The Yellow Court - a sfawtde/dawtde fan fic
Avery and D3rlord3 have failed and the yellow king has returned to the physical world to shape it in his own maddened image.
But the yellow king is gracious, and a king must have his court. So he carves his disciples new form, and a new place in Carcosa.
Avery is the king's vessel, the herald of his voice. Avery rules the new kingdom under the control of of the king
By his side is the king's general, d3rlord3, still as brilliant as ever but also imbued with loyalty to the king.
The king is, once more, merciful, and allows them each other's company in private.
Derek slumps back in his chair.
The trumpets of the king’s arrival blare in his head, and fireworks outside turn from a celebration of the new year to an ominous percussion to welcome the new ruler. The sound feels as if it’s reverberating behind Derek’s still bleeding eyes.
Avery lies still in the yellow light of his computer, mind vacant as the king claims his host. His flesh twists and melts like hot wax into a form suitable for a king’s vessel.
Two cops stand in front of Avery’s home now, responding to a complaint of rumbling emanating from the house far past the time when such noise should’ve stopped.
One angrily pounds at the door, perhaps upset to be working on New Year’s. Another leans idly on the hood of the patrol car. The man at the door ponders the strange yellow light beaming from every window. A yellow dot of light shines through the peephole into his eye. He is losing his patience.
Just before the man could bend down and peer through the yellowed window of the home, the pane exploded.
It was as if a bomb had exploded from within the house.
The cop at the door scurries back as the cop at the hood of the car looks up, slack-jawed, beholding what emerges from the crumbling home.
Yellow tatters spill over the roof, and the stars turn black in the blinding visage of the king. The king’s many arms unfurl to welcome all to his kingdom. Concerned neighbors step cautiously from their homes as the asphalt cracks over the street.
Shortly after, Avery, adorned in intricate golden robes and jewelry, rises, born anew. He stretches out his new arms like those of the king to declare his arrival.
“HARK THE HYADES’ SONG. HARK THE YELLOW KING!”
“MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR OLD GODS, FOR THERE IS ONLY ONE TO CRY TO NOW”
“WELCOME HIS ETERNAL KINGDOM, LOST CARCOSA. FOR HE IS THE KING THAT ALWAYS WAS AND ETERNALLY SHALL BE.”
Laughter rolls out from the sound of crumbling concrete as pallid dancers emerge from the rubble, each dressed in rags lined with razor wire.
As Avery descends, the king’s general rises from the debris in brilliant gold Roman armor. Derek dazedly drags himself out of the rocks and touches his head. It still buzzes with the rumble of the king's orchestra, but blood no longer flows. He uses his other hand to draw out an axe nearly invisible from beneath the rubble. Its blade is the size of an anvil, yet he yanks it out with ease as if pulling a dandelion from the soil.
The dancers begin to flutter around him and Avery, their razor-sharp pirouettes coming within a careful knife’s edge of cutting them. They are awaiting direction.
He knows exactly what to do.
Wordlessly, he raises the spear point of the axe to the scene before them.
Without a second's hesitation, the dancers rush forward like a swarm of giggling locusts that slash the fleeing officers to bloodied tatters before moving onto any neighbors that dare take a stand.
The neighborhood slowly becomes a stage, warm amber light filling the streets, sound crescendoing to a symphony of scraping metal, gunshots, laughter, and screams. The ground groans beneath their feet as what’s left of Avery’s home stretches them up, great pillars beginning to fill in the newly empty blocks.
It doesn't take long before the king's pair of meager prophets stand upon a great cathedral of pale golden stone, overlooking the flood of amber light spreading from the neighborhood into the town. It's quiet now, the song of the procession has faded into the distance, and the howling song of the king no longer rings in their ears.
“Rest now, disciples, you have done well,” The unmistakable register of the king in yellow himself.
And suddenly, Avery and Derek are feeling quite normal. No longer imbued with the king’s will. They turn to each other.
Upon recognition, they immediately pull each other into a tight embrace. Avery makes some indecipherable noises that clearly indicate he's on the verge of tears.
“Jesus Christ, Derek! I thought you were dead!”
“I did too,” he laughs grimly
They hold each other there for a moment before Derek takes Avery’s shoulder and moves him to an arm's length, inspecting his odd, new form.
“Why are you your Minecraft avatar?”
