Alphys clung to the handle of her toolbox, bracing herself against the uncomfortable quakes. It was a rough, bumpy ride: nothing like the smooth, quick transitions she witnessed with the election’s test teleportation pad.
Nonetheless, they were not ejected back to their launch site. When the magic settled down, she found herself standing on the cold blue tiles of The Core. It was one of the side rooms where Mettaton once hid a Glamburger for his human guest to discover, though the original trash bin had long since been moved up to The Surface.
After readjusting her glasses, the first thing she noticed were the metal vault shutters that had sealed off the once open hallway. This structure served a vital purpose, isolating their group from the rest of the massive facility and whatever army of spooky eyeball slugs that lay beyond.
Looking around, she asked: “I-is everyone alright?”
Gaelic shuddered and rubbed his sleeves. His tongue, taking the form of a snake’s, flicked around to taste the air with great concern. “Cor Blimey, shiver me timbers. The mana here be dense as a rock!”
Arcanagrams beneath Judge Thyme’s clothes started to glow. Although his black tailcoat dampened most of the light, its radiance seeped out around his collar. “Lucidia’s mana protection filters have been activated as well.”
“Protection filters?” the lizard asked.
“Yes. Unlike monsters, the human body can’t tolerate excessive amounts of mana. That said, I’m glad Frisk isn’t here. Triple Red or not, the Aura of Determination has its limits. Even they wouldn’t be able to withstand this much without additional defences.”
“I-I see.” That’d explain why she didn’t feel sick despite her physical fragility. Patting herself, Alphys said: “If I’m okay, Sans should be fine, r-right? He’s a monster too.”
But, her confidence was rather premature. Turning around, she found that Sans was sweating buckets, heaving as his Seer’s Eye burned bright. The fire refused to fade until Grillby placed his hand over that socket.
The fire elemental under the armour sighed, breathing out some heated air. “…Perhaps scouting ahead was a bad idea…”
Sans replied: “Nah. If I didn’t, our warp point would have been the entrance of the Underground. That’s too far away.”
Flabbergasted, Alphys exclaimed: “When?! I thought you were busy building the Seraph System and saving Rosemary???”
“Eh. I had a few moments to spare between the news delivery and Thymer’s summon. Sure, it took me like twenty hops, but a mon’s gotta do what a mon’s gotta do.”
“Unbelievable! That’s just way too canon-breaking! How???”
“…I’m curious too…” Grillby commented, “…Yesterday’s volcanic eruption destroyed much of the old layout… The paths are blocked by cave-ins…”
Judge Thyme added: “Indeed. I remember having to call back all the guards due to the unstable situation. If it’s not mana overload, it’s poisonous gas.”
On the other hand, Gaelic said, “But the false angel needs just a peep fer his tricks, nay? And that still not be counting the shortcuts accessible only to Seers.”
Sans flicked a pair of finger guns to Gaelic. “Snakeface gets me. Correct on both points. I know the shortcuts. All of ‘em. Then it’s a simple matter working through the fog of war one hop at a time. Takes only a few minutes at best.”
Feeling both challenged and offended, Alphys huffed. “Where’s the console??? I want to check the cameras for cold, hard evidence!”
Sans pointed his thumb over his shoulder, straight towards the display at the corner of the room. “I made sure to pick the room with the goods.”
Alphys hurried over to that corner and pressed a nearby tile on the wall. Recognising her touch, the system ejected a keyboard for her to operate. She typed furiously to bring up all relevant cameras, mostly ones within The Core itself.
The first row of footage came up empty. The second row, more emptiness. Third one too.
…Then, on the fourth row, at the very last camera that just so happened to be pointing at this particular room, Sans popped into view. He waved at the camera, entered the room, and lowered the shutters from the inside.
“There you go,” Sans chuckled. “Your cold hard evidence.”
Alphys let out an annoyed grunt. “Fine. Fine, you win. I know I could never beat you in the security department anyway.”
Judge Thyme walked closer to the console to examine the footage. “…Doctor Alphys, could you rewind through the last half hour, at a hundred times normal speed.”
