NOVEL WEB Chapter 175: The King in Yellow
"Is something wrong? Are you all right?"
The Guest, surprised by Guinevere's sudden jolt, looked at him curiously.
"—"
Suppressing his nausea and terror so as not to alarm the Guest, Guinevere forced calm onto his features. He massaged his temples, steadied his breathing, and replied as evenly as he could:
"…No, nothing's wrong… I'm fine… I just… I don't like eating this."
He waved a dismissive hand at the severed hand on a platter.
"Oh, you don't like that, then? Let me try something else!"
The Guest shrugged off the charred hand and picked up another dish, offering it.
"Here—how about this?"
A strong fishy stench rose from the offering. Guinevere looked—only to see a slick, writhing black tentacle‐like limb, still oozing mucus as though alive. He recoiled.
When he stared closely, he saw a beak‐like mouth open in its side, full of tiny teeth, silently snarling.
A cold dread crawled up Guinevere's spine. He stumbled two steps back and glanced at the table.
Like a veil lifting, the sumptuous banquet revealed its true form: writhing slugs, centipede‑like insects with spindly legs, severed tentacle segments—each still animate and quivering. The Guest had handed him one of those pieces.
And not only the food: every masked reveler around him now looked their true selves—pale, rotting corpses with cadaverous blotches, slimy white tentacles oozing from sleeves and hems.
The couples who had danced gracefully now tore at each other in a cannibalistic waltz, flesh flying, only to regrow instantly. They were not dancing, but devouring one another.
Guinevere backed into a chair—and sank onto its seat. But the shock returned: the chair was woven from bleached bones. With a choking gasp, he leapt free.
"Are you all right? You look pale. Feeling ill?"
The Guest approached, concern in his voice. Guinevere looked at the outstretched hand—but the wrist had split into a toothed maw dripping yellow slime, whispering:
"If you don't feel well, let me eat the sore part—then you'll feel no more pain!"
Guinevere drew his sword, pointing it at the Guest.
"Stop."
Realizing Guinevere would impale him if he advanced, the Guest grumbled, "Rude. Fine, I won't force it if you won't eat."
"…Thank you. I—I don't like being touched," Guinevere said, fighting down his urge to strike. "I'm not hungry. Thank you for your kindness. I should be going now."
With that, he turned and hurried toward the exit. He wanted nothing more to do with this place.
As he scanned the hall, he noted its layout: at the far end, a raised dais with a massive stone throne—empty—backed by wooden dragons. To the left, a grand balcony overlooking the courtyard and lake; to the right, the three arched portals he'd entered through.
Approaching the arches, his foot nudged something—he looked down and saw a tattered yellow booklet lying on the floor. Its cover was frayed like torn cloth.
Sensing its importance, Guinevere picked it up and opened it. The pages were blank—until words began to appear:
[Bram Chars (announcing): "Lords, ladies—hear me! The truth is revealed! Now show your true faces. Remove your masks and see whom you have been dancing with!"]
[Scattered applause. Bram Chars returns to the throne as the guests lift their masks—murmurs of delight, disgust, surprise, and derision ripple through the hall. Princess Camilla hesitates, forcing a smile. The Stranger remains still.]
[Camilla: "You there, sir—remove your mask."]
[Stranger: "Truly?"]
[Queen Cassilda: "Yes. We have all removed ours, except you."]
[Stranger: "I have no mask."]
[Camilla (horrified, whispering to Cassilda): "No mask? No mask?!"]
[Cassilda (astonished): "I fear he speaks the truth."]
[Stranger: "I am the truth."]
[Camilla (trembling, screams): "You are all mad! Madmen! The end of the world—why won't you spare me? Nonexistent sigils, phantom cities, that… that faceless one, those Dark Stars, and…and…"
(She breaks down in hysteria.)
["You have driven me insane!"]
[Stranger: "Remember these words—when this city falls to K'tharsa, they will echo through every street. No release. No end. No future…"]
[Camilla (screams): "No!"]
[Curtain.]
[—The King in Yellow, Act I, Scene 2]
[End of excerpt.]
Guinevere's mind froze at the final line:
THE KING IN YELLOW
His hands shook as he closed the booklet. The cover title glowed faintly:
"HASTUR"
"Hastur… King in Yellow Hastur? The Unspeakable One Hastur?!"
Even with only a passing acquaintance with the Cthulhu Mythos, Guinevere recognized the name—Hastur, the Unspeakable, Ruler of the Void, Cthulhu's kin.
But how…? He should be trapped in a Fate Universe or at worst in the Fourth Singularity—how had Hastur intruded into this plot?
He recalled the system warning: "Mythic Artifact signature detected," "worldline altered," "scenario rewritten."
As he pondered, a voice thundered through the hall:
"Lords, ladies—hear me! The truth is revealed! Now show your true faces. Remove your masks and see whom you have been dancing with!"
Guinevere half‐turned to flee—but then froze as every guest—hundreds of them—turned toward him, lifting blank masks and staring.
"You, sir—remove your mask."
The same phrase echoed from every direction.
Guinevere's breath caught. He removed his white mask and held it aloft:
"I—I removed it already, sorry. I… was distracted."
"Very good, sir."
The Guest nodded, and the chanting fell silent—as if obeyed. Guinevere exhaled relief, turning to go…
But then the command rang out again:
"Sir—remove your mask!"
Guinevere whirled, heart pounding. All around, every guest ripped at their own flesh, gouging out eyes in gory streams—only to reveal yet another identical blank mask beneath.
They advanced in unison.
Terrified, Guinevere stared, then looked down at his own hands—only to see a pale mask materializing on his palm.
The chanting rose again:
"Sir! Remove your mask!"
With a final, ragged breath, Guinevere hurled the mask to the marble floor—where it shattered into bone‐white fragments.