Chapter Text
"It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God!"
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Avery turns to him with a smile, gleaming in the light.
He had ushered him outside in the early morning; the dark sky was bleeding into daylight and Avery had wanted to admire the sunrise. D3rLord3 allowed himself to be dragged outside, even if only to make Avery happy.
Orange spills into the sky like watercolour paint; the sun is slowly climbing into its full blaze. The two sit on a cliff overlooking the view. Avery swings his feet over the edge carelessly, while D3rLord3 poises himself with crossed legs far fom the edge. Below is the forest. Leaves are woven tightly together, like a green shawl. It's vast, expanding along the horizon.
With Avery's halo of warmth and light, the joy rubs off on him; it uplifts him enough to feel less exhausted, to notice the little details of the moment.
Avery leans in, propping his head on D3rLord3's shoulder trustingly. He is a warming weight; D3rLord3 shifts so as to lean in. The air is crisp; D3rLord3 breathes it in.
Then... it ended. D3rLord3 couldn't pull up anything more; it wasn't real. He tried to reach for something, anything, but it came up blank. Like a parched well.
The vision wasn't grand, nor fantastical; it was a small, domestic simplicity. Yet, it held a particular weight; it was a glimpse into what he could have. If he could grasp his life long enough in his will, then maybe he could enjoy the simple, ephemeral aspects of life. Maybe he could find beauty in an everyday sunrise. He didn't want something grandiose; he simply wanted to live.
That snippet of an instance could be— if only he knew how to achieve it. D3rLord3 knew, certainly, that it was possible; the vision was clear, like the sweet chime of a bell. However, he couldn't find the path leading up to it. He knew the destination, but not the route. D3rLord3's mental state was patchy and he couldn't fill in the gaps— no matter how much he wanted to.
Still, D3rLord3 clung onto the possibility, grasping onto the faith it gave him.
D3rLord3 was cursed with knowledge— the past, present and the future. He could foresee fragmented visions; indefinite possibilities, timelines, and universes were all bestowed upon him.
Although, D3rLord3 couldn't retain it all; the knowledge actively slipped through the cracks in his mental state. He was forgetting as quickly as he learned— he was only human, after all. He couldn't piece together everything, and thus his visions gave him little guidance.
He knew both everything and nothing at all.
Why were there so many pieces of vital information he couldn't reach? He knew it was there, like a tangible weight in his mind, but he couldn't access it. It was blocked, restricted by something he couldn't understand. It was like someone had poked holes in his already frayed mental state.
D3rLord3 couldn't find the ending to his story. That part of his knowledge— it was missing. He needed to find it.
There was a glint of hope, however, despite his odds.
Avery.
He was his silver lining, his reason to try.
Him in his vision, his blessing. His curse had allowed him to envision him, his body, demeanour, and voice, without ever meeting him. D3rLord3 would never have known of him otherwise.
Despite never having the honour of seeing his body in person, he had already memorized every crevice, every gentle curve. He had mapped his face so well, he could imagine the weight of it in his hands easily; yet, he'd never been able to have the luxury of real skin to skin. All he had were imaginings; the prospect of being able to meet him was hopeful, even desperately so.
There were multiple possible paths, like ribbons unfurling in different directions, intersecting with one another infinitely. He thought of how to tweak the timelines to his favour. What could he say and do? How could he convince Avery?
With every clear thought he mustered, every flash of coherency, it ushered him closer to his destination. He had seen this person numerous times in his mind; D3rLord3 knew more about him than he could ever expect.
The second vision flashed across his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
D3rLord3 reaches for Avery's face, cupping it gingerly using both hands. He hadn't felt it before; it was a luxury he'd never had the privilege of until now. It's soft, almost malleable, but just firm enough to keep shape. Lime, and semi-opaque like jello. D3rLord3's thumb slides over Avery's cheek, feeling the plush area.
Avery's face is warm; D3rLord3 catches a darker hue crawling across it, spreading along his face in a flush. He smiles sheepishly, in a characteristically nervous, genuine way. Avery leans into his touch as gingerly as D3rLord3 holds him, black eyes trusting.
The vision was hazy; the focal point was Avery's face, and he couldn't make out much else. Although, the falsehood was vivid— vivid enough to make D3rLord3's gut twist in yearning. It wasn't fulfilling enough; he craved more. All D3rLord3 had were fragmented ideas of him; he could spend the rest of his life piecing together the green mosaic that was Avery.
Small pieces built a larger image of who he was.
