Epilogue

Countless of nightmares haunted Papyrus that night. He dreamt of fire. Of deafening screams that came from no mouths, and surrounded every corner his home. He dreamt of the masks, the faces of the hunt that kept hounding him and forcing him to perform heinous acts. In one layer of the nightmare, he was venturing through a nameless forest along sides other monsters he barely knew, and then the trees began growing from the ground and impaling every monster around him while they still lived, and they melted while they were still screaming. And he dreamt of Mickey and his heinous smile. Gods, that smile.

In the end, his brother had to wake him up in the middle of the night, because he had started yelling and crying in his sleep. Papyrus dared not to sleep again the rest of that night, and Sans perfectly understood why. Thankfully for him, those were the only nightmares he remembered, for his mind was merciful enough to cleanse the countless others from his memory.

When the morning came, Sans realized that the money was running low and so he had to get back to work. Although he didn't say anything, Papyrus could no longer bear to be alone, especially after those night terror, because he realized that that is when the awful memories return to him. When Sans told him the news, he wanted deep down to plead his brother to stay home, but he knew that they needed money, and he had barely any energy to even speak, so he just nodded instead.

When Sans was gone, and he was alone in his house like it was a normal day, the thoughts appeared again and Papyrus began to try his best to keep them away. He attempted many things. Reading, web browsing, thinking about something else instead, but the violent deaths, the tortures, the immense guilt he had for not saving the dog, and countless more just kept coming through the crack. All those things kept returning and he kept trying to push them away with as much distraction as he could.

After a while, he began sitting in the bed in a fetal position, rowing back and forth.

"It's all over. It's all over. It's all over."

He kept repeating those quotes and others of a similar sort over and over again. Suddenly he felt the craving of cigars. Specifically the white ones with green smoke that Mickey always had. He remembered the immense calmness they gave him from just a whiff. But then he began thinking about Mickey, and his horrendous smile, and he decided not to think of anything remotely associated with him.

After a while, he managed to lessen the thoughts a bit.

"It's just memories," he said to himself. "Just awful, awful memories."

But as he began to calm down, he was awoken from his somewhat meditation when his phone suddenly rang. He was spooked indeed, for he didn't have any friends that could possibly be calling him, and his father didn't even seem to care to speak with him, and besides his father, the only other person who even knew his phone number was… his brother. An awful worry entered Papyrus. Why would he be calling? Was he in danger? Was the Royal Hunt after him? Had they… had they captured him, and was Sans making one last call to his brother before he was maimed and killed?

Papyrus metaphysical heart went rapid on the mere consideration of those possibilities, and so he hurriedly reached for his phone.

When he saw who was calling, he became both relieved and a bit confused. It was from a number he didn't recognize. Must be an advert. Of course, it must be. They were always calling him these past few weeks. Why didn't he consider that before thinking about the worst case scenarios? Even though he was not in the mood for it, Papyrus answered the call.

"Hey," he said softly. "If this is an advert then so sorry, but I am in no mood to argue. Maybe I'll call you later when I am feeling a bit better and then we can-"

"Hey buddy," said an awfully familiar voice on the other end.

Papyrus froze in terror. He knew that voice. He knew it far too well.

"Mi-Mickey?" he nervously asked. "Ho-how did you get this number?"

"Oh it's simple," replied Mickey. "I just dialled every number until I eventually got this one."

"Re-really?" asked Papyrus, bewildered by his dedication.

Mickey laughed.

"Of course not," he said. "I'm friends with your father y'know? I just had to ask him is all. So anyway, how are you doing? Haven't heard from you since last weekend. You made an amazing exit back there. We laughed about it almost through the entire night. I even laughed so hard I puked. God. The way you suddenly jumped out the window like an old slapstick character. It was beautiful."

"You-you," stuttered Papyrus.

He couldn't believe how casual Mickey was about all this. Was Mickey mind in a completely different universe.

"I what?" asked Mickey.

"I- I saw what you did to them," said Papyrus on the verge of tears. "I saw it all. What the- what the hell did you do to them?"

"So you went back after all?" asked Mickey. "Sounds like you saw the display. Shame though. Would have loved to see your reaction."

"Ho-how can you-" began the bewildered skeleton. "How can you be so calm about this?"

"Why can't I be?" asked Mickey unironically. "A great author once said: 'We are all mad here'. In other words, accepting the absurdity and brutality of everything here has made it easier for me to stay sane in a world of madness. But if adopting that mindset is too hard for you then… well if it's any consolation, those weren't all of the enemies. Just most. The survivors are currently getting themselves comfortable in the capitals dungeon. As for the human? Well, let's just say that I… I mean WE, have plans for him."

That answer just made Papyrus more worried. If they had let them live, then just what manner of unholiness were they going to put on the survivors? They obviously were going to do something otherwise they wouldn't have let them live. And what about the human? What manner of unspeakable evil could those plans entail? Even though Papyrus never got a proper glance at the human boy, he couldn't help but feel immense pity for him.

"Wha-what are you going to do to him?" he asked worryingly.

"Why would we tell you that?" asked Mickey.

Papyrus didn't know how to answer that question.

