Forest walk

***

The sun was still high in the sky, shining brightly and providing enough warmth to make one want to stay under the cool roof of their home, rest, and perhaps even take a nap. However, our hero had neither a house, nor a hut, nor a tent, so he wandered in the shade of the trees near the villages, following a path well-trodden by the locals. It seemed that the heat did not bother him at all, for his attire consisted of a tracksuit, including trousers and a masterka (a type of short jacket). The guy, in general, looked very pensive, even bored, which made him stare at his feet, kicking stones along his way. This action began to annoy him with its monotony. The man… no, the entity, kicked a stone harder, coming to a stop. “How boring!” — his tone was dissatisfied, but he wasn’t shouting, just mumbling to himself, hissing through his golden teeth. The reason for Entity’s boredom was his meaningless existence. He had absolutely no idea why he existed or what to do with himself. The guy possessed incredible, inhuman strength, but along with it came a distinctive appearance: a black face, red eyes with white glowing pupils. What could be scarier than glowing white eyes? Oh, the old legends did a great job of scaring the locals. The only thing the virus, as the peasants sometimes called him, enjoyed doing was causing destruction. It wasn’t revenge for being rejected — no, it was simply fun. But judging by the smoke far beyond the forest and the corresponding smell of burning and blood on his clothes, the fun had already happened, and it was over, leaving behind only mortal boredom and a desire to turn inside out. However, the entity wouldn't harm itself, so the lad had no choice but to resignedly continue walking, hoping to find another village ahead with foolish villagers who amused him so much when they tried to save their homes, families, and, most importantly, themselves. And the knights? They were even funnier: frightened but running with their sharpened swords and spears, trying to wound the invulnerable creature. Fools, that's all. When the thoughts left the gray wanderer wandering aimlessly, he looked around, assessing the situation. He was still in the forest — and seemed to be hungry. Entity didn't see any game nearby, but he did spot an apple tree. And that was even better — he loved sweet things. Avoiding the fallen fruits scattered around the tree, he set his sights on a particularly attractive apple that hung rather high. With a swift movement of his hand, he lifted the iron scythe he had been carrying all this time in his unnaturally black hands and cut off the branch along with the fruit. Making himself comfortable nearby on a conveniently located boulder, the satisfied fellow placed the battle scythe beside him — it clanged loudly against the stone — and began to break the branch off from the apple. After examining his forest find, he thoughtfully turned it over in his hands and finally began to eat, having first wiped the fruit on his smoke-stained jacket. And so, everything seemed fine: now he would have a snack, rest a bit, sitting in the shade of the trees, and then — on his way again, in search of new small towns and villages. Yes, precisely small ones — he tried to avoid large ones, fortified with walls. No, Entity was, of course, both strong and tough, but an army of a hundred men or more, especially belonging to some lord, or even the king himself… Not the most enjoyable pastime. The apple crunched pleasantly between his teeth — the tender sweet juice was about to envelop his taste buds, when suddenly acid burned his mouth. The entity frowned in disgust, continuing to chew a bit more, as if hoping the taste would change to something more pleasant. But it didn’t, and he had to spit out the sour fruit that had so brazenly ruined his mood. Entity 303 hated sour things. Why did nature even create sour apples? “Rubbish!” — 303 cursed, spitting out the unpleasant aftertaste, and threw the apple as far away as possible, just so he wouldn’t have to see it. The virus was disappointed with literally everything: a boring, irritating day! A disgusting sour apple! And there was nowhere special to go. Further on the map, there was only a lifeless desert, and Entity wasn’t particularly eager to go far in search of new villages to destroy, which weren’t even guaranteed to be there. With a heavy sigh, the guy got up from the boulder and wandered further along the forest path. Bored, he tapped the scythe against the branches of bushes and trees, mercilessly tearing off the foliage, just like those village boys who, having found the perfect stick or begged their parents for a wooden sword, begin to mindlessly harass the poor vegetation. Although children probably have a purpose — most likely, they imagine a spider instead of a bush, and instead of a tall tree — a zombie or an Enderman. The entity, however, didn't imagine anything, not even the villagers or those very children he was just thinking about. He simply hit the foliage until the scythe, during its next attack on the bush, hit something with a dull thud, followed by a pitiful squeak. The fox shot out of the bush like a bullet and dashed away from the sadist, disappearing into the depths of the forest, while he could only do was to widen his