His hands pinch Avery's hips teasingly. He rolls the soft curves of fat between his fingers, like the chunky fabric of a sweater. D3rLord3 can't quite make out the environment, but the snug warmth of Avery's skin is clear. They lay together; D3rLord3 is plastered against the side of Avery's body. Avery giggles as D3rLord3 moves upwards and onto his flanks, reaching underneath his shirt and squeezing them. Avery squirms, ticklish; he protests indignantly but lightheartedly still.
His voice.
When Avery laughs, it rises and falls quickly, bouncy and light. His voice has a lilt and he's naturally talkative. It's at a medium as well, while D3rLord3's is deeper. Avery speaks quickly and stutters at times; D3rLord3 speaks slowly and concisely.
"I suppose I should explain myself now?"
"You suppose?" Avery echoes, a lighthearted jab.
The way he held himself.
Avery prances along the woodland path, pumping his legs. Skippingly, he runs, D3rLord3 trailing behind him as he plays along with his childish game. He's just out of step, falling behind Avery intentionally. D3rLord3 could catch up— yet he doesn't want to. He lets himself lose their game of tag.
"Try to catch me!" he calls out over his shoulder, picking up his pace in a green blur.
If he could grip his sanity for long enough in his shaking will... then maybe he could do something. Maybe he could finally set eyes on what he'd been dreaming of.
He clutched the pendant around his neck, the yellow crystal glinting in his palm.
Finally, D3rLord3 plunged himself into the last vision: their future encounter from Avery's perspective.
Avery spent the day busying himself in the mines. The messenger bag— slung over his shoulder— was packed to the brim with a variety of crystals. He admired their beauty, valuing the crystals over the sturdy iron and copper this time. He took a particular liking to amethyst.
He hummed, a ghost of a smile hovering on his face. The torch he held, illuminating the cavernous space ahead, highlighted the semi-opaque nature of his body. It casted an orangey glow through his figure, like it was filtering through glass. He was a slime, anthropomorphic and humanoid. His body was squishy to the touch; it was just firm enough to hold form while still being slightly malleable. His "hair" was styled into long locs, like drips of thick goo.
The tunnel continued, like an outstretched gray arm. Avery had walked this route many times; he wasn't lost. It was muscle memory, trained by routine.
The monotonous gray stone cushioned him tightly. It was dull, and the silence was enough to make even the bravest anxious. However, Avery wasn't brave— he was ignorant. He strode onwards naïvely.
He paused, and picked out a crystal from his bag. Curiously, he held it out to the torchlight and studied the purple color. It was a bit dusty, but the vibrant hue stood out truly. Avery deposited the amethyst back into his bag.
Avery swung his iron pickaxe at his side lazily as he walked. It was efficient enough, sure, but it wasn't the powerfullest of materials. He dreamt of netherite, but his Nether travels had been fruitless. That sort of precarious journeying wasn't Avery's strong suit.
The end of the cave nearing, Avery blinked at the abrupt brightness. The light from outside spilled onto the stone, like water climbing onto a shore. He could make out trees from beyond the mouth of the cave.
His bag was full of everything he wanted, clinking with items. He was finished; all that was left was the trail to his base. It wasn't nearly as far from the cave as the last one; intentionally, he'd set up closer to the mine for ease while moving.
He left the mouth of the cave, passing by jagged stalactites like teeth in a maw.
Avery treaded along the woodland path, kicking pebbles and causing them to skitter. The air was fresh, reminiscent of the current summer. A warm breeze tickled his skin, ruffling the fluffy needles and leaves of trees all around him. Spruce, toned deep and bold; oak, tawny and cheery.
The path eventually broadened, gaping, with trees arching over it. It led to a large clearing, flanked by trees that encircled it and sheltered the area. In the heart of the clearing, was a large log cabin. It was curved in an L shape, fitted with a shingled gray roof. He stepped onto the porch of the building, sandaled soles clacking against wood. The porch was nestled in the bend of the L shape, fitted with an oaken fence. As he approached, Avery rifled through his breast pocket, finding the key. He unlocked the door with a click, pushing his way in.
Now inside, Avery swung the bag carelessly off of his weary shoulder. He slipped off his sandals by the door, continuing forwards. Avery made his way through the dim, familiar halls of his home, switching on the occasional light. He made his way towards his storage closet, opening the paneled door. Warm light bathed the small space, illuminating the series of barrels and chests. They were inset in an alcove in the wall, organized somewhat accordingly. (Being tidy was not Avery's strong suit.)
He opened his bag, digging around for the purple crystals, rifling around the odd ore or stone. Depositing the amethysts into his palms, Avery stood, stowing them into a labeled barrel.
Then, Avery made his way back into the hall, flicked off the light, and went over to the living room.