"Good," said Mickey after a moment of silence. "Sounds like you are learning."

Finally, Papyrus asked what had been on his mind ever since he recognized his voice.

"Wh-why did you call me?"

There was no answer.

"Why did you call me?" repeated Papyrus with more urgency.

After another moment of silence, Mickey finally spoke up.

"Have you told anyone?" he asked. "About what happened this weekend?"

"O-only my brother," Papyrus answered truthfully.

"All right," said Mickey after a while. "But are you certain you haven't told anyone else about it?"

"Y-yes," Papyrus answered nervously.

"Good," said Mickey. "Because if you did then… well…. ok y'know, what? I am just going to be blunt about this. If you are not going to stop coming to my house at night to pester me, if you are not going to give up on your stupid dreams of heroism and so on, and most importantly, if you tell anyone and I mean ANYONE that's not your brother or a Royal Huntsman about what happened that night… then I'll kill him."

Papyrus felt an immense stiffness in his bones when he heard that.

"Ki-kill who?" he asked, even though the knew the answer.

"Your brother of course," answered Mickey. "I swear to god, I'll do it. I don't care what your father says, I'll fucking kill him."

"Y-you wouldn't."

"Why not? He's weak and frail. Believe me, I checked him. When I was in the house before we left, I examined his soul, and his body, and noticed just how fragile he his. I'll just have to smash him once and he'll immediately turn to dust."

Papyrus felt an awful realization. So that was why Mickey entered their house that morning only to suddenly lose interest a moment later.

"Why don't you just take me instead," asked Papyrus. "If-if I did any of that the blame would fall on me, right? So why would my brother have to take the fall?"

"You are right," said Mickey. "The blame would fall on you. But the dead don't learn. Especially not from their mistakes. So if someone else were to suffer for your actions… well, you'll remember. And if you are smart, you'll learn. Wanna know a secret? I never took you with us because I saw something great in you. I dragged you so that you'll witness what the hunt hold, and that it's not some sort of LARP where we dress in fancy costumes and become heroes. The Royal Hunt is no joke, and I'll hope you'll remember it. In fact, I hope you'll remember these last few days for the rest of your goddamn life. I want it to be a burning reminder to you, that you can't pester me into submission, and that you don't. Fuck. With. Me. You don't fuck with us, or the kingdom, and if this weekend wasn't enough to drill this lesson into your mind then you'll leave me no choice but to proceed step two-"

"DON'T!" Papyrus yelled over the phone. "Please. I'll stop, ok? I'll stop everything. Just… please don't hurt him."

There was some silence.

"So do we both understand each other right?" Mickey asked after a while.

"Yes," said Papyrus reluctantly. "Absolutely."

Mickey made an uncomfortable chuckle.

"I'll see you around then, bonehead."

And with that, the line was cut, and Papyrus was now once again left alone in his room, but now his mind was somehow filled with more dread and worry than he had before.

As much as it pained him admit, Mickey was right to be hopeful about one thing. Papyrus was never going to forget what had happened. Not one bit. These thoughts, these horrible memories were going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

To be continued...

…

I have become weak. Unfinished. My power, my soul, has grown cold. I have felt it in my bones, my soul, ever since that weekend. After I had fired my energy to tear down that glorified shitpile they called a "house", I felt as if every molecule in my body was being torn apart. My heartbeat went rabid, and my nose bled like the first time I started practising magic. It was only through sheer determination and utter force of will that I stood as hard as I did. As I was slaughtering my way through the countless sheep, I felt as if I was swimming in water. I went through much trouble to hide my weakness from my enemies and compatriots, but I know that some sensed it. I'll give them credit though, they were smart enough to not mention it.

The next day, I felt a burning sensation in my veins for hours on end, and when I threw up, I felt the taste of blood on my tongue.

Gaster said that it was to be expected and that to prevent any further pain I should stop using magic altogether.

Body not strong enough, he said. Can't handle too much magic, he said.

But I refuse to give up, especially in this life. I may be too weak, too fragile, but my will, my determination, is stronger than my body. I will restore it, and my magic back to its peak, and I know how.

But to do that, I must return to the surface once more. To once again venture to the lands above where I was conceived. There I must meet the legendary Gil, a half breed who was born at a time when humans were still flinging their own shit. This man, if you can call him that, has the power to make me whole again, and if he's able, he'll make me stronger, even if he doesn't want to. But I'll make sure that he does, even if it means I'll have to take a few extra steps.

I have spent years in secrecy locating him, but due to desperation, I told Gaster about him and just like that, he managed to locate Gil in mere days. Just as I suspected, Gil still lives and breathes, even after thousands of years of age. He currently lives in a human settlement called London, and thankfully, it's not that far from here.

I don't know how long I'll be gone this time around. It may take months or even years, but I will return, and when I do, the entire underlands will shake and bow to my arrival, and I'll be closer than ever to achieving what we want. What I want.

They say that everyone wants something, be it simply gold or flesh, but this no riches can buy, and no amount of whores can satiate. My wish, our wish, the wish of all monsterkind can only be paid through fear and blood.

-Signed

"Mickey" Mickelsson

The leader of the Royal Hunt.