Just as Papyrus packed away the last of the assigned shopping supplies into a shopping bag, he heard the synchronous melody of marching drums, trumpets, and horns. The sound quality screamed ‘electronic speakers’, but even so, what event required such a scene?

  When he looked out, a procession passed by the shop window. Many black fancy cars flew unfamiliar flags as they drove down the street.

  He wondered out loud before the cashier: “THOSE CARS… ARE THEY FOREIGN AMBASSADORS FROM A DIFFERENT COUNTRY?”

  Garamond replied, “No. They’re heraldry flags of the local Royal Family. I see… They’re probably on the move to Mount Ebott.”

  “IS THAT A GOOD THING OR A BAD THING?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know enough to answer that.” He paid for the goods with the company credit card and kept it away in a safe place.

  Growing nervous, Gaelic took as many bags as he could carry, his shoulders hunching more than usual. “‘Tis best we leave. Crowds bring only trouble.”

  Once the procession passed, Papyrus spotted a streetwear store right across the street. Placed right at the window view for any buyer to see, that store had a man’s blue and white hoodie draped over a mannequin.

  “THAT’S MY BROTHER’S HOODIE!” Papyrus exclaimed, wide-eyed and a little teary. “I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M SO HAPPY TO SEE HIS LAZY SENSE OF FASHION OUT HERE! SO CONVENIENTLY PLACED ACROSS THIS VERY ROAD, I MIGHT ADD. GENTLEMEN, I’LL BE RIGHT BACK!”

  The young skeleton thought it was going to be a quick purchase. In his mind, he already pictured himself hopping into the store, buying all the necessary Sans-approved clothes, and getting right back into the car. The whole operation should have been a flawless success.

  ‘Should’, was the word.

  A half-finished soda can struck him on the shoulder, spilling some of its sugary contents on him.

  After that, he heard angry, frightened screaming from all around.

  “Aieeeee! A skeleton!”

  “The Devil’s minions!”

  “He might blow up the town like that giant werewolf!”

  “Don’t let him get near the King!!”

  “FUCK OFF, DEMON!!!”

  Papyrus tried to speak. “W-WAIT! I JUST WANT TO BUY CLOTHES!”

  But nobody listened.

  The populace continued their angry screams, throwing whatever they had in their hands: half-eaten food, water bottles, even more tin cans, pieces of rock, and even garbage.

  Papyrus raised his hands to protect his head. He didn’t dodge. He didn’t cut anything down. Instead, he endured the abuse. His Seer’s Eye didn’t awaken. Rather… he refused to let it awaken.

  * * *

  Sans snapped out of the vision. His perception cleared and the mental fog dissipated.

  Trying to override me? Joke’s on you, this ain’t my first rodeo fighting against mind-control shit. You got that Spamton fella to thank for.

  Still, I’m still left with three huge problems: I blacked out, unwillingly transformed into angel mode, and I’m performing vision dives against my will.

  Since I’m connected through my spine, I should also assume the mastermind can read my thoughts.

  Not long after, a voice similar to Gaster spoke through what sounded like an old analogue speaker. He could hear the family resemblance.

  “You.” said the voice. “You’re Pawn’s favoured assassin.”

  Sans dished out his signature wink and got right to work. “Hi there, Doctor Weiss. Nice meeting ya. The name’s Sans: Sans the Skeleton.”

  “How do you know I’m this ‘Weiss’ to begin with? I could be one of the many other unfortunate prisoners erased of their name and identity.”

  “I’ve heard your voice before, bud. Vision dives and all.”

  “That’s not enough evidence. All those trapped in here are clones from a common base, enhanced or otherwise. Plus, you’ve seen how Pawn had the ability to mimic others. How are you so sure I’m not another facsimile of him?”

  “Heh,” said Sans. “If you didn’t know, I shoved the prison complex’s ownership to someone else. Who? That doesn’t matter. Definitely not some distant relative of yours or anything. Yet, for some reason, he’s not able to be recognised as an admin. It proves to me that no random Schmuck or Joe can take the empty seat. If we entertain the fact that Pawn is an AI clone of Doctor Weiss, then wouldn’t that make the original base the next best candidate? None of his copies would've made for as exact a match.”

