Undersworn

Chapter 9: Trials

We fought the darkness for so long, we began to think we were invincible, considering these as hypotheticals.

Left foot, right foot, turn, step back, switch leading feet…

Honor worked through the footwork drills Lith had taught him, trying to hold the unimpeded focus of the void in his mind to no avail. With a sigh, he stopped, wiping a few drops of sweat from his brow. Closing his eyes, Honor concentrated on that six-tongued flame. He saw it in his mind's eye, consuming everything that was him, because it was him. Eventually, he thought he'd achieved a state close enough to the first time he had done it. Honor opened his eyes again. A familiar voice rang through the room.

"Oh! Now this is interesting."

Honor spun on his heel, his concentration shattering. He caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure just before it winked away, leaving no evidence that it had been there.

"Hmm. This 'void' may have more to do with my prison than I initially assumed." Gaster said, voice echoing inside Honor's head. What do you mean? Honor thought.

"When you held your focus, I was able to manifest, if faintly, in the physical world. Without hardly any effort at all. Please, try again, and do not allow yourself to become distracted." Honor rubbed his temples. The doctor's explanations almost always raised nearly as many questions as they answered. Even so, Honor cleared his mind again, thinking of that mesmerizing flame—his soul, or a form of it, apparently—and entranced himself in the void. When he opened his eyes, standing in front of him was a tall, sinewy figure that he recognized as Gaster, like he appeared in Honor's dreams. Except now, he wasn't composed of scraps, but looked complete. Keeping the flame at the center of his consciousness, Honor carefully spoke.

"How are you here?" The figure blinked, turning his attention to Honor.

"How? I am not entirely sure. I am still not entirely whole, though it appears I can pretend it; my soul is no more complete than it ever has been in the time you have existed. However, with your soul bared in that way, I have a conduit to appear in this world, temporarily at least, without substantial energy expenditure. Allow me for a moment." Gaster turned away from Honor and approached a chair at the edge of the cave. He reached out a thin hand to touch it, slowly. His fingers passed through the wood as if it were not there. "So I was correct," Gaster mused, "I am not truly here in the flesh." Honor stared at Gaster, who gazed at the chair for several seconds, not moving except to draw his hand back to himself. After a moment, Gaster snapped his head back to look at Honor, barking at him authoritatively. "If you continue doing nothing, your mind will wander. Find an activity to occupy yourself while I experiment."

Honor fell into his stance, working through the forms as Lith had taught them, attempting to put Gaster out of his mind. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of the tall, stygian-clad figure poking around the cave. The doctor seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time in Rail's alcove, peering at the numerous papers. More than once, Honor caught him reaching out as if to shift them, before pulling his hands back from the futile action. Eventually, Gaster spoke once more.

"We will have to keep an eye on this one," the monster mused. "This Rail, I mean. His observations are impressive, especially for one so young."

"Young?" Honor replied, voice level, taking care to keep the multicolored flame in his mind as he sidestepped an imaginary blow.

"Of course, the child cannot be more than fourteen, maybe fifteen years old," Gaster said. "His kind is not so common, but I have met a few of them before. Although, in my current state I have not the faintest idea when the meeting occured."

"And the other one?" Honor asked, leaping back from a strike at his legs from his phantom opponent.

"He is young as well, at least, for his particular people." Gaster said.

"What do you mean?"

"He is probably in the realm of fifty years old," Gaster explained, "but that would still put him in his mid-to-late adolescent years." Honor halted his practice and shook his head in disbelief. Fifty years old! And what am I? Three days now?

"Focus, child." Gaster's voice spoke in his mind. Honor jumped, the doctor's tall form had disappeared from the cave. Sorry, he thought, bringing the odd flame to the point of his consciousness again. He could not maintain his concentration for more than a second though, as doubts clouded his mind. Three days old! Why am I even doing this? Gaster said it! I'm a child, no, an infant, brought into this world by children. Why am I the one that must do this? Any number of monsters could destroy me in a heartbeat. I should just tell everyone why I'm here, and leave it to them. His thoughts raced through his mind, not directed toward any particular goal, but barring him from reaching the void that allowed Gaster to slip out from his prison.

"Careful, Honor. Remember why you fight." Gaster's sage words echoed through his being.

"And do you know why I fight?" Honor asked him, speaking aloud even though he didn't need to, all his worries from the brief span of his existence crashing down on him in a wave now that he turned his attention to them. Faintly, he noticed at the edge of his mind that the six-pointed flame—which part of him still clung to—flickering, and the light blue tongue seemed to wilt. The violet one showed signs of doing the same. "Because I don't."

