Herobrine breathed in deeply, closing his eyes in thought. The subtle scent of molten rock wafted towards his nose. He felt the wounds on his side tear open further, but he no longer bled.
Home.
The young man emptied his pockets, and pulled out a few sticks and some stone. He set to work creating basic tools, preparing himself for a life in the god forsaken core. He created mostly pickaxes, with no wood to chop or dirt to farm, except for the practically useless soul sand. He began biting through the netherrack, the soft stone crumbling easily into small cubes. The young man set to work building a basic shelter, storing his items in a small hole at the corner of his house. He dug it out of the massive wall of rock that stood near the unlit portal. Digging carefully, he created a neatly hidden staircase that spiraled around the pillar, connecting the ground near the portal to his stone-dug hut at the top.
Herobrine stopped to admire his handiwork. He wiped sweat of his brow and let his pick-wielding hand drop. His muscles burned. And he hadn't the faintest idea of how much time had passed. The man sat down onto a netherrack ledge, dropping his pick and tipping his head back against the wall. He sighed quietly and began to drift off, his mind and body exhausted from the work.
Herobrine woke to the sound of his yell echoing around the quiet landscape. He breathed in heavily the thick, hot air with bursting gasps. The man realized he was clutching the wall. As he woke up, he relaxed, leaning on his knees as his mind processed through reality and nightmare.
Flashes of rotting flesh, dusty bones, and red eyes flickered through his dreams. Flesh gnawed, ribs slashed, and limbs shot; his mind subjecting the man to the pain and trauma he'd just been killed by.
Kneading his sore triceps, he stood up and began preparing to continue his setup of his new home. He learned that he could fashion picks completely out of netherrack, and began to make all of his tools as such. Plus, he found a strange, compressed form of netherack that could be formed into purplish bricks.
Upon discovering a strange edible plant, along with naturally growing mushrooms, he created a garden, making it more of a courtyard. Herobrine smiled slightly, remembering when he'd designed similar places in Minecraftia. Tables and chairs were set in strategic spots in the garden, adding more friendly additions to the fungus and lava garden he'd spent all his energy creating.
There he sat, a stone bowl of mushroom and netherwart soup in front of him. Sighing occasionally, he forced down the mushy mess in desperate attempts to regain moisture. He had broken countless netherstone picks mining a rare rock that contained a few drops of water. Eventually, his body had rationed his liquid use. Now, he no longer could sweat, cry, or swallow properly. Even when he'd work out, which was his only source of entertainment, he didn't sweat a drop. He could feel his skin harden, and the heat began to ebb. He found standing next to lava more enjoyable, the radiating heat comfortable against his dry, pale skin. Occasionally he would rub his arms, looking down at the whitish flesh that once sported a bronze tan. Closing his eyes, he would vaguely remember what the sun had looked like. Wasn't it small and yellow, like a block of glowstone? He could never imagine it well, for he'd fail at making it bright enough.
A sudden memory hit him like an arrow to the heart. The bright sun reminded him of a sparkling young girl with short, golden hair. She was a few years younger than he, and she tended to avoid him; his quiet patience frightened her.
Herobrine dropped to his knees, the stone bowl crashing to the floor. He moaned quietly. Sudden loneliness beat on his heart like a drum. He wanted a friend. He thought of the guys around his age. They used their brawn to attract girls. They avoided him. The strange one, the brother of Notch, was to be avoided; he was different.
No friends. No girlfriends. Just his brother, but he had lost that. The anger he had pushed away for an undetermined time flared suddenly. Notch had ignored him. Completely disregarding his dying brother, laying bleeding to death in his bed.
Herobrine opened his mouth to yell, but no sound came out. He was enveloped, blinded, by silent fury. He was once sad, long ago. But now there was only anger.