Elster enters the room slowly. It wasn't here before in the previous loop. She understands now that despite the repeats, some changes can be noticed. The only reason she continues is due to the new found hope that hopefully, one loop will have a great enough change that it will finally end, and that everything will be ok. She can't remember the past well but she has remembered a few key details that helps her spot the differences with each run.
There was never another level in S-23. And it was meant for a Director? S-23 never had a Director, at least a Gestalt for one. The closest S-23 had to a Director would be Adler or Falke, most likely Falke. The Floor according to the map wasn't that large, but she noticed some rooms were meant for recreational purposes. This means that a Gestalt was here. She doesn't know if they are still alive but this is proof that someone higher in the AEON chain was here. The room she entered was supposed to be the office. It was messy with papers in piles and various trinkets in glass cupboards. Despite the clutter, it feels strangely organized, as though it was made to meet a specific person's needs for maximum efficiency.
The desk and chair are definitely larger. He must have been a taller gestalt but it still looks... odd. It's still looks way to big for a Gestalt over 7 feet tall. It looks as though it belonged to a giant Replika, one taller than even Falke. But what about all the recreation areas more suited to gestalts? Was it a Replika trying to act human? Or is it simply just a way larger human? She was getting too far ahead of herself, she might as well explore the area and see if there is anything important to gather or remember.
As she rounds the corner around the curved office desk, she notices buried beneath the papers a fairly large book. She doesn't understand how she notices it. It was a similar feeling to when she grabbed the book of the King in Yellow. But it feels relaxed, and even a little melancholic. As she pulls the book from beneath the papers she notices it's weight. A book this size shouldn't have the weight of a monitor. Quickly she lays it down back onto the table and looks over the cover of the black book.
On it she sees the depiction of a king, her breath hitches for a moment before looking at the figure again. He is slumped forward on a throne with his arms loosely holding a cracked sword, a zweihander she notices. His legs are spread lazily and his head is down. Instead of bright robes he wears cracked armor and a white tattered cape. His crown is unlike any depiction she ever seen. With thin needles like thorns pointing to the sky, making him appear taller than he seems, even with is defeated posture. Yet some needles also come down, covering his face and some from his neck, leaving only a single eye to face the world. His legs strangely remind her of those found on Replikas, coming down to a pointed tip, with no foot to speak of. His throne and body are covered in thorns that wrap around him and bind his body to his throne and his arm to his sword. This is a king who is struggling. Who instead of causing chaos and forcing lies and mind altering habits on the populous like the King in Yellow. His stature shows an individual barely holding on to the ideals he strives so hard to hold against the face of constant chaotic influence as well as the consequences of actions taken. He is the Thorned King, wronged by forces who shouldn't have wronged him
He wants to speak to her, she can sense it. A little voice in the back of her mind. She hears it's ragged breath, a man on Death's door. So tired and exhausted, filled with pain and regrets. As she blinks, she notices an environment take shape. An old hall from days long ago before humanity reached the stars. Before the Nation and Empire and many other nations before them existed. It's walls are blackened and cracked. The supports have either fell or were on their last legs. There was great hole in the roof where the light of a single great star shines down to light the ruins. She sees him on his throne, coated with white heavenly ichor and a foul pulsating red blood. A broken glowing yellow rod extends from his front to his back through the chest, a grievous wound. The discarded remnants of a yellow halberd can be seen a little behind the throne, and beyond that... a corpse wrapped in yellow, with festering writhing blood pooled around it, reaching out with tiny tendrils, as if trying to cling to something.
"He is dead, but he gotten what he wanted."
"He believed he can become a god. He had the influence, the followers, the world at his fingertips. All he needed was the perfect body. And what better body, than the one figure who stood against your chaos for centuries."
"He will always chase after my body, I killed his only permanent physical host. It's only natural to rebuild that connection after you lose it."
"For now he will be stuck in a realm beyond us, where lost souls wait in anger and malice, but it won't be long before he truly becomes a god in Lost Carcosa, Island of the Dead."
"My only hope to defeat him is to continue casting my soul again and again through humanity, that it may root itself in those who would uphold the values of order and controlled emotion and thought. I will die, again and again and again. My soul will never rest, until the King in Yellow has well and truly perished, or he ends up getting my body."
"I can only say to you, fair Elster, that it will be different. There may be something, but I can't guarantee that it will be perfect or even better than what already occurred. For all I know, I could've caused more heartache to those beautiful birds. And the suffering of those who hold my soul and take my place and memories. It can only go so long before the chain weakens to shatter at the lightest tap. Help that link, make them strong, prepare them to face the King in Yellow, in Dead Carcosa, Island of Chaos.