Young Writers Society

"Just Hero. Hero, god of light and the stars. He's also been called Herobrine, if that helps," he clarified, momentarily forgetting that his god's name wasn't exactly what most people counted as a normal name. He crossed one leg over the other and stared up at the ceiling. "We weren't really chosen by him. I think it has something to do a little more with fate, though he was the one who first gave us all a home when we never had one."


"Have you ever seen footprints this size?" he asked. He had certainly seen them once or twice, but they had belonged to very specific demons.

He shakes his head. "No, s- er...I haven't," he replied. The scent was...odd. It didn't match up with other beings he'd smelled. It wasn't human, but it wasn't quite a demon, either, and this was rather baffling.

Lasan groaned. He was just starting to like Zalio, but now it sounded like Zalio was a little crazy. "I've heard of a couple gods," Lasan said. "But none with that name. I've never heard anyone with that name, actually. He sounds like a good guy, but - where do you come from, again?"

So they were heading into something neither one of them knew about. Wonderful. At least he could have done some research if this was like any other job, but whatever - or whoever - had brought him here wanted him to go in blind. He frowned. He was not a fan of the mysterious force that had brought him here, that was for sure.


He was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

If Lasan didn't recognize Hero's name after everything they had been through - namely saving the world twice - and looked nothing like the mobs he knew of, it seemed all the more likely that Lasan simply wasn't from where he was from. But he wasn't on Earth, right? Because that would mean Lasan was from there, and the chosen from Earth had made it clear that they didn't look as outrageous as some of the players they saw were.

"I'm from Minecraftia," he said, horror seeping into his voice. "Something tells me you're going to say that you don't know where that is."

"Nope," said Lasan. "I've been all over Fayne, and I haven't heard of a place with that name." He smiled fondly as he remembered the sights - huge deserts, snow-covered forests, wide plains, and the calm waters of the ocean. Then he shuffled around and winced. "Sorry about this coat," he continued. "I'm a big guy, and it's not a big coat, so I might tear a hole or two. My tail also keeps trying to fit in it. The thing has a mind of its own sometimes."

"It's alright," he said, distracted by the realization that he was in a place that was very, very far from his home. He had never heard of a place called Fayne before. Even the players he knew had never mentioned it. As he tried to figure out where he could possibly be or how he had even gotten here in the first place, he absentmindedly placed his hand on the wood of the door beside him.

He hadn't meant for so much force to be applied, but that didn't mean anything - the door noticeably began to open as he drew his hand back, the force sending whatever was in front of the door farther into the cellar.

Lasan wasn't quite sure how he'd gone from leaning against the door one second to lying on the floor the next, but he wasn't happy about it.

When his head stopped swimming and his vision stopped shaking, Lasan began to push himself up. And smacked his snout against the barrel resting on his stomach. "You're sending some mixed messages," he said, shoving the barrel off. His voice had a slight hiss to it, thanks to his forked tongue shooting out. No hints of blood, but his ear holes rang and his ribs ached. Hence, he only sat up, pressing his knees to his chest as he looked around for his hat.

The hat in question stuck out of the other barrel he'd propped against the door. Lasan yanked the hat out from beneath the barrel and stuck it on his head, realizing a bit too late that the barrel had been leaking its contents. It didn't stop him from shuffling back to the darkest part of the room, waiting for the arrival of the stranger. If the stranger was that strong, it wouldn't be a close fight, but Lasan wasn't in the mood to die.

Cornyx watches him carefully but doesn't speak - silence and observation have served him well in the past.

The footprints first came to a stop at an old, musty house. He took one look in through the windows before he determined that whoever had left the footprints had left the building. Interestingly enough, it appeared that someone else - with relatively normal sized shoes - had entered the building after them. He managed to pick up the trail again at the back door, and followed it until he got to another building. Then, for a second time, whoever left the big footprints fled in a hurry.

They ended up in front of an unassuming house.

He readied his bat, propping the door open with his foot.

Then he looked back at Cornyx.

"You should get ready to do whatever you do," he said. "I can't tell if what we're up against is dangerous, but it's always good to be prepared."


Zalio unsteadily got to his feet, staring with horror at his own hand. Strength potions were absolutely terrifying. He should have never been able to do something like that, even if he had pushed his very hardest on the door.

He went to carefully push it open, having heard Lasan move to the back of the room when the barrels had fallen over. "I'm sorry-" he started to apologize, only to be rudely interrupted by the door slamming into the wall. He winced at the noise and the destruction he had inadvertently caused.

He tried to take things even slower, creeping into the cellar to make sure he didn't have a repeat of earlier. "I didn't mean to do that-" A loud cracking sound filled the room as his foot hit one of the barrels, its contents spilling all over the ground and him as his foot got stuck in said barrel. He frantically tried to shake it out, which only resulted in the barrel being flung only feet away from where Lasan was cowering.

Cornyx nodded, feeling the demon clawing from within. He was afraid to let it out, unsure of what it would do, but he didn't want the man to know of his lack of control, so he didn't object.

