An amorphous nightmare of envy and greed trapped countless souls, bound by strings of darkness.
Although blinded by garbled text font and deafened by beeps, the source remained visible through the Eye of Dreams. As long as the Seer could burn the Fire of Humanity, he could chase after the enemy.
At least, that was how the theory went. When Sans tried, he had mixed results. He never lost sight of the DEMON, but his attacks were not precise enough. The enemy’s speed combined with its massive firepower made it difficult to compute a kill blow. In the end, Sans lost the battle of attrition.
He fell. And despite his Blue magic, he was falling too fast.
That’s it. This is the end of me.
But he was saved by someone with a cool, soft body. The texture of their skin was similar to fine sheets of silk.
A ghost? A puppet? A puppet ghost?
A little while later, mysterious purifying rays shone upon Sans. Alas… they were not enough to break him completely free from the DEMON’s prison. The root of the infection may be gone, but the empty squares of old popup windows lingered in his vision.
At least they no longer blared in annoying beeps. He was able to hear again, immediately noticing a familiar humming, which was peppered on occasion with ponderings about the ‘correct direction’.
“Uh… hi?” said Sans. “Who are you?”
“Sansy?” the person replied back. “It’s me, Mettaton! Do you not remember my beautiful voice?~~~”
“Oh. Sorry, my hearing had been overpowered by all the blocked ad nonsense. It’s quiet now, but I’m still blinded.”
“Well… Even if you could see, you may not recognize me anyway. I lost my robot body for good this time.”
“Lost it, huh?” asked Sans. “How?”
Mettaton replied, “By signing a foolish deal with the DEMON. Thank the stars he wasn’t after my SOUL. That would have been way, way, WAY worse. Ooooh, I grow faint just thinking about it.”
“Heh. Lucky… you… ugh--”
A spike of intense nausea caused yet another round of gagging. Except there was nothing to throw up anymore, as he had yet to eat or drink anything.
To his surprise, Mettaton didn’t freak out. Instead, he asked: “Was that caused by Spamton’s curse too?”
“Who?”
“Spamton. That’s what the DEMON called himself,” Mettaton replied. “Spamton G. Spamton.”
“I see,” Sans replied. “Welp, no. Nothing to do with that fellow. This is just because I pushed myself too hard. Post-op, multiple injuries, lack of rest… y’know, all piling up.”
“Goodness gracious, no wonder you were always so lazy. I would hold back too if I could end up overworked like you.”
“I’ll manage. C’mon, let’s take a shortcut. I can teleport us to the Lab.”
“Oh no, no, no, darling. You’re in no shape to walk or stand, let alone teleport! Just let glam ol’ Mettaton handle everything.”
And so, the ghost floated down the sidewalks of Ebott Town, calm yet brisk, with Sans’ trashbag self for baggage. While they travelled, Mettaton began talking with an uncharacterized seriousness. “Most of my peers had overworked themselves to the hospital at one point or another, be it from physical injury, or from mental exhaustion, or from addictions, or from general lack of self care. I’ve heard them all, Sansy-honey… but I refused to think that it could happen to me.”
“Why so?”
“Because I thought I had learned enough from history. I ate well, took regular breaks, and attended scheduled maintenance for my robot body! Yet, in the end, I just repeated that same old song by neglecting my heart. Is that how it went for you, darling?”
Sans leaned on the cool ghost surface with a slight chuckle. “Heh heh. Not really. I didn’t even try, honestly. The ‘taking care of myself’ bit.”
“Hmmmm,” Mettaton mused out loud, “That’s worse than I expected. Didn’t Frisk command you to see therapy? What if I scout ahead to find someone good? I will try them out first, of course!”
“You? Really?”
“Mhmm, mhmm.” He felt the ghost nod twice. “You see, I’m actually a big shut-in. I need some help getting out of my giant shell.”
“Eh, I already have someone in mind,” Sans replied. “Always wondered what I could learn from a thousand-year-old Surface-dweller. If I get his approval, that is.”
“The Grandmaster himself? You’re going ancient, darling!” The ghost giggled. “Me, I personally prefer someone a little more contemporary. Although… I am rather curious about what that old sage has seen over the ages.”
After a short pause, Mettaton decided to change subjects. He let out a swooning whistle. “Wowzer yowzer, you were quite a spectacle up there, Sansy! Now I understand at least half of all the tales I’ve heard from my darlings Undyne and Alphys.”
Snorting, Sans commented: “Only half?”
The ghost replied, “Nothing beats first-hand experience, baby~ I hope you’re not holding a grudge towards me for cancelling our TV deal. I don’t want to be at the pointy end of your stabbity-stab device.”
“No grudge held at all. It was just desserts. Besides, I have other commitments.”
