Chapter 12
That Night
With the moon fat and dull in the night sky, and the cricket monsters and owl monsters and racoon monsters within their element, the great empire of the Outerworld began to wind down into a restless slumber. The popular notion was that the Outerworld never slept, which was only half true; half of the islands slept at any given time, day in, day out, like clockwork.
While this long and crazy Saturday draws to a close, let us embark on a summary of where everyone is, shall we?
For a portion of the subjects under the banner of the Emperor himself, they would be getting no sleep tonight. Under the flickering, orange lambent of torches, candles, and anything that remotely burned, they scarred the brittle earth with metal greaves that had been worn for several hours too long. Cold sweat building up between their toes, under their hamstrings, under their armpits, on their chests, trickling down their necks and dripping from their brows. Skin and fur desperately trying to breathe under layers of plating whilst the parched mouths gasped for water.
This entourage that stumbled its way across the Plain-plain in the dead of night was one of many. Others just like this one rumbled throughout the other islands, with the exception of Ice Island. That place was a dead zone; nobody went through there anymore, not even the Monster Military. Rolling amongst them was a cart being hauled by four monsters, two at the front and two at back. Their long faces, thick spines, broad shoulders and hooved feet made them best suited for the job. A little dumb muscle goes a long way. The cart was loaded with stacks of posters, piled rather excessively. There was enough of them to make a tree hugger cry. With every slight shift in the cart, another one or two fell out, leaving a breadcrumb trail behind them. Their orders were to distribute them around, and that was exactly what they were doing, one way or another.
Each soldier carried their own stack of wanted posters. They would have every word, line, speck and blemish memorised before the night was over. One went up on every single surface they could find. Anything. Trees; boulders; bushes; fence posts; stone walls; cliff walls; individual stalks of produce. If it were vertical in any sense of the word, they would post it. There was an extra added bonus with a lone solder sitting front seat on the cart; every once in a while he was nab a page from the pile, pin it on the end of an arrow, and sent it flying onto a surface that had been missed.
The noisy convoy left a trail of footprints, wheel tracks, upturned dirt, and posters in their wake. A roaring forest fire would have attracted less attention that they were. There was more than enough evidence for a bounty hunter to track. Speaking of which…
High up within the shade of a large tree, Barb came to a swift halt on the thickest branch. Her landing was next to silent, impressive for someone in high-heels. She caught many a target with her light touch, unsuspecting monsters who always felt the safest right before she pounced. Being a bat had its benefits. One being that she had sharpened senses when the sun went down. The night was her element. She basked in it. Allowed it to mould her. Built her reputation around it. When the lights went out and the darkness consumed all, the target's very own breath would be the last thing they hear before waking up two days later.
From her vantage point, she scoped the roaming convoy. Their work, while unprofessional and sloppy, was thorough nonetheless. By tomorrow, there would not be a single monster in the Outerworld who won't recognise the face of the human named Frisk.
Her feelings for this job were complicated. Mixed would be the better word. Fifty years of bounty hunting for both money and sport. This was the first time she was doing it under blackmail. Barb, just like every monster in the Outerworld, had been thoroughly educated on the humans – except most of her knowledge was passed down from Maxus. Nothing but negativity escaped his lips; the humans were warmongers and butchers, capable of unspeakable evils both to others and themselves. Many monsters have lost loved ones to them, and Maxus was no exception, having lost his mother and grandparents in the war that followed. Barb listened, acknowledging what she had been told, but had no experience to go on. She had never met a human in her life. However, if a human's strength was true, then this bounty hunter had a challenge awaiting her. If catching this child ensured the safety of her family, then the choice was easy.
When hunting something or someone as dangerous as a human, it never hurts to be prepared. She had procured a few of her weapons from her hideout – gadgets that will make capturing the target a whole lot easier. Two small, wrist mounted guns, one on each forearm, were in safety mode. They appeared as two rectangles carved from a metal the same shade as Barb's fur, with two openings at the front and another on the sides. The weapon on her left was an automatic tranquiliser gun, built to fire plastic darts that contained an anaesthetic powerful enough to induce sleep in seconds and last for hours. The gun on her right was a semi-automatic electroshock launcher armed with tiny metallic pellets, which were small but packed a mean zap. One of these babies could reduce an elephant into a twitching, drooling heap.