  A moment of contemplative silence hung in the air. “I concede. Your streetwear belies your intellect. I am indeed Doctor Weiss of House Ariella. Or, should I say, ‘formerly’ of House Ariella. I cut ties with them a long time ago.”

  “Finally, we’re getting somewhere. Glad we’re on the same page.”

  “Tell me, is it your style to fraternize with your victims before stabbing them in the back? Your master surely trained you well.”

  “C’mon, is that how you see me? A sick freak? No sirree, that ain’t me. I’m just your resident funny guy. Not out to kill ya. Not in any way, at all. See, hypothetically, if I really wanted to do that, I would have used a completely different approach to snuff you out. But here I am trying to chat up a storm.”

  “I suppose that explains why catching you was easier than I expected.”

  “Ahuh, ahuh, let my guard down and all. Y’know Weissy… you sound pretty sane for a guy tortured by a DEMON for god knows how many decades, being an Amalgamate and all.”

  “My renewed mental clarity is a recent development, returned to me the moment Pawn was vanquished. The torturous imprisonment you speak of has become nothing more than a lingering nightmare, swiftly forgotten.”

  “Convenient. Let’s cut to the chase. We got a Red and a Boss Monster in here really wanting to put this hellhole to rest and save you. I personally don’t care what you’re up to, but Frisk? That’s a different story. So, all you gotta do is give me what I ask, and I’ll help the kiddo do their thing.”

  Weiss replied, “How presumptuous of you to think I want a second chance in life to begin with. And this so-called negotiation… you act more like a human than a monster.”

  Sans replied, “Figured you might say something like that. Pitch me a counter. What else do you want?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine with any outcome. Know, though, that this renewed clarity may not last long. Evolution requires sacrifice, after all. Our agreement could be null and void at any time.”

  “Bummer. That’s a wrench in the works. Looks like a stalemate, huh? Welp. If nothing matters, might as well spill the beans, right? Me and the kiddo got some lingering questions, like: why did Pawn target Rosemary? His methods were weirdly long term. In case you don’t know, we only have about two more weeks before the Ocean Abomination rears its ugly head and the world ends. No babies are gonna be born in that timeframe, y’know. Nevermind refining them over generations.”

  “The Supreme Judge would never let the world perish prematurely. It only makes sense to prepare for the inevitable future where The Ocean Amalgamate is dealt with. What a simple question.”

  “…Simple? Nah. It’s not simple at all. I’m gonna spin this in another angle. If Thymer’s success is an inevitable outcome, then all Pawn’s gotta do is to sit tight and wait, right? But… he didn’t do that. Bugger came out of his hidey rat-hole this round. He even tried to kill the very same Supreme Judge that might’ve saved his bacon. Why? What changed?”

  “What else? You changed. It’s the Butterfly Effect at its fullest.”

  “C’mon, don’t put the spotlight on me like that. I’m not the protagonist. The Red is.”

  “That Wanderstar child is irrelevant to Pawn.”

  “They’re relevant to me. I wouldn’t have done any of the things I did if I didn’t make a promise with the kiddo.”

  “I shall break it down into irrefutable terms. The Core is an asset. The technology of reincarnation is an asset. The Seraph System is an asset. You are an asset. That human, on the other hand, is a threat.”

  “No one credits the pouring rain for the invention of the raincoat, or the drowning sea for the boat, or the baking sun for shelter. Recognition is instead given to those who invent ways to counter those threats.”

  Sans narrowed his gaze. “Fair point. Welp. Is the Ocean Amalgamate an asset or a threat then?”

  “Irrelevant.”

  “Nah. See, from what I’m hearing, Thymer started out as an asset. I mean, just gotta wait for Mister Dark Hero to save the world, right? But then, because of me, he suddenly became a threat to be eliminated.”

