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ask-codeearasure · 2 months ago

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The Outer Realms -- Chapter 17

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Chapter Seventeen:

Opposition

—----

“You can’t escape the past. Right? Be a shame if I had to put them on again. Cast Irons… well, it’s hard to clean.” – Vander (Arcane)

—-

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” asked Error, confused.

Ink had just finished filling him in on the information he got from Edge. Error was right, Dream was not dead, but technically he was dying or in critical condition. Whatever golden apples that other skeleton threw at them back in Dreamtale were probably sick twisted copies of his friend’s soul, but it also implied they probably knew where Dream was.

“I don’t know, who knows where these… Outer-what-ever is at…” Ink shrugged, “I just want to check on my dads before we even begin trying to find it.”

Zephyrtop was the last AU in the lineup anyways. For Error, sorting through the code there would be a breeze while Ink caught up with Gaster, Aster, and his four brothers. And considering the former two were the technical creators of Zephyrtop altogether, the probability of it staying destroyed if they were too late was second to none.

Besides, with two of the very few creators left in the multiverse secure under his belt and held highly in his figurative heart, maybe they could help Ink find Dream. Error could only do so much with a being who had no code to his existence anyways.

“My guess is we’ll have to pick a direction and then just keep going until we find something.” Error huffed, cleaning his glasses with his scarf. He was already annoyed with the prospect of another AU he had to recode, remove another destruction code, and-or adding that blasted counter-command just to keep that weird copy of himself from destroying another AU.

“But what if we go in the wrong direction?” Ink asked.

“Then we can loop around. If they called this place the Inner Circle, then the best assumption we have is that everything is in a circle, we can loop around until we find your side-piece.” Error stated as if it were a simple matter.

“Dream is not my ‘side-piece’, Error,” Ink hissed through his teeth.

The glitch rolled his eyelights. Though he had to admit, he was downplaying the entire thing. Who knew how many AUs were technically out there. It could be hundreds to millions, a good amount of said AUs likely being destroyed by the copy-cat and thus just being blank white nothingness. So if they made the wrong assumption as to how far they could go or not would mean they’d be searching for days to even years.

Even Error understood they didn’t have much time, but there really was not much they could do outside of participate in these fucking guessing games. At this point playing a game of Russian Roulette would get them closer to finding Dream. They could split up, but Ink and his memory problems were as untrustworthy as a pipe bomb with a broken timer the size of a tactical nuke. You don’t know whether or not you defused the damn thing, and even if you did, would you really trust your life with it? So he was stuck here.

Plus, there was that husk running around, that stupid fucking anomaly wearing Ink’s face without a single care in the world. If there was the copy-cat and the husk, that meant there was the likely chance that they both have a similar history to him and Ink. They likely both fought each other over the same reasons and since that anomaly was a pain in the ass to take down, that meant that the other glitch was also going to be a problem.

Either that, or the only things they had going for them was at face-value.

Or he was overthinking it.

He probably was overthinking it.

Definitely.

There is no way Error couldn’t kick BOTH of those impostors’ asses SINGLE HANDEDLY, NO SWEAT, NO FUCKS GIVEN!

Ink tapped him on the forehead, prompting Error to jump and swat their smaller hand away. His friend wasn’t phased.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

The glitch snorted. “Not much. Are we going to your weird parents’ place or what?”

“Awww, did ya finally wanna meet my old men?” Ink playfully rocked back on his heels, loosely crossing his arms behind his back. “It’s about time, they’ve been asking about you for ages!”

He’s…? There is no way they’ve been talking about him to their fucking parents…? Why would they?

“Uh huh. Sure they were.” Error clicked his tongues in repulsion. “No, I just want to get this over with then go back to my Anti-Void and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ink’s face fell, but at least they didn’t push the issue. They opened a portal to Zephyrtop’s motherboard and jumped in. Error followed suit, wishing that one day Ink would learn another way to make portals with literally anything else but paint. He hated the texture.

Both outcodes arrived, Ink pleasantly surprised at the fact Zephyrtop’s motherboard was actually decorated, and Error looking through every nook and cranny of the space to find the coding ‘screen’.

The motherboard looked like a warehouse, storing blueprints and bullet point-filled cork boards, whiteboards only half cleaned, couches, coffee tables, a couple TV screens overlooking the main plaza, circus, and mansion where Ink’s fathers and siblings lived. It was obvious that through thick and thin, this universe was a well cared for outlier in comparison to the neglect all the others had gone through.

Knowing all this sooner would have made Error’s job so much easier in the past, but now that he’s thinking about this in the current day, any kind of prideful satisfaction the younger him would have gotten was nonexistent. Instead, the destroyer could only define one thing he felt from staring at the larger picture for so long.

Pity.

But of course, only Ink’s family would have given enough of a damn about their home to keep it this vibrant and alive, efficiently and effectively meeting the needs and wants of the characters inhabiting this universe.

It’s almost like being caretakers was a common theme in Ink’s family, and Error definitely didn’t fit the part. He didn’t even understand why he found this revelation so intriguing. It was unsettling, but Error had already been unsettled since before Ink made the portal.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, like they were being watched.