There was a pipe-shaped rifle strapped to her back, between her wings. That weapon, her secret weapon, was responsible for capturing the slipperiest of targets. Barb was not one for naming her equipment, but she had toyed with the idea of giving her rifle either a hard-core name to symbolise its merciless nature, or a small name to make it cute but dangerous, similar to naming a werewolf 'fluffy'.
The Plain-plain. She knew it like the back of her hand. A few clicks behind her lay the river, formed from the Highkeep Enclave waterfall. The human was last seen drifting down the moat. Her mind raced at a thousand minutes a second, calculating odds and predictions. Taking into account every variable and random chance. How far could an injured human travel? Were they alone or did they have help? Did they travel north, or could they have gone southeast toward the Oasis? What landmarks lie within a five to ten mile radius of the river?
She took into account that humans have needs, just like monsters. They need sustenance, food and water, in order to survive. Warmth. Shelter from the elements. Sleep, recuperation. The target cannot travel forever. Sooner or later, they will need to stop. The body and mind demand it.
She recollected a list of several locations; settlements and landmarks nearby. The biggest town nearby was Parfocorse, the central train hub for the entire island. She kept her big ears to the ground, however, and hear nothing unusual recently. An injured child most surely attract attention, especially if they did not have any money.
Another variable entered Barb's equation: motive. If they were heading north, for instance, why in that specific direction? There is no way off these lands. What escape could they possibly find? Perhaps the human was acting out of desperation?
The facts connected dots. Frisk had not been found within the river, nor have they been located around the river. They were on the move, that much she was certain. But one question remained as she took flight… Were they running away or were they going somewhere?
Several jangles rang out within the mansion of Master D. Mind. The marble walls amplified the sound, vibrating them to every corner of every room.
Master D. Mind himself lifted his scaly head upwards, drawn to the sound with his cyclops eye. Basking in the comfort of his favourite chair within the living room – opposite his wife in her own favourite chair – they were both enjoying a quite night of light reading before bed. "I'll get it," Master Mind announced as he marked his place within his thrilling novel and got up.
The missus, Mistress R.E. Mind shifted her gaze slightly, glancing one eye at her husband while keeping the other two on her book about bitter robots locked in an endless confrontation against relentless dandelions. "Who could be calling at this hour?"
As he made his way to the door, D. Mind tightened the knot in his bathrobe. "No idea." He pushed the door open. One of the hinges creaked. "I'll see who it is, and fix that later."
Unlike most lords and masters, these two did not employ servants to do their jobs. Master D. Mind and Mistress R.E. Mind of Mineyor Manors believed that movement is life. Their days were filled with work of any and all kinds, from farming to chores. Their sleep long and deep, basking in the fact that they had deserved their rest after a hard day's work.
His front door – the biggest, solidest thing anyone has and shall ever see – came complete with the essential mail slot, peephole, and door flap. Pressing his flat nose against the smooth surface, the master of the mansion peered through the glass as coolly and calculated as a sniper measuring the wind speed and drop distance. On the other side was a face distorted by the curve, one whom the master was most familiar with.
Master D. Mind did not know whether to smile or frown. Lord Grill of Bjornliege Manor was a humble and dear acquaintance of his, but at the same time, what was he doing making house calls at eleven o'clock at night? The grizzly had his own manor, his own servants to run, his own wives to chase up, and his own problems in which he will bury under a mountain of food. The master studied the lord's bear features more carefully, noticing a serious lack of what made Lord Grill Lord Grill.
Regardless, Master D. Mind was not going to leave him out to dry. "Lord Grill," said he, unlocking the door and pulling it open. "What brings you here at this hour?" Without the peephole, meeting the bear face to face showed more detail than he wanted to know, including the large gathering of his servants and soldiers behind him. Grill's face was pockmarked with bruises that showed through his thick fur, and a black eye. The lord's high-end attire had been ravaged, harbouring a series of rips and burn marks. "What happened to you?"
