The Ancestor Parable

The Ancestor Parable is a book about the Psi-Godmodding War, the precursor to the Godmodding Wars and a parallel to the events of Destroy the Godmodder 2. It was written by the Psi-Godmodder and was discovered by The_Idea_Modpack_Mod_Man in the Void during Intermission 2. Scratch's Manor and, allegedly, the Scribe, also carry copies of the book.

Contents[]

Prologue[]

This is a tale of extremes, dear reader. It is a tale of adventure, excitement, and most of all, war. This is my story, and the reasoning behind this will become evident very shortly. By the time you will have read this, the events that took place in this book will have happened decades ago, from my perspective, but only a few short years ago from yours. Again, the reasoning behind this will become apparent shortly.

Oh. That's right. Conventional storytelling dictates that, this being a first-person Narrative, I should tell you my name. I'll reveal my name throughout this prologue, so that you can piece together my true nature throughout it. Revealing it all at once would be a bit of a spoiler.

My first name is πρώτα. I am aware that I described my name to you in a language that is defunct in your culture now, so if you were to translate this through your language, it would be something like "first", as I am the first of my kind. The first Godmodder. This allows me to sculpt reality however I see fit. Time and space are completely within my realm of control. I can react to attacks instants after they happen, and in most cases, before they even happen at all.

I am writing this so that those who are destined to read it can do so. The Descendants. If you are a Descendant yourself, then good job. This was meant to fall into your hands. And if you do not know what I mean by Descendant, then perhaps you yourself are not one, in which case you should put this book down. If you are a Descendant, then this book will revolve around your Ancestor. In which case, your Ancestor is a being much like you in similar ways, who led a very similar life to you. They share aspects of your personality and appearance, and you share some of theirs as well. You are following, in many ways, an duplicate of their lives, and it is all my doing.

I suppose I should start from the beginning.

I come from the Northwestern Province of the First Face of Minecraftia, a universe hidden deep in the depths of time and space, skipped over by many for eons due to the chaotic nature regarding its formation. I lived my life, I played by the rules, along with everyone else in my humble village. That is, until some brazen fool under the influence of Herobrine opened a Nether Portal and unleashed hordes of demons into the area.

Nearly everyone died. Everyone except me, and another person. We were both outliers, humans in a Tesficate-ruled Village. The other one saved the Village from attack in his youth, thanks to the guidance of an Iron Golem. He would go on to become Player XIV, Steve Cubit. I would go on to become nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.

The rest of my life was spent wandering across the provinces in despair, cursing at the Gods, high in their Palace of Mojang, and cursing at the Demons of the Nether. I made temporary shelters only to break them down at midnight at charge at monsters. I went to countless villages, only to steal their jewels and leave. I explored a whole face of the six that made up my world. My journeys were many. I uncovered things that no one had before me. I found manuscripts written by scholars, scribes, and archaeologists. In doing so, I uncovered legends that had been untold by any tongue for centuries.

I had become wise beyond my years, dreaming of the Quests of the Player, traveling to a bleached desert to stop the evil Ender Dragon, while the Player himself accomplished those very deeds.

After all my struggles, I resolved to return to my village, fighting through gales and lightning, tackling any monster I found and slicing them apart. When I entered the Plains it resided in, I found nothing. A sinkhole. A gaping pit. The village had been destroyed, but that was not the worst part. Above it was a tear. A magnificent, ancient tear in space and time, leaking some hellish monstrosity. I went to it, and I stared it in the face. I stared God in the face that day. It was a hellish thing spawned from Void, raptured in fire and encased in shadow. It was a Dragon of colossal size, and to this day I do not know what the nature of that glitch was that allowed me to see it, but I know that it allowed all of this to happen. It looked at me and roared, sterilizing the entirety of the biome, pulverizing trees and erasing grass.

When I awoke, my mind was fractured. I couldn't think straight, and the world around me looked as if I was viewing it through a kaleidoscope. I knew that what I saw should not have been seen, and I knew the effects would be permanent. In my state of delusion, I inflicted the most horrible trauma imaginable to myself in order to absolve the multiple fractures in my mind and create one, clean break, effectively splitting my mind in half. Finally, my mind shattered, creating a split personality. I became Bipolar. My two halves, complete opposites, one benevolent, one malevolent.

