Retribution.

Every block is a work of art.


My heart and soul went into the creation of this world.


I am the original player.

And I am going to restore what's mine.


***


Creating this world took a virtual eternity. From its humble beginnings as a mere string of numbers- a seed- I carved it into a thing of beauty. The waterfalls cascading over immense mountains, the gentle slopes that stretch out across the horizon, even the arid deserts and their towering dunes; they were all made according to a very precise plan. This world is mine. If only Steve were to remember that fact.


At first I had been delighted to discover that my creation would finally receive the attention it deserved, when he first appeared in my domain. To think that there would be someone to share in my sense of euphoria while staring out across the vast, beautiful, map. It delighted me to see the look of awe on the Player’s face when he first saw everything the world had to offer. But my joy was short lived.


For he did not come alone, he was followed by ceaseless hoards of horrid creatures. They defied my work. My plains and deserts were torn apart in lieu of villages, witches invaded my swamps, and green hissing serpents tore craters into the very surface of the world. Still, I could overlook them. Their damages were insignificant to the grand scheme of things, I even found myself growing fond of some of the creatures that had followed the Player and come to live in my world.


Yes, I could overlook them, but not him.


It quickly became clear that the true issue was not in the creatures that followed him, but the Player himself. The creatures left mere scratches on the world, but Steve attempted to gorge it of everything that gave it value.


His greed could not be quenched; my once mighty forests were reduced to barren fields, grandiose deserts were striped down for their sand, even the ground beneath his feet fell victim to his greed as he plundered it for whatever objects would fulfill his materialistic needs. He was the true monster.


I watched as he spread across my lands like a disease. I watched as he tore the world apart to build monuments to his own vanity. At first it was a house. But that was not enough. Then it was a village. But that was not enough. Then it was a castle that clawed at the very sky, but even that was not enough.


What type of creator could sit idly by as his work was defaced in front of him? There was no other choice than to intervene.


Time passed and the player continued to build bigger and bigger, no bound to their insolence. All the while I was simply biding my time. With every day my rage grew, and it fed me, it gave me the power that I needed. For I had decided that in order to right the player’s wrongs I had to… replace.. him.


I grew in strength, and I also grew in my resemblance to the Player. To my surprise he did not seem completely oblivious to my presence. Every so often while he was defiling one of my forests, or shredding one of my caves he’d cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder. Or perhaps just stop and listen for awhile..


I would never let him get a good look at me though, no- just a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye. Merely enough to let him know that I’m here. And if he did ever catch a glance of me all he would see is his own resemblance. For I am soon to become him.


The only difference is the eyes. I can not bring myself to take on the soulless eyes of such a monster.


For now, I just watch with my white gaze.


***


It’s time.


The player lies in their bed. I stand over them.


It is time to rid the world of this plague, time to return my creation to its former glory.


I reach down and touch the player; only the briefest of touches, but it is enough.


They disappear from the world, logging off for the last time.


I am the original player, here to fix the damage dealt to my masterpiece.


I am the world’s retribution.


I am Herobrine.