Neither Lady Lucy nor Tsunderjudge became your teacher. They ended up doing some advanced planning with the Chronograph. That means they’re gonna be in there for quite a while. Darn.
Goopdoc was more than happy to assist in your training. His personality may be terrible… but you really can’t argue with the results. Papyrus became awesome. Undyne gained a new ability. And Sans…
………………
You’d rather not think about him at the moment.
Your job is to create the best shield ever around the wooden mannequin. If the mannequin blows up, you gotta start over. You will use the same combination you assigned on Cenna, except you yourself will be the one to maintain it.
As expected, it sounded way easier in theory than in practice. If you could put the sensation into words… it reminded you of a story from your younger days in the foster home.
Kids being kids, the lot will find creative ways to turn normal household objects into toys. You once used a pot lid as a shield, blocking the strikes of a thick tree branch. Recoil battered against your arms until they went numb and failed to block a big blow. You walked around in bandages after that incident. Ouch.
In hindsight, that kid was a huge red flag.
…You wondered if they had gotten any better.
“Focus, Frisky!”
Ack! Cenna caught your nostalgic reminiscing. You stepped up your magic in response.
Try as you might, you couldn’t maintain your defenses forever. The shield shattered once you were drained of your stamina. Boom goes the wooden mannequin.
You plopped butt-first on the training ground floor. Aaah you can’t move a single muscle anymore.
You’re tiiiiiiiiredddddddd! So very, very, tired!
Doctor Gaster shook his head. “Dear Frisk, you’re absorbing every blow! You’re not going to last long that way. You should deflect as much of the shots as possible. Judge Caraway’s shields are round for a reason.”
Dad agreed. “I believe he’s right. Magic mirrors the mind, heart, and body. You… have never learned how to properly deflect attacks, am I right?”
You frowned and scratched your head. Chara learned the ‘how to’ before, so you know the basics. Then again, you never actually tried to execute those basics. In RPG terms, you put all your skillpoints into Dodge and none into Deflect. Even when Undyne turned your SOUL green, you blocked everything head on.
“Well,” said Dad, “If that’s the case… why don’t I show you? Try to strike me instead.”
You gulped. You had a mild flashback of your murderous times. Won’t that accidentally kill Dad?
Cenna rubbed your hair. “He’ll be fine, Frisky! Zero killing intent, zero DT. Remember, Red Magic is the major multiplier. Besides, I bet King Asgore knows how to take a hit.”
True. He did have a humongous HP pool!
You tried to stand up… Instead, your head became spinny and your knees turned into jelly. Both Cenna and Dad caught you before you went splat on the ground.
The Goopdoc voiced his observations: “Dear me, this level of exhaustion is unnatural! I wonder what went wrong? You had performed incredible feats in the past without breaking a sweat. I mean, a galaxy of shooting stars is no small parlor trick!”
You wondered the same. Maybe it’s because you’re on the defensive instead of the offensive?
“That could be the reason. Like emotion, magic is easier to express than to receive. I’ve observed that Living Victories are more powerful in The Void than the physical realm. If you’re faltering here… I fear you might perish from cardiac failure in the real attempt.”
Fiddlesticks. What should you do now?
He clapped his hands three times. “Assistants! Monitoring machines, please.”
The Goners popped into the scene on-command. They began plunking down a whole bunch of generated science equipment, no doubt based on Lady Lucy’s material bank.
Goner Kid -- the one closest to your age -- made sure you felt comfortable. “Don’t worry, Frisk,” she said, “It’s nothing invasive.”
The shortie added: “We learned a few things from being scanned ourselves.”
“The best picks of the tricks.” Rhymer pointed a scanning device towards you.
Oooookay. So, you sat down like a good kid and let them do their thing.
A few beeps and boops from the mad science machines later, a printer printed out the results. Why use paper when hologram panels are a thing? Maybe Rhymer’s just old-fashioned?
The Great Gaster kept muttering to himself in the meantime, too muddled for you to eavesdrop.
“I see, I see…” he said eventually, “I think we can alleviate your problem by making use of the Arcanagram in the Town Square. A few adjustments should make it work for humans too.”
Dad then said: “Judge Thyme, Sir Grillenn and myself just had a discussion that we could somehow use that Gram to protect Ebott Town. If not through Gerson, then perhaps through Toriel. What do you think, Doctor Gaster?”
“I’m afraid The Hammer of Justice is getting on with age.” Gaster replied. “His SOUL may give out before The Law is invoked. As for The Queen… she is indeed well-suited to defence. However, I’m afraid to say that it’s too risky to depend on her abilities alone. Fire shields are great against the elements, but they are nowhere near solid enough to repel a Skull Cannon assault.”
Dad lowered his head. “That is right. I recall how both of us once perished in a massive explosion. Our flames could not negate that kind of force.”
“Exactly! Which is why I think we should instead support Frisk in their latest endeavour. Have them be the primary caster of a protective barrier surrounding the whole town.”