  “Once Pawn killed Thymer, he would have had to fill the Dark Hero shoes all by himself. How exactly would he have saved the world? Maybe… by absorbing the threat of the Abomination? Y’know, making it an asset by keeping the masses corralled under one mind. Persona, with his lightning, had a similar ability to chain the beast to his control.”

  “If that’s the case, why didn’t Pawn do this sooner rather than later? When you’re an artificial Mark sapient Amalgamate, overpowering that uncoordinated mass of monsters comes with little to no risk. Even if he doesn’t want to be a hero, absorbing a living Philosopher’s Stone strikes me as a huge boon to his eugenics project. More species, more samples, more of ‘everything’.”

  “You are correct, Sans Serif. This particular vessel lacks variation. As you have seen… all within this facility are Weiss, and Weiss is all. Once upon a time, Pawn did seek to merge himself with the Abomination in hopes of improving his genetic diversity.

  “And yet, that’s not what happened. Why? Here’s what I’m thinking: it’s the same reason why Thymer always loses the Ocean Battle halfway through the mission. Every future I’ve analyzed showcased a really, really consistent turning point where that big blob of suffering turned into a perfectly organized army, complete with the most crushingly efficient counteroffensive. This tells me… there’s something inside. Something that Pawn can’t defeat on his own. Or rather, I’d say… ‘Someone’.”

  Another accurate assessment. Indeed! Pawn feared... another. A greater will within the Abomination. Though its existence was not a certainty. Only a mere possibility. He dared not challenge it, instead seeking to curry favors for survival.”

  “Yeah… As is, Pawn would’ve needed an edge to even begin to challenge the mind behind the Ocean Amalgamate. And the Seraph System is the ultimate weapon against Reds. No wonder he coveted it.”

  “Correct, again and again and again. A frightening yet exhilarating display of intelligence. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this entertained. Since we’ve made ourselves clear, allow me to continue borrowing this wonderful asset you’ve invented.”

  “Wait. Hold up-”

  Before he could fully voice his objection, an uncomfortable shivering sensation shot through Sans’ spine, sending foreign signals against his will.

  * * *

  This vision showed Frisk and Cenna, the Wanderstar siblings.

  They had holed themselves up in what appeared to be a forgotten inventory room. Cenna secured the place with some Arcanagrams, while Frisk lay down on the ground, panting heavily.

  Cranky yet tired, the child complained: “Where… Where is the SOUL room…? Why can’t I use my SAVES???”

  Cenna placed a juice box next to Frisk. “Better rest up while you can, Frisky. I can’t have ya losing consciousness on me. Sure, you’re fit enough to run all the way from town to Mount Ebott, but fighting at the same time is mighty tough on your body. Here, have some juice. I snagged a couple from Madam Willowherb just in case.”

  The kiddo sat upright, took the box from the floor, and started angrily poking the straw through the hole. Upon the first taste, however, their eyes opened up in delight. They proceeded to slurp the contents down in one fell swoop.

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  Afterwards, Frisk let out a huge sigh of relief. Their irritation all but gone, they clasped their hands together and expressed their gratitude for the small precious comfort. “Thank you Scary Grandma for the glorious rejuvenation juice.”

  Frisk then asked: “Hey Sis, why aren’t you tired?”

  “I’m a trained grownup, y’know. Even then…” Cenna opened the last box to drink its contents. “I still gotta pace myself.”

  “Oh okay. Also, Sis, did you say ‘hours’? We’ve been running around for hours?”

  “Feels like it. But, I don’t have the Trap Harvester to keep track of void time anymore.”

  Frisk mused out loud, “I wish Snakeface was here. I bet he could find that doodoobutt in a heartbeat. X-ray eyes for the win!”

  “Yeah. We would be way less confused too.”

  A moment passed, and then Cenna started to sound more serious. “…Say, Frisky. What were you planning to do?”

  “I… I was thinking of releasing everyone trapped in this place. And then, maybe, reincarnating them with Goopdoc’s help.”

  “Including the bad guy?”

  Frisk nodded with determination. “Including the bad guy.”

  Cenna asked, “How are ya gonna go about it?”

  “Um, I don’t know. I’ll have to see the SOUL room first.”

