how you think about it really-
Alex shook the thought out of her head. It would do no good even thinking about it. People say gods can see a person's mind like a man reading a signpost. If that was the case, she'd be better off not thinking about it. It wasn't something a snooping god would ever want to hear in anyone's mind. Not that any being of any description would be able to get inside her head after the seven hundred and fifty-sixth barrier she'd wrapped around the damn thing, but it paid to be careful, she supposed.
I know we've had our differences, universe, but please bring those two idiots back to me alive. I'm not done with tormenting Steve yet.
WHUMP.
"Yow!" I yelped as my head greeted a rock on my inglorious journey down the gravel hill. By 'inglorious journey' I meant tripping on a rock and rolling down the hill like some kind of malformed cheese wheel.
Pain happened.
When I finally came to a stop, armor clanking and all, I took in my surroundings. I was in a reasonably large underground cave system. I heard the far-off moanings of distant zombies, and the sound of rushing water. It was an eerie place.
Yes, I was alone, underground, and lacking a darn pickaxe. Mine had fallen off the bridge when-
I tried to shove the memory to the back of my mind with little success. It didn't seem to be willing to budge. And suddenly, everything I'd had reason to regret in the past eight years came floating back to the surface like pond scum, from the dropping of an ice cream cone to the witnessing of my workmates' deaths.
Ye Gods, were we really going to bring this back up again?
"Useless." I muttered, fingers clenching hard enough for my nails to draw blood from my palm. "Useless, useless, useless. Why did you let them die? Stupid twit, why didn't you save anyone? That was your job, you bastard!" The last part came out as a shout. I winced as the echoes died down. All the mobs nearby had probably heard and were well on their way for an extra helping of Steve-kebabs.
Let them come. I'll rip them into pieces. Or they'll rip me into pieces. Either way, it'll leave the world a better place.
No no, bad mind. We don't tolerate that kind of thing, remember?
But you're worthless, the little voice said.
But you've yet to make me a single good life decision, I whispered back. So where were we again?
Dying, it prompted.
Dying. It wasn't a foreign concept to me, but staying dead was. Before you wonder why is this lackwit spouting shit, I'd like to explain why I am currently at the bottom of a gods-damned borehole that goes down to bedrock. I'd slipped on some wet surface some time ago (It's hard to tell the time when you were in a place that is so dark you could walk past a whale carcass and never notice it), and taken a plunge into some sort of hell-pit. I'd woken on the bottom of the said crevasse without any injuries, presumably because I'd knocked myself unconscious and promptly died, thus waking up this way.
That was not the worst of it. Beside me, written in a wispy skein of golden light, were the words Respawn revoked. So I could die permanently now. Thanks for the warning, Notch. I'll remember all of you fondly in Hell.
After more waiting, I discovered the zombies and other mobs did not seem to be interested in me. They must have known they choke if they tried to eat me.
Ah, godsdammit. If they won't come to me, I'll go to them.
I set off towards the mob noises with a sword in my hand and suicidal determination in my head.
Drip, drip, drip.
The caves were silent except for the sounds of water dripping from the ceiling.
I'm still alive...
He almost laughed at himself. Of course he was. Of course. Alive when all the others were dead and forgotten. But that was a very long time ago, when he had been young in the mind as well as the body, when he still had the remnants of a conscience. Bittersweet memories of the brief time he had been happy.
Void forbid I ever be happy.
(blood, blood. so much blood. so many screams)
Funny what war and betrayal does to a person.
The poison had spread. It was doing its level best to stop his heart, but so far, the struggle had reached a stalemate. He exhaled raggedly, every breath a red-hot dagger. It didn't bother him much. Certain experiences best left forgotten had given him an almost disturbingly high resistance to pain.
(sing for me, little bird)
He pulled himself up into a hunter's crouch in one smooth motion, the pain in his chest multiplying into an explosion. He touched the wound in a ponderous way, fingers coming away slicked with a warm liquid. He dragged the back of his hand across the left side of his face, wiping away the blood on his lip.
Drip, drip, drip.
The sound was starting to get on his nerves.
(the screams of the dying rising into the air with the smell of rot)
Void damned compost-creatures.
That was the name his now-deceased friends had come up for the leaf-creatures when they'd first fought them. He screwed up back there, he knew. He screwed up big-time. A flash of déjà-vu, and he'd been dragged back into the past by his still-healing mind. Just a brief moment, but that was enough. That, combined with the untimely earthquake, almost spelled his demise. He'd been very quick with the Ender Pearl, but it was still a close thing, and the Ender Pearl's aftershock almost killed him anyway.
It didn't kill him. Ender Pearls chip away at the user's magic as payment, even if the user is not a magician. Every being contained a certain amount of magic. But he had spent all of his because the sorcery tax from the Boundary Wall made even a simple spell costly. He hadn't judged the amount he was using, or anticipate the sudden fall into the crevasse.
