Yognapped 3: Minecraftia Falls P4

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Literature Text

Chapter 4: Two Sides of the Coin

Run. I have to keep running.
The hisses and wet growls of mobs in my wake echo through the shadows behind the trees. My torch's dim light is keeping them at bay, but sooner or later it will flicker out of existence, and I am likely to follow. I have no blade with which to slay the beasts, nor a pick to dig myself an entrenchment for the night, nor a bow to keep the abominations around me at a distance.
I am, in accordance with the rules of nighttime survival, already condemned.
But the mobs are not what I am running from.
Until approximately six minutes ago, I would have welcomed death at the hands of the predators that prowl the night. The pain from my burning, from the agony that seemed to begin and end my life in the same --
I stumble, shocked, and fall forward into the dirt.
Something is happening with my memories. Until mere nanoseconds ago, I had no recollection of the fire. The only memory I possessed was that of... who I am now running from. It is as though something at the deepest cores of my being was lost to those hellish flames, and I am pushing myself ahead on the scorched remnants left behind.
I should not be alive. I no longer wish to be alive.
Tears, an unforgiving and bloody stream of them, run down my face, and I reach to wipe them. Once again, my thoughts freeze up as my fingers contact something hard and flat, something that is certainly not skin.
I reach to the sides of my head, searching for something that feels normal. The closest thing to purchase I find is a seam separating the mysterious material from another piece behind my skull, and against what should be my better judgement, I drop my torch and begin to pry away at the opening.
A sound of disgusting suction falls upon my ears, and as the covering slowly lifts away, the same pain from before visits my ashen skin, though it is much less destructive of my will to live. I bite my tongue to distract myself, welcoming the trickle of still-flowing blood, and look at what has been exposed.
A grey and white mask; something intended to aid in respiration, from the appearance of a filter on the front. I have been seeing through two transparent apertures of glass or plastic, and I did not notice at all. Where did this come from, and how is it helping me?
A noise from behind rips my attention back to immediate survival; not the slow crunches of a zombie or Creeper, but a genuine human footstep. I let the mask snap back onto my face, swallow the blood still in my mouth, and swipe my torch up as my pursuer steps into the light...

Sben shook his head and braced himself against the wall of his quarters. He wasn't supposed to be remembering this. The memories of his birth were always fresh, but he'd never, ever recalled what followed.
Within seconds, another spasm of unknowable pain blasted through his skull. He doubled over, barely managing to open the filter on his mask before his stomach constricted and his gag reflex took hold. A few moments passed, and he found himself staring down at a pool of dark red blood and trails of milky white foam.
The intercom on his desk buzzed once, indicating a live transmission. Warily, Sben clambered to his feet, flipped the switch to receive the call, and spoke. "We're just a half hour away from presentation and deployment. What's so important?"
A trembling voice he recognized as belonging to one of the Peon Elites came through. "Sir... please come down to Replication Lab B. There've been some... complications."


The expansive township of New Mistral City stood over the charred, forested-over foundations of its predecessor, mingling freshly harvested wood and stone with whatever material could be salvaged from the ruins. It wasn't the safest setup for a city, but the former Skylords who resided there couldn't ask for anything better.
Mistral City had once been a proud airship docking hub for Skylords and their crews, a rest stop of sorts between the mighty Skyhold and wherever a traveler's destination was. Over the years, some particularly prolific Skylords -- the late Lysander, last defender of the Skyhold, being a notable example -- had made homes there, and the city had blossomed into one that rivalled Icaria.
Unlike most of Minecraftia's settlements, Mistral City had been burned to the ground not by Ironstorm's forces, but by the Cult of Israphel during the Second Sand War. The Yogscast had quelled the Cult's inquisition in due time, but the city had never been properly rebuilt until Project Ironskies had made the surviving Skylords and other nearby citizens homeless.
Now the city, though deprived of airship docks for the time being, provided a vital place of safe haven to those survivors.
To the east of the city, virtually untouched by the wave of destruction, stood Skylord Jasper's enormous mansion. Like the famed Liam Nilesy, Jasper was a multimillionaire whose resources had survived the attack, and New Mistral City relied on him to continue surviving.


As the sun rose over the nearby mountains, three men approached the mansion slowly.
The first stopped within a kilometer of the front entrance, turning to his companions with his diamond sword drawn. The sunlight glinted over his crimson and golden armor, and a pair of icy blue eyes regarded them from behind his mask. "Alright, gents. This man's home is your target. You are to destroy it and ensure that there are no survivors or salvageable resources. Am I clear so far?"
Both men nodded. The man in Peon armor turned to the second man, who straightened his tie in preparation. "Mr. Nilesy, you know the drill by now. This shouldn't be too difficult, considering you've already decimated an entire township. However..."
He turned to the third and final man, a thickly-bearded individual in a merchant's shirt and a pair of second-hand Skylord goggles. "Mr. Thorne here is fresh out of New Mistral City. He's already killed his family to prove his worth, but large-scale destruction jobs are new territory. Make sure he doesn't screw up, alright?"
Samuel Thorne looked hurt by the remark, but Liam answered before he could voice his protest. "Yes, sir, Griefer Alpha, sir."
Griefer Alpha nodded with approval. "Remember, boys, the fate of existence could soon depend on our actions. If, when the time comes, you two are called to arms, there can be no mistakes. Perfect yourselves before that time comes."
The duo nodded, and the Alpha turned back the way he had come. After several tense seconds, Liam and Samuel headed down toward the mansion, weapons readied.
More backstory for Sben, and another appearance by the Alpha Griefer and his bespectacled recruit. And yes, Samuel Thorne is Sam, aka Strippin. ;P
© 2013 - 2024 KleinerKiller
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DrStarchild's avatar
Oh my god, is ANYONE in this not a homicidal maniac?

Also, I'll never forgive you for killing Lysander without giving him even a bit of a cameo, he's my favourite of the SoI crew.

also, I'b sdill holding by dose.