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Series:
Part 3 of Golden Side Orders
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Undertale, Undertale Fanfic Library
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Published:
2021-01-22
Updated:
2023-10-02
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19/?
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The Lone Defender

Summary:

December 25, 2015

Mysterious black briars destroyed the whole of Ebott. Every inhabitant was lost except for a pair of brothers. Not long after, a tragedy claimed the younger one.

Since then, the sole survivor did everything he could to prevent the calamity from spreading further.

This story will use the following three premises:
- Soulless Post Pacifist
- Post Apocalypse
- Modern Fantasy

This work is distinctly not the regular Dust Tale. It is an AU that strives to create a similar result using a path vastly different from the original. If you're looking for the true original, please go to their Tumblr blog at http://ask-dusttale.tumblr.com

Notes:

Aforementioned Japanese version is in this link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008152

or use Pixiv if you prefer

https://www.pixiv.net/novel/show.php?id=14604089

Chapter Text

September 15, 2020.

Crows, ravens, and buzzards circled around in the fair late summer sky. It was a mixed flock, all congregating at a single spot in the woods.

That can only mean one thing: dead humans.

Again and again, they try.
Again and again, they die.

When the local arrived at the scene, it was as grisly as he expected.

Blood soaked into the forest floor.
Entrails hung from the branches.
Broken bones impaled the trees.
Chunks of flesh and organs mixed into the dead leaves, becoming a buffet for the scavenging birds.

A rounded, forest-camouflage helmet stuck out of the ground, defeating the purpose of its existence. The local picked it up for a closer look.

It’s the military again. Didn’t seek permission either. They decided to go ahead with their plan without the local guide’s expertise. Well, they would have just gotten a ‘nope’ for an answer anyway.

The local heard a faint shuffle in the leaves. Eastwards. Had the carnage already attracted boars? They’re the absolute worst to deal with.

Or… it could be a survivor. That would bring a fresh breath of air to an otherwise monotonous job.

He headed East to investigate. Not too far from the initial site, he found a human soldier crawling across the forest floor.

Although hopeful at first, disappointment soon took over. One look and the local knew that poor human won’t be alive for long.

Nonetheless, he decided to be by this dying man’s side. Was it on a whim? Duty? Mercy? It didn’t matter.

He said: “Hey.”

The soldier stopped crawling. “…A… a person?… Thank god… I thought I’m going to be eaten alive. Help me… please…”

“Can’t do that,” so was the reply. “Your insides have become outsides. Everything past your belly is completely gone.”

“…Oh… No wonder. I thought my legs were just broken.”

“Can’t even feel pain anymore, huh? You’re definitely at death’s door. Might as well keep you company until you’re ready.”

The local sat down next to the dying soldier. It’s not very comfortable for a human to lie on their front, so he took the effort to flip him around.

The soldier immediately recognized his visitor. With a happy smile, the human said: “Two-coloured eyes… A blue and white hoodie… red scarf… It’s you. ‘Dust, The Lone Defender’.”

Being called by that identity irritated him a bit. “Tsk, is that all I’m known for nowadays? Whatever happened to ‘Sans the Comedian’?”

“Who?” There was genuine confusion in the soldier’s voice.

The local named ‘Dust’ sighed. “Forget it. So. Any last words?”

“Are you a necromancer?”

One blink. Two blinks. Then, Dust burst into an amused laughter. “You’re dying, kid. And that’s your big question?”

“Yeah… Because, I’m a practitioner too.”

That was an unexpected twist. “Huh. I thought human society wiped that art out a long time ago.”

“…As the saying goes: ‘fight poison with poison’… We’re kept for special cases…”

It appears that the modern military had always integrated parts of the ancient ways in their ranks. Makes one wonder how many modern versions of ‘Warriors’, ‘Paladins’, and ‘Mages’ exist.

Could that be the reason why there were no corpses left behind? Not important for Dust anyway. His tactics wouldn’t change with this knowledge.

Still, he chose to entertain the soldier’s query. “Eh, I guess you’re kinda right. Assassin-Necromancer combo, y’know. I’ve specced all of my points into Soul-related skills. Can’t do the puppet stuff.”

“…That’s even better.” With a contented serenity, the young soldier said: “Mister Dust… I’m offering my life to you. Please, kill me.”

Dust raised a brow. “Funny that you didn’t offer your SOUL.”

The young man laughed for the last time in his short life. “Haha. No way. A SOUL Fusion is the worst idea. They never end well.”

“A method so forbidden that the forbidden arts forbid it, huh? Welp. That’s life.”

Dust removed the chest armour first. Those things were made to withstand ballistics and any other piercing methods. He could rely on Karma’s disintegrating poison, but that would inflict needless pain on the victim.

Then, he stood up and took a few steps back. He summoned a sharpened bone over where the soldier’s heart would be. The tool was covered in magic glyphs, a clear indicator that it wasn’t a plain old magic attack.

Just to make sure, he asked, “Any extra last words, kid?”

it was the following: “Thank you, Mister Dust. It’s an honour to meet you.”

“Okay, sure. Goodbye.”

The glyphic bone plunged into the heart. Its words shone bright red, converting blood into ribbons of life and magic. Dust stretched his hand to draw them straight into his being.

In three seconds, it was over. The human’s remains turned as white as snow. Then, it crumbled to dust. His gear, bag, armour, and clothes were left behind.

Under normal circumstances, humans rot into a putrid mess. But with this life-draining magic, they disintegrate straight into dust. That was one of the many reasons why ‘Dust’ became his new name.

Perhaps the two species were not that different after all.

He went over to pick up the bag. Solo survival was tough and tiring; he’ll need every free food and tools he could get.

Winds began to blow through the woods, carrying what remained of the dead into the sky.

The man looked up towards the clouds.

“Y’know, kid. If I was a better person, friend, and brother… You didn’t need to die out here. So, don’t honour me.”

Hanging his head low, he pulled his hood back into place.

“Don’t forgive me either.”

In a blink, the Lone Defender vanished from the site of death…

Chapter Text

December 25, 2015.

In a cozy home on a quaint farm, a young human farmer had invited a pair of skeleton monsters for a Christmas dinner together.

While they waited for the cooking to be done, both sides introduced themselves.

The taller skeleton with a red, tattered scarf placed a hand on his chest. “Greetings, human! I’m Papyrus.”

Showing his hand to the shorter skeleton, he introduced. “And this is my elder brother, Sans.”

“Hi,” said Sans. “Thanks for inviting us in.”

The young straw-haired farmer reached out his hand. “I’m Stephan Conroy. Nice to meet you.”

“Stephan Conroy?” Papyrus asked, “Do you have two names instead of one? Or is it one of those ‘family names’ like our former King Asgore Dreemurr?”

The man blinked at the question in confusion. Knowing a human would be puzzled, Sans explained, “We didn’t have any extra bells and whistles.”

“Ah, I see. Then, the latter. Stephan is my given name.”

Papyrus nodded. “That’s settled then, Mister Stephan! Well, let’s get to business. Do you need help with any chores? Maybe… chop some wood? Babysit your child? Fix the roof? I’m very good with construction, I’ll have you know.”

“Actually, I would like to have a chat.” Showing his hand towards the fireplace, Stephan invited the brothers to sit down by the warmth. “Please, sit down.”

The three men gathered by the burning yule logs. Within the field of their orange glow, the farmer asked a question in a hushed, serious tone. “Are there truly no other survivors?”

The brothers lowered their heads in silence.

Papyrus was the first to respond. “No one answered my phone calls. Not even Undyne.”

“Yup,” he said, “My brother dialed all the numbers until the batteries ran out.”

Stephan then asked, “How did you two survive?”

“By sheer luck and speed,” Sans replied. “We were out of town to buy ingredients for a turkey dinner. Y’know, the bird that’s in your oven right now. Hell broke loose while we were on the road. Saw the whole of Ebott get overrun by gigantic black thorns.”

“Indeed,” Papyrus affirmed. “Good thing I had the sense to make a U-turn and drive like my life depended on it! And that is how we wandered into your wonderful farmhouse.”

Sans looked at the direction of the farmhouse window. It had its curtains drawn, preventing him from looking outside. “I’m not complaining, but… are you sure we should be having a Christmas dinner right now? Your farm is not that far away from ground zero, y’know. That giant briar bush isn’t going to lay dormant forever.”

This time, it’s the human that lowered his head. “I have nowhere to go either. I’m out here because I’m bankrupt. My uncle gave this property to me so I could have a fresh start. If I lose this place, I’m as good as dead.”

The brothers started to sweat from that equally dire news.

“Wowie, I thought we’re the only ones suffering a huge calamity.” Papyrus pumped his arm and patted his imaginary biceps. “All the more why The Great Papyrus offers his strong arms to help you! Nyeh heh heh!”

“Yup.” Sans added, “It’s the least we could do to repay you.”

“Gosh, you guys are too kind! I mean, I thought my family will have to make do with potatoes and bacon for Christmas. If you insist though… how about doing the dishes?”

“Dishes it shall be, nyeh! I bet we’re gonna have a lot of cleaning to do after such a scrumptious feast.”

“A deal’s a deal!”

The three of them shared a hearty laugh together. They’re precious in dire times.

 

* * *

 

December 26, 2015.

The brothers packed up the last of their camping gear into the boot of Papyrus’ red car. Stephan, his wife, and his little daughter watched on with sadness on their faces.

“Do you really have to go?” he asked. “You’re welcomed to stay. I’ll even make you my farmhands.”

Sans shook his head. “Sorry, no can do. We need to start operations while that giant briar bush still sleeps.”

Papyrus added, “Besides, we also need to search for survivors! Who knows which cold, starving soul requires a timely rescue?”

“I see…” Stephan forced himself to smile. “Then, good luck. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to visit me.”

They waved goodbye and drove towards the destination of their mission.

The first half of the day was spent just shoveling the snow, pitching the tent, and making sure everything was secure.

By the time they were done, the sun had set across the horizon.

The brothers walked at the edges of the town ruins with lanterns in their hands. Black briars had entangled every building. Their tendrils paid no respect to windows, wood, and concrete. They were smashed all the same.

Heavy snowfall had blanketed the carnage, hiding the apocalypse that happened just a week ago. Everything seemed so quiet and peaceful.

“Hello???” Papyrus hollered. “Is anyone there???”

Only his own echo returned his call.

The younger brother decided, “Sans, we need to go inside. Maybe they can’t hear us.”

Just as he was about to step forward, the elder brother grabbed him by the arm.

“Wait.” Sans pointed towards a nearby shop. It had a flickering half-broken light. “See that, Papyrus? The town is still powered. The snow would have covered any possible live wires. It’s too dangerous to search the interiors right now.”

Realising the problem, Papyrus frowned. “…You’re right. That means we have to shut down The Core first.”

“Yup. We could get there if we trek from the opposite side of town. Go through the untamed forest and up the mountain. Then, head to the east-facing side to access the entrance to the Underground.”

“What about the other entrance? The one that Frisk and the other children fell from? It’s somewhere in the southwest, right? That’s on the way to our trek. If a child could survive the fall, maybe it’s not such a big drop down to The Ruins.”

Hearing Frisk’s name inflicted a strange tightness on Sans’ chest. He wheezed. Staggered backwards. Fortunately the younger brother caught his fall.

“Sans!” Papyrus exclaimed in worry. “Are you alright?”

“I… I don’t know. That was weird.”

After some contemplation, Papyrus decided to carry Sans in his arms. “I think we should head back to camp for now. You seem tired.”

Sans asked, “What about the search?”

“I can’t let anything bad happen to my only brother.”

“Oh, okay. Heh, bro. You’re the coolest.”

“I know, nyeh heh heh!”

 

* * *

 

December 28, 2015.

Shutting down the magical electricity generator was easy enough. Sans knew the shortcuts, and Papyrus had the physical fitness for quick travel.

The difficult part was the search itself.

Day after day, their efforts yielded nothing. They had found many broken items and torn clothes… but not a single survivor.

In front of Asgore’s house, what’s left of Undyne lay impaled under a pillar of thorns. She tried to defend her father figure to the very end.

Papyrus’ trembling hands scooped up her eyepatch from the snow. He tried not to cry, but he couldn’t stop the tears from trickling down his face.

Sans stood by his brother and consoled him. Together, they shared a moment of silence for the fallen.

It’s best to not stay around for long though. They have limited daylight. Sans patted his brother on the shoulder, saying: “Wait here for a moment. I’m going to search the house.”

He teleported past the thorn-blocked entrance. Ever since they shut off the electricity, ice had encroached the interiors of the flower king’s home.

Sans immediately checked every bookshelf and desk drawer. He even checked under the bed. He found mostly nature-related books… none of which was what he sought for.

He teleported out of the house to meet up with Papyrus again.

“Did you find it, Sans?”

“Nope. That worries me. Asgore swore on his crown to keep that particular book hidden away.”

“Well…” Papyrus glanced to the ground. “He doesn’t have a crown anymore. Maybe he thought people are allowed to read that book again?”

“You have a point.” Sighing, Sans rubbed his forehead in anxiety. “Talk about going from bad to worse. Now I have no idea where it could be.”

Being the brother with bright ideas, the younger one suggested: “Maybe we should check Toriel’s house! Frisk lived with her, right? They visited Asgore often too.”

“…I guess a kid may have come to the same conclusion as I did. At first glance, it would have read like a worldbuilding fantasy guidebook. Except, it being real and all.”

“Would you call it a science book then?”

“Yup. Magic science if you want to get specific. It’s dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Now it’s your turn to wait, brother! I’m going to bring a proper tool for the job.”

Sans watched Papyrus enter the remains of Asgore’s gardening shed. After some grunting, the younger one soon emerged with a heavy duty shovel.

Raising a brow, Sans asked, “Why?”

“I…” Papyrus paused for a moment. “I heard that humans leave corpses behind. They turn to dust in a slow, gooey, disgusting way. ‘Decaying’, they call it. That’s why they need to be buried. So… if we found Frisk’s remains… we should give them a proper burial.”

Ever thoughtful, that brother. It’s one of the reasons why he’s so endearing.

“Let’s go do that then.”

Unlike Asgore’s relatively intact house, Toriel’s residence had completely turned to rubble. Any searching or salvaging meant having to dig through mounds of broken concrete.

Papyrus looked at his single shovel. “…I don’t think this is enough for the job. Should we go check the Library first? Asgore could have donated that book there.”

“Toriel may still be alive.” That’s what Sans told himself. Even if the chance was minimal, he had to try. Guilt started to build in his chest.

What if he had been less careful?
What if he had searched for her on the first opportunity?
What if he came to the rescue sooner?

He lifted a piece of broken concrete with Blue telekinesis magic and tossed that aside. His Blaster would have done the job much more efficiently, but it risked collapsing the structure further. Or worse, he might obliterate any survivors by mistake.

His brother joined the dig, using a mixture of might and magic to clear the area bit by bit.

Hours passed. Snow began to fall. Their spirits were as fatigued and sore as their fingers.

At the bottom of the rubble, they found Toriel’s dusty clothes and an ancient tome.

“Hey Sans,” said Papyrus. “Isn’t that the book you were looking for? Super fancy with metal decorations? Positively edgy? Magic circle and a pentagram? I guess Toriel was the one who borrowed it.”

Was that what truly happened? It seemed out of character for Toriel to be interested in such matters. Besides, she wasn’t on good terms with Asgore. She wouldn’t want to borrow anything from her former husband if she could help it.

Looking at her clothes, Sans noticed a strange tear on her blouse. It was a clean, vertical stripe. About the size of a… knife?

Was she stabbed to death before the building collapsed?

Despite the strange circumstances, he pushed the thought aside. “Have you seen the kid?”

“No,” said Papyrus. “Maybe they’re elsewhere in the house.”

Yet, despite their best efforts… they could not find Frisk.

Chapter Text

December 29, 2015.

The military showed up at their tent site. Sans was prepared for the worst at first. He had heard some scary stories about the human armed forces, and he didn’t want to discover their validity first hand.

But his brother handled their presence with grace. Sans let him do the PR stuff while he stayed inside the tent.

From the outside, Papyrus said, “Please, good sirs and madams, help us find Frisk! They could still be somewhere out there! Not to mention there’s Alphys, Mettaton, Asgore, and many more possible survivors!”

The human soldier replied, “Don’t worry, Mister Papyrus. We’ll do our best. What about you though? We recommend you to evacuate to the nearest city.”

“Thank you for the kind thought, but we’re still trying to salvage our belongings.”

“I see. Be careful, alright? There’s no telling when this area will get dangerous again.”

After saying their goodbyes, the military convoy travelled towards the ruined town. Papyrus entered the tent and wiped off the snow on his bones.

He exclaimed: “Finally, a search-and-rescue team! With that many people, they’ll cover more ground than both of us ever could.”

“That’s good,” Sans replied in a rather nonchalant manner. He then took the decorated book out of his sleeping bag and flipped open the pages.

Papyrus sat beside him, curious. “You still haven’t told me what it’s about.”

“Oh. Right. Alright bro, don’t get spooked. What I’m holding right now is none other than Necromancy 101.”

Papyrus responded in a deadpan manner. “Ha ha, that’s very funny. No wizard in their right mind would name their positively ancient looking book ‘Necromancy 101’. I would sooner believe that they call this ‘The Necronomicon’ or ‘The Book of the Dead’. They’ll pick a name that’s as fanciful as their choice of decoration!”

Sans replied, “Sure, but in this case I’m the one who named it. The original book didn’t have a title, y’know. All contents, no label.”

Annoyed and mildly disappointed, the younger brother complained: “I could be experiencing a perturbed, awestruck reveal… But my lazy brother just had to destroy that one opportunity by cursing a magical book with a lame name.”

“Heh.” Sans winked at his brother. “As the saying goes, don’t judge a book by its cover. C’mon. Read together with me.”

The brothers huddled in their tent over a book. It was a trip back to their sweet childhoods, away from the harsh reality of their present day.

The first thing Papyrus noted was that the book was not made out of paper. He gently rubbed the corner between his fingers, feeling the texture. “What’s this? Leather?”

“You’re right. To be exact, it’s ‘parchment’: leather that’s made specifically for writing. It’s much more durable than paper. Whoever compiled this book spent all their money on making sure it lasts forever.”

After flipping a few more pages, Sans found what he was looking for. “Look here, Papyrus.”

The younger brother proceeded to read the first paragraph out loud: “If thou needest strength beyond self, imbue thy glyphs of draining upon thy weapon of choice. Seek out thy preferred sacrifice, be it a volunteer, a dying soul, or thy enemies. Should thou succeed in thy endeavour, thou shall reap their life in full. However, should thy sacrifice perish before thy deed, claim their remains nonetheless. Gaining a little is better than gaining none.”

It took a few seconds for the words to sink into his skull. When Papyrus finally understood the implications, he awkwardly stared at his elder brother. “Sans, why are you looking for instructions on ritualized murder???”

Ever the teasing joker, Sans chuckled at his younger brother’s reactions. “Relax. Look beyond the grisly imagery. Don’t you think the method reminds you of something?”

“Now that you mention it, you’re right. Isn’t this… ‘EXP’ and ‘LOVE’? ‘Execution points’ and ‘Level of Violence’!”

“Yup. See, I found this book when I was a young teenager. At first, I thought it was just some interesting make-believe. But it contained very specific instructions on how to build spells. So, I decided to try them out on some plants. Imagine my shock when I discovered that the spell worked. I drained the ‘life’ out of my test subjects, turning them into dry dust.”

Papyrus covered his mouth. “Oh my god. No wonder you had Asgore hide it! But as far as I know, you didn’t gain any EXP.”

Sans replied, “That’s because plants don’t have much to give. I think the amount of EXP there was in the fifth decimal or so. Negligible, and it would be gone the next day. For the gains to be useful, it had to be a sentient person. Hence, the call for a sacrifice.”

“See, Papyrus, unlike the stuff of movies, real necromancy deals with the science of the SOUL. How they function, what makes them tick, methods of application, and so on. The whole reanimation jig? It’s actually the caster extending their command to inanimate objects. Theoretically they could make a jug dance, but a jug doesn’t have limbs like the corpse of a dead person. Not exactly useful if you need them to hold a sword.”

Rubbing his chin, Papyrus wondered out loud: “Why didn’t we hear anything about this from human society? They didn’t even know magic existed until us monsters appeared.”

“Who knows?”

Sans had a bad feeling about the situation. He recalled the days when they first emerged from the Underground. The humans gawked at them as though they popped right out of a fairytale book.

The last recorded mention of any monsters happened over a thousand years ago. The only legend they remembered was one that stated the following:

‘Those who climb the mountain never return.’

There was no mention of monsters.
No mention of magic.

Nothing.

What removed the memory of magic from human history? Was it just neglected knowledge? Or did it get squashed by mad tyrants? The thought made Sans feel uneasy.

It may be wise to keep an arm’s length away from humans. Remain cautious. He didn’t want to be imprisoned for research like an endangered animal. How should he ease in that harsh possibility?

With a question, perhaps.

“…Papyrus,” said Sans. “Do you want to evacuate to the human city?”

Tilting his head, the younger brother pondered out loud. “I don’t see why not. Living in an apartment is definitely better than a tent in the middle of nowhere. Why did you ask that?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure if they’ll welcome us. Stephan is a good man, but he doesn’t represent the whole of society. We’ve only been on the Surface for three months.”

“Oh, I see now! You want to give humans more time to get used to us. Is that right?”

That wasn’t what Sans considered, but he’ll roll with it. “Ahuh, you can say that.”

Unexpectedly, Papyrus breathed out a huge sigh of relief. “I’m glad you didn’t want to make a straight line to the comfiest shelter either. We’re on the same page after all!”

He continued, “You see, Sans… I did get the feeling that humans were a little suspicious of us monsters, especially when it came to skeletons. We look like their insides, and I understand that bones are considered symbols of death. Therefore, I want to impress human society! Show them that we are dependable heroes capable of solving whatever strange calamity that befell on our humble town!”

Filled with enthusiasm, the little brother asked: “What do you think, Sans? Is that a good idea?”

Indeed, leave it to Papyrus to dream big. Getting on humankind’s good side was a better plan than merely hiding.

“Yeah,” Sans smiled. “I’ll support you, Papyrus. Like I’ve always done.”

 

* * *

 

January 30, 2016.

It’s been a month since they planted their camp.

The brothers had managed to salvage enough material to fortify their tent into a shack. They’re not vulnerable to the cold like humans, but food supplies and other equipment needed to be kept dry.

For electricity, the brothers built a basic windmill. It’s not as stable as The Core, but it provides enough to charge their appliances. They already made plans to buy a diesel generator on the next best opportunity.

Then there was the question of raising money for trade. The brothers picked up every piece of gold and every human-approved dollar note that they could find. It was a bit dirty, but the dead don’t need money.

Military activity continued in the distance. They had long stopped the search and rescue operations, but they still guarded the area. Perhaps they brought researchers to investigate the site.

As for the kind soldier who spoke to Papyrus, he visited two more times. First, he delivered the bad news that they had found no survivors. Second, he donated aid packages to the brothers. When the military heard about the disaster they packed a truck full of those, expecting many more people to help. Such was not the case anymore.

Will they ever meet him again? It’s not likely. He had places to be.

Meanwhile, the brothers conducted their own research. Sans was the brains and Papyrus was the brawn. They made a great team.

It was bedtime. The brothers tucked into their sleeping bags and turned off the lights.

Sans noticed an oddity in the routine. “Papyrus? You didn’t ask for Fluffy Bunny. I thought you can’t sleep without it?”

Papyrus replied, “I don’t feel like it today.”

“Is something wrong? I mean, other than the fact we’re alone.”

“Well, the fact we’re alone is part of it. I’m not sure if you’ll understand because you were the popular one. You’re ‘Sans the Comedian’, the man who had a timeslot on Mettaton TV.”

“Try anyway. You won’t know otherwise, right? Even if I don’t understand, I’m here to listen.”

The younger brother hesitated, but the elder brother patiently waited. He’s the kind who doesn’t hurry.

At last, Papyrus said, “Sans… I have a fear of being forgotten.”

Seconds of silence passed. It turned into a minute. That’s fine. Sans can wait. He knew it was a difficult subject for his younger brother to face.

Papyrus then continued. “Being forgotten is worse than death. If a famous person dies, they’re still remembered someway. But if nobody remembers you, it’s as though you’ve never existed. It terrifies me, somehow.”

“I worked very hard to get noticed. I wanted to prove to others, to you, to myself, that ‘The Great Papyrus’ is someone to be remembered. I thought I finally achieved what I wanted. Asgore made a hedge in my image. Undyne introduced me to her girlfriend. My friendship circle widened. I had kids looking up to me.”

“And… and then… suddenly, all of that was gone. My deeds died together with them. Being famous is useless without anyone alive to remember it. How did you cope?”

No wonder Papyrus didn’t want his usual reading of Fluffy Bunny. Those were some rather serious philosophical dilemmas.

“Um,” said Sans. “Personally, I just don’t hold much sentimental value when it comes to fame. It was fun being a comedian and getting paid is always nice. But, I did it because I wanted to pass the time. Becoming well-known was a side effect.”

The younger brother sighed in disappointment. “That’s so typical of you, Sans. Oh well, just consider my ramblings as a bout of midnight existential crisis.”

“H-hey, I didn’t mean to dismiss you. Sorry.”

Maybe it’s time to change subjects. Sans combed through his mind for a topic that would interest Papyrus.

Therefore, the elder brother asked: “Do you love humankind?”

What followed after was an instant sense of regret. Why did he even think of that approach in the first place? “Wait forget I asked that--”

“Sans,” Papyrus replied in a serious manner. “There are great humans out there, like Stephan and his adorable family. Oh, don’t forget about that kind soldier too. He was really, really nice.”

Continuing, he said: “I love more than just humankind. I love the air, the water, the sky, and the earth. I love the flora and the fauna, even if they annoy me. I love this entire planet and all who live in it. Because of that, I don’t want anyone to suffer what we have suffered.”

Did that motivation stem from his fears of being forgotten, or from his empathy towards others? It could always be both. Knowing from experience, charity and selfishness oft tangled themselves into a knot.

But those details were not important for Sans. Instead, he said. “Papyrus. As long as I live, I will never, ever forget you.”

Papyrus uttered an overdramatized, exaggerated gasp. “Is… is that a promise??? I thought you hate making promises.”

“I didn’t make a new one,” said Sans. “I made that oath when you were a tiny baby bone in my arms.”

“Wow, an oath?! I wish I could meet that younger Sans. Maybe he was less lazy and more responsible. Nyeh!”

“Not a chance. That kid’s long gone. Heh.”

The brothers chuckled together softly and exchanged goodnights. It seems that Papyrus had his mood improved enough for him to sleep on his own.

On the other hand, Sans felt it was still too early to sleep. He sat up in his sleeping bag and turned on his lantern. He took out his notebook and started comparing notes with the tome he called ‘Necromancy 101’.

To this day, he couldn’t forget how he found Toriel’s remains. The circumstances of her death were deeply suspicious. Her house was the only one that completely collapsed, as if it was meant to cover up a crime.

Muttering to himself, he said, “If only I have a way to look into the past…”

He flipped a few more pages. There, he found exactly what he was looking for.

“Heh. I guess the ancients must have wished the same.”

 

* * *

 

February 5, 2016.

At four in the morning, Papyrus put his tools in the boot of his car. While he waited for the engine to warm up, he told Sans the following: “I’m going to go over to Stephan’s farm to help build a new barn. He wants to keep some geese. Apparently their meat sells for a pretty penny.”

“Huh, cool.” Said Sans. “Since he has a valid address, I’m guessing you’re gonna use that as the delivery point for all our supplies too.”

“Correct! We’ve already salvaged most of the stuff from the town ruins, I believe. We’re finding less and less usable items every day. If I don’t become at least semi-employed, we might starve to death out here.”

Leave it to Papyrus to speak about grim realities with straightforward cheer.

“Take care of the camp for me, okay?”

“Okay. See you in a few days.”

Sans watched the red car hover over the snow and fly towards the nearest road. That’s one method to get around environmental hazards.

He went back into the tent to look for a backpack. Picking it up, he said, “Alright, time to get to work.”

He closed his eyes to get a clear image of his destination. Teleporting long range was trickier than his usual short hops. Get it wrong, and he might end up in a rather dangerous spot.

Coordinates, set.
Location, set.
Environments, referenced.

After locking on, he made a cut in spacetime and jumped through. He arrived at the now-cleared area of Toriel’s house. Snow had completely buried the location.

Sans put the bag down and took out his notebook. He flipped to the page where the original tome talked about divination.

‘Should thou be summoned to reveal the past, prepare a magic circle of revelation. Tune it to a source of power, be it thyself or others. Thereafter, three things must be fulfilled.’

‘First, thou must have the correct place and time.’
‘Second, thou must have a memento of the dead.’
‘Third, thou must have a scrying pool or a clear crystal in possession.’

‘Should thou lack any of the three, thy spell will fail.’

It was incredibly scientific for an ancient instruction. It called for time, location, and identity: everything that was required to retrieve an event.

Sans used his bone magic as the building blocks for the circle. It was no different than programming a code. Logic formed into words, and words formed into clauses, and clauses formed into commands.

He linked the source of power to multiple fully-charged power banks. Since he had no idea how energy-intensive this magic could be, he didn’t want to link it to himself. It would be terrible if he fainted in the middle of a ghost town.

As for the request for a scrying pool or crystal, he figured that he could update it to a tablet screen. Back in those days, natural reflections were humanity’s only means of channeling visual displays. Even then, they would lack the clarity that modern folk enjoy.

For the final part of the procedure… Toriel’s clothes. Sans was unable to completely remove her dust.

He placed her blouse at the center of the octagram. That spot was exactly where he had found her a little over a month ago.

Sans activated the magic. The circle glowed with power, and the tablet began to flicker to life.

Toriel in all her white-furred beauty appeared on the screen. She stood at the entrance of the house, waving with a smile.

He remembered when he saw that. It was right before he joined Papyrus on this trip out of town for the elusive turkey. That was the last time Sans saw her alive.

Then, something odd happened. Her expression turned solemn after they left. Why would that be?

The spell’s camera continued to follow her into the house. She went to the bookshelf. Her hands took out a stack of books all about snails. Her collection had tripled since she moved to the Surface. They had a lot more snail species after all, and Toriel loved reading about them.

But… she immediately placed the stack onto the nearest table.

Toriel went back to the bookshelf and reached for the deepest part of the rack. There… she pulled out the tome of necromancy.

She was hiding it. From who? And why?

The woman went to her armchair, sat down, and started reading the tome openly for all to see. Minutes later, her gaze flicked towards the door. She immediately shut the book with both hands.

Toriel began to talk. There was no sound. Plus turning up the volume was pointless, as the spell gave him purely visual feedback.

Sans tried changing the angle too. He wanted to see who she was speaking to. Again, a futile attempt. He had Toriel’s memento, and Toriel’s only. The spell won’t show anyone it can’t identify.

“Dammit!” Sans exclaimed. If only he could hear her speak, he would have gotten the answer he desperately needed.

Whatever the conversation was, it seemed very serious. Her expression turned into one of perturbed shock. She clutched the tome close to her body, as if she’s trying to protect it.

A great force then slammed against her chair, completely flipping her over. Before Toriel could stand up again, a knife plunged down on her chest. Her SOUL floated out of her body… and then the screen went dark.

“I didn’t see it shatter,” Sans muttered. “Did… did they steal her SOUL?”

Sans had the right hunch. Toriel was murdered before the calamity. Finding one answer led to even more questions.

Who was the murderer?
What was their motive?

Above all, what did they do with Toriel’s SOUL?

Then, while he pondered, he heard pops and crackles. It didn’t come from any of his equipment…

…They came from the forest around him.

Sans’ first instinct was to teleport into the magic circle. He must retrieve Toriel’s clothes, for they’re his only clue to solving this mystery.

Just when he picked up the evidence, black briars erupted from below the earth. They shredded the blouse, leaving Sans with a mere scrap of fabric in his hands.

Thorny vines whipped across the site, determined to destroy any living being in the vicinity. Sans could hardly follow them with sight alone.

He did what a sensible person would do: escape. He fled into the ruins by making a series of short teleports. Yet despite his efforts, the vines and briars chased him by the heel. It tailed every teleport and every dodge. If he was just a moment slower, he would have been killed.

It’s fast. Insanely fast. If this was its base speed, no wonder no one survived the onslaught. Humans? Not a chance. They’re sitting ducks unless they bombed everything from afar.

Sans tried to deter the chase with his usual repertoire. Fired his Gasterblasters and threw some bones. But whenever he fought back, the monstrosity returned with greater vigor.

He began to wonder if it’s absorbing his magic…

If that’s the case, he had a special card up his sleeve. Deep in his heart, he uttered a prayer that his weeks of necromantic studies hadn’t been in vain.

On his command, multiple bones imbued with the glyphs of draining were sent flying towards the briars. The enchantment activated upon contact, robbing all life and strength from its victims. The afflicted thorns turned ashen white before crumbling into dry dust.

Ribbons of magic gathered upon Sans. He immediately felt refreshed. Energetic. Lively. But there was something not quite right.

“0 EXP?! Really???”

The monstrosity was indeed a mere plant, which meant that anything he gained would be hollow and fleeting.

As he had expected, his strength faded the moment the spell completed its course. More vines replaced the ones that perished.

At last, Sans had arrived at the edge of town. It’s the wide open snow fields from here onwards.

Perfect. All he needed to do was to focus on the furthest point and teleport there. His left eye sizzled with cyan and yellow as he pushed his magic to the limits.

In one blink, he teleported towards the horizon. The sudden stop of his momentum caused him to tumble in the snow. It didn’t matter if his landing was not the most graceful. He had survived the ordeal, and that’s what’s most important.

Lying down on his back, looking up at the cold winter sky, Sans came to terms with his discoveries.

“Those thorns,” he muttered. “It’s a weapon. Something is controlling it. Or, rather, ‘someone’. It… it targeted me… because I was getting too close to the truth.”

What truly happened on that fateful day? Sans wondered. The circumstances began to grow more and more complicated…

Chapter 4

Notes:

This is Golden Quiche level editing. It involves many attempts and retries. That's why this took more time.

https://sophtoart.tumblr.com/post/642505421562806272/the-cover-for-the-lone-defender-my-surface

Cool cover picture here

Chapter Text

On the very first page of the ancient tome, these were the words written:

‘A day shall come when the Crimson Sun and the Bloodstained Moon will rise. Beware, for they bring forth unnatural darkness.’

‘Under the veil, the spirits of the dead, the damned, and the hollow shall invade the land. Whole kingdoms have already fallen to their might. Such is the dreadful doom of The Celestial Calamity.’

‘Most will hide in their holes and beg for mercy. But not thou, reader. Knowledge is power, and power I shall share. May thou master this art before the next calamity, lest thou be too late.’

‘Above all, remain ever determined, no matter the time and place.’

 

* * *

 

February 10, 2016.

Sans woke up to a flood of ominous energies. The sense of danger was so great, it stirred even the most slothful guy into action.

The first thing he noticed was the unnatural gleam of red. Emerging from the tent, Sans looked upwards. The ink-black skies themselves confirmed his grimmest suspicions.

High on the East rose the Crimson Sun, a shining twisted vortex.
High on the West rose the Bloodstained Moon, perpetually in its fullest phase.

The mere presence of the baneful celestial bodies blotted out the stars, while its dreadful light dyed the white snow in the shade of blood.

This was none other than the foretold doomsday. The Celestial Calamity had begun, and Sans didn’t think he would ever be truly prepared to face it.

He knew enough astronomy to recognise that the current lunar phase should be a waxing crescent with five percent visibility. But the Bloodstained Moon defied that expectation. Nevermind the presence of the sun at the dead of night. This hinted to him that this phenomenon doesn’t correlate with the laws of nature. What if it was a type of dark magic, attempting to override reality?

Whatever it was, the campsite would no longer be safe. He hurried back into his tent to grab his backpack. By now, he had already replaced the one he lost in his investigation. It contained rations, survival tools, and the Necromancy 101 tome.

Just when he slung it on his back, his feet sensed a deep rumbling beneath the snowy earth. ‘The dead, the damned, and the hollow’, the book warned. Only the heavens know what deadly fate threatened to break through.

Where could he flee? North? South? East? West? He didn’t even know what lay ahead and in which direction. Everything happened too quickly.

An idea flashed in his mind. If he couldn’t move sideways, why not go up? Sans focused his thoughts towards the sky, as far as he could muster.

One blink and he emerged high in the air. Looking down, he saw the black briars shred his tent and topple the windmill generator. Sparks flew before they fizzled into nothingness.

Sans quickly turned his own SOUL Blue to slow his descent. No point fleeing upwards only to be smashed by gravity.

While airborne, he scouted the area in hopes to find safe ground. Instead, he saw nothing but a writhing sea of thorns. A grim reality then dawned upon him; the briars had consumed the whole of Mount Ebott and beyond, stretching from horizon to horizon.

‘Safe ground’ had ceased to exist.

The thorns soon started to stir again. They’re trying to merge together so that they can form a tower.

Sans summoned his Gasterblaster. After what happened at the town ruins, he made sure to imbue everything he owned with the glyph of draining. He was certain that the briars would come after him again.

The beam tore through the vines, but they were regrowing faster than he could destroy. Slowly but surely, with great resistance, it climbed towards him.

Worse yet, he’s losing altitude fast. The strain from the upkeep of his Blue magic caused him to sweat bullets. He would float down into harm’s way sooner or later.

Sans knew his limits, but he can’t give up yet. He still had Plan B. And for that, he needed to get back to solid ground.

Max power! Max Karma! Seven Blasters at once!

Vast destructive magic ground down the tower. The lasers drained the vines into dust, while KR delayed its regrowth. The additional boosts helped to maintain his stamina. Before he knew it, he had formed a large clearing beneath his feet.

The moment he landed, the whole bush aimed for Sans, determined to obliterate him on the spot.

Sans dodged every swipe, stab, and slash. In the meantime, he did his best to visualize Stephan’s farm. It’s a considerable distance from Ebott itself. Hopefully, the thorns had yet to reach there.

What did the front porch look like? Landmarks? Coordinates? It’s been a while since he visited there. He would have escaped with confidence if he had a fresher memory of that place.

Mess this up, and he’d be dead where he stands.

He can’t wait anymore. The clearing steadily shrunk. Vines were now flying past the edges of his skull and grazing his clothes with their sharp thorns. Clear or not, Sans had no choice but to initiate the teleport.

The trip wasn’t as smooth as he’d like. His head was dizzy, his balance unsteady, and his vision went blurry. In his stumbling, he bumped his shoulder against a wooden fence pole.

That physical shock was the last straw. He leaned against the pole and vomited his guts out, despite not having any real intestines to speak of. There went his late night snack of hot dog and ketchup.

“Uuughhh…” He grumbled. “This is why I hate blurry teleports. Talk about a bad case of teleportation sickness.”

When his vision cleared up, Sans found himself standing at the front gates of the humble farm. The lights were off. There were no vehicles to be seen either, be it Papyrus’ car or Stephan’s pickup truck.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief. “…They’ve evacuated. Thank heavens. I can focus on my own safety--”

Before he could finish his sentence, Sans saw a laser beam fire in the distance. The light illuminated the snow and smashed through the briars.

Another Gasterblaster?

There was only one person with similar magic… and that was his brother, Papyrus.

“No…” Sans shook his head. “No, no, no, no!”

The more Papyrus used his normal, unimbued magic, the more the enemy would absorb, and thus the stronger the menace would grow.

The younger brother couldn’t have known about the dangers. He wasn’t there when Sans investigated the town. Plus, he had yet to tell him that fighting was the worst option to take.

The elder brother rushed across the snow. Teleport, run, run, teleport. It was too dark to properly track his brother’s exact location.

Questions burned in his mind. Why would Papyrus have fought back? He could have easily fled to safety if he had just kept driving.

Closer and closer Sans got to the scene. There, against the red light, he witnessed a dazzling flurry of bone magic and lasers. Papyrus dodged the vines with the grace of a dancer. Upon every opportunity for a counter, his magnificent barrage of beams and bones shredded through the evil thorns.

The ever great one always had been the stronger of the two in terms of strength, but seemed to hold back out of consideration. Such was especially true when it came to duelling against children.

“Papyrus!” yelled Sans, “Stop! Stop fighting! You’ll only make it stronger!!! Run!!!”

Alas, he was too late. A thorny briar impaled The Great Papyrus right through the center of his chest.

He couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed. His awe inspiring, powerhouse of a brother failed to evade a fatal blow.

An uncharacteristic flood of grief pushed Sans into a ballistic fury. He pulled out all the stops, ripping and tearing through the invasive weeds.

He can’t count on time to rewind anymore. He can’t count on a mere
anomaly.

Anything that happened on the Surface… remains final.

In his rampage, Sans had managed to free Papyrus from the briars. He caught his brother before he hit the earth.

Dust from the shattered vines floated down upon them.

Still conscious, Papyrus spoke with laboured breathing. “Sans…?”

“Yup. It’s me bro,” he said. “Stay with me. Please.”

“Did… Did Stephan escape…?”

Looking at the road, Stephan’s pickup truck and Papyrus’ red car had both become pieces of scrap metal: flipped over and torn apart. Apparently the ferocious vines outsped modern wheels.

“I don’t know. All I see is the wreckage.”

There’s no time to ask about the finer details. The briar regrew, surrounding the brothers.

Sans gulped. The situation turned more dire than he'd like. He couldn’t whisk the wounded Papyrus to safety, nor could he perpetually defend him either. Nonetheless, he prepared himself to make a proper last stand.

He'd never, ever leave Papyrus behind. No matter what!

The briars stopped moving. Although confused, Sans maintained his guard.