"Let's just say my manor is undergoing some slight renovation." Lord Grill wiped his forehead with what was left of his sleeve. No wonder. The journey between their homes was not brisk, and Grill risked a heart attack whenever he had to cover the distance between his chair and the buffet table. "I need a place to stay for… a few days."
The master of Mineyor Manors peered over the lord's shoulder. The soldiers and servants black and blue, the same colour as their master. "And them?"
Grill shrugged. "My home was their home."
Master D. Mind squinted. "'Was'?"
Grill lifted his paws level with his shoulders, the thumbs and index fingers touching. "It's a complete overhaul," he conceived in the gentlest way possible. "Everything's getting redone. The walls, the ceiling, the furniture – everything. The décor must be truly perfect for our return."
"Well, this is on very, very short notice and the mistress may make a scene out of it…" He scratched the back of his bald head and hesitated. Grill's frown deepened, making the decision even worse for him. "But… but if you need a place that bad then I'm sure we've got room for everyone, as long as you don't mind sharing…"
Relief flowed through the bear's features. "As long as it's padded, it don't matter to me."
"Splendid," D. Mind said. On the surface, he was rainbows and sprinkles, but it was a mask for his infuriation. He pushed the door wider and stepped aside, beckoning them to enter. "Come in. Make yourselves at home." The master recognised a few as they entered: that one guard with the scar on his second upper cheek; the servant who retained his stiff composure at all times; the monster who mans the door – that small one shaped like a dead weight.
As the group entered, the bear lord leaned close to the cyclops lord and whispered, "Do you have any separate rooms? With strong walls and sturdy supports?"
"Yes."
Grill shot a quick, frantic look over his shoulder as if he were afraid of someone spying on him. "And nothing with the potential to combust?" he murmured in a quieter voice.
Master Mind took a second to respond, unknown as to whether the question poised was genuine or not. "I should think so. Why are you asking?"
"It's for—"
From the dense foliage, a voice rang out. "Hey Grill! You haven't run off on me now, have you?"
The furs on his body went on end. The sound of that voice put him on edge. Through seizing vocal cords, he managed to finish: "—her."
A woman with a ponytail of red hair and an eyepatch stepped from the thick foliage, cradling in her arms a couple dozen berries ten times their regular size. Master D. Mind took a good, long look as she approached. He knew everyone in the Oasis, had connections with those outside, yet had never seen this one before.
Undyne took hold of another berry. "All this walkin' works up an appitite." She tossed it into her mouth and chewed away. The berry's soft nature did not stand a chance against teeth like hers, which were already stained red from five berries previous. "Hmm, these are good," he mumbled.
"Who's she?" Master Mind asked.
"She's, uh, my renovation agent… or something along those lines." Grill pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "Look, that room I mentioned – stick her in it. Don't ask me why. Just trust me on this."
Undyne stopped before the door. On the surface, she looked weary. The vision of somebody who had a long day and wanted nothing more than to get some shuteye. "Hey, you hooking me up with a place to crash or what?"
Master D. Mind smiled and cupped his hands together, throwing the best pleasant façade he perfected. "I'm not so sure about the 'crash' part, but I do have a nice room for you to rest and relax in. Down the hall, first left, second right, and it's the door to your other left."
She popped another berry into her mouth. She seemed thankful; for what reason, the master of this manor had no idea. "Sweet. Thanks a bunch," Undyne said as she walked right in, carrying her hoard of goodies with her, dropping one on the oversized doormat. "I'll only be staying for the night, then I'll be on my way."
"Of course. Have a good night."
The fish lady gave a tired wave, and then stopped in her tracks. The sudden screech against the shiny floor made both men's hearts skip a beat. "Oh, by the way…" Undyne twisted her head to the right and glared at Master D. Mind from out the corner of her yellow eye. That angry eye filled him with dread. "You don't have twenty wives, do you?" she asked, every word had spite behind it.
Cold sweat broke on his scaly forehead. "Umm… no. Just the one."
Undyne said "Okay" in a casual, friendly voice and continued on her merry way.