“O-oh. Sure.”
She did as he requested, and both of them stared at the multiple screens for a few seconds. Other than that blip of Sans, there was absolutely no activity in the interior of The Core.
“It’s too quiet,” said Judge Thyme, “It’s nothing like what Captain Undyne reported. Show me the exterior view. Live, at base speed.”
When Alphys tried to check outside, she discovered that most of Hotland’s cameras had either gone offline or been buried under goop. All, except one that looked over the facility from the cavern ceiling.
Undyne -- apple of her eye -- whizzed around The Underground wielding a silvery spear. Upon every swing, the resulting gale sent swathes of slugs flying into the molten rock below.
How dashing. How graceful. How strong. Alphys could feel her heart flutter.
“As expected. Though there are no signs of any enemies inside of The Core, the outside is swarming with them. This means that if the enemy has indeed infiltrated this place, they’re likely to be hiding in spots that a camera can’t reach. Vents. Piping. Behind the walls…”
Hearing that, Alphys nervously backed away from the console. Any sense of security and safety she had dissipated in an instant. If what the Magus said was true, the bad guys could squeeze out from any gap at any time.
Sans continued talking in his casual manner, unperturbed by the circumstances. “The Handler is probably near The Core’s main energy pillar. Gaster’s site, to be specific. That mad doctor used that particular device twice for a reason.”
Alphys widened her eyes. “T-t-there?! But but but but but after that CRAZY reincarnation plot, I sent that whole section deep down into the lowest levels! I even disconnected every platform, elevator, stairwell, and pathway. No access at all!”
Judge Thyme asked, “Do you have a view for that location?”
“Y-yes. One second, please.”
She brought up the monitoring cameras for the aforementioned lowest levels. What she saw made her gasp. A large red icon in the shape of a chess piece – The Pawn – glowed on the surface of the main energy pillar.
“Welp.” Sans said, pointing at the screen. “There we go. That’s the real Handler, right there.”
“T-t-that’s a Mark! This is bad! Real bad! Doctor Gaster proved to everyone that it’s possible to produce new monster bodies with Spirit Gate Particles. That means The Core has become an ideal cloning vat for his Amalgamate army. We have to stop him before we’re TOAST!”
Gaelic asked: “Doctor, ye said the pillar be deep down. How deep be this ‘deep’?”
“Right above the main generator, which sits at Hotland’s magma level.”
“Then ah be preparing me steed to drill down there.”
“No, please don’t! It’s too dangerous! There’s lava, broken spacetime, crumbly rock, and goodness knows what else. With all that unstable gobbledygook, it’s a miracle that The Core is still supplying the town with electricity. E-either way, I need to go to the main control room if we want to return The Core to its previous configuration. It’s on the top floor.”
“Huh?” said Sans. “I thought the layout was freely changeable from anywhere at any time. Did that to sabotage Gaster once.”
“Nope. Not anymore. Everything’s rigged to a centralised command nowadays. I based the redesign on Lady Lucidia’s safety recommendations. I mean, do we really want the enemy to turn this place into a labyrinth right underneath our feet???”
“Fair enough. Been there, done that. Welp. Better show our guests the way, then.”
“O-oh. That’s a good point. Let’s see…”
A few inputs later, Alphys brought up a map of the facility, both in 2D and 3D. “The only available way to get to the top floor is through the maintenance airwell. Unfortunately, there’s no elevator there yet. I-I ran out of parts.”
Gaelic burned his Seer’s Eye in the general direction of the shutters. Alphys tried to catch a glimpse to further understand the mechanics of his magic, but his use was very brief. Still, whatever he saw was enough to make him growl. “What festering rot…”
Alphys gulped. She glanced at the console in her room again, growing more and more fearful.
“M’lord, blight lurks in every dark crevice. But fret not, the path be embedded in me mind.”
“Good. Let us make haste.” Judge Thyme took his gun out and prepared for combat. “Gaelic, escort Doctor Alphys. Sir Grillenn, defend our position. I’m staying with Sans Serif.”
“Aye, M’lord!”
