You probably think I'm vicious, evil, cruel, uncaring. You might believe I'm cunning, tricky, sly, manipulative. But I don't mean to be, and I didn't think I was. At least, until recently.

I'd lived in the same place for my entire life. Everything was the same; the endermen chatting, the crystals glowing, the ground a boring yellow color. And I thought that was how I liked it; predictable and uneventful. Simple, easy to understand. Until they came.

The looked like short, multicolored endermen. They appeared friendly, but would try and attack when the endermen came closer. I thought they wanted a duel, somebody to fight, which was why they attacked them. So I dueled them. I flew around and fought them, trying to keep it one-on-one, even though sometimes the endermen joined in for the fun of it. I beat them every time. I didn't realize they hadn't wanted to die. I thought they appreciated our spars, that they accepted death if they lost.

I started to believe that that was the only reason they came, that it was their sole purpose in life: to have fun in fights to the death. I started enjoying the fights, too, looking forward to whenever the next one came. But they started to stop coming. The endermen didn't want to fight me, and I became bored, wishing for more opponents to face.

One day, an enderman told me that they knew of the place the challengers came from. The Overworld, they called it. I became excited again. If I could find a way to get to the Overworld, I could entertain both myself and others regularly. Many ideas ran through my mind, and I decided on the most logical one; I'd enter one of the challenger's bodies and let them take me to this strange place where I could duel every day. I became impatient for the next one to appear. It felt like forever until they finally arrived, this time accompanied by two others.

I picked the closest one. I let myself leave my body, enter theirs. Through their eyes I saw my own body's death. They did not know that I was inhabiting them; at least, not yet. I kept to myself, not trying to do anything for fear of scaring them, for a few days. The challenger seemed unwilling to duel anybody, though. I wondered why. I didn't realize that the challengers did not enjoy killing or dying. I thought that this one was refusing to fight because I had not been a good enough opponent. I felt guilty at that, and tried to make them happy gain by getting into the fighting spirit.

At night, while they were asleep, I tried to leave their body. I wanted to help them by fighting them myself. But I couldn't leave; my former body had died. Instead, I took control of theirs. I felt my new body grow wings and a tail as I did no. I could fly again. I could move my legs, my head, my tail. And I could fight for the challenger. I could make them happy again by sparring, showing them with their own body how much fun it was to duel.

They woke up, and I told them what I was going to do. How I was going to fight their friends. I wanted to make them happy, but they seemed against it. I told them to just enjoy it, experience the thrill of the fight, the kill. I ignored everything else they said and tried to show them how fun it was. I challenged one of their friends to a duel. They called me a monster. I thought it was just friendly trash talk and fought them anyways. I was a little disappointed in how easy the victory came. I could tell that the challenger I was helping was sad, too. I thought it was because the fight hadn't been a real challenge. I never thought that they hadn't wanted to see them die.

I tried again with others. All of them lost without putting a a real fight. With every easy victory, I felt the challenger start to lose spirit. I kept promising them that I would find a fight that wasn't so easily won. All the time, I could feel them struggling to take back their body. I didn't understand why, and I fought back to maintain hold. I told them that it was because I wanted to beat all their friends in duels. I think I used the word 'kill'.

Then I fought one who got the better of me. I didn't know how, but after a long fight they had driven a pointed stick through my chest. As everything slipped into darkness and I felt myself lose hold on the challenger's body, I smiled. A good fight. I had shown the challenger just how exciting a duel could be. I expected them to thank me. Instead, the words that echoed in our shared head were ones of hatred, pain, disgust. The challenger detested me. They said i had gotten rid of everything they cared about. I felt terrible.

I had just wanted to help them. Have fun. Experience the joy of a fight.

And although they hate me with all their soul, I'll find it hard to forget their name. Even in death. The one who I tried to help. A memory that I could never do anything right, that my entire life was misunderstanding something from a different world.

Deadlox.

Yes, I just did that. Congrats, you will now never be able to read an Enderlox fanfic in the same way.