Sans the Comedian died on that day.
His purpose once was to entertain people. To incite laughter, or annoyance. To make people forget about their worries for a while, no matter how futile it all seems.
An ill-fit figure for the tumultuous path of a Living Victory.
Now, this monster had gambled and lost. What remained of his body was held hostage by Persona.
Frisk, that little squirt -- the subject of his judgement -- never gave up on their twisted sentimentality.
That’s right. They did their best, refusing to play Persona’s game. They destroyed the ‘Machine of the Gods’.
Destroy, they did. Took out the angel’s arm along with it.
Sans Serif thus dropped into The Void.
As he fell, his clothes fluttered against the empty winds, and he gazed upwards into the maelstrom of wills that desperately sought to consume Frisk as their own.
His mind wandered.
Game Over, huh?
Aah…
Maybe I should have stayed as a caricature after all.
Be that lazy oaf. Cracking jokes. Researching cars. Spinning my mental wheel for the next victim to troll.
Instead, I stepped out of my bounds. Became… someone more than a sideliner.
I had seen the unseeable.
Met the unbelievable.
What am I thinking?
My old life is too boring to bear.
Sans looked to his right. There’s nothing there: gone up to his shoulder joint.
Welp. Everyone dies someday. It’s just a matter of ‘when’ and ‘how’.
Then came Papyrus. He’s riding his cheetah bike. It’s the leaner, faster model.
Red markings bloomed on his face: a sign of Determination seeping through the unhealed gaps.
Don’t bother, bro. Just let me be.
A dying dumpster fire ain’t worth saving.
Sans reached his remaining arm out towards the bike’s skull. An override requires direct eye contact with the summoned Blaster in question.
Papyrus was within range. He didn’t move to dodge either.
Initiate!
However, a shine radiated from Papyrus’ back. It created a spark that slapped Sans’ hand away.
So, they applied that Gram on him after all…
Heh, I hoped that they forgot about it, really.
Determined, Sans tried yet again.
His palm now shone with the Mark of the Seraph.
I impose my will--
The ripples of Amalgamation rolled through his injured body, cutting his thoughts short mid-sentence. His symbol extinguished.
Damn it. I… I’m burning out…
Helpless, Sans dropped straight into the perfect catch. He’s blue now.
Sans took a moment to admire his little brother. What a fine person he had grown up to be. Way, way better than he could have ever dreamed.
“SANS, HANG IN THERE!” Papyrus shook, trying hard not to cry. “THANK GOODNESS YOU’RE AS LIGHT AS A FEATHER.”
At shore, his brother wrapped him in the enchanted scarf that once belonged to their mother. Experiencing it first hand, Sans started to understand its functions better.
It’s a life-maintaining capture tool. Anyone caught in it would be bound with trappings stronger than steel: powers nullified, and vital functions slowed.
Despite so… the symptoms of Amalgamation continued to creep.
The Seraph System is gone. My SOUL… heh. It’s never gonna revert.
There’s nothing to regulate that overflowing Determination anymore. The scarf ain’t enough to stop it. Levels gonna keep on rising. I’m already feeling ultra sleepy.
Eyelids, heavy. They began to droop.
A fishy hand smacked his cheek.
“Don’t sleep!” Undyne yelled. “Tell us how to keep Toriel and Asgore alive!!!”
Sans tried to speak. It took a lot of effort for a quiet voice. Not a good sign.
“Power source,” he said. “Without it, ten minutes. Battery life.”
“And how do we do that???”
“Mark. Command: ‘Keep them alive’.”
Undyne pointed upwards towards the huge maelstrom of pure Determination. “We DON’T have that right now! The squirt is fighting whatever crap is in there!”
Grillby offered his hand towards Garamond. “…May I?… I still have some reserves…”
The half-cracked capsules of the Dreemurrs were handed over to the knight of fire.
From the palm of his hand, soft white flames fed vital energy into the containers. The strength they had lent him prior would be used to keep the monarch’s alive for the time being.
Their own power, huh? It’s poetic karma.
“…Will this do?…” he asked back.
“Yup,” answered Sans.
The second ripple was stronger than the first. Didn’t surprise him. Amalgamation would be near-instant on its own.
His eyelids drooped again. It’s getting more and more difficult to stay awake.
“BROTHER,” said Papyrus.
“Yeah, bro?”
“DON’T LEAVE ME BEHIND.”
“Sorry. No guarantees.”
“PLEASE TRY. HANG IN THERE UNTIL HELP ARRIVES.”
A brilliant star of scarlet dispelled the collective mass of Determination. Falling from the centre of that shine…
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
…Was none other than Frisk.
Kid. You have a dysfunctional relationship with gravity, you know that?
Frisk vanished mid-fall. They reappeared by Sans’ side. Planted a Mark on safe grounds before attempting an adventure? Smart cookie.
Upon the third ripple, Sans looked at his own hand. It’s dripping white goo. Once a monster reaches that stage… there’s no turning back.
Sans blinked and failed to open his eyes again. He had fallen asleep, drifting deeper and deeper into the inner abyss.
Voices, fading.
Senses, failing.
