Ever since Roman and Helvetica pitched in to care for Malaya, Gaelic could finally get some much needed rest.
From the corner of Doctor Alphys’ bunker of comfort, he watched the six babies sleeping on their cushions, oh so peacefully. Meanwhile Malaya finished her MTT-brand boxed lunch. She was content and happy with the tasty food, not caring about whatever was happening outside.
“Sedap?” asked Helvetica in Malaya’s tongue. That was the word for ‘delicious’.
With big excited nods, Malaya replied: “Sedap!”
It had been just a day, yet the Ebottian couple already treated the girl as one of their own.
Aye, that’s how the Blanks be.
...Ya fool, Gaelic, claimin’ the lass to be yer daughter. Should it not be wiser to place her in the care o’ this loving couple? At least, they know the proper whims and ways.
I just… I just want her to live the life o’ a normal girl.
Someone knocked. Gaelic carefully turned the knob and opened the door to the smallest of cracks, enough to take a sniff, yet ready to slam it shut in the face of an unwanted intruder.
Most of the scent was the local detergent the Ebottians manufactured by themselves, with a hint of a Lemurian formula as well. It set them apart from the human-sourced brands House Berendin uses.
“Ding dong!!! Room service!”
That voice belonged to Susie, Prince Ralsei’s personal bodyguard. She reeked of chalk and salt.
Gaelic opened the door a little wider. Peeking through, he saw that purple dinosaur hauled fresh laundry in one arm and an empty garbage bag in the other.
He asked, suspicious: “Shouldn’t ya be guarding yer Prince?”
Embarrassed, Susie blurted out: “I asked that same question! Yet somehow Ralsei assigned me to THIS! Whatever this is! Not that I mind. Everyone’s hella busy. Anyways, are you letting me in or what??? It smells like you need me.”
Since yesterday, leftover packaging of food, cleaning wipes, and other trash had started to grow in the corner. Although Gaelic could tough out the accumulated filth, he would rather not let the others wallow in it any more than they needed to. He stepped aside to let Susie through. “Fine, fine. Come right in.”
The four of them worked together to clean the place up. Put the trash in the bag, and the laundry in the basket. The wee little babies received their first striped onesies, colour coded to their Psychia. They didn’t need to depend on little plastic bracelets anymore.
In the middle of the chores, Susie asked, “Hey Sir Gaelic… Are you gonna send that girl to the children’s home? Y’know, the one run by Latinoros’ siblings?”
Just hearing that name made Gaelic’s bones rattle with anger. “Cor Blimey, no! Curse all nine hells, where did ya hear that from?!”
“Whoa! Hey! I was just guessing! I saw him walking around earlier, so I thought he came to pick her up.”
“I will ne’er send her to his fold! But it not surprise me if he tries to force his hand. Curses, ah should have expected his ugly mug. ‘Tis a lawyer’s job to settle the papers.”
“Yeah! Don’t give her away! Who the hell does he think he is??? That turdwad pile of bones fucking sucks, always acting so dang high and mighty!”
What astonishment, what surprise: the trusted posse of Prince Ralsei supported his wretched self instead of the Lemurian authorities? Thinking further, Gaelic realised that he didn’t know anything about Susie’s past. Her rough demeanour would have certainly clashed with that decorum-loving lawyer.
“Actually…” said Susie. “Hellenika and Coptica are nothing like their brother Latinoros. They’re super nice. And kind. And motherly. They’re the ones who gave me a job when nobody wanted to hire me. If the Ancientus Children’s Home existed when I was a kid, I wouldn’t be a dumb street urchin. What did I do back then? Bully other kids and chomp on chalk. Totally useless. Karma kicked my ass the moment I left school.”
Thinking back, he remembered seeing her by the beachsides of Lemuria. Gaelic didn’t think twice about it, figuring that she was another kid who loved to roam. “Are ye an orphan or a runaway?”
“I… uh…”
Susie’s face turned bright red from blurting about her past. She then started cleaning the room with thrice the speed, sweeping through the bins as if she were a veritable comet.
Before he knew it, the room was spick and span: not a single crumb had been left unswept, not a single stain remained unwiped. Susie lugged several garbage bags under her arms and hauled the whole laundry basket on her shoulder. “A-a-a-a-a-a-anyways! Things are getting crazy dangerous out there. Be careful, okay? Byes.”
“Thank ye fer yer thoughts.”
After the sendoff, Gaelic shut the door and sighed. If he must be honest with himself, his bones started to grow stiff and restless from the forced confinement.
Helvetica called out to him about Malaya. “Sir Gaelic, you might want to see this.”
Hearing that, he prepared himself for a slice of horror commonly found in child test subjects. The way Malaya reacted from her master’s presence proved that memories of her past still lingered in her subconscious.
