"Uh," you began, eloquently and full of confidence as always. "Uh, um, what do we need to talk about?"

"Sit," he gestured sharply, indicating the little area you had set up outside of the kitchen. You settled down in a chair, folding your hands in your lap, and he leaned forward with an intent expression after taking his place across from you. "I've heard you're making progress on getting Doctor Gaster home."

"I think so. I mean, this is all pretty weird. But yeah." You paused, not able to meet his fierce gaze. "I'm planning a ritual, and it should let him safely take him to his family."

"Good. I want you to do your duty to him as soon as you can, then I want him out. Leave him be and don't maintain any contact. Do you understand?"

Your heart thudded dully in your chest, and you felt like it'd slip out of your mouth as you spoke. "Wh—what? Why?"

The Primus pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I knew Many-Names saw you as something of a foster student, but I didn't realize you shared their bullheaded denial of the facts."

"Wait. Foster student?"

The Primus stared at you like you'd suddenly grown a second head. "Of course — look. This conversation isn't about you and Many-Names. This is about how monsters are heretics and their king is a murderer."

"I — I don't think — " you began, head going light and foggy, but he'd already worked himself into something of a fervor.

"Two-Bit, I am the master of barriers. There is no one in a thousand miles who knows more about them than me. Believe me when I tell you, there is absolutely no conceivable way that that barrier could have been broken by anything but seven human souls. " His fists tightened on his knees, and he stared at you with absolute conviction. "I've seen that man's eyes. The king bears death on his shoulders; I am certain. "

"That's — that's… that's just the king. Gaster is nice. He's so kind, if you'd just talk to him, you'd see. He wouldn't…"

"Really? The Royal Scientist? Do you imagine he wasn't complicit? Have you truly thought about what that man might have done? Monsters treat the soul like it's a toy, or - no, even worse, like a thing to be dissected, to be examined. Humans and monsters fought a war over the sanctity of the soul!" He took a deep breath, likely to calm himself. "...Have you really thought about what sort of vile work it must have taken to land him in the state you found him in?"

Gaster, you remembered yourself asking. How do you know that you can extract DT from humans?

That tomorrow had never come, had it? You swallowed and rasped, "They were desperate. That vile pit — it must have been horrible."

"Hah," he laughed, sharp and without mirth. "So I have heard Many-Names yell many a time. That welcoming them would be recompense for our actions in the past, a way to atone for hundreds of years of suffering." His tone turned dark, with bitter mourning. "I have dreamed. I have dreamed so deeply. I've seen our Queen, and I've seen her vile fate. I maintain the barrier from which her curse radiates. Two-Bit, there is nothing that shall pardon us, any of us. There is no mercy for us, nor is there mercy for them up here. That vile pit kept them safe. It kept us safe."

You stared at your hands, and you could feel the truth of his words on them, just as distinctly as you felt the blood still staining your skin. Dust — how would you look, covered with it? You wanted to vomit at the thought.

You both sat there for a moment, silent.

"...My distaste for Asgore is infamous," The Primus spoke, his voice thin and quiet. "But despite their folly, I do not hate his people. I simply must think of what's best for us at all times. The return of the monsters hearkens to a dark future, one with the potential of a new curse, a new Queen Ranunculae, and a new breed of demon that craves the sweet dust of shattered monster's souls. You've heard us debate. I've admitted to the futility of forcing them back underground. But. "

He looked up at you. "It's best — for all of us — to keep temptations to a minimum. Think very seriously about the true character of the man you have allowed to share your home. What he has done, and what he may do to you. Where his loyalties may ultimately lie —"

"Gaster would never hurt me," you insisted. It was the only thing you were confident about. "Even, even if he's done bad things, I think he's learned, I think… I couldn't ever imagine…"

The Primus was quiet, looking at you over the coffee table, and then, "You thought the Cerebrum would never hurt you, either."

The pain of that statement shot to your very core, and you bent over, pulling your knees up into you and hiding your face. You had, hadn't you? You had trusted her. Would Gaster — could Gaster? That sweet, gentle man, with that warm, dizzying light dancing in his eyes? You didn't say anything more. You couldn't.

"Two-Bit —" he prompted lightly, and you felt the name prickle on the back of your neck. Half-rate. Useless. "I… cannot forbid you from doing anything. However, a mage's soul is a tempting thing. I may not be able to help you, should something unfortunate happen."

You still didn't say anything, and so he stood, pushing himself to his feet. "That's all I wished to tell you. If you learned anything from the Inquisitor of Spaghorde, you will know what you must do. Goodbye."