At the very last moment, he heard one sentence from the human:
“I -- Frisk -- am Determined to Claim you with my Mercy!”
* * *
Sans Serif woke up to a world of liquid. It’s a… soothing sensation. It seeped deep within the marrows of his skeletal self.
He didn’t feel any clothing on his being. No surprise there. Everyone enters the world naked. They would leave as such too. At least, that’s how he reasoned it.
[INITIATING DIAGNOSTICS.]
[EYE STATUS:]
[CYAN, ALL CLEAR]
[YELLOW, ALL CLEAR]
[PURPLE, ALL CLEAR]
[PSYCHIA STATUS: RED.]
[ERROR. MISMATCH DETECTED.]
[MAGICAL INTEGRITY: UNKNOWN. REMOVAL FROM INTENSIVE RECOVERY POD 01 DENIED.]
‘Intensive Recovery Pod 01’…?
Hang on. I’m inside a machine?
The interior lights switched on, illuminating the fluid world in green.
It was then that Sans realised that he’s suspended inside a container of glass, covered in segmented plates to prevent him from looking outside.
The liquid? A magic-imbued solution. Likely calcium based; he’s a skeleton after all.
An oxygen mask covered the lower half of his face. Every breath he took drew in a mixture of vapours formulated to keep him alive.
He heard some shuffling from the outside. It’s muffled.
First, he tried to move. Nothing responded. It’s possible that they had bound his motor functions. Likely to prevent escape attempts. Or, any action that could endanger his own health.
He observed his own reflection.
I still have all my limbs, huh?
Whatever happened in The Void didn’t damage my real body.
The upper half of plates then rolled up, letting outside light wash in.
It’s… Lady Lucidia.
“How do you feel?” she asked. Though her voice came through the audio system, it sounded natural.
“Not dead,” he answered back.
“Any symptoms of illness? Headaches? Nausea? Soreness?”
“Nope.”
Lucidia went away for a while.
Soon the woman returned; [RELEASING LEVEL 1 BINDING]
Upon that command, Sans felt freedom in the furthest proximity of his limbs.
They had him locked up tighter than a maximum-security prison. Yet, there was not a single chain in sight. Unnerving.
“Query: can you move your toes and fingers?”
He did so. That’s when he realised his entire right arm had been paralyzed.
No sensation. No movement. It was as though it wasn’t there at all.
“The computer failed to detect any nerve activity inside your right arm. Not surprising, since it was caught in that DT-explosion.”
“Am I handicapped for life now?” he asked.
“Depends on your fortune. Luck. Physiotherapy will be your best case scenario. The worst: amputation and prosthetics.”
Not the most reassuring news.
“Is everyone else alright?”
That question earned an intense glare from Lucidia. Shot down without a second thought. However, her expression softened soon after.
“…There are no fatalities, if that eases your heart.”
“It does,” Sans said. “Thanks.”
“None required. Those are the facts.”
“Anyway, since you appear to be conscious enough; there’s someone here who wishes to speak with you.”
Slow taps vibrated through the solution. Liquids carry ground vibrations better than air.
That’s… a cane?
Lo and behold, none other than Supreme Judge Mezil Thyme walked into the ward.
Pallid skin.
Dark eyes.
Silver hair.
Intense scowl.
All that in addition to his stylish black tailcoat. It’s no wonder why he earned the nickname of a ‘vampire’.
Neither side said anything for a long while. Both waited for each other to make the first statement.
“Hmph,” Mezil huffed at last. “Do you only show off your smart mouth before my wife? How unsightly.”
“Hey, I’m just being considerate. …Say, you look rather off-colour. Feeling sick? Feverish? Aching bowels perchance?”
Mezil thwacked the top of the cane on the pod. That was much louder than Sans expected. No wonder aquariums have belligerent warnings against tapping.
Off to the side, Lucidia reminded: “Dear, please don’t punish the IRP. The machine is innocent.”
“…Sorry.” Mezil cleared his throat. “Sans Serif, please remember you and I will remain enemies. You are not getting off my hook anytime soon.”
“Welp. Okay,” replied Sans. “I assume you have questions then. Go ahead.”
“First, I don’t need your permission. Second, what in the bloody blazes were you thinking? Transferring residents to Heaven? Spiting the Almighty?”
“I tell you right here and now, false angel: until Heaven arrives on Earth, the living are nowhere prepared for the afterlife. Had you succeeded, you would’ve discovered ‘Death’ is the name of your supposed salvation.”
“As it stands, you’re no better than Frisk.”
Sans contemplated on Mezil’s ruling. Examined the facts against his own judgement of Frisk.
False god-like power, checked.
Premature ending of lives by unnatural means, checked.
Ripping apart reality as they know it, checked.
The old Magus was spot on.
A part of me says I should be feeling wrecked by this. I mean, my heart got crushed for lesser reasons.
The accidental death of Frisk’s parents…
My brother finding out the truth…
The awakening of his Eye…
Yeah. Those broke me. The mass murder accusation? All I have right now is a straightforward acknowledgement of my failures. It’s impersonal. Cold.