Echo flowers sprouted from the briars and bloomed all around, their blue petals contrasting against the red night. A wicked, childish laughter echoed throughout the land…

“You…” Sans grit his teeth. “You’re that flower. Weren’t you supposed to be Papyrus’ friend! Turns out you’re a rotten brat after all. I should have killed you sooner…”

Regret filled his heart. Sans wanted to trust that Papyrus had grown into a fine adult, so he let him have freedom in making friends. Yet, why didn’t he share his own knowledge? Maybe, just maybe, Papyrus would have made a better decision if Sans had the bravery to voice his thoughts.

Looking up towards the sky, Sans saw that The Crimson Sun and the Bloodstained Moon were on the verge of merging into an eclipse. The moon turned black as the sun’s swirling rays embraced it. Dark energy pressed down upon Sans’ shoulders, suffocating and oppressive.

In turn, shadowy berries started to grow from the briars. Soon they formed into familiar shapes.

The first to drop was a fish woman with fins beside her head. She summoned a spear made out of water.

“Undyne…?” Sans muttered.

More and more fruit ripened into the residents of Ebott.

Alphys.
Mettaton.
Asgore.
Grillby.
The Dog Clan.
The ice chucking wolf.
The Cinnabun baking bunny.
Politics bear.
Gerson.

Everyone was here: from the youngest to the oldest. And yet in the midst of all those people… Toriel was nowhere to be seen.

The shade of Undyne brandished her spear at Sans, speaking in a slightly distorted voice: “Who the hell are you? What did you do to Papyrus?!?”

Sans asked: “Don’t you recognize me, Undyne?”

The mention was not taken lightly. The tip of her spear almost hit his face.

Growling, she questioned: “How do you know my name? Speak!”

“I’m Papyrus’ big brother. Of course I know you.”

“Liar! Papyrus doesn’t have a brother! We’ve been BEST FRIENDS since we’re kids and I know EVERYTHING about him. Hand him over now or else I’ll skewer YOU!”

The echo flowers laughed again. And then, they talked.

“Howdy, you idiot Smiley Trashbag! Looks like you’re such a lazy piece of garbage, nobody bothered remembering you. And yet Papyrus was the one who’s afraid of being forgotten. Isn’t that sad, Sans?”

He tried his best not to lash out. Stay level headed. Maybe get information.

“...What did you do?”

“Aww, it’s nothing. I just took their souls and stored them in a safe place, far away from the humans, this stupid calamity, and all the other possible apocalypses that could rip this planet apart. Everyone is gonna live in my perfect little dream.”

“A dream?…”

“Ahuh. Imagine a world where I get to be with my best friends as my true self. No tragedy. No flower body. I will become the Asriel I always should have been! Now all I need to do is to fetch Papyrus. And discard you, of course. Then we will live happily ever after!”

It made sense now. The destruction of the town, the swift murder of every resident, and the briars stretching as far as they did… it was all to create a child’s ideal world.

One by one, the shades of the dead stepped forward.

“Papyrus?” said Asgore’s ghost. “Everything will be alright. We will rescue you from your predicament. Once you are better, we can have a cup of tea together.”

Grillby added, “…Hand him over… And nobody gets hurt…”

Mettaton. “Goodness darling, a hostage situation? My, my, my that just won’t do! If you know better, you don’t want me to transform.”

Alphys. “Um… uh… H-he looks so shady. Is he weak or strong? I-I can’t tell at all. So scary…”

Gerson. “Don’t worry, missy! I’ll give that whippersnapper a good whack o’ the hammer if he tries anything. Wa ha ha! We’ll get Papyrus back no matter what.”

“Damn right!” Undyne took another step forward. “With all of us together, we will NEVER LOSE!!!”

The flower child mocked again. “See? The whole world is against you now! You’re powerless to stop me! How does it feel to be the bad guy, huh?”

By luck or fate, Sans heard multiple jet planes roar overhead. Was that the human world’s legendary ‘air force’? This would be the first time he’d see them in action.

The fleet flew towards the ruins of the monster town. Once they were over their destination, they dropped their payload. A number of small flashing lights landed between the buildings, before erupting into a massive cluster of dust, smoke, and fire.

An ethereal shriek of pain echoed into the land. The thorns receded and the ghosts vanished. It seemed that the humans had managed to hurt the heart of the calamity.

Soon after a second fleet arrived, followed by a third. More and more bombs dropped on where the monsters once lived and died. By the time they were done, nothing remained.

Just like that, all traces of monster society got wiped off the map.

Did they win? Perhaps. The book didn’t take into account the possibility of modern humans exploiting the laws of physics to frightening ends.

“S-Sans…” Papyrus clutched his coat. “…Help them… you have to…”

“What do you mean? The humans? They’ve got this covered.”

Just when he said that, every bone in his being felt the tingle of monster magic in the air. Great fireballs began to rain down from the sky not long after. Spears of water impaled those who tried to evade.

And so the fleet had their mighty wings broken.

The living dead of monsterkind, empowered by their master, had struck back against all who stood against their dreams.

Sans asked, “How did you know?”

Weakly smiling, Papyrus answered: “…I did my own research… This calamity… it happened before… ngh… two centuries ago…”

“C’mon, Papyrus, let’s get you to a hospital. Any hospital. You’ll be alright. We’ll survive this.”

The younger brother shook his head. “…Sans… I know I’m dying…”

“You’re not. You’re absolutely not! I’ll do anything to keep you alive, anything!!!” Sans clutched his brother close. “What’s the point of living if you’re not with me???”

Both of them knew that there’s no hope. The wound was too grievous, even by skeleton monster standards. Still, he refused to give up. He couldn’t. Imagining a life without Papyrus was too frightening to bear.

His younger brother began to whisper the following words. “…If thou needest strength… Seek out thy sacrifice… Reap their life in full…”

Sans was shocked to hear Papyrus quote pieces from the Necromancy 101.

“Papyrus? What are you talking about?”

“…Sans… I don’t want to join them… I don’t want to live in a world… where you don’t exist…”

The younger brother’s bones began to flake into dust. It wouldn’t be long before he completely crumbled.

“…My strength… my life… I’ll give them to you… Protect this world… Love this world… And save the humans… Do it… in my stead…”

A sadistic crossroad lay before him.

Should he let nature take its course and let his brother pass on?
Should he remain determined to search for a hospital?
Or should he honour his brother’s final wishes?

There wasn’t much time left to consider. In the end, he had to make the most logical choice for himself and Papyrus. If he couldn't do that, the opportunity would be lost forever.

Sans summoned a bone engraved with the glyph of draining. He made the end a needle-thin point. Getting pricked was the least violent and painful way to go. Plus, he knew exactly where the softest part of a skeleton lay.

He hovered the tip of the needle over the gaps of Papyrus’ neck, ready to execute the deed.

Gazing at his beloved sibling for one last time, Sans asked: “Any last words, bro?”

“…I’m sorry, and… brother…” Tears rolled down the young one’s face. “…I love you.”

Sans took a deep breath, trying his damndest to not cry. Instead, he kept his trademark cheeky grin for a sweet send off.

“I love you too, Papyrus. Farewell.”

In one swift motion, he struck into Papyrus’ neck. The glyphs shone, and the body glowed along with it.

Ribbons of life magic collapsed unto the elder brother. Papyrus’ strength, stamina, and skills were transferred straight toward Sans’ being.

It was intense. Too intense. His head started to hurt. His eyes hurt even more.

“AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHH!!!”

Did those screams come from burning pain or from the searing sorrow? Sans didn’t care; they’re one and the same to him.

When the process was over and done, Papyrus had become dust. His trademark red tattered scarf draped over Sans’ hands.

Under the veil of the apocalyptic eclipse, Sans broke into an unrestrained, bitter laughter.

“Heh… heh… heheheheheheh! AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!!!!!”

He threw his head towards the starless sky, yelling at it.

“The laziest piece of shit in the whole kingdom is the sole survivor? And I’m supposed to be humanity’s saviour?! What an absolute joke! The worst divine comedy I’ve ever seen!!!”

Truthfully, in his heart, two people died that day. Not one.

The first was The Great Papyrus.
The second was Sans the Comedian.

Sans pulled up his hood. Then, he wrapped his brother’s dusty scarf around his neck.

He had yet to realise it, but his eye colours had permanently changed. They were no longer white. His right eye had turned pure crimson, while his left eye had become a hybrid. A red outer layer surrounded his remaining cyan.

Grieving can wait. Getting back on his feet, he turned his attention towards the fires of Mount Ebott. The mastermind of this disaster was there somewhere. In that case, all Sans needed to do was to dive straight into the heart of the calamity and eliminate the problem.

Should he fail to find that damn flower, he’d try again the next time. And again, and again, and again. For as long as he lives.

“Hey brat,” he taunted. “Wanna have a mad time?”

Sans lunged straight into the distant warzone. Out of the ashes of calamity rose a new legend: a twisted phoenix, driven by a single-minded purpose.

He shall one day be known as Dust, The Lone Defender.

Chapter Text

February 10, 2021.

It’s been five years since The Celestial Calamity began.

Five years of killing the unnatural dead.
Five years of watching for signs of resurgence.
Five years of mourning and wandering.

Five. Whole. Years.

And Dust knew that there would be many more.

Today of all days, Mount Ebott once more erupted into a field of thorns underneath the red sky.

Again and again, in erratic rates, The Celestial Calamity would repeat. That was when all hell broke loose, every single time.

And yet, by grace or by irony, that would also be their weakest moment.

Dust looked at his own sleeves, the proof of his weary days: tattered at the edges, faded from sunlight, while stained with blood, dust, and dirt. No amount of laundering could make them spotless again.

What about his footwear?

His pink slippers? Demoted to a house decoration.
His sneakers? Flopped within two years.
Papyrus’ old boots? Too big and too heavy for him.

He now donned shin-high leather boots that he salvaged from one of his adventures, modified to fit his bony feet. Rugged, sturdy, yet light in weight.

Preparing for the battle ahead, Dust adjusted his hood and muttered a little pep phrase to himself.

“Let’s go.”

He teleported straight into the heart of the briars, ripping and tearing through the floral hell with his own special brand of brutal magic.

The briars in turn made more fruit to dispense the living dead. Gave them a sob story. Told everyone that the enemy had murdered their precious Papyrus. Sent them on their way to charge forward with rage.

Light and darkness, life and death, they swirled into a whirlwind of dust.

Who would be the final boss this time, he wondered? In his previous attempt, it was a Whimsalot. That choice was rather amusing, albeit curious.

This time it was Undyne yet again. One of the more popular picks. High offensive power. Good coverage. Those homing water spears kept Dust on his toes. Ever an exhausting endeavour to battle against her.

And that was exactly why he had prepared a little trick for the occasion, tucked away in his pocket, courtesy of the young soldier he found a few months back.

Undyne’s shade yelled: “Why did you kill him?”

Dust paid no heed. Dodging spear after spear, he focused solely on getting up close and personal.

“What did he ever do to you?!”

Ignored.

“Papyrus would never hurt anyone!”

True.

“So why?”

Papyrus wouldn’t have survived that fatal wound.

“WHY???”

He’s already been dead for five years.

There’s nothing to explain.

He landed right in front of Undyne and took out a grenade: his secret weapon. Strength she may have, but she was no match against his speed and cunning.

Dust pulled the pin and shoved the live grenade straight into Undyne’s mouth. Then, he teleported away before he got caught in the blast.

One big boom later, Undyne and all her nearby forces were gone. Annihilated.

Somewhere in the distance, a flower child threw a tantrum.

“Human explosives?!?! That… That’s NOT FAIR!!! Ugh you stupid CHEATER!!!”

Echo flowers again. The little brat played smart by keeping his true location a secret.

“Argh, I QUIT! Count yourself lucky, Edgebag. I’ll get you next time!”

Today’s apocalypse was cancelled out of sheer frustration. Just like that, the briars retreated. The skies cleared, revealing the blue noonday winter sky.

Squinting against the brightness the the sun, Dust commented:

“What lovely weather today.”

He then vanished in the wind.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Stephan’s quaint little farmhouse had survived each and every Crimson Calamity. Was it from dumb luck or was it secretly blessed by a holy power? Nonetheless, Dust claimed the property as his own residence. He had nowhere else to go.

He kept the home clean and intact, contrary to his personal habits. It was a borrowed place, so it would be rather shameful for the original owner to return to a complete dump. Papyrus would have wanted it that way.

Of course, that scenario required Stephan to have escaped the briars on that fateful night.

Dust fed some wood into the fireplace. He may not need warmth to survive, but it was a nice simple, soothing luxury. Once the flames had stabilized, he laid down next to the radiance.

Staring at the ceiling, he muttered: “…The three of us chatted here. Papyrus was still alive back then…”

It didn’t take long for Dust to fall asleep. His snoring continued unabated until a ghostly voice yelled at him:

“Brooooother, you haven’t had dinner yet!”

That snapped him wide awake. A familiar red scarf floated over him, its ends trailing into faint wisps of smoke. It belonged to the decapitated head of a certain skeleton monster whose eyes glowed in a demonic crimson. His gloved hands, minus the arms, crossed over each other in annoyed disappointment.

The hallucination had returned. Not long after the first Celestial Calamity, Dust began seeing a distorted version of the deceased Papyrus. He called it ‘The Phantom’. Treated him like a third brother who appeared out of nowhere.

The Phantom was inferior to the real Papyrus in every way. It was almost an insult for him to share the same face and voice, if he wanted to be critically fussy. But… having the company of this ‘facsimile’ was better than being completely alone.

Dust pushed himself off the ground. “Sorry, bro. That nap took longer than I thought.”

The house was now dark. The fire had gone out and the sun had set. It looked like he’s back on the night shift again.

Using a lighter, he lit a candle. “Hey, want some chicken rice? We haven’t had chicken or rice for ages.”

The Phantom frowned in skepticism. “Where exactly did you get chicken rice?”

“That soldier had it in his bag. Some kind of MRE. Y’know, dehydrated stuff. Been saving it as a reward. Besides, it’s a super cool miniature science project.”

The chicken rice was one of those fancier types of rations with a water-activated heating element. Just prepare the packet, combine the ingredients, and add plain old cold water. Within a few seconds, the whole thing would be cooking in its own steam.

Watching this wonder reminded Dust of the days when he was still ‘Sans’, wide-eyed for all things science.

“Brother,” asked the Phantom, “Will you tell me stories from the loot room?”

“Huh? Again? Didn’t we do that last week?”

“But that’s a whoooooole week ago!” The Phantom put up a puppy-like face. “Please? Please, please, please, please?”

Dust sighed. “Sure, fine. After dinner. Your choice, as usual.”

“Yaaaay!”

The subsequent dinner tasted quite alright. It certainly was a nice change of pace from wild game, forage, and potatoes. Plus all the hard work had already been done by a machine far away. He had the right to be lazy sometimes, right? That was how he thought.

After eating his fill, he went upstairs. He had converted one of the guest rooms there into what he called a ‘loot room’. It was where Dust stored the mementos he picked up over the years. Remnants of enemies, little interesting trinkets, or anything else that caught his fancy.

At times he found it difficult to tell what’s real and what’s not. This archive of items served as an essential timeline of reality. Plus it had the side advantage of keeping the boredom at bay.

The first item for tonight was a broken rifle. Pointing at it, the Phantom said: “I want to listen to this one!”

“Ah, that thing. Pretty grim tale. Did you know there used to be a village south of here? Yeah. They survived for many nights, until outlaws took over their neighbourhood.”

“Why didn’t you protect them?” The Phantom asked.

Dust shook his head. “To be honest, I didn’t want to worsen the situation. There was a chance that the bandits belonged to a network. Didn’t want their boss to send in a worse team.”

“But the village was destroyed, right? Something went wrong. Everyone died. That’s why you have this gun.”

“Skipping ahead aren’t we?” He shrugged. “I guess they didn’t meet their quota. Or someone tried to rebel. Who knows? I didn’t bother to investigate. Still, I realised there and then that I had to start caring about who sets up camp in my territory.”

“So… First, I turned the dead into dust. Think of it as cremation without a fire. Couldn't let them rot out in the open to get eaten by maggots and wild animals. Then I went on a cross-country trip to rid myself of every last member of their gang: from the lowest lackey to the top dog.”

Cackling, The Phantom flew around in excitement. “Wonderful, wonderful! Kill those outlaws! Kill! Kill! Kill! They must have been full of precious LOVE and EXP, waiting just for you!”

And that was exactly why and how The Phantom was inferior to the real Papyrus. His genuine brother wouldn’t call for wanton murder with such joyful glee. Never.

He placed the broken rifle back down. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but those guys aren’t actually worth very much. Extracting EXP from humans is not as straightforward as monsters. When humans die, their SOUL stays in the body and deteriorates along with it. Unless you drain them or target the SOUL directly, humans won’t increase your LV. It’s why their kind can kill all they want without leaving so much as a single proof of their sin. Funny, ain’t it?”

“Either way, I had a better idea. I pinned the corpses of their bosses on a wall and painted a message with their blood. Let them rot there because I thought they would be more useful as deterrents.”

“What was the message, Brother?”

“I wrote: ‘Stay away from Mount Ebott. Or else.’ Figured the last thing I needed was a multi-way battlefront between humans and demonic plants. Yup. Nope. Absolute thorn in the side. Pun intended.”

“Did it work?”

Dust planted his face into his palm. “Nope. It backfired. Hard. Instead of deterring humans, trespassers flocked to Mount Ebott. Seriously, there’s something wrong with their heads.”

The Phantom moved over to a metal coat-of-arms. “Like this one. Right? Right? A true party of heroes -- with a capital H -- hunted us down! I thought they’re the stuff of story books.”

“Yup, ahuh. Charged at me with all kinds of accusations. ‘Evil’, ‘fiend’, ‘necromancer’, ‘heretic’, ‘murderer’, whichever suited their fancy, including all five of those labels combined. They thought that I was responsible for The Celestial Calamity. Like what the hell, man? I was originally gonna let them go home. But…”

A sense of disgust welled up in his heart. “They asked for it. Nothing pisses me off more than people who refuse to admit that their own wrongs. If you ain’t a true hero at heart, don’t wear the badge.”

Tilting his head in innocence, The Phantom questioned: “Do you consider yourself one?”

“Me? A hero?” Dust chuckled. “Obviously not. I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

“But you have many, many human fans! They leave you all sorts of gifts at the farmhouse gates. What’s more, they sing praises for the tragic hero: ‘Dust, The Lone Defender’! One man fighting against the Calamity of Ebott. Woe be all who do evil before his gaze! Quite inspiring actually.”

The idea that he had a fanclub brought genuine discomfort upon Dust. He knew his own deeds. What miniscule remnant of a sense of justice that remained in his heart warned him against basking in his accidental fame. To him, if there ever was anyone who could be called a hero in the traditional sense, it would have been Papyrus.

Hovering towards a black baseball cap, The Phantom urged Dust to tell a closing story. “C’mon, Brother. What about this one? Tell me! Tell me! It’s the finale!”

“…No, not yet.”

Denying the ghost always carried a risk of angering him. He would inflict some kind of torture as a price. Usually insomnia. The worst could last for days. A tired mind makes poor judgements, and that might get him killed out there.

The Phantom’s eyes glowed red, and his voice turned monotone.

“You must. Or, I won’t let you sleep.”

Still, Dust really didn’t want to talk about it.

“Seriously, bro. Not tonight.”

This bothersome hallucination had begun to rub Dust’s temper in the wrong way. This had to be the dictionary-accurate definition of the term ‘abuse’, right?

“The world you’re supposed to protect lies in ruins,” said The Phantom. “The Celestial Calamity opened the floodgates. The Dead! The Damned! The Hollow! They overrun the humans with their great power! And those vile humans make it worse by preying upon the weak!”

Avoiding eye contact, Dust said, “C’mon, you know I’ve only heard about it second hand. Neither of us have seen it for ourselves.”

“That bald, skinny girl. The former owner of that baseball cap. She was deathly ill, left untreated in the chaos. Travelled all the way to you, to her hero, begging you to take her life.”

“Stop.”

“But you didn’t. At least not right away. You waited until she fell sick before taking her life. Kept her around to hear stories about the outside world. Except you didn’t like what you heard, did you? Not at all! To think all your efforts were in vain.”

“Enough!” Defiant, Dust put the cap on his own skull. “Do whatever you want. I don’t need sleep anyway.”

“Coward.” Having dished out his accusation, The Phantom vanished in a wispy puff of smoke.

Alone, Dust felt his bones rattle. He couldn’t stop shaking. Anger? Grief? Bitterness? Guilt? He couldn’t tell the difference. Yet, they still hurt so, so much.

Normally, he could hold his composure. But not today. Not tonight. It was February 10th after all: Papyrus’ death anniversary.

Breathe in, breathe out. Despite his efforts, he failed to calm down.

“I… need a smoke.”

But the previous owner of the black cap hated smoking. She said cigarettes would kill her lungs and her dream. It would be a disgrace to the girl’s memory if he smoked while wearing that.

“No, I’ll drink instead. Save the smoking for tomorrow.”

Dust reached for a bottle of brandy on the shelf. Another salvage from the dead. They don’t need their booze anymore.

He sat outside on the front porch and took a few swigs. One swig. Two swigs. It was tempting to chug it down, but he wanted to make it last for as long as possible.

Looking up towards the sparkling night sky, Dust started his soliloquy.

“Hey Papyrus, if you’ve ascended to heaven somewhere, stay there. Don’t come back. The world went down the gutter. From what I understand at least.”

“This divine comedy is getting longer and longer, and it’s wearing out its welcome. Can you believe what they’re calling me out there? Dust, The Lone Defender, like I’m some badass angsty hero. A hero! God, that’s the least worthy title I can ever hold.”

“If this was the old, peaceful world they would have called me by the right title: ‘Dust, The Mad Murderer’. I’m at least half-insane, and I have a mountain of corpses under my name. Now that’s what I call ‘objective truth’.”

“You told me to protect and love the world in your stead. Unfortunately, I ain’t you. Really. I wanted to say ‘fuck it all’ so many times, if you get what I mean. What am I protecting? How am I going to love? Everything and everyone that I ever cared about is gone.”

“Did you know what I told those scumbags who begged me for mercy? ‘My brother didn’t sacrifice his life for you to turn this world into a living hell.’ And then they became a bunch of unrecognisable stains on the floor.”

“I… don’t see any beauty or meaning to life. You know me, the nihilist. More now than never. What am I fighting for, Papyrus? What am I fighting for? I ask myself this, and yet I refuse to stop. I can’t give up. There’s nowhere else to go, and nothing else to do.”

“Papyrus? I’m scared. Sacred of your memory fading away, replaced by a twisted impostor. I’m the only one left who knew who you were. I… don’t want you to completely die.”

“So please… show me a sign. Any sign. What am I supposed to do? All I’ve done so far is ‘Persevere’. Keeping true to your final request is my sole purpose for existence.”

Dust had reached the point where his cognitive senses were drowned away in alcohol. He broke down weeping and tired, without a brave or comedic front to hide behind. Everything that he had kept inside for the past five years flowed out like the brandy in his hand.

Chapter Text

Even finishing a whole bottle of brandy didn’t make Dust pass out. The Phantom’s curse for insomnia was just that potent. All he could do was lean against the wall in the snowy cold with his tear-stained eyes gazing into nothingness. Good thing skeleton monsters didn’t depend on stable body heat to survive.

The silence was broken by the crunching of ice and the rumbles of an engine. It came from the road. Looking in that direction, Dust spotted the headlights of a jeep.

“Ugh, visitors? At this hour? Give me a break…”

Who would it be this time? More misguided fans? The military? Gang leaders? Heroes? Mercenaries? He certainly hoped that they weren’t hostile. Dying from drunkenness would be one of the most embarrassing ways to go.

Dust tried to stand up to teleport away, but he was indeed too drunk to use that magic. So, he got on his feet, stumbled into the house, and locked the door behind him.

He proceeded to hide in the kitchen. Should the need arise, he could use his telekinesis to fling various cutlery, cooking utensils, cleavers, and chef’s knives.

He then heard the jingling of keys.

That’s odd. Not even Dust had a proper set. He remembered how he broke into the farmhouse by teleporting inside and turning the doorknob. And yet, this person had keys?

“Mister Sans? Are you in there?”

Dust couldn’t believe his ears. It had been five years since he heard anyone calling him by his original name.

And then there was that voice.

So familiar.

He peeked from his hiding spot to see this visitor.

It was a human male with straw-coloured hair. He lifted his lantern close to his head, giving more illumination to his face. “Mister Sans.” he said, “It’s me, Stephan. I’m sorry for not contacting you sooner.”

Did he come alone? Or did someone track Stephan down to use as bait? Until Dust knew for certain that he’s safe, he wouldn’t answer.

Stephan continued: “I’m so sorry. P-please don’t be afraid. There’s no one else other than myself and a friend. She’s a necromancer. Just like you, apparently. Even if you don’t want to see her, please allow me to make things right.”

Another necromancer? If Stephan trusted this woman despite being well aware of her taboo expertise, then she must have come from the military. She might even be acquainted with the young soldier that he had met at the forest.

Dust emerged from the shadows. His intent was to observe Stephan’s reactions. What he tried to hide, what he wanted to show…

But when he faced the human, he was met with a troubling urge. A thirst. A craving. Powerful pulses of red coursed through the human’s body.

What’s going on? He never felt this before, not even the times when he faced those bandits.

Dust turned aside. “Don’t come close. There… there’s something weird about you.”

A woman in a black hooded cloak stepped between them. An otherworldly presence hung over her shoulders. Dust considered the possibility of her being of a higher rank than the poor fallen soldier.

“It’s as I had feared, Stephan. The overwhelming lifeforce from your Red Soul triggers his bloodlust. He’s claimed too many souls to turn back. Wear this to dampen your Aura of Determination.”

She tied a black fabric over Stephan’s head. The item suppressed the aura she spoke of, causing the sensation to subside.

“Interesting,” Dust commented. “You seem to know your stuff. Got my attention, lil’ lady. But… maybe you might want to wait a bit? ‘Cause, uh… I’m drunk. A whole bottle of brandy will do that to ya.”

The adrenaline from the initial spike of alarm had started to wear off, making it difficult for him to stay on his feet. He wobbled his way to the nearest chair to sit down, resting his elbows on the table.

“In the meantime, make yourself at home. Welp, it’s yours to begin with.”

“Oh, sure.” Stephan pointed his thumb over his shoulder, trying to put up a smile. “I’ll… go to the jeep to get our luggage.”

And so, he left to do his chores. He passed the lantern to the woman on the way out. Meanwhile, she stayed behind. Dust knew she’s watching his every move, maintaining vigilance around him.

Of all the times for The Phantom to appear, it had to be right now. He whispered rather urgently into Dust’s ears. “Kill her. Kill her, kill her! She’s full of EXP, full of life! I can feel it!”

“Not now,” Dust whispered back. “She has information. I need that more than EXP.”

“If you don’t do it now, she’ll kill US!”

“No.”

“Since when are you such a bad brother? Bad, bad, bad!”

Dust tried to hide from the voices under his hood, not having the mood or strength to shoo The Phantom away.

What could he do to reduce the fear of the unknown? A chat? That’s right, he used to chat with everyone. Get to know them. Just a little bit of smalltalk was often enough to calm the nerves.

The haggard skeleton wondered if he still remembered the art of socialising. It’s been too far long since he used those skills.

Act natural. Act cool. He leaned on one arm and asked: “So, you’re a necromancer, huh? …What’s your name?”

The cloaked woman went to the table, placed down the lantern, and pulled out a chair opposite of him. Though she sat only a short distance away, he still couldn’t see her face. It remained hidden behind a masquerade mask.

“…My name is Anya,” she introduced herself.

He lifted his head up in surprise. “Anya, huh? Uh… I didn’t expect that. No offense, but I thought it would be something more mature. Like Elizabeth. Isabella. Catherine.”

Anya chuckled. “I get that aplenty. I guess my parents thought of me as a cute little girl ever since they laid eyes on me.”

“Mind revealing your face?”

“My apologies, but I cannot.” Her fingers rubbed against the edge of her own hood. “My mask and my cloak are made of the same enchanted fabric that I used on Stephan. They’re designed to suppress a person’s magical aura. If you’re already reacting to his presence, I fear what might happen if I remove them.”

“Good point.”

The Phantom had given up by now. Again, he vanished in a puff of imaginary smoke.

Stephan soon brought in all their luggage in one trip and set them aside. It’s the total of two suitcases, one briefcase, and a backpack slung over his shoulder. That farmer was still a strong and healthy man after those five long years. Knowing that Papyrus had at least successfully saved someone warmed Dust’s heart.

The man then tried to turn on the lights. “Huh? No electricity?”

Dust replied, “Been that way since you left. I’ve clobbered together a windmill, but it’s nowhere near enough to sustain an average house. Just take a candle and a lighter from one of the drawers in the kitchen.”

So he did as he was told. It took Stephan some rummaging in the dark, but soon the kitchen space lit up in an orange glow. From that direction, Stephan exclaimed: “Wow! Everything is exactly where I left it five years ago! Including the coffee! Hey Anya, do you want some? We drove a lot today.”

Anya replied. “Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.”

“Wait a minute, it already expired. But that’s fine! I brought us some instant coffee. Would you want some too, Mister Sans?”

“Sure. Welp.”

“Wait for me before getting to the big talk alright, Anya? I’m part of your team now!”

“That reminds me…” the woman asked: “What would you prefer to be addressed as? I lack Stephan’s familiarity to call you by your old name.”

Which name to choose? After some thought, the skeleton replied: “Whichever you’re more comfortable with. I don’t care either way.”

“…If that’s the case, I think I shall address you formally as Mister Dust.”

“Fine by me. So, did I hear that right? Did Stephan join the military? He doesn’t strike me as having the demeanor for that rank and file stuff.”

“No,” Anya shook her head. “Rather, he joined my sect: the Willowherb Society. He may not look like it, but he’s an acolyte necromancer now. Sought us out after The Celestial Calamity, and we were happy to accept him. See, we have a business -- a brewery operation -- that allows us to operate in normal society. With the world’s supply chains disrupted as they were, someone who knew how to grow crops locally was desperately needed.”

“I guess you could say he fulfilled the right role at the right time. Didn’t you say you’re involved with the military, though?”

“Yes.” Anya fidgeted in her seat, embarrassed. “When I was younger, I ran away to become a soldier, dreaming of being a part of the wider world. I thought my community taught only superstitious nonsense.”

How funny. Not even the edgiest secret arts were immune to the angsty rebellion of youth.

“However,” The tone of her voice turned solemn. “When the Celestial Calamity happened, it was the Willowherb’s knowledge and training that saved my squadron from a horde of The Dead.”

“I see,” said Dust. “The Calamity affirmed the validity of your ancestral heritage. All the same, your survival must have shown your commanding officers a proof of concept. Since then you formed this unlikely alliance.”

“Yes. Our cooperation has successfully reclaimed much of this country’s territory over the past five years. However, Ebott remains a major thorn in our side. Each operation ended in failure due to the briars. You’ve already met Lieutenant Morrison.”

Bowing her head, she said, “Thank you for giving him a dignified funeral. I know from the remains of his clothing that he wouldn’t have survived for long. What’s more, he struggled with nightmares of violent death for all his life. I’m glad you were there to end his suffering.”

“…I did what I could.” Even now, Dust found it uncomfortable to be thanked for his reaper-like deeds.

At last, the coffee was made. Stephan brought three mugs and set them on the table. “There we go. Are you two getting along?”

Smiling at him, Anya replied, “We’d like to think so.”

“Uh, yep.” Dust glanced to the side, hoping that The Phantom didn’t return. “How’s the wife and daughter, Stephan? Are they still alive?”

Stephan’s face lit up in grateful delight. “Yes! Yes they are, thank god. They’re doing very well in Anya’s village.”

“Heh. Good to know that Papyrus didn’t sacrifice his life in vain. Here I thought the universe was out to destroy his ideals.”

“S-sacrifice?” Hearing the news shocked the poor human. “Oh no. I’m. I’m so sorry…”

Dust took a sip of the dark, bitter drink. “It’s all good as long as you and your family are alive and well.”

They spent a moment of silence drinking coffee, honouring Papyrus’ memory. Dust appreciated the gesture.

“Y’know,” He pondered out loud, “I was astonished that my nation managed to migrate out of the mountain at all. We had a really peaceful life, however short it was.”

Anya clutched her mug. “I… wouldn’t be so confident. If you knew what brewed underneath the surface, you might not have thought the same.”

“Actually, I get what you mean. The peace we enjoyed was due to an element of surprise and confusion. Humanity didn’t know how to respond to a large population of unknown power appearing unannounced.”

“Have you always been aware of the possible predicaments that could befall your town?”

“To some extent,” answered Dust. “All it takes is some history lessons and some thought experiments. That’s why the whole deal about breaking The Barrier never appealed to me. Not in the slightest.”

Now that everyone had gathered at the table, he thought it’s time to pop the question. “So, what’s up? I bet y’all are here for more than a friendly visit. Pretty sure you’re representatives for your respective bosses or leaders. Is it for a business proposal? Or maybe an assassination contract?”

Stephan seemed disappointed to hear that. Judging from his expression, he genuinely wanted to catch up. He must have had a ton of questions on his mind… but Dust thought it was better to maintain emotional distance.

Nonetheless, the man played along. He retrieved a briefcase from the rest of the luggages and placed it on the table. “Mister Sans, uh, Mister Dust. This briefcase contains documents and artefacts relevant to our current discussion. You may review what’s inside later, at your own discretion.”

Running his bony fingers over the cover, Dust felt the emboss of the military’s insignia. “Go on.”

Putting his most professional front, Stephan explained: “The Military and the Willowherb Society seek your help. In exchange for your cooperation, we will provide for all your daily needs: Food, clothing, water, electricity, and more.”

“Well, what does this help entail?”

“First, it’s to vanquish the Ebottian Celestial Calamity. We understand that you won’t leave this territory otherwise. After that… we ask you to join our future efforts in tackling The Damned.”

Citing the Necromancy 101, Dust added: “The Damned - Souls who have forsaken their humanity for immeasurable power. Am I right?”

“Yes. You’re right. Also, even if we did solve the problem in Ebott, there’s nothing to stop others from trying to start another Celestial Calamity. As long as they fulfill all conditions, the same disaster can happen again.”

Anya spoke up, “Mister Dust, do you remember the incident that involved a giant floating castle one and a half years ago?”

The skeleton blinked twice. A second later he felt the edge of his mouth twitch. “Oh, that? The one with three Dark Lord wannabes and shifting rooms filled with The Dead, The Damned, and The Hollow? It really happened?”

Both humans stared back with slight confusion. The lady necromancer replied, “I was the agent sent there to destroy the castle’s source. They created a device that taps into the existing Celestial Calamity, then amplifies it with their own power.”

He took off the baseball cap and started wiping his sweaty skull, perturbed by the confirmation. “I… I thought that was an incredibly vivid nightmare. Every souvenir I brought back from the castle crumbled into nothingness. No physical proof of its existence remained. My clearest memory was hitting the hay after the carnage and waking up days later. Took me a while to recalibrate my calendar.”

“Wow…” Stephan muttered. “I don’t know which is crazier: thinking that the castle was a dream, or sleeping for days straight.”

“Heh. I was dog tired. Speedrunning takes a lot outta ya.”

The old Sans the Comedian would’ve slipped in a pun or two. But, Dust couldn’t think of any. He had grown too rusted to crack jokes on the fly.

Thinking harder, another detail bothered him. “Why the hell did the bad guys fly all the way here anyway? If it were me, encroaching on my rival’s territory would be the last thing I’d do.”

Anya replied, “I don’t know about the other two, but the one I tackled wanted to fight you. Everyone knew about The Lone Defender and his challenge. You’re the only soul who fought The Calamity for years alone and managed to survive.”

“Challenge? What challenge? When did I ever issue a challenge to anybody?”

“You…” Stephan gulped. “You pinned the corpses of the bandit bosses on the wall and wrote a warning with their blood. Isn’t that supposed to be a challenge?”

Hearing that, Dust exclaimed: “What?! That’s a deterrent! A stop sign! No entry! I wanted NOBODY to come to Ebott! Ever!”

Shocked confusion, intensified. His human visitors couldn’t believe their ears. That was when Dust realised just how much he had screwed up.

While the truth sank into his skull, he chugged down the mug of coffee. He set it down after he’s done and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.

Then…

He proceeded to laugh like a mad maniac.

“Hahahaha! Seriously?! Oh my god, it was all a massive misunderstanding? I can’t believe it! Hahahahahahaha! This joke is too funny, sheesh!”

Alcohol and caffeine coursed through his bones. The clash of stimulants and depressants destroyed his sense of restraint on his emotions. He continued laughing for a few more minutes, letting the humans sit awkwardly in their chairs.

Anya stood up in an abrupt fashion. Her stoic front broke. Was it fear? She must have taken his behaviour as a possible threat against their lives.

“Mister Dust. I… I would like to confirm something.”

The woman carefully opened the briefcase. Sitting beside the boring old documentation was an ancient red-leather tome.

Anya pushed the briefcase aside to plunk down that hefty, heavy book. “Do you recognize this? Or, do you have anything similar? I found this in the heart of the floating demon castle. It’s the only object that survived the castle’s collapse.”

Dust examined the cover. “Hmm… This leather is dyed red. The magic star is fancier too. More layers. Extra runes. A dodecagon. But, the brass decorations look familiar.”

“Let me guess,” she said, “You have a black book with a pentagram in a circle. The first words read: ‘A day shall come when the Crimson Sun and the Bloodstained Moon will rise. Beware, for they bring forth unnatural darkness’.”

Dust glared at Anya, raising his guard. Perhaps The Phantom was right about her. Someone with that kind of knowledge was not to be dismissed. “…You better have a good explanation, lady. Spying is not one of them.”

“It’s because the Willowherb Society also owns a copy of that book. Over a thousand years ago, my ancestors chose to protect humanity instead of destroying or enslaving them. In secret, the masters formulated methods to counter other necromancers, and the acolytes illustrated the pages.”

“Sadly, only three copies were made before the world turned against us. The kingdom saw us as a threat. They allied with the Hero’s Guild, mobilized their forces, and attacked the village.”

“One copy was saved and now sits in our shrine, passed down from generation to generation. The second copy fell into the hands of the kingdom, kept in the libraries of the Hero’s Guild. The third copy was lost forever in the deep woods where monsters roam, or so I was told.”

‘Monsters’. It’s been a long time since Dust heard of that term. He asked, “Any descriptions about that monster territory? Like, notable people?”

Anya replied, “The legends of that region speak of a princess with pure white fur and an affinity for fire: a goat who walked like a human. Unfortunately, that is all I know.”

Just how long ago did it take place? ‘Over a thousand years’ could mean anything, from a thousand and one to a thousand and a hundred. Plenty of changes could happen in a hundred years.

So he asked: “How many years before monsterkind was sealed under Mount Ebott?”

“About about a decade or two. The Hero’s Guild ramped up their anti-magic efforts after they obtained the Willowherb’s black tome. This reached its peak during The Sealing War.”

“Then… I know the identity of that princess. Or rather, my queen.”

The memory of his beloved joke partner brought a twinge of pain on his chest. How he missed her dearly.

“Her name was Toriel Dreemurr, wife to Asgore Dreemurr. She was murdered before the black briars appeared, on the Christmas of 2016.”

“My condolences.”

“Thanks. Either way, you’re right. The third copy is currently in my possession. Originally, I found it in the Royal Library, and later in the remains of Toriel’s house.”

There’s more to that story, but the humans didn’t need to know that. “So,” Dust patted the red tome. “What’s up with this one?”

“We’re not sure how many copies of this exist out there, but you’re looking at The Book of Curses. And, of course, the greatest curse of all is The Crimson Calamity. It has the power to damn the world long after its initial activation. As long as the source exists, no one is safe.”

“Mister Dust, there’s a key weakness in the Willowherb’s books. Our ancestors intentionally left out the creation of The Celestial Calamity. They feared that the future generations of our sect may become tempted to enact it ourselves. But, without that information, we lack proper understanding on how to vanquish a source for good. Where to look, what to look for… It wasn’t until now that we had a complete picture. And it’s all thanks to the tome we found in the floating castle.”

“So…” said Dust, “You think that I’m in a similar pickle.”

“Indeed. Why else would you keep fighting the demon without destroying their source? The ritual calls for three key ingredients: a Red Soul, a corrupted heart, and great magic power. Once all three conditions are fulfilled, they crystallise into the ‘source’, and such an object is hidden somewhere in Mount Ebott.”

“Huh. Why a Red Soul specifically?”

“Legends state that the most powerful of Reds have the power to control time itself. Therefore, they’re the best candidates to distort reality under their will.”

“I see--”

A sharp, sudden pain surged across his ribs. He collapsed on the table, clutching his chest in agony.

“Mister Dust?!”
“Sans!”

Alerted, the humans tried to attend to him. But he quickly raised his hand to stop them. “Nngh, I’m fine. Just… just some old wounds acting up.”

A lie. He never did suffer a chest injury before. Yet it felt so real and truthful.

Then, he had a thought. What if he did, but he had forgotten about it? What if this was one of those ‘deja vu’ moments: little foreign events that felt familiar or repetitive?

Dust recalled the time when he was still ‘Sans’, living deep under the mountain. Not long after Doctor Alphys became the Royal Scientist, oddities began to happen. Certain days seemed to repeat themselves, to the point where he was able to guess little accidents or lottery numbers long before they came true.

Soon after, Flowey began to hang around Papyrus.

Then Frisk fell into the Underground.

And everyone was set free.

The pain subsided. He slowly pushed himself up, catching his breath. Trying to keep his cool, Dust straightened his clothes a bit. “I… I think I’m alright. Uh, anyway… any luck finding the source so far?”

After a moment of worried hesitation, Anya also resumed the talks. “The Willowherb Society, as well as the military, have attempted many times to track it down. Yet, our divinations always returned nothing, or our scouts were completely obliterated. I refuse to let anyone else die, and so I volunteered to speak to you in person to strike a deal.”

Stephan raised his hand with a smile. “And I volunteered to help Anya.”