It was a cozy space. There was a brown sofa slouched against a wall, worn soft, coupled with a stout coffee table. Some paintings lined the walls; there was a large window letting in the sun from one side, adorned with louvre curtains. What was most appealing, however, was the fireplace. It tied the space together, bricks a deep mahogany, cream mortar outlining each.
He made his way to the unlit fireplace. This was routine. Having been lit earlier in the day, the remnants of ash dusted the bottoms. His ankles were flush against the wine red rug as he crouched.
Avery began the tedious process of nurturing the fire.
He produced a basic lighter from his pocket, and flicked it on. With a mechanical click of striking the metal, the flame swooped into life. Charcoal was always easy to light, and viable for a swift start. Avery tilted the lighter towards it, feeding it. It emitted a comforting glow as it crackled to life. Tiny fumes of steam rose.
With fire now hungrily licking the charcoal, Avery stood and plopped himself onto the chocolate sofa. The flames danced like a performance. Indigo tinged the red and orange, like it was frayed at the edges with blue. Avery breathed in the smoky aroma.
Diverting his attention, he decided to take one last venture of the day, rising with a creak.
With a wicker basket, Avery apted to add the finishing garnish to his productive day, foraging. It being mid-summer, blackberries were at their peak. He decided he would make jam later, harvesting them while he could.
He took the basket next to the fireplace, and made his way outside. He slipped on his sandals, and Avery swung open the oak door.
The sunlight reached out, kissing him as the warmth melted onto his face lavishly. Avery was flattered by the sun's affection, it being particularly generous this day. It had been a fine morning prior, bleeding into a relaxed afternoon. It was a peaceful, domestic calm, a reminder of the security in the basics of his life. Could that change?
He walked down the stone brick path winding from his porch. It was patchy with pebbles strewn about, coupled with moss. Avery's residence was a sliver of woodland serenity, in the midst of Redstone automation and city life.
He diverted his usual path to the mines, rather descending down the footpath. If his memory fared correct, a clearing packed full of blackberries should be near.
Avery shielded his eyes, slanting them from the light as the clearing emerged. It was dappled with wildflowers. Their vibrancy was breathtaking; they were like yellow fireflies dotting the grass. Circling the area were bushes of blackberries, ready to harvest. Birds had pecked at a few, but most laid unscathed still.
Just as he was about to make his way forwards, a glint of gold caught his eye. A long, thick line of metal, sandwiched into the grass. Armour, segmented, conjoined together, and curved into plating. This was a spartan styled knight, made clear by the ruby plume sprouting from the helm.
His body was flush against the sward of summer grass, body eerily still. There wasn't the putrid smell of a corpse, however; he appeared living. The knight's face was upturned to the sun, helmet overshadowing his eyes. From here, Avery could see that the planes of his face were sharp, angular. The glimpse of exposed skin was jet-black, like a shadowy silhouette.
Abandoning his wicker basket, Avery made a split second decision.
This person needs help.
"Are you okay?" he called out tentatively.
He hurried over, peering at his form. Looking closer, Avery could see his eyes were fluttered shut, body limp. His armoured chest raised in rasped breaths. Not dead— only passed out (or perhaps sleeping?); he was certain now. The stranger was alive.
Avery paused, hovering, eyes skimming over the stranger...
...and, despite better intuition, he hefted the unconscious man upwards, draped his body against him, and left his empty basket behind.
It would have been wiser to think more thoroughly.
D3rLord3 jolted back into his body. That vision was particularly long, and jarringly so. His eyes snapped open, and he inspected his skin. It wasn't only the bodily sensation of being Avery— it was mind too. Every little dream, ambition, worry. He was Avery in full. D3rLord3 knew him intricately— more than Avery did himself.
D3rLord3 could envision it perfectly. The vision pained him, filling his mind with pin-point details. He could see the way the sun would hit Avery's face, the angle, the filtered light of trees.
He settled onto the very same grass in the future clearing, waiting for Avery.
There were many different possibilities regarding his first reaction to D3rLord3— that vision was only what he found most appealing. He could be frightened, defensive, or angry. He could be gentle; he could be empathetic or understanding.
That part of the timeline, his emotion, was the most difficult to track; it shifted easily like sand, falling apart at the slightest change. He did not want to evoke a negative reaction; Avery was emotional at heart. D3rLord3 was more pragmatic.
The only element that held no nuance was his appearance. He was always beautiful in every timeline. Semi-opaque with a verdant sheen, like a silhouette cut from green stained glass. He was short— D3rLord3 saw a possible future in which he teased him lightly for this, to which he responded with an indignant jab.
He'll find me soon.
He has to, doesn't he? I did everything right.
Finally, D3rLord3 allowed himself to rest.