April 14, 2021.
By the time the work ended, night had long fallen. After two months of intense research, Dust finally finished building the core components of the machine he had salvaged.
In its current iteration, for lack of a better word, it resembled a metal sacrificial altar laying suspiciously in the middle of the living room floor. The power cables and auxiliary wires may make the device look like a high-tech piece of engineering, but the impression remained all the same.
Dust tucked his hands into his pockets. “…And part one is done. Now, I just need to test it.”
The Phantom inspected the work. “Mhmm, I see, I see. Not bad! I didn’t expect you’d be capable of making something this refined. Now if only you could fix that near-illegible handwriting.”
“The writings I’ve faxed were alright, y’know. Had to make sure the other end could read it. Anyways, let’s give this machine a whirl.”
At least, that’s what he said. Dust continued to hesitate, not moving from his spot.
The impatient phantom crossed his arms and asked: “Saaaaaaaannnnssss? Why are you standing there like a statue?”
The shorter skeleton grumbled: “I have only 1HP, okay? And the code demands the caster’s vitality. I’m not even sure if I can survive when everything goes right, nevermind if anything goes wrong.”
“Silly, silly brother. Banish those worries. What do you think you’ve been gathering EXP for?”
“Huh?”
The Phantom raised his finger and waved it in circles, acting like a knowledgeable professor. “It’s the most basic principle of necromancy. Any life that you can’t provide on your own, you substitute with a different source. That is what you call a ‘sacrifice’.”
Thinking about it, that was indeed what Dust concluded from studying the ancient tomes. “In other words, the machine will drain the lifeforce of others before mine.”
“Exactly! Now go on, pick up your courage and give it a spin. I can’t wait for all that hard work to finally pay off, nyeh heh heh!”
“Not yet. I still have some tests to do and data to prepare.”
First, he inspected himself with a small pocket mirror. Since his childhood, he could read another person’s health points in numeric terms, as well as some other stats like attack and defence.
His eyes glowed in colour, and text began appearing over his reflection.
NAME: SANS SERIF
Reading his True Name brought up conflicted feelings. Did he still deserve to keep the name his parents had blessed him with after everything he had done, and everything that he would be doing?
Dust shelved that thought for another day. He proceeded to read the rest of his data.
LV: 10
EXP: 1257
NEXT: 443
He had accumulated quite a bit of Execution Points over the years, be it through giving the deceased their final rites or by killing the professional Heroes who hunted him. Anya’s people call it ‘Lifeforce’. Perhaps they were more accurate.
HP: 1
ATK: 1
DEF: 1
Accumulating the lifeforce of others should have made him a stronger person. Yet, his own stats never changed.
That was another unsolved mystery better left for a different day. And so, he wrote his details down for future reference. Time of recording: 11:00 PM, or 2300 hours as the military preferred to say.
Next, he had to test the machine’s activation. A simple button was all he needed to press to connect the device to the electrical grid. He had attached a clock to it, tuned to automatically shut down the device after three seconds.
Button, pushed. The spell engraved on the metal altar glowed white. The timer began to tick.
3…
2…
1…
And the power was cut off. In turn, the magic quietened and lost its shine.
He repeated the process three more times just to make sure nothing went wrong.
All clear. He took off his hoodie and hung it on a nearby chair. The code of the machine indicated that it preferred direct contact with his bony self, which was par for the course with the sacrificial table layout.
After laying himself down in the centre, he conjured a small bone near the button. Karma levels: zero.
“Here goes nothing.”
One swipe of his hand later, the button was pushed, and the machine activated.
A surge of pain zapped through his body. What happened after that… was a complete blank.
No colour, no lights. Just complete, silent darkness. It reminded him of the time when Anya’s prototype defensive scroll went haywire.
‘Am I dead?’ Dust wondered.
He felt his lips move, but he could not hear himself.
And then…
“Saaaaaaaaaaaaans! Wake up already! If you’re dead, you wouldn’t be muttering to me!”
Dust snapped wide awake, staring at the ghostly aberration of his deceased brother.
Sitting up, he muttered: “What… What just happened?”
The Phantom replied: “The machine worked like a charm, nyeh heh heh!”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Sceptical, Dust asked, “Why don’t I remember anything about it?”
“I can only think of one reason,” so The Phantom deduced. “The spell was not tuned for you and your terribly weak constitution. It was too much for you to bear, even for three measly seconds. So you just went kaput on the table. If not for all the lives you harvested, you would have definitely become a pile of monster dust.”
Hearing that, the scientist let out a tired groan. “Back to the drawing board. But… you said that there was some sort of a success?”
“Yes!” The apparition lifted his head high and proud. “Soon, you will have more souls than you know what to do with! Finally, that woman shows her usefulness!”
“Excuse me…? Are you saying that whatever weird magic emanated from the test reached as far as The Willowherb Village?!”
