Chapter 5: Creepy ahh Statues
I dragged myself forward, every nerve in my body screaming in protest. My burns ached, my muscles trembled, and my stomach—dear god, my stomach—felt like it was actively trying to digest itself. But the door was in front of me, the entrance to the main cavern. Beyond that? The resting place of the Yellow King.
'Leon, any last words before I enter?'
[Yes, brace yourself. If the traps outside were a prelude, then this is the overture to your suffering.]
'Comforting.'
I pressed a hand against the tarnished metal door. It groaned in protest but yielded, revealing a massive cavern stretching into darkness. Stalactites dripped ominous liquid from above, the sound echoing like a slow, torturous countdown. The air was thick, heavy, saturated with something more than just dust—something ancient, something alive.
And then I saw them.
Not traps, not machinery, not bones.
Statues.
Hundreds of them.
They lined the cavern walls, some frozen in poses of terror, others kneeling as if in worship. They were human—once. The petrification had preserved their expressions perfectly, lips parted in screams that never finished, eyes locked in endless fear.
'Leon, tell me these were just unlucky adventurers.'
[I would love to, but no. These are priests of the Yellow King. Volunteers.]
'Volunteers?'
[They chose this. A slow, eternal death in his presence is considered an honor.]
'Great, so I have to wade through a field of self-mummified cultists. Anything else I should worry about?'
[Yes. The fact that some of them might not be entirely dead.]
A chill ran down my spine. I took a step forward, spade in hand like a sword of questionable effectiveness. The cavern stretched for what felt like miles, the only sound my own breathing—until it wasn't.
Scrape. A shuffle.
Then silence.
'Leon…'
[I hear it. Keep moving.]
I did. Slowly, cautiously. The statues stood motionless, but I could feel something watching—eyes that no longer functioned, bodies that should have long since crumbled. I kept my gaze forward, ignoring the itch at the back of my neck.
Scrape.
This time, closer.
I turned just in time to see a figure shift—a priest, still stone from head to toe, yet undeniably moving. Its head twisted unnaturally, joints cracking as it turned toward me. Its mouth, frozen in a silent scream, somehow gaped wider.
'Oh, fuck me.'
[Run.]
I didn't need to be told twice. My legs, despite their pain, obeyed. The cavern was long, but if I just kept moving, just kept running—then the statues, as if following some ancient command, advanced with deliberate precision. Before I knew it, cold stone hands gripped my arms and legs, pinning me in place. I struggled weakly, but the weight of centuries-old stone was unyielding.
I was captured.
A deep, rasping voice slithered through the heavy silence.
"Another guest?"
It came from the shadows behind the encircling statues. I forced my gaze upward and saw him emerging.
He was a tall, gaunt figure draped in a tattered silk robe that, despite its age, still shimmered with hints of gold. His face was obscured by a gleaming golden mask, intricately etched with arcane symbols that caught the torchlight in sinister patterns. Parts of his skin, exposed where the mask didn't cover, were rotting away—pale flesh mottled with decay—while other portions were unnaturally fused with stone, as if ritual had begun to petrify him. His every breath emerged as a rough rasp, echoing like distant, tortured whispers. Clutched in one gnarled hand was an ancient staff crowned with a dark, pulsating crystal.
[A high priest... I can't fathom how he's managed to live this long]
The High Priest's eyes, visible in the narrow slits of his mask, burned with a cold, calculating hunger as he regarded me. His presence was oppressive, his gaze seemingly weighing my very soul.
'Leon, what do I do now?'
[Convince him. Tell him you volunteered—say you came to die in the Yellow King's name. It's the only way to buy time.]
My heart pounded as I forced the words out: "I—I came to die in the Yellow King's name. I volunteer."
The High Priest's gaunt face remained impassive for a long, excruciating moment as he studied me. Then a slow, twisted smile began to play under his golden mask. His raspy voice broke the silence:
"A volunteer, you say?"
He tilted his head, his decaying skin and partly stoned visage lending him an aura of eldritch authority.
"Very well. If you truly offer yourself in his name, then your fate is sealed."
[Good. Keep it up. Now follow him without a word.]
The High Priest gestured, and the statues parted, sliding aside like ancient curtains. With a deliberate, almost giddy air, he led me through winding corridors. Every step felt as though I was sinking deeper into a nightmare.
We emerged into a vast, opulent chamber that defied the grim austerity of the corridors. The walls gleamed with veins of gold, encrusted with jewels that sparkled under the soft glow of countless torches. Elaborate mosaics and intricate carvings depicted scenes of lost splendor and forbidden rituals. Rich fabrics and silken draperies, now faded but still luxurious, adorned the space.
At the center of the chamber stood a massive bed—a thing of sumptuous decadence. It was hewn from gold and inlaid with precious stones that formed swirling, hypnotic patterns. Soft, shimmering silk and velvet draped over it, catching the light and casting delicate reflections across the room.
And there, upon that magnificent bed, lay the Yellow King.
I froze in abject horror. The creature was a living abomination—a grotesque, slug-like mass of twisted flesh and nightmare. Its skin was a sickly pale and covered in a beautiful yellow silk robe, stretched tight and marred by the incongruous presence of human features: eyes blinked from random patches of its body; malformed legs and arms jutted out at impossible angles; mouths—dozens of them—opened and closed in silent, eerie cadence; and from its head, a crown of writhing, elongated fingers sprouted, as if to claim dominion over all who dared approach.
The High Priest's excitement was palpable as he stepped forward, his voice rough with reverence.
"Behold —the living testament to our eternal love. Now, you shall join him."
His tone was both giddy and macabre, his fingers tapping the staff as if impatient for the ritual to commence.
[Holy shit this is really bad]
'You think!?'
As we approached the bed, the High Priest's raspy tone grew even more fervent.
"You shall have your audience now."
His eyes glittered behind the golden mask, and his decaying skin, partially encrusted in stone, shone eerily in the dim light.
'Leon you need to help!'
[Do it, approach the bed]
'Fuck no!'
What might be considered a laugh escaped from the High Priest's throat.
"Come, volunteer. Your destiny has lead you to the greatest of sacrifices, you must not falter now."
He gestured grandly toward the ornate bed.
"May his enternal love make your memory immortal"
'This is so fucked'