After the date, the skeleton brothers invited Frisk to hang out in their home. Toriel trusted Sans and it was a Friday.
The elder one made a note to himself: Papyrus cannot hold his alcohol.
Three shots of brandy later, the younger brother climbed on the table and sang a drunk man’s opera.
It went about as well as one would expect: lots and LOTS of out of tune ‘singing’.
“O SOLE MIO~~~”
“NFRONTE A TE~~~”
“O SOLE, O SOLE MIO, STA NFRONTE A TE~~~~”
At least he got the lyrics right.
Frisk and Sans tried their very best to not roll on the floor in a roar of laughter. They didn’t want to interrupt the show. Smashed Papyrus may be, he'd still notice.
“Frisk,” Sans asked, “You think Papyrus can sing?”
“Maybe.” Frisk answered.
The kid then sipped on their hot cocoa. It had a teaspoon of brandy added for flavour. Nothing more. “Should we stop him?”
Sans snorted. “Naaaah. This is fun.”
“Agreed,” they chuckled. “Not gonna record it?”
“Can’t do that, kid. Lost my phone in the ocean. It’s a long story.”
Frisk then gave Sans theirs. Wiggled their eyebrows as a hint.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
The two started recording Papyrus’ solo debut.
Frisk whispered next to the blue skeleton’s skull: “Do you think we should show this to him later?”
“Absolutely,” Sans replied. He tried his best to keep his voice low so the in-built microphone won’t pick up their discussion. “I’ll send this video straight to him.”
Papyrus then skipped an entire portion of the song, changing the lyrics.
Wait.
That strange feeling.
It’s a dejavu. I’m sure of it.
He just kept singing without realising a time-loop happened.
Sans ended the recording and sent it to Papyrus’ account. He looked forward to a loud scream of embarrassment to commemorate the beginning of Saturday.
Now to figure out this random reset.
He took note of the timestamp.
Handing the phone back to Frisk, he asked: “Kid, noticed anything different?”
Frisk shook their head.
That’s a nope.
High chance that the butterfly capped Frisk’s DT, forcing them to remain at a normal human’s level. It’s different from Papyrus’.
I can’t let them know yet. Otherwise I won’t have a control sample in my observations.
He poured the last of the brandy. Filled his shot-glass to the brim before he gulped it down.
“Guess it’s just the booze getting to my skull.”
A lie: but a necessary one for now.
Sans continued his watch for clues. He may not have permanence of memories like full-powered Frisk, but he had the ability to observe the nearest timeline. His Eye worked best in moments of quick succession.
The last time this happened… was that night of hell.
Yeah. Back then. After Tori went to bed.
…I was powerless to act. Same as during Chara’s genocide. Always helpless. Always useless.
Never again. I’m gonna get this shit sorted before I lose my options.
How he perceived the world had always been different at a fundamental level. To a normal person, a chair was nothing more than a chair.
To Sans, the chair was an object of detail: material, dimensions, structure, parts, center of gravity, down to the estimated age since its production.
If anyone shifted that chair even by a millimeter, he’d be the first to notice it.
Whenever time starts spinning in circles, every action causes objects to add hidden values to their ‘dejavu counter’. With his traits, he could accurately perceive that obscurity.
Papyrus skipped forward twenty times. Repeated the song too. It’s hard to hear the differences with all the slurring off-note tunes, but he did.
Frisk checked their latest message seven times. But they replied thirteen.
That mug of hot chocolate reached its halfway point nine times.
Hmm… the number of dejavus aren't even. Seems like the Magus can choose to rewind time in smaller increments. Very close checkpoints. SAVE at any time, anywhere. Nothing like Frisk’s location-specific requirements. Pretty scary thought.
Moments passed. The number of resets spiked at one point, everything began anew, then the sequence stopped.
Huh, did that Mezil guy get into some life-or-death situation?
Flowey and Chara. Heh, probably pissed them off.
Maybe he shouldn’t have adopted those flower kids after all.
* * *
Five of Spades.
LOAD.
Six of Clubs.
LOAD.
Seven of Diamonds. Matching pair found.
Proceed as normal.
Three of Hearts. Matching pair found.
Proceed as normal.
Three of Spades.
LOAD.
King of Diamonds.