red eyes in surprise, not knowing whether to laugh at what had happened or grieve. Slowly, his white pupils moved to the instrument with which he had hit the red vixen. “Hmm, how did I not stab her?” he pondered, falling silent, and the sounds of nature reached his ears. Some strange relaxation washed over the guy. The morning birds’ trills began to flutter, the grasshoppers and other unseen insects started their chorus, the leaves rustled in a gentle breeze that brought such pleasant relief from the summer heat. These sounds had been present all along, but why did he only now turn his attention to them? “That’s nice…” — Entity whispered and took off his hood, letting the breeze play with his disheveled white locks. The sky was beautiful, incredibly azure and seemingly bottomless. If only I could fly, would I be able to touch this pure heavenly expanse? Could I soil my hands in it, as if it were paint? — flashed through his mind. A light laugh escaped his lips at such whimsical thoughts. Of course not, he couldn’t. The sky wasn’t tangible… Just like the clouds, which he still wanted to fall into and wrap himself in like cotton wool, but much softer and more tender. And there was a cloud — huge and dense, exactly the kind one would want to wander across. And it was shaped like… hmm… shaped like… No, this cloud had no distinct outlines; it was impossible to make out anything specific in it — just a chaotic collection of cotton balls stuck together. But who said cotton balls couldn’t look beautiful? That’s right, no one had said so, for Entity was alone at the moment. As always.

***

A strange knocking began to echo through the forest as the virus delved deeper into the thicket. The path became increasingly overgrown with grass every five meters, but the grass could never completely devour it. I wonder who walks here? — 303 pondered. It had always seemed strange to him, as such inconspicuous paths were found everywhere, and one never encountered people on them. But someone must be trampling them down little by little, preventing the grass from winning completely. The sound was quite distant, resembling either chopping wood or hammering nails. This piqued Entity 303's interest, and he simply couldn't help but head in that direction to find out what it was. The closer he got to his destination, the more corrupt the pure forest scent became, acquiring notes of smoke and ash. Confused, Entity even sniffed his jacket, which also had a similar smell, but distinctly different. No, something is definitely burning, and he had nothing to do with it, he thought. Pulling the hood over his head, the guy crawled through the bushes like a white ghost until he reached a clearing filled with small buildings. It didn’t resemble either a village or peasant structures. Peasants don’t build with bricks, let alone crimson, nether's bricks. Skeletons — tall and black, clad in light iron armor — wandered around their self-built camp. “And how did he miss them at first? But there were quite a few of them: 5, 6, 7, 10, 15, 16… 19… 20?” “Mh… lost count…” — he muttered, trying to count again. There were enough of them to look suspicious. Although even the presence of five Nether creatures already seemed strange and alarming. Moreover, they were in armor — which meant they were military. On top of that, these wither skeleton had built an entire camp, and by all appearances, they weren't planning to stop. They weren't just cutting down trees around — in a word, they were expanding. Are they planning to declare war again? Doesn't their past teach them anything? — the entity thought, recalling how once upon a time, a very, very long ago, his "father" had told him stories of the past. One part of these stories was about the Nether, where Hell suffered a terrible defeat after attempting to brutally invade the Overworld. They had almost succeeded. It's still unknown what went wrong back then, but after the retaliatory attack by the few surviving humans, the Nether Realm has never recovered and has remained in ruins. The person raising Entity usually commented on these stories by speculating that humans had probably been helped by secret supernatural forces like Entity, or perhaps even the Creator. The victors themselves claim it was their cunning and bravery that came to them at the last moment. But even little 303 found this too naive and absurd. Among the monotonous black figures of the dead, a figure whose metal armor was decorated with gold was clearly visible — most likely, this was the commander. Wait a minute. Does Hell even have iron to forge so many armor sets? — the white-haired one wondered. He had been to the Nether very rarely and too long ago to remember well what was going on there, but he didn’t just remember — he knew — that there was a lack of normal ore. Gold — that’s what the Nether was full of. A logical chain formed in the virus’s mind by itself: if they weren’t wearing fragile golden armor but durable iron armor, it meant that either they had settled — if not in this particular place, then somewhere else — a long time ago and were mining ore themselves, or they had an ally from the surface. Although one couldn’t dismiss the combination of these two options either. Creeping around the camp and trying to observe the activities of the