As Mezil walked forth, he recalled what transpired before his long-overdue nap. He called The Grandmaster from his bed, explained what happened, and stated that he would write him a formal letter of resignation at the firstmost opportunity.
In which the elder Lich replied:
“You wish to resign over an unsuccessful HVM cast in an unconscious dreamlike state, in the middle of a collapsing house of cards, and entrust this mayhem to unprepared, inexperienced youth? Winston, staying awake for 30 hours has caused your sense of logic to fly out the window. This is a prime example of poor timing.”
“Get some rest. We can settle your resignation letter later.”
And settled later, it would be.
He sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose. In hindsight, the wise ancient one spoke the truth: it was an overt emotional reaction to the situation.
All hopes are on my shoulders again.
…Although this is an opportunity for valuable field experience, it’s better for Frisk not to follow me right now. My political opponents would waste no time to exploit their tender age to derail conversations, goading them into a rash decision. It would be no different than giving those wolves a free dinner. Unacceptable.
Mezil’s phone buzzed along the way. It was a routine status update from Crimson Keeper Fennel.
“Report.” He said, stopping to answer the call.
On the other end, Lucas replied: “Judge Thyme, the key mastermind behind the blackout and Mettaton’s hacking was arrested at Point Beta. He has confessed to his crimes and is currently secured in a prisoner transport vehicle.”
“Good. What about Point Gamma?”
“Point Gamma has dispersed. Most folk opted to leave town, though a fragment joined the remaining protesters heading to Doctor Alphys’ Lab.”
“I see…” Mezil furrowed his brows, bracing for the outcome of his next inquiry. “Any updates on Assistant Commissioner Eccleston’s movements?”
“He has left Point Alpha, also moving towards the Lab. The police are currently arguing with Green Squad at a nearby checkpoint, insisting that we lift the blockade. Sir Grillenn and Flowey are with him too.”
“Let them through. Tell Clement that I’m eagerly awaiting his gracious presence.”
“Yes, sir. That is all for now-- wait. I’m receiving an urgent memo from Cyan Squad.”
Moments passed. After that, Lucas’ voice wavered. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. At first, Mezil expected the worst, but then…
“Rose…” Lucas said, “Rosemary is safe. The Cyan Squad found her at the East border of Ebott Town. They’re still collecting the full testimony, but in summary: Papyrus and Aiden of Aratet were the ones who rescued her.”
“How is she?” Mezil asked, still worried.
“Visibly shaken, but the only physical injuries she sustained were minor cuts and scrapes. Thank god.”
Hearing that, the old Magus relaxed his shoulders in relief. If anything worse happened to Jacob’s daughter, he wouldn’t be able to face the father forever.
Still, there was something not quite right. “It’s uncharacteristic for Papyrus to leave her alone… unless there is a key mission he needs to complete elsewhere. Does Rosemary know his whereabouts?”
“Please give me a moment to ask, sir.” A short pause later, Lucas replied: “She said that he had left to capture a woman named Madina. I believe it’s Madina Odin, daughter of Persona.”
That slippery eel of a woman had a history of evading capture. Though now she was up against a clairvoyant Seer, they might have a chance.
There’s a high possibility that Madina Odin would blend in with the crowd leaving town. It’s the same method as how she got inside.
“…Fennel, listen closely. If you see Papyrus taking action anywhere, I want you to provide him full assistance. That woman’s arrest takes top priority.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Godspeed, Keeper Fennel.”
When Mezil ended the call and stepped into the lobby, a curious situation played out before his eyes. There was a pink ghost monster carrying Sans Serif on his back, accompanied by a couple of other denizens of Mount Ebott. They seemed very alarmed.
The pink ghost lamented: “He’s too weak to even speak! Oh, the disaster! Somedarling please help him!”
Hmm? That voice… so that’s Mister Mettaton’s true form.
I saw Sans Serif in the viral recordings of Prince Ralsei’s gambit at Town Hall. Without doubt, he’s already seen a myriad of truths.
Fortune may be on my side, at least for the time being.
Mezil wasted no time to take the initiative. “Excuse me, Mister Mettaton. He’s dehydrated.”