“I can’t find it,” Error set down the couch he had lifted and flopped on top of it. Since Gaster and Aster were still around and thriving, what was the point of going through this universe’s code? They probably had already thought of something to keep every creation of theirs protected.

“Maybe we should leave; take our chances looking for Dream without them.”

Ink shook his head, but didn’t look his friend in the eye and fiddled with the empty vials on his sash. It didn’t take rocket science for Error to tell he was anxious. The artist had been nothing short of distressed this entire time, both with and without sufficient doses of his paints.

“I can’t do that, Error, I need– I just need to see my dads, man. Maybe they don’t know what’s going on. I mean, they barely get out as is…”

“So what makes you think they’d know what to do?” Error sat up, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it, venting his frustration little by little into the carefully embroidered floral design in the fabric. “You just said they don’t leave as much. They don’t know the multiverse like we do.”

“Yeah, I know that, it’s just–... They’re creators, Error. They have access to some influence over all universes that we don’t!”

“So did XGaster, and look at what happened to him.”

Whatever train of thought Ink was trying so hard to uplift might as well have just crashed and exploded into a trillion pieces. The artist’s hands dropped from their sash, and they didn’t do much aside from stare at the floor. Right. Him. How could he forget?

“XGaster had… ambitions, I guess, but asking any help out of him would’ve been like pulling chicken’s teeth. Impossible,” Ink started. “I don’t really… know where that guy went either.”

“Oh, he's as good as dead,” Error’s tone lightened, using one of his arms to cushion his head and pulled a thread out of his eyesocket with the free one to fiddle with.

“Last I heard, he got killed by his own creations! If only I could’ve seen it myself, but when I went to XTale for any kind of entertainment, nothing was left.”

“Really?” Ink looked up, eyes wide. “Nothing left?”

“Nada!” Error twirled the string around his index finger, grinning to himself in amusement. “If anything did survive, maybe Dream or that BUG Core!Frisk got to them first.”

Maybe Ink should check the Omega Timeline for them later. He slightly recalled the XTale inhabitants primarily having a black and white color palette for their clothing, but because he had to juggle an overabundance of creators around the same time that AU was active, it’s not like he could go out of his way to give it any special attention.

Oh, how the tables have turned since then.

“Well if you don’t want to go, that’s okay, but I really want to.” Ink reached back for Broomie, but then the motherboard shifted.

The both of them froze immediately, then whipped around to stare at each other. Ink cleared his throat and slowly took down his hand.

“Did uh… Error, did you do something?”

“You think I’d be quiet if I did???”

“Good point, good point…”

Suddenly, there were teal strings that quickly ripped through the ground beneath Ink in the shape of an ‘x’, the air was rushing towards the strange hole they made, dragging the artist with it. Error used his own string to ground himself as he grabbed Ink’s hand. The rushing air was unrelenting as if it was demanding Ink be dragged into whatever hell it had in waiting. Error could see that the window frame his string was tied to was starting to break, forcing him to make a choice.

Either he let go of Ink, or he went with them.

He undid the string and they both were dragged in.

The portal was unlike anything they had ever seen. It was like an endless hole of cubes that made reality. He could sense it was like the Anti-Void, but also not. This was nothing like his home, but it had the same energy as it. When they finally crashed into the ground, it was as if they had fallen off of a twelve story skyscraper.

As Error got up, he saw the ground was blocky and uneven, as if it was destroyed, remade and re-destroyed endlessly, glitching out like some awful video game that had been both incomplete and re-coded constantly.

He looked over to Ink who was rubbing his head and popping his neck, the impact obviously still affecting him somewhat.

Then he heard it.

A glitch-filled laugh.

“Really? I thought I was doin’ yous a favor ‘ere,” said the voice.

How the fuck did Ink mistake that guy for him? Color him insulted to the highest degree.

The glitch barely looked anything like him! In fact, there were more differences than there were similarities. The most prominent thing was the hood of the jacket. It was easily comparable to a large lion’s mane, almost like Mufasa got skinned after everyone left. Bright golden fur was so long that it reached the glitch’s knees. The jacket was black and lined with neon blue but also had teal diamond markings, showing where it had been resown together on the sleeves. Even his shorts had the same markings. He wore a dark maroon turtleneck and a gold and gray-indigo vest over it. There was also an odd neon blue animal skull on the side of the jacket, right below where the hood started. He also carried a similar colored sickle with a golden chain wrapped around his waist. Another thing was his left eyelight. It had the shape of an ‘x’ with several rings around it.

He didn’t even wear his Papyrus’ scarf.

If he did, then Error would at the very least believe Ink had some reason to mistake them for Geno. But no. Their stupidity truly outweighed the odds.

Maybe he should lend Ink his glasses sometime.

“Really, Error?” asked the glitch, “Yous just had ta follow tha idiot ‘ere?”

“And what’s it to you, of all anomalies?” Error himself straightened his posture, already reaching up to his eyesockets for more strings. In the corner of his vision, Ink was already on their feet, their grip on Broomie firm and ready for a fight.