Wither skeletons wasn’t easy, as the monsters had been prudent enough to clear all vegetation, leaving plenty of open space that made it nearly impossible to approach them undetected. He spotted what appeared to be a small armory and a forge nearby, where they seemed to be using Instead of woodf or coal, lava. That was where the burning smell he had noticed a kilometer away from the camp was coming. There were also a couple of other small buildings nearby, whose purpose remained unclear for now. Perhaps they were barracks, if such things were even needed by the undead. The sun had just begun to descend towards the horizon — it was still too bright for a little reconnaissance mission aimed at satisfying his curiosity, which was itching in every part of his body. Entity fidgeted in the bushes, clenching his lips and hands on the handle of his scythe, completely at a loss about what to do with the sudden surge of energy. He wanted to jump out, reveal himself, and boldly walk in, simply stunning everyone with his self-confident behavior. He was torn by conflicting feelings: on the one hand, there was a burning desire to act, on the other — caution, advising him to lie low and observe some more. Thoughts raced through his head like trapped birds: should he reveal his presence? What would he gain from a sudden appearance? And most importantly — what would be the reaction of these Nether warriors to the appearance of a creature like him? His fingers tightened around the scythe’s shaft, and the red eyes with white pupils reflected the glow of the setting sun. A decision still eluded him, but the impatience was growing with every second, seemingly ready to burst out at any moment. The nearby cracking of branches, rustling of grass, and faint metallic jingling sounded very close — just about five meters to the right of the guy. He immediately pressed lower to the ground, trying to hide as best as possible. Two black figures were walking very close to him. Entity even thought they were heading straight for him, but the skeletons passed by. Apparently, they're patrols, he thought. They're making circles at the border of the forest and the camp, looking for threats. But they were doing their job rather carelessly! The white-haired one barely held back a laugh when these two, quietly talking among themselves, walked further away without even once turning their heads towards the bushes. 303 cautiously peeked out, watching the retreating Wither skeletons. He could feel his hands, still resting on the wooden handle of the scythe, sweating with impatience — or perhaps with fear of being discovered. Sweat ran down his fingers, making his grip less secure, but he tried to remain calm, not giving away his presence. The idea came spontaneously when the virus realized that he and these two patrolmen were quite far from the main camp. There was very little time left for thinking. Entity, bending close to the ground, darted through the bushes following the guards. His movements were swift and silent, as if he was gliding like a shadow between the thickets. The moment when only a few meters remained to the skeletons, he abruptly emerged from the bushes. The iron scythe flashed in his hand, and he swung to strike, his movements precise and calculated. Excitement flared in his eyes — now or never! The clanging of metal against metal broke the silence as Entity struck one of the skeletons on the shoulder part of its armor. The whistling blade of the scythe slid down, leaving deep scratches on the metal protection, but failed to penetrate it. Shaken by the sudden attack, the Wither skeleton staggered to the side, and in the next instant the scythe pulled him into the bushes. Entangled in the branches with his legs, the opponent fell to the ground with a loud clang and rustling. His partner, hesitating only for a moment, hissed something indistinctly and, drawing his sword, rushed at Entity. The white-haired one had already swung for a new strike, but the warrior turned out to be surprisingly agile — he deftly deflected the powerful blow of the scythe, then, bending down, dodged the deadly blade and found himself to the right of the opponent. Entity, accustomed to attacking from precisely this side, was momentarily confused. A series of heavy, sweeping blows rained down on the entity. The guy had to back away, constantly dodging the deadly blade and shielding himself with the wooden part of the scythe, which was already cracking under the onslaught of the enemy's weapon. He didn't know how to approach the tall and fully protected opponent. The best way to destroy a skeleton was to break it, and the most effective method was to chop off its head. However, with Wither skeletons, things were not so simple. These creatures were distinguished by their tall stature, which meant their necks were positioned quite high. On top of that, they were armored — they had well-protected their main vulnerability with an iron collar. Entity was already beginning to regret his decision to get into a fight when suddenly the first wither whom he had previously thrown into the bushes, attacked him. And the boy regretted his decision even more. Tensing up, 303 pushed the first opponent away with the handle of his scythe and immediately turned to face the skeleton running