The Edge of MINECRAFT (Being the Second Volume of the Minecraft Trilogy)

A Dreadful Encounter

Samuel Jameson, head elder of Westlodge, hated a cold rain, and his entire journey had been plagued by it. Jameson had set out early in the morning to meet some leaders from an eastern village. Their lands were crawling with monsters, and they wanted protection. Jameson was happy to help. The leaders were meeting at a small wooden building not far from a village, about halfway for both parties.

Jameson shivered and thought about the terrible news about Steve. He couldn't believe that the warrior had fallen in combat. It was odd: he, Jameson the pessimist, was surprised and shocked that someone had died in battle, and someone he hardly knew, at that. He must be getting old.

The wooden carriage stopped. Jameson stepped out and entered the small wooden house. In the distance, he could spot the village's skyline. A guard at the door told him to go on in and expect the village leaders any minute. He entered the first room of the house. It was small and bare, with guards posted and more of Jameson's entering. He opened the door and entered the second and only other room. This one had a window (though the rainy grey grassland made for a less than pleasant view) along with a table, a bookshelf, a hearth, and a few chairs.

Jameson pulled a dusty volume off the shelf and took a seat. The book was on law; it had been written about eight years ago. He much preferred reading law over anything else. Theos, one of his closer friends, recommended prophecies and adventures. Jameson normally stayed away from those kinds of fairy tales, but Theos had gotten him into one of his favorite authors, the warrior-poet Alexis. Jameson strangely found this Alexis to be strikingly similar to Steve.

And he was back to Steve already. Notch, he was getting old. These merry men were out hunting dangerous game and knew they could die. He needed to forget about it. Theos had talked with him shortly after the news had come, and the old wizard was convinced Jameson cared for Steve. Why else, the former had asked, would such a cold businessman arm some homeless guy on a whim? Steve had been sent for a reason, Theos had argued. You couldn't just dismiss their battles as a game. A war was coming, and Steve had come to warn us.

Jameson's thoughts were interrupted by a crunch on the grass. He distinctly heard someone moving outside the building. He sighed. The ambassadors must have arrived. It was his last thought before something crashed through the window. As he ducked for cover, his eyes picked out a small, jade green object on the ground. Suddenly, a black blast of energy followed the object into the building. In a split second, the energy took the shape of a cloaked black figure.

The guards in the room turned and pointed their weapons at the intruder. There were three of them and only one of him, but he had just teleported inside the room. The figure pulled out a glowing red sword in one smooth motion. The guards backed up slightly. One of them caught Jameson's eye.

He cracked the door and yelled, "Go!" Jameson sprinted through the doorway as the three guards charged the figure. The two guards in the smaller room covered Jameson. He watched the other three try to fend off the assailant. The figure whipped around and sliced one of them across the chest. He fell gasping and bleeding to the ground. The other two retreated through the doorway. They slammed and bolted the door just in time.

Jameson breathed a sigh of relief. Then with agony, he realized something.

"Could he go back out the window?" he asked one of the guards.

"Yessir," was the reply, "but we have more men outside. They'll stop him." The clashing of blades was heard outside. Jameson wicked at the sound of skin being sliced. Someone's weapon clanged to the ground. There was a scream, a crunch, and then a whimper.

Everything was deathly silent.

The door was blown off its hinges, and the cloaked figure entered with his sword crackling with sparks. The four guards rushed him. He tried to fight them, but they disarmed him after a quick struggle. He knelt to the ground with four swords pointed at his neck.

"Who are you?" Jameson demanded. The figure stared down at the ground.

"Who am I?" he repeated. The voice was raspy and coarse. He rose once again. Jameson stepped back as his hands began to glow with red energy.

"I am death," the figure stated much louder. Gone was the scratchy old rasp. Jameson would almost call the new one pleasant. "I am power!" he roared as a red blast suddenly shot from his hands. It threw all five villagers back. The sword flew into the assassin's hand and he lunged at the guards.

Jameson's protectors fought valiantly, but they were no match for this new power. Their attacker summoned a ball of fire and threw it at one of the villagers, reducing him instantly to smithereens.

The figure landed a kick in one's ribs and sent him flying back. He dueled the other two, using his sword in one hand and his magic in the other. A red energy glove appeared around the figure's hand. He grabbed one of the guard's swords, and it exploded. The man stumbled back, and the evil red sword was suddenly on his chest.

The empowered warrior turned back to the remaining guard. The injured one ran to help, but an energy ball shot out at him, and he was thrown agains the wall. Jameson checked his vitals. Dead.

Meanwhile, the cloaked figure disarmed the last guard. He shot a torrent of red lightening from his fingertips, causing the poor man several minutes of pain before he released him. The deathly silence returned. It was over.

Jameson glanced at the bodies of the fallen villagers. He lifted his hands in surrender.

"Samuel Jameson," the figure chuckled. "I've been looking forward to our meeting."

"You aren't planning to kill me?" Jameson asked, some of his trademark boldness returning.

"No, I would never dream of that," the figure said as if it was a hilarious notion. As if he hadn't just killed seven people. "I need you for something. I hated to interrupt, but you see, it's terribly important," he snickered. Jameson was beginning to think this man was insane.

"At least tell me who you are," Jameson insisted.

"Oh, you know me," the figure stated, all seriousness returning. He pulled off his hood, revealing his face for the first time. He seemed ageless, but if Jameson had to label him with knew he would have put him in the mid forties. A small bit of stubble had formed around the chin. The mouth was formed in a tight cruel line. The hair was brown and unkempt, looking like a bird's nest. His clothes had most likely seen better days.

But it was the eyes that horrified Jameson. They glowed a haunting white. The figure smiled.

"Did you miss me?" asked Herobrine.