‘The Supreme Judge’.
It was the most prestigious and heavy of all titles in the world of magic.
Those who would bear this crown could come from any origin.
Riches.
Status.
Colour.
Philosophy.
Age.
Location.
Background.
All meant nothing compared to its greatest demand: the responsibility to become and maintain the position of Humanity’s Ultimate Weapon.
The first dream they’d end would be their own selfish whims and immature fancies. From then onwards, the job entailed terminating the malformed dreams of a great many others.
Whatever decisions they made, each and every single one had to be for the greater good of man and magic.
Today was no different for Mezil Thyme. He had come to destroy the malicious fantasies of an entity steeped in delusions of grandeur.
The group halted before a long flight of stairs. Down below lay The Core’s energy pillar, raised to that level from the deepest depths. That very same spot once burned with an unnatural, eternal fire.
It’s quiet. Too quiet. Never a good sign in a situation like this.
Cautious, Mezil said: “We’ll wait for Captain Undyne here.”
He checked the time on his phone. The last known timestamp of the Celestial Calamity had just passed.
Just as planned, our gambit destroyed a large amount of our enemy’s fuel. It’ll take time to build them up to usable levels again. Unfortunately… we don’t have any data to predict future attempts.
The sounds of rushing wind heralded the arrival of Captain Undyne. The silver gleam of a metal spear trailed behind her. How peculiar: he was sure she didn’t have any solid weapons when she first entered under the mountain.
Mezil put his phone away to greet her. “Good to see you, Captain.”
“Good to see you too, Sir,” she replied “Especially with all the crazy crap that happened.”
“A mithril spear? I don’t remember you owning one.”
“Oh, this?” She set the pole end on the ground, showing off its full splendour. “That Hua guy mentioned something about Hotland having iron-rich magma. Then, he moulded this thing straight out of the molten rock, fully sharpened and all. Crazy convenient, if you ask me. Now I won’t wreck Alphys’ handiwork as much! Water and electronics don’t mix, y’know.”
“A great alternative to your usual fare. Use it wisely.”
“Definitely, sir!”
Mezil noticed her glancing at Sir Grillenn’s sword with a slight furrow on her brows. Having been with Lord Hua mere moments ago, she must have witnessed plenty of uncomfortable truths about that legendary blade.
But, without saying anything more, she let the matter slide to focus on the dangers ahead. That fiery fish had matured as a soldier in her own way, he thought.
“I’d like to make one final check before we advance. It won’t take long.” He phoned Lucas. “Keeper Fennel, is the Grandmaster patched in to oversee the proceedings?”
To which Lucas replied: “Affirmative. Chronographer Lucidia is also coming online as we speak.”
“Status update on Keeper Wanderstar and yourself?”
“Keeper Wanderstar is with King Asgore, safe and sound. As for myself, all clear. No security breaches yet.”
“Any other updates? What about the security in town?”
“Sir, about that… Papyrus informed me that the slugs chasing him had burst into white fire. Did anything happen on your side that could explain this strange phenomenon?”
“That would be the result of our counterattack. Nothing to worry about. All shall be explained in the debriefing. Remain alert for any changes. Call end.”
Pocketing his phone, Mezil contemplated the ever-changing situation: In other words, HQ is secure and the current wielders of the Keys of Fate are on standby.
The power to RESET is still shared between Frisk, Lucas, and myself. I will soon be removed from that equation. Having those two as my backup should be sufficient.
That begs the question, when a Celestial Calamity does begin, should I retreat and find another solution? Or should I burn the enemy down before the spell’s completion?
…I don’t yet know which is the correct option. The best I can do for now is to remain observant.
Sans asked: “Any change of plans, Thymer?”
“None. We shall proceed as we have. Sans Serif, please update Captain Undyne on what we’ve discussed in The Hub.”
“Okey dokey.”
While the short skeleton briefed the fish, Mezil took his first steps down the stairs. Walking ahead of anyone else in this situation went against all conventional tactics, but extraordinary circumstances called for extraordinary measures.
Midway through his descent, a faint sense of unease swirled in Mezil’s heart.
If this was anything like Mu’s disaster, I know I’m walking into yet another trap. But I won’t be able to proceed without playing into his hand.
Mezil stopped at the bottom of the stairs. There, he felt a shift on his skin, revealing the border between the physical realm and the world in-between.
He took a moment to analyse the room around him. Although he had seen this place multiple times over the course of dealing with Ebott’s cases, there could be subtle changes that might impact manoeuvrability.
…The outer platform circles all around, connected to the walls. It has enough floor space for about three people side by side. It’s fine for staff use, but rather narrow for combat.
A long bridge connects the outer rim to the central pillar’s platform from the entrance stairway. Everywhere else is a massive gap into black emptiness. Once upon a time, those same gaps were filled with bountiful Spirit Gate Particles. However, recent events have drained them dry.
Guardrails line the outer platforms, but there is none at the bridge or central platform. Quite a falling hazard.
As for the energy pillar itself… Based on its deceptive silence, The Handler is definitely hiding in there: waiting for us to take action.
Sans paged through the mental comm link. “Thymer. Don’t freak out but, I… I’m seeing overlapping images of the Mu reactor. It’s as though I’ve done this before… Well, another me at least.”
Mezil responded: “Exploit that knowledge to your advantage. No judgement.”
“Heh. You’re way more open minded than I thought. Anyways, my Eye of Dreams is detecting the bad guy’s field of influence: his Aura of Determination. It looks like… lots and lots of feathery tendrils, if that makes any sense.”
Mezil raised a mental eyebrow at the description. “That sounds like a tube worm. They put out those sort of tendrils to catch food floating in the ocean waves, often resembling a floral arrangement.”