“Thank goodness, it’s our bombastic darling Judge!” The ghost exclaimed. “Dehydrated, you say? No wonder he’s so lethargic. I’m amazed you could spot the problem at a single glance. To me, Sansy-darling just looks sick.”
“Without sufficient hydration, a Lichborn’s bones will lose their lustre. Their faces will also appear haggard, contributing to an ill appearance.”
In the corner of his eye, he spotted Doctor Alphys keying down notes on her phone for future reference. It didn’t surprise Mezil that Seer physiology was a near-forgotten knowledge for the Underground, as they were almost extinct in their nation.
“Please pass Sans Serif to me,” Mezil offered, “I’ll take care of him from here onwards.”
“Gladly, darling.” Mettaton faced his back to Mezil, letting him pick up and carry Sans.
The ghost monster immediately vouched for him: “Don’t worry everyone, Judge Thyme is an expert!”
Immediately, an assault of odours smacked the Supreme Judge in the face. Rancid, but not unfamiliar.
That’s the smell of a Seer who’s vomited several times. Explains the dehydration, exacerbated by the noon sun.
So Mezil brought the short one to the Lab’s bathroom. Since skeletons lack true organs to suffer from bacterial contamination, the sink there should do the job. Though, Mezil himself would be hesitant to drink from the same source without boiling the water, what with the unknown quality of Ebott’s supply.
Hopefully, Mister Mettaton’s confidence prevented unrelated bystanders from tailing me out of worry for their local comedian. I’d like some peace and quiet.
The moment he put Sans down in front of the sink, the parched skeleton started glugging the tap water. He seemed healthy enough to drink without help. Yet, he remained silent.
Sensing something was amiss, Mezil raised his hand to the back of Sans’ skull. There, he planted his own butterfly.
I impose my will to connect Sans Serif’s mind to mine. Only I will hear his voice.
The mental buzzes and clicks activated. A slight artificial radio-static was added to the mindlink system to separate the inner speech from other forms of communication.
Sans Serif’s thoughts beamed into his head. “You didn’t try to inspect my SOUL to break Kris’ Mark.”
There was one after all. Mezil narrowed his gaze. “That would have been an amateur’s mistake.”
“Heh. Talking like a real pro. Good thing you didn’t, ‘cause that thing’s nasty. Close to a HVM, stacked to the brim with commands. ‘No speech’, ‘no writing’, ‘no signs’, in short no verbal or non-verbal communication allowed of any kind. At least telepathy is neither by theory, which is why your ploy worked. It also has an alarm installed. I had set it off multiple times while tinkering with the code.”
“So, they only intend to silence you for as long as possible.” The Magus narrowed his gaze even further. “Why do I have the feeling that you’ve tripped the alarm more than necessary just to annoy the caster?”
“Hey, serves that DEMON right for picking me as a target.”
“Tsk. Typical of you to search for humour in tense times. Nonetheless, I see that you’ve reached a new level of skill. Though you invented the Seraph System, I never expected you to make the leap to hacking the creations of others so casually.”
The Seer smirked, “Let’s just say that big shot gave me a flash of inspiration. Life on the line and all. If I didn’t try, I would have had my neck snapped by cursed wires.”
“Hmmm, so it was out of necessity. Have you discovered anything unusual about Prince Kris’ Mark in the process?”
“Nothing else than what I’ve already listed,” Sans finished drinking, proceeding to wash his face. “I must say, though, that thing is hella powerful, especially with the Mark being a sword. It’s a symbol of authority in most cultures.”
“Not surprised.” Mezil replied. “If Judge Pashowar was the top Living Victory of his time, Prince Kris was a close second. They were once a candidate for the position of Supreme Judge, much to the delight of the Lemurians. Plus joining forces with Prince Ralsei is not something to be trifled with.”
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“If that’s the case, what stopped them from taking over ole James’ place?”
“Judge Pashowar, you mean? There was a problem: Prince Kris was terrified of humans, and they never grew out of that phase. I speculate that the anxieties came from the lack of proper exposure to human society during their formative years. Thus, they were considered mentally unfit for the role.”
