Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

…Something had gone terribly wrong.

The moment Gawain saw the dense black mist swirling around Little Jack, he stopped hesitating. One hand yanked Mordred away from her, while the other swung the Sword of Cassiluda straight at the girl.

—He had to eliminate this ticking time bomb before it exploded.

But just as his blade was about to strike, another sword shot forward, intercepting his blow mid-air. It was Mordred. In a split-second reaction, she had raised her brilliant, radiant King's Sword to block him.

She had only used one hand. Her stance wasn't even fit for proper leverage. But despite the immense disparity in strength between them, no matter how much Gawain pushed down with his blade, he couldn't force it through.

"Mordred!"

Gawain sounded anxious.

"This isn't what we agreed on, is it?! How much longer do you plan to protect her?!"

"But…"

Clutching her throbbing head, Mordred groaned softly,

"She… she called me Mom…"

"I don't want… to disappoint my child… I want… to answer her expectations…"

"Damn it! You think now's the time to be responding to her expectations?!"

Gawain sidestepped abruptly, changing angles to attack Jack again — but Mordred stumbled into position to block him once more, grabbing his wrist tightly.

"Mordred! You're going to get us all killed!"

Gawain was truly losing his patience now. He shouted,

"I know she's pitiful! But save your sympathy! You can't save her! The kind of Heroic Spirit she is — that was already decided when she was born—"

Suddenly, a shrill, piercing cry stabbed through his ears. It was like a needle driven into his skull, tearing through his eardrums without mercy.

Then came the pain — searing agony erupted inside Gawain's brain, as if that same needle were stirring his mind into a storm. In all his memories, perhaps only the time he endured the burning baptism of heavenly fire could compare to this.

He no longer collapsed to the ground crying and writhing like he once might have, but it wasn't much better. After a few seconds of enduring it, his body buckled — he dropped to one knee, and his sword clattered to the ground.

His free hand instinctively flew to his ears, trying to block the cries. But it was useless. The sound didn't come through the air — it bypassed his hearing entirely, like a direct psychic intrusion.

No — it wasn't just crying. Beneath the infant's wails was something else — a dense, almost imperceptible whispering. He couldn't understand it. Even the occasional snatches of words made no sense…

And the longer it went on, the quieter the infant's cry became, while the whispers grew louder and more numerous…

They weren't sharp like the crying. Not painful — worse. After those whispers echoed in his mind a few times, Gawain began to feel something was… changing. Something slick, invisible, was creeping in through his ears — wriggling into his brain — trying to alter it somehow.

As that unseen thing slithered deeper, nausea and dizziness surged through him. Gawain's body wavered; even kneeling became difficult.

And then — the whispers changed. He began to understand them.

It was… a strange melody.

Like a flute playing directly inside his head. And as he listened, visions appeared before his eyes — countless angels dancing, their hands gently stroking his body.

It should've been arousing, intoxicating — and yet his fear swelled uncontrollably.

Because he saw their faces.

—He had seen those faces before! At that masquerade. When the guests had ripped the flesh from their faces — those same empty, mask-like expressions! These angels wore masks — or rather, their faces were masks.

And as their fingers stroked his body, he felt something horrifying: tiny white growths creeping in through his pores, sliding into his veins, feeding on his blood, altering his flesh from within…

Just then, something slipped from Gawain's cloak and fell straight to the floor — the yellow script of The King in Yellow, which he had tucked away earlier.

As soon as it hit the ground, the book began flipping pages on its own, without wind or motion.

Unlike the blank HASTUR booklet he'd found in the palace, this script was filled — every page covered in text, like a proper book.

Quickly, it flipped to Act I, Scene I. A few lines began to glow faintly.

[Blaemchas: The towers of Carcosa lie hidden behind the rising moon.]

[Beakley: Blaemchas, you fool, drinking again on your watch? You're grinning like a madman.]

[Blaemchas: Oh, my friend Beakley, did you not see the Yellow Sign? Did you not, while tasting pomegranates in the night, hear the flute-song from a thousand dancing angels? (He sobs.) Did you not see the stars go out, one by one?]

The pages turned again — swiftly — now to Act II, Scene I. Another glow, more lines:

[Cassiluda: Very well. We begin. You will answer my questions. If your answers displease me, you will be punished. Understood?]

[Stranger: I understand.]

The book skipped a few lines, then more words lit up, forming a fragmented dialogue that rapidly came together:

[Cassiluda: Let's start simple. What is your name? (Pause) Your name?]

[Stranger: I am Reality.]

[Cassiluda: What is reality?]