“A-are you sure?! Frisk is but a human child outside of The Void. Don’t you think that’s too much to ask?”
“It’s easy to presume such, but our little Magus is the only one capable of casting an impenetrable shield. They just need to delegate their will wherever necessary."
Agreeing, you mentioned that you had no problems whatsoever when you pasted your Marks on sister Cenna.
“Yeah,” Cenna added, “I tanked those shells no problemo!”
Just to make sure everyone’s on the same page, you proceeded to ask the Goopdoc about the Gram built at the Town Square. You remember seeing him closing Sans’ Spirit Gate… But what exactly does it do?
Immediately, Gaster’s face lit up with delight. “Oh, you saw it? Splendid!”
“Child of Mercy,” he began, “That Gram is both a concentrator and an amplifier combined. Every monster in town joined hands to cast that massive magic.”
Whoa, the whole town of monsters helped?!
“Of course… but their help alone would not have sufficed.” Gaster solemnly added. “Too much the risk of collapsing citizens otherwise. I thus pulled additional power from the town’s electrical grid, fuelled by The Core itself. The Town Square was where the first major construction began, so I naturally deduced it to be a key energy centerpoint.”
Oooooooh! So that’s why you don’t need to depend on your own human stamina to make a town-sized shield that can stop a Skull Cannon. What a relief!
………………………………………………
WAIT A MINUTE!!!!
Why are YOU expected to save the town from a Skull Cannon at all??? Wasn’t this training just for your sister’s personal protection??? What is Tsunderjudge planning to do??? You’re lacking half of the information here!
Surprised about the outburst, Dad asked: “Lady Lucidia didn’t tell you?”
Nope. Which means The Vampire better come out of his room right now to explain EVERYTHING!
Speak of the devil, you heard Mezil’s cane tap right behind you. Pretty loudly at that.
When did he get there? Nobody knows. His surprise appearance scared The Greys straight out of the area…
“We’re going to execute a controlled detonation.” He said, stoic as ever.
You snapped towards his direction, jaw agape. You knew what you heard, so you’re not going to ask about the ‘what’ again. Instead, you’re going to ask about the ‘how’ and ‘why’.
HOW?! WHY?!
Mezil rested his cane before him and glared at you with his most trademarked glare.
Oh boy. You know that look…
“Hmph!” He Tsunderhuffed. “Come. Perhaps it’s time for the official briefing.”
Yup. That’s exactly as you thought.
You stood up and dusted yourself off.
Bring on the super complex explanation! You’re ready for it!
* * *
The Hub was quite a strange space, King Asgore thought. It’s a place where the flow of time was both inconsequential yet vital. The longer they lingered, the more reality beckoned for them to take action: like an anxious feeling in their SOULs.
Everyone settled around the coffee table, sitting in the same sofa-spots as before. He had served Goldenflower tea, of course, though none may be in the mood to drink.
Frisk was the first to drop a question: “Okay Tsunderjudge, what do you mean by ‘controlled detonation’?”
Judge Thyme replied: “Whether you realise it or not, Crimson Keeper, you have created a perfect storm. There is a narrow window in which the enemy remains ignorant. Once she realises the truth, she will escape. And everyone’s lives will be in danger. She will strike again when you least expect it. First, it will be Aiden’s family. Then, it will be yours. House Berendin shall be her final target.”
Asgore thought back about the war against the Legendary Hero. Thanks to the power of time travel, even the most brilliant of strategies were easily thwarted. Yet, that human failed to wipe out all monsterkind.
Both the King of Monsters and his civilization outlived their nemesis. They were spared thanks to the Red Sage’s meddling in court. The weapon of words prevented the Hero from getting the victory they desired.
The goat said, “Life doesn’t always go the way they want, even with the Keys of Fate. Isn’t that right, Judge Thyme?”
“Yes. And that’s exactly why we need to defeat this threat here and now. This is how we’re going to do it: I propose we will trap our target in the empty meadow and force her to transform using the Philosopher's Stone. I myself will be the one to set off the fuse.”
He nodded to his wife. She took over the briefing from here.
And so Lady Lucidia began: “This plan will require a number of simultaneous actions. I will detail them in order.”
She summoned the map and zoomed it to Toriel’s house. “First, Crimson Keeper Frisk will give Cenna Caraway the same Marks as in their initial attempt. Green, Cyan, Blue. The Wanderstar siblings will then split up.”
The models started to move in the diorama. The mini Asgore climbed into his pickup truck with Frisk and Toriel.
Meanwhile the mini Cenna was picked up by a different car.
“Crimson Keeper Frisk shall go with King Asgore and Queen Toriel. The three of you will meet up with Captain Undyne at the border. You will bring both entourages -- Gungnir and the Magus Association -- to the school. This is the best way to protect them.”
“While Judge Caraway and Garamond make their way to Point Lambda, I will contact the Grandmaster for his assistance. His Mark is the Ace of Spades: the symbol of fortune and gateways. It will allow us to reroute the enemy’s portals to the meadow.”