“Excellent! I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.” Humming a happy tune, the celebrity continued his musings for a good future. “I can imagine it already: Frisk does their victory lap, the nasties get rounded up, and everything else gets sorted out peacefully~~~”
But then, all that wishfulness ground to a halt. Sans heard voices of strangers up ahead.
They said:
“We’re saved by a holy light!”
“It’s just like an RPG…”
“Saved from what?? Those fucking monsters cursed us in the first place!”
“Ah… Wait. Why am I still cursed???? GET IT OFF ME GET IT OFF ME! I DON’T NEED A VPN!!! I DON’T PLAY MOBILE GAMES EITHER!!! …Those meal pack deals do look good, though. I’d like me some of those. Huh? WHAT DO YOU MEAN 404 PAGE NOT FOUND???”
Mettaton made the wise decision to make a detour around the group, trying to not be seen. Along the way, they encountered similar events all over Ebott Town.
Some expressed joy and relief after their cleansing.
Some stirred into rage against the monsters, taking on the Gungnir way of blaming magic.
Some went full on panic when they discovered that they were not one of the blessed. Their curse lingered, just like the one on Sans right now. His Eye of Dreams showed him that all those who remained afflicted had the aspect of Determination, Major or Minor.
A huge crowd blocked the road needed to reach Alphys’ Lab. Both civilians and police confronted the Magi there, seeking answers for the chaos earlier.
“Whose side are you on?” the police asked, “Humanity, or monsters?”
The Magi replied, “We take the side of truth. Please, be patient until we find out more about the current situation.”
“Your boss is in that big building, right? Take us to him! We’ll get our answers there!”
“I’m sorry, but we can’t let you barge through. It’s too much of a safety risk!”
The trust between the mundane and the magical had frayed from the incident. Denied from making the crossing, Mettaton carried Sans to a nearby quiet alley to hide.
“Oooooh. Oooooooooh….!” Panic started to rise in the ghost’s voice. “I see the building, but I can’t reach it. Oh woe is me!”
In the midst of the fussing, Sans noticed that one of the dead popup windows began to vibrate.
Then two.
Three.
Nine.
“Mettaton,” he tapped the ghost’s back, “Put me down. Now!”
“Sansy-honey, I already said that you’re in no condition to walk around.”
“C’mon, listen! Just do as I say!”
Red distorted text began filling the screens.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
ERROR
ERROR
ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR
SYSTEM CRASH
Violent red strings broke out from the cursed Mark, lashing out against the unfortunate ghost.
“EEEK!!!” The brush of danger forced Mettaton to turn intangible, and Sans to flop onto the ground. “Oh nooooo! I’m so sorry, Sansy!! Huh? W-what’s happening? Your curse is glowing! A-a-and these whippy red strings are flailing everywhere!”
“Stay away!!!”
At last, Mettaton listened and kept to a safe distance. Unable to grab anything else, the red strings began turning inwards onto Sans himself. They snapped and curled around his bones.
When he tried to pry them off, he discovered that they did not mimic cloth threads. Instead, they were like steel violin strings: a fine coil of wire fibres tightly wound against a reinforced core.
Ever tighter they grew, cutting into bone with each forceful tug. Dust and Determination leaked from the wounds.
Horrified, Mettaton burst into a high-pitched shriek. “Help! Help! Somedarling help us!!!”
“Don’t,” said Sans. “…They’ll get hurt if they try… Let me handle this…”
Calm down, Sans. You can do this. You have the knowledge.
This curse is a False Mark. Marks are made out of Determination. And Determination’s greatest weakness is Determination itself.
For this False Mark to persist after the DEMON’s destruction, it has to be draining the host’s DT to maintain itself. These strings are the result of losing their original master, piling on program error after program error, until it turned into a Hex.
I get it. They’re out of control. I need to make myself the new owner before it’s too late.
Sans conjured a hexagram of bone on his hand. To his fortune, the strings did not bind all of his movements.
While bearing the pain, he slammed the Arcanagram into his chest.
The text on screen changed in an instant:
INITIATING OVERRIDE
10%… 40%… 55%…
OVERRIDE FAILED
As if to punish his meddling, a noose formed around his thin skeletal neck. It tightened as the floating ends wisped up towards the sky.
Sans could feel his feet slowly getting pulled off the ground. He may not die from strangulation, but he’s not sure if his neck might snap from the weight of his own body.
Dammit. Frisk’s Claim is preventing me from utilising all of my DT at once. I need a bit more time--!
The ghost then jumped into the fray. Mettaton tried to loosen the noose, but no matter how he manipulated his rounded hands, the noose’s steel-like frames continued to resist. Failing that, he changed strategies and began pulling the rope end down, desperate to keep the knot slack.
