Mythical Artifacts

Chapter 1: The Killer

I dashed out of the hall and into a smaller room, not wanting to stay in one place for too long. I observed my surroundings, looking for anybody: nobody was there. I didn't know who I was watching out for — otherwise, my situation would be much easier — but I knew that there was someone that was out for me. I looked back at the hallway, getting ready to run away if I saw anybody, killer or not.

Seeing no one around me, I knew I couldn't stay in place — it'd be pointless — so I began to move. I continued through the rooms, going past escape pods and technological devices. The space ship was large, I knew, but it wasn't large enough that I would be able to hide long enough from the enemy without being caught.

I suddenly felt the ship shake, but I held onto a desk for support. I heard the crashing of a few items throughout the ship, but I could tell that the vibration wasn't too serious. Then I heard a shriek from nearby, which was unnaturally cut short. I shuddered, thinking that there was no way someone would scream because of such an insignificant quake — seconds after one, even.

Grabbing a few more pieces of gold that had generated around me, I hurriedly entered the main hallway and started down it. I need to win this, I told myself. Nobody seems to know who the killer is. I need to get a bow, fast. I entered the shuttle bay, scouting for gold. After getting a few more pieces, I had reached eight pieces. Wishing to be somewhere else — anywhere else — I dashed down the hallway once more, toward the other side of the ship. When I got into the room, my eyes fixated on someone. . . .

And there she was, stabbing somebody through the chest right before my very eyes. My heart skipped a beat as I looked at who she was: she had a strange skin, which reminded me of an Egyptian. I had no idea who she was, but it didn't matter: I knew I had to run, and that's what I did. As fast as I could, I knew I needed to get away from her — but I knew what she looked like, at least.

I looked back behind me and I could see the killer running after me, though she acted as if she was just in a hurry in the same direction as me. I darted into a room, wanting to lose her. Leaping over desks and spinning past bushes, I ran my hardest to get out of her sight. When I reached the crew's quarters, I went a little farther until I was in the kitchen.

Shoot, I thought, knowing I was now backed in a corner. Turning around, I found the killer right in front of me, only a few yards away. I turned and ran as far as I could in the dining area, but I was now up against a rock and a hard place. Turning to face her, she gave me a victorious grin. I knew my time was up.

She lifted up her sword, ready to throw it at me, when I noticed two pieces of gold behind her. I swiftly dodged her sword throw — only by inches — and began charging toward her. I dived to the right of her for the gold, sliding on the ground as her sword swung, barely missing me. I grabbed the gold and it quickly vanished, giving me a bow in return.

"See ya," I muttered, turning around on the ground to point the bow at her.

"Wha—" she began, but then an arrow came out of nowhere and hit her in the chest, piercing through her. Her body disappeared . . . and the game was over.

I looked over at the actual hero, and he smiled at me as if he hadn't just taken my kill — though it's not like I really cared. I took out my compass momentarily and read that the murderer had been a player named "Caz." I sighed, having enjoyed the game.

As I walked toward my home, I thought about the game of Murder Mystery. It was an exciting game, which I often played with friends, but it was sometimes fun by myself. At least you're not in actual danger, I thought, but I enjoyed pretending like it was a life-or-death situation. I would probably be too scared to move if I were in a situation with a real murderer, anyway. Then again, how would one murder, anyway? It's not a real thing to permanently die.

I reached my home, but not until I encountered my friend, Melongan. I had known him for so many years, and we usually played Bedwars or Murder Mystery every once and a while. Even after so long, we were still good friends, though we didn't quite play as much as we once had. "Flawed," he said enthusiastically.

"Hey, Melon," I said. I glanced around. "Why're you at my house?"

"I was going home after a Bedwars match when I spotted you," he answered, "so I thought I'd say hello."

"Ah, okay. . . . I just came back from a pretty fun Murder Mystery game."

"Fun," he said; his tone expressed disinterest, but also liveliness as well. "What are you going to do now?"

I shrugged. "I figured I'd write a bit."

"I should've known," he said flatly. "Well, have fun then."

"Yup." I waved goodbye as I opened the door and stepped into my home. I sighed, looking around. My house seemed so empty with nobody else living in it other than myself; I had never lived with anyone, and while it gave me plenty of time to myself . . . it gave me plenty of time to myself, even when I didn't want it. Good with the bad, I reminded myself, turning away toward my bedroom.

My room was all too familiar, as I spent much time in it: I slept and wrote stories, among other things, all in the comfort of my cozy room. Empty, though, I thought, but I shook off the feeling of emptiness: I'm fine, I assured myself, but I knew that I wasn't quite "fine."

I slumped down at my desk and went over what I had been writing, a romance story. It was going along well, and since I had plenty of time to work on it, I had often found myself writing continually on some days, stopping only when a friend bothered to ask me to play or if I started getting tired.

"'I've been thinking . . . and I don't think that we should hang out anymore,' she stated emotionlessly, as if to mask any pain. . . .
Is it really over? I wondered; I didn't know if she truly meant it. No, no, no . . . surely she wouldn't, I told myself, but as I stared into her hazel eyes, her glare affirmed what I didn't want to hear."

Romance was fairly common, but even the people who developed feelings for another player usually kept it to themselves, deeming romance "useless," as there's no end goal. Regardless of the meaning behind romance, I was writing a story all about it. A lot of things were from real-life — hugging, for example — but with other things, I had to be more creative and come up with stuff myself.

Storytelling in book form was common, but there was scarcely any fiction about romance. Looking at it, I knew that it was far from perfect, but it was only the first draft. It was a lot to create my own story, with unique physics and stuff like that, but I had managed. I'll have my own unique universe, I thought, even though it wasn't all original.

I decided I wasn't in the mood to write, so I got up and left my home. I figured I'd go play a game or two of TNT tag. As I walked along the path toward the correct lobby, I thought about how boring things had all been as of late: there hadn't been many updates that mattered to me, and there weren't any cool events, whether by the server or by the community. It all seemed so dull to me, and I just wanted something interesting to happen for a change . . . and while it seemed like nothing would, I would soon find myself wrong.

- — —— — -​

"It's concerning me," he said gravely.

"I can't believe it either, sir," someone else replied.

"Cut the formality. You're my friend."

"Of course, Hypixel," he replied warmly. "Now . . . what are you going to do about the artifacts?"

Hypixel sighed and said tiredly, "If I knew, Codename, I'd tell you."