Mettaton didn’t expect to receive an emergency call from Mezil Thyme. Still, business was business. The trip to the border will take some time, allowing the glambot to squeeze in an advertising break.
“Hello, Thyme darling?” said Mettaton. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Please send one of your recording robots to my location. I’ll give you the coordinates if you agree.”
That was a rather abrupt request. Not to mention, Mezil seemed to be in a hurry.
“Excuse me?”
“I want you to create a secondary viewing channel locked behind a paywall. Label it as exclusive content, and adults only. Recording every transaction for that package will allow relevant authorities to search through their payment history later.”
“D-dear darling, hold on! You’re going a mile a minute here! Y-you’re requesting things that need a written contract.”
“I apologize for the emergency. If you can’t do it, I’ll find another way.”
Realising that his chance threatened to slip away, Mettaton quickly said, “Wait! I didn’t say I’m not interested. I’m all ears, baby. Why do you need my glamourous broadcasting service in such a huge rush?”
To which Mezil replied: “Narrative control.”
“That’s surprising, Judge Thyme. You strike me as someone who dislikes the media game. And yet, you’re now jumping straight into the deep end?”
“It can’t be helped. All forms of broadcasting are narrative control one way or another. I was once in the same field of business as you, Mister Mettaton, so I’m familiar with the intricacies of the entertainment business. That’s how I came to detest pandering to the public. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t give them a glimpse of my personality.”
Mettaton did vaguely remember that hint of detail. He had heard it from somewhere…
Then a lightbulb switched right on. Of course! It was from the lovely wife herself! Before Sans’ court case took place, Lady Lucidia had vouched for Mezil’s media background. A bartender and a professional gamer: both quite public figures. The chaos of recent times has buried that memory in the back of his mind.
“My, my, my. What do I gain from this? We’re talking business, spicy honey. There has to be something in return for me.”
“An exclusive access to the individual known as Supreme Judge Mezil Thyme. For example, I will not allow anyone else to interview me. Only you -- Mettaton of Mount Ebott -- will have the authorization to do so. There’s no guarantee that you’ll reap substantial profits from my name, but it should prove to be a unique addition to your studio.”
Exclusivity? To the leader of The Magus Association?
There had to be a catch. Otherwise, that grizzled old man wouldn’t dare offer his name with such brutal honesty.
Mettaton had no idea if the persona of ‘Mezil’ would be worth the investment. From how the public reacted to the school interview, the man was not the most likable figure.
Yet, the offer enticed interest. Sheer interest. Exclusivity could pave the way to deeper inroads into The Magus Association, and by extension all magic-related parties in the world.
Once Mettaton lays eyes on an opportunity, he won’t let it go.
“Judge Thyme darling, we have a deal! I’ll send a Mini Metta right away!”
“Thank you,” said the Magus. “You’ll receive the coordinates via a text message soon. Doctor Alphys should be able to comprehend the data. Take care, and stay safe.”
The call ended there. Mettaton immediately turned to Alphys. “Alphys-darling, I have good news! Judge Thyme just struck an exclusive media deal with MTT Studio!”
Her eyes widened like saucers. Nervousness was written all over her face.
“N-nani?!” she blurted.
“No time for the nani and nano, baby! I need your tech-savviness on your top game right now~~~~”
* * *
Meanwhile, in the school cafeteria… fortifications were being made. The long tables and benches of the eatery had been placed sideways, arranged to form a makeshift barricade.
Grillby positioned the last table. If he’s being honest, the density of furniture would not be enough to stop a bullet. They serve more as a method to buffer a charge. Humans find the weight of most furniture rather cumbersome.
Lady Lucidia commented: “We’re quite fortunate that the kitchen is built into the cafeteria zone. Both the main and back entrances don’t connect to the outer compounds. This way, we can funnel any and all attacks to a choke point.”
After the mention, she began applying fortifying magic to the innermost barricade. The job was done in the most matter-of-fact fashion, as though this was nothing more than just another part of her routine.
“Sir Grillenn,” she said, “When my husband takes a step towards victory, I will become a guaranteed target. The enemy knows that he will not sacrifice me for anything. Therefore, a successful assassination or kidnapping attempt will become their top priority. Will you still defend me despite the dangers?”
“…Of course…” he responded. “…With or without the King’s orders… The victory of my nation… also depends on yours…”
It was then that Gaster bolted out of the cafeteria door in a huge hurry, his liquid form sloshed and hopped over the barricades. It seems that it took awhile for him to sort things out in the kitchen.