Did I change for the worse? Or is the scale too massive for me to comprehend at an emotional level? It’s too soon to tell.
“I don’t know what to say,” said Sans. “It’s an accurate assessment: I’m a hypocrite through and through. By your laws, I should be executed as a DEMON.”
“…But then, why am I alive?”
Mezil twisted the top of his cane. He pulled the sword out of its sheath, reflecting the ceiling lights against the polished surface.
“Make no mistake. If it was solely up to me, you’d be long dead. I’ve executed countless others for less.”
“However,” He snapped the blade back into its place. “My will is not the key to your survival. You breathe today upon the mercy of three: Frisk, The Grandmaster, and the Almighty Himself.”
Sans blinked twice. “…You saw the light?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And you didn’t think I was going insane?”
“Tsk! Who do you take me for? Persona? That moron is so blinded by pride that he wouldn’t recognize the truth right at his feet.”
“Nah, I take you as someone who doesn’t have faith in anything. We’re similar.”
Irritation boiled behind that stoic grump. Look close enough, and one might catch a glimpse of inner fire.
“‘Similar’ is not the ‘same’,” grumbled the old man. “You’re a fool to think otherwise.”
“Interesting. Because, heh, if you ask me… I still find the whole ordeal hard to believe.”
Mezil asked Lucidia: “Can he use Truesight in this condition?”
“Yes. Please give me a moment.”
A few clicks and keyboard strokes later, the machine announced:
[RELEASING EYE BINDING]
Mezil rested both hands on his cane.
“Go ahead. Perceive the truth. Or choose to ignore. It’s up to you.”
To Sans’ surprise, he did not pick up a hint of reverse psychology. Mezil had laid the options bare; it was indeed up to Sans’ own discretion.
“Wow, you’re dead honest about this. Here I thought you’re gonna guilt trip me.”
“This is why I say ‘similar’ is not the ‘same’, Sans Serif. I dislike conniving wordplays. If I could live without them, I would.”
Welp. I can’t let the opportunity slip by.
So… what am I gonna see?
Sans activated his Truesight on his own reflection.
The paralyzed arm had nothing unusual going on. It’s just numb. Dead. He expected to see some DT-related cracks, but there’s nothing there.
As for his SOUL, it’s still red. Except not upright like a human’s.
On it, Frisk’s ‘Claim of Conquest’ shone gold. It’s far too red to match the true yellow of Justice.
From what he had read in Lucidia’s book, The Claim required a Living Victory within The Void to apply a heightened quantity of ‘clean’ Determination to the target.
In other words, ‘Mercy’.
Talk about the explanation not matching the title. Sans expected the opposite with the whole ‘conquest’ motif.
“Guess the kid’s still inexperienced?”
Mezil instructed: “Look deeper. Beyond the Mark.”
The thought of checking further inside made him feel a twinge of nervousness.
“You mean it gets worse?”
“See for yourself.”
Getting cold feet would be pointless. So, he peered straight into the core of his being.
Crimson script wrapped around the surface, hidden in plain sight. He doesn’t recognize the alphabet. The shapes appear to form a sentence.
“What the heck,” said Sans. Deadpan in tone, serious in meaning.
“Let me translate that Magi script. It reads: ‘Holy, holy, holy, LORD Almighty; the whole earth is full of His glory’. It’s the song the true seraphim sing without cease.”
“Did you inscribe this on me?” the skeleton asked. “That’s a bad joke, y’know.”
The Supreme Judge huffed. “Of course not! I’d consider it blasphemous. But it appears that God thought it would serve as the perfect reminder for an immature nihilist.”
“Heh, a ‘cosmic’ joke then. I guess The Almighty is more ‘humerus’ than you.”
The unamused elder stepped closer. Stern, never letting up.
“A word of warning, Sans Serif,” said Mezil, “Live in the light. I don’t care if you want to do so as a human, a monster, or some ascended guardian of both. Anything but an ‘angel’.”
Sans commented: “That’s ultra-specific. May I ask why?”
“The offer of redemption is limited to man and monster. Angels who rebel become demons. They’re destined for eternal condemnation.”
“Fall into darkness once again…” The Judge pointed his cane towards the Frisk-claimed SOUL. “And I will terminate you with extreme prejudice.”
That was not a conversation, as Lucidia claimed. More like a lecture. Borderline a threat.
Sans wondered what he should answer. Just ‘okay’? Maybe joke or pun?
No, he already tried being funny and it was not appreciated.
In the end, he simply nodded: “Duly noted.”
“We shall see if you mean what you say.”
Mezil turned around to make his leave. A few steps later, the old man stopped to look back.
“One more thing,” he said.
“…Yup?”
“Mercy given to the innocent is not simply ‘mercy’. It’s ‘justice’. Blessings and goodness are their right.”
“True mercy is forgiveness of the undeserving. Only fools mock this gift, be it by exploitation or by wilful unrepentance.”
“Goodnight.”
As the Magus said farewell, Lucidia pulled down the covers. It left Sans to contemplate alone.
True mercy is forgiveness for the undeserving… huh?
Then, where do I fit in the grand scheme of things?