Dust leaned on his chin. “That’s how we got here, huh? Welp, you’re half right and half wrong. Here’s why. You’re right that I don’t know why and how The Celestial Calamity works. But you’re wrong about the reasoning behind my choices. I kept fighting the briars not because I didn’t know where to strike. Rather, it’s because I can’t take the risk.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll cut to the chase. Skeletons are one of the fastest monsters alive. We have the physical strength of a well-trained human and a fraction of the body weight. This means we’re both nimbler and faster than you can ever dream to be. That’s where the problem starts. Those briars? They chase me right behind MY heel. If they could give me trouble, anything slower is totally a sitting duck.”

“In other words…” Dust slipped the baseball cap back on. “If I die, the world is more or less doomed. I guess I’m not called ‘The Lone Defender’ for nothing.”

“I see…” Stephan lowered his head. “Unless we can somehow solve the speed problem, we’re stuck.”

“Ayup. Okay. Break time. I really, really need to sleep. Or rather, vegetate on my bed. Continue our discussions tomorrow, alright? I’m just so done with the day. You guys can bunk here for the night. I’ll be in the guest bedroom. Feel free to sleep anywhere else. I don’t care. Just pick a room or two. As for The Book of Curses, leave it there on the table. I’ll read that during daylight.”

From the looks of their faces, both Anya and Stephan had mixed feelings. They were glad to have his cooperation, yet they were deeply concerned. Not surprising. After all, he did almost collapse right in front of them.

“Good night, Mister Dust,” said Anya. She kept her tone polite. “And thank you so, so much.”

On the other hand, Stephan steered towards cheerfulness. “I’ll make a special breakfast for you, Mister Sans!”

Dust waved goodnight and excused himself for the night. He threw himself on the bed, arms spread out. “Maaan, talk about a long night.”

The Phantom appeared again, crossing his disembodied arms in sheer disapproval. “You can’t trust her, brother. She could kill you in your sleep! You know how crafty humans are.”

“Don’t worry. Anya has yet to earn my trust. But, if she wants to con me, let her. I’ll take it as an elaborate prank. Don’t you think it’s fun? That will spice up our boring life.”

The statement was so outrageous, even the hallucination gawked in disbelief.

“Did you reduce her from a lethal threat to a mere conwoman?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re unbelievable,” The Phantom huffed. “Bah! I suppose it’s fine as long as you don’t get hurt. But, if they try to do anything weird, kill them with great prejudice.”

“So can I sleep now?”

Too late. The Phantom was gone.

“Oh well, I’ll just lie down and try.”

Somehow, through a small miracle, The Phantom lifted his curse. For the first time in forever, Dust fell into a deep, blissful sleep.

Chapter Text

February 11, 2021.

When the sun rose the next day, Dust prepared himself better for the discussion. He went over to his desk. Drafts for new spells and maps lay layered on top of each other. He had to drop everything in a hurry the last time he used this desk. Good ol’ Flowey just had to go wreak havoc in the middle of his studies.

Pushing the papers aside revealed the faithful Necromancy 101, opened mid-page. He bet that Anya and Stephan would want to see this ancient tome for themselves. Maybe they could tell him if there’s anything outdated.

He mused out loud: “Judging from the brightness of the sunlight, they would’ve already had their breakfast. Actually, maybe even lunch.”

At the living room, Anya stoked the fireplace. Stephan was nowhere to be found, plus the kitchen was rather quiet.

Noticing his presence, the lady put the coal prong away. “Good morning, did you have a good night’s sleep?” It didn’t look like the lady necromancer had taken off the cloak and mask since the previous night.

“Best I’ve had in ages,” Dust replied. “How about you?”

“I didn’t sleep,” she admitted. “I’m very sensitive to caffeine, you see. So… I spent the night making arrangements to get the power back.”

She walked over to the switch and flipped it on. Just like that, artificial light illuminated the living room for the first time since the apocalypse.

Dust wanted to stare at its glory, but he found it all too glaring. Perhaps he had grown too used to the gentler glows of nature, or so he thought.

“How did you pull it off?” he asked, “Told the electric company that this house exists and footed the bill or something? Because I know the inner workings within the farmhouse were fine, yet I never could get anything to work.”

“You’re half right. There were actual damages, but they were much further away. Fortunately, the power lines are linked to those of the Willowherb Society and I’m friends with the local electrician. It would have been much more difficult otherwise.”

At the very least, it sounded like the Willowherb Society lived within the same region as Mount Ebott. It explained how Stephan arrived there safely by foot.

Dust then pointed out: “I haven’t signed the contract yet. Is it alright for me to get free electricity?”

Anya froze for a moment. “Um… I suppose that if you refuse to cooperate, the electric company will terminate their service in due time. You have a month to think it over.”

“Heh, alright.” Perhaps it’s time for a change of subject. “So where’s Stephan? I thought he would be busy in the kitchen after yesterday’s bold proclamation.”

“He drove back to the village to get some groceries. We weren’t prepared to cook anything beyond the standard rations. Furthermore, we didn’t think it’s right to use your storage without permission.”

Dust knew what was in there, and it surely explained why the humans pitied him. Whatever he had was just enough for one person. One bad week could run them empty.

“Did that guy get a wink of sleep at least?” he asked, “It would suck if he dozed off on the wheel.”

In which the woman replied: “I am jealous of how caffeine does nothing to him. Absolutely. Nothing.” Anya Willowherb, conqueror of eldritch horrors, survivor of calamities, envied a simple farmer’s innate biological ability to ignore a single substance.

Showing the Necromancy 101, he said: “Come have a look, lady. Maybe some boring books will lull you to bed.”

They reconvened where they left off the previous night. Anya held the black tome with great reverence and joy. Her lips were still and her body straight, while her hands trembled as she cradled the book like a lost precious child, forcing herself to restrain her emotions.

The sight frustrated him. A person is a person, and a necromancer was no exception. Just because Anya had covered her face, didn’t mean she had turned into a robot.

He said, “You… are allowed to cry. Just letting you know.”

“I, uh, I’m just emotional from the lack of sleep. But, thank you.”

The more Dust learned, the less he could imagine Anya being a part of the military. She seemed too kind to bear arms. Maybe she wouldn’t have considered being a soldier had life gone a different course?

He brushed the thoughts aside: they’re mere flightful, empty contemplations by this point.

“Go ahead, open it.”

Anya did just that to inspect its condition. While flipping through the pages, she said, “You called this ‘Necromancy 101’, right? A very factual name.”

Dust shrugged. “Heh, it’s ‘barebones’. Just like me.” He felt a little proud that he managed to churn out at least one bone pun after all these years.

“I don’t think a punner is barebones. It takes an extensive vocabulary. Anyway, this tome’s real name is the Book of Vanquishing.”

“Vanquish… ‘to thoroughly defeat’,” said Dust. “That explains why the contents emphasized ‘search and destroy’.”

“You’re correct. It’s the antithesis to everything that The Book of Curses is capable of. Ironic, isn’t it? My clan destroys others in order to protect the world from destruction.”

“Now I’m getting curious about what’s inside the red one.”

And so, Dust reached for The Book of Curses. In comparison to The Book of Vanquishing, it was thicker, heavier, and taller. Even the cover was heftier to lift with his thin, bony fingers.

Upon witnessing the first page, a cold sweat trickled down his skull.

“…Huh? What? T-the Delta Rune?”

He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Looking at the page again, he noticed the circle with wings was surrounded by three triangles: two upright at the bottom, one inverted at the top. The original Delta Rune had them at the base, as though they looked up towards the celestial being.

“That was quite a scare. I thought it was the good ol’ monster prophecy for a moment…”

“A prophecy? Could you tell me about it?”

After clearing his throat, Dust explained: “Back when I was still living under the mountain, our hope came in the form of The Delta Rune. It symbolized an ‘angel’ who has seen the surface, descending from above to bring us freedom. Someone who managed to venture out, return, and break The Barrier.

“But…” he continued, “By the time I became a teen, a different interpretation surfaced: the harbinger of destruction. Death is a form of freedom too, so they believed.”

“I see. The second interpretation seems more accurate to my ears.” Pointing her finger on the symbol, she revealed: “This shape represents a ‘Soul Fusion’, the most forbidden art.”

Pointing to the circle, Anya added: “This here is a human who discarded their humanity to become a DEMON.”

And to the triangles, “These represent the psychia of sentient lifeforms. What you call the SOUL. The upright triangles represent the psychia of humans, while the inverted triangle represents a monster psychia. When different beings fuse their might, they ascend to godhood. Two humans, however, cannot simply become one. They need a monster to avoid rejection and stabilize the process.”

“At the pinnacle, all seven types of humans are involved, each bearing a colour of the rainbow. This results in the ultimate being. To reach this next level of existence has become the goal of countless many. It’s the ideal fusion for which they’d pay any cost to attain: ‘The Seven SOUL DEMON God’. That’s what the wings represent.”

Dust commented, “It’s not just a superstitious myth, huh? Scary stuff.”

Didn’t Papyrus mention that The Celestial Calamity had happened before, about two centuries ago? That’s way after the monsters were sealed under the mountain. A Soul Fusion shouldn’t be possible without them. Could that mean that the humans had discovered a substitute?

But…

…Toriel was murdered. The present day perpetrators didn’t need to depend on a substitute. They had a true blue Boss Monster SOUL in their possession.

He turned to the next page. It was the book’s introductory text. And so, he read it out loud:

“We, The Damned, curse our very existence.”

“We curse the heavens for the sun that scorches, for the rain that floods, for the snow that freezes, for the stars that seal our fate.”

“We curse the earth, for the hunger of famine, for the prowling beasts, for the pestilence of wings and worms, for the dusty grave that swallows us.”

“We curse the sea, for the calm waters that thirst, for the stormy waters that drown, for the dragons that lurk, for the confines it creates.”

“We curse the gods and fae, for their oppressive dogma, for their whimsical cruelty, for their forced hands, for their silence upon our prayers.”

“We curse our parents for bringing us into suffering, our siblings for the torment, our friends for their betrayal, our children for their abandonment.”

“We curse our humanity, for our frail fragility, for our falsehood, for our greed and gluttony, for our short finite lives.”

“We curse, we condemn, we spite.”

“And therefore, we dare to dream.”

Dust had to stop to take a deep breath. It was like drinking undiluted bitters, so intense that his senses rang between his skull. “Wow. Here I thought I was the one being too edgy for my own good. Puts into the mindset of how wretched The Damned really are.”

But after he finished his sentence, he noticed that Anya’s breathing quickened in pain. Her shoulders rounded forward, slowly yet surely bending over the table.

The Phantom’s voice whispered into Dust’s ears: “See? I told you, brother. She’s not to be trusted. Kill her, now!”

The untimely intrusion stirred anger. Dust snapped back. “I’m not killing another sick girl!” Attending to her, he asked, “Hey, you alright?”

But when she spoke, Anya’s voice gained a strange, ethereal tone: “O’ Restless Dead, hush thy spirit. I command thee to return to sleep.”

After that, her chest glowed a gentle red. Her breathing calmed down, a sign that the crisis had passed.

What followed after was pure awkwardness. On one hand, Dust wanted to know what in the world just happened. On the other hand, he didn’t want to intrude.

“I…” Anya muttered. “I suppose I have to clarify myself.”

“Yeah,” Dust slowly returned to his seat. “You should. Unless you wanna be kicked out of the house.”

She thus explained: “Those who die from The Celestial Calamity cannot rest. They’re bound to the curse and become what we call ‘The Dead’. They will perpetually resurrect unless they’re broken from the source.”

Anya showed her palm. She conjured an image of a shepherd’s hook. “That’s where I come in. With this symbol, I have the gift to seal The Dead inside my being. They’d still exist in this world, but at least they will be under my care, safe from evildoers.”

Dust had a ton of questions to ask. Too many, if he wanted to be honest.

“So… what happened when I read that edgy mantra?”

“Some of my flock bear traumatic scars that resonated with the curses, threatening to awake in rage. I was fighting to prevent that.”

“Huh. That’s actually quite interesting. You’re hosting souls. But you didn’t take their lives, neither did you enslave them. Do you have any LV at all?”

“LV?” she asked back, curious and confused.

“The Level of Violence. I have some from euthanizing my brother. My research concluded that the more a person kills, the more EXP a.k.a Execution Points they gain, and the less pain they feel. Think of EXP as the quantification of drained lifeforce. Eventually mass murder becomes nothing more than an afterthought.”

“That… doesn’t match up with how humans deal with the guilt of murder.”

“You mean humans are capable of killing many and still remaining remorseful?”

“Yes,” Anya nodded. “There are humans out there who feel nothing at first, taking death as an expected part of their job. Yet, the moment they become aware about the lives ruined by their hands, they become haunted by their sin.”

“Curious. I suppose that’s because most humans don’t suck the souls out of others. But what about evil necromancers? I think they eventually treat regular humans as food.”

“I suppose that’s true as well. That’s why The Willowherb Society exists: to vanquish those who’re beyond return.”

Anya then said, “Mister Dust, could you do me a favour? Flip to the back end of the book and read the last few pages.”

The Phantom whispered: “No, brother! Don’t! No, no, no, it’s a trap! The most wretched of traps!”

That was an oddly specific request. It certainly spooked The Phantom into a small panic. Nonetheless, out of curiosity, Dust did exactly what was requested. He flipped to the back end of the book, attempting to read from the ending first.

Yet… the pages were empty.

“Huh? Nothing?” At first he thought they were unused leftovers. But the more pages he turned, the more nothingness he found. “Is this an incomplete copy?”

Anya shook her head, “I can confirm the book’s final pages aren’t empty. Rather, you are being prevented from reading them. Just as the opening statement contains the power to stir The Dead within me, the latter half of the book has the power to block your sight.”

“Is that really true?” Dust questioned back. “Written words alone don’t do anything. It’s all about the observer. You reacted to what I’ve read out loud because you’re carrying troubled souls. If that same logic applies… it means… there’s something wrong with me?”

He watched for Anya’s response. Not even her heavy concealments could mask her swirl of negativity. Was it sadness? Dread? Worry? All three? And was their root care or concern?

Her behaviour continued to puzzle him. No matter how kind they were, a person’s heart was limited to their bonds. If they were acquaintances… if they were mere strangers… if this was their first meeting… Anya shouldn’t be this distraught.

“Have we…” Dust paused mid-sentence, hesitant to finish the question. “Have we met before?”

She couldn’t answer.

No. Rather, she refused to answer.

“Brother… I told you that she’s dangerous. She clearly has something to hide!”

Maybe The Phantom was right after all. Nothing good can come from someone trying to keep secrets. What if she was waiting for a moment of weakness to capture him? That’s what a smart person would do.

Dust readied to defend himself. But at that moment, he heard the crunching of wheels and the humm of an engine. Stephan had returned.

The way the farmer opened the door created a slight sense of deja vu. He hauled everything on himself before busting through the front entrance.

“I’m back with groceries!” Stephan exclaimed, “Today, we’re gonna make a meeeeeeean ole pasta! Oh boy, Mister Sans, you’re gonna love it!”

Dust decided to disengage. Pretend as if nothing serious had ever happened. Turning towards the fit farmer, he commented: “Gee, are you a pack mule? There’s no need to carry everything in one go.”

“Being a farmer means that sometimes you have to become a pack mule for your pack mule. It gets silly, I know. Anyways! Here’s the food! I’ve even brought extras for you to store away.”

Dust inspected the load of edibles Stephan just delivered. Onions, ketchup, tomatoes, sausages, tons of dried pasta, and more. He came prepared for quite a rustic feast.

While sorting the goods, the farmer observed Dust’s red scarf. “It looks familiar… W-wait! Doesn’t that scarf belong to The Great Papyrus?! It looks so worn out. We need to preserve it. That’s a national treasure!”

Chuckling, the short skeleton said: “Don’t worry Stephan. The one I’m wearing right now is a different red scarf. I just made some adjustments to give it a similar look. The original is kept nice and safe.”

“Thank god!”

Always nice to meet a Papyrus fan. It’s proof that his memory lives on.

“Mind if I help out in the kitchen?” offered Dust. “I’ve learned to cook pretty well over the years.”

Realising that was an invitation for a casual hangout, Stephan glowed in delight at the suggestion. “Sure! Definitely! We have so much to catch up.”

Anya remained suspicious in his eyes, but a tactical retreat was in order. It’s unfair to drag Stephan into the matter. He might get in the way. Get hurt over something he didn’t understand. The innocent should be left alone.

“We’ll reconvene after lunch, Miss Anya. You’ve not convinced me yet.”

After that, Dust left for the kitchen with deep unease in his heart. He wondered if he still dared to seek the truth, or if he preferred to stay comfortable in ignorance.

For the first time in his life, Sans the Skeleton had begun doubting his own memory.

Chapter 8

Notes:

Hello, if you like this work you might want to check out 'The Golden Quiche'. It's the same setting, but different flow of history ;) And also taking place in 2070.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296460

Chapter Text

Spending time with Stephan was a breath of fresh air. It had been too long since Dust had any positive social interaction.

They cooked.
They chatted.
They laughed.

Sleeves, rolled.
Dried pasta, readied.
Meat, chopped and fried.
Tomatoes, peeled and mashed.
Herbs and seasonings, sprinkled with generosity.

Then the human shared a little bit about his past.

He was born the youngest of three boys to a farming family. When he grew up, he moved to the capital to try his luck. Managed to open a bakery, get married, and have a kid… but an economic recession became his downfall.

His uncle lent him the current farmhouse. Things might have improved if it weren’t for the pesky apocalypse.

On the positive side, Stephan had a pair of twin boys within the last five years. Silly little rascals. His eldest daughter took up the role of being their second mother. It seemed that Papyrus had left a huge impression on the girl, so he claimed. It was for the best; Dust knew that he himself wasn’t a good role model, be it his past or present self.

With all the ingredients swimming in a big pot of stock, all they needed was a good simmer for half an hour. By theory, it should have to cook down for quite a while longer. Unfortunately, everyone was too hungry to wait.

While they hung around the warm stove, Stephan commented in astonishment. “Mister Sans, your eyes… They’re white again.”

“Oh?” Dust touched his brow. “The cooking session must have calmed me down a lot. Though, you better make sure you keep that magic-suppressing cloth on your head. I can’t guarantee if I can stay sane otherwise.”

“Of course.” Stephan adjusted the fabric. “I thought of tying it like a bandana, but the cloth is a bit too thick for that. Right now I look like someone trying to dress up as Little Black Riding Hood…”

“Heh. Fits the kitchen work, if you ask me. Say Stephan, if you’re a Red, does that mean you have that special symbol magic Anya has?”

There was an instant sigh of disappointment from the human. “I wish I did. It would have been so interesting to see what my personal special power would look like.”

“Huh. So, it’s not something that’s taught? There are no squadrons of shepherd’s hooks?”

“Nope. The elders in the village said that it’s some kind of manifestation magic, unique per person. Either you have it or you don’t. All The Hero’s Guild’s top warriors are apparently made up of those special people too.”

Dust pondered about that statement. “What’s The Hero’s Guild anyway? I’ve seen recruitment ads here and there when I first migrated. After that, I think I became their ‘number one enemy’. I’ve killed a fair number who claimed to be representatives.”

Stephan’s expression turned gloomy. “They… Um… For over a thousand years, they worked together with the military to maintain peace. I used to look up to them as the land’s protectors. Not anymore though.”

“Really? What changed?”

“Well, they tried to kill you for one, Mister Sans. At first I thought it was a misunderstanding. Why would they try to kill The Lone Defender? You’re the reason humanity continues to exist. But… they were serious. ‘All heretics must be purged’, so said the ‘heroes’. They believed your mere existence is what aggravated whatever’s underneath Ebott.”

Hearing that stirred concern within Dust. “What about The Willowherbs? Are they at risk of extermination too?”

“That would have been the case if Miss Anya wasn’t in a unique position. Something about her being a Willowherb and a member of the military at the same time.”

“So, long story short, it’s all politics.”

“Yeah…” Clenching his hand into a fist, the human confessed his disillusionment. “It’s… terrifying to think that my childhood heroes wouldn’t think twice about killing me and my family.”

Dust looked away in guilt. “…Sorry for putting you in a tough spot.” What else could he say? If monsters didn’t emerge from the mountain, Stephan would have remained a regular farmer with regular problems.

Forcing himself to smile, the human replied: “H-hey, no worries. All of that might change in the future. Another member of The Hero’s Guild had started negotiations with us recently about the Ebott case. One of Miss Anya’s comrades. They worked together at the floating castle incident.”

“Were you friends? With the lady, I mean. Not the hero fellow.”

“To tell you the truth, I volunteered to be her assistant only because I was one of the few who had spoken to you when you were still ‘Sans’. And because I recognized this farmhouse to be mine. I barely knew her before then. Still, she’s a really sweet lady, if you ask me. Hard to believe she’s in the military.”

“I see…”

So far, Stephan had displayed nothing but the fullest trust for Anya Willowherb. Not a single hint of hiding anything as well.

“Is there something wrong with her?” asked Stephan.

“Welp. Let’s just say it’s difficult to connect with someone who’s hiding in plain sight. Anyways, let’s get the noodles boiling. I’m getting quite famished.”

Lunch was a simple yet satisfying feast of spaghetti. Pasta with tomatoes; can’t go wrong there.

Although the chatter between the men continued uninterrupted, Anya focused on eating her meal in silence. It’s either she didn’t want to intrude, or she was just plain exhausted. The caffeine should have worn off by now, after all.

The farmer asked, “When was the last time you had pasta, Mister Sans?”

Dust paused to think. It had been a long, long time since he had one of these. “Probably… Last year? Or the year before? I was lucky enough to find undamaged cans of tomatoes in an abandoned grocery store. I keep to uninhabited areas if I can help it.”

The response garnered quite a bit of surprise. “Wow, you didn’t try to steal from anyone?”

“Heh, I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I join the inevitable droves of looters who’d exploit the breakdown of society? Because it’s not worth making even more enemies.”

“Besides,” he twirled some noodles with his fork, “I know what’s like to scrape by, be it as a shop owner, a worker, or a scavenger. Don’t wanna add more to their pain.”

Stephan noted, “Papyrus told me that you’ve raised him since he was a baby. Did… something happen to your parents?”

“They passed away from illness not long after Papyrus was born. A family friend took us in. They…”

Dust’s words hung in the air, trying to recall the name and face of that person. The person who adopted them as orphans should leave a big impact in his memory. If not for their good care, then at least for the amount of years spent together.

Yet, despite his best efforts… he recalled nothing.

“…Weird. I should remember, but I can’t. Is this another side effect of being a killer hermit?”

Stephan frowned. “Maybe. I heard that Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder messes with your brain.”

“PTSD? Why do you think so?”

To which Anya interjected, “You’ve been living on edge for the past five years, haven’t you Mister Dust?”

“Five years? Nah, it’s much longer than that. Way, way, way longer. It’s not even the death of my parents either. It’s just, well, how do I put this…?”

Dust lifted his fork, drawing circles in the air with its prongs. “My combat abilities had to come from somewhere, somehow, someplace. I can’t remember where I learned them either. If your PTSD hypothesis is true and I’m blocking even my earliest memories, then I must have crawled out from Hell itself.”

As he spoke, a dark shadow of the past loomed behind his back. The more he thought about it, the more he noticed the suspicious gaps…

For now, he shrugged it off and resumed eating. “I don’t need those memories anyway. Whatever I’ve made with Papyrus is enough. Right?”

The socially polite way was to agree and move on. It didn‘t matter if one believed their answer or not; it was more important to let the speaker stay comfortable.

Yet, Anya defied it. “No, Mister Dust. Memories should never be forgotten! Omitting vital information will only lead to disaster!”

Stephan tried to stop her to no avail. Her determination was stronger than his, as evident in their respective mastery of magic.

She continued, “The Willowherb Society teaches that people are made up of memories, consciously or otherwise. Forgetting even a fraction of the past leaves a void that makes a person vulnerable to lies and manipulation.”

“I don’t care,” shrugged Dust.

Anya then proceeded to… finish her meal with great frustration. At least she ate well. It was better than giving up halfway, depriving her tired body of much needed nourishment.

“Thank you for the meal,” she said. “Please excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

Stephan took her plate and said, “Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll handle them. Maybe some sleep will improve your mood.”

“Thank you again. See you later.”

Anya got up and left to her chosen bedroom.

Stephan leaned closer to Dust to whisper a question. “Have you guys met before? She’s behaving like an angry forgotten friend…”

After finishing his own helping of pasta, Dust replied: “Uh, actually… I’m wondering the same. Maybe we’ve bumped into each other and the recognition was a one way street? Has the lady ever told anyone about her big castle adventure?”

“The elders and her superiors have the full story. But… I think… hang on…”

Stephan rubbed his temples, trying hard to recall something. Then, as if someone switched on a lightbulb, he perked right back up.

“Aha!” he exclaimed. “She told me that she had met someone in the castle who really helped her out. He was fast on his feet and super mysterious. It’s the reason why she faced only one Dark Lord instead of all three of them.”

“Wait. That description. Isn’t that… me? It means we’ve teamed up before. If that’s the case, she should’ve been more upfront about the truth. I would have accepted it. No need to take the indirect convoluted route.”

Even so… she refused to confirm or deny. Was their meeting really that scandalous? Dangerous?

The Phantom grumbled. “Don’t get swayed by her tragic backstory. Basides, don’t you have anything better to do? Like washing the dishes?”

For once, the ghost was right. There’s a lot of stuff to wash up.

…But when Dust tried to stand up, he realised that he had eaten a bit too much. It’s weird for a skeleton to be able to feel too full, yet that was a real fact of life.

“Hey, you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just ate too much.”

“Oh, okay.” Stephan said, “Anyway, I still have something to return to you. Maybe this will help you jog some of those memories.”

Stephan placed down two objects that Dust thought he’d never see again. It was none other than Papyrus’ phone and wallet.

His bony hands trembled, wanting to pick them up yet not daring to. “What… when… how?”

“My daughter told me that Mister Papyrus gave these to her. ‘Show them to daddy only when you’re safe’, was the message.”

Hearing that hurt more than he cared to admit. With shaky breathing, Dust asked: “Have you checked the contents?”

“The phone is locked. As for his wallet… I found some sticky notes tucked between the bills.” Stephan opened the wallet and pulled out three sheets of paper. “I think they’re specifically for you.”

They’re written in simplified sign-language glyphs. Dust smirked. Even beyond the grave, his brother had the confidence that these items will one day reach its intended recipient.

The puzzle had the following instructions.

First, answer the riddle: ‘What’s better than a benchful of quiche?’

Then, single out the first, last, and sixth letter of the answer. Convert them into their corresponding number. Put them together to get the final 4-digit pin code to unlock the phone.

It’s obtuse enough to deter most people, but it was as easy as pie for Dust.

“First, last, sixth… ‘S’, ‘I’, ‘E’… 19, 9, 5… 1995. That’s Papyrus’ birth year.”

“Wow, Mister Sans. You remember which number is which letter from the top of your head?”

“Yup.”

After inputting the number, Dust successfully unlocked the device.

It was Papyrus’ phone alright. Still had that background of biceps with sunglasses. Those were such innocent days.

Dust commented, “70 percent battery, huh? That’s within the range for long term storage. Thanks for preserving my brother’s belongings.”

Stephan smiled back. “I did what I should. That’s all.”

The latest file on the phone was a video labelled ‘For Sans’. The date, February 9 2016. It was from right before the calamity.

Dust played the file posthaste.

It was night, and Papyrus had recorded his final message in his car. The faint lights of Stephan’s farmhouse were visible in the background.

“Sans,” thus said the Papyrus of the past, “By the time you watch this, I’m most likely dead. I’m sorry for not being there with you.”

“Out of all of us, I know you’re the one with the highest chance of survival. Surely you must think, why not The Great Papyrus? Well, I may be very great, but I still lack life experience!”

“I humbly acknowledge that I’m the student and you’re the teacher. You’ve raised me since I was a tiny baby bone. There’s ten whole years that I will never catch up to. Just when I thought I was ahead, you would prove me wrong in your most annoyingly brotherly manner. Nyeh.”

“Did you know that The Hero’s Guild contacted me? Yes! They recognized The Great Papyrus despite his flaws! They were curious about how I managed to escape the calamity. And in return, I got to learn much about human history from them! That’s… when I realised that this apocalypse had happened more often than I thought.”

After that, his expression changed into a serious tone.

“…I have a confession to make. I think I have the ability to see into the future. I don’t know why or how, but sometimes I get… dreams. I’ve dreamt of people’s faces long before I’ve met them, like Grillby in his bar. Or the red bird who keeps talking in his stead. I’ve dreamt that you had a good time bumming out with them.”

“I’ve also dreamt of Undyne losing her passion. And Mettaton becoming King. And everyone getting murdered by a strange smiling shadow. Were they dreams, or were they possibilities? I’ve skipped many nights of sleep fearing what I would see when I close my eyelids.”

“In the past few days, I’ve had a recurring nightmare. No… a warning. Thorns everywhere, under a red vortex, around a full moon. Whenever I try to see a future for myself, I can’t see anything. There’s only pure darkness. Since then I had this feeling that I wouldn’t make it.”

“If death awaits even The Great Papyrus…” he smirked. “Then it makes sense for me to prepare, right? I already have a plan in mind, which you would have witnessed by the time you’ve watched this video. Nyeh heh heh!”

His distinctive laughter didn’t last long.

“Sans. Brother. You’ve expressed that you don’t believe that people can choose to be good. They would rather choose convenience over goodness. I acknowledge that. Yet, I also think that it’s unfair to presume the worst outcome right from the start.”

“Many people in this world were never given a fair chance. They’re either discouraged from doing good, or they themselves have lost their faith. That’s why I take it upon myself to present them with this forgotten opportunity. If even one person turns around from their bad choices, then it’s all worth it.”

“I love more than just humankind and monsterkind. I love the air, the water, the sky, and the earth. I love the flora and the fauna, even when they annoy me. I love this planet and all who live on it. Because of that, I want to create a future where everyone has a chance to choose good. And if I can’t be there physically, then I ask you to share goodness in my stead.”

“I’m aware that this is a very, very selfish request. Incredibly unfair for you, I dare say. In that case, when the years go by, if the burden is too great because the world was destroyed by The Celestial Calamity, and people still refuse to choose good…”

Papyrus closed his eyes to take a deep breath.

“…Then search for me in the gap between realities. In the realm of dreams. I will be there waiting for you. I will no longer be a burden. Let’s become true partners, Sans.”

The video reached its end.

Dust slumped down on his chair, wondering about the final statement.

Papyrus was still alive? How? Where?
What’s this gap between realities?
The realm of dreams?

Meanwhile, Stephan was reduced to tears. “Mister Papyrus, I will never, ever, ever, ever, forget you! How could anyone?!? You’re as great as your title claims! I’ll make sure everyone watches this video, starting with the Willowherb Society!”

Talk about a sappy, emotional guy. He’s been a Papyrus fan from the beginning, so his last words must have pulled all the heartstrings.

“Hey, Stephan. May I leave for a smoke? I… I need time to think.”

Without missing a beat, the human exclaimed: “Sure! Of course! Take all the time you need! Don’t worry about the dishes. I can do those by myself.”

“Then I’ll leave this here.” Dust took off his baseball cap and placed it on the table. “See ya later.”

Once that was said and done, he went over to the nearest drawer. Took out a half-opened packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Then, he made his way outside to smoke.

Dust thought long and hard. A thousand questions flew through his mind. Did Papyrus make preparations before he died to have his soul transported into a backup somewhere? And, if that was the case, what must he do to get to that cryptic location?

“Think.” He muttered to himself, “C’mon, think, think, think, think! There has to be a clue somewhere…!”

Despite his best efforts, his mind drew a blank.

“Maybe Anya’s right. Memories are important. I may not care about myself, but now I have a nagging feeling that I should have known something sooner. Much, much sooner.”

He lit the cigarette, hoping that the tobacco might soothe his nerves.

One stick.
Two sticks.
Three sticks.

He blazed through several of them already, and yet he was nowhere calmer or wiser with his thoughts.

“Five years. It’s been five years. I’ve kept Papyrus waiting for no bloody reason. Dammit! I need time to research this…”

But can he devote himself to the effort? Slowly yet surely, it was getting harder and harder to survive. Salvaged supplies will eventually run out. And, once human society gets back on its feet, he may not be able to avoid populated areas anymore.

What if he could become self-sufficient with foraging and hunting? No. Those compete for time and energy too. It’s the same problem with a different skin. Not to mention that the animals could get very dangerous. Wild boars were not to be trifled with.

Dead ends awaited him at every turn… unless he signed the military contract. In exchange for official recognition as ‘The Lone Defender’, he wouldn’t need to worry about basic necessities anymore.

Was it scary to bind oneself to a larger group? Yes. So many things could go wrong in an organization. Still, if that’s what it takes to reunite with Papyrus, then he will.

Before he realised it, he had finished his last cigarette. With a hint of magic, the spent butts and the empty box disintegrated into dust and ashes.

Dust returned to the house. Stephan had just finished washing the dishes, and was preparing to take a break.

“Hey, Stephan?”

The man turned towards him. “Yes? Is there something I can do?”

“Could you bring out that military contract? I’m thinking of signing it. I’ll hash out the finer details with Anya when she wakes up.”

Chapter Text

February 11, 2021.

Late evening.

By the time Anya Willowherb woke up, hours had passed. The sun slowly yet surely sank towards the west horizon.

The contracts were read, agreed upon, and signed without any changes. The ease of the process stirred wariness from the human woman. “Excuse me, but what happened while I was asleep?”

Dust replied: “If you wanna thank someone, thank Papyrus. Let’s just say I’m completing his final request. Review the video with Stephan, if you want.”

The farmer showed the phone to her in silence.

“I see…” she said, “Condolences.”

The acknowledgement was more of a formality to Dust’s ear canals. Still, it’s nice to get some. “Thanks. Now, since we’re officially allies, there’s something I should tell you.”

He gestured his hand towards the house as a whole. “We’re being watched by our enemy.”

“What?!” Stephan started looking everywhere, from the windows, to the undersides of the table, to the neighbouring chairs. “I-i-is it a bug? Really tiny?? Invisible???”

“Nah. He’s a little golden flower named Flowey. Tries his best to hide, but I always know when he’s around.”

Anya sighed. “This limits our ability to strategize.”

“Nah. He can watch and listen, but he can’t act. By my estimates, it’ll take about 5 days for him to become a threat again.”

“Hmmm…” Anya smiled back. “I understand. Well, what’s your plan?”

“Can you lend me the black tome?”

Anya passed the book to him. “Here you go, Mister Dust.”

He flipped to a page about divination spells and showed one in particular to the woman. “Have you used this before?”

“Yes. Do you have all the necessary catalysts?”

“Yup. Time, location, memento. Got ‘em all. The problem ain’t the input though; it’s the output. This spell doesn’t render sound. That’s a big chunk of contextual information missing right there. Have you guys updated your methods over the past thousand years?”

“We have,” she replied. “The latest version of this spell renders speech, and all other sounds the catalyst had experienced.”

“Experienced? What do you mean by that?”

“Vibrations, Mister Dust. It’s possible to extrapolate sound from the visual data. The old spells were tuned only to light. That’s why it doesn’t produce any sound. But thanks to advancements in science, we’ve added an additional clause to process any vibrations the object received at that point in time.”

“Wow. That’s damn brilliant. I definitely need that spell. And, frankly, more books about modern human science.”

“Is there anything else?”

He pushed forward a slip of paper that he had prepared in the hour before. “Are you up for a shopping list?”

The humans tried to read the list. Stephan straight up asked: “Are you a doctor or a scientist? Because I thought only doctors had handwriting this illegible…”

Snickering at his reaction, Dust said: “Sorry, but I worked in an environment where I had to jot notes fast. I’ll write it down in standard ‘Comic Sans’ if you can’t read the shorthand.”

“I can,” Anya replied. “It was part of my advanced necromancy training. We’ve adapted many scientific disciplines from the wider world. Came in quite useful for the brewery’s R&D.”

“Then we have a common language that our enemy can’t read. Pretty convenient.”

After comprehending the notes, Anya stood up. “Stephan, please help me with the luggage. We should depart while we still have daylight. There’s much to prepare.”

More disappointment from the farmer, showing that he definitely didn’t go through the same rigorous conditioning as his peers. “I was hoping that we would get to stay for a little while longer…”

But, orders are orders. The humans packed up, loaded the jeep, and bid Dust goodbye.

He silently watched the jeep disappear down the road. Absent of lively guests, it didn’t take long for the chill of winter solitude to return to the quaint farmhouse. “…Welp, it was nice while it lasted.”

The Phantom ebbed into view, letting out a big sigh of relief. “Finally, I can freely talk to you again! I still can’t believe you signed that contract without a second thought.”

“The terms are sufficient.”

“Really? They could have at least given you a simple computer. Don’t you at least want to access the internet?”

“Nah, don’t need it. That’s just gonna distract me. I would get tempted to shitpost all day, y’know.”

Floating around in circles, the ghost accused: “You’re just afraid of discovering what the world really looks like.”

As usual, the ghost knew where it hurt the most.

“That’s a distraction too. I gotta focus on getting Papyrus back. You’ll like him, I’m sure of it.”

“But… I am Papyrus. Why would you think I’m not?”

 

* * *

 

February 14, 2021.

Late morning.

The military jeep returned. But, Stephan -- the cheerful ‘pack mule for pack mules’ -- was nowhere to be seen. Anya came alone.

That’s for the best, Dust thought. This mission would be too dangerous for a rookie necromancer like him.

Leaning against the doorpost, Dust asked: “Got the goods?”

She nodded, then went over to the boot of the jeep and took off the tarp, revealing a large wooden crate.

Dust raised an eyebrow. “Is that a whole crate full of explosives? Or weedkillers?”

The military woman returned with a sly smirk. “Better.”

With a bit of heft, she lifted the crate out of the boot.

“I need to take this indoors,” she said, “Could you open the door for me?”

“Sure.”

After she carefully managed to squeeze through the entrance, she nearly dropped her cargo down on the living room floor. “Why is this crate so heavy?” She let out a big huff. “It shouldn’t weigh this much…”

It seems that she expected it to be light enough for a fit human woman to carry alone. Between human males and human females, it’s the males who had superior upper body strength. So, Dust figured, whatever’s inside couldn’t be packed to the brim with liquid or metal.

He touched the surface of the box. It’s pretty standard rough wood. “Guess we won’t know until we open it up. Got anything to deal with the unwanted pair of eyes, though?”

“Yes, I do. Let’s see, I think there’s an electricity socket on the wall here.”

Anya took out a scroll from a pouch on her belt. Unfurling the object revealed intricate circuitry made out of magic circles, runes, and other complex geometry. She proceeded to stick the scroll on top of the wall socket. Doing so caused it to light up.

Some kind of magic coursed through the power lines, and the next thing Dust knew, everything went completely dark and silent.

He could still feel the vibrations from his throat and the sensation of his mouth. So he tried to say: ‘Uh, lady? I’m blind and deaf.’ But no one heard.

Immediately after that, both sight and sound returned. Anya had ripped the scroll off in panic.

“A-apologies!” she said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. The folks over at R&D told me it’s an experimental anti-spying spell meant to block external sound and light. Unfortunately, it blocked every sight and hearing, even for myself. I truly apologize for the mishap.”

“Welp. Consider it positive feedback, lady. To be honest, you might want to let R&D refine that into a weapon. Like an inverted flashbang. Overpower people with silence instead of sound.”

“That’s… a great idea. I’ll pass the suggestion to the necessary parties. In the meantime, I’ll use a more conventional method of spy-deterrence. Do you trust me enough to plant an identifier spell on your psychia?”

Psychia: the SOUL. Every bone in his being cringed at the thought.

Fear? Anxiety? He doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling anymore. It’s a giant ball of unease, rattling from the inside. Even The Phantom shuddered, whispering pleadings to refuse her touch.

Yet, that’s what he signed up for. The contract demanded full cooperation with Anya Willowherb.

In the end, Dust turned his head to the side and grumbled: “Quit the politeness. Just do what you need to do.”

He could tell from the sound of her footsteps that she’s getting closer. Still, he avoided eye contact to suppress the temptation of attacking back.

She’s within an arm’s length now, close enough to see her shadow on the floor.

“It will only be temporary,” she said, “I promise.”

The tip of her fingers touched his chest. From there, a warm, gentle sensation bloomed.

Curiosity had overridden his initial discomfort. Observing his white shirt, he could see the shape of a tiny shepherd’s hook shining through.

Once she was done, Anya reached for a hidden pocket on her cloak to take out a smaller, simpler scroll. She laid it out on the floor and stomped on it. The impact activated the magic, and a hum resonated throughout the walls and floors.

Dust heard a loud, high-pitched ‘OW!’ from a nearby window. That sounded like Flowey alright.

She smiled, enjoying the results. “Now our enemy is no longer close enough to eavesdrop. To explain: anyone not identified by my symbol will be pushed out. Unfortunately, the scroll has a battery power of only 15 minutes.”

“That’s more than enough time.” Also, Dust wouldn’t want that strange magic to stay on his chest longer than it needed to.

“Do you need a crowbar?” asked Anya.

“Nah,” The skeleton summoned a bone and held it like a knife. “I have something quicker.”

With the aid of this Karma-imbued tool, he sliced around the perimeters of the container. After making one round, he easily slid the lid off to the side. “And done.”

The presence of sawdust caught the woman’s attention. Rubbing it between her fingers, she asked: “Is this… disintegration?”

“Yup. Right on the money.”

“Who taught you this magic?”

“Nobody,” Dust replied, “Apparently, I’m born with it. Don’t think I’ve seen or heard of any other monster with this power either.”

“Interesting. Either way, let’s look inside. Time is of the essence.”

Both of them took a peek. Curled up in a nest of shredded paper was a small-bodied white puppet, surrounded by extra goodies consisting of magical tools, bundles of clothes, boxes of pasta, bags of onions, and two packets of dried meat.