Zalio sounded genuinely clumsy. He'd slammed the door, gotten his foot stuck in a whisky barrel, and had thrown the barrel right next to Lasan's head. But Lasan couldn't be sure anymore. For all he knew, Zalio could've been aiming the barrel right at Lasan, but couldn't see in the darkness. And now Lasan was soaked, the familiar chill was starting to work its way through his skin, and there was the possibility that Zalio would cause another "accident" and hurt or even kill him. So, he decided to do something stupid.

"What is wrong with you?" Lasan said, jumping onto his feet and rushing Zalio. He grabbed Zalio by the shoulders and pulled him off the floor. "Stop moving!" He shook Zalio.

Zalio was used to threats. He had grown up in a world that had always hated him. Even before the accident, he had lived in constant danger from beings he could never reason with. But in every case before now, he had never been afraid to move. He had never been afraid to draw out a weapon and fend off an attacker, and had never been afraid to try breaking free.

But he was terrified of what would happen if he even tried to get out of Lasan's grasp.

So he just hung there, staring up at him with a blank look on his face as he tried to come up with some way to get out of this whole mess. He opened his mouth to speak - to explain or to apologize or something else entirely different - but never had the chance to utter a single word.

Because the door, which had swung back to its original position, was almost kicked off its hinges by someone who had just entered the room. He was a player, and he had the strangest weapon that Zalio had ever seen over one shoulder as he entered the room. There was someone behind him, but the person remained in the doorway as the player approached the two.

The player held out his bat, pointing the tip of it at Lasan. "Put him down or this bat will be meeting your face." He changed the direction of the bat's tip so it was now pointing at Zalio instead. "And I don't like your soul."

"Okay?" Zalio hesitantly replied, not exactly sure how the player could even see it in the first place. He should have been surprised that the player was speaking instead of communicating with white text, but he was at a point today where he wasn't really fazed by even the oddest of things today.

"It looks almost like the soul of someone who died," the player continued, waving the bat dangerously close to his face. "But it also looks oddly like a soul that's alive. I have a certain...distaste for people who try to cheat death. You haven't done that, have you?"

"Er, no?" Zalio said.

"Then we're good," the player said, turning his attention - and his bat - back to Lasan. "So, lizard man, drop the guy."

Lasan stared at the bat, and then at its owner. He blinked. Firstly, he was surprised that his plan had actually worked. Zalio had just gotten limp and silent, rather trying to wriggle out of Lasan's grasp or kick him into the wall or break his arm or something. Which suggested that he wasn't as bad as Lasan thought he was. Secondly, the newcomer's timing was both perfect and eerie, and Lasan didn't like to believe in coincidences. Thirdly, that was a dangerous looking bat. Who even needed to stick that make nails into it?

Therefore, he decided it was probably a good idea to set Zalio down gently. Which he did.

Lasan pulled off his hat and shook some of the whiskey off of it. "I'd say this isn't what it looks like," he said, "But I'm not really sure what it looks like."

Zalio let out a sigh of relief when Lasan put him down, though it was hopefully quiet enough that the player with that bat didn't hear him. He reminded him greatly of Aleks, which suggested that he would be prone to misinterpreting things. The last thing he wanted was for him to attack Lasan.

"Well, it looked like you were attacking half-dead over here," the player said. He glanced between the two, and Zalio found himself sighing in relief for a second time when he rested the bat down on the ground beside him. "But I'm guessing there's a little more to that story. I'd even go as far as to guess that both of you were brought here against your will, just like me and Cornyx."

He gestured behind him at the man in the doorway. So that was who the other player was.

The man thrust his hand out. "The name's Dean. And is it just me, or this seriously reminding you guys of that season finale in Supernatural?"

Zalio gave him a blank stare. He also wisely shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, unsure of what would happen if he tried shaking someone's hand with the strength potion still going on.

The man frowned. "Just me, then. Let's keep things quick and get some basics out of the way. I need your names, and I'm going to be your best shot getting out of here. I've dealt with things like this before, although they've never involved me getting transported to a ghost town."

Lasan shook Dean's hand as gently as he could, since his hand enveloped Dean's. "Lasan," he said, letting go and putting his hat back on his head. "And I was trying to defend myself. I don't like resorting to violence, but he was busting down doors and breaking barrels, as you can see. He also gave me his coat, so I don't know what his deal is. I just know that his being half-dead isn't my fault." He didn't want to anger the man with the bat. On the other hand, he couldn't help but feel guilty about throwing Zalio under the bus like that. Even though Lasan didn't trust Zalio, he didn't have much reason to distrust him either.

He sneezed, louder this time. Staring down at his wet clothes briefly, he turned around and walked over to where his boots were. "Can we leave this cellar?" Lasan said, slipping his boots on. To try and stop his shivering, he wrapped his arms around his stomach. "I'm sensitive to temperatures, and this cellar is cold."