Lord Grill slapped an arm around the other's shoulder. "Sweet dreams," he called out, waving manically at Undyne. Afraid that the slightest unpleasantness would awaken the shark within. "Breakfast will be from eight o'clock until ten-thirty. Don't miss it!"
Mind turned to Grill. "I have a breakfast schedule?"
"Since five seconds ago. You're welcome."
Meanwhile, deep within Rocklyn, the soundless sleeping golem of an island rocked as the house parties, especially from A. Town, were blaring. The routine of the vegetable monsters was still in full effect: work, rest, play, repeat. It was not a house party, but house parties. Every house in town set up music, food, and entertainment, and all the population could move about and enjoy whichever place they saw fit.
Things were different on that night, however, as the whole of the town's populace congregated in Bub's house, attracted by the unexpected visit from their celebrity guest.
In the middle of the hustle and bustle, of monsters crowding and precariously balancing drinks, Alphys, Papyrus, and Sans sat at the couch, the scientist wedged between the skeletons like the filling in a sandwich. She was as timid as ever, hunched and rigid; a plastic cup in hand filled with a substance that would most likely kill her brain cells, in which she had not taken a single sip. Sans sat chilled with one leg over the armrest, nursing a bottle of ketchup taken from the restaurant across the street. This ketchup tasted odd, but in a good way. Less sugar, more tomato flavour. Like honey, smooth going down.
Papyrus gawked at everything, a juice box with a straw in his gloved hands. "Wowie! An actual party, and it's way past my bedtime." His voice was drowned out by the din of voices and loud music. Mettaton on screen was performing his spectacular opening from song number twenty six of his album, named It's Vacation Time (Vacation For Me Anyway (No Vacation For You (Burgerpants))) "Ooh, now here's a good song!" Papyrus rattled in his seat and brought the straw to his teeth, sipping the mixture of apple and orange.
From the thicket of guests, Bub forced his way through. His potato body made the perfect plough. "Are we enjoying ourselves, doctor?" he asked. Since that evening, his dirty vest had gotten dirtier, stained with beer and soda and fragments of potato chips.
Alphys glanced uneasily left and right, taking in the vast amount of monsters present and the crowds that she was not used to. "Y-yeah, sure… I guess…" She raised her head up, stretching herself higher in her seat. "But… but we really shouldn't be staying. I-I mean, it's not like we don't a-appreciate the hospitality – it's just that we gotta find someone."
Sans leaned over, his face meeting hers. His cheekbones flushed red. "Hey, don't worry about it, Al," he said, sounding like a friendly drunk. Sans was a hundred percent sober – the sauce contained no alcohol whatsoever – but he liked to envision the ketchup as his addictive crutch. "Frisk can take care of themselves for a bit. How do ya think they made it through the Underground? Let's kick back, enjoy tonight and search for them in the morning." He pulled his head back into the cushion, looking at his brother from over Alphys's shoulders. "Besides, Pap seems to be having fun."
Alphys turned from Sans to Papyrus. He was humming along to the song. For being one of his favourites, he really did not know the lyrics very well – or at all, for that matter. Alphys sighed and lay back in her seat. Unfortunately for her, the mental clock of dilemma continued to tick, twisting her stomach and making her fingers twitch. She felt like she had sheer minutes to find Frisk, otherwise the human who she 'guided' through Hotland and 'aided' against the merciless, singing and dancing robot parading around on the flat screen, would be lost forever and it would be all her fault. Alphys tried to ignore it the best she could. Frisk will be fine, she tried to affirm to herself, but the nagging feeling persisted. She could almost sense that the human was a few dozen feet away, with the monster who kidnapped them ready to sacrifice them with some insane ritual, most likely to achieve godhood. Not so insane when, in a monsters case, that would be true.
"Can I get you anything?" Bub asked, noticing the scientist's deflated expression. The doctor responded with a declining wave of the claw. "Okay then. Have fun." With that, he disappeared the best he could into the fray.
