#nyanshadowforce

He is not, not when those wordsstrike him to the core and make him feel like his insides have shattered andbeen scattered to the wind in one blow while he has to keep a bemused, slightlyterrified, but mostly neutral expression.

“God knows what you’ve beendoing, everything you’ve been doing. You may fool me, but you can’t foolGod!”

He raises an eyebrow while hisblood runs cold, and it’s to Soren’s benefit that he’s always been one to laughand smile awkwardly at uncomfortable situations, the nervous grin his givesmaking him look as befuddled as the audience and the two burly individuals whoare busy dragging the indignant intruder away.

(It turns out she’s more annoyedand scandalized by how he and his friends are touting about the slaughter ofthe Ender Dragon, which confirms the Dragon did indeed exist and that’sapparently against a good number of her core beliefs and he’s not sure what todo about that but laugh for the reporters and feel very, very relieved as thequestions begin again and stay as mundane and harmless as they were before.

How silly that someone wouldthink they’d lie about the dragon fortheir fame.

Soren focuses on blindinglybright lights and the eager scribbling of everyone nearby who has a pen and anyform of paper, acting like he doesn’t notice the way Ellegaard and Magnus areshifting to his right and how Gabriel’s gone still at his left.

Positively ridiculous.

It’s not as if Soren’s heart ispounding in his ears or as if the slowly thawing blood in his veins is onlymoving at all because there was no sign of involvement from a certainalchemist. Not that anyone in their right mind would stand against the order ofbrave heroes that singlehandedly defeated the most terrifying monstrosity inthis or any other realm, of course.

Hah.)

Soren’s hardly in any position toknock down the beliefs of others, but personally he has trouble believing indeities when he feels like one, when with the flick of his wrist and the rightbutton push he can blink things out of existence.

Not when he knows of Old Buildersand Admins and an infinite number of worlds where anything is possible, wherehe’s sure a command block could still make a person a ruler in any of them.

Not when throngs and hordes ofpeople adore him for merely existing even as the others drift, as reporterafter fan after nosy busybody wonders what he’ll do next, if he’ll follow inthe footsteps of his friends.

And all the same, while it’shardly the first time some fanatic’s interrupted an interview or appearance andit certainly isn’t the last, the words stay with Soren, clinging to his mind.

It helps no one that they onlydig in deeper when he has nothing to listen to but the thrum of the commandblock and the silence of being alone.

Gabriel’s already taken to havinghis own temple away from theirs, in the middle of the woods in an area south ofnowhere and north of nonexistence, and wherever Ellegaard and Magnus go,increasingly further away from each other as banter turns to fighting beforedissolving into awkward silences and bitter back and forths and then nothing atall, their fans are sure to follow in droves.

(He can’t remember when Magnusstarted smoking so much or when Ellegaard stopped joining Soren for experimentsor even just chats.

He’s sure it doesn’t matter.

His friends are living it up asheroes, heroes of his making, heroes that owe him everything, and Sorensupposes he could join them.

It would be easier to do so ifmore and more of him didn’t seem to be growing more attached to his own powerand what he could potentially do with it.)

He has a fully finished fortress,gorgeous and intricate and as extravagant as he wants thanks to having all thepowers and items he could ever want, and while it’s perfectly dramatic, filledwith winding hallways and different rooms as it all sits safely within themountains, he won’t be staying much longer.

There’s no point.

The last visitor he had thatwasn’t a reporter, and even those have dwindled, was Ellegaard, and she made itclear she felt considerably unsettled, even with how close the fortress is totheir old temple.

(Maybe that’s why. He’s not sure;he didn’t ask. It was just another rejection of something he was willing tooffer his friends, but it wasn’t surprising. He wasn’t offering her more poweror prestige than she already had. Even Ivor, who had despised and spat on whatSoren offered him despite it being able to help them all so much, demanded thetrinkets and rewards from their adventures, had demanded Soren’s possessionswhile rejecting Soren himself.

That seems to be the trend.)

There’s an empty domain waitingfor him in the End, filled with his favorite creatures and none of his friends,famous or forgotten.

And destroying the Dragon wasmore removing it from reality entirely than absorbing any part of its essenceor being, but Soren feels like a dragon at the best of times now, never mindhis worst points, where he aches for friends who’ve taken what they’ve wantedfrom him and left, the itch for moreburied beneath his skin like scales waiting to grow and stretch beyond his softskin.

He wants it all. He wants torecognize his place, his power, and have everyone see that he’s more than theleader and architect. They’re fine titles, surely, but so minor in comparisonto being recognized as a god, as the deity he feels like and could become.

And maybe, just maybe, heshouldn’t have that. Not when every bit of adoration comes with the razor’sedge of knowing it’s fueled by and founded in lies.

But it’s a little too late to doanything about that now, isn’t it?

The best he can try is leavingthe command block behind, safely locked away where no one can reach it, dimlyglowing and softly beeping even as he seals it away and tries to ignore thesharp tug at his core.

None of the others know where itis, and Soren will be in a different realm entirely.