CHAPTER ONE
something is coming
You know the story by now.
A human falls.
And the kingdom of Monsters, for better or for worse, is never the same.
Dust or sunlight, the choice of a single child.
But that…is not where we begin. No, there are only four souls in the king's hall, glowing dimly in their cases of metal and glass.
But there is still a story to be told, I assure you.
After all, this is my job. I tell stories.
I like to think I do it well.
And, fortunately, this story is one I know very well.
Mostly, because I am a part of it.
Mmm…
Are you ready, Beloved?
Silence.
Choking, Suffocating, It wraps around his soul like an iron vice, as he drifts in an infinite nothing. His hands tremble, spasming at the jolts of energy that come from the monsters soul that drifts, unconscious, melting into the black.
Literally.
Not far below his torso, his body, mangled as it is, dissolves into the nothing that surrounds him, his stark white skull the only real sign of his existence at all in the infinite void in which he drifts.
Apart from his hands of course, but he has no need for them now, not here.
After all, there is nothing to touch.
Nothing at all.
And if he doesn't wake, if his soul doesn't pulse…
…well, he will become nothing, too.
Not that he's been here very long- only a few days- But if he doesn't wake up soon, even those might disappear into the blackness that waits- almost hungrily, to devour what is left of him.
As if he hasn't suffered enough…
Outside reality, half alive, half there- he is half dead, half ending… he fell into his own creation.
The core, generator of the underground, used to puncture time. What was meant to be a doorway to light and freedom, split and spread into a gaping jaw that tore at reality itself while everything split and screamed-
and he fell.
Down,
Down,
Down.
Into darkness, and imprisonment.
A writhing mass of timelines, magic, and pain swallowed him, tore him apart until he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, everything was pain as his soul cracked-
and then, he should have died.
But, he didn't.
Why didn't he? Nobody really knows.
Sure, there are theories, but this timeline, the timeline he is distantly connected to by the few scraps that remain-
It is new.
this story, with barely a name, is twisted beyond the usual script that dictates most worlds.
Or rather, the script was torn to shreds.
by a timeless being, only known by distant, maniacal laughter.
But they aren't important.
because, as his soul pulses weakly, the timeline settles back into place. his existence erased and script torn, it begins to flow again, the clock ticking without him.
And, damage finally echoing to him, two sickening sounds rupture the eternal silence, bringing the first painful blows of many to come.
-CRACK-
There is only silence, the pain prompting barely a twitch from the shattered, battered, torn monster that floats unconscious in the infinite nothing, the damage barely worth a wince to him, lowering his HP by a measly ten.
1990/2000HP
There is silence.
-CRACK-
This sound manages to shock the shattered monster awake, the noise and pain piercing his skull like an arrow of harsh reality as his HP drops, and drops further, crashing nearer and nearer to one-
0.001/2000HP
He drifts, stunned, for a long while, his senses start to awake from his near-fatal slumber, but finding almost nothing but pain to sense.
He's barely alive.
Suddenly, his eye sockets alight with magic and sight returns to him, but finding only confusing darkness.
his eyelights grow wide with confusion, and as the pain and panic hit, another sound shatters the silence.
Because it is not pain, but agony.
And it is not panic, but primal, feral terror.
'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-'
He reflexively curls inwards, gasping heavily, shuddering, panic confusion and pain running through whatever is left of his mangled body, an indescribable sensation of primal terror filling him as his soul strains with the effort of living.
After all, it is a great feat to live after being torn asunder from all reality by the magical equivalent of a nuke fired at the speed of light into dynamite.
dramatic? Me? No, beloved, I am quite serious.
'HHhhHHHhh…hhhhh…hhh…'
His hands shoot back to him, as he clutches his skull and runs his fingers over the harsh crack that forces one of his eye sockets into an unseeing crescent, his unharmed eyelight a needle prick of white as his mind stutters and sputters like an old engine, thoughts racing and winding and spinning like sparrows as he shakes with terror.
he does not understand.
He does not understand.
He does not understand.
Then, his shaking fingers find a second crack, still splintered and fresh, dust floating from it.
And this one hurts.
this rekindled pain wakes the rest of whatever's left- after all, even a bump makes a broken leg burn.
He gasps in pain and shock, the sense of white hot agony running through what's left of him and following the crack that's pulsing with pain as it flows down his jaw, sending the shockwaves of renewed searing pain farther and farther as he gasps, teeth clenching together as his mind runs wild with every instinct screaming-
He stays there, shaking, his mind filled with primal terror as he drifts in the nothing.
