Since time immemorial, one truth has been passed down across generations: 'Monsters express themselves through magic'.
The forms they conjure reflect their SOUL, therefore each person's magic is unique. Their signature so to speak.
For Sans… it's as cold and pragmatic as his heart. Or so he thought.
He summoned his Gasterblasters for the grand opening. Even now, he noticed that they felt different.
Strong.
Intense.
Burning with anticipation.
Determined to fight.
Papyrus, I wonder…
What can you do?
"Let's go, bro."
Sans gripped Papyrus' SOUL. Turned it Blue. Lifted his opponent with his left hand in preparation for the slam.
Should I use the Seraph System?
No. Not yet.
Down he goes.
Papyrus landed feet first, cushioning his fall. He then leapt up right before a set of spikes erupted from the ground.
As expected.
Template 1.
Rows of bones rose upwards like the waves of an ocean. They rushed towards Papyrus. It takes someone with top-notch observation and reaction to spot that small safe path weaved inside.
Sans watched his brother make a narrow escape with the grace of a gymnast. So fluid, so beautiful in its practical simplicity.
Formation 1, 2, 1, 3.
The first four Gasterblasters moved into position around their designated target.
Fire.
A pair of powerful lasers crossed over the centre. Did Papyrus make it out unharmed? It's too soon to check.
First team, dismissed.
Second team, cover the gaps.
Fire.
Second team, dismissed.
First team, fire again.
To top off, Sans summoned two larger blasters to flank his target. The repeated cross-strike served to lure them where the next safe-spot is sure be.
Third team, fire.
Magic tore through the air, so strong that it kicked up particulates from the floor of the arena.
When the cloud settled… there stood a deeply annoyed, uninjured Papyrus.
"REALLY?!" he exclaimed. "OF ALL THE POSSIBLE CHOICES, YOU PICKED THE BABYBONES OPENING?"
That sweet, sweet innocent reply. Of course it's too easy for Papyrus. He grew up training on that particular pattern.
"For old time's sake." Sans chuckled. "The real thing starts now."
Let's see. How about Template 3? Maybe Template 6? Nah, he'll expect that… I should give him a taste of his own repertoire.
Meanwhile, Gaster's ghost weighed down on Sans' shoulder. The man whispered the following words:
[The guardian had turned against his ward.]
[What am I to feel? You turned out so right yet so wrong at the same time.]
[Your mother trembles in grief, watching her two precious sons embroiled in battle.]
[Your father is dumbfounded in terror, yet struck with awe and pride, to think that the two of you were birthed from his humble bones.]
Shut up, Gaster. You're a distraction.
Watch closely.
Sans prepared to summon a massive wall of bones and charge them forward.
In turn, his brother's eye flared. He too summoned the same pattern. Ten times the density of Sans' lot.
What. The fuck. It shocked the elder brother.
Bone crashed against bone. Splinters and shards scattered all around.
The poison called Karma failed to hold its own. Its purple glow managed only to weaken the first few rows, before their host bones fractured from repeated impact. Papyrus' sturdier masses plowed over them, winning this skirmish with sheer power overwhelming.
Onward, they rolled.
Crap! Switching to turret mode.
Sans ordered one Blaster to hover over his right shoulder. Fired at will, cleaving a clean path through the wall in the nick of the time.
At the tail end, Papyrus ran behind his magic, effortlessly sidestepping the beam. That's when Sans realised that his brother doesn't intend to play by the standard rules of monster combat.
In this battle, there's no such thing as turns.
They're in melee range now. The batons swung towards his knees.
Alarmed, Sans teleported backwards.
I see. Of course Papyrus will never kill me. Murder isn't his objective.
It's capture.
…I didn't want to exploit my teleports yet. Not until I get a feel of his new MO. But I can't let him get close. It doesn't matter if I miss my shots. As long he can't strike me, I'll have time to set up a sure-fire plan.
Template 9. Formation 4. Increase targeting speed by 1.25.
Thin, green platforms turned the arena into a three-layered battleground. Sans conjured another set of Blasters, tuned for auto-targeting. Then he made his way to the highest vantage point.
According to expectations, Papyrus began jumping up to close the distance.
Template 10. Mod to Cyan.