LOAD.
Queen of Clubs.
Insufficient number of cards to win the game.
RESET from the beginning.
“Hey, Chara.” Flowey asked: “You seeing what I'm seeing?”
“Yeah. He's toying with us.”
“NOBODY toys with us!”
Friendliness Pellets.
LOAD.
Vine Whips.
LOAD.
Twin-attack Mode Super Deadly Edition.
LOAD.
LOAD.
LOAD.
LOAD.
LOAD.
Cards scattered in the air.
Flowey twisted his face into a sharp-toothed monstrosity of his former self.
Chara’s eyes glowed red with the taste for blood.
Cenna? She just sat back on her chair and watched the show with a straight face.
The flowers yelled in alternating successions:
“STOP!”
“CHEATING!”
“THE GAME!”
And in unison they cried out, “YOU IDIOT!!!”
No response from Judge Mezil Thyme.
The flowers put every effort into their rain of magic and vines, but the man moved nary an inch.
Instead, he bent time to his will with nothing more than a snap of his finger.
It’s futile. No matter how swift or crafty the flowers tried to be, they’re always reset back to the beginning.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
“STOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!!” Flowey screamed. He’s so frustrated, he’s almost to the point of tears.
Mezil once again paid no heed to the plea. This time he gave no visual indication of his actions. Never needed to in the first place.
All those fancy motions served as messages for the other party, not himself.
Chara attempted to strategize. “Okay Flowey, in the next loop we’re gonna flip the table at his face. Then, I will grab him by the legs and throw him at the wall. While he’s stunned, you fire every pellet you have. Agreed? Deal?”
“Deal!”
“I heard everything,” said Mezil. “It’s useless anyway. I won’t give you a chance to execute your attack.”
LOAD.
They’re pushed further back. The cards they once scattered all over the place returned into a sealed, unopened box.
“Not under my will.”
The flowers tried to flip the table with their vines, but Cenna’s hearty laughter interrupted them.
“What’s wrong with YOU?” Flowey snapped.
“Oh boy,” she said, “I know what’s happening. Mez messed ya up with his timey-wimey powers, am I right?”
His face changed out of astonishment. “H-how’d you know? Can you remember?”
“No way,” Cenna replied. “But your reactions told me everything. Hell, I know how ya feel. ‘Cause Mez done the same trick on me at least once.”
“Wanna know how I first found out about this man’s powers? He used his magic on me and I got stuck in a losing game. Just like the both of you.”
One second.
Two seconds.
Then Chara slapped their own face with a leaf. “Of COURSE! Duh. We’re the fucking idiots here. He’s testing us and we fell right for it.”
Flowey squinted his eyes, brimming with sheer annoyance. “Why? Just, WHY? That’s the most aggravating method EVER!”
“Apologies,” Mezil replied. “I needed to examine the extent of your memories. Some recall better than others. In your case, the permanence shows not a single disconnect.”
“Plain English, please,” the flowers grumbled.
“You two remember everything in real time. As proven by your overtly murderous responses. Yes, the game is unwinnable from the start. However…”
Mezil sent a message through his phone. “Victory was never the goal. Check your in-game mail. You know which one.”
The two flowers switched on their consoles. Lo and behold, they squealed from delight.
“Oh em geeeeeeee! Chara, it’s the legendary Poripom Fruit!”
“I got one too! You know what this means, Asriel? We can save the cash for next month! Finish the collection early and explore waaay more places.”
Mezil’s lips curled in amusement. How quick their moods change over a much-desired gift. “Be sure to thank the lady for her kindness. She thought it would be too cruel for your ordeal to go unrewarded.”
Both Flowey and Chara stuck their tongue out at the grey-haired man. Synchronized as well.
“Your wife is a ton nicer than you,” said Chara.
“Yeah,” Flowey concurred. “Meanie.”
In response, Mezil said: “Further neglect of your etiquette and I will add one hour to your chores. I’m certain you still wish to prove that you’re capable of managing yourself.”
The flowers’ stems stiffened on the subtle threat. The little fun they had from jabbing at this man wasn't worth the penalty.
So, they put on their good-kid faces and danced in their pot.
“Sorry for the rudeness Mister Mezil,” said Flowey, “We went a little over the top. Live and let live, right? There’s no need to get violent.”
