Gaster’s final conclusion was a stroke of brilliant madness.
A perfect plan, except played with people’s lives.
Papyrus commented with a suspicious squint. “UNCLE GASTER HAS GONE NUTTIER THAN A BAG OF MIXED NUTS. IN A BAD WAY.”
Mezil then explained, “This is why in our protocol, every Chronographer must have ‘Integrity’ as part of their traits. Otherwise the dark side of the future will drive them insane.”
“But, as I understood… the number of Seers in the Underground dwindled to just three. And you weren’t trained for the job. Even if they knew the dangers, they had limited choices. Doctor Gaster was the better candidate.”
‘Limited’, ‘trapped’. Those definitions defined the Underground.
No, it defined anyone stuck in their circumstance. It didn’t matter if they lived ‘above’ or ‘below’, human or monster, young or elderly.
“EVEN IF THIS DOESN’T SAVE FRISK, I UNDERSTAND MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY BETTER. …AND I UNDERSTAND MYSELF BETTER TOO.”
Papyrus reached his arms out towards the annals of space and time.
“WE SHOULD MOVE FORWARD.”
He called out toward the fireflies.
They answered him.
Broken fragments of the past gathered around. They buzzed, and crackled as they attempted to fuse their tattered edges together into one.
A flash of light. When it faded, the two travellers found themselves standing in a large room unlike any other. Blue flooring with blue walls, red lights, and pits of white anywhere without a path.
“Where are we?” Mezil asked.
“THE CORE,” Papyrus answered. “IT’S OUR ELECTRIC GENERATOR IN THE LAVA-FILLED HOTLAND. BUT, THIS ROOM LOOKS KINDA OMINOUS.”
A long bridge connected the entrance to the central platform. It surrounded a support pillar that stretched from the ceiling to the depths below. Judging from Gaster’s plan, this device served to focus The Core’s energy toward the epicenter.
Papyrus needed a moment to let the grandeur sink in. “I DIDN’T THINK WE HAD THE SPACE FOR SOMETHING SO HUGE.”
“Circular chamber,” Mezil looked around, “Enclosed. Flat flooring. A power source. Come, follow me. There’s something I need to confirm.”
They walked down the long, long bridge.
Mezil stopped at the edge of the platform. He held his breath, mortified by the sight. “Look down.”
Right at their feet was a massive Arcanagram.
Forty-nine points, seven sub-circles made up of seven more stars, all connected to a central source of power.
“WHAT ABOUT THIS OVERSIZED COMPLICATED DRAWING?” Asked Papyrus.
“This is a ‘Soul Stealer’: the most forbidden of all Arcanagrams. I had the unfortunate opportunity to witness this firsthand during my career. The effects are one-way.”
Papyrus covered his mouth. His Eye flipped between orange and ultramarine as he struggled to keep his composure. The beloved uncle who taught him so much had once fallen so far.
No wonder Sans warned him that Gaster was a bad man. It’s sickening just to think about it.
Mezil crouched down to inspect the Arcanagram. He traced the lines in deep thought.
“Strange…” he muttered, “I’m seeing wasted strokes. This tiny mark in between the corners, for example. They don’t connect.”
The question served as a good distraction. The magic calmed down and stopped flashing. “HUH? WOULDN’T UNCLE GASTER NOTICE THEM?”
“Only if he does a thorough check on the gram itself. But, I have a feeling that he’s too preoccupied with the big picture to notice the small imperfections.”
They heard the grind of a heavy, metal door sliding open. Gaster led the way, while Sans pushed a trolley with blue magic. It’s loaded with none other than the Chronograph itself.
“Is the Arcanagram ready?” Asked Gaster.
“Yup,” Sans answered. Reluctance resonated in his every word.
“Oh, come on. Soon you’ll be reunited with both your parents and Papyrus. A whole family once more.”
“And merged with one million other people. Right.”
Gaster shot an exasperated glare at Sans before moving on. “You will understand the joys soon enough.”