Stray strings whipped against the poor ghost in the meantime. “Ouch! Aaah! Eek! Kya!!” But he refused to let go.
Mettaton… You’re not a complete airhead after all. Kudos to ya.
Now’s my chance.
Sans adjusted the code and installed the gram again.
INITIATING OVERRIDE
10%… 30%… 70%… 90%… 100%
OVERRIDING OLD MASTER ADMIN
NEW ADMIN RECOGNIZED
“A-abort…” He muttered. Upon that command, the noose and strings collapsed back into the cursed symbol. Both Mettaton and Sans dropped on their backs, panting from adrenaline and exhaustion in equal measure.
After catching some breath, the pink one sat up. “Darling? Wh… what did you do?!”
Sans did the same. “Changed ownership, more or less. Think of it as hacking.”
Mettaton blinked a few times. “You can HACK a curse?!”
“If you know the rules, yeah. Though it’s not always successful. You saw me almost go hangman, right?”
“I’m more amazed that you’re talking like it’s no big deal, Sansy-honey!”
Sudden screams then came from the nearby group of humans that prevented the duo from reaching the Lab. And they grew increasingly frantic with fear, panic, and rage as time went on.
“Dear, oh dear,” Mettaton fretted, “What’s happening now?”
Sans furrowed his brows, knowing full well. “The curse is activating on the other victims, starting with the weakest of the Reds.”
What would happen to those who failed to take control? Sans wondered. How soon would the strings cut them apart while they were still alive?
And what about those Reds who were actually strong enough to bend the ownerless curse to their own will? Would it mutate together with their existing latent Marks? And in the worst case scenario, where would the most willful gather in an effort to flaunt their newfound power?
The answer is Town Hall. That’s where The Dreemurr Royal Family had gone to welcome the Lemurian delegates.
Sans imagined his beautiful queen standing under a lit chandelier. Whether she realised it or not, the cords holding it aloft had frayed, threatening to snap at any moment.
Tori. I have to protect Tori!
“I’m making the jump.”
His memory of the plaza in front of Town Hall remained fresh. He was there in the previous timeline, protecting Toriel from all those bottles of mock holy water.
When Sans prepared to initiate a teleport, Mettaton hugged the skeleton from behind.
“No!” the ghost exclaimed, “Stay with me, darling! I don’t want YOU to be alone in the middle of something even crazier!”
“Okay then. Join me. I don’t have time to argue.”
“Excuse me?!?--”
He didn’t even give Mettaton time to reply, cutting through spacetime with the ghost still holding on for dear life.
They landed at the plaza, and it was mayhem there. However, the chaos did not come from the screaming riots, neither did it come from any violence or bottle throwing.
Rather, it was the curse.
Those nasty red strings had burst out from those who remained afflicted, slowly cutting them from the outside in. The Magi tried to calm down the victims, using their knowledge and magic to slow the assault.
What about the Boss Monsters then, Sans wondered, whose Determination matched a Red Minor at least?
Everyone was so focused on the outside, no one realised that The Dreemurrs inside the Town Hall might be in great danger. They would be suffering the same gruesome torture with no one there to help.
Sans progressed forward. He knew he shouldn’t push further by himself. He knew his best option, now that the jammer had been blown up, was to use his phone to call for assistance: be it from Frisk, Undyne, Edmund, anyone. Tell them to go to the Town Hall and help the royal couple.
Yet… that nagging urgency screamed within him.
Even when he fell on his knees…
Even when Mettaton went looking for help…
Even when the monsters, Magi, and police reached out to assist him…
Even when the Point Gamma rioters invaded the area, emboldened by the curse’s crimson whips…
Sans persisted to crawl across the plaza with only one singular desire in his mind:
Save her.
Save her.
Save her.
Save her.
Save her.
I cannot let her die again, not in this world, not in this timeline, not ever.
At the height of the growing insanity, the Town Hall doors opened from the inside out.
Tori? Is that you?
Except Toriel it was not. Nor Asgore either. This goat monster was smaller and thinner than either of them, and he sported a pair of round glasses.
“Ah, it’s worse than I thought.” It was a voice that Sans did not recognize.
When the unknown goat approached, he saw his True Name:
FIRST PRINCE RALSEI LEEMURR, SON OF RALLON AND ESSEI
“Do not be afraid, everyone.” Said the prince, “I am here to heal, not to hurt.”
Ralsei pocketed his glasses, and with that his pink eyes deepened into ruby red. Power surged at a rapid pace. His very stature grew taller, his features refining into regal elegance. His horns, once small, broke out of their nail-polish shell. In seconds, they grew into their full majesty, gleaming in the iridescence of nacre. This ethereal beauty proved that he is no ordinary monster.