“So our bad guy is straight up a filter feeder, huh? Heh heh heh. Fits him alright. Welp. Good news, his range is pretty short. Only covers the immediate platform around the pillar. The bad news, you’d have to go pretty far inside to bait that bugger out. Gaster’s lack of safety is really biting our ass here. Need me to teleport you out?”
Mezil thought about Sans’ health for a moment, and decided: “I think it’s wiser to save your strength. Stay on your toes for anything.”
“Noted.”
The Magus planted a reverse-teleport point underneath the sole of his shoe, just in case. He signalled everyone else to stay behind.
Then, he walked straight forward, crossing the dangerous railless bridge. Every tap of the Supreme Judge’s cane resonated through the dead silent chamber.
“Five more steps, Thymer.” Warned Sans.
The countdown began.
“Four.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“One.”
At the very moment he stepped into the field of influence… an impact forced out his Psychia.
The following command boomed:
“By the King’s Decree: I conquer your Determination!”
And so, The Pawn’s baneful Claim of Conquest was stamped on the essence of his being. Mezil staggered back a few steps. He could feel himself veering off to the side. One misstep and he could plunge straight into the abyss.
He focused his thoughts on the butterfly he had left at the bottom of the stairs. It fluttered in response, warping back to the safety of the entrance.
The rest of the crew immediately mobilised in his defence, surrounding Mezil with their weapons drawn.
Gaelic supported him just in case he lost balance. “Can ye stand, M’lord?”
Stabilising himself with his cane, Mezil said, “Yes. Thank you.” Addressing everyone else, he then issued a warning. “The Handler’s range to Mark begins from the spot I was Claimed. Never go beyond it. He’ll use a HVM on you at the first opportunity.”
With the trap sprung, the Handler’s true form emerged from his hiding place. A red, shining symbol of a pawn chess piece taunted them from a distance.
Now… What would you notice?
From The Core’s sound system, a robotic voice spoke: “How curious. Another person has already laid their Claim on your Psychia… It’s the tiny, honest little human child with the shining star, is it not? So you’re not the master, you’re the slave.”
The Living Victory glared down at his foe. “Hmph. And you are the pawn, not the king.”
“A meaningless distinction, Mezil Winston. Without The Keys of Fate, your title as The Supreme Judge is nothing but a sham. However, I digress. We now find ourselves at the crossroads of confrontation. A showdown that I’d much rather avoid. With this in mind, allow me to repeat the offer your master was on the verge of graciously accepting.”
“The terms of our agreement were as follows: diplomatic immunity to conduct my research. Man and monster are to provide all the materials I need. In return, I would use the fruits of my labour to save those who are suffering from terminal degradation of the Psychia. Cenna Caraway shall be the first to benefit from this. Rosemary Westenberg, your sister’s own daughter, would be the second, should that please you.”
“Proposal, denied.”
“A denial so quickly? Explain your reasoning. Tell me what else you desire, so I may accommodate you.”
In turn, Mezil questioned: “Are you truly acting upon your own will?”
The parasitic mark replied, “What prompts you to ask that question?”
“I know your history: your current form is an existence crafted by your collaborator. He could very well be influencing your actions beyond the grave. Are your words truly yours, or an echo of your king, Yuzukitsui Kisei?”
“I am my own agent.”
“I have my doubts. Artificial Intelligence is capable of emulating a real person to an uncanny extent. Is your identity a direct continuation of Doctor Weiss, or are you merely a mechanical replication of his memories? Your True Name does not align with your past. A contract signed by a non-entity is null and void from the very beginning.”
“Another meaningless distinction, Mezil Winston. The concept of identity is but a dead weight to me. I shall be Weiss if you need me to be. The contents of the contract supersedes everything else. Once again: tell me what else you desire, so I may accommodate you.”
Captain Undyne pointed her spear towards her enemy and yelled: “SHUT UP!!! Don’t you freaking get it??? We’re NOT making any damn contracts! We’re here to KICK! YOUR! ASS! Surrender or die!”
“Unacceptable. What makes you think you have a chance of winning?”
“What makes you think YOU have a chance of winning??? We’ve beaten your mooks. We’ve beaten your crapsack mimics. You’re nothing but graffiti on the wall!”
“How confident. Admirable. But there is one you have yet to defeat.”
Upon that declaration, Amalgamate matter oozed from every gap and crevice of the facility. An army of slugs and combat forms amassed at the outer walkway, while the remainder pooled itself together at the base of the pillar.
The cream of the crop formed into one final high calibre unit: a tall, lanky young Seer, wearing a tattered bright red scarf…
It was none other than The Great Papyrus.
“No… No way…” Undyne grit her teeth. “How DARE you copy him!!!”
“Is that fear I sense from the fearless Captain of the Royal Guard? Indeed, the only things that had kept this young man from flourishing in greatness were his own puerile ideals. You know it from the bottom of your heart.”
Mezil kept his eyes locked on the enemy and his ears wide open to his surroundings. Having Papyrus as the mimic of choice meant little margin for error. A clairvoyant Seer would spot an opening sooner than oneself could cover for it.
The Handler cannot copy Papyrus’ Mixed Eyes. Even so, careful management of Pures is dangerous enough. This image primarily exists as a psychological weapon. We had just experienced that with Lucidia’s fake.
Sans Serif broke out into a madman’s laughter. “Heh. Heh heh heh heh. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa!!!”
His facade of sanity had eroded ever since he duelled his brother on that artificial moon. That mask was all but discarded by now. Although no one would want to admit it, he wasn’t the same Sans any more.
“You talk shit about Papyrus, yet you cloned his face! Did you really think my coolest greatest awesomest brother was ever held back by anything??? What a joke! You ain’t even keeping to his specs! The head may be Paps’, but the rest of the bones are mixes and matches of your other victims. A desperate inferior DIY collage of funnybones!”
