3.15 PM.
Forty five minutes before the Trial of the Crimson Hall.
Sans swapped out his usual slippers for a pair of sneakers. It’s something he kept in reserve for moments like these. There’s no telling when he needed a firm grip on whatever he’s standing on.
He took a moment to peer down the windows of a false ceiling. From here, he could observe the flow of activity of the Magus Association’s main lobby.
The HQ is full of these hidden observation pockets. I guess I now know how Lucidia keeps track of life on the ground.
Man, the Surface Seers managed to figure out a way to wire entire shortcuts. Not surprising since the Supreme Judges are all Reds.
Speaking of red, they rolled out an appropriately-fitting carpet for the VVIP of the day.
Frisk seems tired. They better freshen up for the big day. Asgore, no change. Tori… she’s still beautiful.
His thoughts hung in mid air. Sans can’t take his sights off her. Is this love or guilt? He doesn’t know.
He shook himself out of the daze.
I gave her to Asgore. It’s final.
There’s no turning back.
Frisk’s first destination: the nearest toilet. Human biology does have their own share of inconveniences. Sans chuckled a bit.
He stayed back to keep track of the royal couple. He needs to find out the path to the Crimson Hall, and following them would be his surest bet. He could teleport out of the hiding spots whenever he needed.
Then something caught his attention.
His sights snapped to a human lady within the crowd. Judging from her uniform, she’s an in-house technician of sorts.
The way she’s looking at Tori isn’t right. It’s not out of curiosity or wonder like the rest.
It’s contempt.
That same person tried to slip past the crowd. Headed towards the toilet area too.
…I gotta tail her on site. There are no pockets in the bathroom area.
Sans pulled up his hood and ripped through spacetime. He reappeared on a chandelier. Hoped that it could support his weight.
Can’t let anyone see me. Security cams included. I bet Lucidia placed my name on the top of the trespasser list by now. Let’s see, my next target location should be…
Sans warped from one blindspot to another. It’s tight, tough, and he might lose the gap if he’s a second too slow.
But he’s used to such scenarios. Had Gaster to thank for that. Maybe the old man was right after all: those hellish times weren’t for nothing.
Midway in his stalk, he saw Frisk leaving the bathroom area. There was a slight sense of relief. At least he won’t risk meeting them at a bottleneck with all those extra bodyguards.
The suspicious technician skipped the bathroom. She continued walking to a quiet place.
Then, she took out her phone. Started typing something.
Sans activated the Seer’s time-freeze power right there and then. It’s clear that she’s trying to send a message, but what?
It’s risky to divide his focus. So, he cleared the distance with some old-fashioned footwork. Peeked over her shoulder to read the exact message.
‘Meet me at the generator.’
The Spire’s ‘Core’.
Sans raced through the folds of reality to get there. He knew its general location, but not the exact layout. Sabotaging the power supply was one of his many, many possible break-in plans.
Up in this room, turn to the left, teleport three floors down, right, down the staff elevator…
He faced the generator’s entrance. Set his next teleport to mid-air so he could readjust his position as required.
In a blink, he’s inside the facility’s main power-management center. It doesn’t look anything like a conventional electrical generator. It’s more like a room of batteries: multiple encased tanks of mystery machinery took in electricity from an external source.
He could sense magic residue in the air, very much like the Core’s internal workings.
Sans activated his Eye for a quick scan.
Hmm, they’re connected to multiple sources of energy. Some from the public grid, others from their in-house generation system. Then these machines convert the output into magical energy for storage.
It’s not the time to marvel at their technical wonder though. That suspicious woman hid something in this place.
After a swift, comprehensive search… Sans discovered the worst outcome. Gungnir weapon caches. Four of them.
“Medium to long range guns, smoke bombs, flares, bulletproof armour… Welp, I can’t say I’m surprised anymore.”
Underneath all of that, tanks of gasoline. They’re ready to burn the place down: the telltale sign of their involvement.
Sans sighed at the pile of headache before him.
Oh boy. They’re prepared for a full raid. The Magi themselves are probably also armed to the teeth. The magic potential of most humans is pretty substandard, save for the talented few like Cenna. It makes sense for them to rely more on conventional weapons.