Yet… he found a much more pleasant scene. Malaya had discovered the joy of doodling. Some parts involved simple shapes and squiggles. Others depicted scenes from her imagination’s fancy.
For her latest work, the girl drew herself happily spearing fish from the shore next to a body of murky water. The background was filled with curved lines of green in various shades. Was it a residual memory of her past? Gaelic couldn’t help but wonder.
“The lass be trained to survive out in the wild alright.” He commented. “See, there be lots o’ thick foliage. The water also be brown and not blue, a sure sign o’ a deep tropical jungle. Ah reckon, she came from there. Hmmm… Dinnae see a campfire anywhere, so ah not sure if she cooks. Us o’ bone have no real bane fer eating raw food. Infections not be a thing. Though, cooking still be vital when it comes to nutrition.”
The urban woman was astonished. “I’m surprised you could deduce so much from a simple drawing!”
“‘Tis because ah know what to look out for. Pictures be easier than words at times.”
Roman then said: “That came from your own experience, right?”
“Mmm, aye. When me mind be clouded, M’lady and M’lord would encourage other ways to communicate. Drawing be one o’ those.”
“By the way, about that place the purple dinosaur mentioned? Ancientus Children's Home? I’m curious why she jumped to that conclusion.”
Gaelic hesitated a little to reply. “…As much as ah hate Sir Latinoros’ marrow, his siblings bear me no ill will. They be the matrons o’ their family-ran orphanage. O’er time they became known fer specialising in rehabbing the most broken. Many be former test subject o’ cruel experiments, similar to Malaya.”
Helvetica’s face soured. “Do I dare ask?”
“Perhaps ah could speak o’ an infamous example, since it relates to our current troubles. The Case o’ Doctor Weiss. ‘Twas a big scandal ‘cause it happened on Lemurian soil.”
“Ah, ‘twas when ah was a young lad. There lived a twisted soul who loathed the weakness o’ Magickind. That scum dreamed o’ surpassing humanity, so that monsters shall rule the earth once more. To that end, he made modified children out o’ his own bones. Ye can call them clones. They be then subjected to the harshest experiments in hopes to unlock life’s forbidden secrets: the greatest o’ heresies.”
“Bones? Oh dear, oh dear, don’t tell me he’s a skeleton too.”
“Afraid that be the reality, Madam Helvetica. Who could we blame? Humans be put on an impossible pedestal. Only those who cared fer those o’ flesh knew best o’ their paradoxical fragility.”
Roman asked: “W-what happened to the children? What about the culprit??? Was justice ever served?!?”
Gaelic explained, “Heard from M’lady that the evildoer committed suicide right before his arrest. Only his dusty clothes remained. As fer the children… she said they found a surviving pair o’ twins. They now be permanent residents o’ the house, forwarding their kindness by caring fer others.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The Ebottian father clenched his hands into a fist. “I’m conflicted about that. Everything feels so… unfinished.”
Discomfort prompted Helvetica to change the subject. “Enough with the glum talk, you two. We should focus more on the future. I think Malaya is hankering for some fish! Do you think we could go catch some in the mountains tomorrow? Or, whenever the coast is clear, nye hee hee.”
“Splendid idea,” Gaelic smiled. “Mount Ebott’s water be fresh and sweet up above. There should be good eating there.” The thought of fresh fish straight out of the river made him drool. But, he slurped the saliva back up before he made a mess. “A thousand apologies.”
The couple was very understanding. They even tried to give him a tissue to wipe his face.
“That’s fine, Sir Gaelic.”
“Fish is very tasty after all.”
Just when the mood started to lift, Gaelic heard another knock on the door. As a general precaution, he signalled the skeleton couple to keep the babies close in their grasp.
Once again, he peeked through the gaps of the door, this time with greater suspicion. In the thin rays of light, he made out the features of that insufferable lawyer Sir Latinoros. The ever so formal skeleton stood quite far from the entrance: nowhere near close enough for a good sniff.
Gaelic narrowed his gaze. “You.”
Latinoros replied. “Yes, me indeed. Prince Ralsei has summoned me to handle the girl’s necessary documentation. Open up and let me through. The sooner we get this done, the better.”
“Where’s yer proof? Ya be a lawyer, so ya know the need for papers.”
“Are you seriously going to question the words of the Prince of Lemuria? Us Seers may fill many administrative positions on the island, but we are still under Boss Monster authority.”
“The only authority ah answer to be House Berendin and The Almighty.”
“Both of whom you’ve failed to obey.” The lawyer shook his head with disappointment. “Drop the feeble talk of loyalty.”
Gaelic couldn’t argue against that. He did slip into Ebott without the proper authorisation, a mistake that almost got him killed by Sans Serif several weeks ago.