He laughed for a few more seconds… then abruptly stopped. With a chill in his voice, he said: “You’ve learned nothing. You know nothing. You are nothing. I’ll erase you from existence, mark my words.”
“That can be arranged, assassin. Come closer and allow me to silence you by King’s Decree.”
“Ha. Try me, bugger. Been there, done that, didn’t last.”
Although Mezil appreciated the boost in confidence, he reminded Sans: “Please don’t lose sight of the mission.”
“Don’t worry, Thymer. I won’t throw away this golden opportunity.”
“Good.”
The Magus aimed his gun at the false Papyrus. “Knights of Berendin, are you ready?”
“…Yes…”
“On yer signal, M’lord! Let me at that cur!”
By that unanimous confirmation, Mezil fired the first shot, signalling the beginning of the battle.
In turn, a reinforced bone sword cut the airborne bullet clean in half. It was an obvious warning that the mimic’s clairvoyance and physical aptitude were entirely in sync with the genuine article.
Gaelic, ever the loyal knight, crouched on the ground and beckoned Sans Serif to climb on his back. With the bridge leading to the pillar under enemy control, the makeshift duo thought to split away from the group to circle around the outer wall of the chamber, aiming to get behind enemy lines.
The short guy being carried around by a fleet-footed helper twice his size was a nice and impromptu workaround for the immediate lack of teleportation. No matter what, it was imperative that the designated ‘hacker’ reach The Pawn.
“Godspeed, Sans Serif.”
Right then, the false Papyrus dashed down the bridge. Captain Undyne flew in to intercept. Foes found themselves locked in a furious battle of sword against spear, spear against sword. It was a close match every step of the way.
In the same voice and mannerisms as the real Papyrus, the clone began to speak: “UNDYNE, I USED TO TOLERATE YOUR NONSENSE AS YOUR JUNIOR. YOUR STUDENT. YOUR INFERIOR. YOU COVERED YOUR OWN INSECURITIES BY PROJECTING THEM TO ME. YOU THINK I’M A NAIVE FOOL. TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD.”
“W-what are you talking about?!”
“YOU HAD ALWAYS BEEN THE WEAKER ONE BETWEEN US. AND THAT’S OKAY! EVERYONE IS WRONG AT LEAST ONCE. THEREFORE… I’M HERE TO PROVE TO YOU THE TRUE EXTENT OF MY GREATNESS!!!! NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!!!!”
“NGAAAAAAH! The real Papyrus would NEVER talk like that!!!!”
She followed up with a flurry of strikes. The Amalgamate, however, was able to block, dodge, and deflect every single hit without much problem at all.
Meanwhile, the skeleton army marched forth in a pincer attack, splitting between left and right. The burden of the defence was placed on Sir Grillenn’s shoulders once more. Excalibur’s mithril gleam shimmered on its sharpened edges, empowered by the essence within.
He timed his killing blows to whenever the enemy activated their Seer’s Eyes. The fiery dispatch was both quick and graceful.
Mezil made doubly sure he didn’t stand too close whenever anything puffed into dust. “Any curses, Sir Grillenn?” He asked.
“…None…” The fire knight replied while igniting the dust and turning the remains of the enemy into fuel for his kind’s magic. “…So far, at least…”
As expected, our enemy has learned to adapt. He’s not letting us abuse a known weakness for an easy counterattack.
“WOWIE!!!” ‘Papyrus’ praised in a smugly casual manner, keeping Undyne at bay with ease. “GRILLBY, YOUR COMMAND OVER FIRE IS A SIGHT TO BEHOLD, AN ORCHESTRA PLAYING IN UNISON! BEAUTIFUL…. HOW VERY, VERY, VERY, BEAUTIFUL! WITH THAT KIND OF POWER, YOU COULD HAVE LAID WASTE TO EVERY HUMAN IN THE LAND.”
Annoyed, Captain Undyne yelled: “I’m your enemy, punk. FIGHT!!! ME!!!”
Instead, the mimic brushed her aside. “TELL ME, GRILLBY, WHY DID YOU HIDE YOUR REAL TALENT FOR KILLING? WHY DID YOU PRETEND TO BE A SUBPAR BARTENDER? YOUR SERVICE WAS LACKING, YOUR FOOD WAS ALWAYS TOO GREASY, AND YOUR DRINKS FAR TOO STANDARD. THEY DIDN’T HAVE A ‘FACE’, A BARTENDER’S SIGNATURE TOUCH. YOU OBVIOUSLY HAD NO PASSION! WHAT MADE YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND?”
Sir Grillenn remained silent, refusing to acknowledge the mimic’s very presence. He continued to raze the lesser units to maintain Mezil’s defence.
“AWW YOU’RE BORING. IT WAS THE SAME BACK IN SNOWDIN TOO. YOU ALMOST NEVER TALK TO ANYONE, HAVING THAT BUSYBODY RED BIRD BE YOUR INTERPRETER, REGARDLESS OF YOUR HEART’S PERSONAL WISHES. DON’T YOU HAVE ANY DETERMINATION OF YOUR OWN?”
The flame knight slashed his blade, but once again not towards the mimic. Instead, the wave of scorching heat travelled towards the Seer duo. It struck down a cluster of stalking slugs that crept too close for comfort.
From the distance, Sans Serif hollered back: “Thanks, Grillby!”
Those actions made it rather clear that no amount of mockery could shake Sir Grillenn’s focus. The knight’s vigilance provided Gaelic with ample opportunity to leap towards the bridge. From where they landed, right at the edge of the danger zone, Sans Serif took aim with the Seraph System Version 3 and fired its bladed chain at The Pawn itself.
The enemy continued to resist. White sludge covered up the symbol, made by the remaining reserves of his victims. It was too thick for the blade to pierce through.