καλός and κακό. Good and Evil. Goldenrod and Cobalt. We both were aware of our anomalous existence. Usually, it is the red-yellow splits that are evil and the green-purple ones that are good. In our case, this was inverted, a once-in-a-millennia occurrence. Our Build lasted for less than a week before the Shatter initiated, and that lasted for all of five minutes before the Split, where I emerged victorious.

κακό, therefore, is my middle name. The First Evil.

Not content with the power already presented to me, I scoured the world looking for more. I razed the faces of the earth, desolating museums, toppling villages, and shattering biomes. Eventually, I uncovered enough manuscripts to piece together the two things I would need: the First Block and the Disc of Mojang. I headed up to the Palace of the Gods, where Mojang rested, and decimated their forces, heading through their Gauntlet to secure the Disc.

I headed to the center of the world, 0, 0. Yggdrasil, the World Tree, stood straight before me. With the Disc in hand, I bypassed all of Yggdrasil's defenses, and, even with my malicious intent, secured the First Block for my own. I used the two to create a fearsome Construct, that, when used, issued a pulse so strong that it would ruin the world it touched. I completed this Scratch, and in doing so, Scratched the world, and imbuing myself with all of the Block's energy forged straight from creation. All of this combined resulted in my accretion of the power I contain now.

του Θεού is my last name, then, since I am of God. πρώτα κακό του Θεού. The First Evil of God. That is what I am. Although, commonly, I simply describe myself with one letter:

ψ.

Since I am, after all, a Psi-Godmodder.

Chapter One[]

The day was the winter solstice of 1,413 A.N., or, After Notch, on the Minecraftian calendar. In your time, that would be the winter solstice of 2,009 A.D. This day marked the start of the War that is the focus of this book, unoriginally dubbed the "Psi-Godmodding War" by those who fought me. And yes, I know what you're thinking. This War took place in the early days of Minecraft. So, how could it come to pass? There was barely multiplayer, and the scope of this War would have to have taken place in a server like the one you currently fight in in your own War.

My answer is one that has been repeated many times to you, and one that should be apparent to you, thanks to your recent Scratch of your own First Block (yes, my ascension gave me knowledge of the future, at least, of your own war, since it runs parallel to mine). Minecraft is not a game. It is its own universe, with galaxies, stars, and planets, with their own lives. Of course, you all know this already. But my point is that Mojang, revered here as gods, have changed this universe's spacetime and somehow layered it into raw coding, turning this universe into a game that can be played in your universe.

Why? I haven't a clue. But know that every object that will ever be added to Minecraft, and scores upon scores of ones that won't, already exist in its universe, which is how I was able to use the First Block when it was available to you, and how objects in 1.7 will be in use here. So, yes. The War took place at that day. But let us head back a bit.

Shortly after my ascension, I experimented with the versatility and scope of my newfound powers. They allowed me to change space and time around myself, at will. I traveled the globe with these abilities, changing things wherever and whenever I could. People tried to fight me. I recognized and blocked every attack before they even happened. I was unstoppable. My powers were those of a god. And I could make anything, even from the Mods players outside from my own world could create.

So it was that I dubbed my powers "godmodding", since they were godlike, and could modify the world around them.

With these skills, I quickly toppled most of the major governments of the world and waged havoc on the cube I called home, establishing my own rule in their places shortly thereafter. Many governments sent their own armies at me, but how could they kill a being who knew, in advance, what every one of their attacks would be? Exactly. They could not. The world fell to me in short order. My plans for it were simple. I was to use the resources of the earth, and the people, to forge the greatest weaponry and fleets known to Minecraft. I would scourge the galaxies, ruling every Minecraft world populated with multiplayer servers... It was to be my life's work. But it was put to a stop... By them.

Winter.

A winter day heralded the beginning of the War; I'll never forget the raging blizzard that took place outside of my Throne Room. I hadn't stationed any guards or traps or alert systems around it, as I didn't need to, with my power levels. And yet, I was still a bit surprised when a figure walked into my room unannounced. He was dressed in holy garb, a cyan shirt, navy pants, and grey boots. Atop his head was a helmet forged from diamonds. In his left hand, a sword gleaming purple. In his right, a jet-black egg speckled with magenta. He looked up at me, and I recognized the face. It was the matured version of the one that survived the Siege of Sodermalm with me, the only other one.