Hmm. You need a pretty high clearance to get into this place. Security, electrical technicians, and the like. Since the majority of their mundane electrical equipment run on electricity, they need to hire non-Magi employees to maintain the place. Perfect entry point.
Then there's the possibility of an inside job. I suspect that there are a fair amount of magical folks unhappy with Mister Judge. Being a good man means offending plenty of crooks.
I’m sure Lucidia is aware of the problem. But, her powers won’t help if she’s missing intel. Identity. Job position. So on.
…………
If Gungnir can’t do their shit in the open, they’ll resort to covert ops. I can see it now. Assassinate Tori and Asgore. Then, abduct Frisk in the midst of chaos.
I can’t let Tori die this way. Yes, I need her alive for Frisk to enter the Hall. But even if I don’t… there’s no way I’m letting her suffer.
He doesn’t have much time. If he dallied too long, the Gungnir might catch him red handed.
If I destroy these weapons caches, that will force them to consider an alternative. That would be… yeah. I’d do the same.
This should give me all the distraction I need.
Sans first removed the gasoline tanks. Set them aside as a taunt. Then, he summoned a series of bones to rip through the rest of their gear.
Done. Gungnir will check in soon. Not gonna waste my time on them.
His job done, Sans teleported out of the area.
He made his way to the library’s hiding pockets. Peered into the window to observe for activity.
It’s busier than he expected. Students and teachers alike took the opportunity of Sunday evening to hang out in the library, blissfully unaware of the stakes that will go down in less than an hour.
Of all days… it had to be a weekend. Welp, it’s not all bad. Most would be too distracted to notice me. All I need to do is get that one particular book.
Sans proceeded to take cover in the shadows of bookshelves. Kept his hood up to hide his face. Unlike security guards, it’s possible that the students won’t take note of a short man in blue.
He’d just have to keep in mind about the teachers. They might have received the warning. As for security cameras: that goes without saying.
A series of short-distance teleports followed. Behind books, on top of the shelves, under the tables, or anywhere without watchful eyes…
He did so until he’s at the correct shelf. Found the book he was looking for and grabbed it without hesitation.
It’s about aquifers: sources of underground water in the region, including Mount Ebott.
Sans warped back to the pocket chamber. He had thought of checking the secret elevator that leads up to the Living Victory records, but he didn’t want to risk getting nabbed.
Furthermore, ‘she’ might expect him to infiltrate there.
Joke’s on them, thought Sans. He had read all the relevant books about the Reds before this moment. It’s doubtful that anyone suspected his schemes before Gaelic confronted him.
Let’s see if we have a source of clean water within the radius of the Barrier. I have a feeling that’s a ‘yes’, but still need to confirm it.
When he found the page…
Wow. We have that much accessible clean water right under our feet? All the way to the bottom too. Didn’t need to depend on Waterfall after all.
This is awesome. Super awesome! Okay. Sans, chill. We’re not in the clear yet. You need to see if this aquifer is connected to any other sources. Hmm… Looks good so far.
It’s probably best to check the time now.
Sans pulled back his right sleeve, exposing an electronic bracer made of DT-imbued steel. Sending a pulse of magic through the system lit up the flat screen.
It’s written in Seer script. His attention focused on a digital clock. It reads, ‘1548’ .
Then, he moved on to another batch of text:
SERAPH SYSTEM
ACTIVE: C / Y / P
INACTIVE : O / B / G
DT: 87 %
To think that this is all I could salvage from the Chronograph: the steel, screen, and some Determination. Most of the inner electronics were fried beyond recognition. Had to replace them with Surface tech.
If I didn’t examine Frisk’s watch for hybridization ideas, I don’t think I would’ve made the deadline.
Let’s see… using more than three colours right away will be taxing to my Eye. I need Cyan for focus. Yellow for truth. Won’t need persistence of memory here, so it’s best to filter out the Purple.
Sans used his telekinesis to shift the ‘ACTIVE’ letters around. He didn’t have time to make it user-friendly with touch screens and whatnot.
