‘Nyeh heh heh’.

  ‘Nyeh heh heh’.

  ‘Nyeh heh heh’.

  ‘Tomorrow, I shall qualify for the Royal Guard! Fans will shower me with kisses!’

  ‘The Great Papyrus deserves all the glory, nyeh heh heh heh!!!!’

  The ghostly version of Papyrus continued to go about the bits of pieces of his daily life as Asriel struggled to speak the truth. He gripped his hands together, his brows scrunched.

  After taking a deep breath, The Godking steeled his resolve. “I couldn’t absorb all of him,” he said. “What you’re seeing here is only what I managed to grab. It’s because Papyrus rejected my calling.”

  Dust lowered his head, shaking it slowly. “What made you think he’d ever go along with your mad plan anyway?”

  “You’re right. Papyrus wouldn’t accept our methods. He… he reminds me of Mom that way. I mean, Toriel.”

  “Then, why?”

  “He was my friend!” Sincerity rang in Asriel’s words. “I had to try!”

  However, Dust scorned that statement, dripping with bitterness. “With friends like that, who needs enemies? You should have left us alone. Papyrus and I… we were doing great.”

  Chara scoffed back, saying: “Really? Look at yourself. Scraping by day to day, reduced to scavenging and hunting like a post-apocalypse survivalist. I don’t think that’s ‘great’ at all. If you ask me, it’s better to be peacefully dead within a dream than to suffer alive in a doomed world.”

  Asriel shot an irritated glare at Chara. “Can you not chase away the one guy who could help us with our tech problem? We’re already on thin ice! Get it??”

  “I do not care, Azzy. We did not need his help in the first place. With your smarts, you could eventually be Alphys’ equal. Maybe even her better.”

  “Ugh! No way! That’s an impossibly high bar! This is Alphys we’re talking about. She’s a super ultra genius!”

  “Then why not assign her to solve the mystery? Anyone other than this stupid Smiley Trashbag.”

  “Because she’s part of the system! I need someone from the outside! I told you this many, many, many, many times!”

  From that point, it became another roundabout argument between two children.

  Such immaturity. Dust was ready to dig his hands into his pockets and storm right out. At this rate, those brats would hinder more than help in his investigation.

  But then, The Phantom whispered, “C’mon, Sans. Don’t you dare leave in a huff: you’d lose the one chance to bring me back to life. Try a different approach.”

  For once, he had to thank the aberration for making a good suggestion. Dust calmed down to think. Piece by piece, he compared what he had seen and heard with the reality he contended with.

  One detail stuck out to him like a sore thumb. “Hey, kids, why are people saying it’s only been about almost two years since I left town? Instead of the full six, y’know.”

  The arguing stopped immediately. Asriel broke out into a nervous stammer, curiously similar to Alphys. “W-w-where did y-y-you hear about t-t-this??”

  Dust knew better than to rat out Mettaton, more so with Asriel’s history of rewriting realities to suit his needs. Therefore, he pointed to his own ear hole and said: “I’m not deaf, y’know. The townsfolk won’t stop gossiping about the burnt wreckage. Seems that I made headlines.”

  Asriel smacked his own face and groaned. “Ugh… of course, that doesn’t surprise me one bit. Fine. You’re right. Since your ‘disappearance’, less time has passed in this world than on the outside.”

  “Are you two afraid that nobody notices you growing up or something?”

  “No way! I can change my appearance however I want! Look.”

  With a snap of his finger, Asriel’s form changed from a child to a teenager, taller with tiny nubs on his head. One more snap and he was a fully grown adult with curved horns similar to King Asgore’s. Somehow, it looked faintly familiar.

  “And now, I’m a grownup.” The change applied to his voice as well, deepening the few notches as an adult goat, also reminiscent of his father. “Neat, don’t you think?”

  Stretching his hand towards Chara, he was eager to show off his art. “I can do the same for Chara too--”

  But before he could, the human child shut down the idea. “Do! Not!”