After all, every instinct is screaming at him that everything is wrong, everything is falling apart, even as his senses splutter and fail and his mind flails even less productively.
You humans are not made for total sensory deprivation, monsters even less so.
…he shudders there, every instinct telling him that he is in indescribable danger, screaming at him as he shakes, eye socets screwed up against the darkness he can't explain, his mind whirling.
Until finally, it relents.
His instincts begin to settle, still blaring, but his mind has gotten a chance to catch up with him, whirring as it always has.
Then, excruciatingly slowly, the pain melts away, fading as he shudders and gasps in the blackness, trying to pull himself together with any last bit of composure he has left.
Slowly, the mangled skeleton uncurls, terror written over his now scarred face as his pinprick eyelights dart around the nothingness, his jaw opening to scream into the deadly silence as soon as he is sure the pain is gone-
as soon as he can scream, his jaw refusing to move at first, but when it unsticks-
'? ﾸﾎ ︎✌︎❄︎✍︎ ? ﾸﾎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎? ﾸﾎ? ﾸﾎ? ﾸﾎ? ﾸﾎ ︎✌︎ ︎ ︎ ✌︎? ﾸﾎ ✋︎✍︎ ✋︎? ﾸﾎ ✋︎ ? ﾸﾎ✌︎ ︎❄︎ ? ﾸﾎ ︎ ︎? ﾸﾎ-'
But he chokes on the words, which would sound to you as a scream of tv static, but to him is only his own voice. But his voice doesn't help.
It only hurts his jaw, and is swallowed into the darkness with no echo, nothing, nothing.
Something is very wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Why is he here? What happened? Where-
And, as he drifts in the endless nothing, he remembers.
Oh god he remembers.
He remembers and remembers and he tries to to stop, but the memories overwhelm him as he remembers everything, whatever's left of his composure dissolving, crumpling into a screaming ball of darkness as he remembers-
FALLING.
He remembers reaching for a walkway swallowed by the bloodied flames of the universe torn asunder, he remembers a hand reaching for him, he remembers the face- the terrified face of his- he remembers the roaring, the death throes of reason and reality alike, a terrible writhing mass of timelines and blood and worlds and screaming and pa-
He remembers the pain.
He remembers he remembers he remembers-
He begins to scream again, his mind not knowing what else to do, his instincts starting to blare and scream along with him as he coils further inwards, his entire mangled body shaking with terror. He stays that way, his mind screaming, until finally he stops himself.
He cant… he cant afford to lose himself, he needs to pull himself together and find out where under the earth he is.
b-because he has to be somewhere, doesn't he?
He needs answers.
He needs to stay calm.
He needs to stay alive.
He is a scientist, after all, so he must conduct a test, some sort of experiment, something.
Address his questions.
He has so many questions.
He drifts for a long moment, sorting out the mess of thoughts in his head as he shakes in pain and fear, before finally settling on a theory, shoving his terror aside in the way scientists must.
In the only way he can to keep his shaking sanity.
I…I must find out where I am.
What is happening, what sort of place I am in, any information- anything, anything would be of help…
The only tool I have at my disposal is my voice-
…or perhaps my hands.
Voice. I can call for help.
I just…I need… I need help, I need anything, I just need to see something- there has to be something, right? am I blind? No, no i can't be, I have to get back, I have to find sans and papyrus, I have to get back, back to them, they need me- but- but there has to be something, there can't be only nothing-
no, calm, calm down…don't think about it. Just, don't think about it…Focus.
Even…even if nobody comes, then I will at least know
which of two options is correct, right?
Right…
Come on, Gaster you old fool, pull yourself together! You have to find a way out…
Because there is a way out, right…?
Of course there's a way out, that's rediculous….
right, right. One of two options, stay focused.
…If I am in a cavern and am simply temporarily numb…somehow, then my voice will echo or at least bounce back to me. Echolocation.
I know about echolocation.
If i am in some sort of substance, or-
He shudders, a flash of remembered pain running through him as he begins to coil in again-
His own body plunging into the core, a soup of magic and magma and the blood of the universe tearing him to shreds-
I WILL NOT THINK ABOUT THAT
He screams inside his head, forcing his own mind to return to a logical path, shuddering with pain both present and remembered.
…a-and if I am in a substance, my voice will cause visible distortions…skeletons do not need to breathe.