towards him. However, he didn't manage to fully turn around and swung with the back, spiked part of his weapon. The blow landed on the enemy's back hand, piercing the armor at the wrist. The skeleton dropped his weapon and jerked his wounded arm, staggering. He tried to grab the blade to pull it out of the wound, but Entity was quicker — he pulled the scythe towards himself, thereby depriving the opponent of his arm. Without wasting a single second, he swiftly turned his entire body back to the second enemy, who had almost managed to strike him in the back. The momentum gathered during the turn helped him deliver a powerful swing, severing the opponent's head along with the metal collar plate. "Minus one!" — Entity said, assessing the result of his swift attack. The living skeleton dashed towards the camp, and Entity followed like an arrow. Before he could even shout a warning about the unexpected attack — and not just any attacker, but a demon — he was split in half by a large blade that glowed with red flames. Sparks and tiny droplets of molten metal armor splattered onto the grass, preceding the armor's owner by a second. The skeleton seemed to live for another moment, its remaining bony hand clutching the grass convulsively. Entity stood over the body, breathing heavily and smiling, catching his breath. "Ha!" - he had won. His gaze shifted towards the camp, and Entity's eyes widened, his smile fading instantly. The reconnaissance hadn't had time to report the attack, but the hellish warriors had noticed everything themselves. Forming a quartet, they rushed towards the entity with lightning speed, thanks to a slight descent. And behind them, two archers took aim at the boy in the white hood. A deep sigh escaped Entity's lips, transforming into an almost maniacal laugh. The corners of his lips turned upwards as adrenaline surged and bubbled like lava. His scythe ignited with crimson flames, foreshadowing a bloodbath. Entity eliminated the first two instantly, shattering them into pieces with powerful, inhuman blows—strikes that could slice stone columns like butter. The scythe set the dry grass around them ablaze, the flames quickly spreading and singeing the already scorched pants and sneakers of the boy, but he didn't care. He charged, tackling a Wither with incredible force, kicking it in the chest to bring it down, then plunging his scythe into its skull. The skull crumbled like coal—the black skeletons might look big and intimidating, but they were fragile in reality. Straightening up and pulling his scythe from the ground, Entity turned to face the last infantryman, taking aim quickly. Just as he stepped towards him, an arrow whizzed past so close that he heard the fabric of his hood tearing. Another followed immediately. If he hadn't moved just then, hesitated for even a second, would they have hit him? Most likely, yes. Perhaps even killed him! A mad gleam reflected in Entity's red-white eyes as he, with a spinning motion, literally hurled his scythe at one of the archers, as if it were not a heavy tool but a light shuriken. The weapon reached its target in a flash — the aiming archer flew several meters away, landing in a stack of stacked logs. From the splinters and sawdust scattering in all directions, it became clear that both the warrior and the scythe had pierced through the trunk. The stack of logs crumbled, and the firewood rolled on the ground with a crash. All remaining warriors ran towards the sound to witness an incredible scene: a seemingly fragile boy in a dirty, torn white hood sent another opponent flying with a single punch. The enemy flew towards yet another stack of logs and, staggering, tried to crawl away. But a final kick to the head from the supernatural entity put an end to his existence. The unit, already halved, froze in stupor. The warriors had absolutely no idea how to approach the enemy who was destroying them with just a single movement of his hand. It became obvious — this was no human. A demon stood before them, the embodiment of pure destructive force. The commander, clad in armor adorned with golden patterns, quickly counted the remaining warriors. Twelve. If they attacked with all their might at once, what were their chances of victory? With a crack, the monster retrieved its weapon from the log and slowly, with labored breathing and a maniacal smile, began to move towards the frightened army of Hell. The commander flinched, gripping his sword tighter in his bony fingers. He needed to think. No, they needed to retreat. The best option for their safety was the portal — there was another unit there that could double their forces. But could they withstand this creature? And would the higher-ups consider that he, knowing all the dangers, was leading the monster into their world? "Commander!" — one of the ordinary soldiers drew attention. — "What are the orders?!" "This creature will kill us! We must flee!" — another interjected. The panic among his subordinates was hindering the commander's clear thinking. He hesitated, and at that moment, a scythe thrown accurately by the monster knocked down a skeleton standing to the right. There was no more time for thinking. "Retreat to the portal! Quickly!" There was only hope left for the Holy Guardian. Let's just hope he was nearby.