Sans Serif aborted that attempt posthaste, reeling the chain back into his machine. He urged Gaelic to return to the safe zone before they were greeted by other unpleasant surprises. Then, paging Mezil through the mindlink, the assassin reported: “We have a problem. The goop is preventing me from getting a clean hit, and draining their DT will just turn them into stone. A stuck blade is the last thing I wanna deal with.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Mezil paged back, “What kind of assistance do you require?”
“Dunno yet. Needs more analysis.”
A loud crashing slam interrupted the conversation. In a split second, just when Sans’s attention was elsewhere, the false Papyrus had landed a blow that sent Captain Undyne flying sideways into the guardrails. Her limp body collapsed straight down into the dark pit, leaving behind bent metal beams at the point of impact.
The Captain of the Royal Guard had lost the duel.
Before this grim reality had even begun to sink in, the mimic turned towards Sans Serif and Gaelic, then leapt into the air to chase after them. It only took a moment for it to land right behind the unprepared duo.
Sans Serif warned, “Snakeface, we’ve got company!”
“GIVE UP, MY FRIENDS. THERE'S NOWHERE TO RUN!”
An Armament similar to Sans Serif’s own fare – dubbed ‘Gasterblasters’ by the Ebottians – emerged overhead, looming menacingly by the mimic’s side.
Sir Grillenn’s first response was to try to shut down the mimic’s Seer’s Eye. However, he shook his head and retracted his arm. “…The Pawn’s DT is disrupting my magic…”
A great plethora of lasers thus harassed Gaelic unhindered, flying right over his head and tearing into the walls and walkways.
Gaelic limited his movements to the farthest end of the room, opposite his lord, so that neither Sir Grillen nor Judge Thyme would get caught in the crossfire. The zones he moved about, however, were slowly and surely turning to unstable piles of rubble, both wall and floor. It was nothing short of a miracle of balance and agility that the two Seers hadn’t yet gone tumbling after Captain Undyne.
“WHO EVEN ARE YOU? A MANGY WILD DOG FROM THE BOONIES? I THOUGHT I’M MISTER MAGUS’ PROXY, NOT YOU! INDEED, HE APPROACHED THE GREAT PAPYRUS FOR HIS MIGHTY ASSISTANCE, NYEH HEH HEH! IF IT WEREN’T FOR ME, FRISK WOULD HAVE BEEN LONG BURIED. ON THE OTHER HAND, YOU’RE A BIG MASSIVE INCONVENIENCE THAT CAN’T EVEN PROTECT A WEE LITTLE BABY.”
Gaelic started to hiss, but Sans reminded: “Easy there, buddy. You’re doing great. The enemy wouldn’t be trashtalking ya if you’re messing up.”
“AH, AT LONG LAST, MY BROTHER STOPPED BEING A WASTEFUL SLOP! I ALWAYS KNEW YOU COULD BE GOOD! NYEH HEH HEH! LOOK AT YOU RIGHT NOW, POLISHED AND SHARP LIKE THE EDGE OF A KNIFE. WE WOULDN’T HAVE GOTTEN OURSELVES IN SUCH A TERRIBLE MESS IF YOU WERE THIS HARDWORKING FROM THE BEGINNING.”
“Bullshit mindgames from a pathetic lookalike? Talk about cheap tricks. Fuck off.”
“WOWIE, WHAT CRASS LANGUAGE. HAVE YOU EVER GIVEN ME PROPER RESPECT, BROTHER? YOU’VE ALWAYS TREATED ME LIKE BABYBONES, AND YOU STILL DO.”
From the corner of his eyes, Mezil noticed that Sir Grillenn had started to back up: an alarming sign. Squinting through the glare of the existing flames, he realised why; the skeleton army was forcing itself through the inferno without activating their Seer’s Eyes. As long as they did not deplete any of their internal Determination supply, they would remain invariably immortal. The Deathless Materia thus pressed ever onwards, ignoring scorching pains by the sheer compulsion of their master.
Though Mezil thought of shooting them and draining their Determination, Sir Grillenn halted his attempt.
“…Judge Thyme…” he said, “…Save your strength… Their numbers are too great, even for you…”
The situation is rapidly deteriorating.
The back half of the room is on the verge of collapse. Enemies on the left. Enemies on the right. Both sides closing in, unceasing yet on fire. With our forces split on either side of the inferno…
We could decide to either retreat back up the stairs, push forward down the bridge, or forfeit this timeline. All three options require us to regroup at my location.
Mezil clutched his brooch. Contained inside was a vast supply of his wife’s Aspects. When he tapped his sword cane on the ground, he channelled one of the many presets grafted onto his body by Lucidia. Her magic shot through his arm, through the hidden mithril blade and onto the floor. A large butterfly-shaped Arcanagram bloomed from the point of impact, primed for activation.
The Supreme Judge then ordered: “Everyone, retreat to my location!”
“Aye, aye!”
“Whatever you say, Thymer.”
“…Yes, sir…”
Sir Grillenn took a few steps back to stand within the field of effect. As for the Seers, Sans Serif threw caution to the wind and initiated an emergency teleport with Gaelic in tow.
“Gwah!” Gaelic shuddered, exclaiming, “What unpleasant jumpiness!”
Heaving away, Sans replied, “I’m normally used to that. Normally.”
So far, so good. With everyone within the range of Lucidia’s Arcanagram, Mezil activated its protective, sturdy shields: the combination of Green’s solidity, Blue’s reinforcement, and Purple’s binding.
But just when the first layer began forming… the enemy struck back.
“NYEH HEH HEH! YOU’RE ALL BLUE NOW!”
The false Papyrus enchanted all three monsters with the power of Blue to steal them away. Mezil was spared only by the virtue of the deflecting ability of his tattoos.
Sans, the lightest of the three, got dragged away the fastest. Gaelic caught him by the legs on instinct, but then was next to be taken.