Anya sighed as she picked up the pasta box. “No wonder it was heavier than I thought. Oh silly Stephan, you could have just arranged a grocery delivery for tomorrow…”

“Heh. At least I don’t need to worry about my dinner tonight. Provided we survive the day, that is.”

For a moment, he wondered if these gifts of edibles came at the cost of Stephan’s family. That farmer was so joyfully generous despite having a wife and three kids. If they had to go hungry to help this so-called ‘hero’, Dust would rather return the food.

But, the mission comes first. Dust reached for the puppet and pulled it out of the crate. Magic pulsed quietly beneath the clay-like surface.

“Y’know,” he said, “When I wrote down a ‘dummy decoy’, I was expecting a regular mannequin and not a magical doll. How do we use this?”

Anya replied, “Attune yourself with the doll by implanting a piece of your magic. There’s a slot on the back side of the torso.”

Flipping the puppet, he saw the aforementioned slot. The concept reminded him of a vending machine. One insert of magic later and the puppet began to rattle.

Dust dropped the doll in fright, but instead of collapsing into a pile of haphazard limbs, it regained balance and stood on its feet. It then formed a face in the exact likeness to his own.

The uncanny resemblance was both amazing and outright creepy. “…This warrants a ‘what the fuck’, you know that? Of course, it may have my good looks, but can it run and jump like me?”

This time, Anya summoned a full-sized crimson shepherd’s hook. She pointed the stick forwards towards the wall to command the puppet.

Dust watched the puppet run towards the wall, jump, and kick into a backflip: an impressive show of nimbleness and physical control.

“Damn. That’s way better than I expected. What do you usually use this for?”

“Training.” Anya petted the doll on the head. “We’ve also tried to use these to host salvaged human souls. Unfortunately, once a person loses their true body, their remaining lifespan is very limited. Creating a stable host is one of a necromancer’s main life goals, Willowherb or otherwise.”

“Transhumanism, huh? It certainly fits the legends of resurrecting the dead. But I thought nobody can pass on under the effects of The Celestial Calamity? Wouldn’t they continue to persist in the puppet?”

“Nothing escapes your observation, I see. From what we’ve recorded so far, their minds continue to decay despite their apparent permanence. I can’t declare that as a success.”

“Still a bust, huh? Welp. Let’s focus back on our mission. Time to dress this fellow up for the big show.”

 

* * *

 

In the farmhouse attic, hiding underneath an anti-magic black cloak, Dust kept his eye on the screen of Anya’s laptop. It’s wirelessly connected to a camera strapped on her body. Science was a form of magic in itself, Dust thought.

A few months ago -- on September 15 -- he found the remains of a decimated squad of soldiers in those very same woods. Anya believed that they were ground to bits under the mistaken belief that it would prevent necromancy. There was one escapee, but he was already at death’s door. Lieutenant Morrison was his name. Dust gave that young human his final rest there.

Under the guise of reclaiming the lost, Anya would attempt to enter that zone. The doll posed as the ‘guide’, leading her to the correct location.

The Phantom hovered over Dust’s shoulder, trying to watch the screen. “Amazing! That puppet looks exactly like you!”

“It’s as the saying goes: ‘The clothes make the man’. Dress the decoy in my same old clothes, and there’s another ‘me’.”

“Come to think of it, brother. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your blue hoodie before. What are you wearing now anyway? I wanna see, I wanna see!”

Since he’s feeling upbeat, Dust obliged to The Phantom’s request. He lifted his cloak a bit to show his replacement clothes: military fatigues and tactical gear. Nothing fancy. Remove his baseball cap and he could pass himself as a member of the army.

Glancing up and down, The Phantom rubbed his chin. “…I almost couldn’t recognize you. And I’m your brother! How in the world is your entire identity tied to your goofy sense of fashion?!”

“Heh. What can I say? I worked hard on my image.”

Deep down, Dust harboured concerns that he would lose the last scraps of his identity if he changed the way he dressed. Who would he be without his character? Could he still recognize himself in the mirror?

He told himself that now was not the time to get distracted. Soon, Anya should enter the grounds where her comrades died.

Right on cue, she stopped walking. The woman planted her staff on the ground and let out a loud command: “Hark, o’ fallen comrades! Rise from thy fitful slumber!”

Her symbol flashed many times within the forest foliage, at the places where her soldiers met their end. Red wisps rose from the ground, transforming into the rough shapes of their former selves.

They began to speak:

“…Captain Anya?…”
“…It’s good to see you again…”
“…Lieutenant Morrison… I don’t sense him… Is he trapped?…”

She replied, “An ally necromancer has already retrieved Lieutenant Morrison. Hurry, reside in my body.”

The ghostly troops saluted in unison: “…Yes Ma’am!…”

But then, a thorny briar lashed out from the thick of the woods, aiming towards the imitation of ‘Dust Sans’. The hooded puppet dodged exactly how the real one would have dodged.

Rumbles soon echoed from both the distant forest and the laptop’s speakers. An angry childish voice yelled from the refuge of the foliage. “I knew you would come here you… you… witch? Yes! A witch! Only a witch would team up with that Trashbag!”

Battle, engaged. Upon Anya’s command, the ghosts of her fallen comrades raised their ethereal guns. Bullets of magic shot down the briars that threatened to impale her.

The puppet leapt into the fray, zig-zagging between the lashings of briars and thorns. Anya and her team of rescued souls backed away while providing support fire for the decoy.

That’s Dust’s cue to grab a metal transport case. Now all he needed to wait was for the window of opportunity.

The Phantom commented, “I’m surprised that the slow human is still alive.”

“She survived that hellish castle for a reason, I suppose.”

Watching another person participate in active combat was more disjointed than Dust expected. He could make sense of her actions, but he didn’t experience the sights, sounds, and sensations that drive her decisions.

Everything seemed so… plain. Nothing like the rush of being in the thick of it all, where time seemed to bend around his every move.

One of the vines whipped out from the left and impaled ‘him’. At first, the bratty flower let out a triumphant exclamation of victory. But after giving the so-called victim a quick shake, he realised that he had been tricked.

Flowey’s exasperated scream could be heard for miles. And thus, the con was complete.

The Phantom, puzzled by the outcome, asked: “Why is the flower so angry?”

“Because we’ve wasted his efforts. It’ll take him at least another week for him to recover. Anya gets her souls, and I get a helpless flower. Win-win.”

“Ooooooh! Brilliant, brilliant!”

Dust readjusted his hat and cloak. “Time to go, bro.”

From the depths of his aged memories, he recalled the image of his secret laboratory. The dimensions of the room, the colour of the floor, the location of the drawers… and above all, the cloth-covered machine that he had left behind.

Target location, locked. Teleport, initiated.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in darkness. Every breath he took was frigid and stale, as expected.

He summoned a bone and made it glow. Looking around, he confirmed that it was indeed his old lab, untouched for the past five years.

“Glad to know this place is still intact.”

Chapter 10

Notes:

In Chapter 9, Anya said that they have discovered methods on turning vibrations into sound. It may seem fantastical scifi fantasy nonsense, but this science is real.

This link leads to Veritasium's video titled "Can You Recover Sound From Images?" The answer is "yes" and they'll show how.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUzB0L0mSCI

Chapter Text

When everyone prepared to migrate to The Surface, the then-Sans thought that it’s time to leave his past behind.

He doesn’t know what compelled him to make that decision. He had all the capabilities and resources to make a copy of his secret lab and move everything there. Yet, he chose to neglect that possibility.

Was it hope? Was it laziness? Or was it merely whimsy?

Five years later, the owner returned with a different alias. The lab may not have changed… but he certainly did.

The Phantom floated into view, curiously inspecting every corner of the hidden laboratory. “Wowie! I never knew you had a hideout like this! What did you do here?”

“I don’t remember anymore,” Dust looked towards the curtain. “I remember dumping that broken down machine over there. Found it on top of the garbage pile one day. Felt like it’s something special. Can’t figure out how to fix it though.”

“Does it matter?”

“Depends. It may or may not be relevant to what I’m looking for. First, I need to find my way to New Home. Get to the root of the problem, y’know.”

“What is this ‘root’ anyway? You’re being annoyingly vague, as usual.”

“Papyrus told me to find him ‘in the gap between realities', 'in the realm of dreams’. We’re supposed to have a common memory over this, yet I don’t remember any such thing.”

Dust climbed up the stairs to the exit and used his silver key, tarnished black from age and neglect. In the back of his mind, he thought the object reflected his heart.

He tried to turn the knob… but it refused to budge. There’s a strange elastic resistance whenever he tried to twist the key.

“…This ain’t ice,” he commented. “More like a rubber band. Or… a vine…”

Realizing what may lay ahead, Dust withdrew the key and carefully stepped away from the door.

“I think I need to use a shortcut.”

The Phantom then asked: “How’d you know that it’s safe to teleport? One wrong move and you might find yourself in a dusty pickle.”

“Oh, I’m not using that kind of a ‘shortcut’. This one is much more mundane.”

With telekinesis, Dust pulled down a section of the ceiling. A rope ladder rolled out from a hatch.

Amazed, The Phantom exclaimed: “You had this all the while?!”

“Yup. Don’t like to use it, though. As you can imagine, it requires quite a bit of effort.”

And so, he grabbed the ladder. Rope-types were easier to hide and maintain, but they have an annoying habit of wobbling.

Up, up, and up he climbed. For some strange reason, it wasn’t as tiring as he remembered. Perhaps his roughened lifestyle built some stamina into his bones.

At the very top, Dust emerged from the corner of his former bedroom. Once upon a time, his bed covered up the exit.

Against the soft cave-lights of Snowdin, the shadow of thorny briars cast against the wall. The invasive vine had busted through the window. Ice, snow and thorns encrusted the interiors of his former dwelling.

Fortunately, the balcony wasn’t blocked. Dust stepped out there to take a good look of what had become of Snowdin.

How the town had changed. Briars choked the buildings, crawling out of windows and punching holes in places where they shouldn’t be. Heavy snow also blanketed everything, causing some of the rooftops to collapse from the sheer amount of weight. A lack of maintenance only added to the fragility of the broken buildings.

“Dammit,” Dust cursed under his breath. “The briars have infested the whole Underground.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes. A deadly problem. I’m treading on thin ice here.”

From there, he teleported down to safe ground and started zipping from clearing to clearing. Navigating the town without touching the briars was a maze in itself. He didn’t want to risk tripping any alarms that the bratty flower had laid out.

Soon, he stood before the entrance to The Ruins. The original door was smashed down by a choking amount of thorns, completely plugging up the entrance.

“Why the detour?” The Phantom asked back. “Isn’t this the opposite direction of New Home?”

“I needed to confirm if the alternative exit was available for use. Looks like I’m out of luck. Welp, off to check Waterfall.”

For that, Dust doubled back through Snowdin Town. Midway down the main road, he stopped in front of a particular establishment, gazing with longing eyes.

That place used to be Grillby’s bar. Although the signboard was long gone, he still recognized the location.

The Phantom commented, “You really loved that place, huh? Why? The food there was always so greasy…”

“The bar’s owner was a good man. Relaxing atmosphere too. Helps forget the troubles around you.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Always.”

He shook off the nostalgia to trudge forward. The sooner he leaves Snowdin, the better. That’s what he told himself.

He arrived at the cave that separated the icy cold from the warm humidity. Waterfall should be right ahead. But…

“W-what the hell?” he muttered.

…The area ahead had become completely submerged. Dams of briars had choked the rivers, causing the water to accumulate and stall. Algae had bloomed in the stagnant water, tainting it a sickly green. Nevermind the stench.

Rubbing his forehead, he grumbled, “Great, Waterfall has become Waterfull.”

In which The Phantom asked, “Are we going to swim? I’m positive skeletons can’t drown.”

“Nope, not touching the water if I can help it. I don’t think this case is waterproof. Losing my tools to wetness would just ruin the whole plan.”

Irritated, the ghost started to whine. “So what do we do now? We can’t do this, we can’t do that! It’s so frustrating!”

“Come, follow me,” he winked, “I think I know a shortcut.”

“Weren’t you already using shortcuts? You were teleporting all over the place!”

“Oh, I’m not using that kind of a ‘shortcut’. This one is much more fantastical.”

They backtracked a little bit, heading towards an old sentry point. Back in the good old days, Undyne used to complain about repurposing this defensive outpost into a shop.

Right behind the stall was a shadowy portal with a water-like surface. It’s been sitting there out in the open for as long as Dust remembered, yet no other monster was able to see it.

Using that shortcut brought him straight to his Hotland hotdog stand. Dust stood at the edge of a cliff. He was certain that this used to be a road.

Not even the heat, possible toxic fumes, and blistering magma could stop the nightmarish briars from overrunning the place. It appeared that they had drilled through whole sections of Hotland. The once connected pathways had become leaning pillars of broken rock, standing in the lava by their lonesome amongst the fire-defying plants.

Alphys’ Lab… ceased to exist. The site where it once proudly stood embraced the primordial liquid.

Dust said, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lab was built from minerals extracted from igneous rock. It wouldn’t surprise me if it returned to its origin.”

The Phantom rubbed his chin, “Is nobody going to question the fact that those gigantic thorns are not burning or melting? I thought all plant-life was flammable.”

“Those same thorns survived a military air-strike, bro.”

“That… that’s a good point.”

“Either way, Hotland isn’t my goal. I just hope that the next shortcut isn’t compromised.”

The hidden portal in question wasn’t very far away. Dust counted his lucky stars that nothing happened to it.

One hop later, he stepped into New Home: the former capital of Monsterkind.

A still, silent air hung over the grey, hollow city. Every building here used to house life. Bachelors, couples, families, widows, widowers, orphans…

They’re all gone now.

For some reason, the briars didn’t infest New Home. Dust saw some around the edges of the city, but most concentrated on the main road towards Asgore’s castle. He began to wonder if the mastermind could only focus his efforts in familiar places.

That’s a mystery for another day. In the meantime, he must search for his final destination. Dust teleported to a high vantage point and started scouting.

He muttered to himself about the possible landmarks, occasionally checking the cave ceiling over his head for a specific formation of rocks. “It should be between the church, a small fountain, and a burger joint… Nope… not here…. Not here either…”

The sharp, pointed rooftop of the church caught his eye. It shouldn’t be far from that spot.

“Getting closer…”

At last, he found what he was looking for. Right beneath the brightest star in the undersky stood a building just like any other: a humble apartment with a flat roof.

One zip later, and his boot touched the concrete surface. Confident that he had found what he was looking for, Dust descended a stairwell into a hallway filled with several apartment doors. He was looking for the first one on the left. No one would ever return, so he destroyed the locks without hesitation. Didn’t need to care about preserving property.

“Here we are, bro. Welcome to our childhood home.”

“Oh?!” The Phantom floated around, checking out the space with great curiosity. “It’s so… so… different? Why can’t I recognize anything?”

“The house was sold to someone else when we moved to Snowdin. But how it looks doesn’t matter. All I need is the location.”

Dust set the metal transport case down and stretched his shoulders. “Time to get to work.”

He began unpacking the contents. First, he took out an electronic tablet and a large lithium battery. The items seemed to be at least five years old. He wondered if Anya was being frugal, or if production of advanced electronics stopped due to The Calamity.

After that, he laid out the spell scroll prepared by the Willowherb Society. It’s more complex than the ancient version, taking into account the need to process a new factor: sound.

And finally, the catalyst: Papyrus’ scarf, the genuine article, still carrying some of the original owner’s dust.

The Phantom crossed his arms as he inspected the setup before him. Skeptical, he questioned: “Are you sure she’s not conning you, Sans? This sounds like some storybook magic.”

“It’s all about vibrations, bro. Long story short, the theory checks out. We’ll see if it actually works.”

“Fine. Then, do you know where you want to start?” the ghost asked. “I don’t think your batteries can last for years and years.”

“My babybone days. I… I vaguely remember getting into trouble with some adults. Then, I stopped going to the regular nurseries. I’d like to know why.”

Scroll, activate. The magic circle started to shine, projecting holographic images into the empty living room and unfolding the scarf’s story.

A long, long time ago, there lived a skeleton couple. The husband bore amicable good looks, while his wife was an elegant beauty.

The Phantom gasped in surprise. “That man looks just like… me!”

“Heh,” Dust smirked. “That’s our Dad. I will always remember him as a calmer version of Papyrus. His name was Times Roman.”

Back then, the scarf was still whole, its beauty matching its owner. “See the lady? That’s Mom. Helvetica. Y’know, I still can’t believe I’m her son. Look at me, short and dumpy. Look at her, tall and elegant.”

“But she has the same face-type as you. More flesh than bone. And I bet you’ll look dashing if you dress properly for once!”

“Heh. You got a point.”

The husband sat beside his wife. “The holidays are starting, Helvi,” he said. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“I think I want to try fan-dancing again, Roman,” she replied. “It’s been too long since I’ve done so. My bones have stiffened from working at the school cafeteria. Figured I could make up for lost time and regain what I’ve lost. But… what if I can’t?”

“Whether you’re fan-dancing or not, you’ll always be the most beautiful woman in my life.” The husband smooched her on the cheek, smiling warmly. “Why don’t we have a little tango in the bedroom to prepare?”

“Right now?”

“If it improves your mood. We can even do it right here~”

The moment his parents kissed passionately, Dust halted the playback. “Okay. That was way too much unnecessary information. At least the sound is working.”

The Phantom blinked a few times before asking: “Sans, how could anyone do the tango in that tiny bedroom? There’s not enough space. Wait… does this have something to do with making babies?”

An answer, denied. “Moooving on.”

Dust finetuned the spell to fast forward a few months at a time, hoping to catch a glimpse of a clue to his missing memories.

He expected to see more of his parents, maybe even himself…

…Instead an unpleasant ‘thing’ stood amongst the family .

A white abominable entity, ever flowing, ever churning, stood in the middle of the living room.

It twisted. Shredded. Rippled. Shifted. Yet, it never fell apart.

Dust clutched his head in pain. Shockwaves of sharpness zapped back and forth within his skull. The mere sight of this abomination was like staring into a glaring noonday sun at the height of Summer. Searing. Blinding.

Then it attempted to initiate speech. ‘Attempt’, emphasized. What came out of the creature was nothing but screeches and gurgles, scratching and shrieking.

Disgusting. Utterly disgusting. That thing was an affront to his senses. Its mere existence threatened to rip reality apart.

Dust muttered, “What… what the actual fuck even is that thing…?”

The Phantom asked, “Sans? You said some really dirty words there. That’s so unlike you. Are you alright?”

“Can’t you see it?” Pointing towards the abomination, he said, “It’s standing right there. God, my stomach is attempting to eject upwards just looking at it.”

“No. There’s absolutely nothing there. I only see Mom, Dad, and a babybone. I think you’re that child.”

That was a curious note. Dust felt rather relieved. “Huh. I’m glad you don’t have to suffer the same torture.”

For his own health and sanity, Dust moved his focus away from the creature and toward his younger self. It seemed that the aches subsided as long as he didn’t stare directly at the offending entity.

Little toddler Sans sat on the floor, solving a complex puzzle cube. It was the kind that would stump adults. Beneath that wide, cheeky grin was a genius brain firing all its cylinders. When the child solved the puzzle, he let out a high-pitched ‘Yay!’ and proudly showed his handiwork to his mother.

“You’re such a clever boy!” Helvetica praised her son as she picked him up. After putting the puzzle aside, she began bouncing the boy on her knee. The toddler loved the illusion of riding a galloping steed.

All the while, that thing appeared to be observing the toddler. It started to speak in ear-grating screeches again, seemingly expressing a form of curious interest.

Times Roman replied like a normal person would. “We found this out just a couple of days ago, when I bought that puzzle box for myself. Sans solved it before I even got a try! If only he’d behaved better at the nursery…”

More screeches and scratches. The spell was unable to render anything intelligible.

“Well… yes. He kept pranking the other kids and made them cry. I don’t know what’s going on with him, [REDACTED]. I thought monster children don’t become naughty until they’re six years old. But… but Sans is only three. And you know, he already was a handful before this! Did you remember the time when he poured ketchup all over himself?!”

Not even that entity’s name could be mentioned, it seemed. Dust observed a rather lengthy pause in the middle of Roman’s speech. Curious. It had to be a person, he thought. Otherwise, his father wouldn’t be having an intelligent conversation.

After the glitched one spoke in reply, the father started to frown in concern. “…What? I thought necromancers are a myth. You can’t be serious about us skeletons descending from humans! I mean, that’s like saying horse monsters descended from actual horses. Though I don’t know what a horse actually looks like…”

The mysterious being continued to persuade. Despite the parents’ skepticism, they weren’t entirely dissuaded either.

“Roman,” said the mother, “If what [REDACTED] says is true, the usual nurseries aren’t equipped to handle our son. He needs a different approach.”

Turning to the figure, she said: “You may take him under your wing. My husband and I will need some time to discuss our terms, however. Is that alright?”

The entity… agreed.

The spell suddenly glowed brighter than usual. Dust felt a slip on his grip of the magic, as if someone yanked the controls away from him.

However, The Phantom didn’t respond or react. Perhaps he thought that it was all part of the plan? In order to not alarm the ghostly brother, Dust played it cool, pretending that this new development was of his own volition.

Days, months, years within the childhood home zoomed past like a tape on fast-forward. As abruptly as it began, it stopped. On that day, the unknown blob appeared to be wrapping bandages around Helvetica’s right arm. Roman looked on with great worry.

“What just happened?” asked the distraught father. “Helvi found Sans crying on the ground in pain. When she tried to pick him up, some strange magic burned her arm! Then he… he… Teleported! I saw him hopping across the neighbouring roofs before he straight up vanished! The Royal Guard have yet to find him. What if he’s stuck somewhere? Or dangling over the Hotland magma???”

In contrast with the father’s panic, the entity was outright elated. Each sore sound and nondescript action somehow conveyed joyous excitement beyond comprehension.

Roman was both confused and offended. “Awakening? The Seer’s Eye? [REDACTED], you’re not making any sense! My wife is injured and my son is missing! How is that a good thing???”

Someone started knocking on the door. The image of Roman hurried over to answer it. Not long after, he returned with relief on his face.

“The Royal Guards have found Sans!” he exclaimed, “They took him to the hospital. C’mon, Helvi. We should get your wounds checked out too.”

His parents and the glitched one left the house as soon as possible. The spell wouldn't render anything outside of its designated field.

Shocked, Dust muttered: “That… that was real? I thought it was just a nightmare.”

“Hmmmm?” The Phantom crossed his hands. “Care to explain?”

“I think I was about seven years old? Maybe eight? I was playing with a ball on the rooftop. Then, I had a massive headache. Thought my skull was gonna split into two. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital bed.”

“What about Mom’s injury?”

“She told me that she got it from a workplace accident. Some mishap with hot frying oil.” Dust knocked his own skull in regretful frustration. “Dammit. I can’t believe I fell for that lie.”

The ghost sighed in a disappointed tone. “I guess our lying habits had to come from somewhere. We’re never truly honest with each other, are we?”

That rubbed Dust the wrong way. “Hey, keep Mom out of this. She’s not here to defend herself anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean we didn’t inherit it.”

“Fine.” Not in the mood to argue, the elder brother asked: “What do you suggest then?”

And so The Phantom cheerfully demanded: “Look for more information about The Great Papyrus-- I mean me! More about me and less about you. I want to see what happened when I was a babybones, nyeh heh heh!”

“Alright, alright. Maybe that would turn up more clues about our mystery man too.”

Dust moved the spell’s timescale forward to when he was about nine years old. Dear mother was pregnant with her second son. Dressed in her maternity clothes, she caressed her large belly in deep concern.

Roman just came home with a bag of groceries. “Helvi? How are you feeling?”

“Physically, I’m fine. But… I’m worried about our unborn boy.”

“Because of the ultrasound?”

“Yes,” Helvetica replied, “Do you still remember what happened to Sans? When his left eye turned cyan? Apparently it’s some kind of a recessive power of our kind. The chances were supposed to be low, yet somehow we’ve gotten that gene twice! Would our second son experience the same agony and terror?”

Dear father placed the groceries on the table and sat beside his wife. Holding her hand, he reassured, “Don’t worry. He’s making a special spell to make sure that accident doesn’t happen again.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple. Didn’t you notice, Roman? How gleeful [REDACTED] looked? He kept saying that a bright future awaits the second one. Maybe that child will even become the saviour of the Underground.”

“The one who has seen the Surface… I don’t know why our child would be ‘The Angel of Prophecy’. Then again, [REDACTED] is known to go into mad science rambles. Well Helvi, I think it’s all talk and no harm. He’s quirky like that.”

“No harm, you say?” Helvetica grumbled cynically. “Maybe he just didn’t have the chance to inflict any harm to anyone. I fear if this keeps up, we’ll get swept up by his delusions.”

“D-dear, there’s no need to be so pessimistic. What if we look at this from another angle? Imagine one day, our second son grows up into The Underground’s Number 1 Hero! I can picture it now, our boy standing tall… and everyone will call him ‘The Great Papyrus’! Has a nice ring to it, right?”

“Well… I suppose. You do have a point.”

‘Hero’. Papyrus always dreamed of being a hero. All the while, Dust thought he was inspired by Captain Undyne’s bravery. What if the idea was instilled long before that?

The Phantom started freaking out, flying around the room with excitement. “I was right all along! Destiny! Fame! Glory! All mine! Nyeh heh heh heh heh heh!!!”

While the ghost celebrated, the reveal bothered Dust: Why didn’t Papyrus become the hero then? What changed, and when?

He glanced at the estimated battery life. It’s almost gone: there’s only enough energy for one more slice of history. He’s got to act fast.

A flash of inspiration flipped through his mind. It took the shape of a certain black book. Deceivingly simple, yet its knowledge was invaluable.

Without asking for any further input from The Phantom, Dust searched the scarf’s memories for the moment he came to possess the Book of Vanquishing.

The toddler had grown up into a teenager, carrying a responsibility beyond his age. He had a little brother to raise. By this point, his parents had long become dust. His mother’s red scarf -- her heirloom -- was passed down to her eldest child.

Irritated, the teen snapped at the mysterious entity. “Look, I found that book in the Royal Library. I thought it was just some edgy fantasy. How am I supposed to know it’s not make-believe?”

And then, the entity passed a thicker, heavier, and taller red tome into young Sans’ hands.

Dust immediately recognized the cover: it was none other than The Book of Curses.

However, the teenage version of himself had yet to know this terrible truth. The boy asked: “…You want me to verify the contents? I guess if they use the same terminology, they must belong to the same set.”

So the boy began reading through the pages, making commentary along the way, “…The Delta Rune? No. It’s arranged differently. Weird. Um, moving on… The Damned? Yeah. The black book warned about them.”

“Uh… The Crimson Sun, The Bloodstained Moon… This is the summoning spell for The Celestial Calamity itself. Everything matches, one to one. Hey, [REDACTED], why does King Asgore have this book at all? …What do you mean it’s ‘not important’?!”

Young Sans glared at the other person. “Alright, I’m gonna make you a deal. You want Papyrus to become a hero, right? Then let him grow up with a healthy foundation. No shortcuts. In exchange for giving Papyrus a normal childhood, I will become your secret weapon.”

That’s when the batteries went flat. Without power, the light on the magic circle died down and the holograms vanished. Darkness returned to the empty house.

Dust sat down on the ground, dumbfounded. “I… I was a secret weapon…? I thought I was a scientist…”

“What’s so bad about being a weapon?” The Phantom questioned. “It means you’re powerful! Deadly! Useful! Isn’t that why you’re alive today?”

“No… no there’s more to it. If I wasn’t a scientist, why would I have that broken machine under my old Snowdin house?”

An epiphany dawned upon him. The drawers back at his underground lab. Photos. Pictorial evidence. He knew he had left them behind. Since the location remained fresh in his memory, he hopped right over.

Dust then rushed over to his drawers. With a shining bone in hand, he opened them up and started rummaging. The first thing he dug up was an old badge. He quickly placed that aside since he couldn’t remember what it was awarded for.

Then, there was the photo album. While searching through them, he found pages and pages of people in lab coats. Scientists. Co-workers. Posing together with a youngster named Sans.

“I was always trying to return to those happier times,” Dust muttered. “But I couldn’t. One day… our workplace vanished. Everyone lost their jobs. Lost their purpose. We parted ways and never kept contact. Why? Nobody knows. It just sort of… happened.”

The deeper he dug into his past, the more questions arose.

At the end of the album, he found the group photo of the monsters who made it to The Surface. Frisk stood right in the middle, stoic as always.

That one picture was too much for Dust to bear. He slammed the album shut to avoid the pain.

It was then that a card fell out of the back flap. It’s a badly-scrawled drawing of three smiling people. Written on it were the words: ‘don’t forget’.

“Mom. Dad. And… a man wearing black clothes. Who is he? Why is he so important that he’s standing next to my parents?”

When he checked the lab photos again, he couldn’t find anyone that matched the drawing. But he did find something else. “Wait a minute… What’s this weird blur? Was it a defect in the processing? Or…? Ugh, there’s not enough light here. Better examine them back home.”

After packing the album, Dust turned his attention to the curtain. Pulling it aside, it revealed a steel mangled husk of a strange device. It’s hard to figure out what it used to be, and that could be part of the reason why he could never repair it.

Digging into the wreckage, he found a piece of a screen monitor.

“A viewing device?” Dust rubbed his chin. “I did think it was a computer of sorts. Or a processing machine. Maybe I was on the wrong tangent.”

“Sans?” The Phantom hovered over a gap, “I think there’s an extra chamber within the machine. Maybe we should try to pry it open.”

Pry it open? That’s something he hadn’t tried yet. He was so careful in preserving whatever integrity the casing had left, he didn’t dare to do so.

Using the bonelight as a lever, he tried to pry the metal open to access the hidden compartment. It was more difficult than Dust expected. If it once had a hinge, it may have been turned into a useless lump by all sorts of assorted damages.

Groaning, Dust said, “This is taking too much work. Stand back, I’m going to make a clean cut.”

Using his Karma, he carefully cut through the outer edges of the machine. Metallic dust trickled down to the floor as he worked.

After he finished, Dust used his telekinesis to move the whole piece aside. It revealed a strange inner mechanism, packed with wires and parts, connected to a central indent.

“…This hole… It’s big enough to fit a person.”

Inspecting the unusual indent, he noticed that its walls were engraved by layers and layers of magical scripts and spells. They lay dormant without any source of power.

The ghost commented in great curiosity: “My, oh my… that machine is chock-full of curses!”

Somehow, someway, The Book of Curses served as one of the foundational principles in its creation. Could that explain why Sans the Scientist couldn’t repair it?

In an effort to find answers, Dust found only more questions. To progress, he started to think that he needed to change his mindset.

“I see. I know what to do now. I shouldn’t have tried to fix it. No… I should have dismantled it. Starting from scratch, I’ll reverse engineer this device and build a better one.”

Chapter 11

Notes:

Happy Halloween, even though this is not a halloween chapter. Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

February 20, 2021.

Six days after the big jape on Flowey the Flower…

Dust slept face down on his desk, where piles of papers served as an unwilling pillow. His consciousness ebbed to and fro, snoozing from his fatigued bones but stirring from the uncomfortable position.

Need to sleep, yet need to work. It was a never-ending cycle of conflict.

Then, he heard someone knocking on the door. The Phantom immediately hovered over his skull, trying to wake him up like his brother would do.

“Saaaaaaaaaans! You have visitors! Now stop being such a lazybone and get to it!”

Groaning, Dust muttered: “Okay, okay. I’m up.”

The pencil rolled out of his grip. It had shortened to an inch from use. They’re hard to come by in this post-apocalyptic world. Like everything else, every bit was precious.

Sketches of his schematics came out better than expected. They were understandable, unlike his garbage handwriting. Though, he definitely needed a longer ruler and a proper compass.

Then there was the salvaged machine. It will continue to take up space in his bedroom until he can properly dispose of it.

Crossing his hands, The Phantom floated towards the window. “It’s that woman again, isn’t it? I missed the times when we chased out unwanted guests. Since when have you become so soft that a lady lowers your guard?”

“A contract is a contract. Anya Willowherb is the only official member of the guild-military alliance that I will deal with.”

“Hmph! It always starts with ‘just business’.” The Phantom emphasised his displeasure by using his fingers to make quotation marks in the air. “Next thing you know, a forbidden romance blooms between questionable colleagues!”

“Nice string of jokes, but you’re totally overestimating me here, bro. Fiction may be based in reality, but not all reality matches fiction. Just hide if you don’t want to meet her.”

“And hide, I will! Good morning to you.” The apparition vanished after a big aggravated huff.

Observing his own clothes, Dust thought there was perhaps a reason why The Phantom suspected a growing fondness. He wore the same military garb for the past six days. The enchanted cloak was handy for the cold winter nights as well.

But that choice was only out of practicality. Dust didn’t have any spare clothing other than the ones on his back.

“Silly brother.” Dust chuckled to himself and shook his head. “There’s only one woman I dare to love, and her name is Toriel.”

He caught himself speaking as though she’s still alive. A slight sting pricked his heart.

“Welp. Kept Anya waiting long enough.”

He went down, opened the door, and let the masked necromancer inside.

A villager made a simple pot of soup to go along with some day-old bread. Dust had stopped wondering about the meals. They were provided as per agreement, and the Willowherb were willing to accept it as a necessary expense. It would be rude to turn down their generosity.

After warming the pot by the fire, they had breakfast together. The staleness didn’t matter anymore now that the bread had been soaked.

Dust thought he would test Anya by staying silent for as long as he wished during the meal. Would she get perturbed by the silence and try to strike a friendly chat?

Time ticked by and nothing was exchanged. If the guest was Stephan, he would be bubbling away with all sorts of tales within the first minute.

It was a nice change of pace. This meant that she’s prioritizing his comfort over friendliness.

“You alright?” Dust asked. “Meeting your old crewmates again and all.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she replied. “Have you made any progress on your research?”

“Yup. I did. And that’s why you’re here. To give an expert opinion on curses.”

As per Dust’s military contract, Stephan was sent to install a fax machine in the farmhouse two days ago. It’s meant to send letters to the corresponding receiver at the Willowherb’s village.

For the man’s own safety, Dust intentionally stayed out of sight while the farmer did his work. The Phantom won’t shut up about taking his juicy Red Soul after all. Whatever vague benefit it might bring, he was too lazy to try.

After the brief reminiscence, the skeleton asked: “How’s Stephan and his family?”

For that, Anya giggled. “His wife was rather annoyed that they’re on potatoes again. Given the choice, she prefers wheat.”

“Heh, I knew he was going to get in trouble with the missus. No worries. I saved the last box of pasta as a peace offering to her. Trade ‘em with spuds if you want. I’m not a picky eater.”

Jests aside, it seemed that the previous year’s wheat crop didn’t do so well. Winter had yet to pass, and they still had to get through Spring as well. Winter wheat ripens during the Summer, while spring wheat will only be ready during the Fall.

Can the world wait any longer? Dust did not know.

With breakfast finished, he showed Anya the mysterious machine and explained what he had discovered so far. How he found the scrap, what he saw, the bits of his past…

…And yet, they still have a lot more to do. Showing his sketches, Dust said: “I tried my best to understand the machine, but I’m afraid I lack experience. There’s a lot of stuff that’s not translatable with the Book of Curses. That’s where you come in.”

Anya began reading through the copied diagrams. “I think I see the problem. These are all custom-made curses written in a code. In turn, that code is a cypher of modern English.”

“Is it a closer match to the Willowherb craft?”

“No, I’m afraid. It’s very much its own thing. Whoever built this machine must be quite an inventor.”

Knowing who she referred to, Dust muttered, “The mysterious entity in my memories…”

Although he had already anticipated another roadblock, a sense of frustration lingered. He needed the machine remade in order to research the past, yet there was nobody alive who could properly understand it. No wonder he didn’t bother to repair that trash heap.

There was but one path he could take. Being on The Surface provided opportunities that didn’t originally exist in The Underground.

“Hey,” said Dust, “You guys have an R&D, right? If they’re willing to share their knowledge, I might be able to crack this nut open.”

Anya chuckled. “I don’t think they could turn down The Lone Defender’s personal request. Expect the fax machine to work overtime by the evening.”

“Sweet.” Dust breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s nice to have something sailing smoothly for once.”

“There… is one detail that I’ve gleaned from my observation. It’s not the most pleasant either.”

“Oh? Tell me anyway. That’s why we’re here at all.”

“Whoever designed this machine was prepared to entomb someone inside its steel coffin. Forever.”

There goes Dust’s little happy moment, replaced with sombre concern. “Go on…”

The necromancer pointed her finger at the inner edges of the mechanisms. “See this centralization of circuitry around the shape of a person? It’s a common feature on sacrificial spells from the 15th century onwards. Either their lifeforce flows outwards to power a larger object, or an external power source keeps their soul artificially alive.”

“…Huh.” Dust referred back to his sketch. “So my first step is finding out if I’m looking at an input or an output.”

“It can always be both. All it takes is the flip of a switch.” Turning her attention to Dust, she asked: “Are you sure you want to use this machine on yourself? With such a dangerous circuit as its core, there’s a chance that using it could be fatal.”

Shrugging, he nonchalantly replied: “Eh. Not like there’s a choice. It won’t work for a human for sure. I’ve found strings of code that demand magical eyes. Similar to mine.”

“I see…”

Her disappointment rang rather soundly to Dust’s ears. “‘Sup? Thought of using the machine instead?”

The human woman stared at the person-shaped hole. “There are many humans out there who could replace me. Meanwhile, you’re the last of monsterkind. If anything happens to you, I don’t think I can answer to my superiors.”

“Welp. Tell them this: I’ll take responsibility for my own decisions. You ain’t got a say on what I do. So, nobody should blame you for anything.”

“Thank you. I’m truly grateful.”

Anya took his statements as words of encouragement. Not what Dust intended, but he accepted that result.

 

* * *

 

March 9, 2021.

Spring was around the corner. Judging from Flowey’s past habits, his next attempt may happen right after the snow completely melts.

Meanwhile, the machine’s reconstruction plodded at a slow and steady pace. Between the calm moments of peaceful science, there were moments of bloody violence.

On some days, it’s yet another bandit gang. Typically looters. Most ran away upon the first recognition of their mistake. Those that dared to fight back were sent to an early grave.

On other days, it’s deer, boars, and assorted wildlife. Rumbles of another Celestial Calamity frightened the beasts, pushing them away from their usual feeding grounds and closer to the farm. Those that encroached on his property became free dinner whenever possible.

Despite everything, the hero raids stopped happening. The military must have issued a statement that this mysterious skeleton out in the fields belonged to their side. Therefore, no one was allowed to touch him.

Dust focused on his soldering work on an additional table in the living room. The machine needed a ton of electronics as its foundation. Forget about applying curses before the base was complete.

Groaning out of boredom, The Phantom lingered at the windowsill. “Saaaaans… Take up some assassination contracts already. I’m bored out of my skull!”

“Hey, we just decapitated a deer yesterday. Since we got a working freezer, we now have more meat than we know what to do with.”

“A deer is nothing compared to a human, and you know that.”

“If you want a higher difficulty, how about a boar?”

“No, no, no! A smart beast is still a beast! I’m talking about strong humans that would make our bones rattle in fear! I’m sure the Hero’s Guild knows some. Yet, we’re stuck here with the boring technical stuff…”

“Heh. That’s work for you.”

After a pause, Dust said: “Y’know, Papyrus loved to create. His handicraft was out of this world. It didn’t matter if it involved metalworking, carpentry, painting, or puzzle-making. Everything creative was his jam.”

“He… did?” asked The Phantom. “I thought he-- I would find those things boring.”

“Why so?”

“Well, I’m athletic… And athletic people don’t like to sit around fiddling with fine crafting! Indeed!”

Dust wondered if he was thinking too much, but he heard a sense of inferiority and embarrassment. It was as though… The Phantom had been caught making a mistake.

Could hallucinations make mistakes? Dust didn’t know, and didn’t care enough to ask.

 

* * *

 

March 29, 2021

Dust crushed the last of Flowey’s reanimated dead under his boot. Just as he predicted, The Celestial Calamity activated again once the snow had completely melted.

Again, Undyne stood before him.
Again, she accused him of murder.
Again, she wailed from grief.

Same old, same old.

His military fatigues had shown serious signs of wear and tear. Frays. Unmended cuts. Stains of various kinds. Half of it was probably due to Dust’s own neglect.

Once he made sure his job had been done, Dust returned to the farmhouse, wrote a report, and submitted it to the fax machine.

Then, he took a break, lying down on the floor in front of the fireplace.

The wood popped and cracked against the silence. It reminded him of the good old Snowdin days, when King Asgore placed gifts under the Gyftmas tree. However, those memories had started to yellow and fade from age.

The Phantom, a constant love-hate figure, floated around with great curiosity.

“Golly,” said the aberration. “You look bored. Listless. Maybe I’d dare say… wistful? What’s going on?”

Dust replied, “I’m just thinking about something.”

“And…? Oh, don’t tell me you think you’ll ever be free to travel beyond our little base.”

Grunting, Dust snapped back. “Dude. If you can read my mind, why bother asking?”

Offended by the harsh tone, The Phantom retorted: “B-because I want to show that I care, silly brother! Is that a crime?”

Perhaps his response was a bit sharp for no reason. Dust sighed, replying: “…Nah. You didn’t do anything wrong. Sorry.”

 

* * *

 

April 1, 2021.

Stephan had tagged along with Anya for this check-up visit. The moment he walked through the door, he presented Dust a brown parcel tied with a red ribbon.

The jolly farmer exclaimed: “Happy birthday, Mister Sans!”

Instead of lighting up with joy, the skeleton blinked back in mild confusion. “Uh, are you sure you don’t mean ‘April Fools’?”

Ever since Dust was provided with a calendar, he made sure to tally the dates. The pre-printed markers for festivals and holidays indicated that today was April Fools: a human tradition of jokes and pranks.