ACTIVE: C / Y / O
INACTIVE : P / B / G
A small pentagram formed over his spectral pupil, creating a lens to filter his powers.
After all that effort, Sans finally achieved a breakthrough: the ultimate ‘Chronograph’. It’s a machine that allows a Seer to change their perspective of spacetime. Anyone with the right know-how could take the job. There’s no need to pool all hopes on a single person from birth.
Stolen story; please report.
By theory, anyway. Sans soon learned that he still had miles to go.
First, using the contraption brought discomfort. A dull ache, similar to a low-level migraine that’s neither here-nor-there: crawling underneath the bone.
Second, it’s nowhere as clear as the visions of a true Seer of the same colour. His Cyan struggled to focus the imperfect implement. The images were blurry and the edges split into blue and red lines reminiscent of a stereogram.
In short, it’s too distorted to fix a proper coordinate for teleportation.
Sheesh, this is prime motion-sickness material.
Good thing I’m using an external DT source.
The ‘DT’ meter on his bracer ticked down by one percent. It will continue to drain as long he pushed the fakes beyond their limit.
C’mon. Focus. Find Tori.
She came to view. The Magi escorted Frisk and the Dreemurrs through a specific pathway, leading them a lone elevator far from the rest of the public facilities.
The bodyguard slotted in a keycard and punched in the password. Then, the ‘down’ indicator lit up. Nothing special, as far as he could tell.
Seems like all I need to do is skirt the elevator shaft. Hmm. Is it connected to anything else?
Nope. It’s straight down to the lowest level.
He then watched the family march down a long, straight corridor. It reminded Sans of the path towards the Barrier. He wished his visions had better clarity so he could spot whatever security traps the Magi had installed along the way.
The family arrived safe and sound. They started talking to Cenna.
Great. Of course she’ll end up as the primary guardian.
Meanwhile…
Sans switched focus.
I better check up on the Gungnir folk and see what are they up to.
As long as he remembered the face of that tech lady, he could watch her activities.
With nothing left but tanks of gasoline in their possession, they adapted from a raid to outright arson. Positioned the fuel in a way where most wouldn’t pick up their distinct scent.
They had at least one electrical expert in the team. Starting a mass fire shouldn’t be a problem.
All going according to plan.
Nice to know something’s going right for once. Even if it’s wrong.
Sans reached his limit. He commanded the machine to stop channelling fuel, and thus ended the vision.
Deep breaths. Dampened skull. They’re all the marks of exhaustion.
The DT meter said he still had 80% fuel at his disposal. It seems much to a layman, but he knew otherwise.
I’m seriously cutting it close. If I use up too much in spying, I won’t have enough for the important stuff.
Five more minutes before the clock hits the hour. He took the opportunity to rest.
When it’s time, he activated the bracers once more. Set his attention on the Dreemurrs.
He arrived just in time to watch Cenna open the door. Used her SOUL to move the massive slabs. It hinted the works of a complex mechanism.
It opened to… a black wall of nothingness.
…What the hell?
What the hell is with that door?!
Sans knew there’s something special to that stone cover, but it’s distorting his Truesight. Rendered white, glitching squares instead.
A pang of panic gripped his hollow heart when he beheld Toriel walk off into the unknown.
TORI!!!
The shadow engulfed her, and yet she showed no signs of anything amiss. Just like that, the entire family vanished into the yonder. The door closed right behind them.
The Eye’s light extinguished along with his focus.
Hold on. Calm down. Take a deep breath. Black does not equate to doom. It simply means I’m unable to render what I see.
That leaves me no other choice but to investigate in person. That’s my next destination anyway.
Sans slammed the book shut and placed it flat on his side.
It fulfilled its purpose and had thus become useless to him.
The angel then began his infiltration into the depths of the wizard’s spire. Avoided every detection spot along the way.
He didn’t have the right keycard. No matter, since he could just teleport past the door. Sans prepared a glowing bone to light up an otherwise dark world.
The initial plan was just to jump straight into the shaft, power himself up with Blue Magic, and then try to cut down on the float time teleporting straight to the bottom.