“…Yes, sir…”
“Doctor, raise the shutters whenever you’re ready. I recommend travelling light. Take only what you need.”
‘Travel light’. Did he imply that she had to leave her precious stock of expensive blackboard chalk and tools behind? Never! Too much investment had gone into it. Alphys hugged her box of tools close to her chest and said: “I-I-I can carry this much.”
“Very well. Sans Serif, have you recovered yet?”
The short skeleton stretched his boney neck, then shrugged. “Eh, I’ll live.”
The calm, professional vibe soothed Alphys more than she expected. It was a quality she admired in King Asgore as well, though ‘Mezil Thyme’ was a much more intimidating figure. Her mind almost drifted off into the fandom cloud, until the Judge himself fixed his piercing gaze on her.
“Please focus,” he said. “The real battle starts now.”
Alphys was reminded of the severity of the situation. “Y-yes, sir…”
While clutching her precious cargo tight, she stretched out a hand to the keyboard.
But then, she hesitated.
Great dangers lay beyond the door. That much was certain.
At the same time, delaying the inevitable wouldn’t help one bit. The enemy might even strike sooner, from a different angle. They were trapped either way.
After mustering up her courage, she finally pressed the button to open the door.
The shutters slid upwards. The moment the entrance was wide open, she heard the echoes of bubbling and blurbing from the corridors. Globules of white goo seeped out from every gap, forming into multitudes of eyes, eyes, and more eyes. They flowed down the walls to cluster into bigger, badder forms of weaponized skeletons.
Gaelic swept Alphys off her feet. Before she could even comprehend what was going on, G-force and wind pressed her against his chest.
As he hopped, skipped, ducked, jumped, and dashed past the growing army, Alphys’ perception spun. The floors became the ceiling, and the walls turned into a rotating bin. Everything had become a big blurry mess.
For this frail, physically unfit monster lady, this level of athletics was always only confined to the faux historical records of humanity. Now caught in her own personal anime moment, the first hand experience was a mix of excited thrills and utter terror.
Suddenly, the narrow corridors ended. For a brief moment, Alphys was able to comprehend her surroundings. She found herself inside the tall, vertical space of the maintenance airwell. A complex maze of piping criss-crossed high above her head.
However, she didn’t have much time to process those sights before her world tilted sideways yet again. Gaelic ran up against the wall in a spiral path, dodging obstacles while maintaining his top speed.
Round and round and round they went. Alphys was sure she was screaming while she gripped her toolbox for dear life, but she was moving too fast to even hear herself.
The ride culminated in a humongous leap across the entire width of the airwell.
Up stood the ceiling, so close that it was almost within an arm’s reach.
Down lay a dark, bottomless abyss, encrusted with white horrors straining the imagination.
All remaining sense of logic in her brain warned that screaming any louder might break her voice.
At long last, the mad dash came to a halt. They landed safe and sound on the platform of their destination: the control room.
“‘Tis the place,” Gaelic placed Alphys back down on her feet. “Can ya stand?”
Although somewhat wobbly, she managed to steady herself. “I-I-I think so. Having a tail helps, I guess…”
She waddled forth with her toolbox, expecting the automated system to detect her presence and provide them with much needed security… but the door remained firmly shut.
Alphys tensed up. “The scanners aren’t activating. I-I think the mana overload is messing with the electronics. It’s okay! I think I can bypass the problem.”
“Be swift, Doctor. All hell be breaking loose soon.”
Right after Gaelic said that, creaking and whining metal echoed in an ear-grating cacophony. Sections of the walls bulged under the building pressure, while white goo started oozing out from the cracks.
Alphys immediately got to work. She set her toolbox on the ground and looked inside. Sticks of the luxurious Far Eastern chalk were arranged in neat stacks on the bottom row, still in their original packaging. The rest of the main electronic tools occupied the smaller upper levels, like the wire cutters, a soldering iron, and various wrenches and screwdrivers. There was even a blackboard eraser, just in case.