As the Primus descended the steps, the creaks reminiscent of a funeral parlor, Inquisitor Legbiter stopped in the middle of detailing the escapade that had cost him two shirts in one night. Both he and Gaster watched the older man return to the ground floor in silence, apprehension filling the room. Once he'd settled on the bottom step, he turned to his Inquisitor, saying simply, "Let us go."

"Where's Two-Bit?" Gaster asked uselessly, as worry had clouded his judgment. "Are — they alright?"

After clicking over to the door and wrenching it open, he looked back to acknowledge the monster for the first time. "I hope they're right about you," he snarled, gaze as fierce as a bird of prey. "Because otherwise, I will find you, and I will tear you limb from limb. Understand?"

Gaster did not understand. Still, he was cowed enough to say absolutely nothing and nodded with wide, terrified eyes.

"Good. Inquisitor." He turned, storming into the growing evening. With a heavy sigh, Inquisitor Legbiter patted Gaster on the shoulder.

"Sorry," he huffed, eyes trained on the door. "He's kind of a cactus."

With that, he broke away from the stunned man, stepping quickly after his liege.

It took a long moment before Gaster snapped himself back to reality and bolted up the stairs to check on you.

—

"So," the Inquisitor drawled, thumbs in his pockets as he kept pace with the Primus. "So how loud did things get? I couldn't hear you from downstairs, so it must not have been that bad."

"I'm not in the mood," he hissed, losing any grace he'd maintained with you.

"Alright. Want to talk about it?"

The Primus continued to fume, quickening his pace without a destination in mind and letting his feet take him where they willed. For a long while, Legbiter was content to simply follow him, but eventually — and this was quite a substantial eventually, as the Inquisitor was a patient fellow — he reached out, taking the well dressed man's elbow and hauling him into a secluded alley. It is important to note here that, despite his laid-back appearance, the Inquisitor held his position for a reason. He climbed buildings for shits and giggles and lifted boulders simply because he could. Pickle jars were no match for his fearsome might. In contrast…

The Primus was a pathetically weak nerd who could easily be pinned against a wall, looking quite out of place among soggy cardboard and the bits of refuse littering the alleyway.

"Something is bothering you. A lot. What happened?"

Legbiter searched his expression, intent, and neither backed down when the Primus met his stare with an irritated glower. Legbiter frowned.

"You only get this worked up over Asgore, but whatever it is must not be an immediate threat, or you'd have told me already. So, it's something you're uncertain about, and, furthermore, it's something you're having a lot of trouble proving. It also probably involves Gaster, as you suddenly changed your mind about just letting things play out, so…" he thought for a long moment. "...You think Asgore has something to do with all this. Why?"

The line of his mouth softened a bit, and his gaze dropped to the concrete. "...What would you do to make a connection to a place home to things discarded by the Grand Order? Things that don't really exist?"

"Mmn." Legbiter thought. "I don't… really know. Nothing involving Mars or fire, so totally out of my sphere. The moon? Bridge the gap through a dream? No, that wouldn't be sustainable, not without a soul, and we didn't find anything like that. Same thing with Neptune - too inactive, too focused on receiving rather than finding." A pause, then, "Pluto. Pluto's perfect. Associated with Scorpio, all about secrets and transformation, and like, you've got the whole controversy aspect to work off of. Is it a planet? Is it not? That'd be great for making contact with something that doesn't really exist. Obscure as hell, though."

"Exactly. Pluto is perfect, but it's esoteric. There are very few sects that venerate Pluto; the Order of Persephone being the largest, and even they barely have a presence outside the north. That doesn't really fit the profile Many-Names gave us."

"Moss Side favored the water aligned planets due to their resonance with blood. I could see one of them being trained in the traditions of Pluto."

"It's unlikely. The Cerebrum much preferred the Moon. Her goal — in her words — was to unveil the ancient truth of our existence by communing with blood. There's no celestial body closer to blood than Luna."

"True, but it's still not out of the question." Inquisitor Legbiter peered at him for a moment. "But you've got another theory, one that explains the strange M.O."

A long pause. "Primus?" Legbiter prompted, then murmured, soft and gentle, "...Alan?"

This finally got him to speak. "Who gains something from the return of the Royal Scientist?"

A careful pause. "His brothers, Sans and Papyrus, and… King Asgore. What, you don't think the end goal was Gaster himself, do you?"

"It would give this entire affair a purpose. We've been assuming — due to the shoddy, inelegant way the spell was formed — that the only reason it didn't collapse was because the caster, by some happenstance, connected the spell to Gaster. But what if that was the point?

"...Only the monsters even have a chance of knowing about Gaster," the Inquisitor said, furrowing his brow. "And even that's uncertain."

"Asgore's been alive for a long, long time. I wouldn't be surprised if he could maintain his memories despite that sort of fuckery."

