CHRONICLE
BOOK ONE: LYDIA
PART THREE: THE ENDER WARS
Chapter Eighteen: Herobrine's Bane
So tired.
So blasted tired.
He knew there was no hope. If Notch meant to come for him, it was too late now. The Thing had grown too powerful. It had grown from his power, his life-force, which was rapidly dwindling away.
Even his brother wouldn't be able to best the Thing now, not in its own foul realm.
Clawed hands reached for him again, and he was being dragged across the jagged rocks of the End once more. He did not have the strength to move on his own, or to turn his head. His eyesight was blurry, reddened. Ruined in one eye.
Blackness crossed his vision like a bird passing over the sun, with dizziness following. His leg barked an upright stone, the pain sending a starburst of red dancing across his vision. Nausea roiled in his gut, but there was nothing to come up. His heaves were mixed with dry coughs, producing dust and blood. He'd bitten his tongue without realizing it.
They were stretching him out spread-eagle on the ground, his arms along a beam of wood. The claws pulled his wrists apart mercilessly, forcing the cramped muscles across his shoulders and chest to stretch, and with a frustrated burst of snarls, jerked sharply and hard. Herobrine screamed shortly as his shoulder twisted and the joint dislocated.
Nails. Iron lengths as long as his forearms, tapering into a wicked point. They were driven unceremoniously through his wrists, driving between the bones.
Herobrine's screams echoed across the chill air of the End.
They were lifting the beam. He was dragged along with it, pinned as he was like an insect to a card. His entire weight was drawn up by the nails, but he couldn't find breath to groan. His lungs were crushing inwards from the weight of his own emaciated body.
The beam settled somewhere, and Herobrine's bare, cracked feet met with something cool and rough behind. Stone. He scrabbled for purchase, desperate to lift himself up and get just one breath of life-giving air...
His feet were grasped by those callous clawed hands, drawn together and pressed flat to the stone.
More nails.
This time he had breath to moan.
Tortured, dying, trapped and helpless, Herobrine felt tears prickle in his one good eye. The other burned agonizingly, the pain lost in the sea of utter torment from his wrists, his lungs...
Left alone in silence, with nothing but his own suffering to keep him company, Herobrine wept bitterly. The tears ran sparingly, thick with salt, barely moving the dried-on grime and pus from festering wounds. His legs buckled out of weakness- and his lungs suddenly could not draw in air. His heart shuddered and spasmed before beating normally again.
Panicking, he pushed himself up again, defying the pain to get another breath.
It was his body's reaction. His mind regarded the reflex dully beneath the layers and layers of pain. Why? he thought, Why do I bother? What is it worth, fighting to survive? It will mean less pain if he died.
If only he could.
He had experienced death many times already.
Each time was in itself a renewed torment. He would feel himself slipping, moving free of all the suffering and despair, into the longing darkness that held just a faint glimmer of light in the distance.
Then the Thing would appear. He would be pulled backwards, back into the world, his body renewed, his mind more scarred than ever.
There was little left of the fallen god. His clothing was tattered and disintegrating, a frayed and ragged patch falling away every so often to reveal protruding bones and sweat-slicked, yellowed skin. His hair was ragged and torn, falling over his face in greasy strings. There were open sores and festering wounds all over his body, and his lips were chapped and bleeding. It was how he usually looked between the exhausting deaths.
Here and now, crucified upon a stone pillar, Herobrine wished more than ever for death. A permanent death, away from this. His mind was already slipping, and his memory was beginning to blur, forgetting the difference between one nightmare and the next. He was finding it harder and harder to hold on to the few memories that kept him sane.
It was his only defense, his memory. He fled to within his mind as his body was abused, and held tightly to his memories to give himself hope. Comfort, even. His early days with mankind. Building the Aether. The remembered joys of creation, all those memories devoid of fear or despair.
Those were two things he had never truly known until now.