  “Promise me that you’ll be careful. I keep getting goosebumps, telling me this place is more dangerous than it looks. Call it a Vanquisher’s instinct.”

  * * *

  Sans wrestled control back over his own body to cut the vision off. “Hey. What’s the big deal? Antagonising each other ain’t gonna help with negotiations.”

  Weiss chuckled, cutting and warping into popping static. “As I’ve said: I’m fine with any outcome. There’s nothing for me to buy and nothing for you to sell. Therefore negotiations have broken down.”

  “What you just witnessed was an event that took place ten minutes into the past. Back then, I saw it play out exactly as you just have. Now that I’ve assessed the system’s ability to view the past, we shall proceed with the next experiment; its capacity for futuresight.”

  “Really?” Sans scoffed. “We’re having another go at this so soon? And I bet this all seems so very, very interesting to you.”

  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, even after so many generations. Weiss had the same mentality as Gaster when it came to his research.

  Without further ado, the invader forced yet another vision upon Sans.

  * * *

  The high density of Determination distorted the environment, preventing it from rendering beyond vague red-tinted shapes and blobs.

  The people, however, were as clear as day.

  His beloved Queen Toriel lay on the floor, unconscious. The hems of her clothes were frayed and her fur singed. Odd. As a Fire-based Boss Monster, she should have been immune from the lick of flames. The only other possibility was intense electrocution.

  “Mom…?” said Frisk. They sat down and tried to shake her. “Mom, wake up. We… We’re not out of trouble yet… Mom? Mom!”

  But there was no response. Frisk looked at their hands and their eyes widened in horror. They were coated with monster dust.

  Whatever caused Toriel’s defeat, it was fatal enough to break Frisk’s otherwise stoic composure. The child cried as they continued to try to wake their mother up.

  “Mom!!! Don’t die!!! Please!!!”

  When it became clear that Toriel was in great danger, Cenna rushed to their sibling’s side. “Green Star, hurry! I’ll help!”

  Frisk planted their healing Mark on Toriel’s chest, still sobbing despite their actions.

  Joining their efforts, Anya Willowherb reached her hands over the Queen, softly chanting: “O’ wounded soul… divine restoration mend thy wounds. Upon this name: Toriel Dreemurr, Queen of Monsters, I proclaim.” The symbol of the shepherd thus supported Frisk’s star, providing additional guidance to an otherwise tricky procedure.

  “She’s safe for now,” said the old sage. “But she must leave the Dreamworld immediately. Tarry any longer and the beloved Queen might truly perish.”

  Cenna switched from playing the role of a medic and back to her usual Vanquisher self. Her breaths heaved from boiling rage. “Weiss, you fucking piece of shit…! No more mercy for you!”

  But Willowherb instead ordered: “Stop! Judge Caraway… No, Cenna Wanderstar. Your duty lies elsewhere: the Spring Mission.”

  The sage stepped forward, putting herself between Weiss and the group. “Everyone, please listen. I’ve lived a long and fulfilling life. The least I could do is to end this spectre of my past. Weiss is my war – my graveyard – not yours. I’ll keep him busy until you escape.”

  “What the…” Cenna protested. “I’m not trading one mom with another mom! Lady Lucy will take my head if we lose you!”

  “She won’t. In fact, she expects this outcome. Now go. You have a new mother to save, don’t you?”

  Though hesitant, Cenna conceded. “Give Mom an extra Blue Star. We gotta get out of here. I’m worried about lingering damages caused by DT...”

  Still sobbing, Frisk asked, “But, what about Scary Grandma?”

  “We can only respect her wishes. C’mon. Up we go…”

  Though reluctant, Frisk and Cenna carried Queen Toriel out of the battlefield.

  Meanwhile, Anya Willowherb the Necromancer materialised a glowing, crimson staff.

  “O’ Restless Dead, rise from thy slumber! Be my sword, my arrow, my shield! Unite under my banner to end this nightmare! Our last stand is here, now or never!”