Grillby had to ask: “…I understand ‘fortune’… but how does a playing card relate to gateways?…”
She replied, “An Ace of Spades is nonetheless a spade. Grandpa was always more of a builder than a gambler. Besides, he would say that having good fortune opens many paths.”
“…I guess that makes sense… Carry on…”
“Back to the plan. Judge Caraway will execute her every move according to Frisk’s previous instruction, with the exception that she will not inflict any harmful blows. Her goal is to force the target to flee into The Grandmaster’s trap.”
The map zoomed out. A red blip was placed in the east meadows, far away from any of the existing human settlements.
“This is where Judge Thyme will initiate the controlled detonation. Green’s rooting powers combined with Yellow’s target-specific traits should prove to be sufficient to that end.”
As before, a replica of the transformation to the giant wolf happened for all to see.
Asgore frowned at the sight. If this holographic map of his domain was correct and to scale, then Ebott Town sits within the line of fire.
“If I may enquire,” said the King, “Have we finalized the defense strategy yet?”
Lady Lucidia therefore said: “Negative. I have not finalized it. The prime candidate was The Hammer of Justice, although I understand the concerns surrounding his advanced age. I too would prefer not to trouble him. As it is now, Judge Thyme shall have to attempt to mitigate any and all damages using the Keys of Fate.”
Doctor Gaster’s face lit up with pride and liveliness. “Aha! Then allow me to propose The Child of Mercy as our new prime candidate! You’ve witnessed the utility of their special Marks with your own two eyes.”
“…Are you sure?…” Grillby furrowed his brows. “…They have talent… but they’re not trained… I believe… Lady Lucidia is a better candidate…”
In which she responded in a snappy, awkward manner. “Request for my presence, denied!” She appeared more nervous than Asgore expected. Did something trouble her?
Lady Lucidia quickly recollected herself. “Apologies, Sir Grillen. Putting me in public view will bring more needless complications. The larger world does not know that I’m a monster yet.”
There was a big ‘aaah’ of universal understanding from everyone involved. That’s right: she was still supposed to be a secret. The former-Underground people had taken their public appearances for granted.
She continued, “If the Crimson Keeper is indeed capable, then… I agree that they should be the primary caster for the defensive shield, as recommended by Doctor Gaster.”
“We’re in agreement, then!” Gaster grew even more delighted. “Great minds do indeed think alike!”
The woman clenched her hands into a fist and there was a slight hum of magic in the air. How she tried her hardest to not lash out against the eccentric doctor. Yet, professionalism prevailed in the end.
“Since we’ve now confirmed the town defense proceedings, Frisk must bring our guests to the town square instead. They will move to the school only after the crisis is over. This will reduce wastage of movement.”
“I also believe from the town square, the detonation site is within the range of Captain Undyne’s Determination-imbued spears. She should be able to provide suppressive fire from there. Judge Thyme could use the support.”
“Then…” asked Asgore, “Is Judge Thyme confronting the enemy alone and in person? Without any special protection?”
There was a moment of reluctance from Lady Lucidia. “…Yes, he will be alone until Judge Caraway and Sir Garamond provide backup. But do not fret, he won’t be fully helpless in the meantime.”
Touching her sapphire-blue brooch, she further explained: “My husband and I have special brooches that serve as batteries. Despite appearances, mine is designed to store Determination while Judge Thyme’s brooch is instead designed to store magic. I don’t think he has used it yet, so it should still be at full capacity.”
“That’s still too dangerous,” said Asgore. “Judge Thyme will be a mere insect compared to her. One strike is all it takes to kill him. Even with the Keys of Fate, death still hurts a ton. For his sake, I don’t think I can agree to this plan. Are there no other alternatives? We could try to disable her. Or confiscate the Philosopher’s Stone, if that is the source of her boosted abilities.”
Mezil shook his head. “Not recommended. I believe the enemy has installed a number of auto-detonation clauses. It could be triggered by the degree of danger, as we’ve already witnessed. It could also be triggered based on proximity. For example, if the Philosopher’s Stone is removed too far from her presence.”
“What if we keep the Stone close?”
“If it is kept within her reach, she will eventually use it to escape when the opportunity rises: either as a full transformation or as a general magical weapon. That scenario will only put more lives in danger. A prison requires guards, after all.”
“In all honesty,” the white-haired Magus confessed, “The only true safe method is to kill our target on the first opportunity, just as Sans Serif had done. But this is antithetical to the Dreemurr Nation’s wishes.”
“I see,” Asgore lowered his head. “Which means… you are taking this great risk to fulfil our selfishness.”
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“Glad we’re on the same page, King Asgore.”
Frisk -- too determined to surrender -- protested by giving more suggestions. “Why not put her to sleep? I’m sure there’s sleeping magic out there!”
The grizzled grizz instead replied: “Yes, but it will set off her internal ‘bomb’ so to speak. Any unexpected negative effects could be part of the detonation clause.”