  Asriel slowly withdrew his hand, awkwardly complying with Chara’s threatening ‘wishes’. He then switched his own form back into a child again, returning to his soft, youthful, innocent self.

  The Godking cleared his throat. “I think that’s enough of a demonstration.” Gone were the deep Asgore-esque timbres of his imagined adulthood.

  With a raised eyebrow, Dust noted: “Okay. Fair. I guessed wrong. So, what’s the real answer?”

  “Because… Because…” Asriel turned his head towards Grillby a few times, seemingly seeking guidance from his guardian, but struggling to commit to anything. Whatever it was, the Godking couldn’t bring himself to explain it with his own words.

  The fire bartender asked: “…Your Majesty, do you need my help?…”

  “I can do it. I think.”

  Asriel straightened his back, trying to improve his composure so he could tell the truth. “W-w-we’re stuck in a time-loop of two years! There you go, the big secret: exposed. That’s the mystery I want you to investigate.”

  Dust burst into a snorting chortle. “No wonder you needed someone from ‘the outside’. Those who live inside a simulation can’t be the one fixing it. They’re bound by the Dreamworld’s rules. Talk about divine comedy.”

  Asriel’s eyes sparkled with a hopeful gleam. “So… how about it? Think you can help?”

  The skeleton looked around and rubbed his chin, thinking, pondering, ruminating. The more he thought about it, the more holes he uncovered. Something wasn’t right. Six years may have passed, but that fateful night remained fresh in his memory.

  “Welp. That’s nowhere near enough info for me to work with. You trying to maintain some kinda clean front or something? There’s a metric ton of discrepancies floating around and you know it.”

  “Like…?”

  “First and foremost, didn’t you erase my existence once? You had all your plant zombies insist that Papyrus didn’t have a brother.”

  Asriel grimaced. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I originally wanted you out of the picture because you’re too… too… cunning! The biggest security risk on the planet!”

  “So, what changed?”

  “The town itself. Without certain ‘special people’ in their lives, Undyne and Asgore spiralled down in a slow but steady descent of grief. One person was influenced by another and so on and so on. Before I knew it, I had a town-wide depression disaster on my hands.”

  Chara spun around in a pirouette, showing off their skillful flair. “I helped Azzy to ‘reset’.”

  Nodding sagely, Asriel continued: “Mhmm, mhmm. Yup. Everything was wound back to the first week of migrating to the Surface. A fresh, clean slate… Except for the bits of residual memories everywhere. I tried deleting Papyrus from memory. I tried deleting Toriel too. I tried scrubbing you out even more!”

  The rosy-cheeked one ballet danced across the room, spontaneous if not rather distracting. “But nobody could truly forget anyone.”

  “In the end, we fine-tuned a story that kept everyone satisfied. Papyrus? Gone to college. Toriel? Divorced, but alive somewhere. Sans? Off on a grand solo adventure.”

  Dust raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Why didn’t you bundle me together with Papyrus? See, travelling together was part of our Surface plans.”

  “Blame Undyne for that. Between college and globetrotting, the college scenario worried her less. Sometimes, she would dial Papyrus’ number to check on him. I have to be the ‘Papyrus’ whenever that happens!”

  Asriel continued his rant. “Don’t even get me started about the Asgore-Toriel soap opera. That’s a story of its own league. Ugh, even as Flowey I just needed to impersonate one monster at a time, never two. And I already had a close call when people tried to contact both Papyrus and Toriel at the same time!”

  “Guess playing a third character was too much for you to handle.”

  “You think? That’s why we didn’t put you in college with your brother, Mister Popular.”

  “That tracks. Did you really have to burn my house down, though? Seems excessive, if you ask me.”

  “The fire is a fake front designed to hide the hologram ghost.” Asriel pointed at the other translucent ‘Papyrus’. “Imagine what would happen if anyone saw that.”

  Chara skipped over to Dust and whispered: “Nothing good, if you get what I mean.” They then bounced back to Asriel’s side.