The good old vertical revolving bone trick, coloured cyan to collide upon movement.
Stay still and the hounds will bite.
Keep moving and suffer Karmic Retribution.
It's both a rock and a hard place.
Heh. Should have used this on the kid ages ago.
What will you do now, brother?
In response, the orange-eyed one crossed his weapons together to project a shield. He let the cyan bones pass through his being while bracing for the incoming laser.
The action piqued Sans' curiosity. As far as he could recall, this magic should slice through such shielding like a hot knife to butter. He activated his Truesight to observe.
The Gasterblaster attacked. Yet its beam stopped dead at the blockade.
Huh, interesting.
It's not standard solidification, either. Papyrus combined multiple levels of Kindness to create a self-renewing shield. Same rate as my decay, huh?
Amazing.
When Papyrus reached the top, he stood there tall, unfazed.
"SANS!" he said, "I WILL ALLOW YOU TO REWIND TIME ONLY IF YOU AGREE TO ONE CONDITION. THAT YOU'LL SAVE MOM AND DAD WITH THEIR TRUE, REAL, ORIGINAL BODIES."
A talk? Sans halted his armaments. Perhaps Papyrus had something interesting to say.
"When would that be?" He asked.
"MISTER MAGUS' TRUE RESET. DURING THE WAR OF THE RED VICTORY."
That's… twenty-five years ago.
"No way, Paps. That's too far back. I'd just be 8 years old. Nobody would listen to me. We'd only repeat history, trapped in the Underground forever and whatnot."
"ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT? YOUR BODY MAY BE PUERILE, BUT YOUR MIND WILL CERTAINLY BE THAT OF AN ADULT. WITH YOUR CUNNING SMARTS AND THE SILVEREST OF SILVER TONGUES, YOU COULD CONVINCE ANYONE ABOUT YOUR PORTAL TECH!"
Papyrus narrowed his gaze. "BUT YOUR TENDER AGE IS NOT THE REAL REASON, ISN'T IT?"
Heh. To think that his younger brother caught on. "…Say it bro. Let me cross-examine."
"IT'S BECAUSE THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL CEASE TO EXIST."
"Guilty as charged. You'd be gone for good. Erased. And I'll be the only one who'll remember. I can't live with that."
"THEN HOW CAN YOU IMPOSE THAT BURDEN UNTO FRISK? YOU'RE ASKING THEM TO THROW AWAY THEIR LOVELY EXPERIENCE WITH US! ABSOLUTELY AND THOROUGHLY UNFAIR!"
"But you'd still be alive."
"IT WON'T BE THE SAME!"
The hero's outburst sent a shockwave of magic. The last time Sans felt this sensation… was in the presence of the Sky Goddess. Without a doubt, it's genuine Blue magic.
Fallen bone shards floated off the ground. They rose towards their caster.
…Both Paps' and mine?
The bits and pieces formed a large ring overhead. Sans' cyan bones rattled in the air. Soon enough, they were forced out of their lanes. They too joined the swirling mass of white in the air.
Papyrus smirked in pride.
Sans couldn't believe what's happening.
He was at a lost for words.
"…D-did you just steal my attack?"
"CONSIDERING YOUR RECENT KLEPTOMANIAC SHENANIGANS, I THOUGHT YOU SHOULD HAVE A PERSONALIZED TASTE OF YOUR OWN NONSENSE!"
He then swung his arms downward. Sent the cloud flying at Sans.
Sans knew Papyrus won't kill him. Doesn't mean that he won't hand out a whooping.
The elder brother began his teleporting dodge maneuvers.
The battle intensified. Skewers. Lasers. Flights and footsteps. Over the course of conflict, Sans began to notice a disturbing trend.
By logic, his teleporting ability should give him the upper hand. But under close observation… the gap between them had all but disappeared.
Papyrus' interception went beyond the speed of his mental calculations. He had foreseen Sans' path of escape to the point where the cloud of broken bones stalked closer and closer.
Last-minute changes turned from exception to the norm. If Sans reacted so much as a little slower, he'd warp straight into the expected outcome.
Until he found himself doing just that.
"Huh-?!"
The irritating debris scraped against his throat, making him cough. They forced him to shut his eyes. Leftover Karma from the old bones nicked small rips on his clothes. Only his body was immune to its effects.
