The echo of my clanking boots against the white tiled floor slows steadily. The irrational fear dilutes with each meter I distance myself from my former prison, the obsidian room, Dan's cursed abode. I feel glorious relief as I am finally able to ground myself upon my two feet. I look behind me.

The faraway portal's glow dimly stains the red fog with a purple hue. The white tiles on the floor of the corridor are worn down to their grout, and are sunken from the weight of perhaps countless feet. The stone brick walls of the corridor are corrugated with countless side passages, although I wouldn't dare explore any passage so close to that terrible portal. Lines of dimly lit torches adorn the long walls, most no more than glowing embers, others burnt out completely. I suppose even a crafted torch cannot burn forever.

I turn the other way. This side of the corridor also fades into the red fog, however there is no end in sight. I might as well start searching the side passages for a way out.

I walk towards the nearest passage on my right and enter it. It seems as if this passage is identical to the first; the same worn white tiles pattern the floor; the same fading torches hang upon the walls; the same side passages indent into the stone bricks. Does this maze of passages even end?

I suppose the only way for me to find out is to move forward. I will surely become lost.

Many dying torches pass by. The corridor gradually stretches into a spacious hall. Walls of torches on the walls give way to a lane of glowstone on the floor. Obsidian bricks begin to intertwine in a spiral pattern with the stone bricks, before smoothly transitioning to pure obsidian. The red fog recedes.

The hall opens up into a grand room with eight walls, every other wall leading to another passageway. In the center is a stone statue of two elegantly posed figures, larger than life, engaged in what appears to be a fight to the death. One figure, adorned with lapis lazuli, stands tall, leaning forward with pride as they hold their sword up against the other figure's arm. The other figure, adorned with white marble, leans back with knees bent, one fist clenched against the floor while the other fist clenches a pickaxe which digs into the shoulder of the figure standing over them. The eyes of the figure adorned with lapis are neither angry nor afraid; indeed, they are not focused on the other figure at all, but are instead pointed skyward. Curious, I follow the lapis figure's eyes up to the ceiling, where a diamond-eyed face stares down brooding, their head surrounded with etchings of the sun's rays, which are in turn surrounded by a sea of stars and clouds carved elegantly into a dome relief.

I approach the statue and notice a rusted placard at its base. I bend down to read it...

"Behold! The Twin Titans fight their final battle, and the Arbiter of Good shall be the victor. All followers of the Arbiter of Good shall be in forth-life blessed by the Watcher, whilst all followers of the Arbiter of Evil shall be in forth-life cursed. Our kingdom is the kingdom of the Arbiter of Good."

What a beautiful, impossible fantasy! If only life were as black and white as the idealistic fight between good and evil, my troubles would be so much simpler, yet no Stephen-Herobrine story can explain what brought me here.

I walk past the statue, towards the hallway on the other side. I walk briskly for several minutes, then stop at an arbitrary intersection and take a left. I should try to head in some direction that's unpredictable.

-

I finally approach the end of another white-tiled corridor, where another, larger Nether portal rests. I can hear trapped gasses hissing and groaning as the purple plasma swirls.

I step onto the obsidian frame and brace myself as the world twists and folds into confusion. I am thrust into a blackness and jerked out of it with ungraceful haste.

I feel in front of me with my foot until I find solid ground, and step out into this unknown place.

There is no red fog here, only the light from the dying embers of ancient torches, so it is comparatively dark, but no trouble for my skeleton eyes...

The light goes dark. I compulsively gasp for air. I can feel my heart beat again.

...I guess I spoke too soon. But why would I change back now, when I need to be a skeleton in order to see?

The Book reaches out impatiently. "I cannot control the transformation. It was in the armor's nature to change you back. We must light our path by other means. Give me your arm."

What do you mean? You don't have any hands.

"I said give it to me!"

I feel my left arm turn numb. An electrifying, searing heat spreads down from my shoulder to my palm, until the unbearable fever in my arm compels me to twist and contract the limb into an upright position. My palm is consumed in a white flash, which implodes into a violet fire.

I fixate upon my burning palm, and all I feel is fear. The Book can control the limbs of my body. It can make me harness the energy of the void, even though I've never cast a single spell in my life...

...unless I'm mistaken. What if I've already learned how to use magic, but I don't remember, because the Book has altered my memories? The Book was able to make me craft armor in my sleep; what else has it made me do?

"Now, now, Fristad. The flame you see before you is merely a light source. There is nothing to fear."

I feel the panic fade. The echo of the Book's words soothe me. It's right. I have nothing to fear. The Book is just trying to help me escape.

I scan my eyes across the room, now cast in a purple glow. It is roughly the same size as the room from which I came. The ceiling and walls are made of stone bricks, while the floor is covered with wood planks. There is only one way out, a corridor straight ahead.

My arm stings painfully with the heat of the void. I can't endure this fever much longer. I slide my axe into my empty sword sheathe, walk towards the wall, and lift a smoldering torch from its metal hold. I bring my burning palm towards the dying embers, but the violet flame flees backward like a flying snipe, away from the torch. The fever in my arm doesn't ebb at all, even though the flame is now suspended in the air beside me. I grimace with annoyance. What gives? I was trying to light a torch.

"Void fire does not behave the way you think it does, Fristad. If you were to light that torch with the flame in your hand, it would not burn steadily, but quickly disintegrate into nothingness. You must light the torch with flint and steel."

