A.N. - It's sort of sad that my story has managed to stay on the most recent list of Dresden Files crossovers for several months. When I picked these two stories hoping to find a niche and expand on it, I didn't expect to be more than a third of the way done and remain the only person writing for this category. If I want mostly decent Dresden Files/Undertale fiction, I guess I just have to write it myself for now.

I'm still hoping somebody follows along and starts something new, writes a tangent or steals my ideas wholesale, but that might not be the case until I tag this story Complete. Until then, I'd like to encourage anyone thinking about writing a Dresden Files crossover to do so.

We continue! And we hope for more!

Enjoy.

Our resident Medical Examiner Waldo Butters was losing his loose connection to reality on the floor while Mouse tried licking his face to bring him back to sanity. Thomas and Undyne were keeping an eye on the chunks of meat they'd turned most of a dozen zombies into just in case they started moving again, and I was stuck by the door. I focused on holding the magic circle in front of it just in case somebody with a mortal soul wanted to try pulling it down. Oh, and there were about a thousand zombies trying to rip open the walls by the doorway to get around the shield. So there was that, too.

"Alphys," I called out, raising my voice over the zombies' clamoring. "We're currently experiencing a Night of the Living Dead in here. How're things on your end?"

Of course, I only got static in return for my troubles. Turns out a major act of Necromancy was more than enough to kill a few radios. That, or the energy in the air was cutting us off. I was betting on the former.

The zombies continued beating down on my circle at the doorway. I could probably let go of it, now that I was calmed down and thinking more clearly; a circle I'd empowered could hold up against just about anything short of a mortal using free will to cross it. I sort of doubted the Necromancer responsible for all this was close enough to do so. It was almost ironic. A hoard of zombies wouldn't budge it with a month of effort, but a reporter with a boom mic could cross like it wasn't even there, unless I added shields and reinforced it.

I focused on the positives of fighting against things without a will of their own, ignoring the face of a particularly zealous underweight man who was gnashing against the shield. His lips were torn, caught between the shield and his teeth. The corpses to his left and right broke their hands with how hard they kept beating against the circle.

"Ugh, what are these things?" Undyne asked, poking at some of the remains with her spear. "They don't have SOULs."

"...I'm just going to assume that's a Monster thing I can ask about later," I told her, and watched Thomas walk over to check on Butters. I also assumed my brother was just as freaked out about what she had said, but was hiding it better. "They don't have souls because they're undead. Instead of a soul, it's black magic powering them, probably binding them to whoever raised them from the dead."

She grit her sharp teeth and frowned. "Somebody brought these people back and stole their free will?! Are you kidding me?!"

"I'm not an expert on black magic, but the short version is, yes. Except they aren't people anymore, they're zombies, and if that magical connection is lost, it's entirely possible that they'll rampage and kill people. Or they'll stand around doing nothing. I don't actually know. Shortly after that, they'll go back to being dead. These aren't people anymore," I insisted again. "They're more like angry extensions of the murderous intent of the necromancer who raised them. So please, please, don't hold back fighting them. If anything, only be careful killing the one who raised them, him you could get in trouble for killing with magic. I think."

"Be that as it may," Thomas cut in, "we're currently trapped inside a barely secured building with a Doctor in shock. Perhaps this could wait until we've gone somewhere more safe?"

I waved my staff toward Thomas. "What he said."

Undyne held up her radio and spun the dial around and clicked the rubber button a few times futilely, then threw it at the ground where it exploded into plastic shrapnel. "Fine. Let's go."

Butters' eyes shot up, bloodshot and wild. "Go? Out there? Are you out of your mind? Those things were dead! And now they're not! How can they do that, how can they just, just, just live and move and fight?" He shook his head, rubbing his temples. "It's like the human-like corpses all over again!"

Mouse tried to lick his face, but he was lost back to staring at nothing. I whistled, a sharp noise, and he looked up to face me from his spot on the floor.