Standing by the doorway, Papyrus commented: “WOWIE, LOOK AT UNCLE GASTER GO! AND… UH… WHAT HAPPENED TO THE CANTEEN?”
…Papyrus is not part of the planning team…
Grillby wondered: How much can I divulge?…
“…Papyrus… We...”
The young Seer raised his hand with a serious, resolute demeanour. “IT’S ALRIGHT. I UNDERSTAND. I ALREADY SUSPECTED THAT SOMETHING HAD GONE WRONG WHEN UNCLE GASTER HAD TO LEAVE.”
“…I see…”
“THE GREAT PAPYRUS TRUSTS YOU WILL DO A MIGHTY FINE JOB, NYEH HEH HEH! MEANWHILE, LEAVE THE DELICIOUSNESS TO ME!”
And back into the kitchen he went. It was a strange feeling to see Papyrus behave in such a grounded manner. The same young bloke used to run around Snowdin with the goal of making the perfect puzzle in his zany ways, living in his own little world.
Lady Lucidia smiled. “He grew mighty despite the adversities. I envy his spirit. If I found out that people had been lying to me behind my back, I’d… no… I already have.”
She shook her head. “Please excuse my rambles.”
The Lady kept her focus on their watch. Or so, she tried. The dutiful act bothered Grillby. Monsters are deeply connected to their emotions. Would she be fine so soon?
“…Do you need to talk?…” asked Grillby.
“Excuse me?” Lucidia furrowed her brows. “We should be keeping a lookout for potential enemies. There’s no time for chit-chat.”
“…If I understand right… They won’t move to attack… until Judge Thyme goes online…”
“That is true.”
“…We are still monsters… I believe you will benefit… from having a clear heart…”
She glanced to the side and squeezed her hands: signs of insecurity.
“…I won’t judge…” Grillby reassured, “…Think of me as a bartender… Not as Captain…”
“If you’re willing, Sir Grillenn, then very well. At least, it should give you some background to better understand our current predicament. ...We should hide first, though.”
They sat behind the upturned tables, keeping view of the cafeteria at the edge of their vision.
“I was born as a chess piece.” So, she began, wasting no time to drop a bombshell. She lacked her usual sense of a crafted lead-in. Impatient. Nervous.
“My biological parents had a high standing in society. Father was the best Healer among the Seers, while Mother came from Lemuria’s noble class: in charge of the naval military. Inspired by my father’s recurring visions -- beautiful dreams of promise -- she pledged to give her firstborn to The Grandmaster. It was a gift given in kind for the Magi’s protection of the island. This child would then have the future task of continuing the Berendin name.”
“That child… She had no say. No opinion. Before she could comprehend anything, she was used for status and prestige: to integrate the Lemurian faction deep into the Magus Association.”
What a mess, thought Grillby. But he kept his tongue still. Let her express what she thought necessary.
“However… I, Lucidia of Berendin, direct descendant of Sage Corsivus, failed to make use of my position. The road of politics was paved by my forebearers, and my destiny foretold. Yet, I did not pursue that predetermined path. My passion has always been in science and medicine, rather than the circus of social relations.”
“Grandpa never reprimanded me. Instead, he blessed my pursuits. Was it wrong for my adoptive father to allow such freedom? The critics have said that he does not truly love me. A real father would have set his daughter straight. Kept her in politics for her own survival. That because of his negligence, she was left defenseless among the ruthless.”
“Sir Grillenn, there was a time when I lived in delusion. I believed that my mother loved me as ‘Lucidia’, that she meant well from the beginning. I played by her tune -- to be a good girl -- so that I won’t shame the name of Berendin. And I sought to convince my husband that my twisted circumstances were ‘normal’ and ‘expected’.”
“…But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince him that Mother did her deed out of zealous joy; a foolish declaration of emotion, bereft of ulterior motive. I was only fooling my pitiful self, clinging to false hope. That realization helped me escape her shadow. Though the guilt lingers still...”
The lady fiddled with the edge of her cravat. “I know what others say behind my back. To a Chronographer, every word and deed is easily exposed. But unlike Papyrus, I did not face deceit with grace. Instead… I grew resentful.”
“Revenge is too cruel. Frightening. More so when I reflect upon its horrors. I didn’t want to make Grandpa or the Almighty grieve. Therefore, the safest solution was to isolate myself from society.”