His brother would want him to fight. To hold true, until help could arrive. But as each day passed- if they could be called days in this place of eternal darkness-, Herobrine became ever more sure that help would never come.
Forgive me, Notch, Herobrine thought, but I cannot do this. I cannot linger here. I cannot endure.
For help wouldn't come. Not before he broke.
Aeons passed.
Herobrine at last reached the end of his strength and collapsed down, his full weight straining against the nails without any attempt to relieve it. The pressure built upon his chest, until at last, he could no longer inhale.
His vision blurred and blackened, and he waited for the inevitable.
There it was. He could feel his body no more, and his mind was, for just one instant, clear of pain. There was the light in the distance, like a star fading into the night sky as the sun set. But he didn't reach for it this time.
The Thing was faster. The Thing was stronger.
It reached him as soon as he had gotten one glimpse of the light beyond. He felt the deep suction, the fast return to complete darkness, and then the disorienting leap that brought him back to his body again.
He was no longer on the cross, but he was falling. Ignoring his instinctive reaction towards survival, he hit the ground, limbs flopping, and let himself roll to a stop.
The Thing flew overhead, circling like a vulture as it surveyed Herobrine's helpless form. He had stopped fighting long ago. He was strong, and very ancient, but even he had a breaking point, it seemed, and that had apparently at last been reached. For the first time, the Thing had snatched him back from death without a struggle.
It was time.
Have you succumbed at last, O wretched one?
Herobrine didn't bother to answer. He only half-heard the Thing speaking in his mind.
The air rumbled with the Thing's chuckle, so low it was barely audible, and then the ground shook as it landed with a heavy thud.
Look at me.
Herobrine remained where he was. The Thing paused, remembering Herobrine's first rebellion to him.
It seems you will never learn. LOOK AT ME.
The command was a physical thing, one that took Herobrine by force. His body jerked, but Herobrine refused to let his eyes meet the Thing's. The creature extended one massive claw and tilted his chin upwards the rest of the way, and Herobrine could not stop his eyes from meeting the burning purple irises of the Thing.
His body shuddered.
Baring its teeth in a gruesome imitation of a grin, the Thing grasped Herobrine about the waist with one claw and launched up into the air, dropping him on the top of the nearest tower. It flared its wings, and perched itself on the edge.
You are finally ready.
Herobrine realized what was happening just an instant too late. The Thing locked a clawed forepaw on the floating crystal overhead and slammed it down on Herobrine's chest. Hot, acidic magical energy flooded into his body, creating a circuit between him and the Thing. His entire body spasmed and every muscle locked and strained at full strength, resisting the agony in frantic desperation.
Herobrine could feel the Thing probing his mind for an opening as his body was incapacitated by the incredible pain from the crystal. He tried to lock down the barriers of his will, but it was too late. The pain tore away his focus, and the Thing's consciousness came flooding in.
Herobrine's scream was drowned out by the force of the Thing's victorious roar.
Meaningless. All these memories of power, and its joys. But now you have none. All meaningless now.
I am more than the wretch you think I am.
Ha! You are a wretch indeed, not knowing how to survive without your power. You are more helpless than a newborn infant.
I endure.
So far.
A blackness began to descend over Herobrine's mind, making it difficult to think.
What are you doing?!
Fixing things.
Something pulled viciously, and Herobrine felt a distinct gap. He knew something had been stolen from him.
No! Stop this!
The great Herobrine, begging? It is about time!
What are you?
I am death. I am the Shadow. I am VOID! I am your ultimate bane and your lone salvation, lowly worm!
You are nothing but a scion of darkness, ever defeated by light.
High words for such as you.
There was another pull. Herobrine struggled with all his might, but his mind was weakened by the pain and suffering of years in the End at the hands of the Thing. Memories were pulled and torn away, and Herobrine could do nothing.
You were betrayed by your brother. He brought this upon you.
No!
No? He left you helpless and alone! He delivered you to the traitor, and now only I can restore you to power!