And since he didn't have any magic to take from...
He brought out a torch from his Inventory and held it before his eyes.
Drip, drip, drip.
Blind. I'm blind.
He couldn't see a thing, not even with the torch so close to his face. He resisted a ridiculous urge to giggle like a madman. He hoped it was temporary.
(it's so dark... why is it so dark? aritas, where are you?)
His supernaturally alert senses suddenly picked up on something. Undead. A lot of them. He drew his scythe and twirled it around his fingers absentmindedly. It wasn't his first time fighting blind, and he still had his second sight, often referred to as mind-sight.
He rose from his crouch and bit back a wince as his back failed to straighten. He stumbled a bit, catching himself on the cave wall. He took a step forwards and his knees almost buckled. A coppery taste filled his mouth and he spat blood.
Perhaps not this time.
He couldn't use his scythe, he couldn't use his magic, and he couldn't try to talk the undead out of eating him, because they were, well, undead.
So that left only one option.
Drip, drip, drip-
(-forgive me.)
"Be quiet!" I snapped, kicking a moaning zombie in the face. I'd dismantled the spawner, and the last zombie was apparently crab-walking around the dungeon, moaning with the volume of an air-horn and occasionally trying to bite my legs. I decided to put it out of its misery and sliced its head off.
At last, blessed silence.
That wasn't much of a challenge. I looted the chests and found a lot of useless things, iron and gold ingots, and a very curious box. It was all glowy, like something enchanted.
I spent the next few hours trying fruitlessly to open the box, without any positive results. Finally fed up, I tossed it at the ground with a loud 'dammit!'.
It opened.
I blinked a bit and picked it up again. There was a book inside, with glimmering runes carved into the binding.
I made to read it, then dropped it as the ground shook violently.
Bloody Nether, not again.
But something was different this time. It seemed like there was a center point to the quake, and the tremors were radiating outwards. I was pushed against a wall by the force-waves and the temperature seemed to drop by about ten degrees, even though it was already very cold here.
FWOOSH!
I bit back a cry of alarm as the torch flames around the dungeon flared up three times its normal size, and the flames turned glacier blue. Ice crystals formed on the patches of wall the torch was placed on, which meant the flames must have been freezing cold.
Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The torches turned back to normal.
As fast as my reflexes could handle, I surrounded myself in stone blocks. My heart was beating so hard you could probably power on of Jeb's inventions if you hooked it up to an electricity generator (One of Jeb's other designs. Most of those blow up within minutes of construction).
Gradually, my nerves stopped jumping like hyperactive schoolkids and I worked up enough courage to deconstruct my stone tomb. Whatever that was, it certainly scared the ghost out of me. I wouldn't want to meet whatever monstrosity that caused the quake.
I suddenly remembered the book I'd looted from the dungeon. It was lying on the cave floor, opened to its last few pages. There was a very realistic miniature painting of a person, looking like it'd only been done yesterday. Whatever enchantment it was that preserved the book must have been very powerful.
I picked it up for a closer look. It was the picture of a young man with grey-blue eyes and an awkward smile. His neck-length hair was golden brown and unkempt. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, gray pants, and a leather apron. He was holding a blacksmith's hammer loosely in his right hand.
Huh. Interesting. Didn't know I picked up some long-dead person's sketchbook.
There was a smattering of writing beside the picture. Curiosity made me read the words.
Arlec Evetsor- Hey wait, House Evetsor as in Edin's House? The one that I grew up in? I guess I can spot a few resemblances...
Coincidences, coincidences everywhere. Anyway.
Twin brother to Arin Evetsor, older by half a minute. Excelled in the forge. Born in 0AC-
Damn, this thing must be old. AC standing for 'After Creation'. The picture looking as realistic as it was, the person who did this must have seen Arlec with his own eyes. The year now was 999,999AC, which meant this thing must be hella old. Which also meant whoever it was may have being alive at the start of Creation.
Woah. I'm definitely keeping this.
-Died during the Dawn War, murdered in enemy captivity, year 19AC.
Lovely. Okay, that was not a good way to die. What was the Dawn War? Notch made a point of lecturing us well in the history of basically every war, but he'd been really vague on that one.
There was no more writing, so I flipped the page.
Another young man, almost exactly the same as the last. He was wearing diamond armour and had a diamond longsword in his left hand. His helmet was tucked under his left arm, and his smile was brighter than sunlight bouncing off a steel sword, unlike his brother's hesitant one. His hair seemed like threads of soft gold, and his eyes were electric blue.
Arin Evetsor. Twin brother to Arlec Evetsor. Skilled with a sword. Died during the Dawn War, murdered in enemy captivity.
What even is the Dawn War?
I closed the book, deciding read it another time. When I wasn't in immediate danger of becoming a mob's dinner. Or breakfast. Or lunch. Whatever time of the day it was.