I'll be okay.
I'll be okay.
This thought calms him a little. He cautiously opens his jaw, shaking with suppressed terror, shouting as loud as he can into the darkness, watching intently with a primal desperation.
There has to be something.
Something.
' ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎✍︎ ✋︎? ﾸﾎ ✌︎ ︎✡︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ❄︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎✍︎!'
He listens. Nothing is echoed back at him, as if his voice of static and click is swallowed by the darkness, and though he stiffens to the point of shaking, he can feel no vibration or see any distortion in the endless and all-consuming nothing.
His momentary calm is starting to waver.
And it wasn't very stable in the first place.
I… I don't understand. This…this is impossible- I can feel no ground underneath me, and the sound did not bounce… so I must be in liquid of some sort, so why…
Why? Why am I here? Where is here?
What happened to me?!
I can't have- no, if I had, I wouldn't be alive, so…
…I can't have…fallen…
Right…?
His mind buckles.
Then, breaks.
memories flood through his feeble barriers of logic, incomprehensible as the logical part of his mind draws an impossible conclusion, one which he cannot ignore for any longer.
He can't stop himself.
I should be dead.
Doctor Gaster begins to shudder.
…I probably already am.
And that's when he begins to crack.
Trembling in fear, panic, anger, pain… the list goes on, but nevertheless, his panicked soul summons four of his characteristic hands with a crackle of magic and
shoots them out in wild different directions into the darkness, in a desperate instinctual attempt to try and feel something, anything, anywhere.
There must be something.
He has to be somewhere-
Nothing.
Soon, he almost loses the feeling of them, the connection flickering and shuddering until he dismisses them with a CRACK of magical energy, panic rising once again in his mind, terror pulsing through his soul.
And, when he notices his remaining hands have no arms attached to them, the white shapes drifting aimlessly before him…
'AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-'
He snaps.
His mind in a death spiral, the glitched skeleton spins and pivots, twisting and turning, trying to see himself in a state of panic- only to find… well, not much.
a pitch black lump of something is where his chest should be, melting around his panicked soul, his neck emerging from what can be seen of a white lump of something that ironically resembles a sweater.
The odd combination of the…the somethings gives him the overall appearance of a dark cloak over a white turtleneck that somehow decided to grow a head- even though neither are made of fabric, -a painfully ironic testimony to what he was wearing when…
…when he fell.
He can still feel the solid dark coiling around where his rib cage should be, that, like everything else that should be there, seems to disappear where the dark something melts into the nothingness.
His arms- and legs- are nowhere to be found.
He doesn't even know what he is anymore.
He starts to scream once again, starting off as confused, panicked muttering, then rising into full blown terrified feral screaming, loud and full and consisting of only terror- the screams of the damned, as his soul tries to feel, to find his limbs, the rest of him, desperately rejecting the darkness that holds whatever's left together.
Darker, yet darker.
Shadows cut through him, deeper.
his mind buckles, breaks, keeps breaking-
Tears tumble through the void.
And so he screams.
…and screams.
Skeletons don't need air, and there was no air where he was. He could feasibly scream forever. He could scream until reality broke, and the leftovers joined him in the void.
And that's almost what he did.
And I do mean literally. He screamed until his own mind gave out beneath him, but even then he drifted as before, in and out of lightless nightmares, awaking into a lightless consciousness as time ticked by without him.
he didn't age.
He didn't change.
Nothing, nothing ever changed, apart from dreams…
…nightmares at first, then when those ran out, memories.
his sons…
..Sans, papyrus, his two sons, playing in the living room, asleep on the couch…sometimes very young, sometimes as he last saw them...
from those dreams, he wakes up crying.
but still he drifts.
He drifted on, still, years later, as a human child had their soul taken by the monster king, asgore, still pulsing a vibrant purple with PERSEVERANCE.
Asgore sat alone in his hall, tears in his fur, feeling as though long ago, someone used to be there beside him…
Someone he can't remember…
but as blood drips, nothing changes.
Nothing came back to him.
He doesn't remember anyone…and no one will come to comfort him, as he places the soul in its new cage of metal and glass with trembling, bloodstained paws.
Now there were five souls in that accursed hall.
But, then, something changed.
Gaster woke up.
he woke, because something…
something had finally changed.
But what…?
Then he realized, one hand drifting to where his soul should be, within the rib cage he doesn't have.
He felt…
DETERMINED?
…and, of course, that is how the trouble began.