***

A wave of mutilated undead poured out of the portal. The local guards recoiled in astonishment, unable to believe their eyes. Their brethren looked as if they had survived real hell: battered armor, cracked bones, terror in their empty eyes. What had happened there? Had the humans discovered their secret refuge? But that was impossible! Their base was located in the most remote part of the forest, securely hidden from prying eyes. What could have terrified their brethren so much? The skeletons were darting about in panic, whispering to each other, trying to piece together fragments of information. The commander, maintaining what remained of his composure, was giving orders to the few who were still capable of acting. "You two! Immediately go to the castle and find the Holy Guardian! A demon is coming here!" — his voice sounded firm despite the chaos unfolding around. Two skeletons, without uttering a word, saluted and rushed to carry out the order. At that moment, another high-ranking skeleton in armor adorned with golden patterns approached the scene — the second commander, responsible for managing this side of the portal. "What is happening!?" "Muster your troops! Quickly! We've had bad luck — we encountered a demon, and he's probably already close!" — his voice sounded resolute, though fear raged inside him.

***

Silence. The Nether undead froze, holding their breath (if they even had any). Rows of black skeletons formed a semicircle around the pulsating portal, their bony fingers nervously gripping their weapons, empty eye sockets fixed on the magical passage between worlds. A lingering anticipation hung in the air like solidifying lava. The portal’s hum, resembling a death wail, stretched seconds into endless minutes. Even the bravest of the undead involuntarily retreated, sensing the approach of something truly terrifying. And then it began. The first bursts of energy erupted from the purple spirals, promising something unimaginable. Archers on the tall towers tensed, their bony hands trembling as they held their drawn bows. The undead commanders were already ready to give the attack order when something happened that no one could have foreseen… The entity burst out of the portal with such speed that the air crackled with tension. A lightning-fast silhouette, enveloped in flames and sparks of molten iron, swept through the ranks of the undead before anyone could blink. A scream—and five creatures were torn to shreds before their minds could even process what was happening. Pieces of iron and fragments of scorched bones scattered in all directions, while the survivors watched in horror as something unimaginable continued its deadly path, leaving behind only destruction and death. Orders to attack echoed through the ranks, but it was already too late. The entity moved with such incredible speed that not a single wither could even raise their weapon in time. In the moments when the undead were just beginning to lift their arms, the mysterious opponent was already upon them, ruthlessly crushing bones with his deadly blows. The archers in the towers attempted to fire, but all their efforts proved futile. The guy moved so swiftly that the arrows whistled past, leaving only a sound in the air. It seemed as if death itself had chosen him as its instrument. Within mere minutes, half of the two units had been annihilated. Shards of bone covered the ground, and the air was saturated with the stench of death from the rising dust of soul soil beneath their feet. The surviving skeletons had lost all hope of victory. Panic gripped them, and one by one, they fled, trying to escape imminent doom. But 303 showed no mercy. He pursued the runner with manic obsession, like a hunter enjoying every moment of the hunt. His movements were fluid and lethal, each strike precise and merciless. He didn't just kill—he toyed with his victims, prolonging their suffering, taking pleasure in their fear and despair. With every new strike, his fury only grew, and the thirst to kill—even the dead—became stronger. However, such recklessness and desire for vengeance against the weak played a cruel trick on the entity. One of the skeletons, having lost an arm and with a crushed skull near the eye, managed to sneak up from behind. Gathering his last strength, he delivered a desperate deathblow, leaving a shallow but painful cut on the entity's back. Entity let out a piercing scream and, spinning around, with a lightning-fast movement, severed the head of the impudent one who dared to violate his inviolability. Hissing in pain, 303 surveyed the battlefield. There were only a few opponents left, but, oh, Notch, how painful it was to move now, especially with his arms! Every movement sent a sharp flash of pain through his wounded back. A sudden hail of arrows tore the entity from its painful thoughts. He darted to the side, evading the deadly rain, then, describing an arc in the air, rushed again towards the remnants of the surviving opponents. The scythe in its hands rose for a strike, though its movements were no longer as swift and confident as before. The pain dulled its reaction, but the fury and thirst to kill still burned in its scarlet eyes, making it no less dangerous an opponent. A powerful swing of the scythe was deftly parried by a skeleton in golden armor. Entity felt his strength draining by the second — the wound on his back made itself known more and more with each passing moment. The opponent instantly assessed the situation and, wasting no time, attempted a counterattack, aiming for the demon's unprotected chest or throat. 