Sans stopped washing halfway, raising an eyebrow towards the mirror. “Really? What about monsters then?”
“The Second Prince’s behaviour around monsters was the complete opposite. They were quiet yet confident. So confident that they could afford to be cheeky, pulling pranks on the unfortunate servants during their youth. Later in life they became known as quite an actor and a swordsman. No one would suspect a thing.”
“Talk about being dealt with a weird hand in life. Reminds me too much of Lil’ Miss Lucy for my liking.”
Mezil cleared his throat, refusing to further go down the path of uncomfortable comparison. “Moving on to Prince Ralsei. He is the poster child of the lovable prince. The citizens know him as a master of ‘The Three ‘E’s’: eloquence, elegance, and excellence. Yet, his choice of training, to complement his natural talent for healing magic, was an unorthodox one. Most royals would aim for prestigious positions. However, Ralsei chose the path of nursing, a dirty, hands-on job that often goes underappreciated. This has led to him gaining love and respect from the common populace through his direct selfless service.”
By now, Sans had finished washing his face. Slowly wiping off the water, his thoughts churned. “Hey Thymer… it’s unorthodox but damn smart too. Nursing school can take way less to complete than medical school, allowing him to enter the workforce sooner. From there, he would be able to interact with professionals and patients. He would know who is visiting which department, and he might even have a rough idea of their possible medications. Everything contributes to a wealth of confidential information. Does he have a photographic memory perhaps?”
Mezil knew first-hand how seemingly ‘low-class’ positions had access to a surprising amount of intel. As a former bartender, he had heard plenty of stories.
“I doubt his memory capacity is anywhere close to yours or Lucidia’s. Without leaving written notes, I’d say it’s more likely that he analyses trends as a whole.”
Sans continued: “I bet being in the ‘underappreciated job’ also meant that he could blend better into the background, dissuading unwanted attention. Few, if any, would recognise their beloved prince the moment he dons a nurse’s uniform.”
So far, both men were on the same page. “Correct, Sans Serif. You’ve caught on as expected. In addition to your speculation, I suspect he uses a form of perception-altering magic to prevent undesired attention.”
The Seer started spot-cleaning the vomit-stained parts with some hand soap. He scrubbed them against a summoned bone, replacing his otherwise missing hand. “Any idea why he’s putting in this much effort?”
“Other than a seeming passion to care for the sick and injured, Prince Ralsei’s true intentions remain a mystery.”
“Welp. How did he fare in Ebott?”
Mezil sighed. “The Prince had completely sunk his roots into the populace by now. And judging from Frisk’s indignation, there’s a high chance that even the king and queen have bought into his story of being a reincarnated Asriel. Exposing him at this moment would bring more harm than good, much to my annoyance.”
“Tori, too? I expected her to be more sceptical.”
“Prince Ralsei chose this elaborate farce because his life fits the tale.”
The skeleton clenched his hand into a fist and lightly punched his own image. “I’ll be damned if I have to protect that impostor because he has Tori’s favour. That bloody Flowey Asriel kid… he truly was a wasteful prince, but at least he was the genuine article. If only he wasn’t such a cowardly self-pitying little brat, the Lemurians wouldn’t have usurped his position so easily.”
“The frustration is understandable.” Mezil transmitted. “Either way, Sans Serif… are you still plagued by ill-health?”
“Not anymore. That impostor healed me inside out, post op and all. His identity may be fake, but his skills are real.”
“Good. I need you to follow me. Observe and learn as much as you can. Be by my eyes and ears in Lucidia’s stead.”
“Whatever happened to Lil’ Miss Lucy anyway?”
“Preoccupied with other urgent matters. In addition to general Ocean Battle prep, she’s gathering DT-infused materials to rebuild the Seraph System after Persona burned it to a crisp.”
“Wow. That’s super nice. Much appreciated. I was worried that we’d run out of parts.”
After wringing the spots dry, Sans finished his cleanup. He pulled his hood up to hide the Mark behind his skull. The time had come to set out and prepare for whatever may come their way.
