WHERE AM I?
……………………………
WHO AM I?
The dreamer lay on his back, half submerged in a quagmire of clotted blood. From above, bleak clouds rained down warm drops of crimson, akin to liquid rubies: each soft pelt determined to sink him deeper into this bog of corruption.
Then came the black wind.
“Papyrus”, they whispered. Over and over.
“Could this dramatic fiddle answer our riddle?”
“We exist because of humans like him? Or rather, don’t exist?”
“Goner Kid is the only one who fits this temporal axis.”
“Papyrus, Doctor Gaster praised your powers. Perhaps… you could help confirm?”
“N-no. I don’t think he’s healed yet. I’m okay. It can wait.”
It stirred him awake. The howling winds had blown the rain clouds away.
PAPYRUS? ISN’T THAT A PIECE OF PAPER? ARE THEY ASKING ME TO FETCH SOME SO THEY COULD FINISH THEIR HOMEWORK?
IT MUST BE A QUEST! THERE’S NO TIME TO DALLY!
So he sat up. His unusually thin self cut through the clotting much easier than expected. Puzzled, he examined his body.
I’M… A SKELETON? IN A BLACK UNDERSUIT?
Examining his own hand confirmed his suspicions. It’s made of bones, metacarpus and all.
A slight glow of carnelian, sapphire, and emerald reflected against his white being. As he brought his hand closer to his face, the glow grew brighter.
MY EYE IS ON FIRE…?
HOW STRANGE AND FASCINATING.
Lightning flashed in the distance and thunder rolled. The rain clouds threatened to march forth again in indignation, seeking retribution.
Disturbed, the dreamer decided to refocus his attention on his little quest. Far away from this place.
I. UH. SHOULD FIND SOME PAPYRUS REEDS. INDEED. THAT’S THE BASIS FOR MAKING PAPER!
So he wandered. Roamed. Waded through this vast dark land devoid of sun, keeping a lookout for the reeds in question.
He wished that he had more clothing. An oppressive seeping chill had settled in. Skeletons shouldn’t feel cold, yet the dreamer found himself huddling tight as he pressed onward.
WILL I EVEN FIND ANYTHING? I’M… I’M GETTING QUITE SCARED.
NO, NO! THAT’S PUERILE DEFEATISM. I HAVE TO BE BRAVE. KEEP MOVING.
At that time, a crimson butterfly fluttered by. As if drawn to his resolve, it circled around him twice before resting on his shoulder.
“OH HELLO, LITTLE ONE. ARE YOU LOST JUST LIKE ME?”
Without a word, the creature took off.
HMM… I THINK I READ THAT BUTTERFLIES DRINK NECTAR FROM FLOWERS.
OH! THAT’S IT! MAYBE IT KNOWS WHERE THE PAPYRUS REEDS ARE!
He followed it with renewed hope.
An island soon loomed ahead. Tall reeds topped by a cluster of thin leaves lined the shore. They looked like rows of miniature coconut trees.
The closer he approached, the surer he was of his discovery. They were undoubtedly papyrus reeds: the material he sought for.
“HMMM, HOW DO I HARVEST THESE? I DON’T WANT TO UPROOT THE WHOLE THING…” He thus tried to break one of the reeds with his bare skeletal hands.
The crimson butterfly returned. Whenever the dreamer ignored it -- busy with his quest -- the creature would slap its wings against his face.
He shooed it away once.
It came back.
Second time, now. Again, it came back, this time bumping itself on his skull.
“SHOO! SHOO!”
Third time’s the charm. The butterfly perched right between his eyes, blocking his view with its wings.
“NYEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHH!!! YOU FLAPPY PEST-- CAN’T YOU SEE I’M TRYING TO WORK? YOU REMIND ME OF A CERTAIN ANNOYING CANINE WHOSE NAME I FORGOT!”
But this butterfly was as determined as the boisterous rain clouds. It continued to bother the dreamer until he was all but fed up.
Finally, he yelled: “WHAT DO YOU WANT???”
The creature flew deeper into the island. It appears that the insect wanted the dreamer to abandon the papyrus reeds and follow its flight. Perhaps it was on to something?