“Whatever you say. Kinda wish that the gang was here to push this trolley,” Sans mentioned. “It’s heavy. I’m struggling to keep it straight.”
“Use your actual hands, lazybones. You know I can’t have anyone getting cold feet at the last moment. As long they stay home, we’ll complete our task uninterrupted.”
It will take a while to fix the Chronograph to the power source. In the meantime, Mezil continued investigating the environment.
The man tapped his cane on the floor with a loud thud, then reached it over the edge of the platform. The whiteness singed its tip.
It’s not mere illusion; true materialization happened.
“Papyrus,” he said, “We may not be here, but the pitfalls are now real. The Core functions on more than mere geothermal energy. …Such a strong temporal anomaly, it’s bleeding into The Void. If we fall, there’s a high chance we will die for good.”
No response. Papyrus’ attention was locked on his family instead.
“…UNCLE GASTER TRUSTS SANS A LOT.”
All those time loops had turned the once-oblivious youngster into a perceptive person.
“You’re right,” the principal confirmed. “They have a lackluster relationship, but they do have teamwork. The complexity of this setup is no trifling matter.”
“WHAT’S YOUR FAMILY LIKE, MISTER MAGUS?” Papyrus asked.
The thought alone was enough to make Mezil groan. “‘Was’ should be the term. My parents were distant and my siblings dysfunctional. I no longer keep contact with them.”
“WHY? THAT’S SO SAD.”
“My parents passed from old age. Can’t maintain communication with the dead, after all. As for my siblings, hmph. My sister ended up as a drug addict. I don’t know if she’s still alive after all these years. My brother, a habitual gambler. Both saw me as nothing but a pot of money.”
Papyrus couldn’t imagine what it’s like to have a family just by name. To him, his brother was everything. They only had each other, and it’s doubtful that they could live without one another.
“MISTER MAGUS! WHEN EVERYTHING’S SETTLED DOWN, I’M INVITING YOU TO A DELICIOUS DINNER. THEN WE’LL DO MANY OTHER FUN THINGS! NYEH HEH HEH!”
Mezil responded with a warm smirk. “Let me know in advance.”
The small chatter had to end sooner or later. The two scientists fixed the last piece of Chronograph into the central pillar.
Gaster held the repaired visor in his hands. He took a deep breath and said, “You know what to do, Sans.”
“…Yeah.”
Mentor delved into the dark.
Protégé manned the console.
Magic coursed through the Gram, lighting the lines up layer by layer. They resonated with power.
Papyrus conjured an extra screen to peer into his uncle’s visions. As expected, there was darkness. Nothingness. An end of ends.
“Increase output to 35%,” Gaster instructed.
Sans continued to work in silence…
A minute passed.
“Increase output to 50%”
Still nothing.
“65%”
Nothing.
“80%”
Then, a speck of gold shimmered in the image of The Void.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“I see a change, Sans!” Gaster exclaimed. Then he started giving instructions to calibrate the pathways.
“OH!” Papyrus tapped the human’s shoulder, brimming with excitement. “MISTER MAGUS! LOOK, LOOK! A GOLDEN STAR APPEARED!”
Mezil instead said, “Papyrus, your brother.”
The attention turned to Sans. His short, bony fingers typed so fast, his hand was a blur.
“Look, his left Eye isn’t glowing blue. Calm. Collected. Remember how I mentioned that your brother is a living computer?” Said Mezil. “This is him in his prime, when he had yet to rust from wasted years, calculating the necessary calibrations far ahead of your mentor.”
Once Sans made the adjustments, he stepped back from the console…
Turned around…
…And teleported straight towards the entrance of the chamber.
He flipped a wall panel around to reveal the Core’s control console. On the screen, it showed the layout of the chamber.
Sans erased the bridge.
The moment he did so, the physical version disconnected into pieces and shifted away.
“W-what?!” Mezil exclaimed.