With her writing utensils at the ready, she thus wrote the word ‘OPEN’ in Seer’s script: The Core’s base coding language. She then proceeded to draw the rest of the Arcanagram as fast and precise as she could muster. Last but not least, a triangle charged with her personal magic powered the whole program.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
In ten seconds, her handiwork lit up. She backed away from the entrance in a hurry just in case their destination was already compromised from within.
The door slid open… and behind it the control room stood empty and pristine.
She packed her precious toolbox and hollered: “Mister Gaelic, I’m done!” Turning her head, Alphys saw him rip apart several invaders – bone by bone – before throwing them back down into the pit.
Her body tensed up from the gruesome sight. The brutality she just witnessed had to be worse than Mettaton’s chainsaw antics and Undyne’s classical battle prowess. The glambot would have executed his violence with graceful style, while Undyne kept to clean martial arts principles. Gaelic, on the other hand, fought with pure savagery. He tore through the horde of enemies on crude instinct alone.
“M-Mister Gaelic?”
The massacre continued, with the fighter too absorbed in battle to notice her.
“O-oh my. He’s definitely of a Berserker class. And I don’t have Judge Thyme’s friendship bond or commanding presence either. What should I d-do?”
If anime had taught her anything, sometimes the solution was much simpler than expected. She took a deep breath and yelled: “MISTER GAELIC!!! THE ENTRANCE!!! IS!!! OPEN!!!”
That snapped Gaelic out of his frenzy. “Eh? Wha? Open already? Aye, aye, aye, be right there!”
Thus the two rushed into the safety of the control room together: precious toolbox included.
The moment they both stepped over the boundary, the meek scientist scurried over to the computers. Thankfully, the electronics inside of the once-isolated control room were not hampered by the excess mana issue, and thus responded properly to her inputs.
On her swiftly keyed commands, the door sealed tight yet again, plus an impromptu layer of magic glass was spawned for added insurance. She could hear the slugs punting hard against the makeshift shield – thumping and thumping to no avail – until at long last they gave up.
She wheezed from all the intense activity up to this point. “I-it’s… It’s quiet now… I-I think we’re safe… Any intruders?”
Gaelic’s Seer’s Eye lit up as he checked the area, laying low to the surface to get a good sniff. Watching him effortlessly scale on all surfaces reminded Alphys of a gecko.
After a thorough check, he confirmed: “None whatsoever, Doctor.”
“Good. Great, even! Okay, I better check on the others.”
She keyed in more commands to bring up The Core’s multitudes of security cameras. Several of them returned the ‘No Signal’ warning, most likely destroyed during the ambush. Despite this, she soon found Judge Thyme’s group, still where they started.
Although it seemed that they were trapped in their current predicament – unable to make any progress – in reality, Amalgamates were being dusted left and right. The convenient chokepoint gave Team Ebott the upper hand no matter the enemy’s near ceaseless numbers.
“I-I-I better start the reconfiguration sequence. Maybe… Maybe I can shift some lanes around to make traversal easier. It’d be great if I could get Undyne inside too…”
Alphys got straight to work. Permissions, given. Instructions, typing away. But even at her busiest, she couldn’t help but find herself distracted by Gaelic’s constant pacing back and forth. He was a big bony bundle of anxiety and tension.
“Is there something on your mind?” she asked.
The slight bit of attention was enough to make him open up. “Aye!” he exclaimed, “Many things! The Pawn Mark be the Handler’s true form??? Then, then why in nine hells did he have to eat two fookin’ sheep? Not one! Two! Ah SWEAR ah felt his evil eye spying upon me like an omen! Nothing makes any damn fooking sense!”
Gaelic’s poetic manner of speech made his messy thoughts messier. She struggled to follow along.
“M-m-maybe we should start from the beginning. So, um, the bad guy kidnapped Rosemary, tried to kill Papyrus, but was instead crushed to death by Aiden. Correct?” Meanwhile, she continued working on her computer.
“Aye. That be the tale. ‘Twas their efforts that first exposed that The Handler be an Amalgamate.”
“Alright. Tell me more about this ‘evil eye’.”