“Oh nothin’,” the glitch hummed, he touched the corners of his own eyesockets but instead of summoning strings like the way Error himself did, they did come, but rather they stood straight like claws, “I was just gonna take ‘im out for ya as a little practice run for when I have ta put up wit’ an idiot of my own.”

Error heard Ink suck in a breath, the artist inching closer to him. Something about this new guy pissed him off beyond what he considered the normal annoyance, which is what every other anomaly had become to him these days.

But no. As far as the destroyer was concerned, this fucker’s intentions were clear.

He wanted to take his place. That very thought on its own made his marrow boil, his teeth baring to match his growing hatred.

“I see what you’re putting on the table, and my answer is FUCK NO.”

“Really think ya had a choice in dis?” the glitch asked when suddenly two large blocks of the land suddenly appeared and collided with Ink from two different sides. Sandwiching him before two teal strings cut right through them. “I was merely tellin’ yous what was about ta happen.”

Ink rematerialized next to Error, a portal painted below him. Broomie’s length was already chopped in half, and the artist’s hands were sporting new cuts, spewing his namesake out from between the joints, a stark contrast to the pristine white Error expected to see every time.

The guardian of the AUs blinked several times, his eyelights spinning several shades of red in different shapes before settling on a triangle and a target symbol.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR!? THAT WAS A TOTAL SUCKER PUNCH!!!”

“Awes, ya pretendin’ ta be mad at lil’ ol’ me…” the glitch cooed, calmly walking off to the side, not really paying much attention to them. This was his domain, and it was clear he was beyond comfortable and confident here. “It’s real cute that ya pretend ta have emotions, Inky-boy. But ya really shouldn’t be playin’ wit’ people’s emotions, things can get real messy.”

The other error’s new target opened his mouth to interrupt, but then shut it, the accusation taking him off guard.

“What…? I don’t do that!”

“Suuure ya don’t. Like the way ya don’t treat everyone around ya, like they ain’t people? Like they’re jus’ some characters in a book that ya can interfere wit’, o’ watch dem struggle in tha misery planned fo’ em. Like tha way you don’t see me an’ Error as people?” the copy-cat stated, he checked his claws for a second and shrugged. He paused and looked directly at Ink, “Ya only go around an’ play hero, an don’t even care if dey get killed off anyways. Horrortale, Somethin’ New, Dusttale, or the otha AUs’ my friends are from. Ya don’ care about anyone or anythin’ but ya own entertainment.”

Error squinted bullets at the other, his freakish New York accent was getting annoying, and really fucking quick too. He’s sounding a hell of a lot like Nightmare with all that YAPPING.

“Ink, he’s fucking with you.”

Ink went to answer, but nothing he could possibly say came to mind. He wasn’t guilty of whatever the Error-copy was getting at, at least currently, he was free from it, but where the hell did he get that information? Why use it against them now? Was their decision and work to change completely ignored?

Error shifted, looking at his friend from the very edge of his vision.

“Ink?”

“I know he’s fucking with me! I want to know why.”

“Am I now?” the glitch snickered, “Ink, can ya really say I’m lyin’ ‘ere? I mean, let’s look at yer history! Tha moment yous get bored wit’ an AU your first tactic is ta ignore it like a child does wit’ a toy they’ve grown tired of, an’ if it still ain’t entertainin’ enough you let it destroy itself. Isn’t that why ya let Error run around? Yous was bored with Underswap an’ so ya let him keep that Swap!Sans around and let him do whatever he wanted?”

“Hey- HEY- NO, YOU THINK I KNEW WHAT HE DID TO BLUE??” Realizing what had happened to his friend had devastated Ink back then, almost to the point he genuinely thought of killing Error like Blue already tried. Where the fuck did this guy get off on assuming he didn’t care!?

“No, but yous expected it.” the glitch frowned, “I mean, yous had every opportunity ta stop ‘im before an’ after. But instead, ya just ran off wit’ tha rest of tha AU, replaced ‘im tha first chance ya got because ya realized far too late that tha poor guy was too far gone. I mean, it’s not like ya leave Error alive because ya like him. Ya don’t even actually feel anythin’. If ya did then… well yous a shit friend. Constantly leavin’ ya friends ta die in horrific ways, be it a Killer bein toyed with by Nightmare, Error ‘imself destroyin their AUs, Horrortales being allowed ta exist, leavin Dream ta get shot by Edelweiss– Oh…” he grinned as he feigned it as a ‘slip of the tongue’, “Oh right… Ol’ Dreamy gettin shot and put on life-support. And yous… yous was nowhere ta be found! Talk about carin’ ‘bout yer friends!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW ANY OF THAT UNTIL CURRENTLY, I–” Ink’s ribcage rattled, an indication of his frustration, which would only continue to spike to higher heights as their opponent kept talking.

Before Error could catch onto what the artist planned next, Ink was already gone, having summoned a gray and black gaster blaster and shot after the other error.

Error raced after him, letting his strings fly to as many lengths as possible, mainly in hope of grabbing his friend and dragging him back, but Ink had a head start and was too far ahead than what the glitch had accounted for.