“OH YES! UNDYNE TOLD ME THAT THE PARTS OF THE CORE ARE SWAPPABLE. UNCLE GASTER IS SO SMART, HE MADE SURE EVERYTHING CAN BE ADJUSTED ANYTIME!”
One moment later, Papyrus realised the twist to their predicament. His eyes bugged out as he screamed: “OH MY GOD, UNCLE GASTER GOT TRAPPED BY HIS OWN GENIUS!!!”
“…Indeed.” Mezil sensed danger looming on the horizon. He called out for the youngster and beckoned him to return. “Papyrus, hurry to me! We have to stay close to your brother!”
“BUT, UNCLE GASTER…”
“No buts.”
Sans was the sole survivor of the incident. Wherever he goes, they must follow.
The two hurried down a temporary magic-made path. Then, from safety, they continued to observe the unfolding imminent catastrophe.
Gaster’s left hand kept tugging at his own collar. Roman realised that something went wrong and had tried to warn his friend…
Except the Seer was too absorbed in the timestreams to notice.
The golden star in Gaster’s vision grew brighter and brighter.
It shone straight down from the Surface, dropping straight into the Underground.
“I-it’s beautiful…” His voice quivered. “Like an angel.”
It landed on a bed of flowers as bright their light.
In time, the shard of heaven met with monsterkind. Together, they shattered the Barrier.
“Wait. This is… The prophecy, it’s true!”
Thus the Underground went empty.
Salvation.
Moments of stunned silence passed. Tears of joy streamed down.
Then Gaster yelled with utmost ecstasy. “Sans! It’s happening! The future’s changing!”
Then came Helvetica’s signature slap.
It struck him so hard, he staggered from the blow.
“What in the blue blazes are you doing, Sans?! How can you hit your-- wait. Helvetica? Roman? You two could move? You’ve never moved before.”
The hands yanked the visor off his head and forced Gaster back into reality.
When he turned around, he realised the chamber had begun to shuffle underneath under his feet.
The massive Arcanagram soon became a disconnected, scattered puzzle.
Bits and pieces of the central platform exchanged with select pieces of the wall. Even after that, they continued to shift.
Overpowered by distance and by noise, the mentor began talking in hands. Papyrus quickly conjured a translation box for Mezil. He knew the next exchange will be the most important scene in this long, long vision.
The elder scientist signed The Code together with his friends, the skeleparents. [Sans?]
Sans signed back without a flinch, [You know, Gaster. If you want to see the Surface so much, I’ll send you there. Alone.]
The left Eye emitted a blue glow.
Controlled.
Focused.
It’s so still that it’s eerie even by skeleton standards.
He slammed his fist down on the console. The tiles that replaced the central platform flipped over. It revealed a large octogram, with symbols of the Seer’s secret language filling in the gaps between the giant eight-point star.
[W-what… what’s this? It’s just a basic Gram.]
Sans signed back, [Yeah. But apparently I’m ‘special’.]
The protégé summoned yellow femurs and sent them flying towards the platform. Each one pierced a point on the star, then locked themselves in position like a key.
The whole Arcanagram began to glow cyan. It started to draw power from the Core.
Gaster noticed that the ‘key-bones’ had writings on them. He used his own powers to zoom in for a better read. [Coordinates? Syntaxes? Clauses? Wormhole teleportation…?! I thought that’s mere fictional dribble!]
[Sorry,] Sans replied. [It’s real. You’re looking at my 100% original thesis. The Chronograph behind you? Welp, that’s just the backup plan.]
Sans offered his mentor no means of escape. He pushed another button.
The readjusted walls also flipped around, exposing charged pentagrams with numbers in the center. Each one of them were once part of the original Soul Stealer, shifted and modified into a new form.
The ‘wasted’ lines now connected whole.
The grams resonated with other and conjured up a net of purple. It surrounded the full circumference of the island.
Gaster tested the threads with one of his own magic bones. They disintegrated upon touch.