Sans tried to teleport. Left. Right. Front. Back.
Still, the storm offered no escape.
In that moment of panic, he leaned a little too far forward and rolled on the ground.
A bone spiked right into the space between his legs. A few centimeters in any direction and it would have left him crippled.
Sans scurried backwards. Hopped back to his feet. However, as soon as he stood, he heard the air whistle.
Incoming strike from the right.
He ducked. Sure enough, a bone baton whizzed past where his skull would have been.
He's foreseeing where I'd land.
How I'd dodge.
Where I'd fall. In what manner I'd recover.
Everything.
Bone baton incoming from the left. Right. Vertical slash. Warning from above.
Relentless. Papyrus showed no signs of slowing down or stopping. His legendary stamina lived up to its name.
Cold sweat trickled down Sans' skull. He's already getting drenched.
Sans noticed it. The mentor haunting his mind saw that development too.
[Tsk, tsk, tsk. Looks like you've finally bitten off more than you can chew.]
Welp. Mind not adding more to my plate then?
[You fancy yourself a comedian. Don't you, Sans Serif? Did you honestly think your cheap premade tricks will work against one who is witness to the dark annals of history?]
[Such arrogance. Your brother's not some parlour magician; he's a true clairvoyant Seer!]
God, Gaster. Can't you do anything else than to spout poetic crap?
Still, the old man's right. Whatever moves he used for Frisk won't work on Papyrus.
The future… moments that have yet to come, huh? Is there a way to make him blind to that possibility?
He recalled how he couldn't read the mechanisms of the Spirit Gate. Or the elevator shaft lined with distorters. Then there were the anti-Seer defenses for his secret lab too.
He glanced at the wormhole gram he had left embedded in the floor. Ideas began to click together.
Papyrus' biggest weakness… is his lack of literacy in the arcane.
I need that upper hand…
I must make a future that he cannot comprehend.
And for that, I need the Seraph System.
Sans retreated to the far end of the arena. Thought it made a good opportunity to access his supply of Determination.
But then.
He spotted a glint in the distance. Bright. White. And filled with enough destructive power to plow through concrete.
A… Blaster?!
Sans leapt to the side. Lo and behold, an instantaneous streak of magic sliced ahead.
Scored the ground.
Smashed the tower's railings.
Flew deep into the vast empty sky.
All in a blink.
I gotta take that away from him!
He prepared for a hijack. Yet, the weapon was nowhere to be seen.
Papyrus yelled at the top of his ribs. "I TOLD YOU SANS! I WILL NOT BE DEFENCELESS, I WILL NOT BE GULLIBLE! I WILL PROTECT MYSELF TO PROTECT YOU!"
Papyrus executed another slashing movement. Downwards.
Watch closely.
Sans rolled out of the way. Kept his eye on the caster. More collateral damage tore through the battlefield. This time it punched a hole through Frisk's bedroom.
The Gasterblaster vanished as quickly as it appeared.
A quickdraw?
When did he learn this? Who taught him?
Gaster? No. Gaelic? No. Lucidia? No. Mezil? No.
Did Papyrus come up with this tactic on his own?!
The tower had yet to repair itself. Worrisome. Will Papyrus be the one to shatter the supports? There's a reason why Sans banned Gaelic's steed.
[There IS something I can do, my dear protégé.] Gaster intruded, [All I need is your explicit permission to control the Seraph System.]
…Give me one reason why I should give a shred of trust to you.
Sans felt a pair of hands holding the sides of his face, caressing. Filled with the love and fear of his two silent parents.
[This would have been so much easier if you had explained your plan sooner. Here I thought you intend to assassinate us on the first opportunity. Right when we'd be on our way to The Core.]
[But no… you matured. Remembered your elders for who they were and not by their appearances. Colour me astonished. Furthermore, you are correct: it's pointless to erase your little brother's existence.]
[A world where I teach Papyrus the ways of science, and your parents cook your daily meals… it sounds like paradise. I will do anything, as long you keep your end of the bargain.]
Tempting logical reason: the worst kind of deal with.
You're up to something, old man. I can tell.
[Suit yourself.]
