Chaos.

Pure, utter chaos. That's what Supreme Judge Mezil Thyme dictated from his observations.

Mistake number one: Challenging the opponent with such little preparation.

‘Give it your best shot’? A needless provocation.

Mistake number two: The failure to stay calm. Too much screaming, not enough control.

Mistake number three: Failing to capitalize on the strength of allies. Lucidia’s thoughtful construction had gone to waste.

Thus, the jet-car crashed straight into the broken landscape. Tore through the earth.

Doctor Alphys broke down in tears. Her lover, her king, her ambassador, her friends… she doesn’t know if they survived or not.

Persona snorted. “So much for being ‘heroes’. Even with an oracle on their side, they hit the ground with a splat.”

Mezil planted his face into his hand. “You don’t need to state the obvious.”

It’s time for a damage report. “Any casualties, Lucidia?”

His wife analyzed the data before her.

“Captain Undyne: unknown. Gaelic: unknown. Frisk’s entourage: survival confirmed. But the team is scattered throughout multiple locations. Displaying map on screen.”

Lucidia presented a simplified map of that area of the city. Glowing dots signified a member of the team.

Screens popped up. Showed the Ebottians’ process of recovering from shock.

Mezil commented: “It appears that Papyrus managed to toss them to safety at the last minute.”

Toriel and Asgore wound up on the rubble-littered streets. Landed quite close to each other too. They were fine… save for some scrapes. Not to mention their white fur had taken on a shade of grey.

“Flowey. Chara. Protect your parents.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Already on it, old man.”

Off the planes flew.

Sometimes, Mezil wished he didn’t need to deal with anyone other than his wife.

Grillby walked out from the remains of a burning bar. Was it coincidence or irony? He’s alone, and quite a distance from the Dreemurrs. A dangerous situation: solitude could spell death on the battlefield.

The knight of fire moved in a careful yet swift manner. He knew enough to not stay put in one place.

Elsewhere, deep inside an abandoned subway complex… Frisk, Cenna, Papyrus, and the mysterious dog survived the crash thanks to a reinforced protective shell of bones. Praise Papyrus that they’re fine. Though, it’ll take a while for them to find an exit.

As for Undyne… the screen showed total darkness. Dead? Not dead? Only time will tell.

“Could you analyze the pre-crash moment again?”

“Yes,” Lucidia replied. Her Eyes lit up in colour as she attempted to recreate the scene on a separate panel.

The scenario played out… then suddenly there was nothing.

“Detecting missing frames,” she said. “It’s a 1.24 second gap. Hypothesis: time-distortion powers interrupted the signal.”

“Seer Time Manipulation, hmm?”

Mezil recalled his days of duelling Seers. Though in theory they had a set of universal abilities, their application differed. It’s a guarded secret. After all, tactics lose their effectiveness if the enemy knows how to counter them.

I know its weaknesses.

Potent as that time-freeze may be, it’s limited to a specific range. Too close, and the effects can be resisted. Too far and it’s outside the sphere of influence.

Not to mention that it limits his own movements. In combat, it’s often used as a disorientation tactic. There’s not much practical application otherwise.

A poor-man’s Keys of Fate. Yet, Team Ebott fell for it. Frustrating.

Mezil switched his attention to the spying window he had wired to Sans’ Eye. For some strange reason… it had showed little to no recent changes. No visions. Nothing unusual beyond that momentary skip in time.

…Is this a joke? He wiped out a team without so much as using his Future Sight?

Unless…

“Lucidia, expand the sub-channels,” he ordered. “Put them in separate screens. Make them small.”

“Where are we linking them to?”

“The Seraph’s wings. They’re not just for show.”

Lucidia did as instructed. Postcard-sized screens appeared and vanished at a rapid rate. The wings seemed to scan for possible realities, only to discard them for their inability to avoid death.

“This is not making any damn sense,” said Mezil. “It’s futile. It’s hurting the people he loves. Above all, he’s damning the ‘god’ he so feverently serves. For what purpose?”

Persona leaned against the chair. Arms crossed. Confident.

“Why is it so unusual to you?” he asked. “We’re Living Victories. If anything, we’re determined to see our paths through.”

“Look at that.” He pointed at the monitors, “It reeks of desperation. Even if it’s a one in a million shot, Sans Serif truly believes there’s no other solution than his own.”

Mezil shook his head. He hated to admit it, but his nemesis was right. Too many times needless blood was spilled because of a supposed deadlock.

The woman wondered out loud: “Should we still call him Sans Serif, Papyrus’ brother? Determination does influence the psyche in ways outside of the norm.”

“Yes,” her husband replied. “It’s just a different side of him exposed to the world.”

The Crimson Hall had taught him such. Both about himself and others…

The angel meanwhile raised both arms towards the false night sky. There, he summoned a vortex of bones. The pieces snapped together en masse, forming a three-dimensional matrix of Arcanagrams.

“What in the world? Is he trying to build something?”

“Still slow on the uptake, Vampire?” Persona interrupted, arrogant as ever. How Mezil detested that man.