I sigh, drained by the persistent pain but eager to get rid of it. I set the torch down onto the ground, pull out my axe, and remove the flint rock from my back pocket with my sore left hand. I strike the blade upon the flint's edge, releasing a spark, which misses the torch entirely. I lean in closer and strike the flint again. The spark misses again, this time on the other side of the torch. I groan. Once more I strike the flint. The spark lands too low and scorches the wooden handle. Good riddance. Where will the spark land next? Above the torch?

My throbbing arm reminds me of its crisis. I don't care about accuracy at this point. I graze the flint back and forth against the blade, releasing a flurry of sparks above the torch. A flame finally catches on the tip of the ember. I drop to my knees as fast as I can and blow gently upon the baby flame, until the ember glows white. I tilt the torch upright and feel the pain in my arm weaken as the torchlight grows. Finally, a real flame!

I collect my flint into my pocket and my axe into my hand, then I grasp the torch and stand up. The heat of the torch-fire breathes against my face, reminding me of how my thick leather armor indiscriminately traps the heat near my skin. At least it will keep me safe from whatever monsters hide down here.

I walk forward into the only corridor, glancing cautiously at each shadow to verify that it stays still between the dips in the flickering light. I pray that one shadow does not split into two, revealing an animate figure which lunges at my heart. Despite my hunch, each wavering shadow remains its sole, fickle self: dark, intangible, and unknowable. I want to kill them, but I can't. At least I can kill a monster.

The corridor ends at a great passageway, as tall as it is wide. There is a gentle draft now. The air smells of putrefied feces and mildew. I bite my tongue as I fight my urge to gag. I stand still for a moment to take in my surroundings.

This place is a mess. There are great masses of trashed wood and unidentifiable, broken machines. Some of the stone columns are cut in half, hanging like stalactites from the ceiling while their lower halves are shattered and misplaced. Miniscule cracks in the ceiling project dim lines of light upon the drab brick walls.

Something is terribly wrong.

My spine tingles as I hear a faint creaking sound. Something is drawing a bow. I turn to the sound and see a figure clad in steel, with long, red hair hanging down from her helmet. The flint tip of her arrow gleams threateningly as she points it towards me, most likely at my neck.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" I raise my palms in front of my face.

"Why shouldn't I?" the woman steadies her bow for a better grip. "How do I know you aren't just saying that to lower my guard, so you can land the first strike?"

"I'm not a threat to you. How do I convince you of that? Can you be reasoned with?" I plead.

"Depends," she broods. "Are you a Nether looter?"

"No." I'm not even sure what a Nether looter is.

"Do you work for the government?"

"No."

"Is someone looking for you?"

"No," I lie.

"Do you owe anyone money?"

"No."

"Then I suppose I can be reasoned with. Explain to me why I shouldn't kill you."

"I'm only here because I'm lost and I don't want to kill you."

"Yea, right," the woman scoffs. "You aren't lost. No sane Minecraftian accidentally wanders into an abandoned city that's only accessible to the outside world through the Nether. Why are you really here?"

"If by 'lost,' you mean 'unable to find my way back,' then yes, I am very lost. What else do you expect me to say?"

"That's not the same as wandering into the Nether on accident. You are clearly here for a reason. What is it?"

"I... I don't know," I confess.

She doesn't respond. Her bow remains drawn.

The two of us stand still for an awkwardly long length of time. I don't want to move, because I'm afraid that she will fire her bow. At the same time, she might grow impatient and shoot me anyway, unless I say something to her... but I don't have a coherent story to tell her that isn't the truth. Maybe I could try saying something vague, and then she could help me fill in the gaps.

"There was a certain... occasion."

Gosh that sounds ridiculous. I really am a terrible liar.

"What sort of occasion?"

"I was at a party."

"Let me guess: you had a lapse of judgment and decided it might be fun to elope in the underworld?"

I shrug. "Pretty much."

"That makes absolutely no sense."

Notch smite it. She doesn't believe me.

I hear the bow creak. "I almost feel sorry for killing you."

The Book's voice rings loudly in my head. "I am tired of your terrible lies! I will not let you perish at the end of this stranger's arrow. It is time that we show the world what we are truly capable of. Look into her eyes, and tell her the words that you want her to believe."

The excruciating fever returns, stronger than before. This time, it permeates my entire body, but the fever is most strong within my head. My thoughts become restless. I lift my vision to the stranger's green eyes, which rest upon darkly freckled cheeks. I can almost swear I see fireflies behind her irises, shining like fleeting memories.

"I am not a threat to you," I insist. "You don't have to kill me."

The fireflies clump into a swarm and flit about wildly, as if agitated. What is going on? Is she thinking?

She continues to stand still, with her bow drawn. The fireflies disappear. The fever fades.

She lowers her bow and grins mischievously. "Why would I want to kill you? You're clearly not a threat to me."

"I thought you just said you wanted to kill me." Now I'm confused. Did I really influence her judgment, or was she joking?

"Well then, I must have had a... lapse of judgment." She winks.

"What about my crazy party story?"

"I'd rather not know the details. Keep it to yourself. Say, do you have a few minutes to spare? It's not every day that someone comes down here who doesn't have bizarre ulterior motives and doesn't have dangerous people following them."

"Sure, why not?"