With nothing better to do, Alphys watched the television. The recording of Mettaton's big television debut had been on repeat since that morning. He had come a long way from preforming in the Underground. She was almost confident that upon reaching the human surface and appearing in front of a human video camera, Mettaton would have been shot down in an instant. Humans fear what they did not understand, and a robot with self-absorbed tendencies, a repertoire of (literally) killer moves, and luxurious hair was not an easy thing to comprehend. The alternative, however, took her by surprise. The humans on Earth have come to accept him, and have even gone so far as to love him, allowing him the chance to shine in his own show. Mettaton's achievements, in some small way, were also Alphys's. As she stood before oblivion so long ago, she believed wholeheartedly that nothing that she ever did or aspired to do would ever be accepted, not in the Underground or on the surface. Or elsewhere. Now, she had living, breathing, dancing proof that all of her doubts were for naught.
"Hey, Doc…" Sans broke the silence that was already shattered into oblivion. His eyes remained forward on the screen. "There's something I've been wanting to ask for a while now..."
Alphys broke from her thoughts. "Yes, Sans?" A bead of sweat formed on her brow.
"What are you a doctor of anyway?" After asking, Sans began to lift the nozzle up to his grinning teeth, eager for another swig.
The doctor's face scrunched up into the personification of an embarrassment person. She could answer that, but the real question was: would he accept it? "D-derma-dermatology," she replied reluctantly.
Sans stopped the bottle an inch away. Even he was surprised by that. "Really?" he asked, turning to her. He sobered up in an instant, mainly because he already was. "And you were the royal scientist?"
"Well, there were only two people in the Underground who possessed a medical degree of some kind. The other guy – I can't remember his name to save my life – he was the royal scientist before me. He was doing a great job until one day he j-just… vanished without a trace."
"Yeah… I'd bet." Sans went sombre for a moment. "Flip the switch," he said. Yeah, man, which one? The left or the right? You tell me. Sans tipped the nozzle between his teeth and savoured the taste as it poured in. It helped him think. Why did he install that trapdoor anyway? I told him it was pointless, not to mention dangerous, but he didn't listen. He swallowed and followed up with, "Have you ever put your skills as a dermatologist to actual use?"
Alphys paused, pursed her lips, and stared down into her cup. "There was that one time… Undyne needed my help to remove an embarrassing tattoo."
Papyrus took notice. "She used to have a tattoo, you say?" He stroked his prominent jawbone as he pondered. "Undyne and I have taken many a cooking lesson. I don't recall seeing any tattoos. All I recall is seeing a lot of red."
Alphys gestured around her face. "Someone had drawn a moustache and monocle on her face while she was sleeping." She looked down at the ground, smiled and breathed a giggle. "We found out at the very last minute that it was just pen ink. That reminds me: she never did find out who did it."
"Yep," Sans added. "What happens in the Underground stays in the Underground." He glanced to the side and winked to himself. The master prankster had gotten away with it once more.
"Oh, by the way, Sans," Alphys said, turning to him, "you were there when Papyrus and myself entered the teleporter. What happened after that?"
"Yes, indeed," Papyrus agreed. "What happened after that, brother?"
Sans scratched his dome. "Let me think…." He pointed at Papyrus. "First you…" Then Alphys. "then you… oh, yeah, and then Undyne."
"Undyne?" Alphys blurted. Her eyes behind her glasses went wide. "She went in?"
"And then Asgore and Toriel…"
"G-Gorey and T-T-Tori!" The cup in her hands was shaking, leaking precious liquid, staining her lab coat. Despite her loud tone, her outcries went unheeded by everyone.
Papyrus cackled, oblivious to the grave danger the doctor could have put them in. "It's a party and everyone's invited!" All he could see was the bright side.
"And then, uh… oh, right." Sans looked away. "How do I say this?" he wondered to himself before taking another swig.
"What? WHAT?" Alphys pushed herself up onto her knees. Usually, this kind of news would be something she did not want to hear, but in this case, she needed to know. "Tell me! Please!" Unless she found out, the world was going to collapse.
Sans took a deep, regretful breath and let it all out at once. "Your robot entered the chamber and both of them blew up."
Alphys face melted into that of a truly horrified person. While her expression fell, the opposite effect happened to the taller, younger skeleton. Papyrus dropped his head back and breathed a happy sigh through his grinning teeth.