"Your name should serve as reason enough," Gaster said with a hard edge to his voice, "And if that is not enough for you, fight for your friends, your family—"

"I don't have any of those!" Honor shouted into the air, his voice echoing through an all too empty room, as if to emphasize his point. He continued, voice waning to a strained whisper, as much to himself as to Gaster. "I don't even know who I am…" Three days of existence. What was that to find out who he was? Most people took at least fifteen years, if not upwards of twenty for any answer, if they found one at all. Was he really anything but a shell, a blank slate of a human being, with no other defining characteristics? Given a body and a goal, a goal he pursued because without it…

"I am nothing."

For a while, a thick suffocating silence filled the room. No tears stung Honor's eyes. He felt no sadness, no grief, no pain. He just felt empty. Gaster took form in front of him, facing no resistance from stray thoughts or emotions that were no longer there. He stared down at Honor with a concerned gaze, face softening.

"Perhaps…" Gaster sighed, "Perhaps there is something I can do." Honor's eyes flicked up to meet Gaster's stare. "Your soul was not created by happenstance. It was designed and built by beings far greater than you or I, at least we are now. I can see an element of my own hand in its construction, as I was in a form aided by countless eternities of observation. Backed by the precision and ability of your predecessor—the culmination of six pure human souls—your soul is as intricate as any machine or computer ever designed. You are not normal Honor, you possess certain, functions, shall we call them, hard-wired into your existence, that no human has ever possessed before you." A faint hint of curiosity drifted into Honor's blank stare. "In my experimentations, I have unearthed one part of your soul that I cannot believe was left there without a purpose."

"Tell it, Gaster." Honor growled. "What are you going to do to me?" The tall monster straightened himself.

"You will be sent into the deepest recesses of your own soul. There you will be tested, at least I think that's what its purpose was. The trials were put there by your six progenitors, I believe perhaps for this specific purpose—"

"Do it." Honor said, voice firm.

"Are you certain that you want to do this?" Gaster warned. "Once it begins I can no more stop it than I can—

"Do it." Honor repeated. "I'm sure."

"Fine then," Gaster said, almost with a touch of pride. "Prepare yourself. Your trials begin."

It felt as if Honor had been thrown into a lake of icy water. He struggled, clawing to find the surface, but couldn't even tell which way was up. As suddenly as it began, Honor was standing in an endless black void, with six stone archways arranged in a circle around him. Joining him in the circle was Gaster, standing rigid, even as he spoke.

"Choose a door." The doctor said, not even turning his head to look at him. Honor glanced at Gaster, then strode forward and chose the door directly in front of him. He reached out to touch the smooth doorknob, and Gaster's voice boomed out from behind him, speaking in unison with another voice, a clear, resonant tone that seemed to come from everywhere around him.

"Go Honor. Go on fulfiller of oaths. Go on bringer of heroes. Go to find yourself, through a shattered lens." The voices said, as Honor opened the door and strode through.

Into another name, a different place, a separate life.

The only sounds Danny could hear were the twin thumps of his heart and of his feat hitting the asphalt. Two drumbeats pounding out the rhythm as he sprinted down the street. Little Tom, a boy only slightly older than half his age ran behind him, struggling to keep up. Danny pushed himself harder, faster, leaving Little Tom behind without a second thought. There! Danny rounded the corner into a dark, dirty alley. It was familiar to him, of course. He'd spent his whole life on these streets, he used to play here with his little brother when they slipped away from doing their chores.

Danny immediately picked out a circle of four boys about his age, standing in a circle around a much smaller child. The little boy was whimpering, and shaking like a flag in a fall windstorm.

"Hey!" Danny called out, face set in a cold hard fury. The four boys turned to look at him. The little one lifted his head to do the same, but yelped and curled up in a ball again as one of the taller boys delivered a swift kick in the direction of his head. Danny clenched his fists. One of the boys, tall and broad-shouldered for their age, cracked a smile as he looked at Danny. Eric, was his name. He was cocky piece of crud at his best, always had been and always would be, but this time he had gone way too far.

"Yo! Dan-man!" Eric called out mockingly. "Glad you could come! Wanna join in? It's fun." The little kid on the ground let out a whine, ending in a sharp yelp as he was kicked again. Little Tom came around the corner into the mouth of the alley, sucking air hard.

"Th- whew! There they are!" He cried out, pointing at the four boys.