“I SUPPOSE…” Curiosity compelled him anyway.
In the middle of that island stood a cave, its mouth leading to a flight of stairs. The butterfly fluttered into the darkness below.
Thus he too descended that path. The dreamer expected a long corridor toward the dankest depths, filled with funk and creepy crawlies. Unpleasant, yet not unfamiliar.
That was not the case. He instead emerged in a lush, mossy grotto.
In the center of it all stood a great mound of stone and beastly bones. A tiny ceramic urn nestled in the peak’s indent, protected from weather and wear by a quaint sloping roof. One could call it a shrine.
If only this place had sunshine… it would have been beautiful.
“Took you long enough to reach here.”
The sudden presence of a person’s voice startled the dreamer. He jumped and yelped as he turned towards the source.
There stood the shadow of a man, outlined in red, facial features omitted. Whoever this person was, he was defined by a taste quite refined: black tailcoat, white cravat, even a cane to complete the image of a bygone era. Classics endure for many reasons.
The most eye-catching detail, however, was his exquisite gold and ruby butterfly brooch. It looked just like the little creature that had led him to this place.
Despite this person’s grim appearance, the dreamer didn’t sense malice.
“HELLO MYSTERIOUS PERSON,” the dreamer greeted. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE BY YOUR LONESOME? AND, DID YOU SEE A PESKY FLAPPY BUTTERFLY FLAP BY?”
The other replied: “…I was that ‘pest’.”
“OH. YOU REALLY DIDN’T HAVE TO FLAP AT MY FACE LIKE THAT. YOU COULD HAVE TRANSFORMED BACK TO YOUR DASHING SELF AND SPEAK WITH ME… WHO ARE YOU ANYWAY?”
“Hmm,” the figure leaned forward on his cane. “You may call me by my title: the Vampire of Time. I’m not sharing my True Name yet. Not unless you tell me yours.”
“I WISH I COULD, MISTER VAMPIRE. I DON’T KNOW MY OWN NAME. I SUPPOSE YOU’LL HAVE TO CALL ME MISTER SKELETON FOR NOW.”
The vampire huffed. “Despite everything, you still retain your usual mannerisms. What a difference the Blue Aspect makes.”
“PARDON?”
“You are The Great Papyrus. That is, should you choose to claim that identity for yourself.”
The dreamer alternated between his left and right brow, thoroughly puzzled. “WHY AM I NAMED AFTER A TYPE OF PAPER?”
“It’s not paper. Rather, it’s the name of a font. Your kind’s fashionable naming trend in recent years.”
What a strange trend. Still, any name was better than none at all.
THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HUH?
IT DOES HAVE A NICE RING TO IT.
The shadowed man walked up to the urn sitting on top of the altar. He spoke: “Little girl, you have a new visitor. Perhaps you’d find his presence warm and radiant.”
The man stepped aside for the dreamer to make his formal introduction.
He posed confidently: head high and chest puffed. “NYEH HEH HEH! I’M THE GREAT PAPYRUS, MASTER OF JAPES AND PUZZLES! LITTLE GIRL, IT’S GREAT TO MEET YOU.”
Silence replied his best efforts. “ARE YOU SHY? THAT’S OKAY. THE GREAT PAPYRUS WON’T HURT YOU. NOPE! NOT AT ALL!”
Perhaps this child needed a bargain. “WOULD MY BOMBASTIC PERFORMANCE OF A BONETROUSLE COAX YOU OUT OF THAT TINY URN? SAY THE WORD AND I’LL WHIP OUT SOME TRADEMARKED DANCE MOVES!”
The vampire faked a cough to get his attention. “It appears that there’s a misunderstanding. The urn contains dust. She passed away a long time ago.”
Talk about awkward. Sweating, Papyrus slowly un-posed himself. “I, UH, APOLOGIZE FOR DISTURBING HER SLEEP.”
“No, it’s fine. I should have been clearer. It didn’t help that I spoke as though she still lives.”
“…I wish she did.” The vampire said, lowering his head.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a toy snake. It’s handcrafted from pieces of polished oxbone, strung along a hemp spine so that it could coil with all the flexibility of the real thing.
