The last world Gaster intended to visit to secure the final option for Papyrus was not far from his previous location. However, the distance was somewhat irritating to travel. It wasn't the "original" reality he'd meant to visit with you, but rather one of its variations—a world he was more familiar with. The core difference being his own history with this particular branch of reality.
Still, he did his best to brush off his annoyance, both with the journey and the more recent events. He reminded himself that one of the core tenets of enduring in the void was the ability to adapt to the chaos that surrounded it. Defying its "order of things" had always been his guiding motivation, and he could endure all of this, knowing that in the end, it would be worth it.
True, being constantly accosted by an unseen force that took advantage of your currently linear existence was... frustrating. The force phased out of sync by mere moments, always a step ahead or behind. But Gaster could overcome this. He'd already adjusted something, after all—dawning his glasses, one side observing moments ahead, the other side tracking those behind.
He'd also been attacked by some massive, serpentine creature in the Dark Forest section of the void, where colossal beings roamed, beyond his ability to reckon with. But luck had been on his side, and he'd encountered something weaker. If nothing else, it was something.
Gaster smoked, inhaling deeply to calm himself, filtering his frustration through what was now his fifth cigarette in a row. He reminded himself once more that it was fine. Things could never be truly perfect. Plans rarely survived first contact. And in the end, he would win.
The void, ever his companion, whispered flickering words around his head: Sometimes blessings come disguised as tragedies.
He didn't quite agree. Irritated, he swiped at the words, watching them dissolve into the darkness. The void, unfazed, shrugged it off.
The Observer was gliding along, gripped by the phantom hand, following after the contemplative doctor. They passed through countless loose, bleeding strands of reality, each one dangling like threads from a beaded curtain, easily brushed aside.
This reality intrigued the Observer. It seemed lodged within the teeth of some colossal, decaying creature, its nature eldritch and incomprehensible in scale. The Observer couldn't fathom the true size of the thing, but it noticed countless other beings, both eating and hacking away at its flesh.
One such being was an oozing black flower, its center bearing an eye that blinked as it watched them pass beneath an archway made from the creature's gnarled hand, mostly stripped of flesh. The flower whispered things under its breath as they moved through, its words not aimed at them, but seemingly at you.
Hijacking part of th—I can see you. I see what you were hiding. But do you? —to you, in ways unknown, burrowing deeper—Have you not noticed? Did you not think to check on it? He didn't either-
They passed beyond it, leaving the strange entity behind, its presence slipping beyond the Observer's ability to perceive.
In the darker recesses of this place, Gaster formed the passageway they needed. He chose a tooth from the decaying creature, one that had broken off long ago. Using the familiar code, he constructed a door from it—an elegant, grey door, his preferred method of travel when he wished to be formal, proper.
They found themselves in another version of Snowdin.
This one was eerily quiet as they arrived. The crunch of snow beneath their feet echoed loudly through the empty streets. The snowfall was heavier than usual, adding to the stillness.
The skeletal man adjusted his lab coat and surveyed the town ahead, standing beside a sign. The Observer hovered next to him, cords gripped tightly in the phantom hand.
"A silent night," Gaster remarked.
There were no monsters in sight, but the lights were on inside the homes, and faint shadows could be seen through the windows. Doors were locked, closed off, as if the town itself had retreated from the cold. The usual warmth of Snowdin was absent, but there had been no evacuation—something that mattered to him.
The Observer emitted a curious whirr.
"I assume you're wondering why it's so vacant?" Gaster mused as he stepped down the road. "Maybe a tyrant's come to power, and the citizens live in fear?" He chuckled dryly. "I'm speaking in jest. That's another, bleaker world." He continued, "No, the answer is simple: Someone is taking their job seriously."
They proceeded, walking past the sign and down the road that led past the Inn and the Shop. Gaster spotted someone peeking out from one of the buildings, but they quickly ducked back inside, hiding.
The path continued until they reached the holiday tree in the center of town, with presents piled around it. His eyes scanned the area, stopping when something caught his attention.
The Observer chirped, noticing it as well. "Human. Child."