Ink’s blaster wasn’t used to shoot their new adversary out of the air, but to propel him forward to fight him head-on. He did feel! His emotions were his own! And if he had known sooner what happened to Dream, he would have tracked down whoever had him themself just so they could be at his side! Whatever he needed and it was HIS!

But soon enough, the only thing Ink began to see for certain was the blind red of unrelenting rage.

“I’LL MAKE YOU EAT THOSE WORDS!”

The glitch dodged Ink in an extremely odd way, Ink just…fazed right through him. The glitch patted his body down and grumbled, “So uncivilized…”

Error almost froze when he saw the scene. The glitch destablized himself. He turned himself into a string of code.

The copy-cat used his strings to grab Ink in a near identical way he did the first time when they met. But rather, they wrapped around his joints. "Oh what's tha matta Inky boy? I was jus’ sayin' tha truth! Ya neva thought we even truly felt pain, or despair. It was only until ya really started lookin' around that you toyed wit’ dat idea, and even then... can we really trust that ya learned yer lesson? That ya see us as people? Tell me, Ink, if ya really cared, then what would ya do on instinct if I were ta... order my friend ta kill that twerp Dream? Would ya even try ta care? Or would ya sit back an’ watch tha show jus’ ta see what’ll happen?”

They didn’t even answer, summoning bucketfuls worth of ink from between their joints, materializing bones and blasters to barrage the glitch with.

Error blasted the other’s strings, freeing Ink for only a second before they were snagged again in his own contraption of electric blue strings, yanking them back to his side as he reached out for the code to this place, only for the singular thing for Error to hit was a barrier.

The glitch swerved his blaster sideways, ducking under a floating, disembodied wall he recognized as corrupted, carefully crafted code as well, but appeared in the form of organized rubble.

“Why didn’t you hit him too, Error? He wants to hurt Dream!” Ink pulled himself up and struggled against his bindings. Error only tightened them, which served to enrage the artist further.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

“WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS, DUMBASS!” Error shot back, continuing to dodge and weave between chunks of rubble and ruin. He noticed all of them had a particular pattern, grays and whites, teals and reds, some gold here and there. It was like his prior-known ‘copy’ themed this Anti-Void after himself!

As much as he hated other errors more than anything else, there was a certain danger that came from being in another glitch’s direct territory. Given two other errors had almost succeeded in wiping him off the census in the past, Error wasn’t about to risk his neck a third time.

“He wanted to get a rise out of you, Ink! He was manipulating you–” Error looked back as he made another turn, only to see the artist gone, and his strings cut through.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?”

“He didn’t really think dat through, did he?” asked the other glitch.

Error screamed, spinning around to face the other error, the strings hanging from his fingers and eyes whipping forward to snag a grip on him, but all their intended victim had to do to avoid them was lean backwards.

“How rude of me, I didn’t even introduce myself!” the glitch snickered, “The name is Digital Klezmer! Nice ta meetcha. Though it really don’ matta, I mean ya probably gonna die ‘ere too. Speakin’ o’ which, why’s you helpin’ that guy anyways? I thought you wanted ‘im dead.”

A gaster blaster that had the skull of some animal, maybe some sort of badger, appeared right beside Klezmer, aimed right at Error, ready to fire. Error mimicked the threat, doubling the amount of blasters on his end off the bat. His voice began to mutate, the tone fluctuating and basic voice changing dangerously. Error’s blasters fired.

“MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!”

Klezmer’s blaster fired off its own blast but it had a secondary action, shielding Klezmer enough to escape, teleporting behind Error and sitting down on one of the pieces of blocky rubble, “Oh Error, don’ tell me dat ya think he’s ya friend! That he cares about ya!”

The fellow glitch cackled, “Oh, dat’s RICH!” He summoned several bones to impale Error, but Error summoned another blaster to take the hit, the bones going right through it before both weapons dispersed.

Error bit his tongues. He wasn’t giving this freaking psycho more fuel to tend with. He already had more than enough to make Ink snap, and Error had to find that idiot squid before Digital Klezmer did.

He teleported back to where he and Ink were first dragged in, leaving Klezmer in the dust like he fucking deserved, only to find no sign of him there.

“IIIIINNNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!”

Error’s voice echoed off the Anti-Void’s floating walls and ruins, and he took to scouring the area close enough to the ‘floor’, keeping all his senses geared for any and every fucking noise that might give away the artist’s location. Ink was so fucking DEAD once he found them. He was so tempted to POP THAT LITTLE HEAD OFF THEIR MIDGET BODY AND CHUCK IT INTO THE NEAREST HOTLAND LAVAPOOL.

—----------

Klezmer sighed when he saw Error teleported away. He shook his head and teleported to a deeper part of his Anti-Void. He really wasn’t going to get an answer to that question, now was he. He knew where Ink was, but what was the fun of going after the guy directly?

Nah.

Too boring. He wanted to see them squirm.

So he settled himself in his seat at his piano and began playing one of his favorite songs, Altale. Whoever wrote that song was more insane than Katagma. It was an oddly upbeat song. But it was also oddly fitting for this little moment between the two knuckleheads he dragged here, letting their hopes rise with the song. Now all he had to do was keep playing. Sure, he was leaving himself as an ‘open target’. But who said he didn’t know everything that was going on in his own territory? Not him.

