The Minecraft Story: The Kingdom: Chapter 18
"Is that really a piglin?" a soldier asked.
"That can't be possible."
"I thought they were dead."
"General," Cpt. Wright put his hand on Blackthorn's shoulder, "We're being surrounded."
General Blackthorn had noticed the smaller piglins slowly surrounding them. However, they didn't seem to be gearing up for an ambush. They stared at the soldiers with confusion and curiosity.
"Hold firm. Create a defensive circle, we'll slowly walk out of here," Blackthorn ordered.
Suddenly, the piglin opened its mouth and a raspy, bellowing voice escaped its snot-covered lips, "No, you will not."
It speaks? General Blackthorn thought. How is that possible? How is any of this possible? The piglins that ravaged the world in the Dark Ages disappeared over three-hundred years ago. Blackthorn opened his mouth, but nothing escaped. The sight left him awe-struck and he struggled to form a sentence. This is bad. According to the history books, these creatures were fearsome fighters. Although, if it can speak, maybe we can escape without violence. I need to approach this diplomatically.
Blackthorn sheathed his trident on his back and stepped forward towards the piglin, "Greetings, my name is General Gabriel Blackthorn of the grande Stone Kingdom. It's a pleasure to meet you."
The piglin sat up on its pile of gold, "Pleasure for me too. I am King Magnar. Welcome to our bastion"
"I must say, I am surprised to meet a piglin. It's been a long time since a human has met one of you."
"Surprised too. How long has it been since the portal closed?"
They know about the portal. Blackthorn thought. Is that how they appeared in our world? Did they come from here or did they get trapped here?
"It's been over three hundred years since the last reported sighting of a piglin, which is likely how long it's been since the portal closed" Blackthorn responded, "May I ask, how did you end up here?"
"Master brought us here after we lost the battle. So many of us died. Only about one hundred of us made it. But then, master was killed."
"You had a master? Who was your master? Another piglin?" Blackthorn asked.
King Magnar scooted forward on his pile and stared straight into Blackthorn's eyes, "He was a God. The great one called, Herobrine."
A chill ran up Blackthorn's spine upon hearing the name. Herobrine? He thought. I know that name. It was an evil God belonging to an ancient religion predating the Dark Ages. It belonged to a crazy cult that once held the northern lands called the Order of Notch. But the religion has largely disappeared after ninety-five percent of their members were killed in the Dark Ages. How does this piglin know that name and why does he claim this mythological God is his master? I shouldn't call him out on this, no need to piss him off.
"I'm sorry for the loss of your master," said Blackthorn, "We have a master as well, a powerful ruler by the name of King Ironheart. He rules a large kingdom of over two thousand souls with hundreds of soldiers."
That's good. Blackthorn thought. Let him know how powerful we are. Maybe then, he'll refrain from attacking.
"Don't feel sorry," said King Magnar, "He was an angry God; killed many of us himself. Cursed us with immortality, but no way of reproduction. And he gave us your plague."
"Our plaque? What do you mean by our plague?"
"Plague which brought you back from the dead." King Magnar pointed at the soldiers, "Didn't know it could affect us as well."
As if on cue, a swell of angry snorts and squeals began behind King Magnar. A piglin near the king turned back to the noises and then back to the king, "Zombie piglins, you highness."
The other piglins drew their gold swords, axes, and crossbows, but King Magnar held up his giant fist, "No, let me." He slowly moved his giant, fat body and stood up from his pile. He turned and grabbed something that was sitting behind him. General Blackthorn could hardly believe the sight he was beholding.
King Magnar easily stood five blocks tall and carried a giant golden mace. Every step he took shook the ground below. When Blackthorn peaked around Magnar, he saw the threat. Ten zombified piglins holding gold swords charged the giant piglin.
They were almost completely naked with no more than a loincloth to cover themselves. Their skin was falling off and rotten. Many of them only had their skulls and bones left on parts of their bodies. Blackthorn had seen many zombies before, but even the ones that had been around since the Dark Ages didn't look this bad.
King Magnar took one final step forward and prepared to attack. He balanced his footing and raised the giant mace up. With one large swing, he sent nine of them flying off the side of the bastion. Many zombie piglins exploded upon impact, leaving not much more than limbs flying through the red-hot air.
The last piglin was barely clipped by the mace. However, it still caused its left arm to be ripped from its body and fell to the ground. Not wasting any time, King Magnar lifted the mace again and dropped it down on the zombie piglin.
BOOOOOM!
The impact echoed through the bastion and beyond. The floor trembled so much, Blackthorn began to fear it would break beneath them. A spray of blood and guts launched from beneath the mace, soaking the pile of gold in red. Slowly, King Magnar lifted the mace back up and sat back down on his pile with no regard for the blood.
There's no doubt in my mind he dealt with them himself because of us. Blackthorn thought. The other piglins appeared to be ready to handle it, but he killed them himself. He's trying to show off his power the same way I tried to show off ours.
"King Magnar," said General Blackthorn, "I have enjoyed conversing with you, but it is time we made our leave. Our kingdom is in need of us and we must depart."
King Magnar cleared his throat, "We want to come with you."
Blackthorn waited for a moment, trying to think of a way out of the situation, "I'm sorry King Magnar, but I don't think that would be possible. At least for now."
"I think is possible. This land, this Nether is our prison. Built for us by our master. We want out, we want escape from our suffering."
"I'm sorry. However, if you let us leave now, we will return. If you wish to live peacefully in our world, we can make arrangements, but I must speak with our king first."
"You lie," King Magnar stared daggers at Blackthorn, "You lie just like our master. Once you leave, you will close portal. Trap us here again. I won't let you."
"Please be reasonable, King Magnar. I'm not lying to you, we can find you a new home. All you would have to do is wait," said Blackthorn as his hand slowly inched towards his trident.
"LIAR!" King Magnar yelled as he stood up, "One hundred of us survived our master's rule and survived the overworld. Now, only ten of us remain, do you know why that is?" He grabbed his golden mace and took a step towards the soldiers. "Because, we were the strongest of our kind!"
General Blackthorn grabbed his trident and prepared for battle.