303 sprang back, his teeth bared in a predatory grin. He was already preparing for a new attack, but a sudden pain in his left calf interrupted his plans — an arrow had deeply embedded itself into the flesh. A roar of fury erupted from his throat. Running to the side, he tried to pull out the arrow, but only managed to break it in half, leaving the fragment embedded in the wound. Bad! Rage clouded his vision. The realization of a possible defeat only intensified his fury. In a fit of madness, the Entity hurled his scythe like a boomerang straight at the archer. The weapon knocked the shooter to the ground, but it wasn't enough. Clenching his fists in impotent rage, 303 summoned flames, mindlessly throwing fireballs at the fire-resistant skeletons. The flames did absolutely no damage to the black Wither skeletons, but the shockwave did cause some harm, knocking the opponents back. But suddenly... a familiar hiss cut through the air. The very hiss that 303 knew all too well. It echoed across the battlefield, causing his eyes to widen in astonishment and the Nether warriors to tense in fear. "What the—?!" — a panicked cry came from the soldiers, who were terrified and trying to run as far away as possible from the pile of dynamite hidden under thick cloth. A deafening explosion! The hastily constructed tower of durable Nether bricks couldn't withstand the impact. With a terrible crunch and roar, it collapsed, sending clouds of dust and soul sand into the air. Entity loved explosions. Through the thick veil of dust, the cracking of stones, and the tongues of blue flame, three miraculously surviving skeletons could hear a mad, almost hysterical laughter. It came from here, then there, as if the creature was deliberately circling around them but not attacking, playing a deadly game with its victims. Sudden silence. She hung over the battlefield like a heavy blanket. The skeletons froze, listening to every rustle, every movement in this impenetrable dust. They knew it was the calm before the storm, and it might be the last thing they'd hear in their second lives. The crunching of sand and stone underfoot echoed in the ears of the surviving skeletons. The clang of metal on metal made them freeze in horror. A bright flash of flame lit up the mist, and another warrior disappeared in a swirl of dust. One of the two survivors couldn't stand the tension. His shrill scream tore through the silence, and his body convulsed in primal fear. It was too much even for a battle-hardened skeleton — as if they had been thrown into the most terrifying nightmare from which there was no escape. "I don't want to die! In the name of the Triad!" — his voice trembled as he darted from side to side, futilely trying to find a way out of the deadly trap. A lightning-fast strike of a sword, the kind used by the wither themselves — and his existence was cut short. The cold blade pierced his back right between the shoulder blades, crunching through the spine. The skeleton bent in half with a groan as a foot in a white sneaker pushed him, causing him to fall to the ground. Then, with a sickening crunch, his skull was crushed. The last survivor retreated slowly, like a cornered beast that understood escape was futile. Every step backward was difficult for him — he knew death was inevitable. “What the hell do you want?!” — his scream was a mixture of despair and rage. But the answer came not in words — a heavy blow from an iron sword severed his head from his shoulders. Entity 303's victory was complete and unconditional. The battlefield was plunged into deathly silence, disturbed only by the crackling of blue flames, the collapse of debris, and the rustling of soul sand slowly settling back to the ground. The scene was now a desolate tableau of destruction: charred remains, broken armor, and scattered bones lay scattered across the once-proud battlefield. The air hung heavy with the stench of brimstone and burnt flesh, a testament to the carnage that had unfolded. The victor stood amidst the ruins, his breathing heavy from exertion, though his wounds still throbbed with pain. The battlefield belonged to him now, a grim reminder of his power and ferocity. The only movement came from the flickering flames and the gentle descent of ash-like sand, creating an eerie, almost peaceful atmosphere in the wake of such devastation.