Steve. The Player. TT2000's Ancestor.

He gripped his sword, and I knew what he would say before he said it. He wanted to fight me. I grinned, of course, accepting. With my godlike powers, I held the world in my iron grip. I had never seen defeat. A sight that, unfortunately, would behold itself to me soon enough. The fight started innocently enough. I equipped my usual fare of warfare, intent on bringing the Player down. But, something about him made him incredibly hard to pin down. An aura of holiness surrounded him. He had just taken down his Enderdragon, I thought. Being the Player, he had to have had some level of power.

I was correct. He had somehow crafted a more streamlined, focused version of my Godmodding abilities, and was using them against me. We were evenly matched, strike for strike, each of us mirroring the other's actions. Eventually, somehow, he was tiring me out. Notch must have been favoring him, for he eventually, in one solid strike, sliced my face, absolving me of one eye. He then switched his sword out for a hammer. The Hammer of Notch, the one that, in legend, was used in conjunction with the Divine Anvil to forge the world as we know it.

The Hammer, bathed in golden light, slammed into me, inflicting the first real pain I had ever felt since my rise to power. He relieved me of an arm. Beaten, I fell to the ground. Steve, however, had inflicted injuries of his own, but they were not fatal. He grinned, and told me that, in a week, him and eight others would start a war against me. I looked at him with a hate unmatched to this very day. My pride forced me to accept. He laughed, and left my chamber. That was my first taste of defeat. It would not be my last.

I spent the next week honing my skills to what I believed to be perfection. I created a Black Fortress, built from my meager throne room, and enchanted Sentries to guard it, armed with holy weaponry. I forged Turrets from the cores of dwarf stars, that would relentlessly pursue a single target, switching between thousands of different weapon sets. I strip-mined an entire Province of the World and gathered enough ores to create magnificent, eldritch versions of normal Minecraft monsters that I dubbed Terrors, who were loyal to me, and me alone.

Eventually, I considered myself ready for war. I had learned, to a great extent, what my powers could be used for, and my ever-replenishing army would defend me well in battle. And then, the day arrived. Just as Steve had predicted, they came, through a great fog, onto my battlefield. I hid the Castle deep underground, where it could not be touched, and watched your Ancestors arrive. Even today, I remember their names.

The Soldier. ninjatwist321's Ancestor. The Alchemist. Modpack's Ancestor. The Hidden. engie_ninja's Ancestor. The Kerbal. OpelSpeedster's Ancestor. The Spelunker. Minor107's Ancestor. The Veteran. Talist's Ancestor. The Sleuth. Irecreeper's Ancestor. The Captain. Crusher48's Ancestor.

Together, they stood as nine players, who came from the four corners of the universe in order to put an end to my reign. We stood, unblinking, waiting for the other to make a move. Yet, our silence in and of itself spoke volumes. For it was the beginning of War.

Chapter Two[]

And so, on that battlefield on my humble world of Minecraft, the War had begun. It started out small at first. The nine "Anti-Godmodders" all challenged me in combat, repeatedly, forcefully, and unsuccessfully. They all used different methods of attack, and their strengths made up for their weaknesses. I suppose that was one of the factors of ensuring their victory.

The Player used an arsenal of divine weapons taken straight from Notch's forge, his abilities empowering his comrades. The Soldier was very fanatical, dressed in red attire, and was almost constantly airborne, using his rocket launcher to propel him to the sky, where he could make surprisingly versatile sneak attacks. The Sleuth was a dapper man, cool and collected, at least at first. I later learned it was a facade that concealed a very unpredictable personality.

The Hidden was a behemoth, at least two times bigger than his fellow rebels. His form was obscured by massive armor, covered in locks. The only feature visible to his body was a set of two white eyes. He possessed a powerful knowledge over technology, and seemed to produce ammo like humans regrow skin. The Alchemist brought to the table a complex set of items, that he could somehow combine into other sets of items at will. Acting as a support player, he provided the team with weapons, and yet he himself used them frequently as well. The Veteran hailed from an ancient civilization that centered around elemental magic. He twisted magic and science into formidable constructs that could be used to his advantage.