If Grillbz Grillenn had a stick in his hand, he would have ignited it out of indignance. Then he would crush the embers into bits. He knew full well he’s going against the bartender’s code. But does he care? Not quite.
“…Those critics are idiots…” he said. “…Why do they have to depend on you alone?… Your skill and knowledge in the field of magic… is outright phenomenal… It’s easier to find a mayor than to find a polymath… Your efforts have saved countless lives… Mine included…”
“But I have doomed millions more by not maintaining the balance of man and monster.”
“…An unfair comparison…”
“Will you tell me that I’ve saved more lives than I had lost?” she questioned back. “I cannot factor in the lives that do not yet exist. At the same time, those who’re lost cannot be returned.”
“…No…” said Grillby, “…Suppose if you did become their ideal princess… Is there any certainty that you will have support?… Will your proposals pass?… Will your family live up to their expectations?…”
Lady Lucidia muttered: “Maybe.”
“…Maybe not… And that’s the point… No one can objectively say… that your current path is inferior… Those who think so are only making mere speculation… A hypothesis without foundation…”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
For some strange reason, the Seer burst into a ticklish giggle. He sooner expected an argument or some form of resignation.
Scratching his cheek, he asked: “…Did I say something weird?…”
Lady Lucidia answered, “For a moment, you sounded just like my husband. Is this a bartender trait?”
“…Oh… I don’t think so… It wasn’t my intention either…”
“Will your final conclusion be something along the lines of…” Lucidia straightened her shoulders and deepened her voice, attempting to mimic Mezil Thyme. “‘The Almighty saw the hearts of the wicked and thought to humble them’. Is that right?”
“…Hmm…” Grillby rubbed his chin, jesting along with her. “…I’m tempted to agree…”
They ended up chuckling over the silly exchange together. Grillby himself couldn’t believe it happened at all. They’re both the serious type and here yet they were, making jokes in the lull before the storm.
* * *
Sun rays peeked through the gaps of thick clouds, creating beams of heavenly light.
One of such rays shone down on a Magus and his father-in-law. They’re two men born from two separate eras, yet they have many things in common.
Both were of Red, sharing the name ‘Mezil’.
Both have witnessed the rise and fall of nations.
And both preferred the company of monsters over humans.
The Grandmaster took off his glove. Long gone was his flesh. He raised it towards the sunlight to embrace the warmth.
On the other hand, Mezil Thyme was in no mood to appreciate the natural splendour. He came here for battle, bearing a fully loaded handgun.
A good many meters away from where he stood, a large Arcanagram lay hidden between the blades of grass. Inactive… waiting.
Mezil asked: “Father, shouldn’t you return to the shadows?”
As The Grandmaster lowered his hand and put his glove back on, he said: “I remember as clear as yesterday… This was where I confronted that so-called Legendary Hero. There used to be a lake of water lilies to our right.”
Of course, the lake no longer existed. Gone were the lilies and the water, replaced by earth and grass. Much could change over the course of a thousand years.
“Is nostalgia the reason why you’re lingering?” asked Mezil. “That’s a dangerous affair.”
“Not quite.” The Grandmaster objected. “I must first make sure the altered paths all reach this very meadow. Still… to think that a distant descendant of the Legendary Hero would walk this land again… it’s as though I’m witnessing a thousand-year old consequence of my actions.”
He continued, “Ah, yes. I still remember their legendary words: ‘You talk too much’, they said. Indeed, I did. It was naive of me to think that I could keep disaster at bay by building the perfect countermeasure. Alas, no countermeasure is ever truly perfect. The fact of us standing here proves so.”
Leaning against his warspade, the Grandmaster breathed a long, regretful sigh. “If only I did not let anger fuel my words. Perhaps our enemies wouldn’t exist today.”
“Father,” said Mezil. “I know this is a pot calling the kettle black, but… please don’t beat yourself up. You did what you could in that era to provide for your people. Your anger burned bright because you are kind. The suffering of others deeply hurts you. As for that radical heretic? Hmph. They would have gone down their bloodstained path no matter what you said.”
“Is that truly so, Winston? People are influenced by others. No one exists in a vacuum. I could very well have chosen the wrong words, and so set him on a path to destruction.”
“Even then, the ultimate decision rested on Genocider’s shoulders. That is all I can say.”