But then, there’s no way a magic-based facility would leave such an obvious space unguarded.
!!!
He gasped.
The air--!
A thick, smothering aura threatened to choke him. His vision threatened to twist and distort, as if he stared into murky glass.
He grabbed the taut elevator cables and clung to them for his life.
Focus, Sans. Focus.
There’s some odd machinery lining the sides of the shaft, pulsing out disruptive magic.
I need to get out of here fast. If the weird magic doesn’t kill me, the drop sure will.
He ground himself with the cable: it’s the most constant variable in this hazy mess. Tried his best to peer through the dimness.
Once he spotted the top covers to the interior of the elevator, he jumped straight in. It released him from oppression.
He never thought that skeletons had a need for air. And yet, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Count on the Surface to prove him wrong.
Beyond the opened elevator doors, a long corridor stretched to the massive stone entrance of the Crimson Hall.
At the very end, stood the Magus known as Cenna Caraway.
Frisk’s adoptive elder sister and Judge Vanquisher of the Exorcist branch: a person blessed with power outside the norms of their kind. In other words, one of the many ‘Undynes’ of humanity.
Sans glanced around. It pays to be paranoid at this point. Never know if they had another trap installed within these walls.
It’s best for me to think in portals: cut through the path and skip any surprises.
One jump, and he’s in the chamber.
“Yo, Seraphim,” greeted Cenna. “Always wondered why you’re referred to in plural.”
Heh, chatter. The good ol’ time-wasting tactic.
I can tell she’s on guard. Back, against the wall. Let’s see if I can get any hints out of her.
Sans relaxed. Tucked his hands in his pockets and shrugged back. “‘Cause I do the job of many, I guess.”
Cenna let out a huge laugh. “Good one there! Real good. Shame that we’re on the opposite sides, huh?”
“So, you know why I’m here?” he asked back.
“Sorta. It’s dangerous business, that’s all I can tell. But ya know… I ain’t gonna demonize you as a traitor. I still trust you.”
Sans raised a brow, curious and amused by her statement.
“Why? By all accounts, you shouldn’t.”
Cenna smirked. “Heh. C’mon, don’t go forgetting my background now. Remember, undercover agents infiltrate criminal groups with the intent of ratting them out. If they don’t betray their targets, they’re the real traitors to the Law.”
“Think yourself as a fallen angel all ya want, but truth is… ya never changed sides.”
“You sure?” asked Sans. “I didn’t look for Paps. That’s the hallmark of a turncoat right there.”
The Magus waved her finger at him. “Oh no, no, no. Your self-deprecating talk ain’t gonna work on me, sir. Wanna know what I think? You’re hoping that your brother would just sleep through this mess.”
“Even if he’s awake, you won’t risk meeting him either. Because he’s the only guy in the world who could change your directive. After all, you’re the Seraphim of The Great Papyrus. Our fault for not realising this sooner, yeah? If you’re moving mountains and skies for his sake, it can only mean one thing: we’re in a dead end.”
Golden eyes of the hawk pierced through Sans Serif’s calm front. Cenna’s people-sense always unnerved the skeleton. It’s a bit too accurate.
Sweat crawled over his cold bones.
Sans said, “Welp. If you know so much, why not just let me through?”
“Har har, no way.” Cenna replied, “There’s a whole bunch of people I wanna protect back there. Knowing them… they might just find that special ‘good end’ flag.”
“You probably didn’t realise this ‘cause ya went down the elevator route, but Mez probably went through quite a few mini loops by now. Trial’s underway.”
Sans switched on his Eye to scan Cenna.
Dejavu Counter: 2
Mezil had rewind time at least twice while they had their chat.
Interesting detail. Sans so deduced: “Huh, you mean you have security against Seers?”
“Bingo, Seraphim. You’re not the first Seer to go rogue. Bet you can’t Truesight the mechanism behind me either.”
Sans glanced at the door.
Dang. She’s right. I can’t.
He sighed.
“In the end, history repeats.”
A pair of Gasterblasters materialized by his side. “Let’s get this done and over with.”