Latinoros stretched out his hand. “I may be harsh, but I’m also fair. You must have grown weary from the constant watch. Hand the girl over and rest, sir knight.”
The war between doubt and confidence clashed within. He knew his weaknesses, yet he had already proclaimed to Susie that he refuses to give Malaya away.
“…Nay,” Gaelic replied, “Her name be Blanc from now on. That be final.”
“You want to adopt her? What nonsense are you talking about? You live on a deserted island, for goodness sake. She hasn’t even begun her integration into society, and you already want to condemn her to the life of an outcast?”
“Hah! Who be the one clueless now? Ah dinnae say that she be returning to Lemuria with me. ‘Tis decided she will stay right here. Her future in Ebott be as bright as the sun!”
The other skeleton began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. So much so that his skull tilted far backwards.
“Future you said? Surely you jest. There is no future for Ebott.”
Gaelic thought it was strange. He had never seen Latinoros unhinged in this manner. From what he knew about that man, he should get more irritated and dish out more head-spinning moralism in opposition.
Furthermore… he refused to step any closer. Why?
Both instinct and experience flared up. Gaelic’s bones shivered, warning him that something was very, very wrong.
He thought about the wee babies under his care, the two non-combatant civilians, and the amnesiac teenager. They had nowhere to run should a clash break out in the room itself.
So, in a split second decision, Gaelic chose to take matters outside. He burst through the door, barricaded the path behind him with a great many bones, and lunged towards the lawyer, ready to pin him down on the ground.
However, the man dodged aside with fluent certainty.
From the draft left behind by those movements, the Tracker caught the whiff of mud, rock, and the bloodied fat of raw lamb.
‘The Handler’. It couldn’t be anyone other than him. His looks may change, but his scents still bore the remains of his brutal breakfast.
Realising this, Gaelic hissed with great ferocity at his foe. “Ya cur--”
He then felt a sharp intense pain stab his spine, followed by the spread of cold liquid death.
The debilitating effects kicked in almost instantly. Joints, weakened. Body, numbed. Senses, disoriented. Gaelic collapsed straight on the ground, and the barricade crumbled from the caster’s inability to maintain it.
He tried to cry out, to warn those he had left behind. Yet he found the poison robbed him of his voice.
“Ak… kak… ka…” Weak, meaningless clatter was the best he could utter.
In the midst of his blurring sight, the Handler morphed into his exact likeness: the same clothes, the same body, down to the same markings on the skull.
The fake squatted next to him, searching his pockets. Out came the precious phone entrusted to Gaelic by House Berendin. It was his main line of connection to his Lord and Lady, and also the proof of his identity.
Just to add salt to injury, The Handler dangled the unlocked screen before Gaelic, showing that device security meant nothing to him.
The impostor spoke in his own voice: “Lay down low where ya belong, ye hapless wretch. Watch as ah steal yer future away.”
That said, the impostor bolted towards the door.
“Malaya’s master found us,” said the fake. “Ah managed to disable him with me poisons. Hurry, take the wee babies and evacuate.”
“Gadzooks!”
“T-that certainly explains the violence.”
None the wiser, the lovely couple followed the orders of The Handler. They carried the babies out in their arms with Malaya in tow.
Roman stopped, gawking at the skeleton on the ground. “W-what the?! Another Gaelic! Is this a mirror playing tricks on me?!”
“Worse yet. The Handler be a shapeshifter. All the more why we should flee.”
The fake Gaelic made a call. “M’lord, The Handler be found. He tried to break in. I be taking the civilians to a safer place. Over and out-- Aye M’lord?… Ah understand.”
Looking at Roman, he said: “M’lord wishes to speak with ye.”
“O-oh, alright. Could you put the phone right on my ear hole? My hands are a little too preoccupied with these babies, as you can see.”
He placed the phone on Roman’s ear. The father nodded a few times, saying ‘sir, yes sir’ repeatedly.
After that, the group was ushered away, not realising that they had become the victims of a kidnapping.
Gaelic tried his damndest to speak, to tell them he’s the real victim, to tell them that he’s innocent.
Deep down he wanted to scream ‘please, believe me!’.
Twisted shapes and colours began to invade his mind. Morphing pulses of kaleidoscope fractals cut in between flashes of unspeakable horrors.
The hallucinations whispered into his ear. They churned. Mocked. Jeered. Condemned.
‘No one will believe you.’
His sense of time melted away into a puddle. Had it been seconds? Minutes? Hours? He did not know.
The marches of military boots thundered across the ground. Guns clicked, their triggers at the ready. Their warping shapes loomed overhead.
The voices repeat:
‘No one will believe you!’