The toy was then carefully wrapped around the circumference of the urn. “Auntie made this for you.” The man said, “May it protect you from many mischievous rodents in the future.”
The sadness of the scene touched upon Papyrus. Pretending that she still existed -- even for the briefest of moments -- had to be one of the most private ways to cope with loss.
He wanted to give condolences, but couldn’t think of anything without sounding shallow.
In the end, he asked: “WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?”
“She was a victim of murder,” so said the vampire. “The culprit was her own mother.”
The statement sent a shock through the skeleton’s bones. “H-HOW…?”
“As the illegitimate child of my best friend, she was born to be a bargaining chip for his devotion. The mother gave the father a cruel choice: to abandon me and raise this child in their twisted commune, or to return to my domain without the baby.”
“My friend, however, chose the third option. To grab his daughter and flee. A traitorous act. And thus that woman’s ilk tried to silence their evil with more evil: inflicting grievous injuries and using poisons beyond measure.”
“He survived. His daughter didn’t. Despite our best efforts, she lasted only for a while. The nameless baby turned to dust in my very arms. Her poor father didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye.”
“The worst of all… the criminals had connections who were willing to bury the crime should it prove convenient. And, in the eyes of the influential and the powerful, an innocent child’s life holds zero value. Especially when it is born of one whom they deemed unclean.”
“…I -- the Vampire of Time, Supreme Judge of the Magus Association and Keeper of The Peace -- could not give justice to the most helpless… The sheer hopelessness of that thought alone pushed my dear wife to a resentful isolation.”
When he finished that sentence, the man of shadow began to twist and flare. He’s engulfed in grief, topped with bitter fury.
“What good are the Keys of Fate if I can’t protect those who need it most?” He asked, and the heavens responded.
Thunder rolled across the dark clouds. Mocking. Jeering. Papyrus sensed a deep enmity from the roars above.
The vampire was more than aware of the implications. Looking up, he huffed.
“Hmph. As if you’d do any better, Persona.”
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The ‘Keys of Fate’. The dreamer knew what that meant: the power to rewind the clock.
“WHY COULDN’T YOU SAVE HER WITH YOUR AWESOME TIMEY WIMEY POWERS, MISTER VAMPIRE? WHY… DIDN’T YOU RESET?”
The vampire turned away from the urn and headed back to the stairs. “You need to understand the stakes first. Come, Papyrus. Follow me.”
“OF COURSE.” He answered. Though, he still doesn’t fully get why he was named after paper.
The vampire started to climb up the stairs. Papyrus looked back at the girl’s urn for one last time before joining his host.
They emerged not on the small reed-edged island, but a graveyard where tombstones stretched far and wide.
Here too, the evil rain poured unceasing.
The man led the skeleton to a particular pair of tombstones, sitting side by side. Though their names had weathered from the constant shower, they shared the same bas-relief of a heavenly four-point star.
The scene sounded ironic in the dreamer’s head. Skeletons, like him, should be the ones sleeping under this dirt.
After all… humans turn to dust at a slow, slow rate.
First, they become cold.
Then, they stiffen.
What comes after that was better left unsaid.
Curious, the dreamer asked: “WERE YOU CLOSE?”
“Indeed we were,” the vampire replied. “They’re the Wanderstars: the light that wanders wherever it is needed most. My trusted colleagues. Always with their radiant faith. Always shining. Always…”
The dreamer chuckled. He’d recognize that fond-yet-annoyed huff from anywhere, though he didn’t recall why.
The man sat down on the pavement with a grunt. All that standing must have been tiring. Papyrus did the same: it’s a more personable position.
Pointing to the stone before him, the Vampire then said: “Husband.”
And then to the stone that Papyrus faced: “Wife.”
“I SEE…” The skeleton touched the grave’s star. “DID THEY HAVE ANY CHILDREN?”
“Two. The eldest, a spunky adoptive daughter. The youngest, a mere baby when they were buried.”
“I WISH I COULD HAVE MET THEIR CHILDREN. THEY MUST BE WONDERFUL PEOPLE!”
“You already did.”
