Doctor W.D. Gaster.
Former Royal Scientist of the Dreemurr Nation. Hailed for decades as one of the brightest minds in the past two centuries.
Now he’s just a humble teacher imparting his knowledge to the next generation. This time, he made sure that they learned to steer clear from his poor life choices.
The King and Queen donned their royal garbs as a declaration of official business: their authority respected by those who mattered. It showed from the choice of transport and the number of bodyguards assigned to escort the royal couple.
Frisk -- the child under their charge -- might as well sit on a throne. Power does come with a price. In this case, the lack of freedom to choose one’s life.
Even if the they didn’t get adopted by the Dreemurrs, they will always be monsterkind’s ambassador.
Not that the child minded it. They’re determined to succeed: with or without the fabled ‘Keys of Fate’.
It’s noon, four hours before their final exam.
Queen Toriel had packed the last of their travelling itinerary into her handbag. In the meantime, King Asgore fetched Frisk from their temporary bedroom.
Of all the clothes they picked, it’s that silly striped blue and purple shirt. Gaster would have preferred them to wear more… proper attire. But, there’s a thematic appropriateness to end this time loop in their iconic choice of fashion.
“Are you ready, Frisk?” so asked the King.
Frisk shook their head. “Not yet.”
They then proceeded to hug Alphys. The nervous wreck of scales hugged back. When she did so, her worries melted away. At least a little bit.
Then Frisk proceeded to fist-bump Undyne. It’s an opposite contrast compared to Alphys, full of fiery gusto and encouragement.
How is this a ‘quiet’ child? They may not be the chattiest, but they’re certainly active.
They approached Gaster and said, “Thank you for all the history lessons.”
Doctor Gaster noted that Frisk had some dark rings around their eyes. He decided to not question it just yet. With a bow, he replied: “Much obliged, Child of Mercy.”
To Roman, they said, “I look forward to your special ketchup.”
To Helvetica, they said, “If Papyrus is okay, I’ll bring him back home today.”
The two signed their gratitude. Gaster translated, “They thank you from the bottom of their hearts. As do I.”
“May I hug you too?”
True physical contact had always been a rarity for this skeleton, more so in recent years. It’s about time he appreciate the slower paces of life.
“You may.” he answered.
So the child hugged him around the waist. A sense of warmness radiated over his cold, liquid body.
Once they let go, the doctor took the opportunity to examine their face. “Oh dear, you really do look tired. Had your sleep quality been poor?”
They nodded.
“I think it’s best that you try take a nap in the car. Usually I don’t condone Sans’ habits, but you need to be fresh for the Trial.”
“I know,” they said. “Thanks.”
“Now off you go. Take care and good luck.”
Frisk then left home with the company of the royal couple. Alphys and Undyne joined the send-off team. The goopy doctor chose to stay behind: his controversy shouldn’t tarnish the occasion.
Back in the kitchen, he began an internal conversation.
We discovered nothing about the Gungnir in the past timeline.
Oh, I certainly remember that they didn’t visit us after the Seven Sages. Not even once. This means they had taken action without proper understanding of the world we live in.
Furthermore, if the events happened as I speculated, no one realised The Red Sage’s deeper involvement with the Magus Association.
Sans? Well. It all depends if he thinks history still applies today.
This bothers me deeply, my friends. But we shouldn’t burden them with this realisation. Their Trial takes precedence…
In the midst of his volunteered washing chores, Alphys returned with her phone in hand.
“G-Gaster-sensei,” she said, “I received a private PM from Sans and uh, I think it’s best that you read this for yourself.”
“Oh? Please give me a moment.”
As he dried his hands, the doctor wondered:
What could it be? Doctor Alphys seems more skittish than usual.
He too had a reason for nervousness when he read the contents of the phone itself.
Egads, Sans! You SOLD Determination to a baker?!
And she made doughnuts out of those?!?!
He then started to ponder about the theories presented in the message box.
Hmm. Enhancement instead of mimicry… He does have a point. By altering the signal strength received by the tastebuds, it’s possible to fool the brain into thinking that less is more. Making the components persist is one of the possible methods.
If Echo Flowers won’t work, perhaps Determination will? The dosage he proposes is nothing for a human to consume. More so for a Living Victory such as Judge Thyme.
Then again, I question…
How does he even know of our miniscule culinary quest?
Who first told him about it? When? I certainly didn’t disclose the details to Sans in person, be it the past timeline or this one.
What is it, Helvetica? Well. Yes, Papyrus’ announcements are certainly the best possibility.
But, humour me a thought. If Sans broke the Seer’s Seal… what do you think was his ultimate revelation?
“Sensei?”
Gaster snapped out of his rumination. “Yes, Doctor Alphys?”
