Protectors Are For Weaklings (Completed)

Epilogue

Few Minecraftians survived. The blue, white and black levers were designed to rip apart the world so there were only a few survivors. Survivors would only have hindered its operation.

This wasn't the first time it had happened.

The ground was once again cast a dark green, and the sky once again adopted the End's depressing black. If anyone stepped out of the torch's little light, they were cast in darkness.

And once again... Once again, there were survivors.

The survivors, whether they crept out of their homes or woke up from being thrown hard against the ground, all had the same things. They all had their same peculiarities that would have earned them screams if it had been only a few hours ago.

They all had the same glowing green eyes, the same the stray Enderman might have had before.

They all knew to gather around at the centre of the village - the only village that survived. The torches were the only light, and when they were mined, they disappeared for good. No new light could be placed. So as far as they knew, they were the only village that had survived.

Already a boy with a purple Enderman hat had taken the head of the village, confidently striding about. He had white eyes instead, but no one had objected.

They named the village Forlorn Fields.