"Listen to me, Butters," I told him, stepping away from the circle to kneel down next to him. "We're going to get through this, alright? We're stronger than this, and I need you to stand up and walk out with us. Alright?"

His eyes shot to the creatures pounding on my shielded circle, and I grabbed his face to force him to meet my eyes.

"Don't look at them, look at me. They don't matter. It's just us, and walking out of here. Can you do that for me, Butters?"

He shook his head violently, then pointed one shaking hand to the corner of the room where his drum-kit lay broken apart. "T-they killed my Polka…" he whispered. "I could almost remember, you saying-"

"Polka will never die," I said with him, not sure where it came from. He nodded shakily.

I took a deep breath. "Butters, they killed a drum. They sure as hell didn't kill Polka, and even if it's a little down right now, it isn't going to stay there. We're going to get the hell outta here, and by God, I'll buy you a new drum kit if I have to."

His face held the kind of yearning you only see in those who have decided all hope was lost, but that maybe, just maybe, there's one last chance. Just one. Like an abused puppy trying to wag its tail at the first sign of kindness it's had in years.

"Really?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Polka… isn't dead?"

"No," I told him firmly. A crack tore through the air, and the four of us besides Mouse jerked at the sound. One of the undead had broken a bone. "No," I repeated. "Polka may have fallen on hard times, but it will rise again, like the Republic after the fall of the Empire. Polka will rise again!" I shouted. "Say it with me, Butters! Polka will rise again!"

"P-Polka will rise again," he tried it out.

"Polka will rise again! Louder!" I shouted at him. "Louder!"

"Polka will rise again!" He shouted back.

"Louder!"

"POLKA WILL RISE AGAIN!" He yelled, and Thomas reached down to offer him a hand up. "Polka will rise again!" he shouted, taking the hand and allowing himself to get pulled to his feet. "Polka will rise again!"

I turned to the others, and spoke around his new mantra. "I'll lead with my shield up. Thomas and Mouse will help keep Butters moving and watch for anything coming out of the doors between us and the exit. Undyne, can you keep them off us while we move?"

"I can do more than that," she boasted with an evil grin, spear held in her left hand. "I'll take all of 'em down!"

She reached out to her sides grandly, a second spear appearing in her right hand, then pointed both of them past me into the hallway. She growled, the sound building into a roar, and crossed the spears into an X pointed down. She swung them up and out, and probably a thousand spears exploded out of the ground and walls past my shield in the hallway, tossing the undead in all directions.

"HA! Take that, you freaks!"

I broke the circle holding the door as the spears faded to nothing, and we surged out to fight our way to the entrance.

As we pushed outside into the wake of Undyne's little spear-splosion, I was reminded of something I'd forgotten in the heat of the moment: fights are chaotic and dangerous. Thomas was supernaturally speedy and graceful, but I most certainly was not.

A hand caught my leg in the first step, and I tumbled face first into the hall, where the zombies were already trying to pull together to continue the assault. The upper half of a person's torso reached out to grab at my eyes, but a hand on the back of my duster pulled me out of the way. Thomas stepped past me as he shoved me to the wall and out of the way, and he stabbed the thing in through the top of its skull.

Butters, of all people, caught me, his eyes wild, and I took up my staff as the horde pushed ever closer from all sides, including those who had lost limbs other than their heads on the ground.

"Everyone, brace against something," I shouted, then squared myself up near the wall, drawing in power while the others stabbed, shoved and bit at the mass of bodies that tried to swarm us. With a deep breath, I called on the wind. "Ventas Servitas!"

A gale force wind tore past us in the small hallway, and only scrawny Butters still holding my coat kept me on my feet. Broken hands clutched at us as they were thrown out of the way, and I howled as fingernails tore across my exposed face, barely missing my eye and catching my eyelid instead. Half my vision was blurry with tears and blood in moments.

I managed to stumble to the middle of the hall, raising my staff again, and shouted once more, pouring the newfound agony from my face into the spell. "Ventas Servitas!"