"Thanks Tom." Danny said, staring Eric down. "Go on, get help." The smaller boy whiped at the sheen of sweat on his face.

"I already did though. I got you." He said. Danny shook his head.

"Get out of here Tom, run, and don't come back unless you got a blastin' army to back you up, got that?" Danny couldn't see the boy's reaction, staring at Eric as he was, but after a few seconds he heard Little Tom's pounding footsteps getting him the hell out of there. Just like Danny probably should've.

"Well well, sending your little punk sidekick off on errands are ya?" Eric taunted. Danny rolled up his sleeves, meeting Eric glare for glare.

The sun was setting behind a bank of clouds, casting the alley in an orange light.

"Let him up." Danny growled, taking a step toward Eric and his goons. Eric's eyes widened in mock fear.

"Oh, of course! Like this?" He turned and lifted the poor little boy up halfway to his feet by the collar of his shirt before slamming his fist into the kid's already bloodied face. The little boy crumpled to the ground, sobbing and clutching his nose, blood streaming between his fingers. Danny surged, forward, darting between Eric's friends and crashing into him. They fell to the ground in a heap, and Danny immediately started pounding at Eric's head, giving him twice as good as he'd given the little kid, and not half of what he deserved. He kept swinging, slamming his fist into Eric's head until two of Eric's goons hauled him off. They held him, thrashing, as Eric pulled himself to his feet.

"You're gonna pay for that Dan—" His threat was cut off as Danny landed a kick on the knee of the guy holding his right arm. The goon cursed, clutching his kneecap as Danny wrenched himself free of the other goon and planted another solid fist to Eric's face. He could feel the satisfying crunch of Eric's nose under his knuckles.

Before he could land another punch the two goons grabbed him again and slammed him into the alley wall. They took turns hitting him in the stomach, keeping him from sucking in enough breath to really fight back. They stopped, and Danny raised his head to see Eric, recovered and stalking toward him, face contorted with unbridled rage.

"Oh, you think you're tough huh? You think you got steel in yer gut do ya Danny-boy? Let's see if you're so tough after this!" Danny's face snapped to the side with the force of the blow, his vision swimming. If they're beatin' me, he though, that means they aren't beatin' the little guy at least.

That thought brought at least some small comfort as fists crashed into his head, over and over again. Of course, when they were done with him, he wouldn't be able to really help the little kid, would he?

Honor gasped. He was back in that dark void with Gaster, surrounded by the six doors. As he watched the one he had just gone through cracked, then crumbled into dust. I didn't save the kid. Honor thought. I failed. He could remember being Danny, he could remember having a life to remember, but the only of Danny's memories that he retained were those from the time he'd spent as him. The whole thing was enough to give Honor a headache. Who was Danny? It couldn't be one of the souls, he didn't think any of them had ever gotten quite that old. Gaster spoke

"Without stars born

Without stars left"

The doctor's voice trailed off, as if his statement was incomplete, as it certainly seemed to be. Without stars born? What does that mean? Turning his attention once more to Gaster, Honor started to get angry.

"What was that about! You send me to some weird place just to watch some poor kid get beat up, and to get me beat up too? What's wrong with you?!" He shouted. The slender dark-clad monster didn't respond. Honor threw his hands into the air. "Fine, that's just great. Now the one person I can talk to is acting like some sort of stoic all of the sudden!" He stood there for another minute, staring down the taller monster. Alright then, he thought, I guess I'll just go through another door. He approached another of the remaining five doors at random, placing his hand on the knob, half-expecting Gaster to say something, or that strange voice that had spoken when he had gone through the other door. When none did, he pulled the door open and walked through.

Another name, a different place, a separate life.

Parran heard the nervous shuffling of feet and jostling of spears from behind him. With a quick hand signal, the soldiers stopped, standing silent as they had been trained to. They hadn't been so careless at the beginning of the campaign, the long months on the march had caused them to lax in their discipline. He would need to speak to his officers about that later. His men were arrayed just behind the crest of a long ridge, hidden from the sight of any persons traveling on the wide road below. He crouched— along with two of his trusted lieutenants—at the top, scanning the wide valley laid out before him. He was positioned to the West of the road, the mountains, too steep to fight upon effectively, to the East. Farther South, he could glimpse the lights from the town Hearthstone, shining through the darkness.