And like magic, his bait had an impressive effect, and of course it was the Inner Realm’s husk that took it the quickest.

Ink materialized next to him, and could have smacked him upside the head with what was left of his ginormous paintbrush if he didn’t dematerialize into raw code a second before.

Klezmer summoned a gaster blaster that bit down on Ink’s torso, as he spoke, “Oh buddy, I really thought ya had more brains than my husk. I really did. Thanks for correctin’ me.”

Once again, Ink didn’t answer. One of their own blasters was summoned, chomping down on Klezmer’s own and yanking it back, dislodging Ink from its grip. The artist’s namesake dripped to the floor, showing the enemy’s blaster did in fact cut through parts of his ribcage, staining his colorful clothing, but he didn’t seem to care about the weight of his own survival.

Then finally, the shortstack spoke up, his voice shaking with emotion, dominated by an overwhelming layer of rage.

“How dare you.”

They looked second to an animal, a feral beast. More ink leaked out between their barred teeth, some trails dripping from their sockets as the red of their eyelights glowed brighter.

But one look at their sash made it clear every one of their regular vials had already been drunk dry, and it was several days ago too. So the only source of this extra power could only be one thing, and Digital Klezmer already knew well.

Sketch had tried to kill Error before, when both stooges were in the Doodlesphere, and Sketch’s defeat led to the loss of its backpack. That was the only extra source of power Ink had access to.

Ink dropped Broomie, the tool useless to him and broken beyond use. Not even the bristles were in functional order anymore. Everything the artist was using now came directly from his body, from his will.

“I don’t know what hurt you this badly in the past, dude, but whatever you’re after now isn’t worth it. Seriously.”

“What I’m after isn’t worth it?” Klezmer cackled, rubbing his face under his glasses, he stopped almost as quickly as he had started, “Just die.” Two spears made of his strings appeared right from under Ink, unfurling and lifting him up to slam him down on another platform deep in the Anti-Void.

“I wanna reverse all negative creation.” Klezmer growled, “All of it! No more of dis needless sufferin’ ya view as cheap entertainment! And unfortunately I need dat useless guardian alive ta do it! Yous husks are nothin’ but a nuisance! Ya don’t feel, ya don’t care about nobody but yaselves! Hell, if yous an’ Error were ta make some stupid deal, ya’d grow bored of it instantly and jus’ find some bullshit loophole ta find somethin’ you think would be more entertainin’ ta yous and only you!”

The ribbon spears dragged the still tied up artist into a wall of the blocky rubble.

“And yous think that ya know anythin’?! I’ve watched ya long enough ta know that you’re only playin’ wit’ everyone’s emotions ‘ere! How long till ya get bored of Dream an’ Error? What about dem Swap-folk? How long till dey just bore ya? A week?! You’d probably drag a Dust over dere just for sick kicks! At least what I do is merciful, unlike yous!”

He let go of Ink to see if he’s still breathing. Letting the cloud of smoke from the destruction clear.

“Never…”

The second thing he got was a rough cough, but as the smoke cleared, Ink pulled himself back up, the ink in his body surfacing to repair the damage done to his body. Some of the artist’s clothing had been torn off, revealing tattoos that looked like random scribbles covering his lower arms and ribcage, and other discolored, gray patches of bone. The rage in their eyes didn’t subside.

“I will NEVER get bored of them. Not any one of them.”

He met Digital Klezmer’s eye, a spiteful smile gracing his face instead of the twisted snarl the glitch had plastered on it minutes ago.

“But of course you won’t believe that, since you already profiled me based on the other guy that tried to kill my FRIEND, right? Who’s the dumbass now?”

Ink coughed again, dispensing a pool of ink at his feet as his body struggled to cope again with the amount of damage this new error wanted so badly to remain in place. This guy wasn’t at all like Error, Ink knew this now.

He was worse, really, and that was from a mostly unbiased opinion.

“I don’t care what you assume of me. I would have been devastated if it succeeded, and I would have been devastated all the same if Dream died too!”

The artist stretched his arms out, the ink creating another Broomie right in his waiting hands.

“So fuck you.”

The glitch stared at Ink, almost as though he was seeing the words Ink spoke right before him in material form. Klezmer couldn’t help but mentally compare Ink to Sketch, chuckling. “I guess you’re right. Ya ain’t nothin’ like Sketch. Unlike Sketch, ya don’t just show off your emotionlessness, or selfishness… well, not anymore… And you are right, I don’t believe you’ve changed. Whether or not you have actually started to understand tha sufferin’ of those around yous or even have a speck of empathy. But you definitely ain’t anythin’ like Sketch.”

He summoned several strings and drew them back from a ring that circled them like a giant slingshot.

“Dis… might sting a bit.”

He let go. The makeshift arrow shot right through Ink, impaling him straight through the sternum and the vertebrae leading behind it, but before Klezmer could do anything more with it, a blast of energy snapped it into pieces at the midpoint, Error’s cobalt blue strings were flung about the immediate area, snatching Ink away.