It was then Sans noticed another shadow looming from behind.
A human.
A Red.
A DEMON.
SECOND PRINCE KRIS LEEMURR, CHILD OF HUMANKIND
When Kris’ shadow reached forward to unbuckle Ralsei’s cloak, the coverings dropped on the ground to reveal Ralsei’s blessed royal robes. Unlike Ebott’s choice of purple, white, and gold, he wore magenta, black, and green.
The Delta Rune emblazoned his tabard as the symbol of the Angel Who Had Seen The Surface. Together, they formed a Merged entity unlike any other.
ROYAL TWINS OF TWILIGHT, TWO AS ONE, GOD OF HYPERLIFE
“I have come to fulfil my mission as the harbinger of salvation.” Said the deity. “And you, Seraph, shall bear witness.”
Sans’ internal alarm bells rang at their loudest. A union of a deceased human and a living monster walked on The Surface, deep in the human lands. Whatever the plan, whatever the plot, this being was too dangerous to let live.
The Seer reached out towards Ralsei. Not to beg for help, but to attack instead. Red strings whipped from the tips of his fingers.
Yet, his attempt was intercepted by countless magical swords, their immaterial edges slicing clean through the strings. They floated around the caster as a protecting perimeter.
The goat god remarked: “My, my, my. Tensed, aren’t we? All is forgiven. Please, allow yours truly to prove their good intentions to you.”
Upon the wave of his hand, Ralsei sent the swords flying to the rest of the crowd, targeting those who bore ill will. They cut down the whips of Corrupted Determination with ease, pinning the more aggressive humans down for good measure.
With some semblance of peace returned, The DEMON god reached his arms out towards the world before him. He floated off the ground, shining in radiant tranquillity, and started to cast.
“Upon my gift of mercy, have every curse dispelled, every wound healed, and every terror quelled. This is my decree!”
The power of healing radiated across the plaza, leagues stronger than the golden light that shone over town earlier. All nearby chaos was stilled upon that single commandment of their unified will.
Murmurs of wonder first bubbled, followed by cheers of gratefulness. Humans and monsters both gathered around, wanting to know the identity of their savour.
“Who are you?”
“Where did you come from?”
“You look like the monsters’ King and Queen.”
“I don’t remember any of the Dreemurrs looking this delicate.”
Ralsei smiled at them with kind gentleness. From his mouth, he spoke the following words:
“Greetings, I am Prince Asriel Dreemurr.” Resting his hand on his chest, he explained: “Nestled within me is my human sibling, Chara – Warrior of Ebott – and the source of my strength.”
He breathed in the air, sighing in nostalgia. “After decades of pilgrimage on the Surface, we’ve finally returned to Mount Ebott, the land of our birth. Home sweet home.”
Mettaton gasped out loud. “Oh my goodness! It’s… it’s our Prince Asriel?!?! By the stars, he’s alive! This is THE scoop of the century. No, of all history!!!”
The other monsters understood what he meant. They joined the astonishment.
“Prince Asriel?!”
“He’s back from the dead?”
“It’s the angel. He has come to save us all!”
“Praise the Prophecy!”
Sans knew better. His Eye had read the truth, and that truth said that Ralsei is not who he claimed himself to be.
He wanted to call out the blatant lie, yet he found that he had no voice. That chaotic garbage curse may have been cleansed, but it had also been replaced by another.
Next to Frisk’s Claim now rested the symbol of a sword. It commanded him to remain silent. A little more willful and it would have been a forbidden HVM.
Ugh, of course, I’m Marked again. Ralsei knew I saw right through him.
The fake ‘Asriel’ noticed Sans’ cold glare. “Loyal Seraph, Mother and Father are safe.” He said, “I attended to them first, so please rest easy.”
Rest easy? Are you kidding me?
You came waltzing in from an enemy nation and usurped the identity of Tori’s son! How the hell am I supposed to rest easy knowing that???
Raising his hand, the god prince announced: “Thank you all for the warm welcome. However, I must first resume my rescue efforts. There are many more still afflicted by the curse, and they must be saved before it’s too late.”
Wings of light sprouted from his back. Then, he flew off.
Sans was left behind at the Town Hall Plaza, healed yet silenced. The well-meaning thought that he was too sick to speak, and began carting him off to safety, wherever that may be.
For a moment, he clutched his chest, thinking of how to break Kris’ Mark… but he relented and loosened his grip.
There’s no point. Supposing I could break this Mark, everyone is already convinced that Ralsei is Prince Asriel returned: their greatest wish fulfilled. No one would listen to little ol’ me.
Ugh. What benefit do the Lemurians intend to gain from doing this?
…I can already make some educated guesses, yet…
In the end, the answer to that question would only come with time.