Sir Grillenn, the heaviest courtesy of his armour, stabbed Excalibur into the ground on the first opportunity. He clung onto the hilt for his dear life, preventing himself from getting thrown around upon the mimic’s whims like the others.
Still, he found himself just outside of the safety of the Arcanagram. He tried to crawl back in, but despite his efforts he could not conquer the pull on his Psychia weighed down by Blue’s gravity.
The immortal army soon lunged on him. They wrapped their half-melting arms around his armoured body. In the wake of danger, Excalibur resonated. An aura of sacred light blasted forth, swatting the horde away. Then, while the ooze reeled from the force, crystalline rock formed around Sir Grillenn to protect him from further harm. Any second slower, and the swarm would have eaten him alive.
With pain in his heart, The Supreme Judge let the shield complete around him alone.
“Don’t worry about us, Thymer.” Sans transmitted. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Stay safe out there.” Mezil responded, Determined to fight.
Eyeball slugs swarmed every possible surface. Around then, the burning, half melting Amalgamate soldiers also started bashing against the shield, not caring one bit about any comrades they might squash with their attack.
The Handler began to speak once more: “Sans Serif, I’ve wondered how The Magi were able to sense that I’ve activated the earliest phase of The Celestial Calamity. The skies had yet to darken, and the two halves of the eclipse had yet to form.”
“Ain’t telling you shit, Pawny.”
“It was Papyrus, was it not? The one natively blessed with Futuresight. Even so, I doubt that naive fool could understand the meaning of his vision before it was too late. The Supreme Judge was dead at the time, therefore he must have consulted you. Then it begs another question: where did you learn to read the signs?”
“The Celestial Calamity is a unique spell created by ancient necromancers: a combination of their thorough knowledge on Psychia Magic and Demontology. The inner mechanisms are only revealed to a trusted few, the greatest secret of all secrets. Most Magi live their entire lives knowing it only as a dreaded name from the age of mythology.”
“Hmm… What does your Red show you? Its two closest cousins are Orange and Purple. If Orange governs the time scale, and Purple governs one’s experienced past, then Red should be the one to cross the boundaries.”
“I see. You’ve gained forbidden knowledge from the realms beyond.”
Sans Serif didn’t confirm or deny the speculations.
“NOW IT’S TIME FOR MY SPECIAL ATTACK!” so boasted the false Papyrus. “I’VE BEEN RESERVING THIS JUST FOR YOU, BROTHER! NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH--”
An unseen turn of events interrupted his laughter, followed by flusters of frustration. “WAIT, YOU CAN’T DO THAT! IT’S AGAINST THE RULES!!!”
Mezil heard an explosion and the groans of collapsing metal. He figured the bridge must have been destroyed in the blast.
“Sans Serif? Are you alright? Do you read me?”
There was no signal…
“Mezil Winston. I still do not understand your insistence on having this fight. Only death and destruction can come from such senseless violence in the name of justice. Have your petty ideals not done enough damage in your short life? At this rate, those chains will weigh you down toward the bottom of the ocean. Yet, I recall you were quite eager to pass the crown to the next generation. Why not do so?”
Mezil scoffed at the enemy’s mockery. “And let you exploit their inexperience? Now that is an utterly nonsensical proposal.”
“They will remain inexperienced as long as you refuse to let go of the reins. Deep down, you’ve become addicted to the power of Humanity’s Ultimate Weapon. Forever tied to The Keys of Fate. No matter how much you’ve piled up in terms of age and battle scars, becoming a pencil pusher would never, ever satisfy you. You love the thrill. The excitement. The control. The high of victory. And thus you’ll only be able to find rest within oblivion’s embrace.”
“The same could be said of you, pawn.”
“That settles it then. Poor, poor, pitiful Lucidia. Her dreams of a peaceful retired life with a loving, healthy husband shall never come true.”
Tense moments passed. The mass of eyes continued to besiege the Supreme Judge, muttering their jeers and curses.
“Your sudden silence speaks volumes, Mezil Winston.”
A bead of sweat trickled down his face. Within the shield, the external heat and the internal pressure had risen to uncomfortable levels.
What should I do? I can’t tell what’s going on outside. I don’t know who’s dead or alive either.
…Have I made a mistake somewhere? Should I have taken a different approach? Between Fight and Mercy, was there really any other option?
The cornered Magus reached for his phone. One call to Lucas was what he needed to rewind time.
“Sans Serif? Do you read me?”
Still no signal.
“…If you’re still alive, I’m afraid to inform you that this attempt is a lost cause. We’ll need to come up with a new strategy. I’m preparing to rewind--”
A sudden burst of tempest winds rattled against his shields, interrupting his thoughts. The force was so strong, it blew the slugs away from the smooth surface.
The source of this phenomenon… was none other than Captain Undyne herself. She floated above the abyss with her hair undone, tossed around in Aegis’ might.
Her mithril weapon glowed bright red. The spearhead took on the elaborate pattern of her unique Determination-based magic: the Mark destroyer.
“NGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!!”
She zipped around the outer ring, slicing through the ooze. Anywhere her spear touched, slugs hardened into brittle stone. If she could destroy Marks, it wouldn’t surprise Mezil that she could disrupt an Amalgamate’s Determination supply and strip them of their liquid immortality.
As she continued her rampage, Sir Grillenn’s existing fire rode with the winds, burning the solidified Amalgamates into nothingness. The intensity of the flames died down when they were bereft of their fuel.
When the whirlwind died down, the shadow of a gauntleted hand pressed against his shield, feeding it magic. It was from Sir Grillenn: released from his confinement thanks to the Captain’s whirlwind.
Sighing in relief, Mezil said, “I’m glad you’re alive.”
“…Likewise, my lord…” Sir Grillenn replied. “…I think… The sword protected me…”
“Indeed, it did.”