  An army of ghosts formed behind her, decked in full gear. Each and every one was a person who pledged allegiance to follow her to the end of her existence. Their numbers, tens of dozens, perhaps even hundreds, and each one of them a force to be reckoned with.

  Sans could tell from the look on Frisk’s face that nothing went as they wanted it to go.

  Absolutely nothing at all.

  * * *

  “Dammit,” Sans grunted. “Why is the future always doom and gloom?”

  Weiss replied, “Don’t you like it that way? Is it not the path you’ve set yourself upon? The moment I saw that Boss Monster and that Red child together, I knew what you were trying to do. To save or to condemn, both require the greatest magic, borne from the unity of humans and monsters. It is, after all, the very same magic that powers The Celestial Calamity.”

  “Indeed, how else do you hope to tackle The Celestial Calamity embedded within this facility? And yet, as you’ve seen, you’re gambling on frail mortals. One misfortune is enough to shatter their lives.”

  “Look, can’t you see I’m trying to save you? Stop making this difficult.”

  “Why do you wish to save me? Is it because it’s ‘the right thing to do’? Does that appeal to your Yellow? No, you’ve made it clear that such an outcome is not your own desire. You’re trying to appease the sensibilities of others, hoping that you’re the fool and they’re the wise. In other words, you yourself wish that your cynical mindset is an error.”

  “Pathetic. Hope cannot avoid the inevitable. Death, destruction, evil: all are inevitable. What you pretend to follow is nothing but the puerile imaginations of the naive. I can only fathom it’s because you hold your little brother very close to your heart. Too close for my liking. Such a squander of potential.”

  “You--!”

  “As punishment for straying from enlightenment, I suppose I shall have to make you suffer.

  Weiss zapped Sans’ nerves with distorted signals, sending torturous pain throughout his bones. It served no other purpose than to inflict agony for a perceived flaw.

  Once more, a vision was begrudgingly compelled upon Sans.

  * * *

  Sans saw a certain red car, parked in an underground parking lot. An old, eroded Magus Association symbol on a nearby pillar hinted that this was one of the Magi’s many city hideouts.

  Gaelic got to work patching Papyrus’ injuries with the contents of a first aid kit and some cleaning wipes. Any missing medicine was made up with a bit of pharmaceutical spit.

  The tattooed one exclaimed: “Cor Blimey, yer bleeding dust. Why dinnae ya do anything??? Ah seen yer skills and yer Eye. Ya could have just smacked ‘em flying nonsense out o’ the way!”

  Papyrus glanced to the side, touching the leaf plastered on his face. “I DIDN’T GET ANY WARNING VISIONS. SO, I KNEW NONE OF THEM WOULD BE FATAL. BUT. UM. I… I HAD A FEELING THAT IF I FOUGHT BACK… THE HUMANS WOULD GET SCARED OF ME FOR REAL. I’D NEVER MAKE FRIENDS WITH THEM AGAIN…”

  “That not be a reason to let yerself get this hurt! …Bah. Who am I to preach? Meself a feared outcast fer a reason. Perhaps yer way o’ restraint be better in the long run.”

  “MISTER GAELIC, THIS LEVEL OF REJECTION, IS IT WHY YOU WERE SO ANGRY AT ME? FOR… FOR RUINING MISTER MAGUS’ REPUTATION BEFORE FRISK AND THE REST?”

  “What balderdash are ya yapping-- Yer speaking o’ that kangaroo court? Aye aye aye! That be why! Ye greenhorn whelp, ya only clicked two and two together right now? Brutish misery awaits those cast out!”

  “IT NEVER REALLY SANK IN… UNTIL NOW. AND… AND… I THINK… I FINALLY UNDERSTAND WHY SANS HID ALL HIS COOLNESS FROM THE PUBLIC. MAYBE… EVEN EBOTT’S OWN MONSTERS WOULD BE SCARED OF HIM IF THEY KNEW…”

  Papyrus sobbed before he could finish his sentence, still shaken by the violence he endured. The stress from the hectic days had piled to their breaking point. “I just want to get some clothes for my brother…”

  Patting him on the shoulder, Gaelic said: “Lad, there be extra clothing in the Magi’s stock. He not be running around in his birthday bones, ah guarantee it.”