Mezil was outright impressed. Awed. Disturbed. Anxious of their ever-worsening predicament. “Sans had rigged the entire room ahead of time. He exploited the architecture, the trust, and even the Soul Stealer itself. His sheer resourcefulness makes my hair stand.”
[Why are you doing this?] The scientist’s asked.
The blue skeleton replied: [I want my little brother to be his happy self. Forever. I will do anything to protect him. His body, his mind, his heart. Everything. Even if it means damning my own future.]
Today, Papyrus witnessed the depths of his brother’s love. Orange streams of tears flowed down his face.
The younger brother tried to hug the image of his brother. Again, it was useless.
“I HAD NO IDEA…” he whimpered. “I’M SO SORRY SANS. I SHOULDN’T HAVE CALLED YOU LAZY. OR GOTTEN ANNOYED AT YOUR PUNS. OR, OR, OR. I SHOULD HAVE TREATED YOU TONS BETTER…!”
The cyan light intensified.
Sans shrugged. [Anytime now, you’re gonna have a fun time. Maybe you’ll end up somewhere on the Surface. Maybe you’ll just get lost in the Barrier. Whatever. I don’t care.]
[As long Papyrus is safe from you.]
Then.
The support pillar snapped in half. Wild energy coursed unabated. The central platform began to crack from the sheer overload of force.
Reality teared at its seams. The ground quaked and the air rippled.
“Uh, okay. That’s not supposed to happen.” A shocked Sans muttered to himself, sweatdrop and all. “Gaster should get flushed out into the yonder by a vortex. End of story.”
The genius’ attention locked straight at the Chronograph. “Great. Feedback loop. Always a feedback loop. Oh well.”
Instead of panicking, Sans… calmed down.
No.
He cut off all and any conscience that defined monsterkind.
Sans was filled with so much hatred, resentment, disgust, and anger, he became like the fabled enemy of his people: ‘Human’, a race defined by their desire for blood.
Under his permission, he let the situation spiral out of control. Pieces of the platform started collapsing into The Core below… reality itself began to rip and tear, while the Arcanagram continued charging without cease.
Gaster eventually had his back against the Chronograph. And even then, the foundations beneath his being had started to crumble.
“SANS SERIF!” He yelled, “Are you really going to abandon us? Your parents?!”
In the language of hands, Sans gave his final judgement:
[W. D. Gaster. You’re an abomination. A desecration of their memory. My parents are dead. Nothing more. Nothing less.]
[Please die.]
As the final piece of the floor crumbled away, the mentor lost his footing. He screamed the traitor’s name as he fell straight into the white death below.
The pain of being undone echoed. Papyrus watched them rip apart from inside out, scattered across existence.
“NO…! NO NO NO! UNCLE GASTER! MOM! DAD!”
He lunged forward. The youngster didn’t care about the possible dangers. All he wanted to do was to save his family from their wretched fate.
To his fortune, he had a guide this round. Mezil’s reinforced arm caught his hand and dragged him back. A mere second slower and the youngster would have tossed himself over the edge.
In panic, Papyrus dug his boots into the ground and attempted to force himself free. “UNHAND ME! I MUST SAVE THEM!”
“Papyrus, stop!!!” Mezil yelled close to his skull, “It's just a vision. Your uncle and your parents are alive!”
The skeleton quit struggling.
When Mezil knew that he had caught his attention, he softened his tone.
“They survived the incident, remember?” He said, “They’re fine in the present. Your parents and your uncle are waiting for you back in the Hub. If you throw yourself down there now, you’ll die. And the future along with you.”
“Remember. You’re looking at the immutable past. And only the past.”
The words of wisdom brought Papyrus back to his senses. He stepped back from the edge.
“SORRY,” he apologized.
Mezil then said: “Newbie mistake. Happens to the best of us.”
The large Arcanagram swirled into a multicolored vortex of cyan, yellow and purple. It fired out unstable cracks of lightning and further intensified the quake. They were all signs of an imminent violent meltdown.