The Spelunker had spent most of his time in mines, and had formed a wide array of redstone machinery. He also kept muttering about scarlet ships from the skies, and other things along those lines, constantly. At first I thought it just a distraction. I was wrong, but we'll get to that later. The Kerbal was an alien; an outsider. He had spent most of his time traveling across the Void, to other universes, where he had established techniques and blueprints from many different people. His spacecraft also provided a base of operations. Lastly, the Captain was, ironically, not the leader, but the second-in-command of the group. He had knowledge over coding, and frequently bent it to his will in his own brand of Godmodding.

These nine players, all very different, all echoes of you, in your own war. That is why they are your Ancestors, and you their Descendants.

The A.G.s, an acronym they produced for themselves, which stood for "Anti Godmodders", (a title I find humorous, considering they were Godmodders themselves) repeatedly challenged me in combat, using their skills and weapons to great effect. Yet they could not touch me. They became predictable after a time, and I learned their patterns. Eventually, after having sustained only minimal damage myself, I drove them back completely. Beaten, they left. I thought that to be the end of them, and I was amused at how I hadn't even used the new fleet I had created at all.

But the next day, they were back. And the nine players they had started out as had grown, into an ensemble of at least twenty. I looked on, mystified. It was like fighting a hydra. For every head you cut off, two grow back. And even the players were not the only faces in the crowd. As I watched, they created circles, and stood in them. After a few seconds, shapes formed over their heads, which flied out figures. Entities, I realized. They had learned how to summon entities.

They then charged at me once more, and yet I had realized something. They had switched up their arsenals of weapons, and were using completely new tactics. They were creating things out of thin air, putting me in hypothetical scenarios which they hoped would annoy me, subjecting me to what was, in their own eyes, torture. That last bit usually consisted of something about ponies. I was able to deflect most of their attacks, but they had gotten stronger. I simply had no defense for a select few of their attacks. They had, themselves, mastered the art of Godmodding, yet not to the degree I had. Nowhere close.

The Terrors I had created served me well. They managed to dominate the field upon their summon, whenever they were summoned, and wiped the field with their powerful special attacks. I made a point of occasionally creating more, for future use. Additionally, the Turrets I had made came in handy as well. Many people tried to summon a mythical figure known as Chuck Norris. Thankfully, I was able to use the Turrets to keep him at bay, although it quickly became apparent as to why they had summoned him. His fighting style rivaled that of my own. The war continued, waging on for weeks on end. We all summoned entities, and the battlefield showed signs of disrepair. Scars pockmarked the field, craters showing up everywhere. It was turning into a wasteland.

Eventually, the 25th megatick of winter arrived, which, in your calendar, would be Christmas Day. Around this time, nearly everyone in the world had heard about this conflict. Scribes and scholars started making prophecies, and taking notice to what they thought would happen in the future. The Spelunker's ramblings, in particular, reached an apex at this time. If he was not fighting, he was talking about a "scarlet scourge", a "white orb", an "invasion", how it was "all his fault", among other things. Again, I dismissed it as fantasy. But on that day, on Christmas Day, his events came to pass. At least, some of them.

The skies were rent open, revealing a tear in space and time. It was familiar to me. The tear was a duplicate of the one that had showed me the Red Dragon... the one that had started my descent into madness long ago. It was a glitch. Out from the glitch spawned a giant scarlet battleship emblazoned with my symbol, the symbol of Psi. Standing on top of it was a figure, clothed in a bellowing orchid snakesin cloak striped with cerulean. His skin was grey, and two horns protruded from him. His ship opened fire on the A.Gs, destroying most of their entities and causing them to scatter to their base.

The figure introduced himself to me, and revealed another figure behind him, dressed in a black suit worn by a doctor, with a blue contraption attached to his back like a backpack. They described that they wanted to help me in taking down the A.Gs, and further my goal of universal domination. I had never given much thought to accomplices before, but I decided to accept their offer.

Apophis. The_Serpent's Ancestor. Antares. K4yne's Ancestor.