Hiding beneath the tree, surrounded by presents, was a child—a familiar variant of Frisk. The child sat shivering, seemingly drenched in water, whimpering in place.
For a moment, phantom hands appeared at the edges of the tree, out of sight of the child. Gaster's gaze fixed on the figure, but then he hesitated and motioned for the hands to retreat.
He stepped forward and stopped beside the tree, needing an answer to something. Kneeling down, he positioned himself on his knees to approach the hidden child. The human had a bandage clinging weakly to their face, a faint scar visible beneath it, evidence of a small injury.
The child clutched a stick, shrinking back and trying to hide behind the presents. Gaster raised a finger and tapped the air, performing a Check.
Frisk LV 1. AT 0. DF 0.
Doesn't want to die.
Gaster scanned the results twice, his expression shifting. His breathing became slightly more erratic as he visibly considered his next move.
When he selected this timeline, he had planned to bring you to a Genocide variant—a world where whatever was to come might feel justified, or determined to happen. But this was not that world. To his surprise, it was a pacifist variation, something very rare to find. He'd need to recalibrate his panels to prevent such a mistake in the future.
"A fear of death..." Gaster mused aloud, his voice softer. "Most beings have that. It's a natural response to things that scare us. Fear helps keep us alive, helps us survive things... and people who wish us harm. But I thought you'd be more determined than that." He glanced at the child, who didn't move, still shaking, stick clutched tightly. "If you'd like, you could try to strike me... But the way you're holding it..." He shook his head slightly. "You don't even know how to fight, do you?"
Frisk glanced around anxiously, yellow eyes scanning the area before cautiously lowering the stick. The child began to use sign language to respond.
"I don't want to. It might hurt someone," they signed, then sneezed into their sleeve.
"Yes, I suppose it would," Gaster muttered, smiling faintly. He switched to sign language in response. "If that's the case, why are you hiding?"
"My friend," Frisk signed, pausing. "He stopped being fun. He's... not safe."
"How so?" Gaster signed back.
"He keeps attacking me. He threw me in chains once, and I—" Frisk hesitated, then added, "froze."
Gaster understood the implication. "I imagine this person," he signed slowly, "is a skeleton, like me?"
"Yes. His brother was nice. But Sans got worried, asked me to go back to the ruins." Frisk signed again, then added, "His brother, my friend, was told to kill me... He broke the bridge leading out. And won't let me go."
Gaster hadn't thought to check that. The Observer, meanwhile, had turned to stare toward the entrance of the town. Indeed, the bridge that led into the town had been shattered, the stone missing, gone. The Observer turned back, meeting Gaster's gaze.
"That's concerning," Gaster admitted, signing. "Perhaps you and I can speak to him together?"
Frisk's eyes widened with fear, and frantic signing followed. "No. Don't. Danger. He'll hurt you."
The concern in the child's response surprised Gaster. He chuckled softly and adjusted something within himself. Then, with a small gesture, he motioned to Frisk.
"Check me," he signed. "You know how, don't you?" The child nodded. "Go on."
Frisk hesitated, then obliged, choosing to Check.
Wingding Gaster LV 1. AT 50. DF 50.
The only one who wants to help you.
The child fidgeted for a moment, deep in thought, before crawling out from beneath the tree. They parted the presents as Gaster steadily rose to his feet, adjusting himself. The Observer shifted slightly, and the child's gaze fell on it, curious.
"I didn't introduce this one yet," Gaster said, gesturing to the floating figure. "This is my robot, Observer." He paused. "Sadly, someone broke it, and I was heading home to make repairs... say hello, Observer."
As if on cue, the Observer summoned phantom hands to perform sign language. "Hello. Observer."
The sight made Frisk chuckle softly, before they sneezed again. The cold seemed to hit harder now that they were no longer huddled for warmth. Gaster noticed this and signed, reaching into his coat. He pulled something from one of the pockets and tossed it gently over the child. Then, he buttoned up the top, draping it down over them.
It was a warm hoodie, and as Frisk pulled it on completely, they immediately felt a sense of comfort and safety. The child shook themselves a bit, adjusting to the new warmth, and Gaster chuckled at the sight. He let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Okay. Together now," he said. "We'll go talk to your friend and see if we can calm them down. Alright?"