I will take none of your tainted power, Shadow.
Oh, yes you will. You were born of power. It is all you are. Without it, you are slowly dying, and soon there will be nothing left of you at all. No spirit, and no soul. There will be no hope of afterlife for you, God or not, then.
I-
You know I speak only the truth. Face the darkness for yourself, then, and see if any light awaits for you!
A crippling darkness descended, and Herobrine was thrust into it, leaving his body once more.
But this time was different. Something had changed, indeed. He felt lost this time. Afraid.
And before him, there was no guiding light.
Panicking, he searched the darkness, looking for something- anything- that would save him.
He screamed to the darkness, only to discover that he was in impenetrable silence.
No!
The Thing, the Shadow... it was right.
This cannot be!
There was nothing.
There was nothing at all!
Herobrine felt himself slip backwards, and nearly cried with relief as he felt his body wrap his spirit once more in safe reality.
For the Shadow had discovered his greatest fear of all at long last: the fear of being unmade.
It had at last, after many long years, defeated the mighty Herobrine.
Herobrine's body tumbled from the tower's top onto the rocky ground below, with Herobrine cracking his head viciously against a stone. A second glance confirmed that the wound was not lethal. He would live to see another day in his current state.
The trick was an elaborate one. The Shadow at last had a deep hold on Herobrine's mind and soul that would not be easily broken. It had not been difficult to keep it from moving onwards as it would have before. Herobrine's own despair had seen to that.
It was at last time. The mighty Herobrine, creator of mankind, would now become it's ultimate enemy. His skill would become a weapon for the Shadow, an unstoppable killing machine to clear the way for it's arrival. Only a few more weeks were needed to condition him. To change his very being, and instill it's will into his mind.
The Shadow directed it's mind to Herobrine's, beginning the changes upon the helpless god.
Below, as Herobrine lay bleeding on the rocks, his dark eyes staring up at the Void slowly began to fade to soulless white.
Arrenvale was far from peaceful.
Lydia, now a member of the King's Own, a team of specialized forces, had worked harder than she ever had since her work under Herobrine. The borders were constantly threatened. The beasts of the night, while contained for now, were more dangerous than ever in number and strength.
She leaned over the balcony outside her tower room and glared up at the few gray hairs that mingled with the other dark ones that slipped from her tightly braided hair. Earlier, there had been a fireworks show, to commemorate the fourth birthday of Corren, the firstborn son of Richard and crown prince of Arrenvale.
Her sister's first child. There were already whispers that she would soon have another, but if that were the case, Lydia would be the first to know.
So much had changed since the last time she had ever seen Herobrine. The invitation, the abrupt visit, breaking her own vow to never set foot in the city again. The strange instructions, to keep a diary. Somehow it would save lives, deep in the future.
How could she know?
Now she and Hanna ruled over a kingdom, one at the side of the king, the other on the saddle before armies. Hanna was married, and had a child already. Lydia knew she would have more children, sooner or later. Family was what she wanted, and she was perfectly capable of building one.
Lydia pondered why she herself had taken no husband. Drayda, her former master, had no husband. She knew why- she had learned it in bits and pieces through hushed talk over cups of steaming herb tea by the campfire when the master ranger was out of earshot. She had loved once. Planned to marry. It was another ranger, they say, or a woodsman at least. Some said it was a hunter. With dark hair- or was it fair?
Regardless, whatever he looked like, he wound up dead, with a clear message for Drayda that warned her that she was next. She had her brothers with her- no assassin ever came in the end- but the loss had shocked her to the core. Something changed in her. She wasn't the only one this had happened to, but she had thought, somehow, that it wouldn't happen to her. Fortune had not smiled on her.
Lydia remembered her mother and shuddered. She had never been able to begin or maintain any intimate relationships with other male rangers, and she wasn't on good terms with her father, who she hadn't seen in hears. After seeing the men that killed her mother, she discovered that she truly wasn't able to get close with anyone anymore. She loved her sister dearly, and was desperately protective, but there were not many others. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to have children of her own to raise and protect.
