Wither

Chapter 6-Alive in Hell

I was catapulted out of the portal and landed on the tip of a bridge of netherrack. I stumbled to a halt, barely staying on the precariously balanced bridge. I stepped back, sickened at the height of the drop. I gulped. Once I was on safe land, I realized, without the panicky fog, that something felt different. I felt...darker. Less alive. Not weary or old, just...closer to the spirits, I guess. Like a zombie. I checked my skin tone. The same; not green.

I frowned and disregarded the strange feeling. My cloak billowed in the scalding winds. I began making my way down the steep maroon slopes. The grunts of zombie pigmen were ringing in my ears, and the twangs of wither skeletons' bows firing at trespassers like me were worrisome. Thankfully, no signs of ghasts. By far the most dangerous nether mob naturally spawned, ghasts shot devastating fireballs if you near their nest. But as they are quite aggressive, getting within eyeshot of the ghast puts a target on your back. I continued on warily in the general direction of an enormous Nether fortress, where I planned to make camp until I figured out how to get out of here/survive.

*Toboe's POV*

I woke up in my luxurious bed and stretched. My back cracked and I sighed in relief. I stood up and walked across the soft woolen carpet. I opened my door and immediately all feelings of homeyness were erased. The intimidatingly high ceilings and walls of red cascaded upon me, chillingly alike to a wave of blood. My steps, though soft, echoed as I walked to the bathroom, only a few yards away.

I brushed my hair and changed into the comfy silken clothes Herobrine provided for me. "Probably stole them," I muttered to myself for approximately the 300th day in a row to keep the other thoughts at bay. They were crimson, like the rest of the house. The abundance of this sickening color made me shudder. Everything in this house is too alike to blood, I thought, forcing down the bile in my throat. In my short seventeen years of age, I had seen too much of the color, hence my wolf name, Crimson. Whether it stained the clothes of innocents and murderers alike, pooled upon the stone bricks of a torture rooms or regular rooms, or exploded across the battlefield or freak accident sites, blood was never a welcome sight. Whichever the case, the color red always gave me the willies.

I went into the kitchen, where Herobrine was sipping an espresso against the kitchen counter. I managed a shaky hello. "Not feeling well today, Toboe?" He said silkily, raising an eyebrow. I shook my head. A lie; I felt fine, if a little freaked out. But wasn't I always in this hellhole? He probably saw right through it. Still, he handed me a cappuccino, the milk froth garnished with painstakingly grated dark chocolate. I nodded in a clipped thanks and took a drink of the liquid.

After a silent coffee with Herobrine, I began my daily realization that life in the mansion is very, very boring. All that I typically do is wander around like a lost ghoul and wait for the day that Herobrine will let me go. The day that will never come. So this time I steeled up my nerves and walked into the creepiest part of the house: the living room. The marvelous wooden double doors swung open as I walked in, biting my lip subtly. It was dark red inside with black and vermillion Persian rugs lain grandly atop the dark cherry floorboards. There were stains across the floor. Blood stains. I wondered how many people Herobrine killed in here, and a chill ran down my spine.

A few chandeliers hung from the ceiling, a collection of giant claws lit up with red, hungry flames. My steps echoed, not in a nice way. Herobrine swiveled around in his dark chair, a bright burst of crimson in the center. The doors abruptly swung shut.

The familiar panic of being stuck in a room with none other than Herobrine flooded into me. I contemplated leaving, but pushed out the paranoid thoughts and took a wavering breath. "Herobrine, I would like to leave the mansion," I declared bluntly.

Herobrine stood up to his full size. Given that he was 6'5, he was quite a bit taller than me, even though I was 5'11. I curled my fists and gazed into his seemingly soulless white eyes. "Toboe, what did you just ask me?" He asked, his voice dropping an octave. I gulped and repeated myself, trying to regain the fortitude I had entered with. We had went over 'The Rules' as I "took residence" in the Nether, and asking if I could leave was prohibited.

"Herobrine, I don't want to stay in your creepy mansion any longer!" I snarled, gesturing at the grotesquely bloodthirsty ornaments hanging around this room alone. "You can't just keep me here!" Everything in the room began to shake. Herobrine's already glowing eyes began to flare. I backed away, unknowingly under the path of one of the deadly sharp chandeliers. It trembled violently. "You have no power over me or anyone else!" I spat, continuing blatantly.

"I have power over the portal in which is your only exit!" He roared, slamming his fist down on the desk in front of him. The chandelier quaked and broke, falling. "God dammit!" He yelled, swearing more profusely after that. I turned into an ocelot and made a break for the door. The chandeliers, covering the entire rug, began breaking and falling right behind me. I yelped in fear and reached the door. Dead end. The remaining chandelier wobbled and fell. I darted to the side, barely getting injured in the process. Barely. I swerved at the last minute and fell on top of my ankle.

The room's tremors ceased. "Oops, earthquake. Must have had a mob of my guards chasing some outcast across the fortress," he smirked, kicking an oil lamp in my direction. It sailed through the air, little bits of oil going everywhere and flames licking the air. Unconsciously shifting back to human, I hissed in rage and pain and blocked the projectile, burning my middle finger.

**The following may or may not contain obscene language. Please skip this part if you are uncomfortable with this and know that Toboe and Herobrine quarrel (oops spoilers).**

I snarled a swear at him, stomping my feet. "You know damn well that lamp was lit, and that earthquake was hardly an accident." I sucked on my finger and flipped him off with it.

"Listen up, you little--," his fine equanimity snapped and he spat out a foul word at me. He stalked up to me. "As long as you're in my house, you'll be living under my rules and following what I say."

"I can't even get out of your damn house!" I sputtered. Much more cursing at him was involved, but I'd prefer not to say. I wished, at that moment, that I could conjure a sword and duel Herobrine. At the end of that duel, I would impale him and laugh maniacally, head tipped back, blood running down my outstretched hands, eye twitching crazily, the full deal. (TobyTurri is that satisfying?)

"Well, that's the point, isn't it," he regained his composure and looked down on me disdainfully. I unclasped my fist and soon Herobrine was clutching his cheek.

Herobrine scowled at me, gave me the finger, and spat on my clothes. "I didn't steal those damn rags anyways," he muttered, walking to the exit. Turning around for a split second with the flick of a finger--the middle one to be exact (nice touch Herobrine)--, he sent a glass shard from the chandelier into my side. I touched it and it stung. I drew my hand away quickly and saw blood dripping off of my fingers.

**Thank you for your patience, you non-cursers, you! Btw this is just something that happened because my dad was watching a show with cool angry music and cursing so that rubbed off on mu normally PG stories :/***

The doors flung open and he left dramatically, leaving me in the ravaged room with a cut in my side that was slowing being drenched in blood. I hobbled into the other rooms, my clothes becoming all too similar to the crimson, bloody walls.

A/N *strums ukulele* Here's what we learned today.
1. Apparently Seto can't die because he's too cool.
2. Toboe has been stuck in Herobrine's mansion for almost a year.
3. Herobrine shakes when he's mad.
4. Toboe is badass (oops we already learned that).
5. Toboe is hardcore (that too).
6. "Cool angry music" and dad TV shows rub off on Ash when she tries to type at 12:30 PM.

Edit: Editing took another 20-30 min ;-;

Anyways, I love this chapter!!!! It seems to be one of my less stereotypical and more descriptive ones! Hope you guys do too 😝!!!

Stay Blocky, Crafters!
~Your [Hopefully] Beloved Ash 😘