Perplexed, Papyrus said, “I… DID? BUT I CAN’T REMEMBER.”
“You will, in time. Those of Integrity are not prone to lose their footing.”
“I, on the other hand, spiralled down a dark path early in my career.” The man explained, “My inexperienced self had yet to develop the integrity to apply his own standards of righteousness.”
“People called for my early retirement, if not execution. Perhaps that’s the road the Grandmaster would have taken if I wasn’t married to his daughter. Instead, he sent these two newlyweds to my first proper Trial.”
“I went in there with the prejudice that they’re wide-eyed fools waiting to be crushed. Try as I might… I couldn’t find any error in their ways. They were determined to be kind in spite of brokenness. Determined to uphold justice.”
“At first I found their attitudes insulting. I thought their smiles must be a farce. A mask. An oblivious saccharine coping mechanism against a ruthless world. But my ignorance was proven wrong many, many times over. Seems I was the naive fool.”
“In the years to come, they thus kept me on the narrow path. Accountable. Balanced. They provided sound council. Acted as proxies whenever needed. Helped me judge candidates when I’m busy or tired. The ideal Crimson Keepers.”
“I thought folk like these only existed in religious fiction. I’m not saying that they were perfect saints. Far from it. Just, not the expected twisted mess of misanthropy.”
“Yet, a part of me always stayed on guard. What if they change for the worse, like my parents did? Do I have to catch them when they fall?”
Sir Vampire sighed deep as he looked up toward the eternal rain.
“Fall they did. Not from grace, but from a mountain. And, I could not catch them. They died together. Gone in a mere blink. Not even a goodbye.”
“I’M… SORRY TO HEAR THAT.”
His words paused there.
Papyrus spared a moment to mourn together with the Vampire of Time. He sensed the longing pain that still stung this man's heart.
“Again I ask, what good are the Keys of Fate?”
“Useless against nature. Useless against nurture. Useless against schemes.”
The chorus of lightning and thunder clapped again.
“Did you hear that?” the vampire said. “Even if there’s just a handful of such scum, they make existence miserable for everyone else. And yet… the world has far too many.”
At this rate, Papyrus just had to ask: “WHO’S UP THERE? IS HE WHAT HUMANS CALL ‘GOD’?”
His question was answered with a different question: “Who is God to you?”
“UM… SOMEONE POWERFUL? MIGHTY? WITH AWESOMENESS?”
“Delightfully vague. Let me tell you first, the mocker above our heads is nothing more than a DEMON of a man. He may call himself God… but he doesn’t live up to that title. Not at all.”
“I SEE…”
There was an unanswered question still nagging him. “MISTER VAMPIRE, IT’S BECAUSE OF THAT MAN, IS IT NOT?”
The vampire replied: “Yes. Our battles were steeped in time and blood. He, Persona, remembers everything no matter where the cosmos turns. Day in day out, I had to stay one step ahead of him to survive. Many tactics only worked in a single pass. One timeline, one chance. That’s it.”
“I couldn’t save my friends, or the little girl, because turning back time would have sacrificed whatever victories I had against that DEMON. Furthermore, the child was born around the same time as the youngest Wanderstar…”
“…If I went back far enough to start over with a fresh slate, the Wanderstars will lose their child: erased from time. As Crimson Keepers, they will remember this forever. It’s no different from murder.”
“Living Victory… Ultimate Weapon… Ignorant titles for the wishful! None but me know the reality of this eternal arms-race of Determination.”
With the help of his cane, the man pushed himself off the pavement. He then asked: “Will you follow me to witness the conclusion of my tale, or will you resume your prior quest?”
The dreamer pondered. Sure, he started with that idea in mind… but what would he accomplish by making papyrus on his lonesome? Does he even know how to do so?
On the other hand, this mysterious shadow needed company. Someone willing to listen even if it hurts.
The dreamer therefore said: “I’LL FOLLOW YOU.”
“Very well.”
The vampire thumped his cane on the ground. A ripple spread throughout the land, flipping the tiles over like pieces of playing cards. The tombstones flattened and folded over, reminding Papyrus of a popup book closing page by page.