Cautious, the elemental scanned his vicinity. “…Sir Gaelic and Sans… they’re missing… The mimic isn’t here either… Stay inside… The situation is uncertain…”
While Sir Grillenn kept watch, his shadow shifted into the image of Lord Hua for just a moment, as though reassuring Mezil of his discreet protection.
Lord Hua, thank you for your aid.
Now, where in the blasted realms did Sans Serif go?
Mezil tried connecting to the short Seer a few more times. All attempts failed.
Then… in the most absurd of twists, a floating grey door appeared in the air. Gaelic slammed through the entrance with Sans Serif still mounted on his back. The duo landed on the edge of the broken bridge.
Following right behind was the dreaded false Papyrus. Frustrated, the mimic yelled like the genuine article would. “STOP WITH YOUR SILLY VOID HOPPING NONSENSE! WE’RE SUPPOSED TO HAVE A DUEL TO THE DEATH, TESTING OUR METTLE AS BROTHERS!”
Sans Serif shrugged. “No means no, Fakepyrus.”
“HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU??? MY NAME IS NOT FAKEPYRUS! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS, NYEH HEH HEH!”
“Jeez, I hate dealing with delusional programs.”
Mezil was prepared for anything, but he definitely was not ready to see that. “What in the…?”
The moment Captain Undyne spotted the impostor, she jetted straight towards him. His bone sword only narrowly intercepted her spear, its tip almost touching his skull.
With an unearthly growl in her hoarse voice, she taunted: “I live, sucker. Fight! ME!!!”
Propelled by Aegis, Captain Undyne slammed the ‘Papyrus’ into the outer walls, returning the favour.
“DO YOU WANT A VACATION SO BADLY? WELL THEN, I -- THE GREAT PAPYRUS -- SHALL GIVE YOU A PERMANENT ONE! NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEEEEEEH!!!”
And so began Round 2 of Captain Undyne’s vendetta. It gave Sans and Mezil precious time to update each other on recent happenings.
The mental link finally had a response. “Sorry for the radio silence, Thymer. Hope I didn’t make you worry too much.
“Not at all. Glad to have you back.”
“So anyway, I forced the fake into a wild goose chase outside of reception. Long story short, if you can get Claimed, we’re in The Void, and that means I can do some small-scale funky FUN shifting bullshit with the Seraph System.”
“Where did you run off to?”
“The Handler’s Hub. That’s the Dreamworld where he stashed all his victims. It’s a literal hellscape in there. Tons and tons of skeletons jailed inside. Some in cages. Some in cells. Others, well, I’d rather not elaborate. It’s a prison lab facility. Completely disorientating place too. Directionality, everywhere and anywhere, upside down and twisted inside out. If Snakeface wasn’t acting as my ride, I would’ve been toast on a pitchfork.”
“But that’s not all.” Changing to a more grim tone, Sans reported: “I also found the real Doctor Weiss imprisoned within. It’s a 100% match, down to his PUN and other assorted identifying metrics.”
Mezil asked: “Are you serious? He’s not the mastermind managing the facility from a control room?”
“Ten billion percent serious. Like I said, he is a prisoner, locked up just like everyone else. The Pawn Mark and The Hub itself are the Handler’s real form. You had no idea how accurate you were with the whole Artificial Intelligence angle.”
“Ironic. The monster who imprisoned other monsters has become the prisoner himself.”
Light began to shine from the abyssal depths, and the density of mana thickened in the air. The Core had started to resaturate from the buildup of energy within the geothermal systems below. Another batch of eyeball slugs were born from the walls of the pillar, falling and dripping down to the platforms surrounding it.
Sans transmitted, “See the new arrivals? Pawny here is spawning an infinite number of them using the essences of the victims he’s accumulated. Then, switching out their original minds, he takes over their bodies by overriding their Personal Universe Number with his own, returning them to The Hub. That’s why the Amalgamates we encountered all had the same number. In theory, cutting off access to his demonic storage box should stop them from respawning.”
Mezil asked: “Are you able to do so?”
“Technically yes, but it’s gonna be a pain in the ass trying to get through that impenetrable defensive layer of sluggy sacrifices without face tanking a HVM. I’m no Frisk, after all.”
“Frisk? Interesting that you should mention their name. That child’s highest manifestation of their Mark – this ‘Hopes and Dreams’ – I heard from them how it broke The Handler’s influence. It was temporary. But, temporary may be all we need.”
“Really now? That sounds brilliant. Could I have that delivered down here, free of charge?”
“On the house. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”
Mezil called Lucas immediately. “Crimson Keeper Fennel, connect me to Crimson Keeper Wanderstar. Add them to the current conversation.”
“Yes, sir. Connecting.”
A second later, Frisk picked up. “Tsunderjudge? What the heck is going on?! The electricity is going crazy!”
“I’m in the middle of a heated battle down in The Core. In addition, I’ve been Claimed by The Handler.”
“WHAT?!?! That stupid fucking doodoobutt! I-- ARGH!!!” Adult expletives were a clear sign that Frisk had lost their temper. What followed after was a small, frustrated whimper. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t want you to kill anyone. Not even that asshat.”
“Frisk,” said Mezil, “Remember what we’ve discussed in The Hub. You may have the Keys of Fate, but I won’t allow you to be elected as The Supreme Judge until you come of age. No matter the outcome, this burden is not yours to carry. It’s mine.”
“NO!!! I already told you: the bad guy needs to face real justice in the COURT! OF! LAW! I don’t want SANS to become a murderer! I don’t want YOU to become a murderer either! Are you trying to prove Chara right, that this world is ‘Kill or Be Killed’???”
“Your request for justice is being fulfilled at this very moment.”
“…Huh?”
“A Claim of Conquest was utilised. It can only be applied in The Void. Ergo, I am currently conducting The Trial of the Crimson Hall, with The Handler as the Red under evaluation. You know first hand that this procedure is legal, recognised, and honoured in these lands.”