"Okay…" Finally, Legbiter noticed that he was still kinda, y'know, looming over the Primus. He paused, pulling back and then scooting so he was next to him, arms crossed and leaning back. "So, you think Asgore has motive to try to reclaim his old Royal Scientist. Sure, I can buy that, I guess, except… uh… who would he get to do that? And why is Gaster still staying with Two-Bit, in that case? Wouldn't the King have picked him up by now?"

"...If you were a monster, and desperately wanted access to humanity's ability to create miracles, what would you do?"

Legbiter squinted. "The replication of magic through science. I mean, that's what they have done." A pause. "I guess there's also the whole trying to steal a soul thing, but that was hundreds of years ago—"

Suddenly, the Inquisitor smacked his hand on the brick of the building behind him, looking over at Alan. "You think Asgore's gotten his hands on a wizard's soul? "

"No, although I'm still worried that might be the eventual outcome, which is why I want Two-Bit very, very far from this situation. If you were a monster, and wanted human magic, what is the simplest answer to the problem? Think along the lines of a five year old, now."

"Uh…" Legbiter fiddled with the brim of his hat. "...If you want to do magic… learn how to be a wizard? But that's impossible; they don't have strong enough souls for it."

"You're right. Most monsters can't even come close to the necessary amount of power needed. But." Alan paused. "Of all the monsters in the world… wouldn't you say King Asgore is the strongest? The other being Her Majesty, of course."

"...You're saying Asgore has magic. Our magic."

Alan rubbed his mouth with his hand. "A cheap and shallow approximation of it, maybe, but something that's enough. Remember — there is a very, very good chance his father was responsible for the attempted theft of our Queen's soul. Who's to say he didn't pass his desires down to his son? Who's to say that, down Underground, the monsters didn't try to make that dream into a reality? Who's to say that they didn't succeed? "

The Inquisitor blinked, obviously trying to process all this. "So your theory is that our culprit is Asgore. "

"Yes. Now, even with power, there's no way a monster could follow the traditions of the sky, given how far we kept them from the stars. Keeping that in mind… what better place to draw power from than Pluto, whose traditions are poorly established in human society due to its newness and quasi-planetary status? Pluto's domains are rebirth, transformation, and the underworld. It's… feasible. All Asgore needed to do was cause a fuss really, let us sort out the rest and then have us return Gaster to his rightful home."

"That's," a pause. "Really, really complicated."

"And when has anything we've dealt with not been complicated?"

"Fair." The Inquisitor knocked his head back against the wall. "I think… okay. First off, do you even want to hear what I think? I figure you're still not certain about a lot of this, which is why you didn't tell me."

"Go ahead." Alan looked away, frowning.

"Okay. First off. Why Asgore? Why not Toriel?"

Immediately, Alan's gaze was back on his Inquisitor, a deep frown set on his features. "Her Majesty seems to find Asgore just as abhorrent as I do, which speaks a lot to her character. Asgore makes far more sense."

Legbiter burst into fierce laughter. "Hah! Adorable! You really are fond of the Queen of the Monsters! Do I have to be jealous?"

"Wh—..." Alan paused, flushing a bit and scowling deeper. "I — she is a refined, elegant woman with a strong moral compass who is absolutely a testament to her people!"

The Primus would probably have a heart attack if he heard her telling a knock-knock joke.

"Mmm. She's one of the 'good ones', huh?"

"Oh — lay off." Alan spread his palm over his face. "You all act like I'm some sort of monster because my first response isn't, 'oh, let's openly welcome and accept the creatures that lead to our utter damnation, yes, that won't end poorly for anyone.' I have to be suspicious, so you all can remain idealistic dreamers."

"...I think, in this instance, you might be too paranoid. Asgore? Knowing thaumaturgy? It's kind of absurd. Still, though. Let's work with the theory that reaching out to Gaster was intentional. What about that human child? The so-called savior or the monsters… Frisk, was it?"

"Frisk," Alan paused. 'I've met them. A quiet child, although something about them unsettles me greatly. Why?"

"What if they're the mage?"

"We'd notice," Alan insisted, shaking his head. "It's hard to obscure someone with talent."

"Unless they've been trained, then we wouldn't notice at all. And... if you can accept that Asgore managed to somehow acquire enough knowledge about our teachings that he could perform passable thaumaturgy... then why couldn't he learn enough to help a child reach their potential?"

Alan paused. The pause lengthened. Gears turned, and finally… "You know, that might actually make sense. An inexperienced but talented child, doing the bidding of their father..."

Legbiter looked at Alan.

Alan looked at Legbiter.

"Well," the Inquisitor said. "My evening is free."

Spinning on his heel, the Primus marched out of the alley, his Inquisitor trailing along behind.