A new environment greeted them. Golden gears, great and small, ticked away under a glass platform. Look past the gaps and one could see fluttering swarms of crimson butterflies.
Yet even here… the rain refused to cease. The droplets passed through on contact with the glass, seeping into the innermost mechanisms.
The vampire asked: “What is ‘justice’ to you?”
“TO LIVE WITHOUT HURTING ANYONE, I GUESS?” Papyrus realised later that his response was rickety at best.
“Hmph,” the shadow huffed. “Did your enlightenment sail away together with your memories? I don’t blame you. Most never understand it either.”
“Justice fulfilled is truth. Justice corrupted is vindication. But, to the ignorant ‘justice’ equates to ‘convenience’. They sing lofty praises if it benefits their desires, cry foul if it hinders their plans. They do not care about anyone outside of their scope.”
“Every day, the public cry for justice. But when justice is meted in full, they feel the sting of their own darkness. They don the masks of ‘good people’ and claim to fight for the ‘oppressed’, when in reality they themselves have failed to meet the standards they so demand. I am just their latest punching bag.”
Papyrus frowned. He didn’t like that statement. “BUT THERE ARE MANY WHO DO CARE! I WOULD CARE IF I KNOW.”
“You said it yourself: you only care about what you know. And yet, injustice still rears its ugly head in the lives of those you miss.”
The vampire resumed his walk above the gears. The taps of his canes ticked in sync to their clockwork rhythm.
“Imagine for a moment, Papyrus. What if by rewinding time to save one person, you condemn a hundred elsewhere? What if by saving one nation, you perpetuate the subjugation of another?”
“THERE’S NO THIRD OPTION?”
“What you think as a ‘third option’ may just be an illusion. Those with the Keys of Fate inevitably shift the scales towards their personal convictions. They too have their own friends, family, and homes. A bias of the heart.”
They approached a throne. A majestic crown sat on the cushion, made up of crimson-gemmed keys of gold. Splendour befitting the ruler of time.
“Behold,” said the vampire. “A pale imitation of the True Living Victory’s seat in Heaven. Whoever wears that crown controls the Keys of Fate. However, only the most Determined of the Determined can do so. On its own, a competitor may steal this fragile symbol of authority at any point.”
“So, to prevent further blood from being spilled, The Magus Association researched tirelessly to uncover the science behind this magical power. They developed a system to secure the crown’s bearer to their organization: the Claim of Conquest.”
“In other words, every one of my predecessors was also a ‘Vampire of Time’. We feed on the Determination of others to add to our own pool, further pushing our levels to greater heights.”
Papyrus felt uneasy. He understood the pain only to a certain extent. Imagining himself in the vampire’s shoes was not the same as wearing them.
“MISTER VAMPIRE,” he said, “IT’S NOT LIKE WE COULD DESTROY THIS THRONE. IF YOU DON’T WEAR THE CROWN, SOMEONE ELSE WILL. IT’S HARD BUT… ALL WE CAN DO IS TRY OUR BEST.”
And the reply was: “Destruction may be impossible. But what if there’s a way to keep the seat empty?”
The dreamer gasped. “THIS IS REVOLUTIONARY! WHAT IS IT, MISTER VAMPIRE? PLEASE TELL ME.”
“The solution is to leave the crown contested. Forever in flux. However, to do so, I must first become the undisputed Living Victory on the planet, for as long as it takes. Every name, every power, every Red… must be put under my name.”
“BRILLIANT! WAIT, WHAT?”
The dreamer started sweating. Shivering. The cold rain had truly gotten into his marrow. “HOW… MANY IS ‘EVERY RED’?… TEN?”
“More,” the vampire replied.
“A HUNDRED?”
“No.”
“A THOUSAND?”
“Not even close.”
“TEN THOUSAND? THAT’S A LOT.”
“We’re not in the Middle Ages.”
“WHAT ABOUT A HUNDRED THOUSAND?”
“One more zero, please.”
“A MILLION?!”
The Vampire nodded. “About there.”
“CAN YOU EVEN DO THAT?”
“Can?” The vampire huffed. “I did. It took me more repeats than I could remember… but I did. Decade after decade passed in the span of a single unwound year.”