Two armoured knights arrived: a feminine form with bright red hair, and the other a masculine one, sporting a long flowing cape. They were avatars of their respective elements, water and fire.
‘Enforcers.’
‘Inquisitors.’
‘Executioners.’
Without warning, an inferno of searing fire swallowed him whole, his bones melting in the crucible. Plunged he then was into the chilling ocean of the night poles for a tortuous quenching of extreme contrast.
Again, the voices repeat:
‘No one will believe you!!!’
Indeed, no one did believe his innocence. Ever since he fell sway to the honeyed lips as a lost teenager, none afforded him the benefit of the doubt.
‘Criminal.’
‘Scandal.’
‘Beast.’
That was how he shall be known forevermore, no matter how hard he tried.
He thought the hammer would soon come to put him out of his misery, to beat down upon the slag he was. His skull crushed, fragments flaked, ground, and crumbled into minute pieces, before settling with the rest of the waste in the deep dark abyss.
That did not happen. Instead, a shadow with brilliant red eyes emerged and knelt down by his side.
“Gaelic. If this is the real you, there is no poison or toxin that you cannot conquer.”
“I believe in you.”
The shadow was his Lord, Supreme Judge Mezil Thyme of House Berendin. It was the man who believed in his innocence so many years ago. That faith alone was Gaelic’s biggest turning point in life.
And today, he once again believed in his ability and his humanity. No matter how many times the beast had failed, he was given another chance to try again.
Gaelic fought against the poison with renewed vigour, determined not to disappoint his Lord.
The internal conflict rumbled in turmoil. The agony unceasing, yet he continued to persevere uphill, even if it seemed to be nothing but foolish bravery.
At long last, he let out a mighty roar, the first of many defiances against the bane coursing within his bones.
The twisted shades dissipated. The hallucinations cleared. Sensation returned to his body, and his joints regained their strength.
Though still very much burdened, his immune system had started to kick in. He found himself drenched head to toe in sweat from the arduous struggle.
In his great panting, he focused on the beautiful face of his Lord. “I… I did it…”
With a small yet honest smile, Mezil praised: “Indeed. Excellent job.”
A squad of Magi and two armoured knights accompanied Mezil. The latter were as intimidating as their hallucination-twisted forms implied. Whoever could they be?
The red haired feminine one opened her helmet, revealing herself to be none other than Captain Undyne!
“Holy heck!” she exclaimed, helping Gaelic sit up against the wall. “You were spazzing out SO HARD! I thought you were gonna dust in front of us!!!”
The other armoured knight commented: “…I see… If the victim was The Handler… he wouldn’t have developed immunity…”
It surprised Gaelic that the voice belonged to Sir Grillenn. Knowing the person under the metal changed the impression from intimidating to awe-inspiring.
“Heh,” the fish smirked. “That guy can rot for all I care. But, here’s what I don’t get. Couldn’t that scum have a similar poison-resisting ability?”
Mezil said, “It would never be as good. Gaelic’s lifetime of experience is his unique strength.”
The smile faded when he turned to command the Magi troops behind him. “Inform Crimson Keeper Fennel that I have procured the real Gaelic Blanc. Proceed as planned.”
“Yes, sir!” They hurried out to perform their duties.
When they were gone, Gaelic pulled his knees close to his chest and buried his face into them. “M’lord, I’m sorry. If ah dinnae jump out, I would not have fallen in his trap.”
“On the contrary,” said Mezil. “I’d say that you’ve given us the best opportunity. For the time being, he is locked into your form, making it that much easier to track him down. How did you identify the enemy prior to his transformation?”
“‘Twas by smell, M’lord. While his face and body may change, he cannae mask his scent. He reeks o’ mud, blood, and fat.”
“I see. We’ll keep this in mind moving forward.”
“We should speak o’ this no more, though, M’lord. His Eyes, oh how oppressively they spy. Should they set their sights upon our scheming, the hostages be in mortal danger.”
“There’s no need for concern. I’ve already asked Roman for a favour. I told him: ‘do not let Gaelic use his Eye, because he’s on the verge of Overburn’. If The Handler wishes to maintain his cover, he’ll refrain from spying in their presence.”
Gaelic lifted his head. The reveal put that dreaded phone call in a new light. His Lord, ever one step ahead, had played The Handler for a fool! Gaelic couldn’t help but to laugh and clap in joy.
Extending a hand towards Gaelic, Mezil made the following offer: “Come. Join me on my hunt. Let us chase down this prey, together.”
Gaelic felt his heart flutter. It had been a long time since his master said those words. Between them, an invitation to hunt a fugitive was a mark of faith and trust.
“Aye, M’Lord! Ah will follow ye to the ends o’ the earth!”
He grasped his master’s hand and squeezed it tight, sealing their sacred oath.