***

Heavy breathing of Entity echoed through the destroyed and empty camp. He slowly sank to the ground, resting his palms on the dusty soil. A cough shook his body, erupting in hoarse fits. He was thirsty, terribly thirsty. And his back was unbearably painful, his leg too. His exhausted body demanded rest. 303 lay flat on the ground, allowing himself to disconnect from reality for a moment. Dust was slowly settling around, covering the battlefield with a gray shroud, including the young man himself. About 10 minutes passed, perhaps 15, when the white-haired figure finally managed to move with difficulty and sat up, bending his legs. The scar on his back was still there, reminding him of itself with a dull pain, but at least the bleeding had stopped. It was time to deal with the arrow. Approaching the arch leading to the camp where the portal was already visible, Entity suddenly froze as if he had run into an invisible wall. Something elusive caught his attention — a sound, the hum of the portal? No, something else. A flap like the strike of a giant wing sounded behind him, blowing Entity with the scorching wind of the Nether. Turning sharply, he saw before him a creature that made his blood run cold — a wither skeleton exceeding in size all previously encountered hellish skeletons. His armor... netherite, black, heavy. Entity instantly assessed the threat — penetrating such protection would be incredibly difficult. Involuntarily stepping back a couple of steps, he could not tear his eyes away from the huge raven wings, which, when opened, made the black angel even more majestic and frightening. Against the background of this giant, Entity, exhausted by the previous battle, felt insignificant. Frowning, he tried to hide the fear that gripped him with a stern look, but everything inside trembled — he was completely unprepared for a new battle. «Maybe another time?» — a desperate thought flashed. The eyes of the dead angel... they differed from the usual empty eye sockets of skeletons. Strange lights flickered in the eye sockets, like stars reflecting the majestic soul of this creature. A creature that, according to the stories of the «father», was created with only one purpose — war. The Angel of Death stood motionless, studying the demon who had destroyed an entire camp of his warriors. Surprise was read in his gaze — after all, instead of a mighty monster, he saw an exhausted young man. But the Holy Guardian knew: super-beings are able to take any form, and even an ordinary-looking person can wipe out entire kingdoms with one movement. Two massive netherite swords rose into the air. The angel slowly took a fighting stance, not rushing to attack, as if silently telling the demon to attack first. Entity understood — there was nowhere to retreat. Before him stood not just an enemy, but the embodiment of death itself, ready to unleash its wrath on him at any moment, incredibly cold wrath despite its infernal origin. His heart was pounding wildly, his mind was frantically looking for a way out of this deadly situation. But one thing was clear — this encounter could be his final test. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the wooden fragment of the arrow. Pain shot through his leg like a sharp needle, making him whimper and wince. Entity hated pain. The poor virus even had tears in his eyes while struggling with the damned projectile. A sharp cry escaped against his will. Ashamed of his own weakness, he hastily covered his mouth with his hand. But the deed was done — the arrow fragment was finally out. Exhausted, he fell back onto his back, keeping his legs bent, and continued to hold the evidence of his recent battle in his hand. His breathing was gradually returning to normal, but fatigue still made itself felt, and he was ready to fall asleep right there. For some time, he lay there, gazing up at the gray Nether sky. Here, the sky was completely different from that of the Overworld — not made of fluffy clouds, but of solid rock formations that seemed to press down with their weight from above. The heat of this world enveloped him like a blanket. Sweat ran down his forehead, soaking his clothes. The air was filled with the smell of sulfur and ash, and somewhere in the distance, the quiet hissing of lava could be heard. Thoughts flowed slowly, like lava trickling down the slopes. He thought about what had happened. About how easily he could have died. About how close he had been to defeat. But he had survived. Again. Time here, in the Nether, flowed differently. Every minute felt like an hour. Every second stretched like eternity. He could feel fatigue rolling in waves, thirst drying his throat, hunger twisting his stomach. But he had to go back. Get up. Move on. Although his body protested with every cell, every muscle screamed with fatigue, every joint seemed rusty. Slowly, very slowly, he began to rise. First he sat up, then got onto his knees, then stood up. The world swayed, but he managed to keep his balance. Looking around once more, he noticed how the Nether landscape was changing. How the shadows from the lava flows moved, how the color of the stones changed under the influence of heat. How lights flickered in the distance, like beacons in this sea of fire. Limping, 303 started heading towards the portal, but suddenly a sharp thought pierced his consciousness — the scythe! His