“Tie her up from head to toe like Muffet’s webs!”
“That does nothing to stop her from using her magic to transform.”
“Use the Mark of Immobility!”
“That’s your first two suggestions combined. Also, the presence of the Mark itself might cause the detonation.”
“What if we drop her into the ocean? Skeletons can’t drown and her gun will get soaked. Guns are useless when they’re soaked, right?”
“Do you want to cause a tsunami instead?! The gun-jamming idea could have worked otherwise. If it’s not a waterproof model, mind you.”
“Okay, okay, okay, what if we launch her into SPACE?”
“Look, skeletons can’t drown but that doesn’t mean they can’t suffocate. She’ll perish in an instant in that vacuum. I thought you didn’t want to kill her?”
“What if we imprison her in THE VOID?” Frisk shook their hands to the vast blackness over their heads. “This place is full of nothing! She can bum together with Goopdoc and his friends.”
Doctor Gaster yelped, “Egads, don’t put US in danger instead! That Philosopher’s Stone is nothing to be trifled with!”
Mezil then added, “Gaster’s safety aside, there are two additional problems. One: it’s a temporary measure at best. You’ll eventually need to extract her, with all the possible bomb triggers still intact. And two: we do NOT have the means to construct a Spirit Gate in this scenario. Any factor that requires time is out of the question, as it will increase the risk of an unwanted detonation. This includes diffusing her by removing the Grams. We will only be safe after the Philosopher’s Stone’s powers are completely exhausted.”
Frisk uttered a soft ‘hnnnnnn’ out of sheer frustration. Poor, poor child. They tried their best and yet they failed. Determination only goes so far when faced with reality.
…Except they still refused to give up.
“She’s a clairvoyant Orange, right? Right? Well, we have one too: The Great Papyrus! How about we go back even further in time, prevent him from making a mistake, and get him to capture her! Problem solved, NYEH HEH HEH!”
“Are you careless or insane, Frisk?!” Mezil Thyme exclaimed. “Do you want Papyrus -- of all people -- to suffer the full brunt of the Philosopher’s Stone?!?”
“I’ve told you already! It’s too big of a risk! Once we travel further back, we can never return to the present timeline. And lest we preserve the current scenario, we only give the enemy newer and better opportunities to take us down. We’ll just have to accept that we can no longer save Papyrus from his own folly.”
To no one’s surprise, Frisk vehemently disagreed. “We can’t just sacrifice Papyrus without his knowledge! Have you asked him about it? What did he say?”
Grim, Mezil answered: “He told me this: ‘help those you can help, save those you can save. Do your best’.”
“That’s it?” Asgore blinked. “I’m not sure what he really means. Could you explain, Judge Thyme?”
“Should one save a thousand or a hundred? That is a meaningless question for him. His common sense demands that we try to save as many as we can… And grieve those who we can’t reach. Papyrus knows that we have to let him go.”
“No!” Frisk shouted, “What’s with that attitude, Tsunderjudge? You’re the one who gave me a smackdown for sacrificing Papyrus, and now YOU are the one suggesting it?”
“By no means are we discarding him. We can still help him down the line. It’s just that we can’t use time travel to undo his consequences without creating more of our own.”
“That’s just a roundabout excuse,” Frisk grumbled. “You didn’t want to save Aiden’s son either. Adults are always like that…”
In the end, the child was still a child. Their maturity had hit their limits. Toriel would be quick to shut that down, though she’s not always the calmest.
Asgore turned to Frisk and said, “That’s not very nice, Frisk. We still don’t know what happened at his end.”
Pouting, they countered: “He said it’s because he ‘won’, but that victory was utterly useless! I bet the Tsunderjudge walked right into some elaborate trap.”
Cenna whistled at that statement. “Kid’s got you there, Old Man.”
That piqued the monster’s ears. “Would you care to explain, my child?"
She took off her hat and spun it on her finger. “Well… Let’s just say that Ol’ Mez and that Aiden fellow have made some mutual enemies.”
“Ah-huh,” Frisk made an exaggerated nod. “And it’s because of Tsunderjudge -- and that stupid Judgement Year of his -- that a giant Kaiju is trying to destroy us all!”
Lady Lucidia interjected: “Negative. The current predicament would not exist had The Crimson Keeper not used the Keys of Fate without Judge Thyme’s approval.”
“You’d rather have two more kids dead?! Were The Six not enough?”
The group then began to bicker among each other. Judging from the tone of their voices and their body language, animosity hung in the air.
This feels familiar… Asgore thought.
Oh, right. It’s when Tori butted heads with Lady Lucidia.
This time it’s Frisk. How awkward.
“Calm down, everyone.” King Asgore thus spoke up. “We should resume this briefing after a thorough review of everyone’s opinions. In the meantime, Frisk… my child…”
He got off the seat and offered his hand to them.