“But what about the Jury? What about the Grandmaster?”
“Your friends in the battlefield can be counted as the Jury. If that’s not sufficient, we have Keeper Fennel and the crew. Also, I arranged for The Grandmaster to watch over these proceedings with the aid of a Chronographer.”
“…Do you already have a sentence?”
“I do,” said Mezil. “I’m sorry it cannot be ‘Live and Let Live’. Based on irrefutable evidence of impersonation, past and present history of heretical experimentation, crimes against man and monster, utilisation of HVMs, the casting of the Celestial Calamity in at least one timeline, and his own unrepentant heart, I am forced to declare this man guilty as a Category 3: Fallen. It’s a death sentence with their True Name erased.”
“However,” he continued, “The convict is putting up a severe resistance. Prolonging this battle will lead to irreversible fatalities. Please lend me your power, Crimson Keeper Wanderstar. I need your help.”
“…………………” Without doubt, the idealistic child struggled to swallow this bitter pill.
“Once again… No matter the outcome, this burden is not yours to carry. I’ll be the one who makes the final call as The Supreme Judge.”
“…Okay. I’ll help. What do I need to do?”
“Go to the Arcanagram in the middle of the town square and wait there. Cast your prismatic Mark into the Gram -- the magic you call ‘Hopes and Dreams’ -- when I give the signal. Anything else you wish to ask?”
“Nothing. Just… Don’t die. Come back safe and sound. Your waifu would be sad otherwise.”
Even now, in such a crisis of conscience, Frisk mustered concern for him. “I don’t intend to die. But, thank you. Remain on call.”
Addressing Lucas, he said: “Coordinator. Contact Doctor Alphys and see if you can get her to arrange a direct electrical connection between the Town Hall and The Core. Report back when ready.”
“Right on it, sir.”
The cogs and wheels of his gambit had started to turn. What was left was to take care of the mimic. As long as the elite creation continued to exist, the operation could fail at a moment’s notice.
By now, Lucidia’s brooch had exhausted her power. The shield powered down, leaving Mezil open to anything that may come his way.
“Sir Grillenn,” said Mezil, “I have an idea, but it might leave me vulnerable. Are you prepared?”
“…I’ll do my best… Orders, please…”
Pointing the top of his sword cane towards the false Papyrus, he declared: “Set that false idol ablaze!”
Bubbling over with righteous indignation, the wielder of Excalibur marched forward towards the false Papyrus. Just as commanded, the mimic was set on fire. It refused to cease as long as the caster wills it.
“OWIEEEE!!! IT HURTS! IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS!”
Though tormented by the inferno, the master’s will demanded him to continue fighting.
Your choice, Amalgamate. Use the Seer’s Eye and perish by fire. Or maintain immortality to be hounded by a death-bringing spear. Both are fatal, dead end options.
In the end, the red spear pierced through the false Papyrus’ chest. As the impostor turned into fragile stone, he uttered one last word with a smile: “I… I’M SO PROUD OF YOU, UNDYNE.”
And so the strongest Amalgamate crumbled.
You’ve done well, Captain. You too, Sir Grillenn.
“Watch out, Thymer.” Sans Serif summoned exactly one blaster to laser a surprise cluster of bone shards. The lesser troops had moved in close enough to try to snipe Mezil while he was distracted.
In turn, both fish and fire shifted their attention towards the lesser troops for a mop-up operation. Having dealt with the elite mimic, the remaining small fry should be no issue for them.
Amused, The Pawn began to speak.
“Curious. How curious.” he said “The lone wolf is using teamwork. Connections. Trust. How unbecoming of you, Mezil Winston.”
“Remind me. Was it not you who shouldered the world's condemnation after your predecessor received all the praise? As I understand, James Aran Pashowar’s true legacy was not simply introducing magic to the public. No. It was the dream of widespread acceptance of magic as a science, a craft, an art, and a fact of life.”
“He did so by befriending anyone and everyone. Riches. Status. Colour. Philosophy. Age. Location. Background. It mattered not. Everyone fondly remembered Judge Pashowar as an absolute joy to be around. And so, he was able to stretch Magi influence from the Far West to the Far East.”
“Meanwhile, what did you do? You let his efforts crumble overnight. Your uncompromising character caused many doors to close, and the Magus Association to shrink. The cutting-edge was made secret, even heretical. And with that, you regressed and repressed progress for decades to come.”
“Could it be that you’ve simply been misunderstood, Mezil Winston? If you're willing to partner with these murderous, war-mongering Ebottians – the scorn of humanity and Lemuria alike – surely there must be a place in your Association for another magical outcast such as them? Let’s make it a secret between us.”
“I repeat: we don’t need to keep fighting. Extend mercy’s gesture to me, and I’ll do the same to you. A peaceful resolution is an ideal one, wouldn’t you say? My final offer to you is this: the disclosure of your hidden enemies to protect your newfound allies and defeat The Abomination. Refuse and the Celestial Calamity shall lay waste to this country.”
The Supreme Judge aimed his gun square at The Pawn. “Hmph. Do you still not understand? I will never compromise with the corrupt. A poisoned deal is still poisoned, no matter how sweet or lucrative it may be.”
“I see… Such an utter disappointment. In the end, the leopard cannot change its spots, and the tiger cannot change its stripes. So be it.”
“Every decision is poisoned by consequences: Ebott’s finest assassin understood this concept through and through. ‘Karma’, was it not?”
“We, The Fallen, curse our very existence!”
“We curse, we condemn, we spite!”
“And therefore, we dare to dream!”
“Devour, Crimson Sun! Shine, Bloodstained Moon! Become as one! Under your matrimonious eclipse, grant transcendence for the weak!”
“The Celestial Calamity shall deliver evolution denied.”