“If all you have are petty insults, then stay quiet.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Tsk, tsk. If you can’t see his ploy, it means your edge really has dulled. Has age caught up to you? Or is it the fever?”

Mezil can’t let a dead ghost get the better of him. So, he reexamined the situation.

Think like Sans. Be efficient to the point of being lazy.

“Were I Sans Serif, I’d capitalize on any known variable: a certain input with an uncertain output. In other words…”

“…He’s building a Spirit Gate.”

Sans’ Eye flared. The glyphs of his kind glowed bright while the spy monitor reacted. Obscure data filled the screen. None of it containing anything Mezil could read.

Is this really how he sees the world? Like a machine. No different from Lucidia…

Seems to me that he’s checking the integrity of his calculations.

Satisfied, the skeleton compressed the arcane framework to its breaking point. With one snap of his fingers, a massive doorway appeared in its stead.

Mezil groaned at the sight. “Issue an immediate evacuation call on Ebott Town.”

“Affirmative,” the wife nodded. Addressing the two doctors, she said: “Red Alert: Evacuate Ebott Town ASAP.”

“Y-y-yes, madam!”

“Alphys? Where are you going?”

“Getting something important!”

Nervous jabbering. Doors opening and closing. Shuffling fabric? Clothes?

A visual feed came online. It turns out, Doctor Alphys had pinned a camera on a hiking hat.

“Can you see anything?”

“Yes,” said Lucidia. “Visuals confirmed.”

Good thinking. Visual input will help coordinate evacuation efforts.

Doctor Alphys could barely hold herself together in day-to-day activities, and yet she had a strong intuition for technical details.

Perhaps she did learn something from all that media consumption, however small. It begs the question: how long can she remain calm under pressure?

A strange, glowing fog had filled the town. It’s bright enough to illuminate the interiors of Alphys’ bedroom.

“Huh? W-what’s happening?”

She walked up close to the pane. At the corner of the camera, something… moved. Like a shadow.

There was a yelp. “What was that?”

Lucidia separated a freeze frame. It was just a fuzzy silhouette, too blurry to be useful.

Alphys’ friends called for her. A lanky green crocodile and a purple fat cat. Both girls.

Though unnerved by the strange happenings, she joined them for the evacuation.

Magi personnel led in a quick and calm manner. They had to: all it takes was a single panicked moment to start a stampede.

“Stick together and move according to your groups!” she yelled. “Hold each other’s limbs!”

“Blooky?! C’mon, this is not the time to cry on the floor.”

“…She’s not running,” Mezil noted.

“Indeed. Analysis suggests that Doctor Alphys will not leave until everyone is safe.”

“Braver than expected.”

The rumbles of fear brewed at the edge of town. Voices grew louder. Frantic. The flow of traffic outright stopped.

One of the Magi guards reported in: “Doctor Alphys, we have a problem. There’s an invisible wall at the perimeters of town. No exit points found.”

“We’re trapped? Oh no. No no no no no--”

There was her limit. Not that Mezil could blame her. A whole town, trapped. Even the most staunch of hearts would falter under the weight of this fact.

The bone-themed Spirit Gate spawned high above Ebott’s town square for all to see. It’s… sideways. Gravity be damned.

“The sky!”

“What the heck is that???”

“Oh my god is the world, like, going to end?!”

When the hinges rolled and the doors opened, The Seraphim revealed himself.

A red birdman stepped forward. “Sans…?”

“Hey, ‘sup?” Sans replied. “Sorry for the out-of-season Halloween vibes. It’s part of the prep.”

“Prep? Prep for what?!”

“Escaping the apocalypse and all that jazz. It looks scary, but don’t worry. You won’t remember a thing once it’s over and done.”

“Where is the real Sans? What have you done to him???”

Question, ignored. An expected response by this point.

From now onward, it’s full-on pandemonium. The people jostled. Pushed. Screamed. Wailed. They used their magic in a haphazard attempt to break free, to wasted efforts.

“Sensei? Sensei, where are you???” Alphys looked around. Doctor Gaster was nowhere to be seen. Where could he have gone at a time like this?

The silhouette of a monster child ran deeper into the fog.

Alphys started chasing after them. “Hey! Where are you going? That’s dangerous, come back!”

Mezil put the screen aside. He decided that attentions were better spent elsewhere.

“Lucidia, prioritize the search for Undyne. If there’s anyone who could keep that damn angel busy, it would be them.”

“Them?” Persona raised a brow. “You mean just ‘her’.”

Mezil insisted otherwise. “No. ‘Them’. As a team. Both knight and steed.”

“You of all people should know how broken and useless your dog has always been.”

Persona leaned closer. Whispered straight into his ear. “How many times have you used the Keys of Fate for his pitiful sake?”

‘How many?’

Again and again, the doubters asked. Each with differing motives.

Concern. Resentment. Bewilderment. Anger.

No one would object if the Keys were used to protect his wife, Lady Lucidia. She was one of the central figures of the Magus Association. It made sense to twist fate around her life, be it for personal or political reasons.