“First, I had every Seer with the Purple Aspect sealed. I’m not so heartless as to let them suffer on the sidelines. It’s best that they don’t remember.”
“Next, I dismissed the remaining Crimson Keepers. With this plan, their services were obsolete.”
“After that, I went after those who already knew about the Keys of Fate. The remaining Gungnir and the Magus families. The latter had long been caught up in petty struggles within their pathetic bubble, unfit to bear any responsibility.”
“With those three categories out of the way… I moved on to the civilians. Started peaceful. Sent out letters. Explained that they should get themselves tested at the nearest post. Those with the Red Aspect -- known prior or discovered later -- were to limit their powers for ‘security reasons’.”
The more Papyrus listened, the more uneasy he felt. “WHAT IF THEY THINK IT’S JUST A JAPE?”
“I’d send people. Or show up in person if I have to. Should they still insist on their disbelief… well, a gift is useless if one does not acknowledge its existence.”
“WHAT IF… WHAT IF THEY FIGHT BACK?”
“Depends on ‘how’,” said the vampire. “The most dangerous would be singled out as DEMONS and Marked for death. However, as much as I’d like to have them killed when time resets, I couldn’t. Not without resorting to forbidden methods or endangering innocent bystanders.”
“BYSTANDERS?”
“Imagine if a person driving a car suddenly died. Their vehicle would go out of control and crash into anyone on the path. It’s an outcome I wanted to avoid.”
“So,” he continued, “I opted for suppression, while keeping the individuals on record. Reserved their final punishment for the very end. At that time, I gathered a dedicated taskforce to help me eliminate every single last one of those rascals.”
Papyrus stammered, “E-EVERY ONE? B-BUT WHAT IF THEY SUDDENLY CHOOSE TO BE GOOD?”
“If they wanted to be good, they would have done so a long time ago. Remember Papyrus, these criminals hide behind a veneer of civility. Parents. Important people. Service workers. All layers of society. They had fooled their social circles by burying their evil with more evil. But they will not fool me. I -- As Supreme Judge -- thus spent the last year hunting down every DEMON I had branded.”
In that final proclamation, the Vampire of Time twisted the top of his cane. Out came a blade of sharpened steel. As he lifted the sword to the heavens, it reflected the ghostly faces of The Claimed.
Men and women, young and old: none were spared from the vampire.
Their will, suppressed.
Their freedom, stolen.
Their personality, stifled.
Their hearts, scorning.
“O Great Papyrus, do you now understand the cost? There must be zero competition for the crown. It’s only then I can do what needs to be done to void the Keys of Fate.”
“Of course, there will be many who detest me for my actions: Magi and Gungnir alike. Let them, I say! Let them scheme together to take my head! Let them burn my Spire! Let them forever covet a power held by no one! In this game where everyone loses, it’s better not to play at all!”
The golden gears woke up from their second-bound march. They churned. Whirred. Spun. Angular flashes of crimson shot through the glass surface, gathering at the feet of their vampiric master.
It was then revealed to the dreamer that they stood on a massive cage, filled with a million victims trapped right beneath their feet.
Papyrus lunged forward, grabbing the vampire’s arm. “NO! YOU’LL ONLY HURT YOURSELF!”
He didn’t understand why he said so. But he had a feeling that someone dear and close had once tried something similarly drastic. It ended in futility, doomed by his own consequences.
Alas, the pleas fell on deaf ears. The vampire struck the crown with the edge of his blade.
The impact released a great light, blinding the dreamer. He staggered backwards.
The floor began to crumble. His foot pushed down a weakened spot. Papyrus tried to jump away before it caved in, but there was no safety left.
So he fell into a deep, dark hole.
Where was the vampire?
Where were the butterflies?
He couldn’t see anything past the raining fragments of golden gears. Until he landed on a flat, white plane.
“OWIE.”
He pushed himself up. The floor chimed whenever something touched it. Firefly-like particles floated off the ground, never going above his knee.
It would have been a nice and mystical sight… if a giant golden gear didn’t crash land a stone’s throw away.
He looked up. Broken brass and steel cascaded from above, and it’s getting closer. Fast.
