CHRONICLE
BOOK TWO: CORREN
PART FOUR: REBIRTH
Chapter Thirty-Two:
Mortal Savior
Present Day
The priest had to go back and get supplies meant for caving- rope, a pick, things to build walkways. Once he had them, he'd lost several days of progress. No matter. This was the discovery that would finish it all. This was the place of the final battle.
He found a solid place to tie the rope, and then lowered himself down, taking care not to move to quickly and burn his hands on the rope. He settled down on a ledge, one he tested carefully before coming to a stop on it. Dull heat radiated up from below.
The lava flows were decades old and without a source, so they had slowly congealed in the way surface pools do. Here and there, pillars rose from the half-cooled magma, and chunks of structure looked as though they were thrown haphazardly down. Corren had described how the entire castle seemed to come apart like a collection of living golems, bobbing in the lava.
Putting down a few planks, the priest looped his rope around his waist and carefully crossed over to what looked like a main section of floor. He found dark, splattered stains on the stones of the wall and floor. His hands trembling, he pulled out a water flask and carefully dribbled a little onto the edge of the stain. It lightened, and gave of a strong meaty smell. It was most certainly blood. His fingertips probed the deep scores and blast marks in the structure, the signs of a battle.
Most compelling was the deep crack he found, one shaped like the cross-section of a diamond sword, cut as cleanly as if the hole had been drilled.
The priest stopped for a moment to take a deep breath, realizing what this meant.
He stood on the very place where a god was slain.
Pulling out his book, he began to write it all down in the dim lava-lit chamber below the ruins of Herobrine's castle.
The sunset was lost behind the castle. It loomed gigantic before him at the end of the causeway, surrounded by a haze of reddish smoke rising from the lava moat below.
Corren pulled the reigns, halting his horse as he gazed up and up at the magnificent structure. It could have been a wonder if it wasn't so twisted. Deep reddish stones and black obsidian made up most of the structure, and skeletons decorated every eave and turret.
There was something else wrong, he realized. It was far too quiet.
Dismounting, he gave his horse the command to stay where she was. The mare whickered and settled down, perfectly content not to take another step further. She had seen enough monsters.
Then, with a deep breath, Corren approached the doors.
They were at least ten blocks tall, with several villager's skeletons in various positions fallen over the threshold. As he tried one door, one skeleton fell apart to dust. To his surprise, the huge thing swung easily, opening the way into a dark hallway.
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. The angle of the windows allowed light from the sky, but the moon was only just rising. He shifted his grip on his sword.
Technically, the beautiful diamond blade was his master's possession, not his own. His iron sword had broken at the battle of the village. Now, he carried his master's sword to finish his master's work: protecting his people. The worn grip was comfortable in his hand, and the keen edge had slain many monsters on his journey here. It would serve him well in the moments to come.
His footsteps seemed too loud. The stone floor and walls absorbed no sound at all, reflecting it back and fourth to reverberate down the corridor. The only occupants with him were statues- creepers, zombies, pigmen, skeletons, all posed in various states.
The silence is what saved him. He felt the slightest vibration under his feet, and then he heard the rumble.
An instant later, something thundered down the corridor, riding what looked like a firestorm.
Corren had enough time to brace himself and bring his sword up into a two-handed block before Herobrine flew at him, aiming a kick to his face.
Rather than knocking him clean of his feet, Herobrine's foot landed on the flat of the sword. Corren bent his elbows and knees to absorb the shock, and Herobrine launched off again, laughing. His voice wasn't the same as it was in the dream. It was... deeper. More sinister.
Corren recovered an instant before his enemy was on him again, this time whirling a pick down at his head. An ordinary parry wouldn't work- the long blade of the pick would reach him that way. He instead threw himself to the side, and the pick's tip slammed into the stone floor, cracking it for several blocks. Then he rolled to his feet, slashing hard.
Herobrine moved too fast to be seen, appearing to teleport, and Corren twisted as he felt the change in the air, and the handle of the pickaxe scraped his chest. He thrust at Herobrine's belly, but Herobrine pirouetted out of the way. The next moment brought their weapons crashing together, tangling. Herobrine's eyes flashed as he grinned wickedly.
Corren stepped back and yanked his sword straight back with him, narrowly avoiding losing it to the twist of Herobrine's pick. Then he moved back again, avoiding another slash. He aimed a stroke at Herobrine's neck, a sweeping diagonal stroke that would wound him deeply, but he blocked it and flung the blade away, sending Corren staggering. Then the prince felt a hard, blunt blow to his back, and he sprawled to the ground. Not daring to pause long enough to catch his breath, he rolled over, striking blindly with his sword. He was rewarded with a gasp and a snarl of rage.
As he stood and gasped for breath, he saw Herobrine reappear further down the hall, a fresh tear halfway up his pants and a thin scratch oozing blood.
Looks like even the gods bleed, he thought ludicrously, readying himself for his next attack.
But Herobrine wasn't aiming for him.
He made a huge, sweeping gesture that made thunder roll in the corridor. The floor split down the center, and Corren staggered to keep his footing as the whole castle shuddered and began to shift apart. Blocks fell and shattered as chunks of the structure drifted and rocked like a ship lost at sea. Below was a sea of lava, and now, the castle was a series of floating islands, each a long leap apart. Herobrine dropped his pick and launched himself backwards, flipping neatly onto one of the islands below.
He had a fireball forming in his hands.
Don't let me hit you with magic, he'd said in Corren's dream.
There was only one thing he could do. Corren took a running start and leaped down to meet him below.