Sans wanted to continue the battle on his own…
If only he could see past his blurring vision to begin with. The last person who pushed him to this limit was that darn pint-sized Living Victory: the merger of Frisk and Chara.
I… I can't focus…
"NOW BEHOLD," Papyrus hollered. "MY SPECIAL ATTACK!"
Sans watched that large femur tossed toward his direction. It's spinning faster and shining brighter than he ever remembered.
"VERSION 2!"
Version 2?!
"TRY NOT TO GET BLASTED TO SMITHEREENS!"
Sans shook his head in an attempt to get rid of the fatigue. His vision improved just enough to comprehend his Truesight.
Then, he realised that it's not the gatling-bone shard.
It's a bomb!
Gaster questioned, [Do you wish to play some more, Sans Serif? Or will you let your brother win?]
The 'Sans' everyone knew would have given up there and then. They say he's the sort of lazy good-for-nothing slob who can't even be bothered to clean his bedroom.
But now.
Now.
He's far from satisfied. Papyrus was capable of so, so much more.
He didn't want this dream to end.
Not yet.
Gaster. Give me Blue - Green - Purple.
Both brothers enveloped themselves within green shields.
DT Boost, now!
His Eye's fire intensified in Lucidia's hue.
The 'special attack' exploded into a forceful display of dazzling light. It's strong enough to blind, while the resulting shockwave cracked and crumbled the wormhole Gram into minuscule fragments of concrete.
Sans tried to anchor himself with Purple, but it's not enough to stop his momentum; he flew across the arena. Smashed right through the stone railing.
The bubble protected him from collateral damage, but it shattered upon impact.
What the-
Sans looked down. The white ebbs of The Barrier flowed dangerously close to his feet.
Gaster, default now! Hurry! Before both of us get shredded into atoms!
[Egads! Fly with your Blue, you silly goose! Have you forgotten so soon?!]
Right before he dropped, a large bone hook snagged his feet. In one steady tug it dragged Sans back to safety.
The railings regenerated. The threat of an accidental death ended.
"I'M SORRY." Papyrus hollered. "RING-OUTS NOT ALLOWED. BUT I WILL GIVE YOU A CHOICE: CONTINUE, OR SURRENDER TO MY AWESOMENESS."
"Surrender?…" Sans laughed between his panting. "Oh no. No, no, no. I'm not done yet. There's still so much to discover. So much to learn. I want to know your limits."
"VERY WELL THEN. DO YOU NEED TO CATCH A BREATH?"
Sans waved a hand across his face. Let his opponent know that he didn't need to rest. Not much anyway.
OK. Here's the plan.
[Iron. Gold. Mercury. Silver.]
[Interesting. Please, decide where to implant this.]
Just embed the component into the exact tiles I destroy. Meanwhile, forget about the basics. No more default colours. Add Cyan - Orange - Yellow.
[You're going that far?!]
It's now or never. None of this shall exist when it's over, right?
[…Indeed. Act as you will.]
Sans laid eyes on his bracer. An enneagram spread over his iris as he confirmed Gaster's actions on the screen.
SERAPH SYSTEM
ACTIVE: C / O / Y / B / G / P
INACTIVE: NONE
The flames of his Eye burned with all six colours available to his kind.
The resulting sensation was worse than a hangover. Worse than migraines too.
It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to say it threatened to consume his very lifespan itself.
Would this have any long-term side effects? He wondered.
He wouldn't know, nor did he want to know.
Sans then drew his hidden blade and summoned one last Gasterblaster. That's all he needed.
Papyrus grimaced.
"FIGHT WITH YOUR OWN POWER!" he demanded.
Did he know?
No… it's likely Papyrus is taking cue of the gaps in his futuresight too.
He won't know the exact nature of my plan, but he'll suspect that I'm trying to cheat.
Sans smirked back. "Sorry, bro. I'm giving it my all. Tools included."
So the battle continued.
Sans kept to close-quarters, exploiting traditional melee skills with quick short-range teleports. Positioning was his objective.
Papyrus blocked a stab. Countered with a swipe to the spine.
Sans dodged in a last-ditch leap, catching unto the jaw of his own skull cannon.
I see. Possibilities vanish when a person commits to a certain tactic.