  The hooded skeleton asked: “So, let’s say you had a perfect run: a full 730 Days without some kind of fallout. What happens?”

  Asriel rolled his eyes. “It’s back to Year 1, Week 1, Day 1, square one. Start from scratch. No New Game Plus. It’s all totally out of our control. I didn’t rewind time. Chara didn’t either. Neither of us did!”

  “Huh. Weird.”

  “‘Weird’ is the correct description. That’s why I insisted on bringing you here.”

  “How close are we to that deadline at this very point within the dream?”

  “14 days. That’s how much we have left.”

  “Well, that explains why we’re in a perpetual autumn of the second year. It’s the furthest you could go without losing all your progress.”

  Asriel tossed his arms in the air, defeated. “Now you know the whole story. Where would you start?”

  “Think that you could grant me access to the very heart of The Celestial Calamity?” Dust asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Figures. I haven’t earned your trust yet. Then I guess the next best thing is… For you two to let me stay here, in my house. Allow me to investigate what’s going on with this Papyrus first.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “How long will it take?” asked Asriel.

  “It won’t be weeks for sure. I’m on a time limit in real life, being voluntarily comatosed and all.”

  “You’re being annoyingly vague again… Just like the old days, I suppose. Fine. Have it your way. C’mon Chara, we have better things to do.”

  The rosy-cheeked child smiled. “Finally, we can go play some video games.”

  “Grillby, here are your orders: By your presence, keep Sans bound to this property, so he cannot sneak off and get himself stuck in a cog elsewhere. No teleports, no climbing, no Gasterblastering, no nothing. Understood?”

  Bowing his head to the Godking, the knight accepted his duty: “…Yes, Your Majesty…”

  In a whirlwind of flame, Grillby switched out of his civilian bartender costume into the black caped armour of Sir Grillbz Grillenn, The Immortal Guardian, complete with the sword that incinerated The Guild’s forces.

  While the two children took their leave, Grillby made sure to block the main exit, resting the tip of his drawn sword on the floor, prepared to act upon a moment’s notice.

  Rather than feeling threatened by the imposing figure, Dust found a great weight falling off his shoulders. Without the constant agitation from those two bratty deities, he could finally do some proper thinking, or process his emotions.

  Walking around the recreation of his home filled Dust with bittersweet nostalgia.

  The ghostly image of Papyrus had just started going around picking up images of used, unwashed socks. Once upon a time in sweeter days, Dust left those unwashed socks here and there just to prank his neat, fastidious brother.

  “…Hold on, he didn’t complain?”

  The more he observed, the stranger it seemed. The Papyrus he remembered would always gripe and complain about all the little annoying habits. If this hologram were fragmented playbacks of their old life, as Asriel implied, it should have replicated all the grumbles as well.

  And yet, the image went about his life without a single fuss.

  The Phantom whispered, “See, Sans? I told you it couldn’t be me! He is too happy. Too content. Too… artificial.”

  Dust tried analysing the hologram with his magic eye. If Asriel had absorbed even a little bit of Papyrus’ lifeforce, he should be able to see hints of his general stats and genetic data.

  However, instead of the usual numbers Dust expected, he only read: ‘Access Denied’.

  What about the table? He should at least be able to discern what kind of wood it was made from.

  ‘Access Denied’.

  What about the boombox?

  ‘Access Denied’.

  The television?

  ‘Access Denied’.

  And the Immortal Guardian himself?

  ‘Access Denied’.

  The Godking’s protection extended far beyond just physical destruction. Their very code was under lock and key.

  Dust tried to touch the image of Papyrus again. Just like before, his hand phased right through.

  The Phantom once again whispered: “Try stabbing the image with our special runes. Drain it of its life. Make its essence ours. You learned necromancy for a reason, Sans. Do what you must do.”

  The suggestion made sense. If the hologram couldn’t be affected by material means, perhaps an immaterial method was the answer.