“When ah was protecting me lass, ‘twas this intense, feral glare upon me. All power and no mind. Fer the longest time ah thought it had to be The Handler’s true body. Yet the answer be ‘nay’?! If that be the case, who be the one who poisoned me???”
Alphys mused about it for a moment. “A-and you’re sure that’s the same person crushed by Aiden?”
“He reeks o’ blood and fat, rancid from the hours passed. ‘Twas o’ sheep, no doubt about it! Me senses still be sharp like a hound. They cannae be wrong!”
“I believe you’re right,” said Alphys. “I’ve worked with the Dog Clan long enough to know how well their sense of smell works. In your opinion, w-why would The Handler need to eat the sheep?”
Gaelic hesitated to answer at first, blushing purple with shame. “What should ah say…? The way that he behaved matched a pattern ah know all too intimately. Thoughts. Logic. They be expensive to maintain. Ever noticed that yer mind slows during hunger? It takes a good meal to put yer head back on yer shoulders. ”
“Hmmm… But from what I’ve observed, our baddie is controlling a hive mind. Ooooh! I get it! No wonder you’re confused. You even had all the facts correct. The flaw is at the conclusion.”
“Pray tell, what be the confusion?”
“D-do you know chess?”
Gaelic shook his head. “Nay, sadly so. Ne’er the boardgame sort. Dinnae have the patience.”
“Ah. Um. That analogy won’t work then. Do you know anything about radios? Phones? Transmitters and receivers?”
“That, ah understand. M’lord suggested that The Handler be a neural network. It be the reason why ah chased that cur all over Ebott.”
“Excellent! S-so, imagine The Handler as a central transmitter, and all the Amalgamates as multiple receiving extensions of himself. Aiden injured that particular Amalgamate. Injuries are synonymous to damages. Anything that’s damaged requires repairs. And repairs require materials. Are you following me so far?”
Gaelic nodded along. “Aye. Yer words be sound and fair.”
“Right. Ok then. In this case, the repair materials are the nutritional content of two whole lambs. Now this is where it gets funky. What was repaired was not the transmitter. Instead, it was the receiver!”
A sense of epiphany lit up in Gaelic’s mind. “Doctor, yer saying… ah got it reversed?!”
“Yes! All power, no mind, right? That screams ‘blank state’ to me. Without the ability to receive any signal transmitted from the Mark mastermind, the damaged receiver defaulted to its base instincts. Hence, the feral mode. Hence, the sheep eating.”
A moment of epiphany dawned on Gaelic’s mind. Just one readjustment was enough to make him see these happenings in a new light. “Argh, I feel foolish fer not realising sooner.“
“N-no,” said Alphys, “Don’t blame yourself. The Handler intentionally set up a scenario where everyone would get duped. I’m very sure it took the smartest smarties a long time to get to this point.”
“That be true. But then… why did that cur go through all the trouble?! He should have cut his losses. Skedaddled! Anyone messing with M’lord like this seeks definite defeat.”
“It must be because he’s stuck,” said Alphys. “I would say he’s closer to a parasite than a person. If his real form is a Mark, that means that he’s completely immobile without piggybacking on some sort of host. Plus, to control that many Amalgamates at once, he needs a lot of energy. Even with The Core, I bet his effective range is limited to Ebott Town.”
“A no-escape Hail Mary. Aye, so that be why he be casting a full-blown Celestial Calamity. And stealing the Seraph System too.”
“Agreed. I-I can already think of some derivative uses on the top of my head. But… but… I think… In the worst case scenario, the tech could be mass-produced to turn each of his Amalgamate extensions into real Seers. Oracles, even… NO! It’s worse than worst… With each Seer having the ability, he’d be able to translocate his true form anywhere he pleases. His fixed location problem would be a thing of the past!”
Her interface suddenly got replaced by the Mark of The Pawn. The symbol on the screen struggled to stabilise: shredding, tearing, and flickering into existence. A mechanised voice then boomed back from the speakers: “An excellent deduction, Doctor Alphys.”
Alphys yelped in shock. She tried to back away, but her clumsy feet tripped over themselves. Gaelic caught her in the nick of time, otherwise she would’ve ended up with a nasty bump on the head.