“Ha ha ha…” the Grandmaster laughed: somber with a hint of irony. “What resolute judgement. Indeed, it’s little wonder why my daughter fell head over heels for you. Ah, look west. I believe your camera crew has arrived.”
As mentioned, numerous flying objects flew from the town. They’re small, rectangular, uni-wheeled devices. Miniaturized versions of Mettaton.
One of them carried a package. Inside were Doctor Alphys’ written instructions on how to use the ‘Mini-Mettaton’s’ extra features: noise filters, screen switching, algorithms to snip the best shots, and a bunch of other bells and whistles.
“Hmm…” Mezil mused out loud, “I wonder if they will survive the initial impact. I prefer not to expend magic into maintaining their integrity.”
Dear father of bone commented, “My, my, Winston. Have you forgotten something? Bring them to me.”
That’s right. A Lich so ancient as the Grandmaster would have many ‘playing cards’ at his disposal. Mezil lined up the Mini-Mettatons before his elder as per his request.
Reaching out to the machinery, the man thus chanted: “Little eyes and ears, be covered by the shield of Kindness. May violence be repelled and your body preserved, with not a single crack or blemish suffered. Let my will be done.”
Upon the completion of the prayer, each robot now bore the Ace of Spades on their flat heads. Whatever defenses they had installed will be bolstered, and they’re granted a gift of protection should they lack such.
“Thank you,” said Mezil. With the Grandmaster’s blessing, he didn’t need to worry about the robots getting blasted to bits anymore.
Yet, the elder was not done. “Hmm, again you are forgetting something.”
“What now?” Judge Thyme grumbled like a teenager. As much as he loves his father-in-law, he sure wished that the ancient one would get to the point sooner. A modern man’s sense of patience ran on a different clock.
The Grandmaster then gave the younger Mezil a firm pat on his back. Upon that moment, the son-in-law felt a warm glow on his skin.
“Your Mark?”
“Charge not into battle undefended. If I bless the little machines -- tools oh so replaceable -- wouldn’t I give my family that same boon? Embrace ‘Kindness’ for yourself, dear Winston. Your wife awaits your safe return.”
All the annoyance ceased upon that reminder, replaced with gratefulness. How right the old man was: too often does he forget about his own care in the midst of this crazy job.
“Thank you again, Father.”
Not long after, they received a radio transmission from Cenna Caraway.
Answering it, he said, “Judge Thyme speaking. Anything to report, over?”
“Yo! Judge Caraway here, reaching point Lambda in five. Are you ready? Over.”
“Affirmative. The trap is laid. Engage the enemy as planned, over.”
“Roger that. Judge Caraway, out.”
The cogs of fate chugged closer and closer to critical mass.
The Grandmaster mentioned, “I believe now is time for me to take my leave. You are the main actor in this field. Stealing the limelight benefits no one. Godspeed.”
The Lich used his warspade to cast his Mark, opening another portal. Behind the veil of spacetime were the images of a secondary convoy. A thousand years in the political spotlight honed the senior’s senses for looming dangers. Taking precautions of precautions had become an art in itself.
And with that, the Ancient One vanished.
The sudden realisation that he -- the son -- was left alone increased the pressure.
Breathe in, breathe out.
It would be a lie to say that Mezil wasn’t nervous. It’s been a while since he placed the camera square on his person. Once upon a time it was under the mask of the Harbinger. Now it’s as his true self as the Supreme Judge of the Magus Association.
There would be no bodyguards to deflect.
There would be no glam celebrity to direct.
There would be no playful wife to distract.
He will be the main focus before the millions and billions of spectators… in a battle of life and death.
* * *
The border was a true bother. Undyne sighed at the deadlock.
Bah! Who cares about going first? Why can’t they just, I dunno, rock-paper-scissors this???
Whatever it was, at least King Asgore and Frisk were on their way. Though they’ll better arrive before Mettaton does. For heaven’s sake, she doesn’t NEED that pink glam bot to worsen the situation!
A shining ray of hope arrived in the form of Asgore’s pickup truck! Thank goodness for the timely rescue!
And yet, something was… off. They’re both in a huge rush over something. It wasn’t about Mettaton, was it?
The squirt had faster legs. They ran so hard, they were panting by the time they arrived.
“Frisk?” asked Undyne, “What’s up?”
“Al… Alphabetical order!” Frisk gasped for air. “T-tell them to move in alphabetical order. ‘G’ goes before ‘M’.”
“Okay, sure.”
