[HIATUS] When Worlds Collide (Herobrine x reader)

Chapter XVI: Not Your Choice

Heyo Edgelings!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!! Consider this my Christmas present to you!

Now... I'm sure you guys don't have the best opinion of Herobrine right now... but there is more to the story... I hope this chapter will help you understand a little more...

Also, the song above is one of my favorite songs, because it describes me almost perfectly. It also describes Herobrine right now... It's called 'if you only knew' by Alexander Stewart. Just listen to it. You'll understand...

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Herobrine groaned in pain and risked a small amount of movement to adjust his position slightly, shuddering as yet more waves of pain rippled through his body. His stomach rumbled, yet the mere thought of eating made him sickeningly nauseous. He was starving from his hangover, nauseous from the pain, and full from the unhealthy amount of flesh he had consumed before collapsing from blood loss.

His vision flashed in a kaleidoscope of dizzying flashes as his head felt like it was being clubbed to pulp from his massive pounding headache. Not to mention the horrendous aching in his bones every time a muscle twitched. The broken rib in his back festered painfully, resisting his regen's attempts to knit it back together. He could feel his wounds slowly, painfully knitting themselves together, starting with his internal organs. His thin lung membrane was one of the first things to heal, so now he took shaky, shallow breaths, an improvement from the painful choking stiffness of being unable to obtain oxygen.

His heart had been next, and now beat in irregular, agonizing spasms, haphazardly thrusting new blood into his painfully tingling limbs, only making the terrible pins-and-needles feeling worse. The blood leaked out of his stitched wounds, the stitches unable to contain the amount of blood pooling within the deep canyons carved into Herobrine's body. They soaked the white bandages wrapping all around him, and then the blood dried in the oppressive Nether heat, making his bandages stiff and itchy.

Sweat dripped from his pores, wasting precious water as it immediately evaporated into the dry, ash-laden air. His head swam with dazed thoughts as pure pain coursed through his veins. Dehydrated, brutally chopped up like an animal for slaughter, and hungover to top it all off.

Herobrine was miserable.

One of the hazy thoughts that kept drifting through his unstable brain was: Is this really worth it? Why was he doing this to himself?

When he first began to attack villages to create his army, Herobrine had justified his actions, saying that he had no other purpose. Not to mention all the pain he had experienced because of humans.

But now, in his intense pain, he began to question himself. He began to think.

Was this really necessary? Was any of this necessary? He was lord of the Nether. He had something to do. He had purpose and responsibilities. Why was he inflicting this pain on himself? What was the point anymore?

Was this revenge really worth it?

It felt so good in that moment. It felt so good to swing his pickaxe through flesh and rip the life out of those weak mortals. It felt so good to threaten Steve, to see the terror in his eyes. It felt so good to make him pay. To laugh at all of their pain. To consume their flesh and feel tingling and light and numb. But now, as he laid in agony, unable to move, horribly hungover, he began to grasp the truth.