When its owner released his grip, the armament spewed out its deadly discharge.
Papyrus rolled out of the way toward safety.
The first floor tile got vapourized. Fresh rock healed over a newly-spawned circuit made from the four requested metals.
The key difference between a savage brute and a skilled warrior lies in one's cunning. It's all about making the situation turn in your favour.
You learned that well, Papyrus.
I'm so proud of you.
The younger brother conjured more hooks, using them to snag Sans' arms.
The elder one let his opponent do so, knowing he's skilled enough to control his Blaster with a single thought. He then pushed his weapon close to Papyrus' cranium for a point-blank shot.
Between certain doom and a fleeing target, the hero chose self-preservation.
Another tile vapourized. Before long, they were back in each others range again.
As the two clashed bones like the sword-fighting movies of yore, images of the past and present melded together in a haze of Orange.
I'm… hallucinating?
One moment, Papyrus was a tiny boy.
The next, he's the shining adult in all his glory.
The surroundings too. They melted. Meshed. Ebbed between times.
They're at arena in The Void.
They're at the New Home fountain square.
Is this how Papyrus sees the world?
How does he comprehend what is real and what is not?
The past mirrored the present. They had played pretend swordsmen many times before.
Laughter. Joy. Jokes and puns.
They're not found here anymore.
Sans caught Papyrus' weapon with his hand. Injected Karma. Rotted it to sandy bits of calcium. He attempted to initiate another flank by the side.
Papyrus leapt out of firing zone, ever swift.
Another floor tile succumbed.
Another floor tile trapped.
Sans pressured his opponent by summoning his trademark spikes from the ground. They're never going to land a hit, but they control the flow of combat nonetheless: making Papyrus stand where Sans wanted him to stand.
The background scenery changed to Snowdin's cold, white landscape. Played out their memories like a panorama.
Sans recognized this too. It was once upon a Gyftmas. The brothers had found a huge plank in the dump. Snuck all the way to snowy zone to look for a good slope. Turned that piece of wood into a sled.
Regular slopes soon became boring by their standards, so Sans used a well-timed clump of blunted spikes to launch them into the air. Good thing they both had Blue Magic.
The board splintered into pieces when it hit the ground.
Sans told Papyrus that it had already been falling apart. It wasn't a total lie, but the traces of Karma certainly didn't help.
Poor Gaster almost had a proverbial heart attack when he found that out.
Fun times.
This surrealism is nauseating.
I don't want Papyrus to live with this. Ever.
More sprays of Blaster light hammered the ground, peppering spots of sprawling decay.
Papyrus leapt and twirled around like a ballet dancer. Wherever his feet touched, green shielding magic created glassy platforms.
Nonetheless, the barrage enabled the doctor to plant multiple traps in one go.
Twelve tiles now. One to go.
"I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO DO, SANS," said Papyrus. "AS UNORIGINAL AS EVER."
Sans shrugged back. "Hey, if it works, it works. Won't you try to prevent it?"
"I CAN'T. YOUR PLAN IS FOOLPROOF."
"No, it's not. The guaranteed method is to kill me."
"I'LL NEVER KILL YOU."
"Welp. What will you do then?"
"I'LL SURVIVE," answered Papyrus.
Sans knew his brother won't joke about a matter this dire. When Papyrus was a little babybone, he wouldn't stop badgering him for combat practice. The older one couldn't bring out the big guns, though, so he improvised using a torchlight.
They played a game where the little one had to avoid the chasing spotlight.
Sometimes, little Papyrus would intentionally stand in the 'danger zone' and boast about his future greatness.
An illusionary spotlight thus shone down over their heads. Magnified. Intensified.
He could hear the young one's proclamation:
"AFTER ALL, I 'AM' THE GREAT PAPYRUS. NYEH HEH HEH."
"Papyrus," he whispered. "I love you, bro."
"I LOVE YOU TOO."
One more blast.
One more push.
And the final thirteenth tile was set in place.
Got the last component ready?
Gaster replied: [Affirmative. Primed and charged.]
Papyrus, I'm sorry. I promise… you'll wake up in a nice and cozy bed.
All of this will become a mere dream.
Chanting in the language of his kind, his hands weaved together the command to set the mechanisms deep into the very spot he stood on.