“W-whaa?” Stephan exclaimed. “Maybe I read the dates wrong. Is it the fourth of January then?”

“That’s Papyrus’ birthday. How did you know?”

“Back when my daughter kept Mister Papyrus’ belongings, I found some dates marked down in his wallet. It was a card that said, ‘P 4 / 1’ and ‘S 1 / 4’. So…”

Puzzle solved, it seemed. Embarrassed, Dust glanced to the side. “Oh. Huh. I guess today really is my birthday. Thanks.”

He accepted the parcel and started to open it. He half-expected a prank of sorts. Maybe a whoopie cushion. Some sort of dud item. Or a parcel in a parcel in a parcel.

But… It was a real gift. Folded neatly within the bundle he discovered a fresh, new hoodie.

Dust unfolded the item and spread it out. It’s made out of wool, tailored to his size. Though there were some differences compared to his original getup. The blue leaned closer to indigo, further darkened by the prominent presence of light grey.

“Whoa. I’m impressed. Who made this?”

Stephan puffed his chest, proudly announcing: “The local tailors! This outfit is a hundred percent sourced from the village. Our sheep, our flax, and even our own dyes! Which is also why it took several weeks to make.”

Such was the nature of manual labour. It was slow, tedious, and time consuming. He could sense the meticulous care that went into this woolen hoodie. Gratefulness, perhaps?

“Pass my thanks, will ya? I can finally get out of this old garb. The militant style is getting stale.”

Just when he said that, Anya presented a plain ribbonless box. “Are you sure about that?” she asked. There was a hint of playfulness in her tone.

Inside that box sat a fresh set of military fatigues and some light grey sleeveless shirts. This time, it came with a bill.

A tab.
A price tag.
A receipt.

He had not dealt with any debt for the past five years. It dawned on him that he was as broke as a pauper.

Dust started to sweat profusely. “Uh… um… I… don’t have a single penny. Do… do you want some deer meat as compensation? Or, maybe I could pick up some hunting jobs for you? What about lab work? Hell, I’ll even do farmwork. No babysitting or childminding, though. I gotta turn those down.”

Stephan almost couldn’t hold his laughter. Even Anya, the ever calm and collected lady, resisted a giggle beneath her lips.

“Flip the bill,” said Anya.

When Dust flipped the paper around, he found a crayon note reading: ‘April Fools!’

Realising that he got pranked, Dust let out a single ‘heh’. Two. And then he burst into a full guffaw.

Unable to keep it in any more, both Stephan and Anya joined the merriness. Their laughter reached far and wide into the quiet nature surrounding the farmhouse.

Dust praised, “That was great! Damn, I can’t remember when was the last time I sweated that much over a debt. Who’s the jokester that thought this up?”

Stephan pointed to Anya. “It’s all her idea, I swear!”

“Learned it in the army,” she added. “And that’s rather tame by their standards. You should have seen the cheeky ones try to tape their mate to a jeep’s bumper.”

“Here I thought everyone there were super serious no-nonsense fellows with brooms up their asses.”

The tales of mischief and comedy continued for the rest of their visit. They even had a pun-battle session, although that quickly became a stand-up recital.

Dust hadn’t had this much fun since forever. Here he thought that he had completely lost touch with the world of comedy, doomed to be a stone-cold humourless Edgebag. Yet it was there all the while, waiting for the right spark.

Since it was his birthday, he treated himself to an early snooze in the bed.

For once, he slept with a happy, contented heart. This day itself was the best birthday gift he had in a long, long time.

Meanwhile, The Phantom was nowhere to be seen.

Notes:

Jeep tape incident is based on a true story shared by a friend who was in the army.

Also a breather for the inevitable darkness ahead.

Edit: I forgot to add the sleeveless undershirts, so that's now included in Anya's package.

Chapter 12

Notes:

What happened between Halloween and today's update?

I got very very sick. Ended up in hospital at one point. Due to that, writing slowed to a crawl in general. Most of the efforts went into my main story, The Golden Quiche: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296460/chapters/12226634

But this chapter had been chugging along as well. It wasn't done until today. Enjoy.

Chapter Text

April 14, 2021.

By the time the work ended, night had long fallen. After two months of intense research, Dust finally finished building the core components of the machine he had salvaged.

In its current iteration, for lack of a better word, it resembled a metal sacrificial altar laying suspiciously in the middle of the living room floor. The power cables and auxiliary wires may make the device look like a high-tech piece of engineering, but the impression remained all the same.

Dust tucked his hands into his pockets. “…And part one is done. Now, I just need to test it.”

The Phantom inspected the work. “Mhmm, I see, I see. Not bad! I didn’t expect you’d be capable of making something this refined. Now if only you could fix that near-illegible handwriting.”

“The writings I’ve faxed were alright, y’know. Had to make sure the other end could read it. Anyways, let’s give this machine a whirl.”

At least, that’s what he said. Dust continued to hesitate, not moving from his spot.

The impatient phantom crossed his arms and asked: “Saaaaaaaannnnssss? Why are you standing there like a statue?”

The shorter skeleton grumbled: “I have only 1HP, okay? And the code demands the caster’s vitality. I’m not even sure if I can survive when everything goes right, nevermind if anything goes wrong.”

“Silly, silly brother. Banish those worries. What do you think you’ve been gathering EXP for?”

“Huh?”

The Phantom raised his finger and waved it in circles, acting like a knowledgeable professor. “It’s the most basic principle of necromancy. Any life that you can’t provide on your own, you substitute with a different source. That is what you call a ‘sacrifice’.”

Thinking about it, that was indeed what Dust concluded from studying the ancient tomes. “In other words, the machine will drain the lifeforce of others before mine.”

“Exactly! Now go on, pick up your courage and give it a spin. I can’t wait for all that hard work to finally pay off, nyeh heh heh!”

“Not yet. I still have some tests to do and data to prepare.”

First, he inspected himself with a small pocket mirror. Since his childhood, he could read another person’s health points in numeric terms, as well as some other stats like attack and defence.

His eyes glowed in colour, and text began appearing over his reflection.

NAME: SANS SERIF

Reading his True Name brought up conflicted feelings. Did he still deserve to keep the name his parents had blessed him with after everything he had done, and everything that he would be doing?

Dust shelved that thought for another day. He proceeded to read the rest of his data.

LV: 10
EXP: 1257
NEXT: 443

He had accumulated quite a bit of Execution Points over the years, be it through giving the deceased their final rites or by killing the professional Heroes who hunted him. Anya’s people call it ‘Lifeforce’. Perhaps they were more accurate.

HP: 1
ATK: 1
DEF: 1

Accumulating the lifeforce of others should have made him a stronger person. Yet, his own stats never changed.

That was another unsolved mystery better left for a different day. And so, he wrote his details down for future reference. Time of recording: 11:00 PM, or 2300 hours as the military preferred to say.

Next, he had to test the machine’s activation. A simple button was all he needed to press to connect the device to the electrical grid. He had attached a clock to it, tuned to automatically shut down the device after three seconds.

Button, pushed. The spell engraved on the metal altar glowed white. The timer began to tick.

3…
2…
1…

And the power was cut off. In turn, the magic quietened and lost its shine.

He repeated the process three more times just to make sure nothing went wrong.

All clear. He took off his hoodie and hung it on a nearby chair. The code of the machine indicated that it preferred direct contact with his bony self, which was par for the course with the sacrificial table layout.

After laying himself down in the centre, he conjured a small bone near the button. Karma levels: zero.

“Here goes nothing.”

One swipe of his hand later, the button was pushed, and the machine activated.

A surge of pain zapped through his body. What happened after that… was a complete blank.

No colour, no lights. Just complete, silent darkness. It reminded him of the time when Anya’s prototype defensive scroll went haywire.

‘Am I dead?’ Dust wondered.

He felt his lips move, but he could not hear himself.

And then…

“Saaaaaaaaaaaaans! Wake up already! If you’re dead, you wouldn’t be muttering to me!”

Dust snapped wide awake, staring at the ghostly aberration of his deceased brother.

Sitting up, he muttered: “What… What just happened?”

The Phantom replied: “The machine worked like a charm, nyeh heh heh!”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Sceptical, Dust asked, “Why don’t I remember anything about it?”

“I can only think of one reason,” so The Phantom deduced. “The spell was not tuned for you and your terribly weak constitution. It was too much for you to bear, even for three measly seconds. So you just went kaput on the table. If not for all the lives you harvested, you would have definitely become a pile of monster dust.”

Hearing that, the scientist let out a tired groan. “Back to the drawing board. But… you said that there was some sort of a success?”

“Yes!” The apparition lifted his head high and proud. “Soon, you will have more souls than you know what to do with! Finally, that woman shows her usefulness!”

“Excuse me…? Are you saying that whatever weird magic emanated from the test reached as far as The Willowherb Village?!”

“Yes, of course! After all, it’s not very far from our humble farmhouse.”

Looking at the clock, Dust realised that he had been unconscious for one and a half hours. That was more than enough for a mishap on his end to plunge the village into chaos.

It was then that he heard the familiar sound of a jeep engine outside, with all its little whirs and putters. It came from the direction of the village, stopping right in front of the house.

He hurried to get off the altar, but his legs had yet to stabilize from the ordeal. The short skeleton cursed at his own weakness of being unable to withstand the spell’s demands.

Once his feet finally steadied, he hurried towards the main entrance, almost tripping over himself. Along the way, in haste, he grabbed his hoodie off the chair and slipped it on.

An unnatural display of coloured lights had started glowing through the window and the cracks of the door. At this hour, there should be no lights aside for the moon and the stars. Whatever weird phenomenon he had triggered encroached on the farmhouse at a rapid pace.

When he stepped outside, he found himself staring agape at a mass haunting of souls. Dozens upon dozens of wispy human silhouettes swirled around in the air, pulsing their heart-shaped cores lights like fireflies.

Orange.
Yellow.
Green.
Cyan.
Blue.
Purple.

It was Anya’s entire flock of The Dead, free and unbound.

Dust wondered out loud: “W-what have I done?”

“Mister Sans?”

There was but one person left in this world who would address him by his original name.

His attention shifted to Stephan, the plucky farmer. He stood before the jeep with a bundle of white cloth in hand. His usual jolliness was replaced by a silted sorrow.

The human walked towards the front porch in silence. He placed the bundle down, face up. It was the corpse of a boy, about five years old.

“This is my son,” said Stephan. “His name is Zack. He’s the younger twin.”

Dust couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. Questions scrolled through his mind. Just two weeks ago, he was happily celebrating his birthday with his old friend.

“What happened?” the skeleton asked. “When? How?”

“The flu happened.” Stephan replied, “I-I thought dying from the flu was a thing of the past… but… but…”

The more he spoke, the more his voice cracked from grief. “The military doctors tried their best, yet there was nothing they could do… There’s just not enough of anything, anywhere…”

‘The flu’ --- if Dust remembered right –- was caused by the influenza virus. There were no records of monsters suffering such illnesses, so it’s possible that they’re immune from biological diseases. All the same, humans were touted as the unstoppable force in monster legend, yet all it took was a tiny pathogen to kill them.

“I’m sorry.” That was all Dust could say to the grieving father. Wittiness wouldn’t be appropriate.

Between his tears, Stephan said, “I found Zack collapsed next to the jeep. Then, when I looked up, I found The Dead flocking towards a particular direction. I quickly wrapped him up in this enchanted burial cloth, worried he might join them… I think… I think he tried responding to your call.”

Dust blurted, “My call? Excuse me, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard it too. There was this weird signal coming from the farmhouse. Like a whisper. It’s sweet and temptatious. I resisted it, but Zack wouldn’t have had the strength to do so.”

The situation answered several questions Dust had about the machine. Part of the spell was designed to entice the susceptible: a beacon of sorts.

“Mister Sans,” said Stephan, “You… you’re researching, right? For a way to save the world? I mean, maybe you need help? Like, having many souls? Everyone’s lifeforce?”

“That was just a test,” the skeleton explained, growing increasingly nervous. “I never meant to summon all of you here. I don’t even know if I need any sacrifices to find the Calamity’s source--”

“It’s okay,” the human curled a weak smile. “I know it’s scary to ask for the lives of others. The idea has always frightened me too. Even though The Willowherb are more like undertakers, they still pass down the ancient knowledge. Because maybe… maybe one day, it will be necessary.”

Offering the remains of his child, Stephan said: “Take my son’s soul, Mister Sans. And… Take mine too.”

Furrowing his brows, Dust objected: “Okay, that is going waaaaay too far. If you die, who’s going to be there for your wife and kids? Who’s going to run the farm?”

“They’re infected too. I may not have anyone left by next week…”

Nature’s cruelty knows no bounds. Stephan dropped on his knees and clasped his hands, begging. “Please… I can’t sit around and do nothing! We need the world to get back to normal! Mister Sans, you’re the only one who can do it! Save us. And save the world by putting an end to The Celestial Calamity.”

Dust felt the trickle of sweat roll down his head. “Hey, hey, hey, don’t you think that’s a bit too much pressure for lil’ ole me to bear?”

Except, The Dead echoed those same wishes.

‘Save humanity.’
‘Save the world.’
‘Save those who could still be saved.’

Many of them still had living loved ones, waiting to be saved from a slow, frightening death.

‘Use us,’ they thus said. ‘Take our souls and use their power. Take it all.’

The Phantom rested his hands on Dust’s shoulders, emphasising the weight of the world. “Brother, listen to their cries. Why waste their goodwill? They’ve come all this way to answer your call for help. This is what you wanted. They give you their life, and you will use it to save everyone.”

“But…” Dust muttered.

The aberration continued to heap guilt upon his head: “But you are going to be lazy and reject them. Neglect them like how you neglected your fellow monsters. Remember, everyone in Ebott Town perished because you bummed your life away.”

Deep down, Dust knew The Phantom was right. He kept telling himself that he couldn’t do anything, so he never tried. But what if he had searched a little harder, or dug a little deeper? What if he didn’t give up so soon? What if he had more strength?

Maybe, just maybe, Toriel and Papyrus would still be alive today.

The Phantom caressed his brother’s cheeks with gentleness. “Now imagine the amount of free EXP waiting in store. What’s more, Stephan is a Red. Trust me, they’re the best.”

Dust recalled the first time he had met Stephan after The Calamity. Pulses of power coursed through that man’s body. Without the protective magical cloth over his head, it gave Dust this troubling urge. A thirst. A craving.

Back then, what did Anya say again?

‘The overwhelming lifeforce from your Red Soul triggers his bloodlust. He’s claimed too many souls to turn back.’

His desire to take souls scaled with how much he had already obtained. He wondered: could he take some and leave the rest? Or would he be driven to consume them all?

And having done so, would he still be sound of mind to leave his friend alive?

If the outcome is inevitable, shouldn’t he claim Stephan first? To make sure his life would end as painlessly as possible?

After thinking it through, Dust summoned a glyph-inscribed bone.

How should he do it, though? Perhaps through the heart? Maybe impale the brain via the eye sockets? What about another major organ? Or the jugular artery? Dust realised that he lacked knowledge about human physiology to make the right decision.

But then, a voice of great power boomed through the fields. It belonged to a woman, a colleague that Dust had grown accustomed to. And also one that terrified The Phantom, who fled the scene as quickly as he could.

She yelled out: “O’ Restless Dead, return to thy corrals! Be quelled and sleep!”

The symbol of a crimson shepherd’s hook flashed upon The Dead, one for each wandering soul. Their forms stretched into ribbons of magic, flowing back towards the caster. In a blink, the haunted phenomenon was no more.

It appears that Anya had chased Stephan down on a civilian’s motorbike, most likely belonging to one of the local villagers.

“You!” She pointed squarely at the skeleton. “Hands, behind your head! Now!”

Dust did as told. He dispelled his magic, placed both hands on the back of his skull, and stood very, very still. Defiance spelled more trouble than it’s worth, especially after she barked like a drill sergeant. One could hear the sheer military discipline resounding in that forceful order. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of her: always a sure sign of serious business.

Anya proceeded to grab Stephan by the back of his collar, yanking him aside. “Acolyte! You’ve almost done irreversible harm! What do you have to say for yourself?!”

The poor dejected father couldn’t reply. Instead, he just curled up into a ball to sob some more.

With the crisis over, Anya calmed herself down with a few deep, controlled breaths.

Back to her usual self, the first thing she did was to bow at Dust. “I apologise for my rudeness. And also, for the carelessness of Acolyte Stephan.”

How awkward. “Sure. No problem. Everything’s resolved, right? Maybe, uh, take Stephan and his son back to the village. Settle the last rites there or something.”

“Yes, I will,” she replied. “Could you help carry the boy?”

He’s glad that the desire to leave was mutual. “Sure.”

Together, they started picking up the pieces, figuratively and literally. Anya helped Stephan off the ground, while Dust carried the bundled child.

This was a life Papyrus had rescued without realising it. And yet, despite his efforts, that same life ended before it could begin in earnest.

After everything was said and done, the time came for goodbyes.

“Goodnight, Mister Dust.”

“G’night. I’ll fax the report of my findings tomorrow.”

Dust then watched the vehicle drive down the road until it vanished across the horizon.

With the coast now clear, The Phantom returned from his hiding and sighed out loud. “There goes our fuel. We should have taken them all for use with the machine.”

“No,” Dust shook his head. “Had I done that, my experiment would have failed. I wouldn’t know how much EXP I used in the previous attempt. Without data, refinements can’t be made. Scientific discipline, y’know.”

“Is that so…? I guess we almost made a terrible mistake.”

“Yup. Hindsight’s 20/20.”

Returning to the farmhouse, the first thing Dust did was to re-examine himself in the mirror.

NAME: SANS SERIF

LV: 7
EXP: 500
NEXT: 800

Those three seconds burned away that much EXP. There’s no way he could use the same settings again. Also… he needed a way to replenish what he had lost.

He jotted down the results and officially ended tonight’s experiment.

“So…” The Phantom tapped his fingers together. “What are we gonna do now?”

“Sleep, of course.” Dust stretched his arms. “Tomorrow, I have a letter to write… and a world to save.”

Chapter 13

Notes:

Some art:
https://twitter.com/skelelin/status/1491813964031926278

Chapter Text

April 15, 2021.

Dust spent the rest of the morning mulling over the problem.

Should he stay closeby to keep watch on the bratty flower and his antics?

Or should he leave the area to get what he needs for his goals?

“Save those who could still be saved, huh…?”

At noon, he began writing two letters to fax to the Willowherb R&D. The first one was a detailed report of his experiments, including his method, results, and conclusion. In the second letter, he wrote: ‘For Anya Willowherb’s eyes only’. Anything beyond that was left in shorthand, so regular people wouldn’t be able to understand it.

And yet, The Phantom circled overhead in glee. “I know! I know what you’re thinking! Yes, you’re embracing what you truly are! Isn’t it wonderful, Sans? This feeling of being honest with yourself?”

Dust asked, “You think so?”

“Why yes! It is certainly miles better than being a bumming hotdog seller at a sentry station. Or a dumb punny comedian! Those two jobs were a total waste of time. No hard feelings about your science gig, though. That one’s nice and complementary to our current job. Even though I doubted it at first, last night really changed my mind.”

Clasping his red floating gloves in hope, The Phantom wished out loud: “One day, we will travel the world as our true selves, reaping the harvest together.”

The elder brother finished the last stroke of his pen. “Baby steps, bro, baby steps. Let’s not push our luck too far.”

Were he to commit to this letter, he will have to face the outside world soon. The legendary Surface. Or what’s left of it at least.

Dust vividly remembered those ‘legends’ held dear by his people: traditional stories that were seen as historical, but never could be authenticated.

Some turned out to be true, like the immense power of a merged human and monster.

Others were proven to be false, such as the proposed unstoppable might of humankind.

Then there was the Celestial Calamity, once considered mere fiction, yet so, so real in retrospect.

In truth, Dust knew nothing about The Surface with any degree of certainty. A daunting unknown lay beyond Ebott's borders, absolute and unforgiving.

Was he ready? Would he ever be?

That too, he did not know. Whatever may be, it was now or never.

Dust’s shorthand message read the following: ‘Does the military or The Hero’s Guild need another weapon? You know what I’m capable of. Come tomorrow to discuss the terms.’

And so, after much deliberation, the letters were sent. There was no turning back anymore.

 

* * *

 

April 18, 2021.

About 7 in the morning, Dust received the notice for an urgent mission. It’s possible that they already had him in mind. Jobs don’t pop up that quickly otherwise.

He waited for the pickup ride at the front of the house. In his grip was a length of magic-dampening cloth, cut from the cloak that he was provided.

As per agreement, Anya Willowherb arrived with her jeep as the mission coordinator. It must be her and no one else, Dust had demanded. He was not going to start trusting random strangers just because they wore a uniform.

He rode shotgun, buckled his seatbelt, closed his eyes, then blindfolded himself.

“Huh?” Confused, Anya asked, “Why do you need to do that?”

“Photosensitivity,” Dust replied. “Sunlight’s been stinging my eyes ever since I used the machine. So without sunglasses I’ll have to settle for this.”

Not having to face the ruins of the outside world was a nice, added bonus. He had already seen enough.

The woman pondered out loud. “Hmm. If that’s the case, then I have a practical solution for you.”

He felt Anya pull back his hood. Then, she fitted something on his head.

Tracing the shape with his fingers, Dust noted, “It’s a baseball cap lined with magic-suppressing fabric.”

“Correct. It will help stave off the bloodlust, especially during our current mission. And, as per design, it should cut down some glare. I took the measurements from one of your mementos.”

A slight chuckle breathed from his teeth. “Sneaky.”

Anya started to drive. Along the way, she asked: “Can you hear me?”

Dust nodded. “Yup, loud and clear.”

“Affirmative. I will brief the mission right now. In short, we have a hostage situation at a hospital in a nearby town.”

An oddly mundane request, thought Dust. He asked, “Can’t The Hero’s Guild handle them on their own? What about the local police force?”

“The enemy didn’t attempt any negotiations. What’s worse, tools from our R&D have detected signs of magic. It’s likely we’re dealing with mages. Perhaps necromancers.”

“Ah, I see. If they’re not after money or leverage, then they’re there for the souls. Those chumps are gonna turn a whole building’s worth of the sick and helpless into magical fuel, aren’t they?”

“Correct, Mister Dust,” she confirmed. “Your objective is twofold. One, to destabilise their defences with a solo ambush. Two, to destroy any existing ritual sites. Meanwhile The Hero’s Guild will focus on rescue efforts. Any enemy lives you claim shall be yours to keep.”

“What about the bounty money?”

“It will be used to treat the Conroys, as you have requested.”

“Good.”

He made himself comfortable and relaxed in his seat, getting as much rest as he could before the big job.

But then… he heard a high-pitched screech overhead. It didn’t sound like a native bird of prey, or any other wildlife.

He received only one brief warning from the driver: “Hold on tight.”

The jeep accelerated. Yet, despite pushing the engine to its limits, Dust could hear the ear-piercing shrieks approach the vehicle at a rapid pace.

Something slammed against his door, trying to get inside. He could sense an overwhelming aura of malice permeating through the steel chassis.

Ethereal lights took down whatever creature tried to attack the jeep. They shone so bright they pierced his blindfolds, stinging his eyes. Anya had apparently summoned her ghostly squad to protect their ride.

The Phantom whispered into his ear. “Wowie, brother! Take off your silly blindfold already. Behold the magnificence of a real fight!”

Maybe a peek was enough to get a grasp of the situation? However, by the time he reached for his blindfolds, the ride became silent again.

Dust asked, “Huh? It’s over already?”

Anya replied with a tinge of proud confidence. “They’re just standard Medusae. Nothing that I can’t handle.”

“Medusa-wha?” He raised his brow.

“Screaming heads with snakes for hair. They have a tendency to float aimlessly like jellyfish. That is, until they spot a potential victim.”

Hearing that left Dust speechless.

Anya must have expected it, since she followed up with an explanation. “You’ve read about ‘The Hollow’, correct? That’s one of them. They’re solidified curses, morphing into baneful creatures of imagination through the accumulation of physical matter. The demon castle was full of them.”

“Huh. Weird.” Rubbing his chin, he commented, “Other than at a demon castle that I no longer remember, I’ve never met a Hollow.”

The conversation was cut short by the unison of gunfire in the distance. It was far too coordinated for hunting activities.

“What was that?” he asked.

She replied, “An execution squad.”

“Aren’t gallows cheaper? Bullets ain’t free.”

“It’s for safety reasons. You never know what’s going to erupt from Hollow corpses.”

Just when she mentioned that, he heard the ground rumble, followed by panicked screams as well as rapid gunfire.

“Ah,” said Anya, “Looks like they’ve found another parasitical Hollow. It’s a white lily. A pretty big one too.”

Killer flowers? Hollow parasites? And he still needed a moment to let the fact sink in that Anya talked about all sorts of fantastical horrors as though they were regular facts of life.

“Please hold tight again. We have Flesh Abominations blocking the road.”

“And you’re not slowing down?”

“We don’t have time to slow down.”

And so the necromancer and her jeep blazed through whatever the hell blocked the road.

Dust peeked through his blindfold. The jeep’s windshield got absolutely splattered. Pieces of bloody flesh and bone gradually slid off from the wind pressure.

What did the driver do? Switched on the wipers, as though she had just driven through a puddle of annoyance.

He put the blindfold back on. “Okay. Yeah. I’ve seen enough. Can you even drive with all that muck?”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Anya. “The physical remains of Hollows quickly liquidise once their magical adhesives turn to dust. The mess should scatter soon.”

“...That reminds me of monsters.”

Could it be said that Hollows were distant, soulless relatives of monsters? Dust recalled that he couldn’t read a single page about them in The Book of Curses. So much information, locked away. What prevented him?

While he pondered, a click sounded from the dashboard. Radio static filled the air.

“Captain Anya Willowherb reporting. Connect me to Line 101.”

The jeep seemed to have a radio of sorts for communication. He expected her to handle the talking business, but then…

“Hellooooo!” A deep but jolly voice rolled out from the speakers. “It’s good to finally speak to The Lone Defender himself! How are you?”

Dust realised that the caller just addressed him directly in person. Grunting towards Anya, he grumbled: “What the hell? I’ve told ya that I don’t want to meet anyone new.”

What’s worse, it was another hopelessly jolly soul like Stephan and Papyrus, waiting to be crushed by some harsh reality. Dust would rather not suffer yet another heartbreak.

Anya replied, “Like it or not, that’s your new boss. Meet James Pashowar, the current leader of The Hero’s Guild.”

“Pashowar…?” A rather unusual surname, even by monster standards. “I’ll stick to ‘James’, if you don’t mind.”

The man on the radio laughed. “A casual guy, I see. That’s fine. Feel free to address me by my first name if that’s more comfortable to you. I’m no stick in the mud. I hope Captain Willowherb and her acolyte Stephan have been treating you well.”

How awkward. Dust lowered his head and touched the edge of his cap, muttering: “Too kind, to be honest.”

“Excuse me?”

It seemed that the microphone didn’t pick up those words. Dust quickly switched to more blunt mannerisms. “Nevermind. So. What does the big boss want from me? I don’t think you’re taking precious time off just to strike some idle chat.”

James replied: “You’re as sharp as the rumours claim. Let’s cut to the chase then: have you ever met a human being that just seemed… unstoppable?”

The skeleton noticed a subtle shift of tone. Less friendly and more serious business. “Elaborate.”

“Someone who dodged far too well, as though they knew every trick in the book. The kind who seems to know the perfect words to pull the right strings. One could say they always know how to act for the best outcome. And, whenever you meet them, there’s a sense of unusual familiarity in the air. You might call it a ‘deja vu’.”

Hearing that sent a chill up his spine. Many years ago, there once was a child who eerily matched those descriptions.

Suspicious, Dust questioned: “Why do you want to know? Frankly speaking, I don’t trust you enough to answer.”

“Understandable. Trust is a two-way street, after all. Then, allow me to extend my hand to you in the name of future cooperation. You see, I was once that unstoppable human.”

“…Once?”

And James answered: “Once. But not any more.”

Dust frowned. “I already know that the monster myth about humans is false. No matter how strong, swift, or cunning, no human could survive without their head. Or heart. Or blood. Or other assorted vital organs. That’s not counting infectious diseases.”

“Yet,” James countered, “That myth contains a grain of truth. Except, it has nothing to do with humanity as a whole. It’s reserved for the strongest of the strong. This special gift is bestowed to the most worthy: the King of Mankind. Unfortunately, I was dethroned six years ago. And the world has been plunged into chaos ever since.”

“Okay,” Dust nodded. “But if you lost the crown, who’s sitting in your seat?”

“Nobody knows. It could even be empty. Still, not all is lost. Reclamation begins with ending The Celestial Calamity. That is where you come in, Mister Dust. Complete this mission and I guarantee you’ll get a helpful tool for your research.”

“Heh. Fine. That’s what I signed up for anyway.”

The jeep then came to a stop. Anya announced, “We’ve arrived at our destination. Willowherb signing out.”

“Hold on, Captain Willowherb! I’m not done yet--”

She switched the radio off despite her boss’ protest. “Please take off your blindfolds now, Mister Dust.”

“Alright.” With his sight restored, he got out of the jeep. They stood on top of a hill, overlooking a living, breathing human town.

The town had more intact buildings than broken ones. Also, it was the first time in many years that Dust had seen scaffolding: a sign of reconstruction, however slow and laborious it may be.

Despite the apparent peace, his attention shifted to a large building surrounded by military personnel.

“Am I looking at the right place?” Dust asked, pointing at the rain-stained ‘EMERGENCY’ sign, “No other hospitals in town?”

Anya confirmed: “Indeed, you are. That is the only one. Can you make the jump from here?”

Dust pulled up his hood and mapped the route in his mind. “Yup. I think I see an opening. See ya later.”

And thus – grinding his soles into the ground in preparation for the teleport – The Lone Defender sprung into action.

 

* * *

 

Guns and knives crumbled into broken pieces. Blood spilled and splattered. Bodies fell one after another, drained of their lifeforce.

Anyone who exhibited killing intent was exterminated with great prejudice.

His precision was almost surgical, his cuts ever-so clean. Blasters were too big and noisy for this scenario, so he kept to his bone lances to finish the job.

Another area, secured. Dust ignored the bewildered stares of the rescued hostages, moving on to his next objective.

He couldn’t stay around for long even if he wanted to. The urge to take their lives rose with every bit of EXP. Twisted reasonings crept into the edges of his thoughts, trying to justify the murder of innocents.

‘End their suffering’.
‘End their toil’.

Closer and closer his logic began aligning with the Book of Curses. As a result, The Phantom had the time of his life, cackling in euphoric joy. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes! This is how you should be! Look at all those slow, pathetic humans flopping in futility. Complete and utter folly!”

Until now, the remaining enemies still hadn’t realised they were under attack. No messenger had escaped his grasp to relay the news.

It was then that Dust sensed a growing intensity of magic coming from the lower floors. He was certain a ritual was being activated there.

“Faster”, he muttered to himself. “I need to move faster.”

He followed a trail of red misty ribbons, flowing like Papyrus’ scarf, yet growing more opaque by the second. It was the first time he witnessed this phenomenon, and he wasn’t sure if it was visible to humans. Scanning them with his magic eye revealed that they’re made out of Determination.

The biggest cluster of ribbons led him to the emergency stairway. His eye’s flames burned in anticipation. Streaks of cyan and red trailed behind him as he teleported down the airwell.

Before long, he arrived at the basement parking lot. There, he found seven hooded humans, standing around a dark red orb.

A crimson vortex bloomed at the edges. The image reminded Dust of the cursed eclipse.

Swift judgement fell upon those condemned souls that day. The heretics met their ends without so much as a shred of mercy. No longer did they have the opportunity to plead, beg, or reason.

Once the final caster had been felled, Dust summoned his Blaster. He aimed it square at the magic circle and used the beam to scrape off the concrete surface.

Bereft of its power, the vortex collapsed into the orb and fizzled out. The ribbons of Determination dissipated, returning stillness to the air.

“…Mission accomplished.” He wiped the bloodstains off his face with his thumb. “I should go and report.”

Just when he was about to leave, he spotted a red gleam on the ground.

“Huh? What’s that?”

He walked over to it and crouched. A tiny crystalized heart lay on the scoured concrete, glowing ever so faintly.

The first thing he did was try to read its details. What came back was nothing more than gibberish data.

“Pick it up,” The Phantom urged from the back of his mind. “Hurry!”

Dust reached out and plucked the object from the ground. Upon contact, boundless voices whispered in his ears.

They filled his mind.
They filled his heart.
They filled his soul.

Startled, he released his grip on the crystal.

“God…” he said, disturbed. “That thing is made of human souls. Extracted, condensed, and compressed into a jewel.”

Seeing his reluctance, The Phantom whined, “Aren’t you gonna keep the spoils? C’mon, you always used to do that. Add this to our trophy collection!”

“Taking this back without telling anyone will paint a bullseye on my skull. No thanks. I intend to submit this gem into custody of The Hero’s Guild. They’ll know what to do with it.”

It’s a good thing he brought the blindfold along. He wrapped it up and pocketed it. Then, up to the rooftops he went. And from there he zipped back to the jeep where Anya waited.

The woman had a tiny box in hand, emblazoned with spellcraft. Seemed like she came prepared to contain whatever hazardous magical object he’d find in enemy possession.

Handing over the bundle, he said: “Take it and do whatever.”

She unwrapped the crystal from the cloth. Touching it made her flinch, meaning that she must have felt its effects too. Nonetheless, she held out long enough to place it in the box.

However, instead of tucking the container away safely… she offered to give it to the skeleton. Blindfold included.

Confused, Dust asked: “Lady? Is something the matter?”

Without saying anything else, she opened the jeep door and switched on the radio.

The boss of the Hero’s Guild came back online: “Aha! I see you’ve returned victorious, Mister Dust. Congratulations! About the item you’ve found at the ritual site… That’s the tool I had promised you. A Red Soulstone, also known as a ‘Bloodstone’. It should expedite your research.”

The Lone Defender narrowed his gaze. Now, it made sense why Anya drove here at top speeds. “You knew what was going down in that hospital. They would have summoned another Celestial Calamity if I hadn’t made it in time.”

“I suspected as much. The probability was high enough to consider your involvement even without confirmation.” James noted, “While you curbed the spread of Ebott’s Calamity, others have sought to hijack its power. They do so by hunting down humans with magical potential, absorbing their psychia into these Soulstones.”

“That’s logical,” said Dust. “Boss Monsters have gone extinct. They need a replacement for a great source of power, somehow. I’m guessing Reds make the best stones?”

James let out a short ‘hmm’. Then, he replied: “Reds just happen to be the most flexible. Their Determination can be used to augment other traits, regardless of origin. Hopefully, this means you can lessen the strain on your body during your next experiment. Making yourself both operator and battery is tantamount to suicide.”

“Welp. It was a wild ride for sure.”

The mission turned out more fruitful than he had expected. With the ability to split the load, he could tweak the machine to spare his questionable constitution.

Dust accepted the reward with a slight sigh. “Alright. It’s mine now. No regrets, okay?”

James chuckled on the other side. “Rest easy. I’m a man of my word.”

Chapter Text

May 3, 2021

The gentleness of Spring was in full swing.

The birds were singing.
The flowers were blooming.

On days like these, it was time to take a break from one’s hard work.

Dust took off his makeshift visor, rubbing his tired eyes. Looking around, he became acutely aware that more and more computing devices had filled up the former living room.

He had sure been busy for the past few weeks. When he was not building, he would be shipped off to yet another heretic hunt. Thank goodness they weren’t expecting him to destroy Hollows on top of that. He might have died from exhaustion by that point.

On the plus side, his collaborators kept their word. They supplied rations, computers, monitors, and many other items that he would have struggled to salvage or steal.

His most prized possession, The Red Soulstone, lay in a soup bowl sitting on top of an altar. It was easier to ‘care’ for the item that way.

Leaning over to listen, he took note of what the souls within whispered to him.

“Welp, you guys want a break too, huh? How about a drink?”

Dust took the bowl to a nearby table, far away from the rest of the electronics. Then, he grabbed a bottle of brandy and poured some over the cursed gem.

The whispers quietened. Even in this most pitiful of forms, they seemed to appreciate a good alcoholic drink. Unless they were just too sedated from sheer drunkenness.

Dust smirked. “Y’know, I used to take care of a pet rock. Fed it with colourful sprinkles. If I could get a hold of some, I’ll give those to you too.”

The gem was not interested in the offer.

“Jeez, you cynical candy critics. Is everyone a grown-up in there, or pretending to be one? A real adult doesn’t care what’s kiddy and what’s not.”

It was determined to reject. That was the vibe Dust got.

“Alright, alright, more booze for you. Here ya go.”

He poured more brandy into the bowl, then let them be, going outside to lounge at the front porch.

Underneath the warm sun and the protection of his hat, Dust relaxed with some drink and a smoke.

The Phantom floated around, rubbing his chin with great curiosity. “How can you be so chill? You’ve worked yourself harder than in any of the years before, yet you’re less stressed. Could it be from all the exercise?”

“Maybe it’s because I now have a clearer goal than stomping on that dumb flower over and over again. That, and I don’t need to think so hard about the general survival stuff anymore.”

“Is that so?” Lifting his head high, The Phantom continued, “See, Sans! This is why I kept telling you to have a goal back down in the Underground! They have the power to energise even a good-for-nothing slob like you. But noooo you kept excusing yourself with lame puns.”

Taking swigs of his drink, Dust replied: “Alright, alright, you were right and I was wrong. Sorry.”

“Well… The Great Papyrus is gracious as he is magnanimous. As long as you start anew, it’s water under the bridge! Nyeh heh heh!”

Deep down, Dust still wondered if he had any right to peaceful moments like these. He had butchered so many humans without remorse for those they left behind.

Their identity, their families, their loved ones, brotherhood, sisterhood, children… none had any meaning to him once the orders to exterminate were issued.

Dust muttered to himself. “Whatever happened to ‘monsters are made of love and compassion’? Guess I’m just bad to the bone…”

In the midst of his contemplation, the fax machine started to beep and whirr. Someone from the Willowherb village had sent him a message.

“Hm?” Dust noted, “That’s odd. It’s a bit early for R&D to bother me.”

The Phantom gasped in eagerness, “Maybe it’s another urgent mission! Quick brother, get off your lazy bum and read it!”

After extinguishing the cigarette and putting away the booze, he checked the fax machine. To his surprise, it was a handwritten letter from Stephan.

“Hey,” Dust chided, imagining that the kind farmer stood beside him. “You should be out in the fields, not sneaking in a private mail from the R&D lab. Oh well, let’s see what you’ve got to say.”

And so, Dust read out the contents of the fax.

‘Mister Sans, I’m sorry for putting you in an awkward position. Miss Anya was right: I was endangering you and the project. I promise to never do the same again.’

‘I’m writing this letter to thank you for saving my family. With your generous donation, my wife and two remaining children received the treatment they needed. They’ve recovered, and are at home with me.’

‘I understand if you don’t want to see me again. That’s fine. I just want you to know that your efforts were a genuine success.’

‘Thank you again,’

‘Sincerely, Stephan Conroy.’

‘P.S, I’m working part-time with R&D now! Apparently, they think I’m really good with my hands. Which is why they want me to help them make their tools. Isn’t that cool?’

Dust couldn’t help but burst into a snorty chortle. The tone difference between the main body of the letter and the postscript was like night and day. It seemed obvious that they were written at two different points of time. He imagined Anya looming over Stephan’s shoulder for the first part, shaping the apology with her formal demeanour.

Breathing out a relieved sigh, he set the letter down to the side. “Glad he’s doing well.”

The Phantom asked: “Don’t you want to write up a reply?”

“Nah. Let him focus on his family first. Besides, he’s already not expecting me to answer back.”

To their surprise, the fax machine suddenly received another letter. This time, it came from The Hero’s Guild, written in a clean computer font and all.

‘Supreme Guildmaster James Pashowar will contact you via a secure line. Pick up the parcel on your doorstep at 1800 hours on May 10 2021. It will be deployed via a drone.’

“…Seriously?” Dust planted his face into his hand. “Ugh. Great. The big boss is calling. The letter is not even in Comic Sans, what a boring buzzkill. This means I’m gonna have to give a whole presentation over the radio or something.”

“Time for you to end your break then.” The Phantom sighed, “I really do miss the days when it’s just the two of us.”

 

* * *

 

May 10, 2021

It was an unusually cold day for May.

The grass was rustling.
The mice were hustling.

On evenings like these, a drone dropped a box right on the driveway.

A loud siren wailed from inside the package, giving no recipient an excuse to forget about its existence.

Peering from the window, Dust asked to himself: “Is that a bomb? I mean, if I want to kill someone with a mystery box, I would have done anything to grab their attention. Maybe it’s reverse psychology at play--”

Right on cue, The Phantom yelled back: “Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaans! I can’t believe you forgot about your appointment with that boss-human!!! Please, silence the siren!”

“Oh shit, it’s already the 10th?! I didn’t forget… I just lost track of my days.”

Dust hurried to the road to open the box, although he readied himself to teleport. There was always the possibility of a bait-and-switch.

Fortunately, all was as safe as it could be. A two-way radio communicator and a toy siren nestled within straw packaging. Someone sure had fun rigging a clock to the toy.

He shut the noise off and took the whole contraption inside the cottage. After closing the door, he settled down in his armchair. A small fire crackled within the fireplace.

Noting the hesitance, The Phantom appeared to ask: “What are you waiting for?”

Dust replied, “…It’s possible that this James Pashowar guy is in the Willowherb village right now.”

“How would you know?”

“With how short-range these kinds of secure radio lines are, the village is the closest point with the necessary infrastructure.”

“So…? I don’t see what’s the concern.”

“Let’s just say he’s too close for comfort.”

In a way, that human reminded Dust too much of his old days: an overtly intelligent man hiding his guile under a friendly face. Those guys tend to be the trickiest to deal with. He would much prefer a stern but honest leader.

He switched the communicator on.