There was no time to think because her thoughts were crammed with the worry that her friends and girlfriend could be shattered across space and time forever. The pressure was so high that it threatened to crush her skull. She needed to make it stop. Right now. The dermatologist threw her head back, opened her mouth as wide as she could, and poured the contents of her cup right into it, downing it all in down mouthful. It burned going down the throat and simmered like hot coals in her belly. After swallowing, she expelled a vicious bout of coughing.
"Whoa, easy there, Doc," Sans said while Papyrus gently patted her back. "That's some powerful stuff. You should really take your time with it… not like it matters now."
Alphys hacked away. Her throat was on fire. She feared that her next cough would vomit up molten lava, and then she feared nothing as the substance entered her system. Opening her eyes, her vision sparkled as bright as roman candles. The edges shook as every line distorted and the colours sharpened. It felt rather nice, as if she were afloat in ether.
"Doctor Alphys?" Papyrus voice was laced with concern. "Are you alright?"
The scientist rolled her head back, feeling like it had lost a few hundred pounds. "Never better! Why you askin'?" She slurred her words.
Papyrus pointed to his rows of teeth. "Because you're smiling, that's why."
It must have been the drink blocking the nerves on her face, but yes, the panicky Alphys was indeed smiling. "Oh, so I am." She glanced down at her empty cup and giggled. "This stuff's great!" And held it above her head and twirled it around. "What does it take for someone to get some service around here?" Her request was fulfilled in less than two seconds. A random partygoer pulled out a bottle and poured some more into the waiting cup. "Th—tanks!"
Just as she took another mouthful, the serene piano for song number twenty seven began to rise, eloquently titled A Clever Name For The Twenty Seventh Song I Wrote to Berate Burgerpants. Out of all the songs, this was the one Alphys was most familiar with. There was something she had always wanted to do with this song, but never had the confidence.
Alphys handed the cup to Papyrus. She mumbled, "Here, hold this," before slumping off the couch and stumbling across the crowded floor, bumping into everyone she crossed. Beside the TV stood a microphone on a stand. Another needed addition to succeed at Mew Mew Kissy Cutie. Alone in her laboratory, concealed under one foot thick walls, the scientist's singing was still muted to a slight whisper, afraid that a passing bystander with abnormally sized ears would hear her pathetic attempts at harmonising. As her woeful spirit drowned in a sea of a more powerful spirit, all her fears were cast aside.
Off-key, off-beat, off-tune, and clearly off her head, Alphys seized the mic and screeched:
Last night, all I did was write a song
When I'd rather, make sure you worked all day long
But as we know, a guy's gotta make a buck
Like you do, even know you truly suck
The room erupted into an applause – wild hooting and hollering broken up with clapping and fist pumping – for their guest of honour.
"Odd." Papyrus spoke to his brother. "I've never seen the good doctor act this way before…"
"And pray that you never do again, buddy," Sans replied as the doctor's glasses slipped down her nose and the button on her collar came loose. She yanked the microphone from its stand and struck poses as she carried on:
What to write? How do I hone my muse?
You've got me stumped. My, oh my, how do I choose?
Just kidding! I can't stop writing down these tunes
As rapidly, as burgers from your pantaloons
Hopefully, she won't remember this.
Walking with urgency… Almost blind… Strong scent of disinfectant… Wrapped in a blanket… It itches… Hot and heavy… You dare not look up, but you don't know why… Movements all around… The shifting of legs, pounding of feet… They must not see you… They must not know who you are…
Frisk tossed and turned in their rented bed. Sweat dripping out of every pore. Whatever was happening in their dreams, it was happening again. Stronger. Before, they heard a few lines of random, unconnected sentences. Now, these dreams were like they were there right now.
The dream faded and Frisk fell into a peaceful slumber. Their dreams was black and empty, the ones that people do not remember having. An hour or two passed, another dream bubbled to the surface.
Moving now… The clatter of rickety wheels beneath…Two monsters are chatting two seats in front… The door opens behind you… A dark figure… You have a strong feeling to run away… Time seems to slow as they take aim… One eye closes… Head cocks to the side… A pole darts past from beyond a window… The room bumps, the figure shifts to the right… The dream comes to a stop as they fire…
It feels so real. A vivid dream does not come close to replicating it. The bullet could have punched a hole in their sternum. Frisk could see it and yet they were blind to it, like everything was veiled with a shroud. So complicated to describe. So difficult to explain.