Antares flicked a switch on his backpack, which caused the glitch to grow exponentially in size, sucking every A.G. into it. When none were left, the portal closed. He described that what he had just done had teleported the players into an alternate universe designed by him, to keep them at bay, so that they could not ruin our plans. He also said a third P.G. would arrive shortly, and added that he would add a considerable boost to our small army.

Apophis explained that he had uncovered the ship from a distant planet known as Alternia, which is where he hailed from. It belonged to the ruler of said planet, and was used as a warship with which she could conquer worlds from. While the players were stuck in the vortex, we reverse-engineered the ship and crafted armies upon armies of copies of it, eventually creating a fleet that we stationed around the world. They gathered up resources, which were all funneled deep into my castle through an array of teleporters, providing enough raw material to replenish my army of Terrors and create new ones.

Meanwhile, the A.G.s went through the gauntlet created by Antares. They had been teleported to the universe of another game, Team Fortress 2, one that piqued Antares's interest immensely. There, they would have had to fight through several waves of robotic entities and stop them from deploying bombs that would hinder their progress. He said it would have been relatively easy, but he had designed it to be nigh-impossible.

After three days had passed, the third member of my army had arrived, amidst his own fleet of spaceships. He hailed from the distant forests of Bajan, a land populated by wild Baccas, and had risen up to become their leader, dressed in the royal cloak of a king. In his hands was a deadly sniping rifle laced with blue technology.

Azurite. Fseftr's Ancestor.

Together, they made up my three loyal assistants. The ground the A.G.s had gained was lost in short order, but it seemed my powers could not help me heal my lost health. It seemed that it could only be used as a last resort. But it didn't matter. Our army had grown from nothing at all to a world-conquering force. Yet, the A.G.s eventually returned, and they looked stronger than ever. Their time spent in Antares's gauntlet had given them a strong sense of teamwork. They had found new weapons to use. Yet the despair on their faces made me sure of our victory. I could see that they knew they had become outmatched.

And the war continued.

Chapter Three[]

The time the A.G.s had spent in Antares's Team Fortress had changed them. It had made them rely on each other more than ever; it had forced them to act like a team. However, their group was considerably smaller than it had been before. I suppose that there were players who did not think they could successfully topple my regime, and lost faith, leaving the party. This fluctuation of the status quo was featured throughout the War, but the people who stayed the entire way through were the original Twelve. The nine A.G.s and the three P.G.s.

By this time, nearly every server in the universe, the very ones I had hoped to conquer, knew about the War. Mass speculation and discussion of it ensued. Debates and discussions were given, and occasionally, the war would traverse to other servers itself, bringing with it carnage and destruction, which prompted many an outrage or a rebellion. The most striking supplementary piece of material to the war was a Great Prophecy issued by several scribes investigating the battle. This was adopted by the A.G.s, who saw it as a rallying point and a reason to fight.

The prophecy spoke of a figure that would soon arrive, who would descend from the skies, bathed in living color and would have eyes that shone like supernovae. He would play a grand part in ensuring the War's end, and would ultimately sacrifice himself to save the world. He was worshipped around the universe as a Messiah, one who would deliver the Minecraftian race from sure destruction, brought by my own hands. Well, technically I have only one hand. The other is mechanical. But let's not dwell on that.

The war continued in earnest, with the A.G.s fighting to ensure the prophecy. Several vast spaceships were summoned at one point, by the A.G.s, who appeared to base it off of a Star War. The TIEs, as they called them, were summoned in massive quantities, and although they were very easy to take down individually, in numbers, they were a force to be reckoned with. Eventually, nearly every single entity on the Battlefield was a TIE of some kind. They blotted out the sky, reducing sunlight levels around the world. The red ships Apophis and I had stationed around the planet had helped in clearing out the fleets, but it did not ensure victory. In fact, later in their summoning, it seemed that more and more were appearing, even when the A.G.s themselves were not summoning anything.

The TIEs then, I suppose, gained a sort of self-awareness. They acted as one cohesive unit, attacking everything in sight, but not mindlessly. It was as if they were acting on someone else's orders; someone independent from the battlefield. A rare ceasefire was called as, somehow, both P.G.s and A.G.s banded together to try and figure out what was going on with the TIEs. Our combined strength was enough to drive the fleet back to the far corners of the world; a place dominated by arctic weather year-round. We thought the struggle to be over with, and resumed fighting. We were wrong.