“Yes, of course! After all, it’s not very far from our humble farmhouse.”
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Looking at the clock, Dust realised that he had been unconscious for one and a half hours. That was more than enough for a mishap on his end to plunge the village into chaos.
It was then that he heard the familiar sound of a jeep engine outside, with all its little whirs and putters. It came from the direction of the village, stopping right in front of the house.
He hurried to get off the altar, but his legs had yet to stabilize from the ordeal. The short skeleton cursed at his own weakness of being unable to withstand the spell’s demands.
Once his feet finally steadied, he hurried towards the main entrance, almost tripping over himself. Along the way, in haste, he grabbed his hoodie off the chair and slipped it on.
An unnatural display of coloured lights had started glowing through the window and the cracks of the door. At this hour, there should be no lights aside for the moon and the stars. Whatever weird phenomenon he had triggered encroached on the farmhouse at a rapid pace.
When he stepped outside, he found himself staring agape at a mass haunting of souls. Dozens upon dozens of wispy human silhouettes swirled around in the air, pulsing their heart-shaped cores lights like fireflies.
Orange.
Yellow.
Green.
Cyan.
Blue.
Purple.
It was Anya’s entire flock of The Dead, free and unbound.
Dust wondered out loud: “W-what have I done?”
“Mister Sans?”
There was but one person left in this world who would address him by his original name.
His attention shifted to Stephan, the plucky farmer. He stood before the jeep with a bundle of white cloth in hand. His usual jolliness was replaced by a silted sorrow.
The human walked towards the front porch in silence. He placed the bundle down, face up. It was the corpse of a boy, about five years old.
“This is my son,” said Stephan. “His name is Zack. He’s the younger twin.”
Dust couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. Questions scrolled through his mind. Just two weeks ago, he was happily celebrating his birthday with his old friend.
“What happened?” the skeleton asked. “When? How?”
“The flu happened.” Stephan replied, “I-I thought dying from the flu was a thing of the past… but… but…”
The more he spoke, the more his voice cracked from grief. “The military doctors tried their best, yet there was nothing they could do… There’s just not enough of anything, anywhere…”
‘The flu’ --- if Dust remembered right –- was caused by the influenza virus. There were no records of monsters suffering such illnesses, so it’s possible that they’re immune from biological diseases. All the same, humans were touted as the unstoppable force in monster legend, yet all it took was a tiny pathogen to kill them.
“I’m sorry.” That was all Dust could say to the grieving father. Wittiness wouldn’t be appropriate.
Between his tears, Stephan said, “I found Zack collapsed next to the jeep. Then, when I looked up, I found The Dead flocking towards a particular direction. I quickly wrapped him up in this enchanted burial cloth, worried he might join them… I think… I think he tried responding to your call.”
Dust blurted, “My call? Excuse me, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I heard it too. There was this weird signal coming from the farmhouse. Like a whisper. It’s sweet and temptatious. I resisted it, but Zack wouldn’t have had the strength to do so.”
The situation answered several questions Dust had about the machine. Part of the spell was designed to entice the susceptible: a beacon of sorts.
“Mister Sans,” said Stephan, “You… you’re researching, right? For a way to save the world? I mean, maybe you need help? Like, having many souls? Everyone’s lifeforce?”
“That was just a test,” the skeleton explained, growing increasingly nervous. “I never meant to summon all of you here. I don’t even know if I need any sacrifices to find the Calamity’s source--”
“It’s okay,” the human curled a weak smile. “I know it’s scary to ask for the lives of others. The idea has always frightened me too. Even though The Willowherb are more like undertakers, they still pass down the ancient knowledge. Because maybe… maybe one day, it will be necessary.”
Offering the remains of his child, Stephan said: “Take my son’s soul, Mister Sans. And… Take mine too.”
Furrowing his brows, Dust objected: “Okay, that is going waaaaay too far. If you die, who’s going to be there for your wife and kids? Who’s going to run the farm?”
“They’re infected too. I may not have anyone left by next week…”
Nature’s cruelty knows no bounds. Stephan dropped on his knees and clasped his hands, begging. “Please… I can’t sit around and do nothing! We need the world to get back to normal! Mister Sans, you’re the only one who can do it! Save us. And save the world by putting an end to The Celestial Calamity.”
Dust felt the trickle of sweat roll down his head. “Hey, hey, hey, don’t you think that’s a bit too much pressure for lil’ ole me to bear?”
Except, The Dead echoed those same wishes.
‘Save humanity.’
‘Save the world.’
‘Save those who could still be saved.’
Many of them still had living loved ones, waiting to be saved from a slow, frightening death.
‘Use us,’ they thus said. ‘Take our souls and use their power. Take it all.’