Mezil took a moment to observe the people in Alphys’ Lab.
From the kitchen, he heard the jolliness of cutlery. Jacob and the reborn Greys used whatever leftover sandwich material they had as lunch for the two hungry siblings. Mettaton joined the event as well.
But, once he set his sights on the lobby, he spotted Anise’s uncle, Zack Conroy, discussing matters with Doctor Alphys and Mettaton. He remembered meeting some of her extended family during a dinner party with Cenna many years ago.
Sans seemed shocked to see that man. “What the… no way… He’s alive?”
Mezil tried his best to remain stoic. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if people noticed that they were communicating. “Does this relate to that dark alternate timeline you experienced?”
“Yup. There he died at age five from a really bad flu. World breakdown, no infrastructure, not enough medicine, probably subpar nutrition too. The Celestial Calamity fucked over lots of things.”
“I have a suspicion that said flu wasn’t a normal influenza virus. Rather, it was likely a mutant strain with deadlier symptoms. If that was the case, then Zack’s survival today could be the result of Judge Pashowar defying fate. The Grandmaster told me once that he was the first Living Victory in history to prevent a plague with the Keys of Fate.”
Noticing Mezil, Zack stood up. Doctor Alphys too. They approached him with a particular expression: serious business from the man and serious shyness from the monster.
“Judge Thyme,” he began, “I’ve heard everything from Anise, including how she had mistreated your wife. Please, I beg of you, don’t send her back to the Artificers.”
Mezil remained stern. “…I knew about her petty blackmailing practices long ago, but my wife insisted on keeping the girl. Said that her expertise makes up for her immature avaricious tendencies.”
“I think you’ve got the wrong impression. I’m asking you to dismiss her. If she doesn’t submit a letter of resignation, then fire her instead. Just don’t demote her to her old position.”
“Curious. That’s the opposite of most family pleas. What is your reasoning?”
“Because I know my niece would be bullied to hell by her former colleagues. They were the ones who sent Anise to you, expecting her to fail the job exam. And given her character, I’m sure she had flaunted her high rank one way or another.”
Mezil then asked: “Does she have anywhere to go once she loses her job? Do you wish for her to give up magic and become a regular citizen?”
“She could take over my father’s atelier.” Zack answered, “Hopefully, running her own business would instil some integrity into the lass.”
“Are you certain? What guarantees that she won’t repeat the same corrupt behaviour?”
“Nothing. If it comes to that, then let life give her a good wallop.”
It’d been a long time since Mezil regarded Anise Orwyn as a possible security risk. Although a brilliant eccentric, she had issues keeping her greed in check. Who would have thought that online microtransactions may cause the end of her illustrious career, and not the usual book-cooking fraud…
Still, Mezil replied: “…Mister Zack, I’m afraid that I cannot give you an answer yet. Anise Anise is currently essential to the success of another major mission.”
Raising her hand in her characteristic awkward sheepishness, Doctor Alphys offered: “I-I-I volunteer to take Miss Anise’s place if need be.”
“Denied,” The Magus boss shot her down, “Doctor Alphys, I’m afraid you’re not qualified to take over Anise Anise’s work. In addition, you’re already booked full.”
Hearing himself lecture the poor lizard monster pinched Mezil’s own heart. Imagine if he went through with his intended resignation. In realistic terms, there was no time for him to train either Frisk or Lucas to fill his shoes.
Turning back to Zack, he said, “Not every mistake warrants an immediate dismissal. I believe Anise Anise benefits most from strict discipline under my direct supervision. Nevertheless, I will keep your request in mind. Thank you for taking care of her.”
Just the thought was enough for him. In a brighter tone, he said: “Of course! She’s my big sister’s only daughter after all. I’m glad that you’re not as scary as Anise makes you out to be. Excuse me, I’ll tell my niece the good news.”
As he left, he checked his phone and commented: “Yikes, 22 missed calls from Zeke. I better tell everyone that I’m okay…”
And so, that small confrontation was resolved.
Sans watched Zack leave with sentimental delight. “Man… I wish I could tell the other me the good news and pass it on to Stephan. Here, in this better universe, both of his twin sons survived.”
