The Assault on the Anti-Claus' Keep
Perhaps the strangest aspect of the Anti-Claus' preferred place of residence is how … ordinary it looks. It is about the size of your typical general store and stands at a meager one story tall. The only entrance to speak of is a pair of glass doors at the front. The interior is lit—someone is home—but the curtains have been drawn, leaving our adventurers to guess as to what sort of horrors lurk within.
* This is a cute drawing you made, Papyrus.
UM, I WAS KIND OF GOING FOR SCARY…
* more like square-y.
* WELL, WHAT DO YOU EXPECT? BE GLAD I AM GIVING YOU A MAP AT ALL!
The structure itself is built at the far end of a large open space, within which sit several carriages. Empty, they have been restrained inside ritualistic markings drawn on the blackened ground. Tall torches placed at intervals in this space glare down at our adventurers as they approach.
"Well, whaddya know," Hotdoggins remarks. "This definitely looks like where an Anti-Claus would be. Is there anything you can tell us about this place, Frisk?"
"Sorry, I've never actually seen the inside." A shadow crosses their face. "But I've seen what happens after people come out."
Undyne puts a reassuring paw on their shoulder. "Don't worry. We will put an end to this once and for all."
"Doubt they'll let us walk right in, though," says Hotdoggins. "Maybe we can use one of these?" He tries to enter one of the carriages but discovers it is locked. (Not that he would have been able to fit, anyway.) "Welp, never mind. Front door it is."
"That is my kind of plan," says Undyne. She starts toward the entrance when Hotdoggins stops her.
"Hang on, I think we need a little boost." He ponders for a moment, wracking his brain for perfection in humor. "Okay, what do you call fake spaghetti? ….An im-pasta!"
SNRK
* like that one bro?
A-ABSOLUTELY NOT!
Hotdoggins' joke is successful! Unless you count the sudden jabs in both of his feet.
Now, with their courage freshly fortified, our adventurers charge the entranceway. If anyone is directly inside, they will surely be surprised! But—gadzooks!—the doors open on their own! An enchantment most foul? Or perhaps a fell welcome to the foolhardy? Either way, our adventurers quickly proceed.
They need only take one step inside to understand what kind of place this is—evil. The castle's lobby is tiny, and its air thick with the aroma of something that smells sort of like fruit but also sort of like not. Tapestries line the walls, each one depicting a noble human smiling unsettlingly. Are they are past lords of this manor? Or are they yet more guises assumed by the Anti-Claus? At the back of the room is the door leading to the rest of the lair. Nearby, chairs are arranged in rows before a wooden altar, suggesting this space is meant for some form of congregation.
A shadow moves behind the altar.
"Stay behind me, Frisk," says Undyne. Hotdoggins stays behind her, too—because of course he would. The courageous Undyne approaches the altar to investigate.
Seated behind the rich wooden structure is another human. She is tall, slender, with flowing hair and a pointed face covered in a delicate layer of sparkly war paint. She would appear, by human standards, to be of the attractive sort. The human is looking through a colorful picture tome, which she closes upon noticing Undyne.
"Hello," she says with a bright smile. "Do you have an appointment?" But while her expression is vibrant, her voice is quiet, distant, and holds no emotion.
"I do not understand." Undyne says. The human asks again.
"I said, 'Do you have an appointment?"
*Oh, dear. What should I do?
*well, the place itself already let us in. maybe play along? if anybody can take us to the head honcho, it's probably this lady.
"Yes," says Undyne. "I do have an appointment" The human opens a second tome, this one massive and filled with nothing but lines covered in a strange script.
"Name?" she asks.
"Undyne."
The human taps a claw-like fingernail on the page. "I don't see an 'Undyne' under today. Did you perhaps schedule for next week?"
"Oh, that sounds like something I would do." The human turns to another page and carefully scans it over. Moments pass. She says nothing. Then, she slowly closes her tome and, still smiling, rises from her seat. "You don't have an appointment, do you?" Undyne instantly goes on the defensive.
"Okay, so what if I do not?" she challenges, tossing a quick glance back to make sure Frisk is thoroughly shielded behind her. The human laughs. Energy stars to build up around her. Tomes, quills, parchments, and other lair necessities of the administrative sort lift from their places and surround our adventurers. It is as though the room itself has come alive! Then, the human leaps atop her altar, screaming,
"We don't talk walk-ins!"
Our adventurers have just made the acquaintance of … the Receptionist! A thrall of the Anti-Claus, it is she who guards the entrance to his lair; she who records the names of all his victims—past and future! And it is she who our adventurers must defeat if they have any hope of retrieving humanity's precious sugary sweets!