Papyrus gulped. He scrambled to his feet and ran for his life.
Crystals, dust, and shards were thrown up in the air from the chaotic impact. One piece whizzed past his head. Another smashed next to his feet. He ducked out of the way to avoid half of a cog, followed up by sprays of shards.
In the midst of chaos, he heard a baby’s cry.
“A BABY…?” Fear thumped against the dreamer’s ribcage. What was a baby doing in the middle of this empty field of looming meteor showers? “DID I HEAR A BABY?!?”
Up ahead, he spotted a cradle. Papyrus sprinted with all his might. Within seconds, he closed the distance. Inside was indeed a human baby in a white onesie.
White. Not blue, nor pink. Is this child a boy or a girl? He can’t tell. They’re crying from the sudden chaos that befell their surroundings.
The dreamer scooped the child into his arms and protected it with his own body. But, when he did so, the baby’s chest began to shine in a bright light.
Out floated an unstable golden star.
The baby let out another cry. It sent out a massive shockwave that caused the debris to freeze in place.
How could they do that? What was this power? Who was this baby?
WAIT A MINUTE. I HAVE SEEN THIS STAR BEFORE…
IT’S THE SAME AS THE ONE ON THOSE TOMBSTONES!
The second cry shattered the debris. Dust of gold now floated in clumps and clouds. The horrific terror had transformed into a beautiful sight.
Then, upon the third cry… the star spun like a turbine. It began to draw in every remnant of the vampire’s broken mayhem.
Truly, a wondrous sight to behold. ‘Wanderous’, if Papyrus wanted to pun.
When the baby absorbed the last speck, the star shone in the most brilliant of reds. Bloody rains and pesky butterflies can’t compare.
For a moment, Papyrus saw this baby’s future self. They had dark brown hair, yellowish skin, and a striped shirt: blue and purple. He still couldn’t tell if they’re a boy or a girl.
“…FRISK?”
There was then a great slam against his back. Knocked to the ground, he winced with his eyes shut. Groaned. Struggled.
Struggled?
When he opened them again, he was confronted by a skeletal beast. It’s a dog? A snake? A man? A snake dog man?
The beast yelled: “This is how ye repay M’lord?!?”
Whoever it was, the ferocious being grabbed Papyrus by the shoulder and smashed him down.
“He bared his heart!”
Slam!
“He risked his life!”
Slam!
“And ye interrogate him as a criminal?!?”
Slam!
“This be TREASON!”
The final slam hit stronger than the rest. The dreamer’s bones hurt. His head hurt. And his heart too.
“Explain, Papyrus! Why should ah not devour ye???”
Afraid and in agony, he whimpered. “WHO ARE YOU? WHO DID I BETRAY? WHO AM I? WHY IS EVERYONE CALLING ME A PIECE OF PAPER?”
The assault stopped. Anger got replaced with concern. Worry.
“Ye forgot ye own name?” it asked back.
“I… I DON’T KNOW… I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING… PLEASE, STOP HURTING ME.”
The beast backed off. It left as quickly as it came for reasons the dreamer didn’t understand.
There’s no more rain. He’s in a kitchen of sorts. He’s also not in his undersuit anymore. What was this white armour? Blue pants? Red gloves? His hands touched a scarf. It’s so soft and comforting. He pulled it up and sank into the fabric for comfort.
More strangers checked up on him: grey monsters whose voices seemed familiar. They crowded around… which further pushed Papyrus into the embrace of his scarf.
A woman with dark skin and a cool hat then walked up to the grey ones. “Give him some space, will ya? I’ll, uh, deal with you guys later.”
The crowd uttered their apologies and stood by the sidelines. They’re afraid of the woman for some reason.
She got down on her knees. Up close, he could see her bright yellow eyes.
“You okay?” she asked.
“NO,” he said. “I’M NOT OKAY.”
“That’s fine,” she patted him on the shoulder. “Name’s Cenna Caraway. I’m a Vanquisher, and here to help. Let’s get you somewhere quiet first.”
“T-THANK YOU.”
He still doesn’t know what’s going on, but at least it seems that he’s going to be safe.