  He conjured a sharpened bone engraved with the lifeforce draining runes. There was a deep-seated fear that this curious test might destroy the last remnant of his precious brother for good.

  ‘Nyeh heh heh’.

  ‘Nyeh heh heh’.

  ‘Nyeh heh heh’.

  Dust raised his sharpened weapon with trembling hands…

  …Then, he aborted the attempt.

  “Why???” the aberration yelled.

  “I’m not ready to die yet,” Dust whispered back, trying to keep his voice quiet. “Grillby’s watching us.”

  Begrudgingly, the Phantom condeeded. “I know you’re lying Sans, but you also have a point. The Immortal Guardian is indeed guarding the place, immortally, nyeh. We wouldn’t want to risk his ire.”

  “I’m gonna check the environment some more. Let’s begin by watching the news or something.”

  Dust tried turning the TV on. Except, the button didn’t work. He tried shutting off the boombox. The button didn’t work either.

  He rushed over to the window and pulled the curtains aside. The sun was shining, but it lacked warmth. When he pressed his head close to the window, he couldn’t hear the bustle of city life, or the singing of birds, or the rustles of windblown leaves.

  Time was frozen. The world around him remained static even though he continued to march forward, alone with his would-be enemies.

  Dust slowly stepped away from the window. He had the feeling of being on the verge of a big discovery, but he had yet to formulate his thoughts into something more concrete…

  “I need a sounding board,” he muttered. “And I have the perfect guy for that.”

  He shuffled over to Grillby and sat his cross-legged self down about a meter away from the knight.

  “So…” Dust asked, “Anything you wanna say for old time’s sake?”

  As expected, the fire elemental remained absolutely silent.

  “Heh. Sure. You may have the patience to remain silent, but I have the perseverance to keep trying. Did you know The Celestial Calamity spell is like a program whereby the caster fills in the blank variables themselves?”

  No response. Grillby was known to be stoic by default. Should he choose to be cagey, that shell would be much harder to crack.

  Nonetheless, Dust continued: “According to the Book of Curses, the spell consists of three verses. The first verse is static. It always begins with ‘Devour, Crimson Sun. Shine, Bloodstained Moon’. The second verse would be the caster’s declaration, and the final third verse would be the caster’s wish. The end result? Creating the world of their dreams.”

  He twirled an index finger in the air. “Based on Chara’s invitation, it’s not a stretch that the caster wished for a perpetual paradise. A hometown that’s forever at its very best. Sounds great on paper, right? But, the more you think about it, the more you realise things can go wrong very, very quickly.”

  “For example: have you heard of any new births lately?”

  Dust spotted the tiniest flinch from Grillby’s metal gauntlet. He tightened his grip on the sword’s pommel ever so slightly…

  “In a population of a hundred villagers, skipping some years before a new baby is born is no big deal. In a population of a thousand? Eh, still possible, just less likely. But ten thousand? Hundred thousand? Now that’s a crisis.”

  “Of course this place can’t make new life: it’s a town of glorified digital ghosts. Furthermore, a generation of wholly new entities contradicts with the wish of perpetual paradise. For every life born, there’s a risk that they might take actions that could destroy the peace.”

  “But let’s say that we take away the new entities’ free will. As newborn NPCs, they could choose only the best possible actions. By theory that solves the problem, right?”

  “Wrong… it requires the caster’s imagination to account for all the new characters who could be born. New friendships formed. New dynamics made. Over time, the old familiar Hometown fades into a nostalgic memory. It would no longer be the town the kids had fallen in love with.”

  “If this Dreamworld is being run by a bunch of perpetual children, they’d never be able to imagine a world where things change, where kids can grow up and adults can grow old, yet still remain a paradise. Asriel is stuck in his two year time-loop dilemma all because those in charge can’t imagine a future. They want to keep the present perfectly as it is.”

  “Welp, if the kids wished for a perfect world, everyone should be healthy and alive. The concept of death shouldn’t exist at all. Missing people? Easily explained away by just having them so-called ‘migrate’ out of town, just like Tori and Papyrus. Why even have a graveyard then? There’d be no reason to.”