The townsfolk were Tolani Raeshe, sworn to never take up weapons or war, even in self-defense. So adamant were they in their pacifism that they would not even allow Parran to fortify their town against the coming armies with his own troops. They weren't satisfied as long as his soldiers were within sight of their homes. He suspected if they knew how close he was to them even now, they would try to drive him farther off. But scorches take them if they thought he was going to let them die without fighting tooth and bloody nail to keep them safe.

"General," one of his lieutenants hissed into his ear. "Infantry approaching." Turning his eyes back down the pass, Parran saw a spattering of flickering lights in the distance.

"We hold." He replied.

Iriaes had assured him that her unit would not, fail, so he would give her the time she needed. As the enemy infantry grew nearer, Parran began to receive startling reports about their numbers. They doubled the numbers of his own men in infantry alone, plus several platoons of cavalry. The soldiers behind the hill's crest began to shuffle nervously again. They couldn't see the army they were set to face, but they could see the stream of reports and orders sent to and from Parran. He sent several of the better-liked lieutenants to calm the men. All this waiting would do no good if they were spotted before the trap was sprung. Come on Iriaes, he thought, scorch you this better work!

As the enemy advanced closer, Parran ordered all of his men, and scouts, to stay behind the crest of the hill. After a moment's more observation, he joined them. They huddled there, hidden from the eyes of their enemies as they approached, drawing closer to the village of innocents not twenty-minutes march off. Parran could hear the thundering footsteps of his enemies, the many familiar sounds that made up the breath of an army on the move. Parran closed his eyes, waiting.

Hold, hold, hold…

They were too close to the town. How many soldiers had past their position? Would they all turn to fight, once they battle started, could he protect the innocents? Parran caught the slight sounds of his soldiers readying themselves for battle. Hold you fools, he thought, Iriaes needs time!

Then it happened. The magical sounds of powder explosives, brought hundreds of miles from the chemists who created them, shattering stone across the pass. Iriaes and her unit had set them off on a mountain just down the pass from them, sending countless tons of rock falling down on the enemy ranks.

After a brief wait to allow the rockslide to settle, Parran called for a charge down the hill, lines of soldiers under his banner, a cyan bear on a white background. Iriaes would have taken care of a fair number of their men, and had certainly scared the rest out of their boots, but he still had a battle to win.

Parran commanded the battle his troops from the top of the hill. He wished he was doing it from down there shoulder to shoulder with his soldiers. In his younger years, he had done so. But now, with time catching up to him, Parran settled for his bird's eye view. The battle was going well, but a spike of pain struck at his heart when he saw thick streams of smoke rising from the town. Before Iriaes had struck, the enemy had sent their cavalry on ahead to begin sacking the town. Who knew how many innocents were lost in those flames, to the fires, or to blades from the cavalrymen before they had returned to the battle to assist their comrades. Even as he won the day, facing cheers from his men, tears touched the hardened general's eyes.

Honor's eyes shot open, back in the void, with only five doors now. The one he had just entered crumbled, fading into dust that disappeared into the void's endless reaches. Gaster stood before him, saying,

Our children face the demon's head

Honor glared at Gaster again.

"What is this! Are you just here to torture me? To make me fight, and never be able to protect them?" He closed his eyes breathing deeply. A test. Gaster had called it a test. But if so, was he failing? Honor didn't think he had control, once he entered the doors. Once he crossed those thresholds, he was someone else. Their decisions were not his. And why wasn't Gaster speaking, except for those cryptic phrases? I have to try the other doors. He decided. He couldn't forget. He was there to find out who he was. He would continue.

Compendium of thoughts from the person who wrote this work (Because "Author's Note" is too mainstream, and I'm running out of ideas): This is a weird one, eh? To answer some questions, no, he isn't seeing through the eyes of the souls that made him up. More about this whole experience will be explained when it's over. Sorry for being late, but I'm juggling a couple writing projects right now. That's not an excuse, just the reason.

Do you know what? I'll be nice and give you a couple questions to think about regarding this story.

1. What happened to Gaster to get him where he is? What was he like before?

2. Rail builds a structure Asgore recognizes from before the war, but Gaster claims he can be no older than 14 or 15.

3. Both Lith and Rail are too young to have been a part of the army before the monsters were sealed underground. If so, how did they become soldiers, loyal to somebody other than the king?

4. Who really is Sans? He shows himself to be an excellent scientist, and Grillby remembers him being really determined about something, but what? He remarks that he wasn't a soldier.

Also, so you don't have to go scrolling for it, what you've got so far is this:

Without stars born

Without stars left

Our children face the demon's head