“Yup, yup,” Chara joined in. “The ways of my village are a thing of the past. I’m turning over a new leaf.”
The mention of their old community made the ex-human flower pause for a moment. Then, they asked: “Say, what happened to them anyway? I heard that they set the entire forest on fire, but I’m sure not everyone burned to a crisp.”
“Dispersed,” said Mezil. “Some broke away from tradition, others resettled as clans elsewhere. Loyallists continue to be a thorn in the side for Magi worldwide.”
“Expected. Meh, I don’t care about their stupid ways anymore. As long they stay away from me and Asriel.”
Though soulless, their bond of friendship knows no bounds. It’s both a touching and disturbing thought.
If they’re good, there’s nothing to worry about. But if any of them slip back to their twisted and thoughtless ways… The Living Victory wondered if he could still keep his promise to Papyrus.
“So… the ‘game’ is all wrapped up right?” asked Cenna, “If there’s nothing else, I’m gonna go to Lucy’s. She’ll love the cinnamon bunnies.”
“Do so.” Mezil pocketed his unopened deck of cards. “It’s been a while since she's had a magic treat. Goodnight to all of you.”
Everyone went their separate ways. Cenna checked her watch one last time before she headed towards the Spire. As for the flower children themselves, they retreated back to their screens for another quest of digital adventure.
Outside, Mezil stood under the dull skyglow of urban night. For much of his life, the windows to the galaxies were clouded in a singular shade. One could say that he was living under a dome. An ‘underground’ compared to the vastness of the yonder.
He never minded it. The planets, stars, and nebulas of the celestial never struck his interest. His priorities live attached to this humble earth.
Glowing red butterflies of time fluttered around the cold, silent air. It’s a sight that only he could see.
To this man, the butterflies represent his very life.
Once upon a time he was a caterpillar: a wandering all-consuming creature, identified by the common demographic of disconnected youth. He moved through life in a haze of independence and drab mindless standards.
A season of change triggered the chrysalis phase. The wormy muncher broke down to be rebuilt into an entirely different being.
The butterfly emerged: a symbol of beauty and rebirth. It spends the rest of its life stirring the growth of new seeds, a far cry from its former self.
In the realm of time travel, it represented a theory: that something as insignificant as the flap of a butterfly’s wings could snowball into a disastrous hurricane. Chaos theory at its most chaotic.
Though he eschewed this ludicrousness, it does remind him of a single point: he’s The Living Victory.
The gamechanger.
The gambit master.
Every action counts.
If change was within his grasp, he’s determined to make the best out of it.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and lifted his head towards the sky.
“Three.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“SAVED.”
“Save, LOADED.”
When he opened them again, he had the eyes of a different man.
Starting from this point, Mezil Thyme will attempt to change fate. He must do so for the safety of those he holds dear. They’re few, but those few are all the reason he will ever need.
He hurried his way to his skytop home before the flowers badgered him. There’s much to discuss and more to plan.
* * *
It had happened once more. This reset felt distant compared to the rest, as though it was an echo from beyond.
Weird. Such a huge gap.
I have a feeling that I should check Papyrus.
He set his focus on the younger one and attempted to analyze his brother’s state of existence.
Then the world blacked out.
A sharp, intense pain shot through the left side of his skull. Distorted strips of cyan, yellow, and purple frizzled across the blank darkness.
He heard the crashing of wood and glass.
“Sans!”
“BROTHER, WHAT’S WRONG???”
When his sight returned, Sans found himself leaning against Frisk.
The kid caught me?
His immediate reaction was to scan the surroundings.
The table had flipped on its side.
An empty bottle of brandy lay broken on the floor.
The glass he held in hand, had rolled off the couch and shattered right next to his feet.
At least Frisk still held their mug of hot chocolate. It would be bad if that spilled on their lap.
There’s something missing.
The kid asked if he’s okay. When he focused on them, he noticed something very, very, wrong.
I can’t see their details.
Level of Violence. Execution Points.
Nothing.
Papyrus? Same result. He could see his brother at a surface level and only at a surface level. As if he’s an image on a screen.
No, no, no, no, no, no!
What the hell happened to me?!