“You should resume your training, no matter what. Surely The Great Papyrus would want for your power to save as many people as you can. You have that potential.”
“But, Dad…” they said.
Although it’s clear that they were still unsatisfied, the father persisted. He beckoned Frisk to accept his lead with a gentle smile.
The child reluctantly accepted. And so the meeting was disbanded and everyone dispersed to settle their own businesses. For Frisk, Cenna, and Asgore it was back to the training grounds.
Meltdown, somewhat averted. For now. It was a small relief.
Asgore reminded himself to act as a father for as much as he can. Hiding in a field of flowers and neglecting his family won’t do anyone good at this point.
* * *
You devoured your plate of omurice with a robotic rhythm. Instead of your usual delighted chomps, you just scooped the contents and stuffed them into your mouth.
Chew. Chew. Chew. Swallow. Scoop. Chew. Chew. Chew. Swallow.
You were darn hungry from all that training, but you honestly didn’t have much of a mood to enjoy your meal.
The oddity didn’t go unnoticed. Both Dad and Cenna stopped their meal to watch your reaction.
Cenna slowly inched a baby carrot close to your mouth to test your response. You chomped it off without any snarky comments. You didn’t even thank her.
“King Asgore?” she asked.
“Asgore is just fine. Or ‘Dad’, if you prefer.”
“I-I don’t think I’m ready to call you Dad yet. But okay, Asgore, is this how an angry Frisky looks?”
“Well… I don’t think I’ve ever seen them act like this before.”
You ignored their commentary and resumed your meal. The sooner you finish this, the sooner you can move on to the next step.
Meal, finished. You cleaned up by putting the plate in the sink. It doesn’t matter if you can delete dirty dishes. You just feel like dunking something.
Then, you stormed off. A concerned father and sister followed right behind.
They must be wondering where you’re going. Well, you’re looking for Tsunderjudge.
He’s not in the living room.
He’s not in the games room.
He’s not in the gardens either.
Ugh! Where oh where could he be? Your impatience grew.
When you went to the corridor with multiple guest bedrooms. You spotted him at the junction ahead.
Aha! So that is where Tsunderjudge was.
Your stride skidded to a stop. Was that… Snakeface? What’s he doing there?
The three of you immediately hurried to hide behind the nearest corner. Without any verbal agreement, your group agreed to eavesdrop.
You heard the following:
“King Asgore found a Silvermane plant in the school yard. He had repotted it and it’s now at Queen Toriel’s house.”
“It be so?” Gaelic sighed. “Ah thought ah could grab a nibble to recharge me poisons. ‘Tis shame that it had gone further from the school. Makes it harder, aye.”
“Do you intend to enter the battlefield?”
“Well… me sight could see where our enemy be hidden. Thought ah could climb the giant and remove the foe from within.”
“I have considered the possibility, however her clairvoyance would have seen you coming. She will spot you the moment you get close. That’s a severe disadvantage.”
They appear to be discussing alternative battle plans…? Why are they doing it between themselves?
Whispering into your ear, Dad said: “Come to think of it, Gaelic was not included in the plans at all.”
…He’s right. You’re now more determined to eavesdrop than ever.
Frustrated, Snakeface pressed his cranium against the nearest wall. “Argh, what trouble! The wee bean says the truth: it be cruel to sacrifice Papyrus. Disagree, ah did. Angry, ah was. But to seal his fate? It not be what ah want.”
Mezil too showed more emotion than usual. He buried his face into his palm for a moment. “I don’t want to either.”
Snakeface’s spirits were suddenly lifted. Filled with epiphany, he turned to his boss and said: “M’lord, what if we DO go back before that blasted court? That nameless soul be known now, aye? Let me catch her before she acts.”
Mezil instead said: “And expose you to the Philosopher’s Stone instead of Papyrus? Remember, the forced detonation is designed to make her spend its power. No one -- Seer or Magi -- can do anything as long as that device exists.”
“If ah dinnae burn me Eye, it be fine. Aye? Dinnae that ketchup heretic mention that she turned hers off before using that cursed stone? Ah could do same, so let me hunt!”
Wait.
If it’s possible to fight without the Eye, then why do we need to stick to this timeline? The attacker doesn’t have to be a Seer either. Clairvoyance doesn’t mean the sniper’s free of weak points. Cenna proved that already!
Heck, it could be any Magus. It could even be a member of the Royal Guard, like Undyne!
The old Magus shook his greyed head. Snakeface became crestfallen from the denial.
“I’m sorry, Gaelic,” said Mezil. “I just can’t send you into the fray.”
“…Ah see…”
“I’ll take your suggestions into consideration though. Go and get some rest in the meantime.”
“Mmm. Aye. Excuse me, M’lord.”
After a bow, Snakeface walked off elsewhere. Mezil turned to the opposite direction… and it so happened that direction led straight towards you and your family.
You stepped out of your hiding spot to confront him. At first, you waited for his usual tsundereness. None came. So, you decided to take the initiative.