“And we’re not going to the school yet.”
“N-nani?!” Alphys’ anime lingo had somehow bled into her vocabulary.
Before Undyne could wrap her head around this issue, Asgore also scurried over. Despite his strength, he too still needed a moment to catch his breath.
She expected him to mumble and mutter like his usual self. However, she noticed something different today. He didn’t rush his orders. Instead, she could feel an aura of command emanating from his being.
Determination.
He stood with his shoulders straight and his gaze grim.
“Undyne, tell the Royal Guard to bring as many adult monsters to the town square as you possibly can. Be discreet. And deliver our guests there with grace and dignity.”
She saluted her king. “Understood.”
Captain Undyne got right to work. She instructed her fellow guards to escort their entourage to the square. It’s right in the heart of town, not too far from the regular route. No one should raise a fuss about the detour.
On the way, she turned on the radio and relayed the orders to her underlings. They’re more competent now than ever before.
Come to think of it, Mettaton didn’t show up at all. Wonder why? I don’t think he has a bigger scoop to catch than this event.
Her question found an answer when she arrived at the square itself.
Mettaton, Alphys, and their crew had built a stage from prefabricated pieces: complete with giant monitor. Monsters started to trickle in from the outside, with Queen Toriel among them. The citizens got excited when they saw the setup, no doubt thinking that they’re going to be watching a surprise live performance.
That was not the same for Toriel. She glanced around concerned, as though she expected some bad news to jump out of the bush.
And then there was Doctor Gaster. Fussing over the square’s tile flooring.
…Undyne furrowed her brows even more. The jolly atmosphere conflicted with the behaviour of the Dreemurr Royal Family.
Then, something clicked in her mind.
Time travel. I bet it’s time travel! There’s no other way why they’d act this weird!
...Which means some major shit has hit the fan.
She tuned into her radio again. “Calling for all available units. I need assistance in managing a huge crowd near the town square.”
Backup arrived. Undyne spotted the mecha-piloting dog tower over the West side of the crowd.
To the East, it’s the buff bunny and dragon duo.
To the North, the neck-extending furry soldier and two support Magi. Whenever the humans petted the monster, his neck extended further.
There were no monsters in the South. Only gun-armed human wizards.
The show went live. Mettaton picked up the mic and began doing what celebrities do best.
“Beauties and Gentlebeauties!” he announced. “Thank you for gathering here for the livestream event. Perhaps you’re wondering why you’re called out of the blue. Well see, darlings… you’re getting a once in a lifetime opportunity to participate in a truly historic event! Ooooh YES~~~!”
The crowd buzzed with excitement. One of the fans then asked: “What is it, Mettaton? Tell us!”
“No idea!” He exclaimed. “I’m just as in the dark as you are, sweetheart. This development is a mystery even for me. Before we start the event, our wonderful King Asgore would like to have a word for all of you.”
The glam bot then passed the microphone to the Boss Monster. Undyne watched the leader of her nation take one last deep breath before facing the crowd.
“My beloved citizens,” he began. “I must ask for your help to protect a young girl. She’s an orphan in her teens. If we don’t do anything, she will most certainly die.”
The hearts of the Dreemurr Nation moved in sorrow.
“Oh that sounds terrible!”
“Who’s that poor girl?”
“Do we know anyone like that?”
“How can we help?”
The King responded with the unlikeliest answer: “In order to do that, we must defend ourselves with all our might. Using Doctor Gaster’s machine, the three of us -- Frisk, Queen Toriel, and myself -- will conjure a magic shield over the town. I will need all of you to lend us your strength.”
In that instant, people’s cheer vanished.
“What’s going on?!?!”
“I thought we’re gonna have fun!”
“W-we’re under attack? Again???”
“Is she being held hostage?”
“I don’t understand!”
The King raised his hand to demand silence. The people piped down to listen.
“Everyone, I know this is shocking news, but I beg for your understanding. This young girl is forced to act as a weapon against us. If her attack succeeds, not only we will perish… she will be executed for genocide.”
“Therefore!” King Asgore clenched his fist for all to see. “We MUST do our best! If no one dies, she will not be punished! Together, we will not topple! We will not fall!”
Morale shot straight back up.
“Huzzah!”
“Yeah! If we can close a weird gate in the sky, we can protect the town no problem!”
“We’re not going down without a FIGHT!”
“So what’s the big screen for?”
“About that…” King Asgore nodded at Mettaton. “Is ‘he’ ready yet?”