An Hour passed. The darkness was like reaching the surface to take in air before they were dragged back under again.
Cold… Freezing, even… Crunching underfoot… Everything becomes hazy… Someone grabs your shoulders… "You shouldn't be here!"… "You can't!"… "Run away, before—"… What? Run away, before what?... You cannot hear the rest…
One hour.
A hallway… Never-ending… They do not know why, but they did not want to be there… The human child feels afraid… The human child feels terrified… The human child sees something… They see someone… And this one frightens them… More than anything…
One hour.
The smell, it is familiar, and yet different… Dampness in the air… Loud stomping underfoot… Something opposes them… Colossal in size… Mighty by nature… The monster stares down… Hands reaching for something… The monster mutters one word…
"Ad…vis…or…"
The Advisor trudged through the door into the north-eastern tower. The four archers, who should have been at their positions on the roof, sat around their bunks, sipping mugs of steaming coffee. All eyes were on the Emperor's very own voice from the shadows as they stepped in.
"Royal Advisor, we—" The archers went to rise out of utmost respect for Maxus's most trusted representative when they were motioned to remain in their seats.
Slowly, they sank back down, and slowly, the advisor spoke. "Is the Emperor still upstairs?"
"Yes, Advisor," one of them said. "He hasn't budged since talking to Barb the Bounty Hunter, and that was well over an hour ago." He breathed away some white steam before taking a sip of his hot caffeine. "We daren't go up there."
"I see…" The Advisor glanced at the stairs that spiralled upwards and took the first steps. "Enjoy your coffee, gentlemen."
The Advisor climbed the steps in a methodical manner like that of a master martial artist going through the motions. Emperor Maxus, and his father before him, speak nothing but high praise of their consultant. On the surface, it would seem like nothing had changed in the Outerworld since this individual had been instated, but as they always say – appearances can be deceiving. The Advisor worked in the dark, beyond the sight of most monsters, reading between the lines, spotting lies masquerading as half-truths in the daylight. In the eyes of the soldiers, the Advisor was an enigma, and it was only fitting that the monster with all the secrets held themself in a mysterious fashion.
The Advisor was greeted with a blast of cold air upon reaching the top. By this time at night, the temperature in the air drops; perfect for those who enjoy bundling up in their bedsheets. The Emperor was easy to spot; the only figure present above. His back was turned as he stood gazing out into the night, one arm bent over a merlon.
Before the Advisor had a chance to say anything, his emperor shot first: "I thought you would've retired by now."
The Advisor stepped out, fully embracing the biting wind. "Am I really that obvious?"
Maxus's golden head shifted a fraction to the right, like he wanted to face his consultant but just could not. "I can hear you coming a mile away." He paused, glanced once more into the nothingness as it howled past his ears, then looked back from the corner of his eye. "As I was saying before, you're usually asleep by this hour."
"Feeling pretty restless tonight," the advisor explained as he stepped up beside Maxus, taking a casual position by the wall. He noticed the dark bags beneath his emperor's eyelids and the bloodshot veins creeping in from the sides. "Especially knowing that you've talked to the bounty hunter."
Maxus laboured a sigh, sinking his chin onto his arm. Good thing none of his minions could see him now, acting like the days of his arrogant, reckless childhood. Releasing all his years of anger and rage out on those practice dummies, swinging his blunt sword and heating up under his practice armour. Ever since his father passed away, he had inherited the honour of being the oldest monster in the Empire. Yet he was still young in heart and may forever remain as his hair turns white.
"What's wrong?"
Maxus blinked. "I used her parents as leverage…" He rose his head and gestured out in front of himself, more like he was telling himself this than to his most trusted associate. "I mean, we've finally seen each other again for the first time in years and the first thing I do is blackmail her."
As the emperor slumped, the Royal Advisor asked, "Have you really threatened their lives?"