“Stay by me side, Doctor.”
“T-t-t-thank you.”
The voice said, “It’s rare for a natural-born monster to understand the Determination sciences. Most lack the drive to delve into the field, remaining blind and complacent for their entire life.”
That had to be the bad guy. What should Alphys call him now? The Handler? Pawn? Whomever or whatever he was now, he had hijacked her interface, utilising its inbuilt soundbites to form words.
“What’s driving you then?” asked Alphys, hoping to get at least some intel while he’s still willing to hold a conversation. “Why do any of this?”
“Strange that you of all people should ask. You build machines and create inventions to overcome your weaknesses, just as I have done. Alas, whether or not you learn the answers to your questions matters little in the long run. Now that The Core has been filled with my dust: victory is guaranteed to be mine.”
Having said that, The Handler brought back the camera feed of Judge Thyme’s team. The footage was scarcely visible. An odd white haze covered sections of the image, thick like snow. At first, Alphys thought that the recording was faulty. She gasped, however, when she realised that the on-screen artifacting was not caused by static noise. Instead, bountiful monster dust swirled in the air.
Then, the biseinen fell straight to his knees, leaning against his sword cane for support. Sickly blue fire began to stream out from his breath.
And, by The Handler’s will, the feed was cut off before its conclusion.
“You understand, don’t you? In this mana rich environment, bypassing The Vampire’s overloaded defences is nothing short of child’s play. Even though he no longer drains lifeforce, just breathing in the tiniest sliver of my dust is enough to taint him with spiritual incendiaries. And every time he rewinds the cosmos to save his own life, your efforts are undone as well.”
Alphys felt every bone in Gaelic shaking. He was seething in fury, working himself up into a frenzy.
“YA CUR!!!”
“Yelling won’t help anyone, beast. If you wish to save your master, you should rush to his side. That is, if you can afford to leave the doctor alone.”
Helpless frustration filled his roars. Alphys’ empathetic heart filled with pity for his plight. That poor skeleton had been mocked, tormented, and separated from the master he loved so much. And being a fangirl herself, she knew just how deep zealous dedication goes.
“…Mister Gaelic,” she said, “You should go to Judge Thyme. I-I’ll even open up a path for you to go back down. ”
“Ye can’t be serious,” Gaelic objected, “Don’t go trusting a word from that cur’s foul mouth. Nothing he saith be genuine. That footage may be a meddled mirage and we dinnae know any better. And trickery aside, ‘tis me duty to protect ye!”
“You were only supposed to escort me to the control room, right? You’ve completed your mission. As long as I have my tools and my helmet, I’ll be fine. B-b-besides, you’re like a walking pharmacy. As the team medic, you DEFINITELY need to check on your boss! P-please hurry. He’s too hot to die!”
Alphys took out another chalk from her toolbox and walked over to the left side of the room. She wrote another bypass command on the wall. The Arcanagram shone, and the tiles parted away to reveal a work-in-progress elevator shaft.
“I-it connects to the bottom of the airwell, and into one of the staff rooms. I think with your strength, you s-should be able to bust through the locked door.”
Gaelic looked at the exit, back at Alphys, and the exit again. “…Our lives be in yer debt. Thank ye.”
He dove straight down the shaft. The moment he passed the entrance, Alphys commanded those tiles to seal themselves to prevent unwanted slugs from crawling upwards.
I’m… I’m alone.
She readjusted her enchanted construction helmet for good measure.
Be Determined, Alphys. J-just take a few pages out of Undyne’s book.
I’ve already completed the prep work. All I need to do now is to run the script, and The Core should start renovating back to the old layout. The problem is–
The Pawn Mark on the screen flashed before she could finish her thoughts.
A shrill ringing deafened her hearing, and her vision blinded by pure, glaring red. Her SOUL beat a mile a minute while her head throbbed in pain from the sheer aura of Corrupt Determination. The cacophony of senses made her sick to her stomach.
The helmet… It… It failed…!
Her despair inflicted greater pain. Panic started to bubble. She knew that she made the wrong choice, yet the internal agony made it difficult for her to think straight.