“Why yes, Your Majestic Majesty. In fact, we just received confirmation a few seconds ago. Alphys-darling, boot her up!”
The giant screen loaded an exclusive MTT stream. It’s a special pay-only channel rated ‘adults only’. Contrary to the norm, this had nothing to do with adult activities.
However, it had everything to do with potential violence. Standing in the middle of the meadow -- back facing the camera -- was none other than Frisk’s hardboiled mentor. Heavy rainclouds loomed overhead.
He had a gun in hand: ready for battle.
“Welcome.” So said the Magus, before turning around to face the camera. “I, Mezil Thyme -- Supreme Judge of the Magus Association -- have a message for humans and monsters alike. With the approaching ‘Feast of Fantasy’, I feel the need to clear up certain ‘misconceptions’. That is the purpose of this live stream.”
“Whether you realize or not, us Magi are no stranger to public opinions. Magic is dangerous, they say. A ticking bomb, they say. The world is better off without it! If that is how you think, then allow me to ask you a question: can you demand fire to cook your food without risk of burning down your home?”
Undyne yelled, “Heck no! Fire is gonna cook AND burn down your home. No matter what!” Her first-hand experiences taught her so.
“Alas, the laws of physics don’t discriminate; there will always be those who misuse and abuse knowledge for their own benefit. One man’s tool is another man’s weapon. Accidents will happen to those who aren’t careful. Such is reality. And it's why firefighters exist. Why the police exist. Why the military exists. Do you expect them to protect the innocent without proper training?”
“HECK NO!!!” Undyne yelled harder. She knew her answer wouldn't be broadcast over the screen, but she wanted to answer nonetheless. It reminded her why she joined the Royal Guard at all: for the people closest to her.
“Blind ignorance is a death sentence. Combatting the dangers of magic requires a person trained in magic. In other words: a Magus!”
Then there came a bright flash from the grassy fields. The camera view panned to the side. There a masked figure in military gear kept trying to pull their legs off from the ground, to no avail.
Is that… A… A soldier?! Hold on! THAT’S the girl Asgore was talking about???
Chatters of discomfort rumbled around her in the background.
She’s really just a kid? It’s not like she’s a shortie like the squirt. I can’t tell how she looks because of that damn gas mask!
Mezil continued his narration: “Do not pity her for being trapped. Instead, pity her for being a vessel of destruction: a weapon made of magic, born to science. To defend this nation… I must free her from her chains.”
The camera shifted back to the Magus. He pulled his pistol out of its holster and pointed it towards the enemy.
“Protection. Education. Regulation. Such had always been the founding principles of The Association. The reason for our existence.”
“To the people of the world, hear my oath! As long I walk on this Earth, I shall preserve peace. No schemer nor manipulator shall tarnish the hearts of the pure for their sick and twisted amusement. My loved ones must be protected, no matter what.”
“This I swear upon my soul!”
Upon that thunderous proclamation, Mezil fired his gun.
The air quaked. Trembled. Vibrated. The disruption was so great, Mettaton’s cameras were knocked into shreds of static. Alphys immediately worked to get them back online.
Meanwhile over at the east, a thin beam of light punched through the dark clouds. The evening sun shone its divine rays over that place and that place alone.
When the screen came back online, that same light shone down on an enormous, white-furred werewolf.
Gigantic. Titanic.
In Alphys-lingo, this was none other than a ‘Kaiju’.
Frisk cried out: “Activate it now, Goopdoc!”
Gaster chanted in the language of hands. The secret Arcanagram underneath switched on. Undyne felt her SOUL connect to the mechanisms below her feet: like putting a plug into a socket.
When did he-- ack! What is this WEIRD tingly feeling??? It’s like… like electricity coursing through my veins!
…The Core? Am I really connected to THE CORE?!?!?
The child mage conjured three stars: Green, Blue, and Cyan. They planted them onto the edges of the Town Square Gram, creating a green-tinged shield that enveloped over the whole of Ebott from border to border.
Undyne smirked. Fear of failure gripped her SOUL, yet the rush of excitement beat against her ribs. Nightmares? Dreams? Hero? Villain? None of it mattered. Sans’ damned Megalovania maze taught her to tackle chaos head on.
The Captain of the Royal Guard stood her ground.
It’s really coming down to this huh? Fine! Bring it on! I’ve fried bigger fish!
You gotta try harder than THAT!!!