  “Unless… being dead is somehow more beneficial to the Godking than being alive.”

  Grillby tightened his grip further. It tipped Dust that he was on the right track.

  “Let’s see.” Dust continued to muse out loud, “What were the names on the tombstone? Shyra, Mutler, Crystal, and Gerson. What do they have in common other than being old or terminally ill? Off the top of my head, I remembered that three of them became Amalgamates. Could that affect their memories? Maybe they were getting too much deja vu and behaved erratically. Hmmm… erratic doesn’t describe Gerson though. What about politics? Maybe he went up against Asriel at some point…”

  Grillby suddenly spoke up. “…Those graves have been there from the very beginning…”

  “Now that’s interesting,” said Dust. “Why would you want to correct me on anything at all? I’m technically your enemy. Being wrong is a tactical advantage for your side. Yet, you spoke up.”

  He continued, “Besides… Gerson was part of the plant zombie welcoming party. He was there when Papyrus was dying in my arms, meaning that he wasn’t put six feet under in the fake world upon absorption. I still remember his ‘wa ha ha’, y’know. Where did your confidence come from?”

  Grillby let out a small grunt beneath the helmet. “…The Immortal Guardian… is excluded from the effects of altered time… I’ve seen The Godking do his work…”

  “If that’s the case, it’s very likely there were scenarios that happened before your promotion. You wouldn’t remember those unless the little king patched the memories into your noggin. Did he ever do that?”

  The knight clammed up again.

  “Looks like he didn’t. But let’s suppose you’re right. I guess the graves started out as placeholders for those who weren’t yet absorbed, like myself and Papyrus.”

  Grillby then asked, “…Why did Papyrus reject His Majesty?…”

  Dust answered: “He said he didn’t want to live in a world without me. Heck, maybe that’s why the brats finally extended the offer of paradise to this bonely self.”

  “…What were his last words?…”

  “He said: ‘My strength, my life, I’ll give them to you. Protect this world, love this world, and save the humans. Do it in my stead’. He’s the reason why I became ‘The Lone Defender’ to begin with. If I had it my way, I might have sought refuge elsewhere.”

  “…I see… He was more mature than I expected… My condolences…”

  “Thanks. Glad to see someone appreciate him.” Dust stood back up and straightened his clothes. “Either way, I’m done with this house. Something is real fishy with the cemetery. I gotta go there next. Will you allow me to investigate it?”

  The helmet’s eyes lit up in bright orange light. “…I cannot…” said Grillby. Though he tried to hide it, Dust sensed an undercurrent of alarm swimming beneath those words.

  “Fine, then take me to Asriel for approval from the higher-ups. If he wants his mystery solved, that’s the next step.”

  “…What if there is no solution?…”

  Narrowing his eyes, Dust said: “Something tells me you know more than you let on.”

  Loud, thundering rumblings interrupted their discussion, followed by a sudden earthquake. The furniture shook, ceiling lights frizzled out. and the sun had lost its yellow shine. Instead, it was replaced by an ominous red glow.

  Thick killing intent choked every breath he took. Sweating buckets, Dust cried out: “What the hell. Is the Calamity activating???”

  But Grillby replied, “…No… Not at all…”

  The quake happened again. And again. And again. Every time the earth rumbled, the blast rang louder.

  “…The gap in the timing… it’s consistent… I’ll see if I access The Godking’s cameras from here…”

  Grillby reached his hand out towards the TV. The Godking’s symbol bloomed on the back of his hand, and upon that moment, the screen switched on to provide a window of the outside world.

  A bright red heart-shaped symbol shone ominously in the sky from within the smoke, looming over the burning briars and the collapsing caves.

  The symbol then spun counterclockwise. Fires and scraps of metal began to flow in reverse.

  “…Is the camera rewinding?…” Grillby remarked, confused.