An unnatural darkness descended upon the chamber. Whatever lights it once had was blotted out by the cursed shadows.
The Crimson Sun and The Bloodstained Moon hovered overhead, progressing into their union of an eclipse. Upon completion, untold nightmares of imagination would manifest unrestrained.
And so, it begins. The Keys are now in flux.
Whatever needed to be said was already said. Aborting this mission will only give the enemy advantage and drown the town in chaos.
I must proceed. We must proceed.
Anxiety ticked together with each passing second. Even with all the confidence he had in the excellence of others, there was always that haunting chance of failure.
“All of this could have been avoided, Mezil Winston… if only you would’ve allowed yourself to be more merciful.”
Lucas informed, “Doctor Alphys completed her task, sir.”
Frisk too joined in. “I’m ready too, Tsunderjudge!”
Then from Mezil to Sans, he paged: “Sans Serif, move into position, ASAP.
Hearing that, the short skeleton tapped Gaelic’s shoulder. “Let’s go, buddy.”
Gaelic dashed at top speeds towards the broken bridge, running past Captain Undyne and Sir Grillenn. He cleared the gap with one great leap, landing right at the edge of the inner platform: the last known safe zone.
Sans Serif aimed the Seraph System towards The Pawn.
“Is this the culmination of your plans, Sans Serif? A pathetic repeat attempt. I expected better. You lack the Determination to erase my existence. That is, if you can even get past my defences.”
New Amalgamate substance covered The Pawn, protecting itself from harm.
Mezil yelled: “Frisk, do it, now!”
At the peak of The Pawn’s hubris… a brilliant prismatic star shot down from the yonder above. The sheer amount of Determination disrupted The Pawn’s control over the Amalgamates. Whatever protective layer turned into feral slugs lost in their own confused instincts, thereby sloughing off the surface.
The Pawn finally exposed and helpless, the assassin fired his Seraph System. The chained blade struck true into its target.
“…A-AAAAAAAARGH!!!”
The hacking was successful in under a minute. Mezil felt the Claim on his Psychia shatter. Along with it, any remaining slugs dissolved into dust. The full potential of his power started to return.
Bereft of fuel, the casting of the Celestial Calamity ceased to be. The shadows lifted, and the baneful symbols in the dark sky faded.
“…How?!”
“I see. You’ve transmitted that child’s Mark’s through the electricity lines. That’s why you issued such specific orders.”
“Magnificent, Mezil Winston and Sans Serif. You two are such blatant filthy cheaters. I approve!”
The crimson glow of his Ascension enveloped Mezil, fuelled by his life’s oath.
His Mark, the butterfly, spread its wings, absorbing every speck of monster dust left behind from The Handler’s dead army.
Even so… It wasn’t enough. There was one more cluster of victims who thirsted for justice: the people from Malaya’s original village. They once were the Philosopher’s Stone that powered her unnatural gigantic form. Now, they were one with his very own magic.
However faint, he could feel their imaginary hands touch the sides of his face.
…Lost villagers, are you able to hear me?
Allow me to apologise for imprisoning you. I wanted your vitality to assist me for the Ocean Battle.
However… after learning of your circumstances, and facing off against your cruel master, I’ve realised that it’s wrong to keep you around any longer. You shall get your rest and retribution today.
Please don’t worry about your youngest. She’s in good care. She even has a name: Malaya. I will make sure to give her the opportunity you were denied… which is the ability to choose her future.
Now, be free.
Mezil funnelled every last drop of the Stone’s vitality into his weapon of choice. He then said: “Every victim you’ve tormented… every soul you’ve claimed… seeks to deliver righteous judgement.”
“Are you going to disappoint that child?” The Pawn asked for good measure.
“…Call it an ‘Eye for an Eye’, Pawn: the consequences of your persistent pursuit of power. Alas, you shall forever remain weak, oblivious to your own shortcomings. That too, is ‘Karma’.”
Determination bolstered The Supreme Judge’s voice, filling it with authority: “Fallen, may your True Name be blotted out and your existence forever erased. Be sent to The Almighty in the Spirit Realm to face your sins.”
“I -- Humanity’s Ultimate Weapon – impose this verdict upon you! Guilty as charged!”
And so… Mezil pulled the trigger. Upon impact of the magic-charged bullet, The Pawn cracked. It trembled from its death throes, still clinging to the fading remnants of life, refusing to die.
“By the King’s Decree…” The DEMON’s voice started to falter. Tiny, frail, meek, and insignificant, it ushered its final whimpering command: “P-perish… at… T-the End………”
A few moments later… it shattered into fine shards. The mastermind of this current crisis was no more.
Fatigue weighed down on Mezil’s shoulders. It would take a while for his body to get used to the sudden loss of the Philosopher’s Stone’s vitality. Knowing he would soon revert to his original age, he covered his contorting face with his sleeves.
“Hey,” said Sans Serif. “Your hair turned back to white.”
Those statements indicated that it was safe to reveal himself again. Lowering his arm, Mezil said, “Of course. I’ve spent everything. Have you confirmed our enemy’s demise?”
“Yup. Terminated. Deleted. Nonexistent. Y’know, I almost forgot you had brown eyes and not red.”
Gaelic agreed to the assessment. “The hunt be done, M’lord. As we had sworn to each other.” The man soon started to cry a bit. “…Me daughters can find peace at last. Thank ye… Thank ye deeply…”
Both Captain Undyne and Sir Grillenn consoled Gaelic with a silent pat on the back. They both had seen glimpses of his suffering under the enemy’s thumb.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Mezil steadied himself with the cane and straightened his back. “Mission accomplished, everyone. Good work. Let’s head back to town.”
Many other chapters remained open, but at least the horrors left over from Doctor Weiss’ heretical experiments had come to a close. The Supreme Judge could sleep well on that fact.