Gunpowder and smoke wafted in the orange-tinted air, followed by manic cackling as you ran for your very life from being blown to bits. Your breath heaved as you barely escaped the explosion of your now demolished house.

In the smoke of destruction loomed an athletic, lean figure, hissing in a futile attempt of holding back his maniacal laugh. You knew this level of explosion could only be caused by the recent predator hunting you down for seemingly shits and giggles: Creeper.

His spiky, forest green hair was slightly singed due to the flames behind him. “Where are youuuuu?~ I’m not done playin’ yet!” His sharp teeth shone with a terrifying gleam, hopping down from the top of the rubble with a rumbling slam.

You held your breath as you scrambled behind a tree not destroyed yet. You could barely think, your mind swirling with terror and grief. Your only home that you built with your blood, sweat and tears… destroyed. Blown up by an unhinged anarchist with little care that your life was residing inside when the sticks of dynamite broke through your window.

You have no idea why Creeper kept trying to blow you up. You’re sure you haven’t slighted him at all. But based on how much joy he gets out of torturing you, it seems he gets a sadistic kick out of watching you scurry for your life like a little prey animal.

“C’mon pipsqueak. Can’t handle a lil’ explosion?” Creeper’s raspy voice was dripping with mocking and amusement, his dark black eyes widening in almost feral pleasure of the hunt. His green camouflage hoodie let him blend in with the heavy forestry, a deadly foe for anyone that caught his interest.

With frantic glances you looked for an escape route, knowing Creeper is prowling. Yet the acrid scent of gunpowder snapped your attention to your foot. Your eyes widened in pure horror, seeing a stick of dynamite sizzling at your feet, ready to explode. You have approximately 12 seconds before you’re splattered everywhere in the forest like a gory painting.