Herobrine

An Inconvinence

The weather is exceedingly bright and sunny today.

Bob walked down an open space as he emerged from the depths of a nearby mineshaft. The air is clean as always, and there are trees shielding him from the sunlight. Basically, it was a normal walk, but now that they don't have anything to do, the days gone by became something more to scouting premises than attacking at night.

The Master seemed to be in great frustration. The Endermen once in a while hurried to his room with new netherbricks or goods, since all of them are usually destroyed daily. Sometimes he lacked sleep because of sounds of something crashing down, or an inhumane roar of the Master, which was unheard for years and years he served in the grand mansion. The master's distress has been rumored from the death of that certain miner that the villagers thrown from atop of a cliff.

It seemed very queer that the Master was very shaken with that fact.

Then again, who could predict what the Master is thinking? One second he would tell them to open a portal to server 82.145-something and another second he'll cancel going there and goes to smash more things instead or demolish a mountain.

The master was not like this at the beginning, though. Bob remembered the tales his father told him, once when all the mobs are able to breed and make families, when the mobs are not slaves, when everything was different. It was a past long forgotten by all of those mobs now exist and working for the Master. The days before the killing started, the days before the destruction came forth. The time when the Master's name was not 'Herobrine' or 'Almighty Nether King'. He could not bring himself to remember the King's previous name; it has been gone long since he changed it.

Although it seemed that he is the only one who remembered. Nobody else have ever spoken about this fact. Well, so does he. A mob who dared to speak about the past will be shot down by the skeletons, and the King will collect their soul and bury it Notch knows where, so they will never spawn again until the end of times. Like the fate of his father, mother, and those in the old eras.

Bob shook his head upon remembering the 'past'. He does not want to know anymore; everything is too hurtful for him. He slowly walked down the snowy mountains, observing anything around him that he can deem interesting while he has all the free time given.

Night has fallen on the silent world.

Herobrine silently ventured in the plains, grumbling incoherently and kicking the snow below him in protest, trying his best to not lose his cool. Lately, his actions is unacceptably childish and foolish; he knew it himself. Maybe even so childish and foolish that his Endermen servants decided to talk to him about going outside to cool himself down from his unreasonable fury. Somehow he agreed to their ideas. He has no idea why. He think less lately he is not even sure if it is a good or bad thing.

And that is why he is currently walking in the middle of a spruce forest, in the tundra biome, under the heavy snow.

He tried contacting Notch but much to his dismay, the Creator did not answer. He did spam his e-mail. Notch should have seen that by now, but maybe deleted it as always. Or he see nothing. Or he cannot do anything since he will be away for a long time.

And he does not know if Notch can read those pixellated runes.

Sighing, the Nether King decided to just stop thinking and try to think normally. Think positive. There is nothing going in his way now. There is no guilt. There is nothing to worry about.

'Or is it?'

Herobrine jerked away from the ghost popping beside him with that -oh, Notch - demented, evil, innocent face. The ghost laughed sheepishly, sticking out his tongue and rubbing the back of his head.

Like an innocent little boy.

'It works? Did I scare you?' He smiled before an angry being's fist went through his head.

LEAVE!

'Don't be so tense. I'm just showing myself to show you that I am still here.'

Herobrine scoffed and slowed his breath as the glow of his eyes slowly dimmed, hoping the ghost will not notice. The ghost knows, however, and he is well aware of that.

'I know you're trying to slow your breathing. Don't worry! It's okay to be surprised! That is the use of surprises, no?'

Do shut up. The King frowned at the loathsome being and decided to turn on his heels and walk away. Dear Notch, of all times, why now? Why can't the blasted creature leave him alone? Much to his disdain, the ghost followed behind him.

'Why are you out here?'

None of your business.

'It's because of Steve, right?'

Shut up.

'You can't push me away forever.' The ghost told him. 'Even if you try the best you can, you can't. You know who I am. You can't push me away. You can never forget, which is why I am here, because I am your past.'

Well, you are nothing but my imagination. How could I lose to my own mind? I will never listen to what you say any longer. You are wasting my time. The Nether King scoffed, restraining himself to turn around to look at the ghost in the eyes. Play it cool. Play it proud.

'Some say a strong man cannot be destroyed physically, but his mind will eat him inside out, no?'

Herobrine no longer answers, because there are no answer for that question. He could still feel it smiling behind him, waiting and taunting him with silence. Nothing was heard afterwards, except the rustling of the trees and the sound of the wind.

The smile of the ghost is still unfaltering. Herobrine hated that.

Something is not right about tonight's atmosphere.

A wolf lazily sprawled on its stomach, facing a blazing fire from a block of spruce wood two blocks away. Its right ear would occasionally twitch from the snow falling on it. Beside it, a man sat, looking around as he used the stick to poke the fire in front of him, and felt satisfied after it blared more. The latter stretched his arms and stood up, dusting the snow off his clothes. He looked tense that cold night.

Too noisy.

"...Get up, Ancelot." He ordered and in a second, the dog rose up, shaking itself from the snow.

"I heard something. We should go home now, boy. Tonight's not as quiet as I thought." The man said, licking some frost off his chapped lips. "It is full moon after all... but something's just not right."

The dog, meanwhile, was growling at a direction, seemingly agreeing to what his master said. The man slowly pulled an iron sword from his inventory, amethyst eyes darting around warily from any danger to come. Some seconds of silence later, the man whistled, and turned to his back, as the dog tailed behind him, still sniffing and growling.

"Tonight is very inconvenient." The man muttered in the blizzard, a hand went to his forehead, where a small scar rested.

The fire died under the heavy snow, and they are gone.