It turned out that another force, indeed, had been manipulating the TIE hivemind, perhaps right when the A.G.s initially summoned them. The TIEs, now outfitted with construction properties thanks to modifications given by an external source, built a portal, unbeknownst to us. Only when The Sleuth and The Spelunker were sent on a reconnaissance mission was it revealed. It was gargantuan, easily the size of one of our scarlet ships, and it took the shape of a huge, white orb. They were there upon its activation, which they described as a maelstrom of red lighting. They did not stay to see what had come out of it, but it was apparent soon enough when a figure appeared into existence on the Battlefield, in a red flash.

This figure was dressed in a red suit with a maroon bowtie. His pants and shoes were bleached white, as were hands, but the most distinctive feature about him was his head, which was a perfect sphere, resembling a cueblock, only round. So, a cueball, I suppose. However, it was cracked throughout its surface. At his waist was a red belt that showcased a handgun as white as his "skin". At this point, the Spelunker broke into hysterics. He explained that, while traveling through the mines, he had uncovered a temple that was buried underground. He had investigated it and had found, at the center, a pyramid. Inside of it was what he described to be a "black monolith". He felt compelled to talk to it, and so told it this, in verbatim:

"I want to instigate a great undoing."

Immediately after this, he reported having vivid visions of what he had described earlier: scarlet ships, a white orb, et cetera. In other words, a great undoing. The figure introduced himself to me as Doc Scratch. He was a rather charming fellow, and I'm sure that he has had significance in your war as well. He promptly nullified all TIEs and headed to the top of one of our scarlet ships, which he later informed me was called a "Crockercorp Ship". He stayed there for long periods of time during the War, watching it unfold.

You may refer to him, in this tale, as The Cueball.

The war continued, but Scratch would notably, from time to time, converse with the players, after which they would be slightly disoriented. He seemed to favor talking to The Alchemist, The Sleuth, and the P.G.s. After a while, they infrequently started traveling to him to talk. Eventually, my interest piqued, I asked him what they had been talking to him about for all this time. The Cueball made what I assume to be a chuckle (and I say assume because he had no facial features of any kind) and proceeded to tell me that he had gotten the five of them to help further his own, secret plans. He told me that these plans involved creating a figure who would become very powerful in the war parallel to my own, the war you are fighting right now. He neglected to inform me of what this figure was, though, although I would figure it out in due time.

None of his plans became apparent until the day the A.G.'s prophecy came true.

That day was a day as repetitive as any other in the War. By now I had taken a good amount of damage, but the Crockercorp Ships and my three followers were making up for any stumbling blocks I had discovered in my otherwise flawless attack strategies. On the flipside, the A.G.s were suffering heavy losses as well, but their teamwork proved to be a valuable asset, even in these times.

And then, he came. Or at least, a follower of his. This would be where your Ancestor comes in, Pit. The Archangel. He came down from the heavens, declaring thusly:

"The words of the scribes ring true! Your deliverer will present himself to you in a pillar of light given shape. Do not lose h-"

That was as far as he got before he was sniped to death by Apophis. Sorry, Pit. I didn't promise you a major role.

Of course, the second after The Archangel said those words, what he had just described came to pass. A crackle of lightning sounded, and all across the world, the skies split open, bathed in colors of red and green. Descending from a pillar of light was a magnificent figure.

He was dressed in flowing robes. The left side of it was green, the right, red. He wore a set of brilliantly lit glasses, which shone red and reflected images of the cosmos in their lenses. In his left hand was a bronzed sword that was inlaid with gears, humming in a low whine. In his right hand was a pure white blade, that was as simple as it was elegant.

Gemini. TwinBuilder's Ancestor. The Chosen One.

He announced his intentions, which were as predictable as you would expect: he said that he would dedicate his part in this battle to displaying the forces of light and heroism to the darkness, providing as a shelter for those in need and, well, I'm sure you can guess the rest of the speech yourself. It's pretty cliche, I mean come on.