The spell broke at my back and rejoined in front of us, and I howled again as I fought to keep the spell going. I didn't raise my shield like I'd said I would, just threw more and more wind down the hall, turning the howls into more shouts, "Ventas! VENTAS!"

Butters kept me standing in the windstorm, kept me from being tossed about like the creatures we were fighting, and slowly, we moved forward. If anyone had a gun, anything I'd have needed my shield for, we were toast, and I poured that fear into the spell, too.

The doors at the end of the hall were blown open, and somehow, even with the undead trying to catch us from the doorways we'd passed, we managed to force our way through.

"Ventas Servitas…" I gasped, having barely stopped to breathe as we'd moved. I wanted to drop right there until I could refill my lungs with air, but there wasn't any time. Black spots danced on the edges of my vision between the dark blur my left eye had become, and I stumbled forward toward the entrance doors with the others, even as the undead were trying to climb to their feet for another attack. I just had to hope the others could take us from there.

I blinked as we stepped outside, into the light and a surprisingly gentle breeze, the drumming sensation we'd been feeling pushing into my ears, pounding against my temples. Just outside the Morgue's entrance, our Oldsmobile had been dragged forward, and the tires ripped clean off.

If you could call the bent metal where the tires had been torn off "clean."

A big man with pale, leathery skin was sitting on the hood, arms crossed, pointing a cruel smile at us with his narrow, yellow teeth. His hair was grey, and he had deep sideburns, and a scar turned up his lip around his sneer. He was wearing a duster that sort of looked like mine, and I sort of equated his whole look to Mr. Hyde trying on Mr. Jackal's skin.

"Mr. Dresden," he spoke with a thick british accent in his deep voice. "Mors vincit omnia. You look winded," he joked. "That'll make this easier." He stood up, shaking out his hands.

"You've stolen my look," I wheezed. "Looks terrible on you. Maybe it's your pathetic attempt to switch over to the Light side? Wouldn't be too late, you know."

"Hmph," His sneer turned into something pitying. "Mortuum flagellas. Even your last words are pointless. You will die as you have lived."

I could almost feel Thomas at my back, Mouse at my side, Undyne readying her spear… and Butters, quietly whispering, "Polka will rise again." They were counting on me, expecting me to pull together with some new trick, some new genius plan to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. What we needed, I realized, was time.

I made my decision.

"RUN AWAY!" I screamed, raising my arm. "Defendarius!"

"What?!" the man cried out, then shouted, "Kill him! Kill them all!"

I don't know who was carrying me this time as I stumbled backwards, left arm held high. More undead were running toward us, sprinting, and now that I could see them in the light, I confirmed that these weren't just decaying undead, but killers with blank eyes and purpose, ready to chase us to the ends of the Earth. We didn't have a hope in Hell at winning this fight, so I was changing the rules.

"Polka will rise again!" Butters screeched, and I yelped as I was tossed tail over teakettle over the fence surrounding the Morgue's parking lot. I wiped at my face as stinging drops of blood got in my eye again, and did my best to get back on my feet. I was still trying to get my bearings when I stumbled into a black, low-riding car, and I could feel something pulsing inside it.

It felt disgusting against senses.

I didn't take a moment to think about it. I got both hands on the car, and hissed, "Hexus!"

My spell broke through whatever the machine was powering, and the oppressive air lifted.

"NO!" I heard Leatherface shout from the parking lot, and a moment later, I could hear something pounding in rhythm again, much quieter, from his direction. Thomas got a hand on me as I giggled hysterically, and we got moving again. The zombies didn't follow.

"Polka will rise again," I promised myself.

This wasn't over.

We were tired, hurt, and half crazy, but we'd gotten Butters out. It was a win. A small win, but a win. All we needed now was to regroup and hit back.

And I knew just the wolves to help us out.

"The Alphas," I told the others as we bravely ran away. "We need to get to the University."