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“Will you meet up with Sans?”
He read the query again.
Sans is giving me the final say. Should I meet him here in King Asgore’s home? Or return to my Underground cell?
If I stay up here, Captain Undyne would need to watch over me. If she does, she can’t be on grounds to manage the rest of the Royal Guard.
Today is the last day of the curfew. Nothing must happen within this precious timeframe.
Well, she could just leave me in Endogeny’s custody.
Unease swirled within Gaster’s being. He stared at his new student with a sense of dawning horror.
Gaster put up his usual prim, gentlemanly front. Returning the phone to Alphys, he said: “Please tell Sans to meet me at the Snowdin house. I’ll be heading there right now.”
“N-now?” Alphys asked.
“Yes. Now. It will be a quick transfer, so we need not bother poor Endogeny. Let them sleep under the warm sun in peace.”
“Wait, sensei! That’s illega--”
The doctor sped off into a shortcut. Perhaps that wasn’t the most elegant of exits, but it’s for her own good.
He arrived on the other side. Settled himself down in the middle of the mess their latest experiment had left behind. Cold silence and lifeless machinery surrounded him.
I am no fool.
In Captain Undyne’s absence, Doctor Alphys will be left unprotected. A prime hostage target. Especially with ‘him’.
Roman. Helvetica. I know you still have faith in your son. I pray to the powers that be that I am wrong.
But if I am right… I refuse to put my junior at risk.
The less Doctor Alphys knows, the safer she will be.
Sans teleported right in front of the entrance, holding a box with Muffet’s logo. It contained the ‘contraband’ in question.
“‘Sup doc?” he asked, “How’s the butler life treating you?”
Doctor Gaster cleared his throat at the remark. “I don’t appreciate that statement, Sans. Serving the King and Queen is an honour no matter how menial the task.”
With a wink Sans said: “Hey, just stating the facts. There’s no need to get defensive. I mean, bet Mom and Dad are thrilled to put their cooking skills to use again.”
Groan. “Where’s that questionable doughnut? I’d like to finish our arrangement as soon as possible.”
“Sheesh, what’s the rush? Did you sneak out?”
“Yes.”
“Whoa. Wasn't expecting that.”
Gaster grumbled, “Since you know I’m performing a directly illegal act, could you just please get this deal done and over with?”
“Sure,” Sans replied. “As long you eat it right in front of me. I got my powers back. So, would definitely want to do a live analysis of its effects.”
“Sounds reasonable enough. I’ll agree to your terms.”
The transaction was made. Opening the box, Gaster revealed one strawberry flavoured Muffet-brand doughnut that’s supposed to be imbued with Determination.
Ah… the sweetness of a freshly baked doughnut. Or rather, fried. I don’t get why people categorize them as ‘baked goods’ when they involve no baking at all.
The texture and aroma does fit a fresh produce made no less than ten minutes ago. It’s even slightly warm still. My, my, this could revolutionize the food preservation scene!
In it goes.
Gaster took a bite. It tasted good but average by his standards. Thanks to the combined knowledge from his friends, the doctor’s sure he could make a better version for private consumption. Some lime zest would make a nice tropical twist.
Other than that… nothing remarkable happened. It tasted the same from the beginning to the end. Where’s the fabled Determination? By all accounts, this was nothing more than a mundane edible. He finished the morsel soon enough.
After finding a tissue to wipe off the sugar around his lips, Gaster said: “Sans, if the baker did include Determination in her recipe I’m afraid to say that she had used too little. It’s pretty much nothing. I daresay that even monsters could eat this.”
“Huh, really?” the blue one replied. “That’s good. Working exactly as intended.”
“Working exactly as intended…?” Gaster muttered.
It happened in a flash.
One moment, the doctor tried to make sense of the puzzling statement.
The next, he felt a sharp pain on his chest.
Strips of cyan and orange squares distorted his vision. In shock, Gaster looked down to see the source of the mystery pain. What he saw was the right sleeve of a blue hoodie, a white skeletal fist, and…
…The base end of a narrow steel blade. It’s attached to a device hidden underneath the fabric, though Gaster couldn’t see the actual design.
It dawned on him that he -- the Great W.D. Gaster -- was stabbed by the assassin of his own making.
He observed the ominous glow of a red six-winged symbol emitting from his wounds. There’s no mistake: this was none other than a ‘Mark’, the signature of the Living Victories.
Sans teleported back. A trail of vaporized Determination flowed to the blade strapped to his arm.
What in the world…?!
He’s draining Determination. MY Determination!
Does this mean that doughnut was nothing more than a test subject for this function?!
Gaster couldn't muster even one bone to defend himself before his vision clouded into more glitched squares.