Sans teleported past the door. He stopped at the console and keyed in the commands to close the security shutters.
Papyrus recognized the urgency. Spacetime around them continued to rip. Whiteness filled the room. It didn’t matter if they’re in the past, present, future, or The Void: anyone in this chamber will ‘vanish’ into darkness if they stay.
The orange one scooped the human off the ground. He dashed towards the gap, but by then his brother had already teleported to each subsequent console.
There’s no time.
“HOLD ON TIGHT! WE’RE GOING TO FALL!”
“Fall where?!” Yelped Mezil.
Papyrus turned his SOUL blue.
Angled it sideways.
“DON'T WORRY. I HAVE EXPERIENCE.”
And gravity shifted head-first into the narrowing windows of escape.
They zipped past the first door.
The second.
Third.
And the fourth final line against the impending disaster.
It was just in time to escape from a blinding explosion. The tremors rippled through The Void, flinging all the fireflies of memories in all directions.
Mezil and Papyrus continued to fall. New visions of the aftermath built around them.
Mount Ebott. On that fateful day, the Core Incident caused a collapse on the south slopes.
Silhouettes of humans weaved amongst the boulders, all meeting certain doom.
Mezil clenched his teeth as he remembered the helplessness. “Frisk’s parents were once my students. I couldn’t save them… no matter how hard I tried.”
“WHY NOT?” Asked Papyrus, saddened by the prospect. He thought the ‘Ultimate Weapon’ could do anything.
“They’re isolated. Power is useless if it can’t reach their recipients.”
The vision dissipated. Now they’re falling alongside the fragment of the heavens.
The angel of prophecy.
Frisk.
In panic, the child reached out to anything they could grab on. In this case, it was a golden star.
Their icon.
Their SAVE.
From their own personal angle, it’s easy to mistake it for the sun.
And that’s how their adventure began. Since that day, whenever Frisk RESETS, they were brought back to this very moment: awakened on a bed of goldenflowers.
“Ebott’s salvation is founded on tragedy,” said Mezil. “Because Frisk was orphaned, they ended up in the foster system and participated in a mandatory field trip. From there, they fell into your world.”
“This wouldn’t have happened had Sans not betrayed the Doctor. Hence why all the doomed pre-Core scenarios were devoid of Frisk’s involvement. If they didn’t fall, another child will end up as the DEMON’s vessel. And they may not be as strong as your friend.”
“Your brother discovered this truth over and over. In different timelines. And every single time, he was crushed under the weight of his sins.”
The ocean. Sans tried to muffle his agony in the deep waters. Papyrus now understood why his brother was covered in salt and sand.
Mezil then asked, “Can your society live with the knowledge that your joys are founded on the grief of others?”
Papyrus closed his eyes and took in deep breaths. He could feel his insides churning. If this was what he saw once… no wonder he ended up so troubled.
“I DON’T KNOW, MISTER MAGUS,” he answered. “BUT FIRST… I MUST TALK TO MY PARENTS AND UNCLE GASTER.”
“Take your time.”
Looking upwards, they spotted Mezil’s Hub.
“I SEE HIM AT THE GARDEN,” Papyrus pointed at a black and white figure amongst the greenery.
Gaster stood at the edge of the console area, facing towards the vast beyond. All three skeletons waited for their final verdict.
Papyrus flipped himself right side up and gently flew toward the living room. He set the human back down on his feet.
Mezil’s ebony cane was quite a useful tool. They served as a stress reliever, a ground tester, and now as support for an elderly man whose legs had gone jelly from the adventure.
No wonder he always had it in hand. He staggered on his way to the couch, before dropping himself on it.
“Well,” he said. “I will be resting here. You go do what you need to do.”
The young skeleton nodded. “THANK YOU, MISTER MAGUS. FOR EVERYTHING.”
He walked towards the exit. Toward the garden. Toward his uncle Gaster. Even if it hurts, he must move forward to bring closure to a tragic past.
These are the first steps of rebirth.