Not stopping.
Not hesitating.
Not turning back.
The thirteen points of his risky gambit shone bright, sprawling over the inner two-thirds of the arena.
Sans teleported backwards to the border.
Do it!
A vial of pure Determination materialized in the air. With a simple push of telekinesis, the final catalyst crashed against the battleground.
It initialized an eruption of tri-coloured flames. A massive inferno, dancing to the Aspects of Papyrus' Eye. Said little brother's fragile form flickered within like the blackened wick of a candle.
Sans turned his head away. Couldn't bear to watch. Couldn't bear to listen to those pained yet willful screams.
[So much for being a cold Tactician, Sans Serif. Turns out you do have a heart. Albeit it's far too late.]
The pain.
The suffering.
The failure that haunted Papyrus so much in this life.
The sole consolation Sans had was that Papyrus wouldn't remember any of this.
"…Report on the DT meter, please."
[Ten more minutes before we have enough. That last attack added at least another 50 seconds to the clock.]
Sans checked the Seraph System. Gaster was right.
"That's far too long."
Sans hoped that it would be full by now. If it was, he could ask Gaster to rewind before he had to sear the ugly result of his decision into memory.
Bereft of fuel, the blaze died down.
The hero struggled to stand, clutching his mother's scarf.
Red glowing scars covered the right side of his skull. More spread beneath his armour. They're the remnants of burned Determination.
Each pant was accompanied by subtle wincing, yet Papyrus refused to show any true signs of weakness.
Isn't that what Papyrus always does?
Always optimistic. Always hopeful.
On the third breath, however, The Great Papyrus collapsed.
Sans felt his hands tremble, but he clenched them into fists. Shoved his emotions aside.
"…I told you, brother." said Sans, "There are no guarantees in life. It's all a matter of chance. You may have all the right abilities. You may even see the best future. Ultimately, others dictate the outcome."
'Others' indeed.
A new vision trailed into view.
In it, 'Future Frisk' emerged out of their hiding spot beneath the arena. Ran over to Papyrus. But after learning that the injured skeleton couldn't answer their pleas, the kid turned their attention towards their opponent. Jumped into action.
Those nimble limbs and uncanny instincts.
"Heh. The kid's got good moves."
A lights-out uppercut to the mandible sought a swift conclusion…
…Except the imaginary fist phased right through.
Such an outcome, denied.
Sans spotted them peeking out from the stairwell and launched an immediate pre-emptive strike.
He warped in close. Forced their SOUL out of their chest.
While they're still trying to get a grip on the current development of events…
…The Seraph System's blade drove deep inside.
That expression on Frisk's face…
They realised all too late that they had played right into his hand.
The damage had been done.
Sans smirked a little.
"Your power's mine." he said.
The Mark of the Seraphim spread from the contact point, sealing their fate.
A river of Determination flowed out from the reservoir of power. It filled the Seraph System like a broken dam.
Three seconds.
Frisk realised the problem. Anger replaced shock. Retaliation followed.
He saw that coming. Avoided their blow. Moved to a different spot of the arena. It's not safe to stand near a Living Victory.
Two.
A human's estimated max speed in sprint lay somewhere near forty five kilometres per hour. Frisk won't be able to match that. And unlike Papyrus, they don't have a Blaster.
One.
What if they utilized their quicksave teleports? Their reaction time wouldn't be sufficient either.
No matter what, they cannot outplay time itself.
"Remember your promise, kid."
Zero.
The scene slowed down.
Turned red.
And then, everything went dark.
When light flooded back into his Eye, the melodious rush of running water circled around his being.
Sans Serif woke up in a field of Echo Flowers, staring at the gem-encrusted ceiling of Waterfall's many caves. A reed basket with some freshly picked waterdogs lay by the side.
He's not wearing his usual blue hoodie either. It's… a standard office suit?
Where am I?
When he sat up, he spotted a signboard in the distance.
It read: 'The Font Family Waterworks'.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Let himself fall flat on his back. Petals puffed up from the weight of his fall and scattered all over his being.
…It's over.
It's a beautiful day under the mountain, he thought.
Froggits are croaking.
Goldenflowers are sleeping.
"On days like these, that dang DEMON kid better stay the hell away."