In the Void... a sort of Afterlife for dead Immortals
A lost soul and a fallen angel conversed in a language long forgotten by humanity.
Do you remember your name?
No... I am sorry.
Only to be expected at this stage. Do you remember anything about yourself? A nickname, a friend, a family member perhaps?
I think... I had- have? -A brother... He used to call me Aki... short for Miraki (Troublemaker).
Yes?
I- we lived in a land in the sky... White castles and glowing trees... it was beautiful, more so than the world below.
Yes. Do you remember how you died?
A being called the Mad God killed me days after I Reformed in the living world... A hundred years after my first death. I remember Aurorion screaming...
(The soul grew more confident)
That was your brother's name. The aftermath of dying so soon after Reforming damaged your soul quite seriously. Which is why you are in your current state.
I was a God...
Correct.
My domain was Fire. I was one of the Primordials, the first Immortals to form in our world.
You used to be very powerful.
My brother was Ice. We were very close.
Aurorion took it quite badly, I'm afraid.
There was another Fire God, wasn't there? That's partly what stopped me from going back.
Pyria. A girl-goddess. She's dead now. Ran out of believers, I'm afraid. She simply... faded away, to put it simply. She was named after you.
Pyria. I hear her whispering sometimes, when she drifts close to me. We... because we once had the same domain... it's like she's drawn to me. Like a moth to a candle.
You were stronger. She sensed your power.
Pyria... Named after me...
Love and Death named her to honour your life and death.
Amora and Delphos. How considerate of them. Pyria...
(The other being was silent)
Pyrien. My name. It's Pyrien.
(The soul embraced his name like a long-lost friend. Then suddenly-)
(He could see. He saw the uncountable dead drifting through the void. He saw the Ether. The real world. The way out.)
(And he saw the being who'd shown him it)
You're-!
Peace. Doubtless a number of souls in here would drag me down with them if they knew I was here.
How did you get here?!
(A little pause)
I died. How else?
Oh...
I could have gone back straight away. But I saw you and I had to take you back. It meant I had to sacrifice a few years in the real world...
Thank you.
(Another beat of silence. Then the being said oh-so-softly-)
No one has said that to me for a long time. Go, Pyrien. I have other business to attend to.
(Pyrien moved towards the Ether.)
(Sudden urgency)
-Don't tell anyone you saw me here, understand? Go to Jeb. Trust only him. Not even your brother.
I understand.
(Pyrien left)
School camps...
I've had a lot of them recently. I love camping but...
Camping=No laptop
Which in turn equals a hyperactive muse. Funny how my imagination works overtime when I don't need it to, but when I'm in desperate need of inspiration it tends to go on a vacation.
Hyperactive muse=More story ideas... For other stories.
That resulted in a shockingly large amount of procrastination, even for me (I love the word 'procrastination').
So now all of a sudden, I have six stories to deal with. Whoopee.
Luckily, not all of them have been posted. Thank gods for small mercies.
Anyway...
Yes, if some god was to accidentally, or not-so-accidentally leave some part of skin, hair, or body fluid on a redstone circuit it would probably run for a hundred years straight, or more, depending on how powerful the god in question is (Jeb's ran for a few thousand years. Notch couldn't be bothered to watch a bit of light flashing for maybe a million years, and Herobrine has never been seen spitting on a redstone circuit, if he ever attempted such a thing). No, they wouldn't have to breath, ... not to sound like a Pokémon addict, but if let's say, our drunken icegod Aurorion unfortunately ended up in a bonfire, or a firegod somehow fell/was pushed overboard a ship, then Aurorion probably would have to stick himself in a freezer for a decade or so and the firegod would drown miserably. A Primordial god's (stealing from the Greek myths here, no one sue me please) appearance would be more of a construct, while a lesser god is more 'flesh and blood'. It's still more of a construct, which is why only a god can only be seriously harmed by another god's power. But if one of them happened to trip and falls down a staircase it's still gonna hurt, but if you decide to behead one of them they'll just laugh at you while their body comes after you with a megasized club. Augh.
If a god happened to lose a limb during a drunken episode (And it tended to happen a lot, because if they get really, really distracted then their physical form is prone to separating from itself. They only have physical forms if they want to. Stay away from bars in the Aether at all costs. You do not want to get brained by a floating foot), they could still control it unless they simply decide to abandon it. In which case it would start to dissolve into the energy associating with their domain (In a seagod's place, it may cause a Noah's Ark incident).
If it's just hair, then it'll just behave like normal hair, albeit being able to act like a magical battery. Notch had better watch his beard. Duracell will come for him with a pair of shears soon.
They're beings of pure thought and energy, which means if one of them has PTSD then they'll randomly start bleeding when they're having an episode. They don't need to eat, but they do need to sleep once in a while.
I hope that was explanatory. There's an explanation on Crafters a few chapters back. I added it recently.
-Nano
P.S, Please leave a review if you like the story, but if you don't, leave a review anyway!