[writing found in a floating temple belonging to an unknown player on a distant server. while there were no signs of life in the temple, there were signs of life in the caves below it, including some rusted armor sets, complicated machinery overgrown by birch saplings, and a small robot with a tag on it that read “lil buddy” and a battery clutched in one of its claws. despite all attempts, researchers could not find the portal that is normally found by those players taken in by the vault gods, though given the presence of an altar, it is certainly nearby, and the area has been quarantined until that portal’s location can be ascertained.]
I asked Idona to save me the other day.
It feels fickle; it feels like the sort of thing I only said because that’s what one ought to say to gods, when they want something from them. “Save me, Idona.”
They did no such thing, but I didn’t expect them to. I knew them when they still demanded blood sacrifice; now that they merely demand challengers at their altar instead of anything so obvious as the blood of their enemies, it can be easy to forget how malicious they had once seemed. It’s easy to forget that asking things of them had once ended poorly.
Perhaps that’s the Paradox that they are showing me; I had asked Idona to save me because within that Paradox, they would build a mine. That a blood god now offers mines and blacksmiths to me instead, in a place I can design to access myself—well, it’s easy to forget how I once knew them.
It’s easy to forget how often their challenges killed me once, too, back before I knew the trick to finish them quickly. The Gods had seemed just as cruel and capricious as always when I’d simply failed to find enough of the chests they’d laid out and they punished me by causing my health to steadily fade away.
That rarely happens anymore.
You see, yesterday, I killed a wither with a single hit from my javelin and a single hit from my sword. As I flew home, a nether star clutched in my feelers, I felt very little. It was hardly a challenge compared to the vaults; I don’t know why I’d expected more.
The gods have challenged me; I have risen to that challenge. I sweep through vaults, their minders at the side of my head, until I find their altar to bow at, find their altar to make promises of being the challenger they’re looking for at. I know the tricks to find my way around a vault, after all. I spend more time there than the overworld.
I wonder if I’m becoming arrogant, actually.
Even without my armor or sword, I’m too strong for the endermen I used to accidentally release from my farms. I hit them once and they die; if the punch doesn’t work, a javelin or a cast spell will. With the endermen, it’s fine.
With my parrots or dogs—
I have Lil Buddy now. He can’t die because I’m not meant for the overworld anymore, I don’t think.
I wonder if that, too, is the Paradox. The gods are gifting me unlimited power. I step into a vault I have designed myself, under their guidance, and I pull untold riches from it every time. The gods are gifting me strength, which I can call from an altar at any time. No threat can step near me without either being poisoned or scratched by the strength of my blade.
But I have not had a pet that is not made of metal in—I don’t know how to count days any longer. Time passes strangely inside of vaults. It is Wendarr’s trickery. I simply know I haven’t since I was level 70, and that feels like ages ago.
That’s about when I realized perhaps I am untouchable to that which I want, too.
Maybe I should ask Idona to save me for a reason that was not me, desperately trying to seek out their altar for jewels I hardly need these days; maybe I should ask Idona to save me from sacrificing more than I can give.
I know them, though. I’ve known them since they’ve demanded blood.
They won’t.
And one day, I will give them everything, and I will thank them for it. The one god that even they worship above all others, after all, is greed, and that is an altar I cannot simply stop going to.