Chapter Text
D3rlord3 was about to lose his mind.
Little more than a week had passed since his encounter with the King, and D3rlord3 was still thinking about it.
It shouldn’t be surprising, not really. That single moment had changed his life entirely, and D3rlord3 knew he couldn’t return to what once was. He wishes he could forget, he wishes he could stop knowing, but he simply can’t.
He had tried to fix things. He had, after all, survived the blow of knowledge that had been thrown at him. And he Knew a lot of people hadn’t been as lucky as he had been. So he had tried.
He had gone back to his house. He had tried to read some of the books he had pending, but he already Knew how the stories ended. He had tried to go back to exploring, finding that biome he had been searching for ages, but he Knew exactly where to find it, and wasn´t really entertained.
He had always called himself the curious type, the one that would do extensive research on a certain topic just because he could. He had always had the desire for knowledge, he had always craved for more. But now he Knows, he Knows everything there is to know. And he can’t stand it.
So he had tried, but failed. He couldn’t go back to his old life, he knew that. But he didn’t know what to do next. He should have looked for help, he should have tried to find some use for his Knowledge and reintegrate himself into society.
But his mind kept wondering, his memories kept going back to those doors, and the King that laid behind them. He Knew now that what he saw was not just some monster, but a god, one that had given him a gift, a gift that was more like a curse to him.
When D3rlord3 first saw the King he had been scared, terribly so. But despite the impression the encounter had left in him, he can’t remember what it had been like. Every time he tries to form a clear picture of that moment in his head, all he gets it’s a foggy memory and the distinct feeling of fear and pain. Everything else is just a blur in his head, like scattered pieces from a puzzle he doesn’t know the shape of. And maybe that’s why he can’t stop himself from trying to solve it.
Even when he tries not to think about it, the King always comes to mind. When he’s reading, when he’s eating, when he’s thinking and when he’s sleeping. Every single time he tries to do something normal, something that he did before, the King slips into his thoughts and makes him forget about everything else.
It started as something little, something that didn’t happen quite as much as it does now. So D3rlord3 had ignored it at first, labeled it as a simple trick of his mind, a reminder of what he had gone through and a result of the trauma. He thought it would pass, just like he thought he would be able to go on with his life.
But he knows now that that isn’t possible. Because he’s sitting at the edge of a yellow bed, a bed that once belonged to one of the worshippers of the King. A bed in one of the houses at Carcosa, a bed that he has claimed as his own.
And living in a city that worshiped the King has not done any favors to his wandering mind that keeps returning to those crossroads, to the eldritch god he saw behind those doors, to the yellow of his cloak, the same color that adorns every part of the city.
He can’t stop thinking, he can’t stop trying to remember every detail of his meeting with the King. He can’t stop thinking about the possibilities and about what transpired that day, he can’t stop thinking about it, and how its gift ruined his life.
Yellow had taken over his life in a way that he might never be able to overcome, all because he turned the wrong direction.
And now, his eyelids are heavy and his body is weak, but his mind keeps racing, trying to picture exactly what happened to him that day.
He had not eaten, he had not drank, he had not slept, he had not moved from this bed all day. Because all he can think about, all he can do, is try to remember the King. Try to remember if he said something, if this gift has any meaning, if it really had to be him the one to bear it.
D3rlord3 knows he is losing his mind. He knows that if he can not stop thinking, then he will descend to madness, like many did before him after receiving the gift. He knows that with every passing moment he keeps losing himself. And he knows this is all the King’s fault. So it doesn’t matter how hard he tries, he can not stop himself from thinking about it.
Days of exhaustion finally catch up to him, and even in sleep, the King still haunts him. He dreams of it, of the day he received its gift and the day that everything started.
…
After seeing the King, what D3rlord3 did first was run. His eyes were burning, his body was aching and his breathing was ragged. But none of that could compare to what was happening in his head.
He could feel his brain overload with information. He became aware of thousands of years of history and millions of future possibilities, all at the same time. He Knew all about the universe but could not understand it.
The King. The yellow. The crossroads. The universe. The pain. The knowledge. The king. The-
His brain was jumping from one thing to another. Unable to stay focused on one thing and thus unable to process any of the information it had been granted.
He couldn't feel. He couldn't think. He had run out of pure instinct and was mining with his hands, pickaxe forgotten. He could hardly see. He could hardly hear. His mouth was open, he might have been screaming, but he couldn’t know, not at that moment. He was losing his mind. He- He could see light.
The light of the torches, the mine with the chest in the center. He had escaped, he had gotten out. It was over wasn't it? And the relief he felt in that moment was enough to bring his brain back to reality.
The King. The yellow. The Crossroads. The Crossroads. The Crossroads.
He became aware of the book in his inventory, and began to write. “Whatever you do, at the crossroads, don't turn left”.
The pain was less, his brain focused on one thing, finally able to process at least some of the information it had acquired. So he stuck with that “At the crossroads, don't turn left” and repeated it over and over and over until he felt like he could think again.
And when he did, he thought about what he had written. It had acted as an anchor to reality, and now it could be a warning. A warning to whoever stumbled upon these mines. A warning to- to Avery, his mind supplied.
Huh. Funny name.
He thought, and then passed out.