Sans pushed himself off the couch and attempted to teleport.
The painful distorted tri-colour shearing happened again. This time, he forced himself to remain conscious.
Sway. Stagger. His shoulder bumped against the wall while he tried to rush to the closest room with a mirror.
The human-approved bathroom.
Sans slammed the door behind him.
Locked it.
He headed straight towards the sink. Stared back at his own reflection.
Shit. I can’t read anything about myself either.
What the hell happened?
Okay. There’s only one way to find out. It’s going to hurt but I have to do it.
He took a deep breath and burned his Seer’s Eye with Determination.
Darken. Rip. Tear.
His trademark colours blotted out his visibility. Jabbing a knife through his skull might be less painful that this.
But he buckled down.
More.
More.
More!
Don’t stop until you hit max capacity!
At the very last second, he saw a white shine plastered over his left Eye.
It’s a thirteen-point Arcanagram.
The exact same pattern he used on Papyrus when he was a mere baby bone.
That’s a Seer’s Seal.
I’m so fucked.
Overcome by pain and clogged magic, Sans emptied his gut down the sink. The contents were red with prismatic bits.
Oh god, I just puked my internal ketchup supply. Bet some Determination is mixed inside too. Maybe. Not surprised if that’s the case.
Papyrus screamed at the top of his ribs. “SANS?! DID YOU JUST THROW UP??? I WENT THROUGH THAT ONCE AND IT WAS THE WORST OF BAD TIMES!”
Shit shit shit! Papyrus heard that c’mon think up of a good excuse--
Round number two. He turned on the tap to wash the truth away. If anyone saw he’s ejecting raw magic and not just the contents of his incorporeal stomach, they’ll realise that he had a worse problem than unintentional food poisoning.
Frisk knocked on the door and said, “Please let us in, Sans.”
“Can’t do that kid,” he replied. “Moving from the sink is hard enough. Just give me some time, okay?”
Third time’s the charm as the old saying goes. If Chara sliced through him now, they wouldn’t find any red liquid. It’s all gone down the spiralling waters.
He rinsed his mouth. Washed his face.
A dull ache lingered on the left half of his head.
……………
The last time I felt this much pain was my Awakening.
It’s hell to go through as a seven-year-old. It’s still hell today.
He had recovered enough to walk. Sans unlocked the door. But he’s so weakened by the mishap, he could barely open it.
Papyrus, however, wasted no time to do so for his brother. It’s amazing how sober he had become.
As for Frisk, they stared at him with their breath held.
“Guess…” the blue one muttered. “…Alcohol and ketchup don’t mix well, eh? Like. Too much of a good thing is, uh, a bad thing.”
Papyrus said, “BROTHER, YOU’RE SLEEPING ON MY BED TONIGHT. I WILL KEEP MY SOCKETS PEELED UNTIL WE CAN TAKE YOU TO A DOCTOR!”
Sans tensed up inside. That’s the worst person to visit: if anyone found out about the seal, it’s going to be a controversy in itself.
“Thanks. But, you don’t need to do that. Just. Need some sleep. On my own bed. No doctors either.”
“THEN I WILL SLEEP NEXT TO YOU IN YOUR ROOM!”
He had no energy to argue, so he just complied to the suggestion. “Okay. Don’t wake me up though. I really need some shut eye.”
His attention shifted to Frisk. “Kid. Um. Sorry that our date night went south.”
Frisk smiled back. “It’s okay. We had fun. Just rest for now, alright?”
“Yeah… and not mix the wrong foodstuff together. Gotcha. Some things are learned the hard way, huh?”
Sans winked at the kid. Tried to be jovial for their sake.
He then attempted to retreat to his room on his own. Midway through his snail’s pace, Papyrus picked him up and carried him for the rest of the way.
The tall one then laid Sans down on the mattress. Tucked him in.
“I’M GONNA PREPARE FOR THE NIGHT,” said Papyrus. “I’LL BE BACK SOON, OKAY?”
“Mmkay.”
In this moment of silence, Sans turned towards the wall. His mental gears did not spiral into panic or self-pity. Far from it.
I still have my experience and intellect.
Locking my Eye isn’t going to change how I think.
Stay calm, Sans. Stay logical.
Analyze. Assess. Archive.