After Gemini spoke, I noticed something odd about him. His skin was pale white, almost like Scratch, and he intermittently flashed with green light, just like Scratch flashed red. Perhaps they were related, in a sense. I did not have much time to ponder this, however, for a message was suddenly broadcasted across everyone on the Battlefield:

Godmodder477 has joined the server.

Chapter Four[]

I was immediately taken off by this person's appearance. I had thought of the Godmodding Arts myself, they were my own creation, and I had never publicly shared them with anyone... So who was this person, whose username outright stated he was aware of Godmodding? Indeed, it seemed that everyone else in the field, A.G. or P.G., had stopped what they were doing as well to take note of this person. However, Scratch merely chuckled. When I asked him why he had done so, he merely teleported away.

I confronted the newcomer and asked him how he had known what the art of Godmodding was. I believe our conversation went something like this.

Wait. Of course it did. How silly of me. I always remember a conversation.

PSI: You. How do you know what Godmodding is?
GM: what?
PSI: I invented it, and I've never told anyone about it. Additionally, I have never seen you around before, so you could not have possibly known about this.
GM: ...godmodding is something you do in rps.
GM: it means that you make yourself invincible and just deflect any attack towards you. :-P
GM: what did YOU think it meant?
PSI: What is an "rps"?
GM: ugh. noob. "RolePlayS". do you even go on the internet?
PSI: ...Who are you?
GM: uh, why do you want to know?
PSI: You've just disrupted a war. One that has been waging for months.
GM: wait, so... i'm here? i made it?
GM: wow! i'm actually at the site of the psi-godmodding war!
PSI: You... intended to travel here? For what purpose?
GM: to watch the war, of course!
GM: i got into minecraft a few months ago, and it was impossible to miss this, the most awesome event in its short history!
PSI: Well... I suppose you can watch? As a... neutral player?

And so, this Fake Godmodder became a participant in the War. At least, he was a "Fake" Godmodder at first. It would not be until after the war that he would reveal his true colors as the second-most powerful Godmodder in all of history... second to me. Richard, as he revealed himself to me later on, was a very passive force in the war, preferring to stay behind the scenes and watch, rather than act. And he was in apparent awe the whole time... After his appearance, I wondered how exactly Richard had gotten to the war in the first place. It wasn't exactly easily accessible. I asked Scratch on the subject, and what he told me was all I needed to hear.

He said that it was his own doing that had brought Richard to the War... It was part of the plan he had divvied out upon the five players he talked to, the ones who were helping him... At this point I was a bit frightened by Scratch. I knew nothing of his motives, and he seemed to be very unpredictable. I should have pressed him on the subject. I should have. But I didn't.

At midnight, twelve hours after Richard's appearance, when there seemed to be a lull in the fighting of the war, I noticed something odd about the sky. Normally a dark blue at night, the sky was a purple color, which would be fine if the sun was rising, except it wasn't. I also noticed that the clouds seemed to be giving off light, and displaying images of static... I looked to my P.G.s for guidance, but I saw that they were not on the Crockercorp Ship we called our base of operations. I scanned my list of Crockercorp Ships we had stationed across the globe, and saw that one of them, the one stationed near the Arctic, had moved out of position. I promptly traveled there. The Player, unbeknownst to me, followed me in the shadows, hiding himself with what I assume to be the aura of Notch.

When we reached the Arctic, I noticed that the dull purple that had made up the sky before had intensified into a deep, radiant orchid. In front of me, the massive white orb the players had said Scratch had used to enter the server had been disassembled, and turned into a sort of podium, which was projecting images into the sky, creating the orchid effects that had been seen throughout the world. Two sets of tubes ran through the machine, one filled with red liquid, one filled with blue liquid. The five players, and Scratch, all stood in front of the machine, observing it. I silently hovered above them, watching them, until Apophis finally turned around and pointed at me, revealing my existence. It had taken them long enough, but still.

Scratch told me that I should leave now, and that I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I supposed that he was right, but I didn't listen to him. Interestingly, none of them attacked me or at least made any indication of hostility towards me. It was as if Scratch had warned me, and that if I stayed, he wasn't responsible for whatever happened next... I let Scratch and the five players use the machine, and, once they seemed satisfied with how they had configured it, Scratch pressed a button, revealing a spherical object with a portion of it cut out, revealing what appeared to be a countdown.