“You seem to have been close with Anise’s grandfather.”
“He helped me out a ton during the Calamity. Him and a lady named Anya Willowherb. Ring any bells?”
Hearing that name surprised Mezil. He wondered just how many details of that dark world aligned with current known history. Despite the divergence, certain key people contributed key technologies, leading to similar branches of events.
“…Since you’ve known her personally, then there’s no reason for me to remain confidential. Crimson Keeper Anya Willowherb was Lucidia’s live-in teacher from the age of six to seventeen. With her military background, she doubled as her bodyguard. My wife always praised her as a kind motherly figure, eager to protect and nurture.”
“Heh. Some things really don’t change.”
“Her specialty was Demontology and Alchemy. Her research was passed down to my wife… including the theory of False Marks. Anya Willowherb was the first to create a prototype on James Pashowar’s request, as part of a dream to secure the Keys of Fate beyond his lifetime. He was unable to find a suitable successor, and he knew the system would fail the moment he left this mortal coil. Therefore, he wanted to make a substitute to hand over to The Grandmaster for safekeeping.”
Sans breathed a sigh. “And in the end, that dream became another nail on ole James’ coffin. Given what happened during the War of the Red Victory, Anya must have been devastated. Dead friend-boss, Lucy in peril, and that massive abomination under the ocean… yeah. That’s a shattered heart right there.”
Mezil noticed the phrase ‘ole James’ appearing yet again; it wasn’t a fluke. “The way you say his name does make me wonder… Did you also know James Aran Pashowar in that other world?”
“Eh, he sorta butted in as my new boss one day.”
“…Did you like working under him?”
“Nope. Dude’s too much like me. All the skirting around the edges gets annoying fast. He also liked to waste time with unnecessary jolly small talk, and I ain’t got the mood for that under a tight schedule. He would be better as a friend than an employer.”
Mezil groaned internally. “Such a pot calling the kettle black…”
If he was allowed to be a little sentimental, Mezil always wondered what kind of a man James Pashowar had been. In his early days as Supreme Judge, he spent every waking hour fixing his predecessor’s mistakes.
But in the later years, Pashowar’s successes shone through. Above all else, James Pashowar always had the determination to turn the course of history away from ruin. And without that man’s effort to make magic public, the Magus Association would have been much smaller and much poorer. The clout Mezil relied upon wouldn’t have existed.
“Sans Serif,” Mezil commented with melancholy in his inner voice, “If someone like you were there by my side at Mu’s Core Incident, the Queen Mark might have been dismantled. And tragedy could have been avoided.”
The Seer shrugged. “Welp Thymer, it’s never too late. This could be the start of a new friendship.”
“Hmph. I’ll consider it.”
Mezil exited through the front gate, facing the outside world and the sun. “Assistant Commissioner Clement Eccleston will soon arrive. That’s when the real threat rears its ugly head.”
Staying in the shadows, Sans thought: “This Clement guy sounds like bad news.”
“Quite. He does not favour the Magi a slightest bit, considering us a threat to the crown, the nation, and his wallet. You could say that he’s a Gungnir sympathiser. I had pulled strings to make sure Roger Eldin was elected instead.”
Pondering, Sans asked, “If I got my facts straight… electing a Commissioner in this country requires the approval of the human royalty. That Roger guy is a bit rough on the edges, grumbling a ton about the crown. I’m surprised he was in the running at all.”
“Roger Eldin had his vocal supporters among the police and common people, especially those who remember his good deeds. However, Eccleston retained the majority of elite support. Lord knows how many hands he’s greased. All the more why I must resist.”
And so, at long last, Clement’s forces arrived at the Lab. Armed with anti-riot shields, they formed a barricade around the whole perimeter. To the public, it looked like the police were defending the monsters… but for Mezil the truth was laid bare.
This is a siege staged against me.
The Assistant Commissioner approached Mezil with a practised genial smile, hiding the undercurrents of antagonism.
Supreme Judge Mezil Thyme thumped his cane on the ground, standing firm.
Come, Clement Eccleston. Do your worst. Not that you will hold back.