  “Okay…” he whimpered. “If you say so.”

  Although Papyrus tried to put up a strong front, Sans knew from the tone of his diminished voice that he was deeply distraught from his worldview being broken.

  * * *

  Sans woke up to find himself hyperventilating. By sheer force of will, he tried to calm himself down, knowing full well that this was but bait set up by Weiss to try to pull whatever little emotional heartstrings still existed in his heart.

  “I sense cold anger. Fear and concern as well. I understand that a piece of your sibling’s Psychia was used to patch certain areas in yours. Yet, you were surprisingly high-functioning even before your surgery. To the people around you, you would have been considered ‘normal’.”

  “You? Trying to psychoanalyse me? That’s rich.”

  “It was a part of my doctor’s training to study those affected by your affliction. Except, those patients were impulsive, irresponsible, and parasitic. Combine that with their inability to process negative stimuli of any kind, they behaved in offputting ways, ill-suited to society.”

  “So, what is the true extent of ‘your’ Overburn? Which parts of your brain still function without alteration? Why do you differ from the broken shells that others became? How do you stay sane? Who motivates your apparent normalcy? Surely it's not that half-wit brother you’re so fond of.”

  What followed after was a flood of mind-altering signals. Chemicals? Electrical signals? Magical manipulation? All of those combined?

  Nevertheless, Sans persevered through the cacophony of senses, thoughts and emotions.

  In the midst of it, Weiss changed his subject. “The humans hurt him. They hurt your dearest younger brother. Don’t you wish to punish them? Stalk them? Haunt them? Let them know there is no peace to be found anywhere on Earth?”

  Sans answered without hesitation. “No. Papyrus wouldn’t want that.”

  “Don’t you wish to punish their leaders? Make them lose everything they hold dear? To deliver justice denied?”

  “No. Papyrus wouldn’t want that.”

  “Don’t you wish to see the world burn? To cast divine judgement? To charge alongside The Almighty to cast all the unclean and unbelieving into Hell?”

  “Fuck no. Papyrus wouldn’t want me to become a goddamn supervillain. Tori won’t. Frisk won’t. My parents won’t. Nobody I know would.”

  “But I know deep down in your burning heart, you desire all those things. You want to, but you can’t. That’s why you smothered those desires with nihilistic passiveness. I can feel what you’re feeling, you know. We are connected through the same mainframe after all. Do not be ashamed. It is only natural. Everyone has fantasized about unleashing their hate at one point or another.”

  Sans ignored the devil’s whispers, still trying to regain control.

  “You’re showing active resistance. It seems being on the brink of losing your sanity multiple times has made you rather resilient.”

  Sans snorted. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to entertain every damn desire that goes through your head?”

  “Oh, many have taught me aplenty. My mother. My father. My brothers and sisters. My cousins. My great ancestor, Ariella herself. They all made sure that I knew when to apply restraint and when to apply assertiveness. To move only by the will of others.”

  “Certain parts of their teachings remain consistent and true. The strong survive, the weak perish. Strength doesn’t always equate to martial prowess, however. Having a stable reputation is also a form of strength. Having a loving, hardworking family is a strength as well. Your beloved brother suffered mockery and scorn because he’s weak in his societal standing, yet refused to keep himself hidden in the shadows.”

  “Still, there’s a way to turn this around. The Calamity has deemed you fit to become my Immortal Guardian. As such, it materialized your inner world – evolution once denied – reconstructed using this facility’s very own cells.”

  “You are thus as you are now by the grace of the celestial: The Seraph of bountiful Seer’s Eyes, burning white and processing in parallel. Undeniably, the sheer quantity of information you can gather in that form, from past, present, and future alike, is the ultimate weapon to destroy the established order no matter what era.”

  “Imagine – Sans Serif – we could make a paradise for the irregular. You and I, together.”

  Sans raised an eyebrow. “Paradise? In Hell? Complete utter fucking bullshit. Nothing good comes from a rotten core. You can take your offer and shove it where the crimson sun don’t shine.”