If Ink’s rage was considered animalistic, Error’s was a different lifeform entirely. The glitch’s eyesockets were clogged with his namesake, binary code spinning in his skull like miniature supercells, collecting more and more power to properly launch the amount of destruction it considered a basic portion. The creature before the two other skeletons snarled, the glitching only amplifying the volume and distorting it beyond recognition.

It was debatable if Error could speak properly in this state, with his body barely keeping itself in one piece, but somehow he managed navigating his way all the way here from the other side of the Anti-Void.

“yOU SHOuLD KnoW BEtteR ThAN TO BREAK mY ThINgs.”

Ink could barely tell what the fuck dragged itself by its arms out of Error’s mouth, or if it even came out of his mouth in the first place. Before he knew it, his friend began to clog the area with electric blue strings, drowning their perception of the area in wires tying them down. Ink couldn’t get a word in, his body creaking under the weight and the tightness of what was, hopefully, a very temporary prison.

The sounds outside were muted to him, but he could figure they were fighting out there.

“--- .... / .-. . .- .-.. .-.. -.--?” Klezmer didn’t even open his mouth, rather the sound – the morse code just emanated from him. He didn’t seem to be shocked, rather his reaction was one that showed he knew what it was like to be in the very state Error was in.

He didn’t even struggle against the strings, rather he destablized himself and kept moving. Now he was the one on the run. Whether or not he had expected it was unknown.

Error pursued him immediately, blasting through entire walls of code that blocked his way. If he was saying anything, emitting any noise at all, it was unintelligible to him. Meaningless.

He used to destroy everything he hated to fuel his will to live, including minor glitches distantly related to the monstrosity he truly was. But at the same time, none of it made sense. None of the semantics surrounding his past were important. Only the anomaly attempting escape before his eyes, destabilized code bunched together in a being that only knew suffering and grief, abandonment and anger.

So much like him but at the same time so, so different.

It was PATHETIC.

The entity let out a deafening roar behind Klezmer, causing the code closest to him to glitch out momentarily, then proceed to function as it was a second after.

Of course, not all gods went through life unchallenged. There were rules to the madness they shared and pain they carried. Rules not even they understood clear as crystal.

Klezmer used one of his strings to create a portal only for himself, a split second to get far from Error and to a higher ground, where he made hundreds of spears of his strings and even fractured bones. All with their own rings of strings like crossbows, all aimed at Error. With a golden smirk, he let them loose, each one doing thrice the amount of damage they did to Ink. All the while he made a crossbow for himself. One he could wield. But this one wouldn’t shoot a spear or bone. Rather the sickle’s chain that was previously tied to his waist and now having a small sharp knife made of his strings to ensure it went right through his target.

“Didn’t think I’d ‘ave ta use dis…” he mumbled to himself. “But color me surprised… bastard got a bigger temper ‘dan Wiess.”

There was a click in the Anti-Void as the hurricane of projectiles chased their target, just a shift in the layout code, like something just went missing.

Then, it was like the ‘ceiling’ grew a corn maze of red bones, stretching half a horizon across the new, demented plaza, connected to a million more blue strings. The ground shook with another haunting scream, and the source of the challenge pulled down the floodgates right behind Klezmer’s projectiles, snapping some in two every which way, cracking down on the ‘floor’ and disembodied walls, splitting some into smaller chunks than they were initially. Dust and grime filled the atmosphere, blocking a clear shot of wherever the target was.

Laughter without a direct source echoed off of what remained of the walls around them, morphing the acoustics and Klezmer couldn’t help but laugh alongside Error. He took aim with his crossbow as several portals opened up with more shots of the crossbow-spears and bones.

He saw the game Error was playing and he’d happily play along, but this was his domain, not Error’s. Thus, he knew every inch Error ran through. Every spot he paused. Every weak point. And thus, he fired the chain. With a rattling sound, it took off and the strings extended and extended further and farther than it would’ve otherwise, dragging the blade with it right towards Error’s soul.

The sickle wasn’t anything that the two idiots had ever faced. It was an Outer Realms specialty. A weapon that specifically did True Damage. There were specific damage types in the Outer Realms, and True Damage was a specialty that Klezmer had thanks to the weapon, specifically only the weapon really. It could bypass all resistances, all armor and specifically target the soul of the opponent, even going as far as latching onto it if the opponent could survive the attack. Meaning that they’d have the weapon stuck onto their soul and out for Klezmer to attack directly. It almost felt like cheating, but it wasn’t his fault someone was stupid enough to stand still long enough to get hit by it.

—------------

Ink made progress centimeter by centimeter, trying to ignore the sound of destruction, screams, and even more destruction. He thought back to the decay of Underfell, the compounding collapse of reality itself before everything imploded into white. Pure white.

He shivered and pressed on, cutting more divots into his bones in the process so more ink could join with the ‘floor’ underneath him.

Then came Error’s roar, the ring of the sound breaking his nonexistent ears, and then the ‘ground’ rumbled. Ink felt something slip under them, and the cocoon around them loosened, but not by much. They were a sitting duck like this, and whether Error wanted his help or not, Ink was convinced he’d die out there.

