Magic Meets Might

Find the Line

Herobrine's POV

As the witch coaxes another healing potion into me, I listen to what the Wither is saying. Something about me taking in too much magic and that I'd burn myself to a crisp. From the point in the conversation that my might was doubted, I'd stopped listening. 

Across the hallway, Cassandra has been out cold for a few hours. Not that I care- the girl is as insufferable as she was powerful. Why we're family, I don't know. I also don't care.

I feel cold air sting the area of my arm where a fourth rune is slowly forming. I twitch and my caretaker skittishly pulls back. I close my eyes and nod for her to get another healing potion.

Footsteps echo away and the Wither grumbles, "Honestly Herobrine. With all the panic you cause, it's a wonder anyone is allied with you at all."

I focus my empty gaze on the Wither and grin, "They are at least smart enough to realize Notch has no chance of winning this time. Now- as for Cassandra," I chuckle, "She's as thick-headed as they come."

"She and her friends have also defeated you on numerous occasions."

"You doubt me?"

"I'm just saying you're not strong enough yet to plan a full assault on the Aether. Three days and you can barely stand without vomiting. You expect to be battle-ready then?"

"Yes."

He merely shakes his head and nods to my shoulder. "How's that coming along?"

"I think it's a skull rune." The scrawl in question still remains a faded black jumble of lines, accompanied by the light akin to dying embers.

"Malice?"

"Yeah."

"It suits you."

"It's Cassandra's."

"The little b*tch had it in her to harbor Malice?" The Wither laughs, deep and heartily.

"I didn't think so either- who cares? Power is power and it's mine." I think back to my fight with the sorcerer when power was power and not mine.

Windswept grasses curled around my feet, pulling me back as a breeze shoved me forward. A man stood with his back to me, hands clasped, overlooking the ocean which is only a few feet away after going hundreds of blocks down.

"Are we doing this here?" He whispered but the wind carried his voice to me.

"Don't you think this is overdue?"

Seto  nodded.

"Shall we begin then?"

Another nod, this time accompanied by purple flames engulfing my enemy. My own hands were soon enveloped by their own orange flickering. One quick spell from my mouth doused his magic. Seto turned to face me with sorrow etched across his face.

"I knew you'd resort to that."

I grunted, puzzled. The spell? No...This man was ready to die. His eyes were dull, his face was mirthless. At the time, I was satisfied that my old source of hatred was giving up so easily. All it took was a simple quick blast of fire that set his robe ablaze and spiralling off the cliff, trailing sparks.

As he fell, time seemed to slow down. I lunged forward until I was on my stomach reaching over the cliff. Seto was already beyond my reach. Turning away, my throat burned with holding back tears. I teleported away to who knows where.

I was not happy, I was not triumphant. I may have left Seto's body battered on the rocks below, bone-crushing waves dousing the flames on his white and purple rob, but he left me with something worse than death. I was left with scars that would never heal, a friendship stagnant in disrepair, and the weight of knowing I was the cause.