Frisk looked doubtful, not bothering to pick up the stick. They nodded silently, then reached out for his hand. The gesture made Gaster hesitate, flinching slightly before he gave in. He looked mildly annoyed, but nonetheless complied as they began walking toward the edge of Snowdin, heading toward Waterfall.
The Observer felt something flicker within it. A rebounding signal. Some kind of outside interference. It tried to focus, but...
The teleportation spell wasn't pleasant to experience.
The Observer whirred, feeling as though it were being spun and twisted, even after the effect had ended. It struggled to regain focus before suddenly falling out of the hoodie, clattering to the ground. A brief moment of interference passed as it regained its bearings.
"Oh, cool. They finally f-fin—" Chara gagged, choking briefly. "Finally got the anti-magic... work—oh, angel forbid... hang on."
The Observer heard retching, but couldn't see exactly what was happening. However, the sound of vomit and labored breaths made it clear. It registered the presence of exceptionally strong magic nullification at work. The force of it was enough to disrupt the doctor's usual ease of travel. The fact that the woman had managed to break through it, while impressive, clearly came with consequences. The Observer heard splashing, choking, and the sound of her punching a trash can.
"Fuck," Chara muttered, swallowing hard as she stepped over, pulling strands of hair back. "Gonna... sorry. That was..." She made a noise and shook her head before stepping over to the drone. "Bad."
Her steps were unsteady as she lifted it up, slotted it into her hood. Her eye appeared dimmer than before, suggesting she was nearing a 'mana-tap' state, which often led to passing out—or worse.
"Are you okay?" it asked, still being hefted into place.
"It's, uh... my art-piece on... authoritarianism," Chara said, shaking herself and clearing her throat. "Vomited it up—ugh—this morning."
"Shouldn't joke. You sound... in pain," the Observer commented.
"Pfft. I'm always in pain," Chara chuckled, steadying her breathing and steps. "But, uh, we're almost home. No more teleporting till I can brush my teeth."
As they began traveling, the Observer got a better look at their surroundings. The first thing it noticed was the air. Beyond the typical scent of "teleportation troubles," there were warmer, more inviting aromas—mainly the scents of cooking, with comfort foods wafting through the air. It couldn't identify the specific types of food, but the overall smells were pleasant.
The area around them was elevated. The Observer confirmed this when Chara walked alongside a railing, stepping carefully to avoid bumping into a few people. It peered over the railing, taking in the sprawling landscape, on this level first.
The space lacked rain, instead being overgrown with greenery and covered in gently falling snow. The buildings were made of the same purple stone often found in the ruins. Several mechanical structures, crafted from metal, were scattered around, but most were familiar Snowdin-like wooden structures, haphazardly placed. The Observer jostled in Chara's hood.
"Woah, hey," she joked, "I know it's easy to fall for me, but maybe don't do it literally. It's a looong way down."
The Observer could now see they were on the highest level of what appeared to be a gargantuan combination of various structures and mechanisms. Walkways and buildings twisted together in a sprawling, labyrinthine fashion. Peering down from the railing, the Observer saw multiple levels, with snow blanketing each one and people going about their business. The view didn't extend much beyond five levels, but it was clear there were more.
"How far?" it inquired.
"How far down?" Chara glanced over the railing. "Well, I know a guy, a green-tinted Sans. Weird guy. He dropped over the side once. To be honest... I don't know how long he 'actually' fell. Said he lost track and got bored after 200 or so."
"Where... are we?" it asked.
"Top floor. Cheapest, and largely considered to be the worst one." Chara chuckled, misunderstanding what it asked. "Means your world is on the chopping block. Heh... so that's fun."
"Chopping block? Your world?" The Observer tried to grasp what she was suggesting.
A low, deep voice interrupted. "Chara. Are you trying to scare some newcomer?"
"I mean, I'm not scaring them, Grillby. I'm just saying how it is," she replied, then glanced back at the Observer. "This is Grillby. Say something."
The Observer complied. "Something?"