faithful battle companion, which he had thrown somewhere in the heat of battle. Sighing heavily, he stopped, lowered his head, and turned around to search the surroundings. He couldn't lose the scythe — too much strength and soul had been invested in its creation. It wasn't just a weapon; it was an extension of himself. Methodically, square by square, he began searching the camp area. His heart would skip a beat every time he saw shiny metal objects, but it turned out to be just someone else's swords and armor fragments. He carefully examined every stone, every crack in the ground, every pile of ash. Time seemed to slow down. Seconds dragged on like hours as he combed through the area. The heat of the Nether pressed down harder, sweat streaming down his face, blurring his vision. But he didn't give up. Entity stepped beyond the fortifications, carefully examining the brick barricades. His gaze scanned the ground, searching for the familiar silhouette. He looked under every debris, turned over stones, despite every such movement sending pain through his wounded back. Every breath came heavier now, each movement more labored. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and burnt earth, making it harder to focus. But the scythe was more than just a weapon — it was a part of him, and he couldn't leave it behind. His eyes never stopped searching, scanning every inch of ground, every shadow cast by the flickering lava lights. The familiar curve of the blade, the weight of the handle — he needed to find it, no matter the cost. The minute hand seemed frozen. He was beginning to lose hope when he noticed something shiny in the distance. His heart skipped a beat. Could it be? But no, it was just a fragment of armor reflecting the crimson glow of the lava. Again and again, he returned to the places he had already checked, hoping he had missed something important. His breathing grew heavier, the pain in his leg intensified with every step. But he kept searching, because the scythe was not just a weapon — it was a part of him. Each step became more difficult. The heat was exhausting, the wound on his back throbbed in time with his heartbeat, but he continued the search. Because without the scythe, he felt... naked. Unprotected. Incomplete. And then, when he was ready to admit defeat, when his strength was almost gone, when hope was almost extinguished... His gaze fell upon something familiar amidst the ashes. The familiar curve of the blade, the familiar handle... The scythe! His faithful companion lay where he least expected to find it — in a small depression between the stones, half-covered with sand. With a feeling of relief mixed with joy, he knelt down and picked up his weapon. Entity literally embraced his weapon as if it were an old friend. With a dirty sleeve, he carefully wiped the blade, looking at his reflection in the metal. Disheveled gray hair now, a dirty face that also now seemed more gray than black — but a satisfied smile played on his lips. Now he could go. Now he was ready to return home.

***

Approaching the arch leading to the camp where the portal was already visible, Entity suddenly froze as if he had run into an invisible wall. Something elusive caught his attention — a sound, the hum of the portal? No, something else. A flap like the strike of a giant wing sounded behind him, blowing Entity with the scorching wind of the Nether. Turning sharply, he saw before him a creature that made his blood run cold — a wither skeleton exceeding in size all previously encountered hellish skeletons. His armor... netherite, black, heavy. Entity instantly assessed the threat — penetrating such protection would be incredibly difficult. Involuntarily stepping back a couple of steps, he could not tear his eyes away from the huge raven wings, which, when opened, made the black angel even more majestic and frightening. Against the background of this giant, Entity, exhausted by the previous battle, felt insignificant. Frowning, he tried to hide the fear that gripped him with a stern look, but everything inside trembled — he was completely unprepared for a new battle. «Maybe another time?» — a desperate thought flashed. The eyes of the dead angel... they differed from the usual empty eye sockets of skeletons. Strange lights flickered in the eye sockets, like stars reflecting the majestic soul of this creature. A creature that, according to the stories of the «father», was created with only one purpose — war. The Angel of Death stood motionless, studying the demon who had destroyed an entire camp of his warriors. Surprise was read in his gaze — after all, instead of a mighty monster, he saw an exhausted young man. But the Holy Guardian knew: super-beings are able to take any form, and even an ordinary-looking person can wipe out entire kingdoms with one movement. Two massive netherite swords rose into the air. The angel slowly took a fighting stance, not rushing to attack, as if silently telling the demon to attack first. Entity understood — there was nowhere to retreat. Before him stood not just an enemy, but the embodiment of death itself, ready to unleash its wrath on him at any moment, incredibly cold wrath despite its infernal origin. His heart was pounding wildly, his mind was frantically looking for a way out of this deadly situation. But one thing was clear — this encounter could be his final test.