The voice scoffed at her, saying: “Look at you, writhing in pain without so much as a single command. Did you really think you could keep up with the strong?”
“I’ve studied your history, Doctor Alphys. Your online activities were especially prolific. Born with no athleticism or magical prowess, you’ve long sought refuge in fiction. In that imaginary realm, you were a cool, beautiful, mighty entity.”
“But your greed knows no bounds. As you grew older, the playground of your childhood became too small. So you attached yourself to the truly powerful around you. Mettaton, King Asgore, Captain Undyne, and now little Ambassador Frisk. You were never able to stand on your own two feet.”
Alphys whined, “No…! It’s… it’s nothing like that…!”
I can’t… take… much more…
Before long, she struggled to breathe and started coughing up dust.
The Handler continued: “But that is fine. As I said before, we’re very much two peas in a pod: our past, our intellect, our expertise. We both resorted to Amalgamation to transcend our weaknesses, indirectly or otherwise.”
“Thus, I present you with an offer: join me as a fellow researcher. Let me do my work and I’ll extend that courtesy to you as well. Together, we can go beyond our limits. And by the time this is all done, we shall become as gods.”
“…‘B-become as gods’…?”
Something snapped in Alphys, bolstering her fighting spirit.
“No way. That can’t be. It’s too scripted, as though you’re just saying stuff that I want to hear. That’s a quote straight out of a video game I’ve played, for star’s sake!”
To think The Handler thought so low of her that he’d resort to printing out such blatant plagiarism. The nonsense proposal offended all her sensibilities with fiction, anime, and cautionary Faustian tales.
On the top of her lungs in what could be her final protest, she screamed: “WHO THE HECK WOULD FALL FOR YOUR BULLSHIT???”
“Interesting. A mix of self-loathing and determinism. Very well then. Since you’ve chosen to reject life, I shall give you the option to end it on your own terms.”
“By the King’s Decree: prepare for your execution!”
Every soul-crushing, head-piercing, body-aching sensation that Alphys had felt before failed in comparison to the sheer authority of a direct command.
Her whole body began to move on its own, as though controlled by a robotic exoskeleton. She felt herself hunching over, grinding the chalk against the ground. In the few glimpses she had beyond the redness, she watched her own hand draw an Arcanagram.
She wanted to speak, but her words rolled out into useless stammering.
Regardless, The Handler still had something to say. “You’re drawing a heptadecagram. Vanquishers consider this the ‘Number of Death’. It’s especially effective in the exorcism of DEMONs, so I’ve heard. Perfect for one of your skill level. You’re nothing but a heavy chain, little lizard. Perish for the freedom of your loved ones.”
This was the exact scenario Judge Thyme wanted to avoid.
He warned her against her involvement.
And yet, she chose to go against it.
Why? Why did I think I could win?
I should have stayed behind… Work remotely… from anywhere… anywhere else but here… on-site… in danger…
Although slow going, the deadly seventeen-point star steadily neared completion…
…Then, her phone started to ring. And ring, and ring, and ring, and ring, and ring.
Who is it? Who would even want to talk to me?
The Handler’s dark voice urged her to continue, to end her own suffering. Yet her phone continued to ring. And whenever it timed out, the attempt repeated.
Her sense of curiosity, fuelled by a lifetime of phone addiction, grew larger and larger. Eventually, Alphys dropped her chalk and answered the call.
“Alphys-darling?”
It was Mettaton.
“Are you alright?”
She sobbed over the line, wishing to speak yet being unable to do so.
“I guess not. I saw how Sansy dear whisked you away with all that doomsday talk. Nothing good could come out of that, I thought. And… if you’re crying this much, that can only mean one thing. The struggles have come back. Same old sore points haunting you?”
Alphys cried harder.
“Honey. Dear. Darling. You’re the strongest person I know. It takes real grit to take the path untraveled. And, who cares if you can’t be strong all the time? You have us! Your friends! When you’re weak, we’ll be your strength. When you’re tired, we’ll be your help. Without you, our lives would be so, so, so much duller and poorer.”