“Yeah. Let us.” Cenna summoned out her SOUL and morphed it into a bird.
That look on her face… is someone ready to die for a cause.
Maybe if things were different, we’d be friends.
……………
Nah.
Sans and Cenna charged up their magic for a quickdraw. The faster hand will emerge victorious.
Or so that’s what they thought.
A squeaky battle cry hollered from the air vents. “FRIENDLINESS PELLETS!!!”
White seed-like bits of magic showered all over the place. It forced the two duelling parties to call off their showdown to go on the defensive.
Cenna summoned a shield while Sans dismissed the big guns to focus on dodging.
Heh. Figures those brats will try to do something.
That’s not all. Another set of vines busted from the grills. The rosy-cheeked flower child crawled out of their infiltration spot and started throwing vine whips at the blue skeleton.
That makes a ton of sense.
Asriel was a monster. Projectile magic will be his staple.
Chara was a human. Gungnir, even. They’ll focus on physical attacks.
“Whip him good, Chara!”
“Bring on the rain, Azzie!”
The two flowers worked as the perfect team. They covered for each other’s weaknesses, putting immense pressure on the Lichborn’s footwork.
The windows of escape come and go in the blink of an eye.
Sans wondered how much longer he can keep up the pace. Any slower and he might end up as dust.
In the midst of a deadly game of jump-rope dodgeball, he kept a close eye on their attack patterns.
They’re not aiming for a kill. On the contrary, they’re trying to… catch me?
Then, just when he completed his conclusion, Chara’s vines snapped against his tibia. It wound around the base and curled into a tight grip.
The child wasted no time to flip Sans upside down. Spun him around to disorientate his aim.
Chara yelled: “Azzy, now! Get him!”
Vines, vines, and more vines. They locked his arms and legs together into a tight bind.
If that’s not disturbing enough, their collective spiked tendrils scraped against the interiors of his ribs. Proceeded to crawl up his throat and gagged him from the back of his mouth.
In the back of his mind, he envisioned his very SOUL invaded by the tangled briars.
He heard their voices up close.
“We did it?” Flowey asked.
Chara replied: “Yup. See? The Trashbag’s not invincible. He died to me at least once you know.”
“Okay. Time for a full body check! …After we release his arms.”
When the vines slipped away, Sans watched himself peel back his own sleeves.
They’re moving without my input.
It’s like a dream… Or a mandatory cutscene.
Flowey lifted the right arm, exposing the blade mechanisms for all to view. The kid hovered upside down over Sans’eyesocket with a face full of irritated unamusement.
“Really? Seriously?” the flower grumbled. “You actually went there? This is copyright infringement, I tell you!”
Pointing a vine over the Magus, he added: “Golly, just because Miss Nerd over there calls you an assassin doesn’t mean YOU have to BE one! Exchange those stupid blue ketchupy clothes for white and you’re the real deal. Sad. Pathetic.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Chara. “‘It’s just inspiration and it’s practical. Don’t judge me.’ Well let me tell you that I’m a professional possessor, so I know how to read your mind. I agree with Azzie. This is just too blatant.”
The ex-Gungnir continued their complaining: “…What’s with all that ketchup in your body? Did you replace your marrows with that junk or what?”
Flowey noticed another oddity: “Hey, there’s this weird compartment with a hole in it. What’s that for?” He tapped the device with the tip of his vines.
“Azzie, I can’t find any spring or button mechanisms on his ripoff blade.”
“Try telekinesis. Sans depends a lot on that.”
“Eh. You do it. I got zero experience in magic.”
Flowey dug deeper into Sans’ SOUL.
With a pulse of magic, the blade popped out of its sheath.
The little kid huffed in pride. “Hah! I knew it! Easy peasy cake for a monster to use, impossible for a human. Well. Most humans anyway.”
Cenna then asked: “Kids, what did you do to him?”
She had the face of an adult who had seen two brats play with fire.
In all their innocently-sociopathic demeanour, the flowers danced to their own answer.
“We possessed him!” said Chara.