Our trio bunches together as the Receptionist's evil utensils swell around them, cutting off their escape.
"Punch her!" Hotdoggins yells to Undyne.
"I will not hurt an innocent person!"
"You call this innocent?!"
"Well, no, but there must be another way!"
"Um, excuse me?" Frisk peeks out from behind Undyne. Undyne moves to protect them, but they persist, stepping out in full view of the Receptionist. "Excuse me! I'd like to make an appointment, please."
Upon noticing the Average Student, a curious look passes the Receptionist's still smiling face. "Wait, that uniform … Surface High?"
"Class of 20XX!" Frisk proclaims.
"Class of 19XX!" the Receptionist mirrors. Her evil utensils cease their swirling rage and clatter to the floor. Slowly, she climbs down from her altar. "You need to set up an appointment? Let me see if I have any openings. You are on Crustymas break right now, right?"
Frisk looks to their companions and whispers, "Let me handle this." Undyne appears unconvinced, but she steps back and allows Frisk to approach the Receptionist's altar. "We are, but I have some family stuff going on this week. Next week might work, though."
It's a good thing they took that drama class a while back. Frisk milks their distraction for all it's worth, picking days and times and then "remembering" complicated reasons as to why they won't work. While they keep the Receptionist busy, they gesture for Undyne and Hotdoggins to continue on. The two sneak their way across the lobby and slip through the back door. Undyne maintains a constant watchful eye on Frisk.
"That will be perfect," Frisk says to the Receptionist once their friends are in the clear. "Thank you. I'm sorry for all the trouble. Classes are just little crazy right now."
The Receptionist laughs. It sounds almost genuine. "Oh, I remember those days."
They bid her a fond farewell and turn towards the entrance, acting as though they are going to leave. The moment the Receptionist flips her picture tome open once more, they make a mad dash for the back where Undyne waits in the doorway. The Receptionist is caught off-guard, but not for long. Oh, what a look of betrayal she shows! She gives chase, blind with rage! As Frisk draws near, Undyne reaches out to pull them through and slams the door shut behind them. It is just in the nick of time! The Receptionist and a flurry of her razor sharp memos smack into the old wood. She wraps her manicured talons around the handle, trying desperately to force it open. It takes every ounce of Undyne's strength to hold the door shut against the relentless assault.
A few tense moments pass. Eventually, the other side grows silent and still.
"Do you think she left?" asks Undyne. Hotdoggins huffs.
"It sounded like she broke a nail."
Frisk takes a ruler from their backpack and wedges it between the door and wall as a makeshift bar. It is unlikely the instrument will hold for long. Still, it will buy them some time should their punctual adversary try for round two. Our adventurers now breathe a collective sigh of relief. They cannot rest for long, however, for they now stand inside the heart of the Anti-Claus' lair.
Stretching before Frisk, Hotdoggins, and Undyne is but a single hallway. Doors line the left and right sides, yet it is the one at the very end of the hall that catches their attention. It is larger than the others, and emblazoned upon the frosted window at its top is a short passage written in the same type of script found in the Receptionist's grand tome. "DDS," it reads.
Steadily, our adventurers proceed. Frisk chances a glance into one of the side rooms. The things they see could shake even the hardiest of warrior to their very core! At the center of the room is a single chair in a reclining position. It would appear almost comfortable, had it not been for the twisted, pointy, jagged, razor-sharp instruments of pain and misery surrounding it! Why, these aren't rooms at all, but torture chambers! How many poor souls have been strapped to these chairs and subjected to the Anti-Claus' terrible whims? Even now, the ghosts of their screams echo down the hallway.
"We will stop him," Undyne says, pulling Frisk away from the horrid sight. "We must."
At last, our adventurers have arrived at their destination. Beyond this final door is the Anti-Claus' throne room. The three look at each other, steel themselves, and press forward.
They are faced with mountains of candy. Seriously. There are dozens of them, all stretching to the ceiling and beyond! The room is impossibly tall for the structure that contains it. The Anti-Claus' negative influence has warped the reality in this space, just as it has the joy in peoples' hearts. And there, seated on a cushioned throne atop the tallest stack of candy, is none other the Anti-Claus himself.
Just like the receptionist, he would be considered by humans' questionable standards to be attractive. Perfect hair. Perfect teeth. Ah, but the moniker by which he is called—"Anti-Claus—is but a mask hiding the ugly truth, for this man is a member of the meanest, nastiest, most slimy of all human classes…
A DENTIST!