Guildmaster James Pashowar wasted no time to greet him: “Good evening, Lone Defender. Would you like to join me at the village to inspect the crops? The Willowherbs are growing some fine fields here.”

His previous suspicions were right on the mark. James did travel all the way to The Willowherb Society for business reasons.

“Ha, nice joke,” said Dust. “You know better than anyone that I can’t do that. What with yours truly being a safety hazard around humans and all.”

James cleared his throat. “I was actually only half-serious there. I would bring shame to the honourable title of Guildmaster of the Hero’s Guild if I didn’t meet you at least once. You’re one of our top heroes right now, whether you realise it or not.”

“Save the medals for others, like those protecting the supply chains. Or farmers. Or doctors. Or anyone except me, really.”

“That is a pity. Anyway, how is the research coming along?”

“Checking up on me already, huh?” asked Dust.

“Of course. A wise investor inspects his investments. Well? Are the tools and materials sufficient?”

“They’re okay.” The skeleton said, shrugging. “Beats using scrap that’s for sure. I’ve made more progress in a couple of weeks than I’ve had in years.”

For example, he had finally improved the general circuitry, made possible with The Willowherbs’ supply of electronics. This led to him integrating a stop-gap measure into the power supply itself. Should anything go wrong midway the experiments, the spike of abnormal activity should shut the whole thing off. This way, the disastrous vortex of souls should not happen ever again.

“Wonderful news!” James exclaimed. “I’m guessing the Red Bloodstone played a key role there. How did that work out?”

“Just as you’ve said, it’s really flexible. By using the stone as a substitute, I was able to isolate certain functions of the old code on my current machine. I discovered it’s designed to interact with a magic eye, but it wasn’t tuned right for my use. Which is why I couldn’t see anything.”

“Interesting. In other words, you’re equipped with the wrong graphics card? Hmm, maybe the wrong output display? I’ve heard that those eye-related powers are unique to your kind. Hence, the requests for VR-ish visor parts.”

The way he said ‘your kind’ was a huge red flag. That man knew more than he let on, and he was not shy about subtly relaying that fact.

Still, Dust would rather not take the bait just yet. He feigned ignorance and carried on.

“Yup. I gotta research what that piece of code demanded from the original user before I can make any adjustments. I don’t want to rush this process, so give me about a month or so.”

“Understandable. Programming requires tons of bug-testing, especially when it’s your very life on the line. Do you know anyone else in the past who might have had the correct type of magic eye?”

Dust replied: “…Whoever it was, they’re dead now. There’s no point asking.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong there, Mister Dust. It matters much more than you think. Those eye-related powers of yours are the subject of a fair bit of mythology and legend. Have you ever heard about ‘The Seer’s Eye’?”

When James laid his cards on the table, Dust immediately recalled the time when he investigated the memories of his old home. Times Roman – his father – had asked the mysterious entity about it before. But, it didn’t mean anything for either of them. No more than just another magicbabble term.

Noticing the silence, The Guildmaster continued: “I suppose I’m not surprised that you’ve not heard of it. Based on our interviews with your former citizens, your nation down below seemed to have enjoyed one thousand years of peace in seclusion. Ancient knowledge about warfare would have long since been eroded.”

Dust scoffed. “Heh. Didn’t you hear anything about the declaration of war on humankind? If your spies are worth their salt, they would have known that detail.”

“Of course, of course,” said James. “However, intent doesn’t always translate to execution. Your citizens may parrot their government’s propaganda, but the majority of them have no skills or strength to execute the deed. You, on the other hand… you’ve proven yourself quite exceptional.”

“When you quelled The Celestial Calamity for the first time, humanity’s heroes debated about your existence. Some suggested allyship. Others suggested execution. A few even took matters into their own hands and hunted you down, as you had experienced firsthand. Not a single person dared to meet you face-to-face until Captain Willowherb and Acolyte Stephan volunteered.”

Sweat trickled down Dust’s skull. This was why he hesitated to pick up the call. Big wigs like James knew how to pile up the pressure.

“Oy, oy, oy,” The skeleton shook his head. “Sorry, but I think you’re putting me on the wrong pedestal. Whatever happened to former Captain Undyne, or the Royal Guard she commanded? What about King Asgore himself? A Boss Monster ain’t no slouch. Heck, I wouldn’t forget Mettaton. That glambot doubled as an actual war machine. The only reason I look more powerful than them is because I’m the only one left alive after the calamity. Luck is the main factor, sir. Under different circumstances, I would have been dead along with them.”

“Ah. You don’t think you’re special?”

“Hell no! I’m nothing great or special or whatever the fuck you think I am!”

An uncomfortable silence lingered in the air. Dust covered his mouth, realising that he had lost his cool and resorted to crass language. Now he was worried that he might have offended the big boss.

But when James spoke again, his voice had softened. Was it sympathy? Pity? Kindness? All three? “I see. You truly didn’t know then. I’ll skip to the point.”

The Guildmaster straightened his tone to one more professional. “In the decades preceding the Ebottian Sealing War, a new race of monsters emerged. Born from the necromantic arts by stripping off the decaying flesh from human corpses and reanimating the bones, these ‘skeletons’ formed armies under the command of their heretical masters.”

“They were unstoppable, wiping out kingdom after kingdom. Survivors of their destruction described them as utterly ruthless, using human tactics, from battle formations, to martial arts, to subterfuge. It was as though they were living weapons. What’s more, the unburied corpses of their fallen foes merely served as raw ingredients to renew their numbers. An unceasing cycle of death and rebirth.”

“The strongest of those reborn were undoubtedly the Liches, whose eyes glowed with the colour of their inner magic power. Just one of them alone could fell dozens, if not hundreds of soldiers. We also have records of their descendants, the Lichborn. Some of them had awakened to vibrant eyes of magic fire, inheriting a mix of their progenitors’ abilities, somehow greater than the sum of its parts.”

“I…” Dust muttered, touching under his left eye, “I’m a Lichborn…?”

“Correct,” James affirmed.

“Wait, then why is this magical power called The Seer’s Eye and not The Lichborn Eye?”

“That’s because the Lichborn saw past the veil of reality. Their visions allowed them to become oracles, prophets, truth-seekers, mind-readers, force-benders, and so on. Therefore, collectively they were called ‘Seers’. In modern day terms, I believe their type of magic is classified as ‘space-time manipulation’. A tremendous feat.”

“ …Which makes me a Seer as well.”

“That is also correct, Mister Dust. Your teleportation and disintegration abilities are proof of this truth.”

“I ain’t no oracle, though. Think of me as more of an analysis machine. I can make educated guesses based on the data I can read, but I can’t see the past or future.”

“On your own, perhaps not,” said James, “However… I believe that device of yours might solve that issue. As extensions of the self, machines are designed to make up for their users’ weaknesses, either by augmenting their existing abilities or granting them new ones. Give it a shot.”

Dust leaned against the chair, squeezing his eyes shut. There were once so many others just like him. Just like Papyrus… “Yup. Ahuh. Thanks for telling me about my origins. I think I now have a clearer idea of what to do for the month.”

“Oh? I’m very curious.”

“I’ll have to do more research on The Seer’s Eye itself. Starting with mine. Hey James, if you can, could you fax me some historical documents? Ideally those that mentioned the colours of the fire and the abilities displayed by that Seer.”

“Indeed, I can! They will be sent to you as soon as possible. Have a good evening, Mister Dust. I shall resume my survey before dark. Ah, please put the communicator back in the parcel and leave it under a space with open air. Another drone will pick it up.”

“Alright, alright. Enjoy your village visit. Bye.”

Dust shut off the communicator and sighed. Alone again, The Phantom appeared to give another round of complaining

This time, the aberration asked, “Why didn’t you tell this James fellow about me, The Great Papyrus? I had those eye powers too!”

“We can’t fully trust him just yet. Remember our first big mission? The hospital?”

“Of course! Of course! It was a wild, fun ride.”

“Today he shared only details that relate to us monsters, and nothing about the humans of that time. Compare that to his eagerness back during that mission. I believe he wants to see more of my research first before telling his side of the story.”

“I still don’t get it…”

“Based on what James just told us about the skeletons, we’re supposed to be unstoppable killing machines. That fear is passed down to modern humans too. And yet, we just… vanished. Not only that, the humans won the Sealing War. What the hell happened back then? There’s more to this story and he ain’t telling.”

“Why…” The Phantom started fuming. “How rude!!! Here I thought he’s less secretive than that uptight lady necromancer. Disappointing.”

“I don’t blame him. Prudence with information goes a long way. He’s not the King of Humans for nothing.”

What does James Pashowar want, Dust wondered? Nevertheless, he hoped that it was nothing malicious.

 

* * *

 

June 5, 2021

The days had grown longer and warmer. Sometimes it was outright a heat wave, like earlier this afternoon.

High temperatures were never a good companion for machinery. But, opening the windows would allow too many bugs to invade. If those critters snuggled between the gaps, it might cause a short circuit and fry the components. Never a good idea, especially when Dust didn’t know if the humans were manufacturing any replacements.

Eventually, under the light of the fading sun, Dust went over his research papers again. It contained his hypothesis, crafted from the various historical documents he was provided with. The majority of those records dated back to a thousand years ago, when the ‘skeleton army’ was at its height. After that, any sightings read more like myths and superstitions.

The Willowherbs also provided records of some of their own magic-capable individuals. Since skeletons derived from the necromantic arts, their council thought it would be wise for Dust to study human magic as well.

The more he studied, the more similarities he found between humans and Seers. If he wanted to make a comparison, humans could only cast watered down versions of what the Liches could do. And then, combinations of Lich powers gave birth to the abilities unique to Seers. Perhaps Papyrus’ idea of humans descending from skeletons had a grain of truth to it, albeit reversed.

The last page of the document contained a condensed list of Dust’s current findings.

Cyan - the Aspect of Patience.
Grants a Seer microscopic focus.

Orange - the Aspect of Bravery.
Grants a Seer long-range vision.

Purple - the Aspect of Perseverance.
Grants a Seer the ability to store exact memories.

Yellow - the Aspect of Justice.
Grants a Seer the ability to read hidden truths.

The Phantom hovered overhead, brimming with curiosity. “What is this? That’s only four out of seven colours. That’s like, only half the information.”

“Eh, a little more than half. But you have a point. I’ve heard mentions of Blue and Green Eyes, but there were no descriptions of what they actually do. I can only go by their given names.”

He flipped the page to where he jotted down his brainstorming. It was messy and ugly, but at least it got the job done.

Circled with a pencil were the colours he had yet to figure out:

Blue - the Aspect of Integrity. Probably some stabilising property?
Green - the Aspect of Kindness. Restorative perhaps?
Red - the Aspect of Determination. Theoretical.

“Why is ‘Red’ theoretical?” asked The Phantom. “They never appeared, at all?”

“Apparently not,” Dust replied. “Not a single record mentioned anything about Liches or Lichborn with the Red Aspect. I’m guessing that it’s either super rare, or that it doesn’t exist in this world.”

Scratching the top of his skull, The Phantom asked: “Then, what about the red in your eyes, brother?”

“Dunno yet. Back at the hospital, I did see this--”

But his words hung mid-sentence. There was something he wanted to bring up. Yet… he didn’t remember what or why.

“Uh. Nevermind. Scratch that. I don’t recall anything out of the ordinary.”

He flipped the page again. This time, it listed the modifications he made to the machine.

“Alright, here’s the plan. I know from personal experience that the Seer’s Eye can do much more than it lets on. It gains new abilities when the colours are mixed. Though a person can only have three Aspects at most, similar to the build of human souls. But, remember what James said? Let the machine cover up our weakness. I only have Cyan, Yellow, Purple. Therefore, I need our buddies in The Red Soulstone to team up with the tech to fill in the gaps. That is, Orange, Blue, Green, and Red. This way we’ll have full access to whatever combination exists out there.”

“Once we have all seven Aspects lined up, we’re going to go look for the missing pieces of the puzzle through space-time itself. Starting with that glitched entity. Returning to the past should be easy enough. After that… Well, that depends on what we find.”

The room darkened as the sun began to set across the horizon. Temperatures started to drop the moment the light went out.

Dust stretched his neck and shoulders. “Tonight is the night. It’s do or die.”

“Yes!” The Phantom buzzed with excitement. “Finally, the truth about The Great Papyrus’ greatness will soon be revealed!”

“Whatever you say, bro.”

Dust scooped the Red Soulstone out of its little bowl. The idea was to lay on the altar while clutching the gem. The souls within would absorb most of the strain, proven by the testing he had done over the month.

With the aid of a masking tape, he taped the gem to his chest. He can’t have it fall off in the middle of the process. That would be fatal.

Then, he strapped the visor on his forehead and laid down on the altar.

“Ready, everyone?” he asked.

The Red Soulstone glowed with the determination to succeed.

“Okay.” Dust pulled the visor over his eyes. “Here we go. Switch: on!”

Power coursed through his body. Images started to render on the screen. He could hear his bone rattle against the table, struggling to keep it under control.

Then…

…The pressure vanished. The images became clear. Lo and behold, he had arrived at the New Home of the long past.

The monster residents went about their daily business, flowing with the timetable of their bygone lives. They lived a humble, confined, yet peaceful existence.

“This is not my house...” Dust commented. “I wanted to go back to the time when Dad asked the mysterious entity about the Seer’s Eye. Did I calibrate the machine wrong? I’ll have to make note of that.”

As much as he wanted to bask in the nostalgia, he had work to do. Every second in this recreation drained his borrowed lifeforce. He must find his target before time runs out.

Navigating through New Home, he recognized a little fountain at a town square. It was Papyrus’ favourite playground since he was a child. During some parts of the day, the square would be absolutely quiet, making it the perfect place for the youngster to practise his future greatness without judgemental eyes. Once the residents started trickling in to relax after their long day at work, Papyrus would hurry on back home.

A teenaged skeleton boy hopped to his favourite spot. “Greetings fountain! It’s me, The Great Papyrus!!! I’m going to continue my training to become the hero I am meant to be!”

There he was… the beloved younger brother. How wonderful it was to see him alive again.

For that one moment, Dust forgot that he was here on a mission. He tried to reach out to his brother. Say hello. Hug him.

Yet, he had no hands, a reminder that he had found himself in an illusionary reconstruction.

Then, from the corner of the square, the voice of a refined, stately senior spoke the following words to The Great Papyrus:

“Pray tell, young one, how do you intend to do so?”

Dust turned towards that direction. There, he saw the peculiar man.

A tall skeleton. Male. Dressed in black formal clothes. His face bore two cracks: one over a drooping right eye, the other below his intact left.

The man approached the boy. He commented: “You didn’t try to run despite your fears. How very brave of you.”

The young Papyrus replied: “Brother told me not to talk to weird strangers.”

“And yet, you’re here. Well, that’s a needless worry. I am no stranger. In fact, I’m your brother’s teacher and your parents’ oldest friend.”

“…Really? Do you have…. evidence? Anyone could make those claims, nyeh!”

The man reached for his coat’s pockets and pulled out some photographs. “Here you go.”

Young Papyrus’ eyes bugged out. “Wowie! That’s my bro and his science team! And you’re in it! Oh, are these my parents…? My dad looks just like… me?”

Irritated, the man huffed. “Egads, how could Sans have neglected such an important detail? They’re your own parents! I need to give him a scolding the next time we meet.”

“No!” Papyrus exclaimed, “I just never really thought about my parents. I mean, I can’t miss someone I never knew. I’m happy with my brother, mister! So please, don’t get mad at him.”

“Ah… look at that. Not only are you brave, but you’re also kind with good integrity. Very well, for your sake I will not chide your brother.”

“Yay! So mister, why were you looking for me? And what’s your name anyway?”

“Apologies for my lack of introduction. I am Doctor W. D. Gaster, Royal Scientist of the Underground. And I’m here to ask you something, young man.”

“Oh! What is it?”

Leaning forward with a wide smile, the man asked: “Do you want to be a hero, O’ Great Papyrus?”

The boy was stunned at first. But not long after, he began to glow with tearful joy. “I… I can be a hero? Right now?”

“Yes, you have the potential. Alas, your brother has been stifling you with his ideals of a ‘normal life’. Come, we should discuss this elsewhere. After all…”

Gaster turned his head, grinning right in Dust’s direct direction.

“…It’s rude to talk about someone who’s listening.”

Dust sat up and yanked the visor off. He huffed and puffed, drenched in sweat.

“It’s him… It’s really him… How could I… have forgotten… someone that important?”

W. D. Gaster, the family friend.
W. D. Gaster, the former teacher.
W. D. Gaster, his most hated enemy.

Still panting, he reached for his chest. “Okay… gem friends. Time to take a break. I’m beat.”

Except, the gem did not exist.

“Uh… crap. Hey Phantom, you around?”

A deafening silence answered his question.

Dust hopped off the altar and looked out of the window. Even in the darkest of nights, he should be able to see the stars in the night sky.

But he saw nothing. No stars, no trees, not even the vague shadow of a landmass. Outside was a vast empty void of nothingness.

“Dammit. This ain’t the real world. Is it just a mental recreation? Am I still hooked on the machine, unconscious in reality? Or…”

The exit from his cottage was no longer the warm familiar wooden door. Instead, it had been replaced by a cold, sterile grey rectangular gate that didn’t match the house’s layout one bit.

“Is this the gap between realities? And that’s the entrance to the realm of dreams?”

The black winds beckoned from beyond.

“Welp… only one way to find out.”

Chapter 15

Notes:

Lone Defender gained the nickname of 'Dark Coffee/Chocolate Egg Tart' among my readers because they use the same base foundation of lore. Whatever happens in The Lone Defender can happen in The Golden Quiche. Quiches use a similar egg custard base, but they're savoury meals instead of sweet treats.

If you wanna read where the lore comes from check out The Golden Quiche. It contains lots of adventure too.

Enjoy!

Chapter Text

A windy tunnel of perpetual darkness lay beyond the mysterious grey door. While fighting against the surging, deafening flow, Dust kept himself focused by counting the number of seconds passed.

He walked.
And walked.
And walked.

“587… 588… 589… 590…”

It felt like an eternity, despite the numbers indicating otherwise.

"663… 664… 665."

But on the 666th second… the howling gale stopped. He found himself standing in tranquillity, on a plane of white tiles as endless as the dark.

Cautious, Dust looked around and muttered: “Where… where am I?”

An ominous pile of goo began to rise a few tiles ahead, black and white, sundered from the space around it. It moaned and groaned while it continued to coalesce into existence, growing and growing, until it towering over Dust. The features of a skull began to form, distorting into a twisted toothless grin.

In a familiar, gentlemanly, educated, yet distorted manner, the being spoke: “I see that the wayward son has finally returned.” Those words cut through the shadows, as if they were the source of the bone chilling black winds.

Dust stammered. “W. D. Gaster… You’re not dead…"

“Ah, yes… of course you would think I’m dead. After all, you were the one who tried to kill me.”

Six floating hands circled behind Gaster’s head. Each of them bore a hole in the palm, housing a coloured fire.

Cyan.
Orange.
Yellow.
Blue.
Green.
Purple.

Together, they formed a blooming halo for a twisted saint.

“Tried,” said Gaster, “And yet you failed. I still live. Although stuck in this metaspace, I'm definitely better off than you, if I do say so myself.”

A pair of floating hands picked on Dust’s hoodie with the tip of their fingertips, as though he was a filthy rag left behind on the floor.

“What’s this?” questioned Gaster, “100% wool? The material is so rustic, you might as well be a country bumpkin. Did some human villagers take pity on you?”

That high and mighty attitude had always been one of the goopy doctor’s most annoying traits. Grumbling, Dust replied: “Yup. It’s just like you said. They spent weeks making what I’m currently wearing, so get your gooey hands off their hard work!”

The hands vanished into thin air. They returned to visibility by their master’s side.

“What an absolute shame,” said Gaster. “Sans Serif, my protégé, the brightest mind in the Underground of his generation… had become a homeless drifter.”

Of all the possible accusations, Dust didn’t expect that. “Excuse me? A drifter? You mean a ‘bum’?”

“Yes. Homeless. Purposeless. Useless. Worthless. You dare deny it? You lost your house in a fire. After that, you left for goodness knows where, abandoning your little brother! So much for being his guardian, Sans. But I suppose Papyrus never needed your help. After all, he set out on his own, furthering his education in a fine human college.”

That scenario did not match reality one single bit. Was the goopy doctor driven insane from his delusions, or did he base them on an hallucinatory observation?

Dust took a deep breath and stretched out an arm: “Give me evidence. If you still call yourself a scientist, then give me evidence.”

Gaster waved his many hands. Upon his command, a giant monitor screen materialised, hovering behind the liquid man.

“Behold, Sans! When our nation escaped our long imprisonment, fate granted me the means to watch their daily lives!”

On screen, a live broadcast began to play. It displayed Ebott Town, idyllic and untarnished by The Calamity. Happy monster residents went about their days beneath the warm sun, enjoying life with their friends and families.

“What the heck…?” Dust shook his head, realising that the question of ‘how’ wasn’t important. Instead, he took a different approach: “I’m not convinced. Let me find the people I know.”

With another wave of Gaster’s hands, a keyboard materialised before Dust.

“Have fun,” said Gaster. “I bet everyone else is faring better than you.”

First name he typed was ‘Grillbz Grillenn’. The screen immediately focused on a signboard long lost in the air raid, from when the Celestial Calamity loomed over the land.

The image then shifted to the fire elemental himself. He was cleaning glasses behind the counter of his bar, preparing to open for the evening.

Gaster mused out loud. “I suppose running that quaint bar is a nice retirement plan. With a town this peaceful, there is no longer any need for him to continue serving in the army.”

Dust ignored the comments, searching for ‘Undyne’. That flower brat sure loved to pick her as his chosen warrior. Her condition may serve as a hint.

The view changed to Toriel’s school. It showed the fish woman teaching sports to a class of children, while dressed in a police uniform.

As far as Dust remembered, Undyne never did get a chance to form the replacement of The Royal Guard on The Surface. He remembered that she had gained inspiration from her meeting with the human police, but there was no time to implement the concept.

‘Alphys’ was next. The camera highlighted the facility she called home. It was the biggest building in the vicinity, about five floors tall. The lizard scientist worked on maintaining Mettaton’s robot body there. In the background, she seemed to have plans laid out for building more robots to help the town.

Everyone seemed happy with their own lives so far. But what about Asgore?

Bringing up his name showed the royal father. Despite being the King, he ran a flower shop on the side. Helping him tend the golden flowers was a young goat boy with a kind face, wearing a green and yellow striped shirt…

Much to Dust’s surprise, Little Prince Asriel was still alive.

Over at the cash registry, a human child withdrew today’s earnings. Gender, indiscernible. They had rosy cheeks, which marked a sharp contrast on their otherwise pale skin, and sported short brown hair cut just above the shoulder.

Could this be Chara? And if those two children were around, what about their mother?

“Tori…” Dust muttered, “Where is Tori?”

He hurried to type in the name ‘Toriel’.

‘ERROR 404 NOT FOUND’

Dust clenched his hand into a shaking fist. “Where? Where is Toriel? Why isn’t she here???”

Gaster replied, “After you went missing, The Queen filed for divorce. Egads, you’re not only a bum but also a homewrecker. I suppose it’s an open secret that she harboured feelings towards you. King Asgore was given custody of their two children, thus she left the town on her own to start a new life.”

Dust started to contemplate. There was one more person unaccounted for. In this near-perfect world where everyone seemed to be alive, that child had yet to appear. The last time Sans saw them, it was right before the school’s winter holidays.

He keyed in the name ‘Frisk’.

‘ERROR 404 NOT FOUND’

Something compelled him to search for ‘Frisk’ again.

‘ERROR 404 NOT FOUND’

And again.

‘ERROR 404 NOT FOUND’

And again.

‘ERROR 404 NOT FOUND’

Deep down, Dust knew that they’re the most important piece of the puzzle. They embodied the fate of the world, his purpose in life, the meaning behind this madness… everything.

Questions raced through his mind. The more he searched for Frisk, the more the pain on Dust’s chest worsened. It stung, yet he persevered. He persevered until he could bear it no more, collapsing on the ground from the agony.

 

* * *

 

When Dust returned to consciousness, he found himself at his farmhouse, tucked into bed. The Willowherb village must have noticed his absence, somehow.

“…Crap,” he muttered to himself. “I haven’t been careful enough…”

He heard footsteps approaching the door. Glancing in that direction, he spotted none other than Stephan, the true owner of the premise. The young farmer froze for a moment before running the other way, as though he was a boy caught in a guilty act.

And guilty, he was. Stephan had the vital job of growing the year’s food supply. Thousands depended on his work, his family included. He should be making the most out of the sunny summer season to grow more crops at the Willowherb village, not wasting time playing nurse. If Dust had any strength left in his bones, he would have given Stephan a good scolding.

But then again… the Seer knew he was the one who screwed up in the first place. This was his second official experiment, and he almost killed himself twice in the process. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be the one getting scolded.

Right on cue, Anya Willowherb entered the room in Stephan’s stead, dressed in cloak and mask as always. The cup of water in her hand quivered from sheer displeasure, spilling a couple of drops over the edge.

“Mister Dust,” she said, “From now on I will accompany you for all future experiments. That is an order! ”

Once she switched to drill sergeant mode, there was no fighting back. Awkwardly sinking deeper into the sheets, he replied with a quiet voice. “…Y-yes Ma’am.”

“Good.”

Anya then pulled over a chair and sat beside him. In a noticeably more motherly manner, she offered him the cup of water. “Please drink. You must be quite parched by now.”

He hadn’t noticed the thirst until she offered the drink. He accepted the cup and glugged down half the consents in one go. “Thanks. Uh. How long was I out? What’s today’s date?”

“It’s been twelve hours, based on the computer’s timestamps. Today is the 6th of June.”

“Okay. Noted. But how did you guys know I was in trouble? I was alone, y’know.”

The lady replied. “We… received a message reading ‘help’, scrawled in large capital letters, using this terrible faux-ancient handwritten font. I believe The Red Soulstone influenced the fax machine, somehow.”

“Welp. Guess I really should let them have all the booze tonight then, as compensation for their trouble. Say, was the machine still active when you arrived?”

“No,” she replied.

“Phew. That means the stopgap worked. It would have started eating through The Red Soulstone otherwise…” He then asked: “By the way, could you hand me my mirror?”

“You mean this pocket mirror?” She reached for a pouch on her belt and took the item out. “I noticed you had it lying on the table.”

“That’s how I keep track of my own stats. I can get details on anything as long as I can look at it, myself included.”

The colours in his eyes lit up when he inspected his own reflection.

LV: 1
EXP: 0
NEXT: 10

Putting the mirror down, he let out a long, tired sigh. “Yep. Just as I thought. I’m bone dry. Not a single borrowed lifeforce left. Dammit. It’s back to square one.”

Anya asked: “…Can I presume from your frustration that the experiment ended in failure?”

“Actually…” Dust finished the rest of the cup and placed it aside. “It was a complete success. I found my target: he was my old mentor, Doctor W. D. Gaster. He said I tried to kill him, but… I don’t remember when or how. After that, I discovered something… better? Worse? Can’t quite decide. Need your expert opinion on that matter.”

And so, Dust reported the results of his experiment. What he had felt, what he had seen, what he had experienced…

“…And that’s the conclusion of the report.” he finished, “Thoughts?”

The lady pondered. “I believe you discovered a window into a dream world. Since it’s full of your former citizens, I won’t be surprised if it’s a creation of The Celestial Calamity. Your mentor seemingly believes that the dream is reality itself.”

“A dream world, huh? Have you ever encountered any?”

“Yes. The Hero’s Guild and the military had discovered a plethora of lesser ones scattered throughout the land. We’ve managed to successfully dismantle some, though more keep cropping up. The Celestial Calamity must indirectly power their existence.”

“So if I pop the big bubble, then the rest should burst right after.”

“That is the hypothesis. But…” Lingering hesitation weighed down upon her shoulders. “There… there is something I want to share.”

“Welp, I’m all ears,” he replied. “More information always helps.”

So, Anya began: “The first dream world The Hero’s Guild encountered was a case I personally handled. It was based on a short story about a prosperous city named Omelas. In this utopia, there was no sadness, no frustrations, no troubles, no grief. The citizens were the most intelligent, sophisticated, and cultured lot to ever exist, so much so that they required no government or leadership.”

“However,” she continued, “Their prosperity came at a cost. Every summer solstice, at the height of the festival, a single child would be chosen to live in perpetual condemnation: bearing the city’s filth, darkness, and misery.”

Dust smirked. “Heh. Knew there’s a catch to that happy-peppy nonsense. No conceivable way a society could exist without problems, unless something changed at a fundamental level. Using a supposedly cursed child to absorb all the naturally existing evils is a prime example.”

“I… tried to rescue them.” Anya’s voice strained, trying to hold back her regret. “But the moment I took them out of their prison, the world shattered. I was left with the shrivelled corpses of Omelas’ former residents. Not even the forsaken child survived.”

“…The victims were in the dream for too long,” Dust concluded. “Looks like you were dealing with time-sensitive stuff.”

“Indeed. Because of the fatalities involved, The Hero’s Guild deemed it ‘immoral’ to justify the destruction of the less harmful bubbles. If the lives inside were better than they could ever achieve in reality, wouldn’t it be cruel for us outsiders to terminate it?”

Dust furrowed his brows in suspicion. “Why do I get the feeling that those so-called ‘heroes’ are too afraid to take action? Enjoying the limelight too much to get their hands dirty?”

The cynical chuckle from Anya confirmed his thoughts. “Without the support of civilians, a hero is a nobody.”

Obligations and perceptions bound the ‘good guys’. How typical, Dust thought. Even if Anya herself wanted to restore the affected lands, she would be alone in doing so.

“Heh,” Dust smirked. “Tell James that I don’t bloody care about my reputation. If I need to destroy someone else’s heaven to do my job, I’m gonna do it. I’m already a licensed murderer anyway. The numbers don’t make a difference to me. Those worlds are huge stashes of lifeforce waiting to be harvested. It would be a waste to let them sit around.”

Anya tightened her grip. “Are you certain the numbers don’t make a difference? Or is that just false bravado?… I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to put it without sounding offensive.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind.”

“Then, allow me to ask this: could you make the same claim when it involves your fellow monsters? More so concerning those you had fostered connections with?”

“They’re already dead,” he replied. “Be they humans or monsters, whoever’s in that dream world is long gone. I’m just being logical. Why perpetuate a lie just because it’s sweet? Someone’s gotta burst the bubble.”

“It’s different when they smile. I found myself wishing their happiness could have continued for just a little while longer. Could you still kill them, knowing that it will irreparably damage your soul?”

The sorrow of duty weighed heavy on Anya’s shoulders. Whatever happened to the dream of Omelas still haunts her today.

Dust wanted to answer ‘yes, I will’. Over the years he had tried to prepare himself for these dirty deeds, casting aside his interest for comedy, his hopes of a normal civilian life, and even his own name. All to make himself less of a person and more of a weapon.

Yet… he still could not answer Anya. Instead, he chose to deflect. “Sheesh. You’re dropping bombshells on a bone tired guy, lady. Kinda much, dontcha think?”

“I suppose so.” She smiled with a weak sense of relief. “Apologies.”

“Eh, it happens.” Dust sunk back down into the sheets. “I’m gonna lie down a bit more, if you don’t mind. Still recovering and stuff.”

“Very well. Please rest, Mister Dust. I’ll go make some lunch in the meantime.”

 

* * *

 

Later in the evening, after Anya went back to the village, Dust had a stroke of inspiration to deal with his new problem.

First, he needed reference. He was sure he had read about a potentially helpful tool, either in The Book of Vanquishing or The Book of Curses. So, he asked Willowherb R&D about it.

A couple of hours later, they faxed back a diagram of what they called a ‘Soul Lantern’. The schematics described it as a device to store excess lifeforce within a white flame.

The downside? The device required constant fuel in the form of a ‘Spirit Candle’. Notes on the side explained how the wax should be made from the fat of a ruminant, which would then be mixed with a blend of ground herbs and cured in a magic field purified by the prayers of a pure-hearted maiden.

“Looks like the max capacity is about… 300 EXP. And to keep that, I would need to replace the Spirit Candle every nine hours. That’s almost three a day, per lantern, for however long it takes. Dang… that’s a lot of candles.”

Just the thought of the sheer inefficiency made his head hurt. “Ugh, why does it have to be lifeforce anyway? Can’t I just use regular old electricity and be done with it?”

The small complaint opened up a window for deeper questions. Indeed, why did all the requirements specifically ask for lifeforce? What about the sacrifice of a living, sentient being changes the fundamental nature of the mana?

In his experiments, he had observed plants having plenty of lifeforce, correlated to their size, age, and species. Yet no matter the amount, the lifeforce would alway dissipate within seconds of absorption.

Animal sources fared a little better. Though they were still fleeting compared to actual people. This relative permanence reminded Dust about the ancient legends, where human souls were said to last much longer than a monster’s.

“Determination…? Has that been the secret spice all the while?”

What if he could somehow imbue DT into a modern battery? It might have way more capacity than a Soul Lantern, without any of the maintenance. Alas, he doesn’t have the time or resources to test that theory. He’d just have to make do with what he has.

Dust reached for the bowl holding the Red Soulstone and poured the contents out on the flat surface of his work table. Placing the tip of his finger on the edge of the heart-shaped gem, he rocked it like a cradle.

“Hey,” he said, “Could you guys tell me how y’all ended up this way? If you don’t mind sharing. Research purposes, y’know.”

The Soulstone whispered in fearful recollection. Some were kidnapped off the streets, others were duped by fake job offers. The most unfortunate ones were sold by their own family members in exchange for sustenance.

When the moment of truth arrived, they were rounded up to stand on a huge magic circle. One heretical chant later and their souls were stripped from their bodies, condensed into a crystal.

“…I see. No different from your standard slave trafficking. That sucks. Guess that’s why you like booze, eh? I would want to drink those memories away too.”

The aberration then floated around to disrupt the conversation. He was annoyed, restless, and annoyingly restless.

“Brother, I hate this!” The Phantom complained, “I hate this soooo much! That woman is going to hover over our shoulders during all the big science??? It’s as if we don’t have a private life anymore!”

“Sorry,” Dust replied, “It’s all because I screwed up twice.”

“Ugh, how incompetent.” The Phantom grumbled. “Here I thought that you were finally getting your act together.”

“Welp. I’m trying.”

“Why not take one or two souls from the Red Soulstone?” The floating brother suggested. “They should provide more than enough EXP.”

“Na-uh, absolutely not. I need our gem friends to serve as the graphics card, so to speak. Taking even one soul from the lot may create a small crack, and when enough cracks accumulate, complete structural failure follows. Without the stone, I’m blind at best, dead at worst.”

“As usual, you’re being needlessly difficult!!!”

“Yup. I know.”

The Phantom peered at the diagram. Already, Dust could feel the disapproval rising. “What’s this? A container to offload lifeforce? You’re planning to separate yourself from all the goody goodness?!?”

Patting himself on the ribs, Dust said: “This old sack of bones ain’t gonna pack enough juice for the machine. You can’t expect me to absorb beyond my limit.”

“But do you even know where your limit is? If you keep burning that lifeforce away, how are we ever going to find out? And how are we ever going to get stronger??? I noticed that you’ve never even gone beyond LV 15!”

“…Why LV 15? That’s oddly specific,” The elder brother asked back. “The most I’ve ever managed to scrounge up was about 10, maybe 11.”

Exasperated, The Phantom planted his face into his floating palms. “Brotherrrrr! Did you really forget?! It was during the floating castle incident! You were so, so, sooooooo close to becoming truly strong!”

The floating castle was supposed to be where Dust first met Anya. Crossing his arms, he tried to recall anything about that time.

Failing to remember anything, he replied: “Yup. I totally forgot. That, my floating brother, is a big warning sign. Reaching LV 15 must have fucked with my head somehow. So. I’m definitely gonna get as many lanterns as I can. No weird EXP-induced amnesia allowed.”

The Phantom started throwing a tantrum by rolling around inside his head. “Nooooooooooo! I want us to acquire more, and more, and more, until we’re unstoppable!!!”

Raising an eyebrow, Dust said: “In other words, you want the fun of murder without the responsibility of power.”

“Yes!” The Phantom replied, “Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Sorry bro, that’s not how life works. C’mon, if you’re tired of the boring stuff just laze away. That’s what I would do.”

“Fine! Whatever! Suit yourself!”

And so, the aberration vanished. Peace and quiet returned to the desk. What a headache that Phantom. In many ways, he was still immature.

Then again, how could Dust blame him? He was based on the younger brother after all. With inexperience comes tantrums. Papyrus had plenty of those too.

Thinking about the carefree days reminded Dust how much he missed the noise.

He quickly put the thought aside before it paralysed him. There’s still much to be done. Such sorrowful drowning can wait until after The Celestial Calamity has been dealt with.

Starting tomorrow, the hunt begins anew.

Chapter Text

June 13, 2021

It’s been days since Dust left the Ebott region.

He’s been spending his time at the Hero’s Guild: humanity’s last stand against the Celestial Calamity, as evident by the 24-hour military activity. Even the non-combatant support staff worked in shifts to cover the unending workload.

From what he observed, much of the buzz took place at the main lobby where outstanding activities would be posted on the mission board for the heroes to pick up, with rewards given out according to importance, difficulty, and urgency. It was an old-fashioned low-tech set-up. Judging from the dilapidated 4K monitors hanging overhead, the apocalypse disrupted their ability to maintain their digital infrastructure.

Most of them were lower-priority jobs, though. Grunt work dressed up with a better name. Perhaps urgent or high-profile cases are directly issued to the best candidate?

“Not a single dream world?” Dust groaned. They had invited him all the way to the heart of their prestigious organisation, then had him doing… absolutely nothing.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind the free meals and lodging. He was the infamous lazybum of the Underground, after all. However, a constant tense atmosphere made it difficult for him to get comfortable.

The heroes didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust the heroes. The cordial invitation was merely a polite front issued by James Pashowar, or so he figured.

Were they afraid of him, Dust wondered? In theory, being back at LV1 meant that he could now stand around humans without triggering any ill effects, especially while wearing his special cap and cloak.

Still, too many of the heroes bore an aura of Red, like Anya and Stephan, parading around without suppressants. He could tell from the faint mist that trailed behind them anywhere they went. Ever since he intercepted the heretics at the hospital, he could somehow see the ebbs and flow of Determination. Their glow seemed to grow stronger at night as well. He thought that this was an odd development, since he knew he was not born with this kind of perception.

All that Determination gathered in one place… This must be Pashowar’s way to show off his fighting force: to say that even in the worst of circumstances, humanity is not to be trifled with.

‘The Guild had survived for a thousand years and will survive another thousand years!’

The message brimmed with confidence, but the delivery was aggravating. It would have been nicer if they gave him the official tour within the first few hours instead of letting him bum around for days while they flaunted their might.

Anxiety gnawed on the back of Dust’s mind; The Celestial Calamity could reactivate at any moment. If the Guild continues to refuse him a job, he’ll be forced to cancel the cooperation and hunt his victims on his own.

Then, right before he decided to give up, Anya approached him with a sealed dossier. The Guildmaster had finally issued Dust a formal mission.

While Dust read the contents, she briefed the details of the task at hand: “We’ve received reports of armed smugglers carrying suspicious cargo. According to our intel, their last known location is an old warehouse. Judging from their modus operandi, we suspect them to have a mix of heretical mages and experienced mercenaries on their side. That makes this mission especially dangerous.”

“So,” Dust asked, “Are we dealing with an indie group or a smaller branch of a bigger syndicate?”

“I would consider the latter. Regional smugglers have had a known history of transporting contraband during the pre-Calamity days. Nothing noteworthy. However, this latest collaboration is a sign of a greater unifying power, allowing them to take bolder risks for larger profits.”

“Welp. As the saying goes: ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’. The surviving crime lords must be making a killing during these extra hard times. Kinda makes me wish I took the effort to pop ‘em all during the earlier years. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have been able to do so without abandoning Ebott.”

His eyebrow raised when he arrived at a peculiar detail in the report. “Hold on… this says that you guys never managed to tail a convoy all the way to its destination. ‘Tracking prohibited due to Hollow obstructions’? Seriously?! A bunch of common criminals had the balls to drive their precious cargo straight into a field of nightmares? And they survived every attempt? Do they have some kind of a Hollow-charmer in their group or what?”

The woman tensed her grip. “You are correct. That is how we suspect that they have allied with heretical mages, especially necromancers. By the way, the exact enchantments to produce the desired result are known to me. I could even apply them myself and mount an assault, but Guildmaster Pashowar has vehemently refused the proposal because it would take our forces deep inside of unknown territory.”

“Understandable. You guys are stretched pretty thin as is. Makes sense then that James would want to strike where it hurts the most: their wallet. No need to wade into Hollow territory if you can sabotage them from afar. So, how many can I kill? Any particular fellows that James wants captured instead?”

“Negative. Do as you please. They’re yours to reap.”

“Alrighty, let’s get going. We have some extermination to do.”

Thus the Hero’s Guild once again transported him under the cloak of night, blindfolded by personal request. They didn’t pry, either out of respect or convenience. The plan was to have Dust ambush the warehouse, while Captain Anya and her crew waited in hiding at the perimeters.

Infiltrating the warehouse itself was super easy. After all, it was nothing a few teleports from the right angle couldn’t handle. He landed on the mezzanine, looking over the facility from above.

It was so quiet that he could hear a pin drop. At a glance, the place seemed absolutely abandoned. Cleared out. Perhaps they had arrived too late to catch the criminals red-handed?

He also noticed what looked like a bunch of explosives plastered on a trapdoor. Should anything remain on site, whatever they were trying to protect must be underneath there.

When Dust stepped forward to look over the railing, he felt a thin nylon string resisting against the bottom of his shoe.

“Oh shit--”

A moment later, the explosion had sent him crashing and tumbling into a wall. Right before he lost consciousness, he thought that had lost his one measly point of health and died.