You asked: why can’t we take Snakeface’s suggestion?
He’s an awesome close-range fighter, right? Supersonic fast, right? 25+ years of experience, right?
Right?
He could definitely nip the problem in the bud! Or rip the buds to shreds, whichever works.
Once again… there was no response?…
The Tsunderjuge just stood there, cane in hand, with a big grim stare.
Okay. Fine. Suppose nothing goes right. If worse comes to worse, and the enemy does transform, why not have Snakeface become a Kaiju too? He could totally tie her up like that! No need to rely on Papyrus at all!
What the heck? STILL no answer?! Is he so Determined to stick to his cruel choices?
Uuuugh! How can the Tsunderjudge choose his best friend over yours? It’s not fair! Papyrus is just too good for this world! Why is he exploiting him just like everyone else?!
Take responsibility and let Snakeface do his job, dammit!!!
All that yelling tired you out. You felt your shirt go clammy from all that angry sweat.
“Frisk,” said Mezil. “I have already sacrificed Gaelic. Over and over. For the past twenty-five years. Is it wrong for me to choose not to do that for once?”
Mezil pointed down the direction where Gaelic walked. “Do you know how much he has suffered? Do you know his torment?”
You noticed that the Tsunderjudge’s arm trembled in grief. You had never, ever, ever seen him this frazzled before. It’s scary.
“It’s cold comfort for me to say that Papyrus can still be helped, but it IS true. His condition remains salvageable. Gaelic, however, stands but one step away from total ruin. The next time he becomes a ‘Kaiju’, the man you know will vanish. Forever.”
“Are you telling me it’s ‘fair’ for me to sacrifice my best friend to spare yours? Because it’s his duty?”
You took a few steps back, unable to answer something meaningful.
“Crimson Keeper Frisk,” he said, “If you can’t face the cruel choices… maybe it’s better for you to give up your title. I’ll take my leave. Stay with them, Cenna.”
The Tsunderjudge left without looking back at you. That was when you realised: under all his stoic professionalism, he’s still a human being with human feelings.
You’re feeling just as helpless as you were during the winter season. Back then, your angry frustration also continued to boil with no resolution.
It’s Asriel all over again, and you absolutely hate it!
You then cried ugly into Dad’s fuzzy belly. His big arms wrapped themselves around you to bear your sorrow.
Maybe this is why Sans hates making promises. They’re so, so dang hard to keep…
* * *
After Frisk washed their face, they were DETERMINED to continue their training. They cast another shield around the mannequin and signalled their sister to open fire at the target.
Asgore kept a close watch for both successes and flaws, making adjustments whenever necessary. Toriel had a tendency to be inflexible. It was one reason why she was never good with gardening.
In some way, people were very much like flowers. Sometimes they need more of this, sometimes less of that. More light? More space? Sick with insects or mold? All these required observation.
Observe, he did. He needed to take note of Frisk’s every development.
The shield shattered again. The child didn’t digest their lessons after all. Their mind must have been too clouded by anger.
It’s time to renew the information with a sparring session. Frisk would try to punch and kick Asgore the best they can, and Asgore would deflect the strikes.
He pushed one of the punches away with just the side of his hand.
“Can you feel that, Frisk?” he said, “All I did was change the attack’s course. Your own forward momentum sent you off the mark.”
Frisk nodded. “Yep. I feel it!”
Fifteen minutes later, and it was time to try the magic side again.
A glassy chime resonated upon every strike as the impacts rolled away from the doll: a sign that Frisk is dispersing the blows instead of just taking them head on. They’re already putting their newfound knowledge to practice.
Cenna burst into excitement. “Yooooo Frisky, look at THAT!”
A few more arrows flew towards the shield in unison. Those too were deflected.
Not even Frisk believed their own improvement. “Dad, did I do that right???”
“Yes,” Asgore nodded. “That’s good. Keep it up! You’re not being hit as hard, right?”
“Ahuh. Plus it’s taking out less of my stamina!”
Ah, it appears that soon they will be ready. Their rare talent with magic helped much in the process.
However, as the laws of biology demand, one must eventually sleep.
It’s now bedtime.
Asgore tucked Frisk to bed. He heard their cute little snores the moment their head hit the pillow. They must have been so exhausted.
He proceeded to check on Cenna. She’s an adult, but he wanted to make sure that no bouts of insomnia bother anyone. Apparently she’s quite a violent sleeper, and thus needed a large bed that’s close to the ground.
So far, nothing unusual. Seems like the training drained her too. So Asgore decided he was ready to settle for the night.
Sleeping with The Void over his head felt awkward. Luckily, there was a control panel for him to put up a false ceiling. There were settings for ambient noises too, such as the ocean waves or rain.
“Hmm… ‘Rain’ and ‘Fireplace’ would be nice.”
False ceiling, applied.
Background ambiance, applied.
Lights, out.
And thus the King of Monsters rested.
Then, irony visited him. He was the one who couldn’t sleep. The sandman had skipped Asgore’s room, keeping the old goat wide awake.