He managed to avoid the blast of the fireball as he landed, and rolled to his feet, rushing Herobrine head on to keep him from making another one. But Herobrine was far from unarmed. He ducked under Corren's swipe and hit him with an open palm under the chin. Corren staggered, and got another hard blow to the side from a sharp kick. Turning, he jumped down to a lower landing, and avoided Herobrine's next punch. Swiftly hitting at his face, Corren got him to turn away for an instant, and then he dropped down another level and hid under the ledge, out of sight.
When Herobrine leaped down to meet him, he rushed him before the god could get his bearings. But Herobrine evaporated into thin air. Where was he?
A staggering blow hit him in the back of the head. Stars exploded across his vision and he was spun around and knocked flat, sliding all the way to the edge of the landing and halfway off of it. In his daze, he could feel the blistering heat just below him, and the popping of lava in his ears. A heavy foot stepped down on his chest, pinning him down. Blearily, he opened his eyes to see Herobrine standing on him, readying another fireball in his palm.
He did something desperate. His sword's tip was in the lava. He swung up with all his might, and lobbed a splatter of it right into Herobrine's face.
The god howled and stumbled back, doubling over with both hands over his eyes. That gave him a chance to get away, leaping onto the next island over.
He was right to flee, as Herobrine recovered in only moments. Eyes blazing brighter than stars, he cast a fireball that utterly destroyed the place where Corren had been standing just a heartbeat before.
There was no time to think about how his lungs were burning from smoke and heat, or how sweat poured down his face. Corren leaped island to island, not daring to pause for a moment. Explosion after explosion filled the air, leaving his ears ringing.
Then he was out of places to run, and he had to make a decision at once.
Acting on instinct, he leaped at Herobrine, just as he saw a fireball coming his way. Swinging his sword, he batted the fireball with the flat of the blade, sending it right back at Herobrine. The fireball struck the god squarely, sending him flying back to slam against the wall.
He wasn't going to get another chance. The landing jarred his ankles, but he kept moving, leaping down.
Herobrine began to struggle to his feet. Corren got there first.
His sword went through the god's back and into the floor, piercing his heart.
The world went quiet again.
All he could hear was his own blood roaring in his ears and the ringing left behind by the explosions. His legs shook and gave out under him, and he sat down hard on the stone ground, then scooted back as he realized there was a pool of blood spreading towards him. His throat and chest felt scraped raw from his panicked breaths.
He'd done it. He'd really done it.
Herobrine was dead!
It was over.
That left him trembling all over. Steeling himself, he got to his feet and pulled out the sword, taking a moment to wipe it clean before sheathing it again. Then he made it as far as the upper corridor near the door again before he was violently sick.
It had all happened so fast. One moment, he was facing the eyes he had seen as a child, the eyes that had made his mother scream and try to shield him before the causeway exploded. The eyes his master had spoken of. The eyes of the god that had visited him in a dream.
Now those eyes were dull and closed, and the body bleeding out like any mortal corpse.
His head snapped up. He could hear footsteps.
A man walked through the open door, carrying a naked golden sword in one hand. He wore a plain brown shirt and a miner's pants, and had a brown beard and dark eyes. Corren struggled to his feet. However ordinary this man looked, something about how he carried himself told him immediately that there was more than meets the eye here.
The man met his gaze and nodded.
"You've done well, my son," he said, his voice resonant, seeming to fill the space while remaining deceptively soft. "You have fulfilled the destiny I chose you for. Now go back to your people. This battle is hardly begun."
Corren opened his mouth several times before he could get the words to come out.
"Who are you?" he asked. The man lowered his chin and looked at Corren disapprovingly.
"I think you already know," he said. "Corren, prince of Arrenvale, heed what I say. Get out now. You will not survive if you are within a kilometer of this castle."
Corren remembered all at once what dream-Herobrine had told him.
Once you have done the deed, do not linger. The gods have business to finish afterwards.
With a quick bow, Corren fled the castle. Mounting his horse, he spurred her on down the causeway and back to his home village.
Behind him, Notch walked to the edge of the broken floor of the corridor, peering down at Herobrine's body. The mortal wound had bought time, and triggered the Shadow's attention. Now, as he watched, energy gathered around him, closing the wound and making his eyes glow once more.
Notch had suspected that Herobrine's plot would fail, for as long as the Shadow existed. But it had succeeded in one thing. The Shadow was coming to play at last, and this time, it would play by the gods' rules.
Notch gripped his sword by the hilt and blade, his feet in a wide stance, and waited.
Nothing else remained to be seen or said of Corren's tale, so the Priest packed up his book and got ready to cross back over to the ledge and climb back up, but then he heard something shift behind him.
Turning cautiously around, the priest made ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.
Something shifted again. He tensed, his hand gripping the rope around him, ready to lash out with the slack.
A bat flew out of nowhere and batted him in the face with a leathery wing. The priest yelled and stumbled back, then desperately wheeled his arms to catch his balance, terrified of going over the edge. When he regained himself, he began to laugh. A bat! A bat had nearly been the end of him.
But where had it come from?
He peered around the corner where he swore the bat had arrived, and found something he wasn't expecting.
There was an arch in the wall leading into a short tunnel, one that ended with an obsidian table. On the table was a book, lying open and undisturbed.
The priest approached, and then realized something with a start.
There was no dust here. No smell of dampness, no fine grit from the stone. Everything was clean.
As if it was new.
He looked down at the book with a sense of trepidation. What could this be?
Huntress here.
We're almost done, don't worry.
Gosh, I missed writing these swordfighting scenes.
That's all I have to say. See you next update.
Huntress out.