Yet, he was somehow still alive. As he woke up, he could hear Anya’s alarmed voice holler through the earbud taped to his earhole.

“Mister Dust!” she exclaimed, “Report, Mister Dust! Do you copy?” Even at the height of concern, she maintained her military tone.

Reaching for the communicator strapped to his belt, he found a piece of shrapnel jutting out from the gaps between his ribs, lodged against the wall behind him. What a close call. A centimetre higher or lower, and that sharp bit of metal would have struck his bones head on. That would have been a fatal blow.

He yanked out the offending piece of metal and tossed it aside. Opening a secure line, he said: “I’m alive. Haven’t lost any limbs either.”

“Thank goodness…” Relieved, her professional front faltered, though she immediately forced herself back to business. “Status report, please. What happened? I heard an explosion.”

Dust sighed. “This warehouse is a giant trap. There’s bombs and tripwires everywhere. Everyone skedaddled too. Have any of your guys managed to chase them down?”

“Please wait for a moment.” A moment, it was. He could hear Anya coordinating between the other teams drafted for this mission.

Upon return, she said: “Team Bravo chased another enemy convoy all the way to the Hollow field. After that, they were unable to continue their pursuit. Mister Dust, for your next course of action, I suggest that you hide yourself inside of the warehouse. The smugglers might return thinking that the explosion led to your untimely demise.”

In addition, The Phantom whispered into his mind: “Brother, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but listen to the necromancer. I can sense something magnificent lying beneath this warehouse. Trust me on this, nyeh heh heh!”

How interesting. Maybe they were protecting that trapdoor after all.

Dust responded back, “Sound plan. I’m gonna chill in the beams until they return. Or until you call it quits. Whichever comes first.”

So, that was what he did. He waited, and waited, and waited. Patience was one of the virtues in his sea of vices.

Hours later… Anya reported: “Your targets have returned. One truck is arriving at the main entrance as we speak, though more may be inbound.”

“Roger that,” he whispered back.

The first team immediately went around disarming the explosive traps for their own safety. Rather intriguingly, they seemed to be rather nervous of their own setup.

After disarming the bombs on the trapdoor, a bunch of muscular thugs lifted the whole hunk of metal off the ground and out of the way. There was nothing but cold hard concrete under there. Dust was both annoyed and amused by their scummy bait.

Soon after, the criminals proceeded to remove a similarly heavy panel of the warehouse’s back wall, revealing the hidden true entrance to the fabled basement. They went inside and returned a while later hauling out their secret stash: burlap sacks of mystery contents.

That was his signal to strike. Swift and merciless, he left none alive.

In the end, the harvest was not as much as he had hoped for. “I think I hit LV 4 there. Sheesh, that’s nowhere near enough. What were they hauling anyway?”

With the tip of his finger, he made a small cut on the nearest bag. Grains of pink orbs trickled out from the gash.

He reported back to Anya: “Hey, they’re transporting ammonium nitrate. Fertiliser. Looks like the stuff you sell to desperate farmers at jacked up prices, or used in IEDs. I guess now we know how they made those traps.”

Anya replied: “If more of those traps were triggered during a group raid, they might have ignited the fertiliser and caused a massive explosion. All our forces would have been obliterated, including the ones scouting outside. The smugglers were prepared to sacrifice their business to prevent authorities from securing their stock…”

The Phantom didn’t care about all of that. “Silly brother, those stinky bags are merely padding! They’ve hidden something much, much more valuable inside.”

How paradoxical. What sort of contraband could be so controversial that they’re willing to destroy it?

Dust reported: “I’m going in to investigate. Ending comms. Over and out.”

He thus went down the stairs. There, he found more sacks of fertiliser surrounding crates of other illegal goods, ranging from weapons to questionable drugs. They even had several crates of good old dynamite.

Deep in the stash, he found a lone locked iron box. Faint ebbs of magic seeped out from the gaps under the lid. After confirming that it wasn’t trapped, he cut the lock open with a Karma tinged bone, revealing a single bottle filled with a glowing prismatic liquid.

Picking it up, he questioned: “What the hell is this?”

The Phantom replied, “Use your magic eye, you lazybones.”

On request, Dust activated his Seer’s Eye to confirm the contents. The data read: ‘20000 EXP’.

“Bottled EXP…? How? Where from?”

Yet, The Phantom urged: “Drink it.”

Dust furrowed his brows in disbelief. “You’re telling me to drink a mystery liquid from an unknown source?”

“It’s not unknown, brother. Your Eye sees the truth. It’s EXP. This is the bounty we’ve searched so hard for. Are you gonna let it go to waste?”

“I…”

And so began the tug of war between safety and desire. On one hand, he had no idea what this drink would do to him. On the other hand, he desperately needed that LV.

“Drink it,” said The Phantom. “Drink it. Drink it. Drink it. Drink it. Drink it. Drink it. Drink it. Drink it. Drink it. Drink it. Drink it. Drink it.”

“Nuh uh. No way. You’re forcing it, bro.”

The Phantom yelled back with greater force: “DRINK IT!!!”

“I refuse.” Dust replied. Yet, against his better judgement, he uncapped the bottle and glugged the contents whole.

Immediately, a strange, twisted thirst stirred from deep within his SOUL. It craved for more EXP. More life. More power. More.

His earbud started to pop and crackle from sudden interference. Anya tried to contact him, but her words were barely audible.

“ …Enemy… reinfor… Ru…n…!”

The transmission ended in a full static. Irritated by the noise, Dust yanked out the device, and tossed it aside.

His senses had become more sensitive and attuned. He heard vehicles drive overhead. After that came the stomping of dozens of footsteps, ready to fight against any meddling meddlers who managed to weasel inside.

Four armed mercenaries rushed down the stairs first, their firearms at the ready. However, their charge halted when they saw Dust’s bonely self standing there.

Judging from the faint traces of terror exuding from their shivering arms, they must have expected their foe to be regular humans: people they had experience fighting.

That slight delay would spell their doom.

They opened fire. Yet, it was too late. Dust had vanished from their line of sight, appearing right behind them before they had even pulled the trigger.

Blood and dismembered pieces of flesh soon rolled on the floor, mixing in with the powdered remnants of metal, fabric, and plastic. Their panicked screams were instantly silenced in an efficient, thorough, yet messy assault.

The rush of victory was too sweet to resist. Every win compelled him to seek more prey in insatiable hunger and thirst.

A brave fool approached the stairway alone, drawn in by the initial screams. Without a second thought, Dust plunged his Karma-infused hand straight into the human’s chest. Any protective gear was rendered naught by his disintegrating touch.

Out came the human’s heart. It was still beating, soaked in the owner’s blood.

The Phantom praised with glee: “Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful! You’ve become so much more competent!”

“Hey…” Dust raised the human heart for The Phantom to see. “This… This thing looks like a ripe tomato.”

“Ooooh? You have a point. Why don’t you take a bite?”

Yielding to the aberration’s suggestion, Dust chomped down on the raw heart. The object had a fine balanced taste of sweet and sour, packed with fragrant flavour. It’s so full of moisture that the skin had a springy snap against his teeth.

Slurping on the contents, he commented: “Heh. Delicious! I haven’t had a fresh tomato in ages. Miss those so much.”

“At long last, my sloppily lazy brother achieved his true potential!” The Phantom caressed Dust’s cheeks with his ethereal gloved hands. “Come, let’s go and pluck some more fruit. We shall have a feast tonight! Nyeh heh heh heh heh!!!”

“Heh. Can’t wait.”

He knew a whole army had spread throughout the warehouse; the harvest had finally arrived.

How fortunate for him.

One.
Five.
Ten.
A hundred.

The more the merrier.

“Hey chums,” he whispered, “You wanna have a mad time? ‘Cause… I do. I really do.”

 

* * *

 

June 14, 2021

Dust woke up on the simple, thin mattress of a bunk bed.

Looking down on himself, he noticed that someone had put him in bright orange clothes. They were human society’s prisoner’s garbs: designed to make any escapee stick out like a sore thumb.

And prison he was in. The morning sun beamed through the rusty bars, casting their shadow on the concrete floor.

The prison cell was rather run down too. The once white walls had stained from grime, neglected over the years.

Understandable. Why bother maintaining a room for the damned when all the resources were better used elsewhere?

He found no attempts of physical restraints such as handcuffs or leg-chains. No magic-based seal either. Strange. He was obviously imprisoned, yet no effort was made to tie him down.

Next to his pillow was a two-way transceiver: the same model James Pashowar used to contact him from the farm fields.

The moment Dust approached it, the device started beeping. He answered immediately.

James greeted in his usual jolliness. “Good morning, Lone Defender! I hope the bed was comfortable enough.”

“…It’s fine.” Dust rubbed his forehead. “I’ve slept on worse. Got a nagging headache though.”

James replied, “I see, I see. How old are you anyway?”

“Uh… 36 years old, I think.”

“Hmm, hmm. That means you were only born in 1985. Wow. I was worried that you might actually be a thousand-year-old vampire.”

What an odd leap of logic, thought Dust. “Skeletons can’t be vampires. As far as I know anyway. What about you? What’s your birth year?”

“Well,” James replied, “I was born in the good year of 1967.”

The younger of the two snickered. “Heh. 54? You’re old, dude. I’m calling you ole’ James from now on.”

The implication of senior age had pricked the Guildmaster’s ego, it seems. “Sir, why are you so cruel? You speak as if I’m 80…”

Funny. However, the Seer was not in a mood for more chitchat. “Alright, enough fun. What happened to me?”

James answered, “You happened to drink the evidence and lost your mind. It’s completely out of character for you to do something so reckless! Well, I suppose the years of fighting had pushed you to the edge.”

“...I did what now?!”

“Among the stolen fertiliser and assorted contraband, the most important piece of evidence was a bottle of lifeforce: a cursed product of Soul Necromancy. Fortunately, I was able to syphon the contents out of you.”

“Did you kick my guts until I puked or something?”

“Oh no, no. Nothing so violent! It was closer to… how do I put this? Reverting your lapse of judgement.”

That was when Dust had vague recollections about the night before, down to the point where he sunk his teeth into an awfully large and ripe tomato.

No, it wasn’t a tomato at all. It had the wrong texture, the wrong temperature, wrong smell, wrong colour, wrong flavour--

His breathing quickened. A part of Dust wished that he gagged in disgust at the thought of what he had done. Yet, he had no physical reaction.

“Are you alright?” James asked.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Dust replied.

“Then, I’ll continue. Your grim adventure didn’t stop there. You went on quite the rampage. To summarise, you wiped out every mercenary in the warehouse. One of the truck drivers fled the scene in panic the moment they heard of the mayhem, driving off toward the horizon. Yet, that was no problem for you at all. A decisive teleport was all you needed to get on the roof of the vehicle. I have no idea how you managed to hold on with all the wind.”

“But hold on, you did. Slayed every Hollow your presence had attracted. The truck ride then took you straight into the enemy’s headquarters. Well. I would rather not elaborate too much about the aftermath. Let’s just say that we don’t need to worry about that band of smugglers anymore.”

Wiping the sweat off his skull, Dust asked: “Wh-what happened to Anya’s team?”

“Thankfully, they’re safe and sound! Stayed well out of your way until you collapsed from exhaustion. Everyone has their physical limits after all. I used that moment to fix you up, give you a bath, a change of clothes, and a nice little private room for you to rest.”

“You sure love to give crappy things lovely descriptions, huh?”

“I believe perception is a powerful tool. Speaking of which, I hope that you now understand the downsides of your art. The more lifeforce you acquire, the more it erodes your sanity. It is one of the many reasons why necromancy was condemned by The Guild. I’m surprised you’ve lasted for over six years.”

The vampire comparisons started to make sense. Human legends state that those creatures had a taste for blood to sustain their existence.

Dust saw his own prison cell in a new light. It wasn’t meant for containment. Instead, it was a warning that his human contacts no longer allowed him to have his freedom.

No point crying over spilt milk. He decided to be direct and asked about his fate. “So, what are you gonna do to me now? Execute me?”

“Heavens, no. I believe you still have much to offer us with that genius mind of yours. However… we may need you to take an extended vacation from the battlefield. Perhaps retirement may be a more apt way to put it.”

“No bloody way. I can’t retire. The Calamity could happen again anytime now. It’s been too long since the last one.”

James’ voice turned grim. “About that… You may be right. Scouts have reported sightings of giant black briars as far as the westmost isles.”

“…W-what?” Dust muttered, “You’re kidding, right? That’s hundreds of kilometres from Mount Ebott.”

“I’m afraid not. The Calamity’s roots have been spreading quietly right beneath our feet. We’ve mistaken their silence for inaction, completely outplayed by your flowery adversary.”

“That means the entire Willowherb Village is compromised! We need to evacuate--”

“They’ve known for a long time, and they have chosen to stay. Know that they refused to inform you, so that you won’t worry too much about the inevitable.”

The Guildmaster let out a deep sigh. “Sir Dust. If the harvests fail this year, countless people will perish from famine. Our reserves have emptied from the years of constant battle. Every farmer in the country knows this. Therefore, they cannot give up their land… no matter how dangerous it has become.”

Dust clenched the side of his prison bed so hard, his magic seeped through. That section crumbled under his grip. “Why…? If the Willowherbs told me the truth, I would have forced myself to work harder. Faster. I’m too damn patient for my own good!”

“On the contrary, your patience protected you,” said James. “If you were any hastier, you would have consumed more lifeforce than you could possibly bear. Imagine what might have happened had you lost yourself in a civilian zone.”

There would be many dead innocent bystanders, for sure. Dust grit his teeth in dismay, knowing that it was impossible to protest.

“Lone Defender,” said the man, “On behalf of humanity, I – James Aran Pashowar – Guildmaster of The Hero’s Guild, thank you for your years of tireless service. Captain Willowherb will escort you home. Meanwhile, us heroes will uphold our oath to finish the job. Farewell.”

Call, end. The two-way transmitter had gone completely silent.

Dust grabbed his pillow and smothered it against his face. He screamed his non-existent lungs into it in absolute frustration.

Six years. It had been six long years of fighting against that stupid flower… and the flower was winning.

Chapter Text

June 20, 2021

After James Pashowar dismissed Dust from his duty, there was a moment of quiet: a perfect peaceful lull of boredom.

No wannabe heroes tried to tangle with him.
No authority tried to flex its powers on him
No missions or jobs were issued for him either.

Dust thought this situation would be excellent. Was he not the infamous lazyman of the Underground, so much so that he drove Papyrus up the wall? He should be ecstatic to be granted express permission to sleep like a slob all day long.

Yet… he found himself rather quaintly unhappy. The Guild had shunned him for losing control of his own mind and body, yet it wasn’t the social aspect that bothered him. After all, ‘being part of the group’ was never his priority. Rather, it was a personal failing.

From a young age, Dust noticed that he had a hefty inclination towards addiction. So, he spent his entire life sectioning his vices into socially accepted placebos.

Ketchup consumption was less dangerous than alcohol.
Keeping five low-intensity part-time jobs beats being a workaholic.
Acting the part of the punny comedian was better than becoming a weapon.

He had reasoned himself into those kinds of positions so that Papyrus would never, ever, ever get into trouble with the Royal Guard over his own poor actions.

And in the end… he had completely lost the battle. That sure sucked.

For about a week since, the skeleton had been observing the formation of a human army in his backyard. With the hopes of ending the source of the Calamity, they had really spared no quarters, bringing in truckloads of bombs, guns, and whatever other firepower they needed for the job. This pile of weapons could very well be the last of their stock, reserved for the fateful day of victory.

As of today, the military finally met up with The Guild. From his vantage point of the farmhouse’s rooftop, he saw some of their bigwigs shaking hands before they adjourned into a huge tent, where they’d most likely continue to talk about strategy and tactics.

The Phantom glared towards the tent. “I hate them. I hate, hate, hate, hate. They’re robbing us blind from right under our noses! Aren’t you gonna do anything about it?”

“Nope,” Dust replied. “If Ole’ James can do a better job by himself, why get in the way?”

“Humbug and poppycocks! We wouldn’t be stuck here for years if those humans could do anything meaningful!”

Dust shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll just have to wait and see. In the meantime, I’m letting my noggin rest.”

“Saaaaaaaaaaaaaans! You and your lazy ways aren’t making my mood better!”

He then heard a familiar set of wheels grinding to a halt nearby. To his surprise, it was Anya. That woman, ever hidden under her cloak, exited the vehicle and reached for the boot. She hauled out a crate, plunked it on the floor, and took out two dark brown bottles. Then, as if inviting him, she raised them up towards the roof where Dust sat.

“A drink, huh?” Dust commented. And here he thought that she would be joining the assault. “Eh, might as well. Not that I have anything better to do.”

He thus teleported down to ground level, settled on the front porch, and popped the caps. Together they drank straight from the bottle, not bothering to pour the booze out into glasses and the like.

“This is new,” he commented. “What do you call this?”

“Whisky,” Anya replied. “Distilled grain alcohol, aged in wooden barrels. These were made before The Calamity.”

“Sounds like we’re getting smashed on some expensive stuff. You fine with that?”

“It’s another price I’m paying for.” She took a swig and sighed. “After all, it’s because of me that Guildmaster Pashowar set you up to fail.”

“Care to explain while my mood’s still peachy from the spirits?”

“Remember the floating castle incident? Or rather… remember that you don’t? By the time we met there, you had absorbed so much lifeforce, it was to the point of amnesia. While you maintained just enough sanity to cooperate, I was forced to report my first impressions to Guildmaster Pashowar.”

“Those being?”

“That you were a very, very dangerous entity, Mister Dust.”

No wonder Anya was always so wary around him. Dust took another swig and said: “Sounds like I was right at the threshold. I did some calculations last night and figured that my limit is about LV 15 before I’d start losing myself.”

“I see… That explains why you returned to normal after the Dark Lords were vanquished. Everything created from that unnatural world would dissipate after its destruction. Lifeforce included.”

He chuckled a bit. “You did the right thing, lady. Gonna be frank here: I’m an untrustworthy guy. If you didn’t take the precautions you did, I might have killed ya right where you stand. Bye bye Stephan too.”

“Perhaps so… But you did not.”

They continued drinking in silence for a while. Then, Dust noticed that Anya had outright stopped.

“Can’t hold your liquor anymore?” he asked.

Smirking, she said: “I need to be able to drive.”

“Crash here for the night then. No fun getting wasted alone. We have like, what, ten more bottles to go through?”

“Hmm. Not a bad idea. I’d just need to send a fax to the village to explain my absence. By the way, you seem to be capable of handling your alcohol quite well. Is it a skeleton trait?”

“Nah,” he replied. “When I first got out from under the mountain, I was a total lightweight. Got knocked out cold from a single chug. Nowadays, though, I could finish a whole bottle and stay somewhat sober. Guess I’ve built up resistance over the years.”

Anya then asked: “When The Celestial Calamity is over, what do you plan to do?”

Dust stopped to think, trying to recall his bygone dreams. “My brother and I… we wanted to travel the world. I guess I’ll go do that in his stead. Not like The Guild wants me hanging around here much anyway.”

“Did you manage to apply for a passport?”

“Nope. Shit hit the fan before we could. Come to think of it, I don’t think I would be allowed to get one, being a monster and all. Plus word might have gotten out that I’m a top-tier criminal now. Guess I’ll just wander as an illegal teleporter until the day I crumble to dust.”

“Or… you could join me.” Anya proposed. “I will be going to The Far East to investigate what happened there. Before The Calamity, there were already rumours of ominous incidents occurring in the region. I can imagine it has only worsened in these years of isolation.”

“Damn, you still trust me after what I did on my previous mission?”

She looked at him dead in the eyes and replied with a straight face: “I need a walking danger by my side. The deadlier, the better.”

Dust pulled his head back, nervous. “Okay, now I’m the one getting scared. From the way you’re speaking, The Far East has the potential to be in worse mayhem than here.”

“You’re correct, and—” Her grip tightened on the bottle’s neck. “Sorry. I’m getting too far ahead of myself. The curse over Ebott is not over yet, after all.”

“Ahuh. Welp, since we’re on that topic, I have a question for ya.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

Pointing his thumb over his shoulder, he said: “From the size of the operation, it looks like Ole’ James hit the jackpot and found the source without me. What made the difference from six years ago?”

“More like ‘who’ instead of ‘what’, Anya replied, “You, Mister Dust, actually made all the difference. Your ongoing research and the tales of your past provided us with information that we wouldn’t have otherwise known. The final clue was when you uncovered Doctor Gaster.”

Dust didn’t expect to hear his old mentor’s name. Intrigued, he put the bottle aside, wanting to remain sharp and sober for a bit longer. “I’m listening.”

“He claimed to be alive, existing in a space beyond our physical reality. This oddity prompted The Guild, the military, and the government to dig through their collective intel networks for anything related to Mount Ebott. I too participated in that search.”

“We found that a few years before the emergence of the monsters, the region’s seismic detection system recorded a massive earthquake of unknown origins. The whole southern side of Mount Ebott collapsed, killing a number of unfortunate mountain climbers. Testimonies from survivors described hearing an explosion, reminiscent of a volcanic eruption.”

“A thought thus began to dawn at the meeting table. The monsters once relied on a massive magical geothermal generator, magnitudes more advanced than anything humanity had ever achieved. What if the cause of the earthquake was actually a generator malfunction?”

She wondered out loud: “...Didn’t your mentor say that you tried to kill him, though? What did you do?”

“That’s a good point… What did I do?”

A sharp headache cracked through Dust’s skull, threatening to split it into multiple parts. The pain was so great that his vision distorted into refracted images peppered with white squares.

The woman tried to call for his name. He saw her lips move, but he couldn’t hear a word she said.

‘Stop,’ Dust uttered, or so he thought. The deafening silence prevented him from understanding his own speech.

When the intent to question ceased, the pain faded and his vision returned. Dust found himself panting heavily. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead, flowing down to his chin. Between his wheezes, he said, “I… I don’t know what’s going on… But… don’t ask about Gaster…”

He fumbled for the bottle. After grabbing the neck, he guzzled down a quarter of the contents. Somehow, it calmed him down. It was either the alcohol, or the act of drinking itself.

“The dream world,” he muttered, “How did…. How did you guys figure out the location of the entrance? The search was supposed to be the next part of my project, and I hadn’t even started on that.”

Anya reached out towards him, concerned. But she soon decided to withdraw, choosing to answer in a more stoic manner instead. “It was an educated guess, to be honest. The Core provided the best chance of finding the entrance to Ebott’s dream world, but it was not a guarantee.”

“Once the source of the Calamity is found within the dream, The Guild and the military will attempt to destroy it by any means necessary. Should that fail, I will be next in line to finish the job. And, should I fail too… James Pashowar himself will step onto the field.”

“And the rest of the Willowherb? When will they act?” Dust asked.

“I truly hope it never comes down to that.” Anya chuckled. “If The Guild’s heroes can save the world, we’ll let them take the credit. Guildmaster Pashowar is a strong yet kind man: the leader we need to rebuild this country. I just want hope for the future to return…”

Deep down in Dust’s heart, a hundred mental alarms began to ring. They were loud enough to overpower his urge to be a smartass about James’ lack of transparency. There was a huge flaw in this operation. And judging from Anya’s gloom, the humans were completely aware of it.

Yet, they’re willing to risk their lives for this final stand. Their best shot. A now-or-never situation. The do-or-die.

Dust capped his bottle and returned it to Anya. “Keep it safe.”

“Huh?” She asked, “Where are you going?”

“Gonna scout The Core for a bit. I got a feeling the heroes are in for a bad, bad time. Don’t worry about me, I’ll make sure I stay hidden.”

“What about the machine? Couldn’t you spy from a safe distance?”

“Forget it. I don’t have enough lifeforce to use that right now. Anyways, I gotta go. Wait for me. I’ll be back later.”

Dust envisioned the clearest image of place Underground that fulfilled two specific requirements. One, it should be close to The Core. Two, it shouldn’t be crawling with heroes. Good thing he had left a marker there for his mind to teleport to with minimal sickness.

A colossal leap later, and Dust found himself at his childhood home, amidst the darkness of the unlit Underground. Despite his efforts, he still felt some nausea. It had been a while since he came here, so his memory had faded.

Powering through the unease, he hurried out to New Home’s main road. That would be the fastest and shortest route to The Core.

However, he soon saw that the path ahead was lit up by human activity. Every few metres, a pair of men stood guard, watching the backlines.

“What the… they’re already this deep inside? Looks like they dispatched these scouts ahead of time.”

Dust rushed to head for one of the many portal shortcuts that littered the Underground. On the other end, he felt his foot drop too far and too sharp. He immediately stepped back before he tumbled forward into god knows where.

“Whoa!” He realised that he teetered over a lake of magma. Whatever safe land that once existed had been completely destroyed, replaced by towering black briars. Had he been any hastier, he would have plunged straight into a fiery death.

“Damn. How am I going to get to The Core now?...”

Thus, he began to do some thinking. “…Mettaton’s old hotel connects to The Core from the back entrance. The elevators aren’t powered anymore, so the humans are gonna be slowed down by the long stair-filled way. I might be able to get ahead of them if I’m quick enough.”

Where, though? It had been years since he had seen the interiors of the hotel. For him to make the jump, he needed a concrete image of his destination.

After some pondering, he ended up in a location that he could never forget even if he wanted: the decaying restaurant wing of Mettaton’s Underground hotel. The wallpaper there had peeled from the years of neglect.

The Phantom whispered: “Isn’t this where you threatened the little human?”

Dust’s attention turned towards a dust-covered table. A long, long time ago, he talked a bit with Frisk at that very same spot. If it weren’t for his promise with Toriel, that child would have been dead where they stood.

Thinking back, Dust wondered… Was it a joke? Was it genuine? Or somehow both?

“It doesn’t matter anymore, bro…” He said, brushing the memory aside. “Let’s go before the humans get here.”

Stepping into the lobby, he found that the briars had blocked all exits except the one leading to The Core. There was no time to ruminate over this curious convenience, though.

The moment he entered The Core, he looked around for a place to perch. One of the massive pipes overhead provided him with the perfect spot to lay low.

The scouts’ footsteps could already be heard from a distance. Soon their chatter followed.

“What an eerie facility… The hairs of my skin won’t stop standing.”

“I heard that this giant heresy pumps out more magic juice than all of our generators combined. I say we should have wrecked it before everything went to shit.”

“Focus, guys. We’re in unknown territory. Keep chatter to a minimum until we confirm the location of the dream world.”

Leading the way was one of The Guild’s high-ranking heroes. He had seen her face on the leaderboards before, back when he was a guest in their establishment. A faint red aura surrounded her, indicating that she was a Red Soul like Anya.

“…I sense an especially strong abnormality coming from the left,” the woman said, “It’s unstable. Distorted. Be on guard.”

There, amidst total darkness, awaited a section of The Core that burned in perpetuity. Despite his curiosity, Dust could never get close to that place without a splitting headache.

Good thing there were several maintenance balconies there, jutting out from the side of the wall on the upper levels. They’d allow him to view that location without too much pain. They stood a bit further up than he’d like to be, but that would have to do.

As expected, he was too far to hear them talk. Based on their positive reactions, they had found what they were looking for: the entrance to the dream world.

But in the middle of their victory, Dust noticed there was something terribly wrong. The fires were glitching out. Movement skipping. Light shearing. And the humans… they didn’t know any better.

Then, the flames began to roar. The blaze grew bigger. Taller. Denser. Until they formed a roaring walkway.

As the party of heroes cautiously backed off from the edge, Dust saw the unbelievable: a black knight in full plate emerged from the darkness beyond. The clinks of his heavy boots reverberated with every step.

Guns raised and ready, the soldiers opened fire. Bullets sparked when metal hit the metal. Many of the shots punctured the armour all the way through, letting out a bright orange light.

Despite the damage, the knight was unflinching. Unyielding. Undefeated. Whatever wounds he suffered were undone, closing up and shutting out the inner shine.

The knight drew his sword. The ever-burning flames answered his command, drawing themselves into his body.

And the heroes began to run…

…Alas, it was a futile effort.

In one swing of his mighty blade, the human leader was cleaved down the middle in a swift and instant death. Each half of her body got charred into cinders and ash. Any blood spilled, vaporised before it touched the ground.

The entire corridor behind that unfortunate soul, all the way up to the entrance, combusted into a furnace.

Every human soldier in the vicinity was burned alive. Their flesh set alight… and their suffocating lungs melted with every choking hot breath.

The knight marched ever onwards, cutting down anyone still writhing in their dying moments, ensuring a merciful end to their merciless suffering.

Dust covered his nose and mouth to block out the smoke. Nevermind the searing heat rising upwards and threatening to roast him. He teleported out of The Core, pronto.

From the skyline of New Home, Dust thus found himself looking over the main road. The intense glow from The Core grew brighter and brighter and brighter.

Hot. New Home started to become hotter than Hotland. Those soldiers on the road must have felt the blazing heat, facing the approaching threat. Although they still trembled in fear, sheer discipline overrode their instincts for self-preservation.

When the knight emerged, every gun fired ceaselessly at their target. Yet again, those efforts were for naught. The main road erupted into an inferno bigger than the last. The cacophony of panic, pain, and agony sounded once more.

And just like before, the silhouette of the knight dashed down the path, ending each scream by the edge of his blade. No prisoner was taken, and no survivors were allowed.

Witnessing the slaughter firsthand, The Phantom sang his praises. “The scale of this destruction is something to behold! What elegance! What beauty! What destruction! A magnificent orchestra of the netherworld pleasing to both eyes and ears. Sans! Who is this man? Why have I never seen him before? You should take him as an example!”

What bothersome commentary. Dust ignored the chatterbox to analyse the movements of the magic flames. He had noticed some unusual behaviour.

As evident from the knight’s cape violently tossing back and forth, cold winds from The Surface were rushing into The Underground in response to the superheated air. By all logic, those same currents should push against the fire, directing the flow deeper underground with every gust.

And yet – defying the laws of physics – the inferno marched forth even when the knight did not. As though driven by a powerful will, the flames trailed ahead of their master as though they were an army of their own.

Should this walking calamity manage to leave The Underground, he would wipe out every last human in the vicinity of Ebott. Beyond doubt, a Game Over.

The knight stopped walking. He then turned towards Dust, staring at him square in the face.

That was his cue to retreat all the way back to the farmhouse. He refused to stay behind to satisfy his morbid curiosity, for he had already seen enough.

Knees, weak. He fell over and rolled on the porch. Anya hurried over to help him up.

“Mister Dust?!” she exclaimed, “What happened?”

“Abort…” Dust grabbed her cloak, clutching it tight under his grip. “Abort the mission! Your guys, they’re dying as we speak!”

Anya did her best to remain calm. “Describe the enemy.”

“An armoured knight. Commands fire. Unbeatable. Invincible. Saw him take a boatload of bullets like a damn Swiss cheese and live! Nobody stands a chance against this man, myself included.”

Horror dawned under her stoic front. With a slight quiver in her voice, she concluded: “That… That’s an Immortal Guardian. A being created with the sole purpose of protecting the source of The Calamity.”

Dust and Anya heard an explosion from the mountain. He scrambled on his feet to get a better view.

A plume of smoke and flame bleached out from the eastern exit. The Immortal Guardian was advancing. Fast.

“Do you know his identity?” The Willowherb mage asked, “If the Guardian is a resident of your town and not a Hollow construct, I may be able to use True Name magic to imprison him.”

“True Name. Right, his name. He… He’s…”

Each and every person within the Ebott dream world should be an acquaintance of his. That knight couldn’t be King Asgore, and it most definitely couldn’t be Captain Undyne.

Who… Who was it? Who in the Underground possessed that much prowess to begin with?

Try as he might, he failed to match the description to anyone he knew.

“Dammit!” He slapped himself across the cheek. “Remember already! Why can’t you remember, you useless oaf???”

Then, Dust had an epiphany. His attention turned towards the cursed machine sitting in the farmhouse’s living room. Since his memories continued to fail him, he was better off reviewing the past itself.

Rushing into the house, the first he did was to swipe the Red Soulstone from its resting spot. He briefly apologised to the people inside, saying: “Sorry guys, but we’re kind of in a pinch right now.”

Stone in hand, he climbed on the altar, laid down, and activated the machine.

………

Once upon a time, in the long forgotten past, a teenage Sans had just started his training with Doctor Gaster. His first duty was to meet every person in the Royal Guard, especially the Captain.

In that era, he met someone other than Undyne: a man in a dark imposing armour. It was the exact same design massacring the human soldiers in the present.

The young boy straight up said: “I wanna see your face, Cap. What if some funny guard took your armour and dressed up as you? Don’t wanna mistake you for an impostor or something, y’know.”

Perhaps it was the age, perhaps it was the wit. For whatever the reason, the Captain obliged the request without objection.

The Dust of today was dumbfounded before the truth. Beneath the dark armour was none other than the gentlest fire elemental he ever met. No one else would let him incur such an ungodly debt on his tab.

“…Are you the new trainee?... Welcome…”

His voice was the final confirmation. The Immortal Guardian was none other than Grillby, the mild-mannered bartender.

True Name: Grillbz Grillenn. Former Captain of the Royal Guard.

Chapter Text

Dust attempted to eject out of the time-viewing machine to no avail. He was sure that he tried at least five times, if not more. Yet, each and every attempt failed.

Instead, he was forced to witness another fragment of the past against his volition. That mechanical altar was not called ‘cursed’ for nothing.

This scene took place not long after Sans had met Grillby as a teenaged boy, during the first in a series of intensive training sessions.

His assignment: to navigate a sentry maze, steal the dummy data, and escape.

Sans had his back against the wall, watching out for Doctor Gaster’s latest diabolical creations: floating death ray sentry orbs of doom.

They were repurposed alarm sensors that other mechanically minded monsters had made. Gaster switched the parts around to make them inflict damage.

The rules were the following:

Orange Lens, keep moving to avoid it.
Cyan ‘blue’ Lens, stop all movement to pass.
White Lens, avoid. They will always hurt.

They weren’t even out of the prototype phase and they were already so, so very annoying for Sans.

If Dust had hands, he would be punching the screen right now. “What is this laser tag nonsense? This is kids stuff! I already know that Gaster trained me. You don’t need to show me in excruciating detail!”

The machine insisted otherwise, not caring about his objections or the crisis unfurling outside.

At the end of the gruelling run, the young teen succeeded in his mission. He staggered towards Grillby and placed the dummy data in his hands.

“…Good job…” said the knight. Despite the praise, he didn’t sound happy.

Sans replied with a wink: “Welp. You can be honest with me, y’know. I can take criticism.”

“…My displeasure is not against you…”

“Oh? Who then?”

W. D. Gaster entered into view. “Excellent! Splendid! The experiment is a success. Now, we’ll be able to adapt and adjust our layout to any permutation of human security.”

Grillby huffed, his aggravated flames leaking between the cracks of his armour. “…Did you really have to put Sans through all that?… You know better than anyone… About his inherent fragility…”

“All the more why he needs to hone his dodging skills. If we dumb down to just buzzing sensors, he’s not going to take the training seriously. We know how much he slacks off.”

“…Our sparring sessions would have taken care of that…”

“That’s different, Sir Grillenn. Your efforts can only cover direct monster-to-monster combat. Proper environmental manoeuvring is something that can’t be done in an arena.”

“…Then Sans and I will patrol the Underground together… That’s about as hands-on as you can get…”

Raising an eyebrow, Gaster commented, “How does that work? We haven’t had a real crime in ages. You’d just be letting him deal with a bunch of unpredictable miscreants. Absolutely inefficient.”

“…Point being… You’re being too careless with Sans’ life… I hope this trend doesn’t spread to our other trainees…”

“Alright, alright. I’ll take note of that for the future.”

What a bold-faced lie. Gaster just made doubly sure Grillby wouldn’t be there to observe any further infiltration training. Dust knew as much. After all, he had lived through it.

“I’ve seen enough!” He yelled into the void. “Get me out of here, dammit! I don’t have time for these stupid trips down memory lane!”

The machine refused. A shadowed, glitched out office materialised into view. The character within, however, was clear and visible. The lack of lifeforce fuel had forced the machine to prioritise its resources to focus on the most important elements. Everything else was fancy window dressing taking up computing power.

Doctor Gaster sat behind his grand desk, working on the latest reports. But then, the knightly form of Grillbz Grillenn stormed into his workspace.

When the fire elemental took off his helmet, the flames on his head flickered wildly. Whenever they danced, they signified either anger or anxiety. Worse still if it was both.

Confused, Doctor Gaster asked: “What upsets you, friend? We’ve successfully obtained the Yellow SOUL, making it six out of seven. Freedom is within our grasp.”

Grillby clenched his fists. “…I thought we would fight soldiers… Adults… Not helpless, harmless, frightened children…”

“Helpless? Perhaps. Harmless? By no means. Even human children have the strength to kill us monsters. That is their nature. Did you even see that girl? She carried a loaded gun!”

“…Explain to me, Doctor… The previous SOULs… Were they all children as well?…”

“Yes. Based on the circumstances surrounding The First Fallen Human, it appears that only the young of their kind are capable of passing through The Barrier. Perhaps there’s a crack just wide enough somewhere for that to happen.”

“…Does anyone else know this?…”

“Only King Asgore. I had personally informed him that the collected SOULs originally belonged to children. It weighs heavily on his kind nature.”

“…Nobody else?…”

“All information is under strict control. Word will not spread to the other citizens.”

Grillby narrowed his eyes. The lack of his bar-era rectangular glasses made his glare even more piercing than usual. “…What about Papyrus?…”

Doctor Gaster’s eyes shifted to and fro, nervous. “T-that’s a moot point. We can’t disobey The King’s orders, no matter the position.”

That action added the fuel of wrath into Grillby’s fire. “…You lied to him!…”

The display was enough to make even the bold-faced Gaster jolt up from his seat in fear. “I-I-I didn’t lie to Papyrus, I swear upon the stars! I just… I just didn’t tell him everything.”

“…Did you know that Papyrus had been approaching me for advice?… Ideas for parties… Party games… Party puzzles… Fun activities in The Underground… All for children below his age… I thought he finally made new friends in New Home… But now, I suspect something else…”

He slammed his hand on the table, leaning forward to further pressure the Royal Scientist. “…Be honest, Doctor Gaster… What does that creepy machine really do?… Papyrus is the only one who can operate it…”

“That’s confidential, my good sir.”

“…Too confidential for The Captain of the Royal Guard?… Too confidential even for His Majesty, King Asgore?… Depending on your answer… I may need to arrest you for conspiracy against the crown…”

“It’s nothing like that!” Gaster exclaimed, “I daresay that I’m one of the most loyal subjects in the kingdom! Fine, fine. I’ll humour you at least for old time’s sake. It cannot leave the walls of this office under any circumstances. Do you agree with that at least?

“…I do…” so the knight replied. “…Now out with it…”

Settling down in his chair, a little less scared, the doctor began his summary: “The machine is a beacon. Instead of waiting on sheer chance over decades, or even centuries, we can draw seven human SOULs to our location. Consider it a practical solution to a millennia-old problem. We’re so very fortunate that Papyrus had all the necessary abilities to do the job. Sans couldn’t. I couldn’t. No one else could except for our young lad.”

“…How?... I thought The Barrier cuts us off from The Surface completely…”

“Essence translocation, my dear friend. When I designed the beacon from The Chronograph, I repurposed some of its key features. This made it possible to bypass The Barrier in spirit, even though body and SOUL remain in the Underground. The user then makes contact with the most receptive human in the area, creates an avatar out of the target’s own Determination, and coaxes them to visit us under the Mountain. Promises of a fun adventure appear to be very effective.”

Smoke rose from under Grillby’s hand, his metal gloves heated to the point of scorching the table’s surface. It took every ounce of the knight’s self-restraint not to burn the entire office down.

“…Doctor Gaster…” His voice trembled. “…How could you?… Do you even have a heart?…”

“If I may be so bold, I’m of the opinion that all humans are our enemies. What difference does it make if they are young or old? Eliminating them is necessary for our freedom--”

“…We’ve killed Papyrus’ friends!!!…” He burst into a cough right after that.

Though the concerned doctor tried to help him, the knight refused to accept it.

The flames receded. Grillby took a big deep breath to calm down. Yet, his righteous fury continued to glow as hot embers.

“…I’ve heard enough… I will take no part in this twisted cruelty… Expect my letter of resignation tomorrow…”

Hearing the proclamation shocked Gaster. “W-what?! But, what about the war effort? What about your students? I know they prefer your company very much.”

“…That’s no longer my concern… Good day…”

Thinking back to that day, Dust remembered seeing Grillby storm out of the office. Any questions from concerned coworkers were met with deafening silence.

A dejected Gaster remained in his chair, sighing. A moment later, he reached for the knob on his desk drawer. He took out a remote control and pointed it towards the wall. At the push of a button, a large monitor lit up. It showed The Surface version of Grillby’s iconic bar, whole and intact, in the idyllic dream world recreation of their monster town. The sign on the door read ‘Closed’. Pasted under it was a notice that the bar owner had caught a cold and taken the day off to recover.

“Egads! What IS this??? I must take a closer look.”

It appeared that the real Gaster had replaced his vision version seamlessly. Anything went in this strange metaspace, whether Dust liked it or not.

Another button press later and the screen switched to showing Grillby sleeping in his bed. Even with the lights off and curtains closed, the room was painted in a soft orange glow.

How strange. With Grillby here, within the dream world, who then was the Immortal Guardian razing Ebott to the ground?

While Dust pondered, Doctor Gaster began to complain: “That Grillby’s learned one too many bad habits from you, Sans. First, the flimsy excuses. Second, wasting daylight! I know better than anyone else that his species can’t catch colds.”

Dust huffed. “If he ain’t feeling well, he ain’t feeling well. Dunno why you gotta get all salty about that.”