Gaelic? What worth does he have in their eyes?

Nothing, they say.

Replaceable, they say.

Unworthy, they say.

Nonsense through and through. Who are they to judge? As if Mezil Thyme will ever abandon the man who rescued him from the deepest pits of the abyss.

“Hmph,” Mezil huffed. “And yet your ilk fear every bone on his ‘useless’ being.”

The Persona laughed back. “Corrosive as ever. It doesn’t change the fact that your mutt was absent during our final battle. Makes me wonder… what happened to him?”

“None of your business.”

Mezil noticed his wife had clenched her fists, trying to suppress her own outbursts.

In the end, she said: “Please minimize idle chatter. It’s a distraction.”

The Gungnir god shrugged in response.

“Fine, fine. Just making sure I’m not damned for eternity due to a bunch of greenhorns.”

As if you weren’t condemned to begin with.

Mezil kept that thought to himself, however. Answering back would only prolong needless noise.

“Gaelic, do you read me?” Lucidia pleaded.

Silence.

“Are you there? Can you hear my voice?”

Static.

“Wake up. Come back to us. Please.”

The continued silence was an ill omen. If he’s not dead, he’s regressing. Both meant bad news.

…Ten years of hard work. Gone.

What followed after was an effort in the Seer’s tongue. No human could truly understand their words. But, he sensed the growing worry in her voice.

Mortality was a strange thing. Everyone dies someday. And yet, the timing made a world of difference.

Lucidia’s speech patterns repeated over and over. Mezil recognized the phrase.

It was: ‘I love you’.

Type, unspecified. It could be the romantic kind, or the one reserved for families. Either which way, it embodied the depths of her compassion for their outcast knight.

Gaelic. Don’t die on us now.

Not yet.

At the very last second… they heard the whining creaks of steel. Concrete rumbled. Bubbles roiled.

Sans Serif’s screen shifted. He set his sights on the whirlpool crater left behind by the Merged Being.

The wyrm then burst straight out from the watery rubble. He announced his return with a huge deafening roar.

Sweet, sweet relief. Questions about Gaelic’s mental condition can come later. Sans Serif remained the primary target.

Undyne’s screen kicked back to life.

“Hellooooo? Anyone there?” she asked.

Lucidia answered: “Captain Undyne, we read you. Oh dear, I don’t have an output.”

The blast from Hyperdeath had destroyed all forms of communication toward The Undying… except for her cybernetic implant.

Keyboard, summoned. She typed in her message. The exact text showed up on Undyne’s screen.

“Damn. We really got wrecked, huh?”

‘Query: Update on your condition’.

“I’m more than ready to KICKASS!”

“As for snakeface…” Undyne’s tone dipped straight down in the next line. “It’s one big giant ‘fuck’.”

An appropriate swearword. A rebar had impaled Gaelic through the right side of his upper body, missing his Eye by too narrow a margin.

The captain wanted to yank it out. But, Lucidia stopped her.

‘Do not. It’s too dangerous. Focus on combat instead.’

Bone matter grew around the foreign object. This coating was part of Gaelic’s protective instincts. At the very least, it wouldn’t jostle around more than it already had.

How does it look like on the exterior?

Mezil bit his lower lip. Not good at all.

Karmic chemical burns.

Impact cracks across the upper spine.

The lower jaws, broken apart.

On the Karma-eaten side, there was a round hole: the entry point for that impalement. That bit of steel would have stopped at the bone otherwise.

Was it luck, or did Sans foresee that future?

Undyne the Undying swung herself to the top of the skull. Her left robotic eye shone gold with Justice. Working much better than intended.

“You’re still alive? After all that?” The skeletal angel said: “Really living up to your name now, eh?”

“Hell yeah!” She yelled, crossing her arms with the most intense of glares. “You gotta try harder than THAT!”

“Unlike you, I’m not alone!!!”

More stupid Frisk-like taunts? Mezil wanted to slap her across the face. There’s no telling what Sans Serif would do to obtain victory.

The wyrm charged forward. Hissing. Howling. Screeching in agonizing madness.

Undyne summoned spear after spear in the air. Rained it all down on the false angel. Lucidia got right to work to guide their assault.

“Vampire,” said Persona. “That skeletal heretic is holding your blood hostage, is he not?”

“Unfortunately,” Mezil grumbled back.

“Hah! How appropriate. I own one end of the chain and he holds the other.”

“Then there's you -- our mutual prisoner -- right in the middle.”

Tiny sparks of red electricity jumped on the god of Gungnir’s fingertips: a reminder of his capabilities.

…………………………

Though the sparks disappeared as soon as they appeared, Mezil understood the ramifications.

It's a solid plan to weaken his defenses.

All we need to do is to make The Seraphim falter only once.

But who then would finish the deed?

Gaelic?

The Dreemurrs?

Undyne the Undying?

Sir Grillenn?

Frisk?

Cenna?

Papyrus?

“Just keep your eyes peeled, Persona.”