Maxus drummed his fingers into the stone, irritated. "No, I—I've only told my men to move them to a secure location, it's not like I've locked them in the dungeon." His hand balled up into a fist. His eyes closed. "I didn't want… I didn't think I had it in me to do that. But I did. I kept telling myself that it would not come to that, it would be my last resort, but I did it." His eyes opened and stared blankly forwards. "I had a chance to rekindle the flame with the last morsel of family I have left and I threw it to the ground and smashed it into pieces right in front of her. Now she thinks I'm a freak. A lost cause. She said it right to my face."
The Advisor absorbed every word, acting as the emotional outlet, the shoulder for this mighty lion to cry on. Behind all that angst lay a lot of anger, some of which he looked like he was about to take out on the nearest object present. None of it fazed the Advisor.
"But as I tarnished our relationship, as I gazed into those eyes…" He looked his royal advisor in the eyes, punctuating the importance of what he had to say next. "I didn't feel anything. I should be ashamed of myself – I should be disgusted – but I'm not. I might have actually… enjoyed it, to some degree. Now I'm asking myself: did I just want her on the hunt that badly, or did I still harbour some resentment toward her?"
"Only you can answer that, my lord."
Not the answer Emperor Maxus was looking for. He wanted a straight answer, now more than ever. There was none to be found. It was all twisted and convoluted, like his trail of thoughts, repeating the encounter over and over again, looking for the point in time where it all went wrong.
He felt the gentle touch of his right hand man on his shoulder. The Advisor felt his dipping temperature. "You'll catch a cold if you stay up here. May I suggest that you retire for the night? The answer may come to you after a well-deserved night's rest. And believe me when I say that nobody has earned a rest more than you."
The emperor of the Outerworld pushed himself away and pulled his cape tight. "Yes. Yes. I am rather drained," Maxus conceded. For all his strength, he was only a monster – a monster with limits. "I'll deal with these pressing matters tomorrow." The Royal Advisor tagged behind the Emperor as he made his way down the spiral stairs, out of the harrowing wind. "One more thing, did you come to check on me or was there another reason?"
"Honestly, there was something else you should know," the Advisor acknowledged. "The scouts you sent to the Oasis have relayed information back. Bjornliege Manor is… gone."
This earned them a strong stare from their master. "Gone?"
"As in demolished."
"How?"
"Gas explosion, most likely. They found remains of what could only be described as a mixture of eggs, flour and butter. Too badly measured and charred to be deemed as cake."
Maxus shook his head. "Grill may eat anything that moves, but he's not patient enough to wait for cake. I smell sabotage." He thrust his finger downwards. "Someone must've been behind it!"
"Well, my lord…" The Advisor leaned in closer and dropped the volume in their voice. Apparently, this information was for specially selected ears only. "Eye witnesses have spotted an unknown monster leaving the scene of the wreckage, along with Lord Grill and his subjects."
"Did they run a check?"
"The witnesses have described the stranger in great detail. Female. Red hair. Yellow eyes. We've searched her through the records but have found nothing. It's as if she's appeared out of nowhere."
Maxus's expression went blank. "That's impossible."
"Not only that, but the word has spread around Rocklyn that one of the mining colonies is celebrating the appearance of a 'special guest'."
Two strangers in one day, the same one they abducted the human child? That makes three too many. A strong feeling in his gut told him that he needed to find this woman and this special guest.
"And also…" They went to say more, but stopped. The Advisor glanced down at the soldiers below. Just the two of them lingering close by was enough to put them on edge. "I should discuss the rest with you in private," they said as they ushered their emperor further down the steps. "And we can act on it in the morning."
"I trust what you have to say is not a waste of my time."
"Far from it, my lord."
Now, I know what you're thinking – or maybe I don't. Perhaps you are pondering about your next meal (which you will be thinking about now that I have mentioned it). What is taking Asgore and Toriel so long?
Well, it's funny you should think that. Again, maybe you didn't.
Dawn broke against the lands. The first rays rose against the obstruction of Black Ice Mountain. Black rock against gold light signalling that a new day had started. A Sunday.
In the swamplands known as Bob, just as a chicken monster yells 'cock-a-doodle-doo' into the sky out of force-of-habit, a spark of electricity crackled.