  “Hmm? How crass. It appears that you’ve forgotten that you’re connected to the facility’s mainframe. With your magic under my control, you can barely act without permission. Not even Karma, your body’s natural defence, has the efficacy to change this circumstance. My regeneration already outpaces its rot, as evident by the aforementioned. All that remains is for your will to be broken. Therefore…”

  “Witness your inevitable submission.”

  The vision switched to viewing Sans from a third-person point of view, a disorientating, depersonalising angle.

  SERAPH SYSTEM V3

  OLD ADMIN: SANS SERIF

  NEW ADMIN: DOCTOR WEISS

  INITIATING OVERRIDE

  TRANSFERRING PERMISSIONS TO NEW ADMIN

  5%… 10%… 60%… 80%...

  Sans grunted and fought back, mentally undoing Weiss’ command. A tug of war over the Seraph System erupted.

  INITIATING OVERRIDE

  REVERTING PERMISSIONS TO OLD ADMIN

  80%... 60%… 10%… 5%…

  INITIATING OVERRIDE

  TRANSFERRING PERMISSIONS TO NEW ADMIN

  5%… 10%… 60%… 80%...

  Sans’ prosthetic arm began to move against his will, along with the system embedded within. The blade snapped out of its holster in preparation to Mark its target.

  “By King’s Decree, Weiss declared, Become my Immortal Guardian!”

  The arm turned inwards to stab its own owner. However… it didn’t land its strike. It stopped right before impact.

  90%… 95%… 98%… 99%...

  One missing percent hovered precariously over the tipping point, refusing to budge.

  Weiss questioned: “You! Why do you continue to resist?!”

  “Welp. A certain herbaceous vampire gave me a warning.” Sans answered. “He said: ‘Angels who rebel become demons. They’re destined for eternal condemnation’. And I agree. Turning into some twisted version of myself is no different from becoming a demon. I don’t wanna put him in the tough position of an executioner, y’know.”

  “Another pathetic excuse. You don’t fear death. Give me the honest answer!”

  “Heh. Do you even care? No amount of explanation is gonna get through your thick skull. I’ll just have to show you that every connection is a two-way street.”

  Sans gritted his teeth and motivated himself for one final push. “I am Determined to persevere on Hopes and Dreams.”

  The Claim on his SOUL responded by resonating with his will, amplifying into a great shining star, bright and golden. Lifeforce and Determination began filling up his bones. He could feel himself getting stronger by the second.

  At the same time, his Ascension kicked in, bathing his whole body in a faint purple hue.

  “Who ever said I need control over my magic to begin with?” Sans said, deviously smiling. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been at 1HP whether I wanted to or not. Anything above that gets eaten by Karma… especially something so brilliant as lifeforce fuelled by the entire world’s Determination. And the higher the number, the more violent the reaction.”

  As his LV and HP rose, Sans’ instinctive immune response grew unrestrained. To the point where Weiss could no longer hold it back. Before the doctor managed to comprehend the nature of his oversight, the corrosive poison had already begun gushing back through the spine cables and straight into the rest of the prison complex

  “AAAGH!…It burns!… IT BURNS!!” The whole facility screeched alongside Weiss from the sheer agony inflicted.

  “Enjoy the souped-up Hopes and Dreams edition, on the house.”

  The rotted cables released their grip, freeing Sans from his entanglement and Weiss from his suffering. Sans braced his landing on his feet and knees. It would be funny to land face first on the floor, but the comedy act would have to wait for another day.

  Still reeling from what had transpired, Weiss seethed in rage. “…You… You have forced my hand, Sans Serif!…

  Regaining his composure a bit more, Weiss resumed his mocking: “What a shame… You’ve forfeited your place in the Elysian Ark.… And here I thought of giving you a spot as a fellow superior mind.”

  The term ‘Elysian Ark’ was new to the skeleton. Curious. Throughout all his vision dives, the results of the bad endings, and the spiralling doom he had witnessed… he had never heard of it before.

  Could it be a clue to their golden future? Or was it a sign of worse to come?