The Phantom rested his hands on Dust’s shoulders, emphasising the weight of the world. “Brother, listen to their cries. Why waste their goodwill? They’ve come all this way to answer your call for help. This is what you wanted. They give you their life, and you will use it to save everyone.”
“But…” Dust muttered.
The aberration continued to heap guilt upon his head: “But you are going to be lazy and reject them. Neglect them like how you neglected your fellow monsters. Remember, everyone in Ebott Town perished because you bummed your life away.”
Deep down, Dust knew The Phantom was right. He kept telling himself that he couldn’t do anything, so he never tried. But what if he had searched a little harder, or dug a little deeper? What if he didn’t give up so soon? What if he had more strength?
Maybe, just maybe, Toriel and Papyrus would still be alive today.
The Phantom caressed his brother’s cheeks with gentleness. “Now imagine the amount of free EXP waiting in store. What’s more, Stephan is a Red. Trust me, they’re the best.”
Dust recalled the first time he had met Stephan after The Calamity. Pulses of power coursed through that man’s body. Without the protective magical cloth over his head, it gave Dust this troubling urge. A thirst. A craving.
Back then, what did Anya say again?
‘The overwhelming lifeforce from your Red Soul triggers his bloodlust. He’s claimed too many souls to turn back.’
His desire to take souls scaled with how much he had already obtained. He wondered: could he take some and leave the rest? Or would he be driven to consume them all?
And having done so, would he still be sound of mind to leave his friend alive?
If the outcome is inevitable, shouldn’t he claim Stephan first? To make sure his life would end as painlessly as possible?
After thinking it through, Dust summoned a glyph-inscribed bone.
How should he do it, though? Perhaps through the heart? Maybe impale the brain via the eye sockets? What about another major organ? Or the jugular artery? Dust realised that he lacked knowledge about human physiology to make the right decision.
But then, a voice of great power boomed through the fields. It belonged to a woman, a colleague that Dust had grown accustomed to. And also one that terrified The Phantom, who fled the scene as quickly as he could.
She yelled out: “O’ Restless Dead, return to thy corrals! Be quelled and sleep!”
The symbol of a crimson shepherd’s hook flashed upon The Dead, one for each wandering soul. Their forms stretched into ribbons of magic, flowing back towards the caster. In a blink, the haunted phenomenon was no more.
It appears that Anya had chased Stephan down on a civilian’s motorbike, most likely belonging to one of the local villagers.
“You!” She pointed squarely at the skeleton. “Hands, behind your head! Now!”
Dust did as told. He dispelled his magic, placed both hands on the back of his skull, and stood very, very still. Defiance spelled more trouble than it’s worth, especially after she barked like a drill sergeant. One could hear the sheer military discipline resounding in that forceful order. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of her: always a sure sign of serious business.
Anya proceeded to grab Stephan by the back of his collar, yanking him aside. “Acolyte! You’ve almost done irreversible harm! What do you have to say for yourself?!”
The poor dejected father couldn’t reply. Instead, he just curled up into a ball to sob some more.
With the crisis over, Anya calmed herself down with a few deep, controlled breaths.
Back to her usual self, the first thing she did was to bow at Dust. “I apologise for my rudeness. And also, for the carelessness of Acolyte Stephan.”
How awkward. “Sure. No problem. Everything’s resolved, right? Maybe, uh, take Stephan and his son back to the village. Settle the last rites there or something.”
“Yes, I will,” she replied. “Could you help carry the boy?”
He’s glad that the desire to leave was mutual. “Sure.”
Together, they started picking up the pieces, figuratively and literally. Anya helped Stephan off the ground, while Dust carried the bundled child.
This was a life Papyrus had rescued without realising it. And yet, despite his efforts, that same life ended before it could begin in earnest.
After everything was said and done, the time came for goodbyes.
“Goodnight, Mister Dust.”
“G’night. I’ll fax the report of my findings tomorrow.”
Dust then watched the vehicle drive down the road until it vanished across the horizon.
With the coast now clear, The Phantom returned from his hiding and sighed out loud. “There goes our fuel. We should have taken them all for use with the machine.”
“No,” Dust shook his head. “Had I done that, my experiment would have failed. I wouldn’t know how much EXP I used in the previous attempt. Without data, refinements can’t be made. Scientific discipline, y’know.”
“Is that so…? I guess we almost made a terrible mistake.”
“Yup. Hindsight’s 20/20.”
Returning to the farmhouse, the first thing Dust did was to re-examine himself in the mirror.
NAME: SANS SERIF
LV: 7
EXP: 500
NEXT: 800
Those three seconds burned away that much EXP. There’s no way he could use the same settings again. Also… he needed a way to replenish what he had lost.
He jotted down the results and officially ended tonight’s experiment.
“So…” The Phantom tapped his fingers together. “What are we gonna do now?”
“Sleep, of course.” Dust stretched his arms. “Tomorrow, I have a letter to write… and a world to save.”