“Well, you certainly enabled him to sink into a quagmire of mediocrity! His business endeavour was a complete and utter farce! Just observing the inner workings of his bar made me cringe to the very core. Half of his customers paid in bones. Bones, I tell you! If it weren’t for Undyne, bless her heart, he’d be running on a perpetual loss! Speaking of losses, have you ever paid back that ungodly debt you’ve accumulated? I don’t think so. You just left town without a word.”

“Forget about the tab, G. Get me out of here already.”

The response shocked the old mentor. “Sans! What’s wrong with you?! Since when are you this impatient? I’m used to your uncouth attitude, but this is Grillbz Grillenn we’re talking about! Have you stooped so low that you’d abandon one of your closest associates?”

Irritated, Dust yelled back. “Listen, that same goddamn fire is heading straight towards me with a vengeance. I need to get out now! Before my house burns down!!!”

“Fire? What fire?” The doctor switched the scene back outdoors, zooming out and moving one step right of the bar, towards the pile of blackened rubble. “Your house turned to cinders ages ago. The site is still right there, waiting to be cleared.”

A part of Dust wished that he could strangle that man, but doing so would start another useless fight, wasting precious time.

Dust wondered: what would be the fastest, most efficient way to get that oblivious mad scientist to see the truth?

An idea clicked in his skull. Pointing towards the screen, Dust said: “Change the channel. Focus on me instead of Grillby.”

“Why would I need to do that? You’re standing besides me, aren’t you? Ugh, fine! I’ll entertain your puerile sense of humour.”

Gaster expected to be pranked by an endlessly repeating mirror image of their current location. Instead… he found the man he called Sans lying unconscious on a familiar cursed altar.

The plan worked. The old scientist stared at the image in disbelief. “Wait. But, you’re right here, right now. That beacon, The Chronograph, should have been destroyed in The Core Incident… This can’t be right! Let me look around--”

When he changed the channel one other time, he witnessed a great blazing hellfire engulf the whole of Mount Ebott and its surrounding lands. Charred carbon replaced the verdant vista, whilst the smoke had grown so thick that it blotted out the sky.

Leading the charge was a knight in black armour, his army of flame marching behind.

Letting out a gasp, Gaster stammered: “…S-sir Grillenn?”

“That’s really him, huh?” said Dust. “With a showing like that, maybe it’s better I start addressing him in a more formal style too.”

“…What… What’s going on? What am I seeing?”

At long last, Dust could utter these words: “The real world, doc. It’s been a living nightmare for six years now. All thanks to The Celestial Calamity.”

“S-six years?! Then… Prince Asriel should have become a young adult! And yet I’ve seen him be a tender boy, day in, day out.”

“Time doesn’t progress in the dream world. The dead can’t age anymore.”

“D-d-dead?!”

“Yup. Everyone was killed by black briars overnight. That peaceful town you saw? It’s nothing but a fake: an illusion. The Calamity absorbed their SOULs and stored them in a happy bubble called a ‘dream world’. I’m sure you remember our studies of that thick red book I gave you so long ago.”

The TV remote slipped out of the doctor’s grip. It clattered on the ground, cracking the plastic casing upon impact.

“I… I thought… I thought we avoided The End by breaking The Barrier and escaping to The Surface… I thought we were free…”

“I bet you have a ton of questions,” Dust said, “But they gotta wait. Wake me up before Grillenn grills me into charbone.”

Gaster’s shock transformed into bitterness. “You!” He yelled. “It’s all your fault! If only you didn’t try to kill me, I could have saved everyone! I would have been there to see the signs, to think of countermeasures, to warn others to flee--”

“Old man, that calamity killed every single damn monster in the nation: from the least to the greatest. No one could fight back! What makes you think you could?”

“Then what about you?”

“I was just lucky. Tori sent Papyrus and I out to the human city for a last minute grocery shopping. If we happened to be in Ebott Town when disaster struck, I would have been dead too. C’mon, I told this story a million times to a few people already. It’s getting tiresome.”

“Luck? Luck?! For real?!? You’re telling me that you survived because of sheer dumb luck???”

“Yup. That’s all there is to it.”

Doctor Gaster stared back in silence. He expected a grander meaning… yet he found none.

“But… What about Papyrus? He survived too, right? If he’s alive, where is he?”

Dust winced at the reminder of his precious younger brother. “Things happened. It’s… complicated. His last message told me to search for him deep within the dream world. I think he’s trapped in the code somewhere, figuratively speaking. That’s why it’s essential I live to fight another day. I can’t help him while I’m stuck in a vision, y’know.”

Six holed hands appeared from beyond Gaster’s head. They floated past Dust and got right to work. One pair created the building blocks, another placed them down, and one reinforced the structure. By the end of it all, using all aspects of magic, they built an impromptu exit behind the short skeleton. The old carved pillars of The Ruins adorned the gateway.

“Thanks, doc.” said Dust. “Though I’ll be back soon. I still have a ton of questions to ask you.”

“As do I. Our grudge is not done yet, Sans Serif. Now go.”

Without another word or a witty goodbye, Dust walked through the exit.

“Sans! Saaaaaaaaaaaans!” The Phantom yelled between his ears. “Wake up sleepyhead!!!”

Right after that, he snapped his eyes open with a loud gasp.

“Finally! Goodness, only your lazy butt could sleep through a fire like that.”

“What can I say,” Dust shrugged. “Old habits die hard.”

When he tried to sit up, he noticed that the Red Soulstone felt gritty in his grip. Sandy, as though it was losing integrity. A spike of panic made him examine the gem in concern. To his horror, he discovered that the outer layer of the gemstone had fully eroded.

“W-what happened to the stopgap?”

Tilting his head, the aberration asked: “What stopgap?”

“The system that’s supposed to eject me from the vision the moment I hit LV1.”

“Oh! That. You only have your bumbling self to blame there.” The Phantom pointed to a nearby cable, hanging loose. “You forgot to hook it up, didn’t you?”

“Impossible. I kept everything plugged in, always.”

Except the disconnected wire spoke a different truth. The machine’s primary failsafes had ironically failed from a simple setup error.

“No… Did I really mess up? When? How? I… I can’t remember. Wait…”

The last time he was trapped, Anya told him that the Red Soulstone had manipulated a fax machine enough to send a letter to The Willowherb Village. If they had enough influence over the physical world to do so, then pulling the plug may have been possible for them.

Clutching the gem tighter, he remarked: “The Red Soulstone forced me to stay in the vision. Why?”

The Phantom replied, “They must have wanted you to find whatever information you needed. After all, your measly stats would never have allowed you to dive deep enough.”

“I… I see… They sacrificed themselves so that we may live.”

Mourning and apologies could wait. Forcing himself off the altar, he staggered towards the farmhouse entrance. Any teleportation without visual confirmation was too risky in this situation. Make the wrong cut and he could end up roasted.

However, the moment he opened the front door, a scorching haze filled the farmhouse interiors. He coughed and hacked from the sudden influx of heat. Even though he didn’t have true lungs, he could still feel the hoarseness: a testament to his human ancestry.

The outer fields burned bright. Too bright. Too hot. A wildfire of this intensity should have engulfed the farmhouse in a blink…

And yet, Dust and his base of operations were not reduced to ashen embers. Peer hard enough through the glare, and one could see a swirling wall of colourful spirits protecting the perimeter from annihilation.

He recognised them. Once upon a time, when he fired up the first version of his machine, those same spirits flocked to the beacon he had activated on accident.

Their presence was a terrible sign. A shepherd should defend the flock, not the other way around.

Not far from the wall, necromancer Anya Willowherb knelt on top of a hexagram encased within a circle, glowing with magical power.

“Anya!” Dust called out, “Respond to me!”

The woman did not answer back.

Alarmed, he teleported to her side. He found there that both of Anya’s arms had suffered severe burns, dripping red from their heavy bleeding. Worse still, when Dust touched her shoulder, he could feel her shivering.

At the same time, Grillbz Grillenn – The Immortal Guardian – marched forth unyielding. With every step he took, his intimidating figure clad in black became clearer and clearer. The clinks of his heavy boots resounded through the air, cutting through the roaring blaze.

The knight gripped both hands on the handle of his sword. The blade gleamed with unnatural strength as he prepared to strike, coiled in red ethereal ribbons.

That was Determination. Determination powered by The Celestial Calamity itself.

Deciding to cut his losses, Dust told Anya: “We’re fleeing.”

The woman’s cracked lips moved, muttering inaudible words. He leaned closer to hear her.

She said: “…True Name… hurry…”

“Sorry,” he apologised, knowing full well of his guilt. “A bit too late for that now, lady.”

The knight swung his sword. In turn, the ground rumbled and the ashen winds parted. A blinding orange wave of pure destructive magic swept across the earth, obliterating everything in its path.

The flock of spirits could do nothing to stop death’s onslaught. Their makeshift defence cracked under the pressure. And the cracks grew wider with each passing second.

“We must get out of here, fast. Or else we’re toast.”

After a quick scout, he found a possible safe spot. It was a small clearing of smouldering ash situated far downwind, where the flames had already exhausted their fuel.

Dust wrapped his arms around her. The full unsupported weight of a human being was much heavier than he expected. He had to put every ounce of strength into his backbone to lift her. Then, after a loud, laborious grunt, his tiny skeletal self managed to move his legs just enough to initiate a teleport.

The two of them tumbled straight into the still-hot embers of burnt meadow grasses. He could feel the radiating heat seeping through the layers of his clothes. At this rate they were going to be cooked alive, with the human overdone. He thus quickly propped the injured woman up, minimising unpleasant contact with the heated ground.

Looking back, Anya’s loyal helpers had given up the ghost. The barricade of spirits shattered into prismatic shards of glass.

Now nothing stood between the black knight and the farmhouse grounds.

The wave of force continued unceasing. Its might was so great it ripped the building apart from the foundation to the roof.

The comfy bed.
The trusty armchair.
The log-filled fireplace.
The hunting trophies.
The girl’s baseball cap.
The cursed machine.
His old Underground-day clothes.
Papyrus’ original scarf.

Gone. Absolutely gone.

In a blink, Dust had lost everything once again. A confusing swirl of emotions welled up deep inside: the grief of loss, the joy of survival, and… a peculiar numbness that he couldn’t describe.

The Immortal Guardian looked around, searching for his enemy amidst the smoke and rubble. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before he found them.

“Hey lady,” Dust asked. “Can you hear me?”

Anya nodded.

“Got your head screwed on tight?”

She nodded again.

“I’ve changed my mind. Even though it’s hopeless, I’m staying to fight. If we don’t stop that walking hunk of armour, it’s Game Over for everyone. Agreed?”

She nodded once more.

“Here are my thoughts. Our enemy knows we escaped unharmed, but he doesn’t seem to know where we are. We’ll take advantage of that. You hide, I strike. Wait till the time is right.”

There was another nod of approval.

“Also, I’ve read the books. True Name magic can be resisted, especially when the target is in top physical condition. Which means I gotta make an opening for ya. Are you able to stay conscious for a little while longer?”

To prove her ability, Anya pulled herself together, shifting her body into a proper sitting position.

“Okay. His name is Grillbz Grillenn. Here, let me write it down.”

Using his Karma-laced bones, his weapon of choice, Dust carved out Grillby’s True Name in the ground for the necromancer to read.

The use of magic caught the Immortal Guardian’s attention. He started to walk in their general direction.

Remaining calm, Dust said: “Cast your spell the moment he’s down. I’m gonna go now.”

“…Thank you…” she whispered back, weak.

“Save the thanks for later, ‘kay?” Dust winked. He then firmly planted his boot down and steeled his mind for the coming battle.

And so, the counterattack began. The skeleton teleported straight to the knight’s back. He thought to cut the head off in one fell swoop. Even if decapitation wouldn’t kill an invincible foe, it should render it blind, deaf, and immobile: enough for True Name magic to be cast.

Alas, the knight turned around and swatted Dust out of the sky with the back of his gauntlet. Twisting his body, the skeleton managed to dodge it by a hair. He felt the edge of the metal graze the surface of his cheekbones. The sluggishness of fatigue weighed down his body and messed with his reflexes more than he liked.

Nonetheless, Dust carried through with his plan to harass his enemy with a series of teleports and bone patterns, drawing attention away from Anya.

It worked for a while… until Dust felt his world spin and his guts twist by the umpteenth jump. The vision dive took more out of him than he expected. Any more teleports and he’d be a dead man walking.

So he stopped that instant, landing a good distance away from the knight. There he prepared to unleash a Gasterblaster. However, the moment he tried to fire so much as a single shot, the weapon disintegrated on the spot. The superheated environment was too much for it to function.

Exasperated, The Phantom yelled: “NYEH! Why are you so useless?!? If only I had a body, I would show you how it’s done!”

Dust ignored the aberration’s jabbering.

He ignored the oppressive heat.
He ignored the clouding haze.
He ignored the choking ash.

Instead, he focused his entire attention on The Immortal Guardian. The figure’s willpower and killing intent had grown so strong, and so direct, the skeleton began perceiving a plethora of tangible red strings radiating out towards him.

“Sans…? Saaaaaans, are you listening to me?”

In complete silence, he began walking forward, ever so slowly.

Unfazed, the black knight chose to go on the offensive, sending a blindingly fast slash flying toward Dust.

At that very moment, he saw it. Then and there, a thread connected to Dust’s chest. It telegraphed what was to come. It prompted the skeleton to move one centimetre to the right. No more, no less. Doing so, he dodged the attack successfully with minimal effort.

It happened not once, not twice, but countless more times in the skirmish that followed.

Long ago the Captain of the Royal Guard had taught his student to be watchful for the tiny cues. One could predict the next action through the ebbs and flow of battle.

Each slash The Immortal Guardian would send his way met with the same unexpected fate. The short pudgy one avoided them all using only small, efficient moves.

Changing things up, Dust’s enemy cast a pattern of fireballs and sent them trailing across the ground. White. Orange. Cyan. Except Dust hopped over the white flames, walked through the orange ones, and stayed still for the cyan types to pass.

Witnessing Dust’s increased capabilities, the knight ramped up the difficulty. Sword waves were combined with trailing fire to increase his area coverage. Many of the flames would also be falsely coloured by adjusting the level of combustion.

Dust continued to observe both thread and flame to react accordingly. No matter what was tossed in his way, no matter how tired or sick he was, he persevered to survive.

Slowly but surely, he inched closer and closer… And as he did so, he felt a sombre weight come from the knight and his magic. That was how monsterkind expressed their hearts, after all.

That man did not enjoy violence, nor did he relish ending lives. If bloodless peace was an option, he would have already done so. Alas, duty compelled death and destruction.

At long last, Dust stepped within striking range. Resolute, he conjured one final Karma-laced bone and stabbed it straight through the black knight’s helmet. The pointy end pierced deep into the fire elemental’s skull.

Awed, The Phantom commented: “That was… beautiful.”

The temporary destruction of the brain caused The Immortal Guardian to fall on his knees, limp. And that was the signal for Anya Willowherb to engage.

From afar, Dust could see the necromancer raise her wounded, crippled arms. They shook, trembled. Despite everything, she fought on.

Her red SOUL glowed bright inside her chest, strengthening her aura until it radiated like a lamp. A great many threads of intent began twirling around her.

Using the last of her strength, she spoke her spell with great authority: “…O’ sacred chains. I seek your bindings. Cast your unyielding iron. Upon this name: Grillbz Grillenn… I proclaim!”

Despite the distance, he could hear those words as though he stood right next to her. All sorts of strange phenomena had haunted him ever since he acquired that red eye.

Even now he witnessed her very will lash out toward its intended target, the name’s owner. And when they made contact, magic metal chains erupted from the ashen earth, coiling themselves around The Immortal Guardian. They pulsated with power as they drained away the knight’s unnatural strength.

No matter how hard he tried to get back on his feet, no matter how much he struggled, no matter how much he fought, the weight of the chains kept the walking calamity bound to the ground. Such was the power of True Name magic.

Their commander impaired, the fires in the surrounding area began to die down. Cool winds from the north brought much needed relief to the land.

By now, Dust could barely stand. Still, he had to confirm the ghastly truth. Dragging his legs toward the chained Immortal Guardian, he yanked out the bone and took off his helmet.

Beneath the black knight’s visage was indeed his old friend Grillby.

Looking up, already recovered from his wound, the fire elemental uttered: “…Sans, you’re alive… You really are alive… No one… but you… could have dodged all of that…”

“…Yeah. It’s me, alright.” Dust replied in the midst of heavy breathing, devoid of his usual comedic tones.

Then, just when he thought that he could have a moment of respite, a certain annoying, stupid, bratty flower popped out from beneath the earth. This planty pest was one of the ‘Dark Lords’ of Mount Ebott’s Celestial Calamity: Grillby’s commanding officer.

“Howdy!” He said, “I’m Flowey the Flow--” Stray bits of ash slipped into his mouth, causing him to cough and spit. “Pfah! Ptui! Golly, that’s gross.”

“Anyways…” So repeated his trademark entrance speech, “Howdy! I’m Flowey the Flower, your very best friend. Or rather, your very worst enemy, you Smiley Trashbag! I can’t believe it took me six years to finally catch you.”

Turning towards The Immortal Guardian he complained: “Really?! I gave you all that Determination and you still lost to the weakest monster in the Underground?!”

Lowering his head, the knight lamented, “…I apologise, my liege… I failed to let go of my past… It will not happen again…”

Flowey sighed. “Whatever. At least the pesky humans are gone. Now, all I need to do is to dispose of the trash once and for all.”

White bullets of magic appeared over the flower’s head, ready to finish Dust off.

“Finally… I’ll be the one to dunk on YOU!”

Dust tried to step forward to strike the flower down, but his knees gave way. He collapsed face first.

“Move!” the Phantom yelled. “Move, brother! MOVE!!!”

Try as he might, Dust couldn’t push himself up from the soft ashen soil. Neither he nor Anya had any more fight left in them. All they could do was to watch the cackling floral lifeform gloat over his victory.

In other words… Game Over.

“Sorry Papyrus,” he muttered, “I’ve failed.”

But right before the final blow, Dust saw a change in Grillby’s eyes. His expression went blank and emotionless. As The Immortal Guardian -- no longer Grillbz Grillenn -- he got back up and broke out of his chains. They snapped and shattered into dissolving fragments.

Then, swiping his sword off the ground, he cut down the flower – his very own king – at the root.

The plant lay helpless on the hot ash, wilting from the heat. “Huh? But… But… But… You… you’re supposed to be on my side…”

To which the knight responded: “…I serve only the Godking, Asriel Dreemurr… To end his waking nightmare… Begone, foul creature!...”

He raised the tip of his sword high above Flowey. Once again, his sword glowed with might.

“No! NO!!! This is not how it’s supposed to be--” The flower’s pleas were cut short, ended by a stab to the head: the same way The Immortal Guardian once suffered. Flowey The Flower ignited into flame, reduced to crackling embers and blown away by the wind.

Dust wasn’t sure how he was still alive at this point. When the black knight approached him, he braced himself for immediate incineration. Flames did engulf him… yet he did not die. Instead he found himself growing in vigour. It took him a while to realise that the fire was made green: the colour of healing magic.

A revived and revitalised Dust stood up and backed away from the armoured one, ready to run on the first sign of danger. However, he noticed that the facade of The Immortal Guardian had faded. Grillby’s demeanour had returned to that of the kind bartender. There was no more killing intent either.

Still cautious, Dust questioned: “Mind if I ask what the hell is going on?”

“…His Majesty seeks an audience with Sans Serif… the last survivor… The king decreed… All answers will await you in the dream…”

“An invitation, huh? Sure, I guess. Beggars can’t be choosers, as the saying goes.”

“…When you’re ready, I will escort you from the Eastern exit… where we once emerged… Go help your human friend… Her injuries are too severe for magic alone…”

His message delivered, The Immortal Guardian began his long march back to the mountain, across ashen fields. Knowing Grillby, he wanted to take the scenic route upon his own volition, wading through the razing he had caused as a form of self-punishment.

It began to rain. Perhaps all that hot vapour was falling back down. The more poetic types would say that the sky wept for the lost and damned.

He then remembered another human saying…

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Chapter Text

June 21, 2021

A full day had passed since The Immortal Guardian razed the region.

Hollows -- the mindless materialisations of nightmares -- had since infested the charred, barren landscape that was once Mount Ebott. The noon summer sun beat its harsh, hot rays down upon the ashes.

Worse still, without anyone left to guide their souls, the Restless Dead engaged in an eternal battle against the infesting Hollows. They slaughtered each other in a senseless hell, constantly reviving under the influence of The Celestial Calamity.

Dust watched the mayhem unfold from the broken windows of an abandoned office building. Many years ago, when he first stepped onto The Surface, this was one of the taller human structures visible in the distance.

It served its purpose in reverse now, allowing him to keep a close eye on the Eastern exit. The Immortal Guardian had stood guard the whole time, behaving more akin to a statue or a robot than a person.

Not a single entity dared to approach the knight. Not the Hollows. Not the spirits. Not the heroes either. Under his watch, The Underground was completely off limits.

The Phantom floated around in circles, restless. “Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaans! Why are we still bonedoggling here??? Didn’t we promise to meet up with Grillby?!?”

“Just a little while longer, bro,” Dust muttered. “I’m waiting for a delivery to arrive.”

And arrive, it did. A drone with a package flew over the roof of the building. Dust identified it as the exact same model James Pashowar used in May of last year. Although secure, this particular device didn’t have much range. The Guildmaster must be close by: at least somewhere in this city.

Dust pulled up his hoodie and teleported to the drop-off point. There, a toy siren wailed to grab his attention. Everything was the same as before.

The first thing he did was shut off the noise to avoid dangerous unwanted attention. Then, he unpacked the box. A two-way radio communicator sat on the very top. Crumpled sheets of paper formed a half-hearted cushion around the sides. Their ability to prevent jostling seemed doubtful.

He set the radio aside and tossed the paper over his shoulders, hoping that his request was properly fulfilled. Otherwise, he’d be pissed at this James fellow.

At the bottom of the box lay a file with the human nation’s logo on it. From what he was told, it should contain the details of all the children who went missing on Mount Ebott.

He started counting the number of profile faces. “One… two… three… four… five… six…”

Dust immediately switched on the radio.

“Good evening, Lone Defender,” said James.

“Quit the pleasantries, James. I told ya there were eight humans. You only gave six. Are you trying to scam me?”

“No, no, not at all! I just hit the weight limit, I swear. A second drone will provide you with the rest of your request soon. But first… a little discussion is in order.”

“Fine. What do you wanna talk about?”

“You had mentioned that your teacher, Doctor W. D. Gaster, had built a cursed altar for your brother: a beacon to attract human children to The Underground. They would then become a sacrifice to break the ancient Barrier and start a war.”

“Yup. Pin all the blame on Doc G. My brother wasn’t aware of that man’s evil schemes.”

“Is that so?”

“Are you doubting my words?”

“No. It’s just… Mister Papyrus is long gone. I suppose we’ll never know for sure. Nonetheless, are you aware that this makes your whole nation look guilty by association? You included?”

“Does it even make a difference? As far as I know, you heroes have tried to hunt me down for the past six years. My bounty probably went up a hundredfold yesterday. After suffering such massive losses, I’m absolutely sure you’re all looking for a scapegoat. Accusing me of being Grillby’s collaborator is an easy way out. Actually, I’m surprised you’re still able to talk to me. Wouldn’t they try to crucify you for your failures, figuratively or otherwise?”

James laughed heartily. “Your concerns are not unfounded. My survival is indeed at stake. This may very well be the last time I speak to you as ‘Guildmaster’. That’s why I’m owning up to my past dishonesty. If these files can give you the final clue to destroy The Calamity from within, we could both save each other’s hide.”

Dust snorted. “I don’t care about you. I’m only doing this for my brother’s sake.”

And for the sake of those who genuinely helped him in the past. Though, he would never admit that to The Guildmaster.

James was not insulted by the cold response. Instead, he remained impartial and cordial. “Understandable. More so when I have broken my side of our previous contract. As it is, you’re only beholden to the promise you’ve made to Mister Papyrus.”

“Enough chit-chat,” said Dust. “It’s time for you to hold up your end of our bargain. Tell me more about these kids.”

“Seven of the eight missing children have a distinct commonality: they had all been patients of a hospital nearby Mount Ebott from 2010 to 2015 when they were between eight to twelve years old. It’s a dangerous age range. Old enough to sneak out, yet too young to fully understand the consequences. In theory, proximity and vulnerability may have made them suitable candidates for the curse’s mechanisms. Except, they were there for standard vaccinations and routine checkups. None of them had more severe, life-threatening issues that would’ve made them subjectable to magic. Please inspect the first batch of papers to verify my claims.”

Dust arranged the papers on the windy rooftop floor, keeping them weighed down with a bunch of bones. He also adjusted his hood to cut out some of the sunny glare. So far, the facts aligned: they were indeed medical records sourced from a single hospital. He scanned through the details as fast as he could. “…I don’t understand half of these terms. They’re too human specific. Still, I get what you’re saying. In short, it’s as though there’s an invisible third factor in play.”

“Ah, I see you’ve already filtered the data to its most useful points. That is indeed the correct assessment.”

About then, Dust heard the propellers of a second drone. It arrived with another box. James Pashowar hadn’t broken his promise after all.

Inside the container sat a small album on top of the files. That book contained shots of a charity event, organised for August 1, 2015. Celebrities from The Hero’s Guild visited the hospital, aiming to bring some cheer to the littlest patients.

Dust recognised a familiar face in the picture. It was the girl with the black baseball hat. She had seen much better days. He could no longer remember the specifics of her illness, except that it required continual medication.

He turned to the next page. The girl sat beside someone Dust had not seen for a long time.

Frisk. They stared at the camera with a stoic gaze, holding a gift from the heroes: a distinctive bluish sweater with purple stripes.

He expected as much. By the process of elimination, they would be the seventh child to be called by the beacon.

Yet, there were more photographs. He flipped the page again. It showed another year’s charity event, which took place on August 1, 2014. Frisk was there in that hospital again. They shared party snacks and drinks with others who attended the event.

What he saw next shocked him down to the core. Dust swiped the files of the six other children off the ground, cross-checking their faces.

Two of them matched the files of the fallen children.

August 1, 2013. Three more matched the files. They tossed hoops at a row of traffic cones together.

August 1, 2012. The eldest of the six posed for a group photograph next to Frisk. It was a boy in a private school’s uniform, most likely there for a school project.

Frisk had been seen together with every child summoned to Mount Ebott.

Despite everything, Dust had still not reached the bottom of the book.

August 1, 2011.
August 1, 2010.
August 1, 2009.
August 1, 2008.
August 1, 2007.
August 1, 2006.
August 1, 2005.

That child attended the same charity event every single year, ever since they were a wee little baby.

“What the fuck…?” the skeleton muttered.

James said, “It was quite an accidental discovery, I must say. It all started as a confirmation of the baseball-hat girl’s demise, courtesy of Captain Willowherb. One thing led to another, and we noticed that Frisk was a fellow resident of the facility. That child’s records proved to be rather ‘heavy’.”

When Dust lifted the file with Frisk’s name. It had a noticeable difference in weight compared to the previous six. There was a long, long list of surnames for the kid, all crossed out.

He opened the file and began reading the summary out loud. “Name: Frisk. Parents: deceased. They were doctors when they were alive. Their friends -- the hospital staff -- worked together with child protection services to look for a permanent home for many years. Multiple families have attempted to adopt the child, but failed to retain them. Main complaints involved ‘being excessively stubborn to the point of endangerment’, ‘inappropriate flirtatious behaviour’, and ‘physical violence towards a guardian’. Referred to Child Psychiatry for further evaluation.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dust tried to recall how the Frisk he knew behaved.

“Hello?” James broke the skeleton’s silent concentration. “Mister Dust? Are you still there?”

Dust said: “Uh, yeah. I’m just… going down memory lane. I noticed that Frisk started to show more delinquent behaviour on The Surface. For example, I once caught them trying to throw a bath-bomb into the toilet. Tori would have needed to call the plumber had the kiddo succeeded.”

“I see. That does match their psychiatric evaluation. Did Frisk behave the same way when they were under the mountain?”

“Nope. Frisk always buttered everyone up like a piece of toast, if you catch my drift. Too nice and too accurate. It was hard for me to believe that those actions were genuine.”

“Why so?”

“Because it reminded me too much of myself.” He shrugged. “Life is a ton easier if you’re in people’s good graces. So, I played the role of the neighbourhood friendly funny bone. Become everybody’s friend. Surprised?”

“Q-quite,” James commented, “I wouldn’t have imagined that you had such a cordial reputation. When you were at The Hero’s Guild, you kept to yourself in the shadows, glaring at everyone with a hawk’s gaze.”

Dust let out a cynical scoff. “I can read the room, y’know. Your guys? They were all looking for opportunities to backstab me.”

“Nothing escapes you, as usual. Speaking of which, I’ve heard about the former queen’s murder through Captain Willowherb. Based on their psychiatric evaluation, I believe that her own adoptive child was the culprit, as tragic as it sounds.”

Six years ago, Toriel was murdered in her own home. Her expression was burned into Dust’s mind. She had suspicions of ill-intent from someone she knew close to heart. How she wished that she was just being an overprotective, fretful mother…

Dust began reviewing that old, dusty case from memory. He knew that she was killed for her Boss Monster SOUL. The perpetrator used a knife, and was roughly the height of a pubescent child. Based on how she fell, she was tripped over by something rope-like at her feet. Those would be vines that belonged to Flowey.

Could Frisk really have collaborated with Flowey to kill their own mother?

Though their behaviour had changed on The Surface… Dust did not remember ever sensing any malice towards Toriel. He, most of all, would’ve picked up on it.

Dust checked Frisk’s medical files again, searching for clues that may back up James Pashowar’s hypothesis. Physics taught him that everything had a cause and effect. There would always be a bigger story in the scenario.

He commented, “In response to Frisk’s ‘naughtiness’, one of their old guardians tried to beat them with a cane. Kid retaliated by stabbing a pencil into the adult’s thigh. Violent, yes. But I wouldn’t take that as a sign that they’re the culprit.”

“Oh?” the Guildmaster replied. “Don’t you think their capability to commit physical violence is a risk factor?”

“No. It takes more than that. We’re talking about premeditated murder here. The culprit must be someone capable of planning and coordination. Someone like Flowey.”

“If that’s the case, the strange plant could have instructed the psychologically vulnerable Frisk to commit the crime.”

“Possible. But… I don’t think the flower brat is the real mastermind either.” Dust glanced towards Mount Ebott. “If he was the real ‘King’ of The Celestial Calamity, his demise should have ceased that nonsense. Yet, the curse continues unabated.”

“I see,” James paused for a while, deep in thought. “We should move on to the last child then.”

One file remained. This time, it bore the logo of The Hero’s Guild. It had a big red text ‘Top Secret’ stamped on the front.

“Classified documents, huh?” Dust asked rhetorically, “Why do I expect to see endless blocks of black bars upon blocks of black bars?”

Dust’s radar for bureaucratic nonsense proved to be accurate: it was indeed filled with the dreaded black bars.

Personnel involved, redacted.
Location, redacted.
Department, redacted.
Names of witnesses, redacted.
Dates, redacted.

What little legible text existed were eyewitness testimonies. Even then, key details were omitted.

‘On [REDACTED], a [REDACTED] appeared from [REDACTED]. Presumed male. [REDACTED] carried the corpse of a child in his arms.’

Dust immediately recognised the story: it was none other than the tragedy of Prince Asriel and The Fallen Human. Knowing the context, he was able to fill in the missing blanks. This document thus presented a rare opportunity to view the incident from the human’s side.

However, the more he read, the stranger the story became. Upon meeting The Prince, the villagers spoke of hallucinations. Mental intrusions. Even direct attacks to the mind that made them almost turn against each other. It stirred the villagers further into a fearful frenzy.

The assault continued until Prince Asriel fled the scene. That was the last anyone had ever seen of him.

The rest of the report, including the aftermath, was completely blanked out.

As far as Dust knew, Prince Asriel definitely died from that incident. Otherwise, King Asgore wouldn’t have made a declaration of war, and Queen Toriel wouldn’t have left her husband.

Yet… Grillby spoke about a ‘Godking Asriel’. The Immortal Guardian declared him a ‘waking nightmare’ for his true king. What was the relationship between Asriel and Flowey?

Another goat boy existed in the dreamworld, helping King Asgore’s with his fantasy flower shop alongside a conspicuous human child. That human was definitely not Frisk. None of the other six children matched those features either.

They had to be Chara, First of the Fallen. There was no doubt about that anymore.

But if they were both already dead for a long, long time… how did they come back to life as a resident of the dreamworld? Were they malicious impersonators, or illusionary NPCs? The answer eluded Dust.

He closed the file. “Say, Ole James, have you heard the monster’s side of the story?”

Guildmaster Pashowar answered: “Yes. Your citizens were very keen on sharing the tale. Do you know any additional information? I won’t ask for it for free, of course.”

“…Nah. They’re not ready for sale yet. I gotta dive into the dreamworld and get my facts straightened out first. Don’t wanna offer you false goods, y’know.”

“A fair assessment, Lone Defender. But, will you be allowed to leave at all? It’s possible that you’ll be trapped there until you destroy the source.”

“Point taken. This may be my point of no return.”

His thoughts wandered for a moment. Dust hadn’t heard about Anya ever since her surviving colleagues took over her care. They loaded her up on their jeep and dashed off to the nearest hospital, wherever it would be.

So, he asked: “Any word about Anya?”

And the Guildmaster responded, “As of now, Captain Willowherb is in intensive care. I’ve done what I can to revert her injuries, though she has yet to regain consciousness. It’s up to fate from here on.”

“I’ll take that as good news. Better than her being a half-toasted corpse, y’know.”

Dust noted that James was oddly specific about his involvement. The man tried to drop hints, but regarding what, precisely?

Before he could draw any conclusions, he heard another drone approaching from a distance. It was moving slowly towards him, also carrying a box.

He asked over the radio: “Did you send me a third package?”

With the most stark, serious tone, James answered, “No, I did not.”

Unauthorised flying object. Unknown package. It raised two major red flags.

Dust summoned his Gasterblaster posthaste and fired it towards the drone. It triggered a large explosion, enough for him to shield his face against the debris.

By the time the noise settled, every airborne Hollow in the immediate vicinity zeroed in on his location.

To make matters worse, The Phantom whispered: “We’re surrounded by humans. They’re behind the windows.”

Snipers. The heroes had already started breaking order, acting on their own accord. Otherwise, The Guildmaster wouldn’t have told the truth in such a grim manner. Seems they intended to start a brawl, hoping to catch both of them in the crossfire.

Dust tucked two files under his jacket, leaving the photobook and the other six behind. “Welp. Gotta go. Thanks James. Stay safe, ‘k? Bye.”

He teleported out of there before anyone could take any further action. His next destination: The Immortal Guardian.

That black armour stood tall at the entrance into the Underground: imposing, and unmoving.

“Grillby, I’m here,” Dust pushed his hood back, showing his face. “We gotta hurry.”

Fire lit up beneath the helmet’s visors. “…Is something wrong, Sans?…”

“The heroes are trying to kill me.”

Sets of high-speed propellers buzzed in the air. More drones. Smaller and swifter. They dodged every Hollow in the vicinity at frightening speeds. Those movements didn’t fit the profile of a manual remote control. It had to be a kind computerised targeting system.

The Immortal Guardian walked past the short skeleton, his scorched cape trailing behind him. “…Get inside…”

A brilliant crimson symbol glowed on the back of his right gauntlet, forming the shape of a flower within a wreath of thorny vines. Black briars erupted from the rocks surrounding the entrance, twisting itself into an impenetrable wall.

Not long after, Dust heard the drones crash against the briars, popping into multiple small explosions. They were more than enough to blow his measly 1HP to smithereens.

The skeleton let out a sigh of relief. “Damn. That was a close one. Since when were you able to control those thorns? I didn’t think fire elementals could do that.”

“…It’s not my place to explain…”

Another cluster of explosions tried to break through the briars. The Immortal Guardian reinforced the wall with a few gestures. “…So relentless… I have never seen such weapons before…”

Dust said, “When we just surfaced, I heard rumours online that humanity was pushing hard for self-computing and adaptive systems. They call it ‘artificial intelligence’. I guess they’ve made some progress over the years.”

“…Frightening… I thought they would have run out of resources by now…”

“I thought so too. Last I entered human territory, it looked like they regressed a few decades. Plus, they’re on the verge of a famine, so I have no idea where the hell these robots are coming from.”

“ …We can speculate later… For now, we should move… Your escort takes priority…”

“Want me to teleport us to the destination?”

“…No… I need to bolster our defences… And I cannot let you speak with the Godking alone… His Majesty’s orders…”

“Understandable. Lead the way.”

As The Immortal Guardian walked, new layers of black briars formed behind his every step. Dust kept up the pace lest he end up entangled in their growth.

New Home -- the once vibrant capital of monsterkind -- had been also reduced to char and ash. It fared no better than the outside surroundings of Mount Ebott. The air was still warm from the trapped heat. Spectral forms of former humans shuffled around the rubble, uttering mindless groans.

“…Sans Serif…” said the Immortal Guardian. “…Do you feel sad?…”

“Of course I do,” Dust replied. “Anyone would be sad looking at these ruins.”

“…Have you cried recently?…”

“I’m sure I did. At some point. I may have been too drunk to remember the tears. There was a time when I was drinking myself to sleep, spiralling down into an aimless mess. I didn’t know what to do. Where to go.”

“…That’s not sadness… Closer to anger… Frustration…”

“Huh. I guess so. I mean, frustration is a form of anger too. Inwards. Outwards. It’s all the same in the end.”

“…I see… You still haven’t realised how unusual your statements are… That is fine… It may be for the best…”

They finally arrived at the floor where the perpetual fire still burns. “Whoa…” Dust took a peek over the edge of the platform. “I thought they died out after I disrupted you in yesterday’s battle.”

The Immortal Guardian replied, “…I merely borrowed them… An unknown fuel keeps these fires going…”

The knight stretched out his marked hand over the bottomless pit. One crimson shine later, a stalk of a flower bud began to grow.

A single gargantuan black flower blossomed, laying flat and wide open.

“…This is an elevator between reality and dreams…” the knight introduced. “…Once we descend, you will fall asleep… Your true body will be stored away safely…”

Rounding his shoulders, Dust said, “I hope ‘safely’ includes ‘not wasting away’.”

“…It shouldn’t take that long… Not to the point of endangering your life… Come…”

“Should I lie down on the platform?”

“…If you so wish…”

Thus Dust laid down on the flower. If he was going to sleep, might as well make himself comfortable for the duration. Not getting into an accident would be a bonus too.

The petals soon drew inwards, folding back up into a bud.

And then… darkness slipped him into a waking dream.

To his mind, there was almost no observable difference between the realm of the waking and the illusionary bubble. He imagined that a hapless, ignorant person would quickly succumb to the rules of the dream. Someone in a tough spot in life might even embrace the lies.

But he resisted the temptation. After all, he didn’t come down here to settle into its comforts.

Dust tried to speak. “Hello?”

His voice didn’t echo. The space sounded large and spacious yet somehow felt small and confining. The smell was earthy too, as if he was inside a tomb or a coffin.

Did he get buried alive?

His macabre thoughts were interrupted by the creaks and clunks of rusty iron. It took great strength to unlock the mechanisms.

Then, the door opened. A warm orange glow beamed between the gaps. On the other side was a sight for sore eyes, one the skeleton thought he would never see again…

…It was Grillby. Not Grillbz Grillenn, The Immortal Guardian. He was Grillby, the friendly neighbourhood bartender, wearing his uniform in style.

“…Hello…” said the fire elemental.

“Hey, ‘hot stuff’,” the skeleton waved back, grinning like an idiot for the first time in a long while. “Long time no see. Should we ‘toast’ to our reunion? We got a lot to ‘ket-chup’, y’know.”

The bartender let out a tired sigh. “…You’re already cracking puns…”

“Welp, I don’t get many chances nowadays.”

“…Do you need help to stand?…”

“I can manage. Thanks.”

Dust shuffled to his feet and walked out of the mysterious room. The first thing he noticed was the starry night sky. It had been ages since he took the time to appreciate the heavens. He spent most of the previous year mulling over pages and computers.

He shook himself out of its mesmer. Although beautiful, that sky was still fake.

“Where are we?” he asked.

Grillby answered, “…The entrance to the dreamworld… Disguised as an underground bunker…”

The mentioned bunker was little more than a grassy mound with a pair of heavy iron doors. The vine-encrusted exterior created the impression that the structure had been long neglected.

Cold, refreshing air blew by. Too cold for summer, he might add. Then, he noticed the grass and leaves were amber instead of green. Dust picked up a fallen leaf, twirling the stem between his fingers. “Nevermind night time, the whole season is wrong.”

Grillby picked one up for himself. “…It’s a perpetual autumn here…”

“And nobody realised it?”

The fire elemental shook his head. Then, he crushed the leaf in his grip and burned it into cinders.

Dust took a moment to pat his torso. Beneath the fabric of his jacket, he could feel the hard edges of his files. Seemed the items were replicated along with him. His luck turned upwards for once: showing these documents to ‘Godking Asriel’ may open up more options for negotiation.

Grillby beckoned for the skeleton to follow. He led Dust down the forest trail. The closer they approached civilization, the more illuminated the road became. Night lights quickly outshone the stars in the sky, causing the celestial tapestry to fade into a blank black canvas.

And there it was: the monster town. Lush. Vibrant. Intact. Well-maintained. Clean. Everything was like a photo on a postcard.

The skeleton should have felt happy knowing that his people lived in such a good place, free from suffering, hardship, and pain. Yet, deep down, he was unnerved. The town felt more like a diorama or a set piece, and all the residents were curated actors…

The following words rolled out of Dust mouth: “This place is way too damn artificial.”

“…I know…” Grillby said. “…We should hurry to the bar… His Majesty awaits your arrival…”

“Right. Right.”

Questions would soon get their answers. Dust knew all his efforts were for this very moment. Maybe now, at long last, he could solve the dusty riddles that plagued his past.

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