"Lydia?"
Hanna's gentle voice startled her out of her ruminations. Lydia straightened and turned. Her sister stood behind her in the open doorway, framed by the light coming from inside. She looked marvelous in the soft pink formal gown she had selected for tonight, and her hair was coiled up behind her head and crowned with a thin golden diadem. Corren, dressed up as a miniature Richard, with the sandy hair of his father and the pale blue eyes of his grandfather, hid behind his mother's leg, clinging to her dress. The party probably frightened the child, prince or not.
"Are you all right, Lydia?" Hanna asked again. Lydia nodded, kneeling down and spreading her arms. Corren smiled and ran to her, eagerly wrapping his tiny arms around Lydia's neck. Lydia hugged back for slightly longer than usual.
"You aren't all right."
It wasn't a question. Hanna simply knew. Lydia released Corren, and he went back to his mother. "I just don't feel well."
Hanna put her hands on her hips. "Don't start with that again. That's your only excuse for when you go off on your own. You've been like this for weeks. Can't you tell me what's really going on?"
"I..." Lydia began, and swallowed. She took a deep breath. "I've just been thinking about things. I'm fine."
"Liar." Hanna took Lydia's arm and pulled her back inside, bolting the door behind them. "I know your black moods when I see them. Is this about Herobrine?"
Herobrine.
The god who first seemed to Lydia as an angel, incapable of wrongdoing.
Until now.
She had seen him when he was... weak. No. Not weak. Troubled. Desperate, perhaps.
"No," Lydia said, then murmured, "not entirely."
Hanna looked up at her with shining eyes. "Look at me." Lydia did. "Please, don't leave me out. It's as if you won't let anyone close to you. You're all alone, and you're wearing yourself too thin with your work."
"Hanna..." Lydia began.
"Please, Lydia."
"Hanna."
Her voice had sharpened. Hanna released her arm, realizing that she had gone too far with Lydia in the mood she was in. Lydia looked her in the eye, her dark eyes flinty.
"I'll be all right. I just need time to myself. That's all."
Slowly, Hanna nodded and backed away. Bending down and taking Corren by the hand, she went back into the main castle to rejoin the festivities.
Lydia unbolted the door and went back outside. The night air felt good compared to the overwarm, stuffy indoors. She was a ranger by blood, and no matter how chill, she preferred the fresh air. It gave her a small measure of the comfort of the wilds. Perhaps that's what she needed, a nice long break from work to wander the forests again.
The hairs on the back of Lydia's neck prickled, and a feeling of unease crept up, making her skin crawl. Someone, or something, was watching. And targeting her. Eyes narrowed, Lydia lowered herself into a crouch and looked around, scanning the ground below for anyone that didn't belong. All seemed well- the castle grounds were filled with peaceful party-goers, with no apparent enemies in sight.
But then she extended her gaze over the wall, into the unlit fields beyond. There was a light at the top of the hill, something dimly glowing white that set it apart from the background of darkness.
She shuddered. Lydia didn't know how she knew, but somehow, somehow she knew that those twin points of light were eyes.
And they were staring back at her.
Amanda the Huntress here.
I'm back from Hiatus at last! Let me tell you, the month of March has been crazy. School, chorus, piano festival... everything. Luckily, it is now spring break where I'm at, and the madness is over for now. I hope you didn't miss me too much. Not that I left you on a massive cliffhanger or anything.
Or that I've done it again now.
Now that I'm back, I want to know- do you guys even read these little author's-note things? If so, when reviewing, please raise your right hand. Typed out, I mean. Like this: *raises right hand*. I'm curious.
If you enjoyed this and would like to see more of it, you know the drill. REVIEW and LIKE or FOLLOW and all.
See you next update, and next time, I'll do my best to be on time.
Huntress out.