There was so much to think about. Tactics. Politics. Regrets…
Was it a mistake to make Frisk an Ambassador?
Was Frisk too young for this job?
Should he, as King, formally retract their title?
All would have been fine if monster politics were done the monster way. However, Frisk will always be living in a world dominated by human politics done the human way. Asgore’s own father had warned against their dealings, rife with treachery.
Still, it’s a little too late now, what with Frisk’s formal election as Crimson Keeper announced to the media.
Asgore decided to go take a walk in the garden. If ‘Fireplace’ and ‘Rain’ won't do the trick, maybe he’ll settle down after breathing in the fragrance of the jasmine flowers.
En route, he noticed orange night lights illuminated the living room, giving it a candlelight feel. Seems like he wasn’t alone tonight. There was one man who lives up to the nickname of the nocturnal, and it was none other than Mezil Thyme.
He stared intently at the map of Ebott with a drink in hand. The tall glass was filled to the brim with iced amber liquid and a sprig of mint.
The King of Monsters decided to sit down across the King of Mages. With a tired smile, Asgore greeted: “Howdy.”
“Hello.” Mezil took a sip while keeping his eyes fixed on the map.
Would it be too awkward to talk about Frisk right away? Asgore thought it best to ease him in with some small talk first. “What drink do you have there? I can’t recognize it.”
“It’s called a ‘Suffering Bastard’. One part bourbon, one part dry gin, half part fresh lime juice, at least two dashes of bitters. Pour them into a shaker with ice, and shake until it’s well chilled. Strain, then top it off with the desired amount of ginger ale. Garnish with a sprig of mint before serving.”
The goat dropped his jaw. What’s with that name?
Is he trying to say that he’s currently suffering as much as the drink…?
The reaction caught Mezil’s attention. “Hm? Never had a cocktail before, King Asgore?”
“O-oh, yes I have. I just didn’t expect you to list down the exact recipe.”
“Can I offer you a drink then?”
Unwilling to turn down such generosity, a flavour came to Asgore’s mind. He once had a really nice cocktail at one of the Halloween stands. But… it got renamed to fit the spooky-theme. He doubted that it carried its proper label.
“What do you call a mixture that has lemon, cranberry, lime, and whiskey? Pink in colour?”
“Hmm. That sounds like a Cosmopolitan. I’ll be right back.”
He put down his own drink and went to the kitchen area. After some clinks and clanks, the Magus emerged with a little ‘martini glass’ on a tray.
Serving it to Asgore, Mezil said: “Enjoy.”
“Thank you.”
One sip was all it took to fill Asgore’s breath with a full floral frontal. The dance of grain, white oak, citrus, and berries was familiar yet different to the mixture he had at the fair. Superior, perhaps? It had more going on.
With a genuine shine, the King of Monsters exclaimed: “It’s wonderful!”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Did you make it yourself? I thought you could spawn from a preset. You didn’t need to go through the whole trouble of preparation.”
“Why settle for something generic? I prefer to mix by my own senses. It allows me to make personal adjustments. For example, your drink contains an additional liqueur made from the dried peels of bitter and sweet oranges. I had a hunch you’d like it.”
“Oh! That explains so much.”
By now, Mezil had resumed his consumption. “Back in my simpler selfish days," he explained between sips, "I worked as a part-time bartender to make ends meet. It started out as a favour for a friend who helped me out. Now, I keep these skills as a relaxing hobby.”
“I see…”
At first Asgore found it a bit difficult to imagine the unsociable ‘Supreme Judge of the Magus Association’ working in customer service, though slowly but surely he started to see a very different side of Mezil Thyme. Asgore grew curious about his pre-Magus past.
“Was the bar anything like Grillby’s?” The King asked.
“Hmm,” Mezil mused. “Probably not. This was the big city. Other than mixing drinks, my job was to keep a sharp lookout for criminal activity.”
“Pardon?”
“Pickpockets, snatch thieves, drug pushers, drink spikers, dashers, harassers, or general ill-behaved adult children. Get them kicked out before they ruin the bar’s reputation. Can’t have my workplace associated with scum and villainy.”
“Oh.” That was more awkward and intense than Asgore thought. Behind the counter or the judgement table, Mezil’s jobs always required the cynical scrutiny of anyone and everyone. Some things really, really don’t change.
Speaking of bartenders, “What’s Grillby been up to?”
Without missing a beat, Mezil replied: “Undergoing his Trial of the Crimson Hall.”
“W-what?!” That violent trial of heart and mind?! Done without the King’s knowledge??
Quickly, the Magus rectified: “He requested to have his bar’s financial records scrutinized.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Sir Grillenn asked for an honest opinion about his establishment. Is his business thriving? Surviving? Or on its way to ruin? The accounting books will be evidence for both his defense and prosecution, and decide the final verdict. What he does with his life from then on will be up to him.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
The King breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the stars it’s nothing dangerous.”