He had gotten an odd feeling this other Error was vastly more powerful than initially given credit when he was dragged kicking and screaming into this version of the Anti-Void, He didn’t know whether it had an actual name aside from that, but it’s not like they could afford to care, not when so much was at stake.

He wanted them both dead. He made that message abundantly clear.

Ink felt the hole in his sternum and vertebrae mend, and he could finally dematerialize enough to slip through the dozens of layers of strings that bound him. They knew they were getting weaker, having lost more paint than any other fight they could recall, and the migraine had come pounding in when he was dragged in this place too.

Error was right. They really didn’t have the position to fight in confidence here, but they doubted his impostor was manipulating either of them. The things he screamed several minutes ago were in complete confidence and backed with indescribable pain.

Think, Ink, think!

The ground rumbled again, knocking Ink back down in a pool of his own fluids. Another scream, and in the distance, he spotted one of the biggest walls in the area come crashing down, glitching back into the air in far more pieces than it started out as.

Summoning a gaster blaster, Ink jumped on its head and sped his way towards the ensuing fight, ripping off a lock of Error’s abandoned string as they zoomed by.

—-------------

Pain was the one thing Error knew best, but this was too much in one sitting. The glitch ripped out one of the stupid arrows that managed to snag him and snapped it in half, not bothering to watch the material crumble as he went to tend to another spot right next to it.

No matter how much his STATs fluctuated, flying up and down the border of 0 HP and MAXED HP to cope with the sheer amount of stress he just put his body through, Error felt it wouldn’t heal as quickly as he wanted it to, and it was just his luck that his sight cleared just enough before Klezmer pelted him with another barrage of projectiles, overloading his body.

He didn’t want to die like this, but begging was so far out of bounds of the question at hand that it was practically nonexistent, even as Klezmer shot another attack right at him, one the blur of his vision could not keep up with, not even if it were slowed down to fit his needs.

It was gold. Thin and gold and probably heavy, but boy did it look ugly either way.

It was already too late when Error finally registered the real weight of what was to come, if it were even possible for him. The glitch jolted backwards, a wildfire of agony igniting his body in response to its inability to move and its broken down state.

Then a dark blue blur of his own strings shot its way across his vision, wrapping around the attack. Ink entered the edge of Error’s sight, tugging the chain in his direction, ending up in pieces.

It happened far too quickly for anyone to truly realize what exactly the situation was. The crunching of bone or the splatter of thick globules of ink splashing on the destroyed ground. The most that the two glitches got was the horror on Error’s face and sheer shock on Klezmer’s own, but the thud of the body was heard and the moment the black and gray gaster blaster turned to a pool of ink in an attempt to save its master.

In that moment the two glitches realized exactly what had happened.

Ink had jumped in front of the attack to protect Error, sacrificing himself to the blade of the sickle.

“INK!”

Error jumped and tried to catch Ink but barely made it in time, catching Ink’s husk in mere centimeters before it hit the ground – if one could call it that, considering it still somewhat did. Ink’s husk was flayed, sliced clean in half, only leaving behind the rib cage and up. The last bits of ink from the blaster served itself to heal its master as much as it could but it wouldn’t reawaken him.

“Nononononononono—” Error’s glitching getting worse and far more unstable the more he spoke.

All the while Klezmer couldn’t comprehend the sight before him.

Ink had jumped in front of a fatal shot just to save someone that wasn’t himself.

He didn’t even dare speak. But all he could do was mentally argue with himself to try to comprehend the situation and what to do about it. He took a long deep breath and tore open a portal, bringing his chain back to himself.

“I’m gonna regret dis later, I jus’ know it.” he thought to himself. Out of the portal he got a vial of mixed oil paints.

Carefully he walked over to the fellow glitch, placed the vial and used a string to teleport Error, the vial, and the husk out of the Anti-Void without issues. He stood alone for a moment before sitting down at his piano and played a song he had received from Katagma who got it from some random game… something called Laura Plays the Piano. Whatever game it was, he was told it was depressing.

As if…

As he played though, he couldn’t get the image of Ink jumping in front of the sickle out of his mind. No, emotionless husk would do that. Sketch wouldn’t do it even if someone paid him.

No. That Ink did feel. And he felt a lot. He stopped playing and sighed, “Yeah… fuck me. I am tha dumbass ‘ere, I suppose.”

—------------

His soul raced a million miles a second, a trillion miles a zeptosecond, and no matter what Error said or how much he screamed, the body in his hands didn’t respond or move. Not an inch. Not a millimeter. Nothing.

And even then, as far as Error was concerned, nothing outside of him and what used to be Ink mattered.

The multiverse could burn.

It was like Error’s vision was set ablaze itself, both with glitches and tears he never thought he’d cry again, those blue-transparent pearls landing on Ink’s face, brushing away bits of their namesake, their blood.

Error felt the ground below them change to something softer, and air clearer, holding the weight of life, but what use was it if his friend wasn’t here? The one person who bothered to spend time and energy on him since they met, regardless of how destructive his behavior was by itself, was doomed, and the glitch knew exactly why.