Mettaton continued, “We’ve all chosen to be your friend. Frisky-darling is here for you. Undyne-darling is here for you. I’m here for you. Today, and forever.”
Alphys strained her throat for just one question: “…R-really?…”
“Really. 100% voluntary, sweetheart. So, is there anything I can do to help you in the here and now?”
“S…Sing…”
“Of course. Per your request, an MTT-encore, For the Fans! Coming right up! La la la~~~ La la la~~~!”
Mettaton began singing a modified tune from the opera skit. It lacked any forced awkward shoehorning. Instead, it was filled with honesty from the bottom of his heart.
“Oh my friend~
Please don’t cry~
Humankind, permits your way~
Monsters must, on you rely~
Even if nothing goes astray~
They still need you, in their heart~
This’ll last~
Cause you worked your art~
Really fast~
How much you’ve grown~
Shy Wry Try~
Yet so Determined on your own~”
Bolstered by his sweet, encouraging song, her vision started to return, and so did her autonomy. In between her sobs, she said: “Mettaton…” she sobbed, “… T-thank… Thank you… I needed that… Now more than ever…”
“Pleasure’s all mine, Alphys-darling. Know that I will always be your oldest fan.”
However, the enemy did not stand by idly. “You’ve wasted enough of my time, little lizard.” Once more, The Handler commanded: “By King’s Decree: Finish what you’ve started!”
Prepared for the worst, she grunted, struggled, strained against The Handler’s dark will. In that moment, she clutched her headwear for dear life. Underneath her palms, magic coursed through the material, repelling some of The Handler’s Corrupt Determination.
Then, she realised the truth: her creation never failed. The helmet had protected Alphys just enough to prevent her from becoming a self-combusting mindless puppet on the spot.
It wasn’t useless. And by extension she herself was not an absolute piece of garbage either.
Great contempt fuelled her heart as she picked up the half-used stick of chalk and brandished it towards the screen.
“Sans warned me… about the Celestial Calamity… I won’t… let you… summon the apocalypse… I… I refuse…. to give in…!”
Rising her writing instrument high above her head, she took in a deep breath, charging it with the spirit of her SOUL.
“NGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!”
She smashed the chalk right onto the unfinished Arcanagram, making a strong imprint on the centre. That one point containing her concentrated will fed a command into the rest of the lines of code.
The whole drawing lit up in response. Her desires, her wishes, her dreams, all resonated through the floor and into the system as a whole.
Sirens soon blared from the console’s speakers, the same one being exploited by the enemy. An announcement of intent then played throughout the entirety of The Core.
“WARNING, ENERGY PILLAR LIFTING. PLEASE VACATE THE PERIMETER.”
“WARNING, ENERGY PILLAR LIFTING. PLEASE VACATE THE PERIMETER.”
“WARNING, ENERGY PILLAR LIFTING. PLEASE VACATE THE PERIMETER.”
Grinding gears, unlocking mechanisms, and shifting tiles rumbled underneath her feet.
The Handler commented: “Interesting. Instead of ending your life, you ‘executed’ a program instead. You had interpreted my command in a completely different manner, obeying while defying me at the same time. I see. A love of wordplay has always been a monsterkind tradition. I commend your genius and your wit.”
“Alas… you’re not likely to live much longer. Even with protective gear, a monster of your constitution will inevitably succumb to the aftereffects of an HVM.”
“Farewell, Doctor Alphys.”
The Pawn Mark vanished from the screen. Not long after, Alphys lost her strength to stand. She fell on the ground, surrounded by the glowing magic circle, still clutching her phone.
“Alphys-darling?!?” Mettaton was alarmed, and rightfully so. “Alphys-darling, speak to me! Hello? Are you still there??? I-I-I’m calling Fennel-darling right away, so hang on tight! Please!”
…Weird… I’m… I’m not dusting… Not melting either… but…
…I’m just…
…So, so tired…
She blinked once… and that was all it took for her eyelids to stay shut. Her phone slipped out of her hand and clattered on the cold, metal floor.