[Stranger: I am reality.]

[Cassiluda: Then we must approach from another angle. If reality is elusive, let us pursue the truth.]

[Stranger: You have spent too long in falsehoods — truth will not yield itself to you.]

[Cassiluda: I know what truth is.]

[Stranger: But not because of truth. I am but a mirage to you — and so is truth.]

[Cassiluda (angrily): Turn the winch. Your theatrics don't scare me. I want the truth.]

[Stranger: Truth is not a threat. Regardless of man's deeds, feelings, or thoughts — truth always exists. Truth is revealed, not created.]

[Cassiluda: Turn the winch. The truth! Who are you?!]

[Stranger: I… I am reality.]

And with that final line glowing — I am reality — a sudden, invisible suction began to pull from the book.

If the illusions Gawain had seen were like reflections floating on the surface of a pool, then the book was the drain at its center. In a blink, all those visions were pulled inward.

When it was over — the illusions, the whispers, even the pain in his skull — were all gone, vanished like mist.

The relief was so sudden, it snapped Gawain back to clarity.

He stared at the yellow script on the ground for a moment, then quickly picked it up and stuffed it back into his cloak. He also retrieved his sword, which had fallen earlier, and scanned his surroundings once more.

At the same time, Mordred's headache seemed to ease as well. Her brows were still furrowed, but she could move again. When Gawain glanced her way, she returned a worried look.

And — maybe it was his imagination — but to Gawain, Mordred looked slightly older now. The childish softness in her features had faded just a bit.

"I… I remembered something just now…" she said. "Some new fragments of memory… about how Mother ordered me to join Father's side and undergo knightly training…"

"OK! Save the details for later!" Gawain barked. "Right now, we need to figure out how to deal with the monster you brought in!"

At this moment, Jack's entire presence had changed. She still looked like the same young girl on the outside, but the black mist surrounding her had thickened — so dense it now physically held her aloft. Baby faces formed and unformed within it, each wailing a chilling cry…

—But this time, the cries no longer had that intense psychic sting, nor the mind-shattering pain.

"Little Jack…"

Mordred's grip on her sword trembled.

"…Don't you dare freeze on me again, Mordred," Gawain said in a low voice. "If we don't finish her now, we're done for."

Just then, a message flashed in Gawain's vision:

[You have unveiled a sliver of the truth — You are not awake. You are inside a nightmare. At the nightmare's end, "It" will arrive — to devour all things in the dream, equally.]

[To escape this endless nightmare, and prevent "Its" descent, begin hunting the many Nightmare Avatars scattered across Yti.]

[Special Mission Triggered: Hunt Nightmare Avatar I — The Wailing Mass of Innocent Death]

[In the dream version of London, now transformed into a makeshift sacrificial ground, you have encountered the unmodified and unassigned dream-avatar of the Heroic Spirit: Jack the Ripper.]

[Though unmodified, her nature as a vessel of vengeance has resonated with the countless wrongful deaths within Yti, accelerating her transformation into a Nightmare Larva.]

[Defeat the Nightmare Larva before it evolves into a true Nightmare Avatar.]

[Reward: +1 random attribute level, permanent passive trait: Hunter's Mark]

P.S.: This is the second update of the day, just a modest 4,000-word chapter.

Today's total: 9,500 words. Base update: 4k. Extra update: 5.5k.

Thus, current bonus/deficit total: 30,000 / 18,800 words.

And yes — more bonus content is coming.

Shoutout for a fellow author's book:

Synopsis:

You descend upon Sumeru, scepter in hand, declaring yourself the Desert Emperor.

You walk the sands; where you tread, the dust recedes. The humans, ravaged by the desert's scourge, kneel and pray for your protection.

Moved by pity, you lead them in search of oasis, helping them thrive.

One day, a god calling himself the Son of the Sun challenges you. You defeat him. He flees.

You meet the Flower God and the Great Tree King, form a pact, and rule Sumeru together — the era of Three Gods begins.

Your might conquers the goddesses, and you become their mate.

Sumeru prospers. Many gods covet it — but none dare trespass.

Until one day, a black force invades. The Red King, tainted by forbidden knowledge, is consumed. Catastrophe follows.

You sacrifice everything, destroy the Forbidden.

The Great Tree King tells you… she bears your seed.

"Let's name her... Bu'er."

Leader of the Flame, President of Yanhuang, Human Emperor, True Dragon, Desert Sovereign—Su Chen gazes at the tiny figure calling him "Father" and falls into deep thought.

"So… Nahida is my daughter?"