Colour faded from the surroundings. Only two sources remain untouched: the wisps of Determination and the shine of Sans’ Eye.
In the midst of inner chaos, Sans said: “I wouldn’t recommend struggling. You no longer have the physical integrity to channel magic. Oh. That means no Seer’s Eyes either.”
Nonchalant. Calm. As though he’s having a casual conversation about the weather.
It’s rightfully chilling.
Sans added: “If you think you’re gonna flee, I suggest that you check for any sensation before you try.”
Gaster tried to move forward, but nothing happened. The base of his being had turned into a grey rough stone. No different compared to the cold cell during his Void-lost days.
“I’m… petrifying?!”
“Yup,” Sans answered. “Ever wondered what would happen if you remove Determination from an Amalgamate? Certainly not separation. I mean, if it’s that easy Alphys would have done it a long time ago. So, welp. Consider yourself lucky, Doctor Gaster. You always wanted to contribute to science.”
“Let’s see… According to my observations, the molecules in your extremities will stop flowing first. Not surprising since they’re the farthest away from your SOUL.”
Horror trembled throughout Gaster’s being. Understanding the implications, he checked on his friends on the first notice.
“Roman? Helvetica?” he muttered.
Silence answered him back. His hands began to petrify, starting from his fingertips. It spread at a rapid pace that he’s far from ready to face. “No, don’t fade on me! Please!”
“They’ll be alright,” Sans interjected. “I can still see them there. Sleeping with their eyes open, but alive.”
Gaster couldn’t believe the events that just transpired. Questions swam in his head, fighting for priority before the malaise engulfed his entire being.
What should one ask, if they have only one opportunity?
“Why?…”
Simple and perhaps not the best choice… but it’s the most glaring.
Sans stood there for a moment, pondering if it’s worth his time.
“You know too much, Gaster.” So answered the assassin. “That’s all I need to say.”
Knowledge.
Knowledge is the sole reason Sans targeted me.
That’s right. It makes sense now.
I’m the one who laid the foundations of Determination studies in the Underground. I… I would understand the mystery behind this six-winged Mark. By theory, I could reverse engineer it to find its weakness.
No. It has to be more than that.
What else would belong to my exclusive knowledge?
Gaster didn’t like this implication one single bit.
“You… you can’t be serious, Sans…”
Sans huffed behind his grin. “Heh. Expected nothing less from the famous W.D. Gaster. I guess I don’t need to break out into science jargon after all. Won’t do that anyway.”
That’s a non-direct confirmation of his worst fears. “Egads, you’ve outdone me in the insanity department.”
“Desperate measures for desperate times.” Sans shrugged. “No hard feelings.”
Is there anyone out there who can stop him? Gaster wondered.
The King? The Queen?
Have mercy. Sans’ tactical genius will spin them around in circles, if not to dust within three turns. Might is nothing if they’re too slow.
Captain Undyne?
Her mind is sharp and her spears are sharper, but I don’t think she could stay ahead of this maddened seraphim.
Cenna Caraway? No, she died at least twice to a drugged Sans. She stands no chance against a sober one.
Judge Thyme? I don’t know enough of his current physical condition to be certain. He’s aging and I’m sure the scars of his battles have taken their toll.
The curse of stone had crawled towards his chest, stretching around the SOUL. It struggled to keep the effects at bay in an ever-losing battle.
The Seraphim’s Mark continued to shine bright on the rock-crusted surface.
What about the Child of Mercy?
Yes. That’s right. They had once survived a direct battle and won. They have the best chance.
…But can I truly say so? That cursed blade is part of a complex system. Created a false Mark, of all things!
That’s right. I see now. This might be the reason why the Persona calls Judge Mezil the ‘Vampire of Time.’ What’s the use of SAVES if one lacks the Determination to access them?
It spread to his lower neck now. He couldn’t turn away even if he wished to.
Is there no one who can save us?
A person in their prime, with the ability to always be a step ahead.
Someone who’d never lose themselves to mere possibilities…
All seemed bleak. That is, until Gaster realised he had one last person unaccounted for.
He thus began to laugh.
And laugh.
And laugh.
Gaster hadn’t laughed this way since the day he wrote that fateful Entry Number 17.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sans asked. He rose a brow, both amused and puzzled.
Sans. Questioning the laughter. Nothing else gave Gaster more satisfaction than to see his assailant so confused.
This determined doctor will not sleep with his eyes open like his friends. He refused! He will go out with a smile.
So, he put on his best face. Sockets, widened, his black toothless grin stretched as wide as it could go. Gaster then uttered his final words:
“Rejoice, Sans Serif! Your efforts won't be in vain. The future is not set in stone. Remember this. Always!”
With that, he immortalized the face of ironic ecstasy.