(A/N: Rewriting this story a bit - I DID start it in middle school and some of the early chapters have become outdated compared to later chapters. so outdated that they're affecting the later chapters and I got stuck. Enjoy?)

Once, long ago, when the world of Minecraft was young, there were no temples or villagers or even potions; only the simplest of blocks and a few scattered minecraftians trying to make something of the world. Notch was the leader of that time, giving tools for the rest to use to defend themselves against the hostile mobs created by the first minecraftian – Herobrine.

But this is not the story of the First, but of one brave -yet naïve- minecraftian who has since lost his name. Of someone young, but full of righteous anger, at the threats of the night that Herobrine created. Day in and day out he would hone his skills at the forge to create the armor and weapons for his plan. Day in and Day out he would practice his sword skills until his body gave out.

Then one day, without a word to anyone of his plans, he slip out into the night to face the evil. For if there was no Herobrine there would be no new hostile mobs created – people would be able to live in peace; no longer afraid of the dark corners of the world.

He never returned from that night however. He never returned; not in a week, or a month or a year or even a decade.

Most of the people in the small village that had known him had given up and declared the poor boy dead – probably jumped by a creeper in the night. But that is not what happened.

He had found Herobrine and lost. He was unceremoniously tossed into the dreaded Nether stripped of all his gear. All that he had left were the clothes on his back: a simple white hooded tunic, a brown belt, and thicker back strap connected at the front with an iron ring. Though he did not die from the fight or from the challenges of the Nether, he did lose his mind and memory.

Now he was a wandering lost soul with a cold laugh and wrathful temper. Over the years of his entrapment, his appearance steadily distanced itself from the boy he once was in such a drastic way as to be completely unrecognizable.

His olive skin had become charred black and his grey-blue eyes had bled into a crimson red –even the whites of his eyes had turned red. And as time went on his clothing became burnt and torn along the edges.

Every day he just got worse and worse.

But with all these changes, it wasn't until he started muttering nonsense to himself that the Pigmen of the Nether started to get wary. They started to avoid him entirely once he grew claws and began to have violent outbursts at anything and everything.

For 26 years this went on.

For 26 years he went fell deeper into insanity with nothing to do but wander and fight.

And after those long long 26 years would another minecraftian finally arrive in the Nether and find him – bringing something new and bright with him.

But most importantly, a way out.

A way to return.