Asgore finished his drink whilst pondering about the Trial of Crimson Hall. He had promised his child to help them, not as king, but as a father.
Putting the empty martini glass down, he tried to muster up the courage to talk.
“I’m sorry about Frisk--”
“How is that child?--”
Somehow, they ended up asking simultaneously. It was followed up by the two men trying to give way to each other. Also at the same time.
Mezil sighed. “You go first, King Asgore. And that’s final.”
“Oh, thank you. Judge Thyme, I’m sorry about Frisk. I thought they were being unfair to you. Unreasonable even. It’s far too easy to presume that the grass is greener on the other side.”
Mezil raised his hand. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
“Are you, truly?” the King questioned. “You were shaking back there. Please accept my apologies.”
“Hmph,” the Judge huffed. “If you insist. But we both said some unreasonable things in the heat of the moment if you ask me. My outbursts were as emotional as theirs. Scathing. Hurtful. And needlessly demoralizing.”
“It is certainly true that Gaelic’s job demands full acceptance of the dangers. I’ve buried other Trackers in my time. Good people with friends and families. I’d be a hypocrite to make an exception for my own benefit. It was I who couldn’t face the cruel choices.”
So… not even The Supreme Judge was free of his own scrutiny.
Asgore said: “I can’t blame you. It’s easy to forget Frisk’s youthfulness with all this time travel going on. By having experienced it myself, I now understand this disjointed experience more than ever.”
“As for the lives of your subordinates, I’m very sure you’ve always done your best to keep everyone alive. It’s just tragic whenever it is not successful. For example, I may have made Undyne the Captain… but I still wish for her to return home safe and sound. I might not be able to face Alphys otherwise.”
“My best? I wonder whether or not time travellers can ever do their ‘best’. There's always another try. Another timeline. Anyway…” Changing subjects, Mezil proceeded to ask: “How is Frisk? Are they determined to make their own path, or are they ready to commit to the plan? At this point, I’ll accept either outcome. Without their aid in shielding the whole town, I don’t think I can prevent collateral damage.”
Ah. So that’s why Mezil’s been staring at the map with such intensity.
“Should I presume that my kingdom will be reduced to rubble? Like anime?”
“Yes. Like anime. Although this ‘anime’ happens to have been inspired by the sheer destruction of reality. It looks outrageous until you realise what physics can truly do.”
Asgore was reminded of Sans’ Megalovania missile demonstration. The whole mountain… flattened in an instant. Just the mere thought of it made him shudder.
If that’s what they’re dealing with here, Ebott Town is going to need all the help it can get to survive.
“About Frisk,” said the goat, “I don’t think you should worry. I’m sure they will come around soon. They just need a good night’s sleep to clear their head. When they wake up, they’re going to be making a cute list and some stick figure diagrams.”
“And, they will say things like…” Asgore pretended to act like his child. “‘Okay soonderjudge! We’ll do it your way first. If nothing goes right, we’re gonna do things my way!’. Oh, perhaps they’ll also add ‘Snakeface’s Kaiju transformation is banned!’. Let’s not forget: ‘You better cure Papyrus no matter what, you hear me?’.”
Mezil raised a brow, amused yet skeptical. “Do you think so?”
“Call it a father’s intuition.”
“That’s… rather simple. Though, simplicity would be a nice change of pace for once…”
Mezil stood up from the seat and stretched his back. “Perhaps that child had a good idea to bring you here after all. You are quite a welcome presence. I’m going to the firing range now. Would you like to join?”
To which the monster declined: “I think I should sleep instead. It’s been a long day, and tomorrow might be even longer.”
“Very well. Have a good night then.”
And so, the two men went their separate ways. Asgore climbed back to bed. This time, he managed to catch a good snooze.
Come next ‘morning’… the events that transpired were similar to what Asgore had predicted. Frisk prepared a hand-drawn diagram of their ideas. They made the demands he thought they’d make, determined to balance the scales.
Frisk said: “Okay Tsunderjudge! You better cure Papyrus no matter what, you hear me? We’ll do it YOUR way first. Then, if NOTHING goes right -- like getting blown up a million times over -- we’re gonna do things MY way instead. And sorry Snakeface, your Kaiju transformation is Banned! Yes, with a capital ‘B’!”
Mezil squinted back and forth between Asgore and Frisk. “How did… I don’t remember King Asgore having future sight. Is this what they call a Boss Monster’s sixth sense?”
A confused Frisk looked at their father. “…What is he talking about?”
King Asgore burst into a hearty laughter. “Nothing special, Frisk. We just had a nice chat last night. So, Judge Thyme… do you agree with their conditions?”
“I have no further objections,” the Magus answered.
The others agreed as well: a unanimous agreement across the board.
Asgore was delighted to see such positive results. “Then, let’s, how do I say this? ‘Get this show on the road!’…?”
Frisk approved of that statement with a big fat thumbs-up. “Totally right, Dad.”