“Yup, aaaall the way through. We can even control his magic, see?” Flowey snapped the blade back and forth to demonstrate. “You don’t need to worry anymore. We got this.”
Red Alert. Instead of praising them, Cenna yelled: “Release him, hurry!”
“Why should I do that? We worked so hard to capture him and you’re telling us--”
“Purples are immune to their own poison! If you stay, he’s gonna burn you alive!”
“Which part of ‘control his magic’ didn’t you get? Look, he’s not resisting.”
Cenna almost blew a fuse. “Can’t you see he’s baiting you?!”
The rosy-cheeked one nudged Flowey with a leaf. “Azzie? Is it normal to feel a slowly intensifying heat running through your vines…?”
“No?” he replied.
Panicked, the flower children untangled themselves from the trap. They released the grip on his SOUL and tried so hard to get out of their own mess.
Too late for them. The ketchup slowed their escape.
The moment their control wavered… they had sealed their fate.
With just a single thought, Sans flooded the poison called ‘Karma’ through his bones. His power of disintegration burned away the ketchup like fuel to the flame. This time, he didn’t exclude the meddling plants from the equation.
So they cried. Screamed. Wailed like the childish fools they are.
Cenna rushed forward in an attempt to save them. A Vanquisher, seeking to rescue two little DEMONS. Sans thought it’s irony at its finest. Made it easier for him too.
Hands free and blade already drawn, one swift strike to the heart was all he needed.
Human SOULS may persist after death, but they won’t have enough power left to retaliate no matter what.
Sans drew his hands back. Cenna reached under her coat to grab a spell.
Upon that very moment, the lights died and plunged everyone into near-total darkness. Only the faint glow of magic remained.
Now?! Really?
If his Eye can’t receive light, it’s as good as being blind.
Dammit, I have no choice then!
Sans executed a frontal stab and hoped it made contact.
He heard a yelp followed by a heavy thud.
Then it’s pure silence. He did a quick check by touching the blade itself. Warm liquid substance, confirmed.
I managed to strike her, but the blade didn’t stick. I don’t think I hit the heart.
Nonetheless, she’s out cold. Or playing dead? Welp. That suits me just fine.
Sans got on his feet, ripping away any leftover vines that miraculously escaped his ‘Karma’.
Immune to my own poison, huh? I suppose that’s sort of true. Always suspected an oddity behind my eternal 1 HP. Gaster’s attempts of improving my numbers never worked. Ended in ‘extended bed-rest’ each and every time.
That Gaelic guy… He spewed all that gas without a damn. Guess we’re similar in that regard. Heh. Learn something new every day. Not that it matters now.
This blackout must mean Gungnir’s finally initiated their arson. Nah. Probably started earlier. Nobody would know if the smoke alarms got sabotaged.
The fire will spread here. I have to crack the code behind this door before that happens.
Steady. Don’t walk around in circles…
The tips of his fingers touched the carved ridges of that door. He pressed his cranium against the surface in an attempt to pulse focused magic through.
Damn. Not working.
They had rigged the system to block all manners of magical convenience.
Think reverse, Sans. You had read hints about the true nature of the Crimson Hall. Why can’t you see anything beyond the entrance? It’s because you can’t perceive it.
Which means… what you saw was a realm beyond reality. The Void. The mechanisms of this entrance should still hold the exact coordinates to the Crimson Hall.
All you need to do is to shove it open with the correct key. Which you don’t have. Unless, you do… I do have something that’ll function as a master key…
It’s now or nothing. Sans focused on a single command to insert into the Determination-charged bracers on his arm.
Allow entry for Sans Serif, and Sans Serif only.
The blade glowed red.
Sans plunged it deep in the crevices of the slabs and spawned his Mark: the distinctive symbol of the Seraphim, six wings with two pairs folded over themselves.
It’s easy to force one’s volition on a lifeless object.
The stone slabs then began grinding against the floor as it gave way to its new master.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Sorry to his acquaintances back at the foot of the mountain.
Sorry to the human who depended on him.
Sorry to the queen of his miserable life.
Sorry to his brother, his personal Almighty.
There and then, Sans forfeited his life of idyllic laziness.