  But Dust pointed out: “No. Look. The falling debris and fires are moving normally. The only thing rewinding, or rather ‘reverting’, is the blast.”

  A couple of seconds later, the missile had reformed, suspended in mid-air. That very same weapon flew straight into the briar wall, piercing through the thorns before exploding into a fiery and flattening blast.

  The process of rewind and relaunch happened over and over and over again.

  Both the skeleton and the knight stared at the scene in terrified disbelief.

  Dust felt his eyes react to the overwhelming presence, trying to focus and perceive the nature of the oppressive redness coming from outside. Distorted letters slowly but surely formed into a legible name.

  ‘James Aran Pashowar, King of Humanity.’

  A long time ago, that silver-tongued Guildmaster dropped some oddly specific hints. Seeing this in action revealed the nature of James Pashowar’s personal magic: the ability to revert specific targets by his will.

  He was the one who drained out the excessive lifeforce by reverting Dust’s lapse in judgement: the act of drinking the potion.

  He was the one who healed Anya by reverting her wounds as far as he could go.

  And now, he would be the one trying to end Ebott on his own terms by reverting the detonation of one missile, repeatedly, effectively turning it into an infinite weapon.

  Dust explained, “The Guildmaster is leading the charge. Name: James Aran Pashowar. Title: King of Humanity.”

  “…He must have a weakness… Otherwise… He would have attacked sooner… Do you know anything about his limits, Sans?…”

  “Unfortunately not. That bastard refused to meet me in person. Always kept me on long-range contact like radios.”

  Grillby said, “…Then I’ll find out… Stay here… You won’t survive an explosion this intense…”

  “Hey, what about guarding me?”

  “…If The Guildmaster gets in… Certain doom awaits all monsterkind… including you…”

  The Immortal Guardian thus turned around to leave the house, setting out to complete his true duty of protecting his Hometown.

  Dust thought of following Grillby, but he realised that he was right. Any blast strong enough to reverberate through an entire mountain would definitely end his life in a flash.

  How frustrating. The skeleton clenched his bony hands into a fist. Between the rumbling blasts, he was left in deafening silence, alone with two apparitions of his brother.

  When did the ‘Nyeh heh heh’ stop? Dust wondered. Did the quake damage the data? Dust looked around for the image of Papyrus, fearing the worst.

  He found the image of his younger brother staring back at him with sadness on his face. In the same robotic, slightly distorted voice, the ghostly image spoke: “Brother, I thought I told you to forget about me. Did my video recording not survive? Well, I’m not surprised if it didn’t. It’s been many, many years.”

  Dust stared in shock for what seemed like a small eternity.

  The image didn’t wait for him to regain his composure. “Sans. I remembered what I had done. Amnesia is never a good excuse to neglect one’s responsibility, so I must see this through to the very end.”

  All those cryptic messages didn’t make sense to Dust. Shaking his head, he said: “Papyrus, this isn’t a puzzle. It’s not funny anymore.”

  The ghostly image replied with his distinctive big grin. “I always tell others that they can choose to be good. Therefore, I shall now apply the conscious choice to be good upon myself. Nyeh heh heh!”

  That positive vibe didn’t last long. With a more severe tone, Papyrus continued: “…Don’t follow me. Be free Sans, for your own sake. I’m sorry for everything.”

  Papyrus then proceeded to somersault and side flip out the window, phasing through the solid matter without breaking a single pane of glass.

  The elder brother’s first instinct was to reach out his hand. “Papyrus!!!!”

  But screaming wouldn’t do anything. Dust grabbed his hood and breathed in and out, trying to calm his racing soul.

  “What are you doing?!?” The Phantom scolded. “Chase after him!”

  Between the wheezing, Dust said, “Yes… Yes, you’re right…”

  Why? How? None of those questions mattered to Dust right now. His new goal was to chase down Papyrus. And since Grillby was no longer around to bind him to his location, he was free to do as he pleases.

  Without delay, Dust teleported to the nearest visible rooftop to scout for signs of a ghost on the run.