Chara gave Grillby a playful shoulder-punch. "Damn. One word. Leaving a poor robot speechless."
"What can I say, I'm hot stuff," Grillby quipped with a chuckle, which made Chara snicker. "Hey, heard what you did in the arena..."
"Y-yeah, I, uh... things changed," Chara replied, sounding hesitant.
"What happened?" Grillby pressed.
"The, uh, Overlord... wanted to talk," Chara murmured. "Found out."
Grillby grumbled. "I told you that collector would interfere."
"I know."
"She told you that he'd interfere."
"I know. I know."
"Asriel can't be happy about this."
"He's... not. Sent a Faker Sans after me too," she revealed. Grillby crossed his arms, now looking concerned. "I—I know. I know I messed up. But what the hell was I supposed to do? Say no, to 'that guy'?" She gestured helplessly. "I can't... I couldn't say no."
"I know," Grillby said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You need to square that debt, soon."
"Sort of why I'm avoiding him," Chara admitted, messing with her hair and looking stressed. "Gonna take me a bit to... gather that G."
"I'll talk with some of the others."
"N-no, don't do—"
"Apologies, Princess," Grillby cut her off, tapping her forehead. "But you no longer get a say." He gave her a nod. "Now go home. I imagine you'll be getting an earful there too."
"Yeah. Probably... thanks," she replied, hesitantly.
"It's fine." Grillby turned to the Observer. "It was a pleasure."
The drone didn't respond, watching as the man walked over to a restaurant. Chara exhaled heavily and shook it off before turning and continuing on their way.
They passed a few people in groups. One consisted of a purple-skinned dinosaur lady (a Susie variant), a deer lady (a Noelle variant), and a human with a green shirt and yellow stripes that the Observer couldn't quite identify but assumed was some kind of Chara variation.
The Susie remarked, "They want 'at least' one of us."
The Noelle asked, "Maybe... we can go in together?"
The human seemed more hesitant. "We ought to... ask for, uh... help."
The Susie grunted. "Screw that. No way anyone would." Adding. "Those idiots think they'll be fine if we lose."
Their conversation faded as Chara and the Observer walked farther away. Chara muttered something under her breath. The Observer chirped curiously.
"It's... I was just saying," Chara began, "those three are new. They're unlucky enough to be viewed as 'potentially disposable.'" She laughed nervously. "They're from a Delta world."
"Delta worlds?" the Observer asked, then recalled, "Deltarune worlds?"
"The symbol... huh, is that what it's short for?" Chara pondered aloud. "Whatever the case, there are a lot of them here. So new ones really have to 'prove themselves.'" She sighed. "That said... they're going to die."
"Die? Why?" the Observer asked, intrigued.
They passed a restaurant with an open door. The warmth from inside spilled out as they walked by its open door. The sound of a jukebox playing comforting music floated out. The Observer also spotted a variant of Sans sitting in front, wearing pink slippers and a black t-shirt, drinking a bottle of ketchup, watching them pass.
"Because they're used to fighting as a team," Chara added. "The 'Collector' doesn't typically like Team Fights."
"Who is the Collector?" the Observer inquired. "Is it... the Overlord?"
"Yeah. And, uh, it's someone I thought was a friend... but, I dunno. Clearly, he wasn't." She muttered, then shifted uncomfortably as she turned to a staircase. "Also... been meaning to ask... er, never mind. I'll wait till we're home."
Before the Observer could ask, it suddenly felt a flow of disjointed words, fragments of thoughts, brushing through its system. It was unable to fully process them, but it made out the words:
A treasure trove. What happened? Where now? Stay low. Don't make moves until you have more information. One of you wanted to know about this Chara. It also realized it hadn't scanned her yet... but was unable to now. It made a mental note to do so later.
It heard more voices, fragmented. Graft. Don't. Graft. How many times? Is there a limit?
The Observer spoke aloud: "Graft. 2 times. Maximum."
"What was that?" Chara asked, snapping the Observer from its thoughts. "Graft, as in... grafting?"
It attempted to respond, but then another signal flickered within it. Outside interference. It tried to focus, but—