Ink was low on paints, their literal fucking lifeforce, but he would have rather died instead of him, even if he didn’t truly understand how hard he’d be hit, or how many pieces their little body would end up in.

The destroyer’s vision began to black out, and Error heard the crunching of grass up ahead of them.

Danger. Danger. DANGER. He came to finish the job.

“G-GET AWAY FROM US— I’M WARNING YOU!!!”

The figure in the distance was colossal, bearing the slight reflection of light glasses would get from the sun at just the right angle, and it was just tall enough to be the threat at hand. It hesitated, then continued with another step forward, its voice ringing in and out of Error’s fried senses.

“Hell–..-? A|3 y0– 0;ay…—-?”

Its shape muddled further, the darkness closing in. Error knew he summoned something, some degree of magic in an attempt to scare them off, but he didn’t get to witness the result.

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ask-codeearasure · 23 days ago

Text

The Outer Realms -- Chapter 22

<-[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]->

Wish to refill Ink's Paints? Go to our Ask Box!

—-----

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Honesty Part 1

—----

“Honesty is the first chapter of the book wisdom.”

― Thomas Jefferson

—-

“Come on! Tell me! How do you do it?!” Leo begged, staring at Edelweiss who was sitting across from him. His curiosity was buzzing. This guy’s AU must be crazy compared to all the ones his brother visited.

Leo, Ink and Aster were all curious about how he had such strange spells, from cryokinesis to even the ability to appear human without it being a full on illusion. Though Ink had run off to change his clothes due to being covered head to toe in snow a moment ago, the guy was curious about the human transformation.

“I am also curious. Only Boss Monsters have such power on a daily basis, and the ability to transform into such a convincing human form is fascinating.” said Aster, who sat next to his son.

Edelweiss froze up and searched every word in his mind to try to figure out how to explain the way his powers worked and how he had such powerful magic. Finding the best route to go he took a deep breath and did his best to explain.

“For my Ice Magic, it’s a bit… hard to explain.” he began to use the magic to make a large snowflake made of ice, so he could fiddle with it, usually he’d take apart a gun but he didn’t want to seem threatening, “I’ve alwayz had it. At first I wasn’t all zat good at utilizing it but eventually something happened to… force me to train endlessly to improve my skills so I could join za military. I realized zat, to control the weather, the atmosphere itself, itz all about how zou think about it. Condensation, and controlling it through temperature. Once zou get that, itz as easy az breathing.”

He messed with the edge of the snowflake.

“As for za human form… I got zat for taking za soul of a human. Since it waz za same type of soul az one we already had, it waz given to me. I waz supposed to use it to go to za surface to collect za last few souls we needed, but everyone in za military protested because I waz too young, according to them.”

“Too young?” Leo asked, confused, “How old were you when you got it?”

“Ten.” Edelweiss answered. He didn't even need to think about the answer.

“Ten? And you were in the military?!” Aster exclaimed, “Who let you into the military?! Why?! Where were your parents?” shock and horror laced the hybrid’s voice like a thick syrup.

Edelweiss would’ve rolled his eyelights at the questions. “Yes. King Asgore. Because I needed to take care of my brother. And dead.”

Aster was taken aback by how casually and automatically Edelweiss answered the questions. The soldier likely had heard the questions many times in his life. But it was still shocking. How many AU’s did not have an orphanage? What about relatives? Why would the king of his AU let him in?

As they spoke, Ink had gotten the backpack Edelweiss had brought him and took it with him to the guest bedroom that he had woken up in, minding Error’s napping. They were rummaging through it, looking to find anything that could reawaken their missing memories. He found strange weapons and chains that he had no recollection of, and the empty paint vials that felt alien to him. Sure, they held the paints that helped him, but they didn't feel right. Like they didn't belong to him. He didn’t recall carrying jars with him instead of his usual sash of vials. Even the bag itself didn't feel like it belonged to him. He had no recollection of having it.

Upon taking those items out of the bag, he found a notebook that had several journal entries in it.

Was it his diary? Since when did he keep one? Did his scarf finally run out of space?

He opened up to a random page and began reading.

—--

Entry 5:

The doctors insisted that I need to feel emotions in order to function properly. That they're “important”. That they have a use for self-preservation and having connections with those around me. I don't understand it.

The other patient, Digital Klezmer, also insists that emotions are a necessity. That they are what make the worlds themselves interesting. Diverse.

That being emotionless is like a deck of cards that are all blank.

Nothing they say is really making sense.

It is all illogical.

The asylum itself is evidence of how emotions are useless and do nothing but harm. Perhaps emotions are a mental illness itself.

People are broken, unable to escape their own broken mental states because of their emotions. When I brought this idea up to Digital, he told me that if I kept up this line of thinking I will “lose everything to the house”. When I asked what he meant by that, he said it was Gambling Terminology, essentially meaning that I will lose everything I have and walk away with nothing.

I still don't get it.

What do I have to gain from emotions? What do I lose to not having them?

—-----

Was this even his? He knew exactly what he'd lose by not having emotions. He'd lose his life, his freedom, all his awareness. All feeling in every way, shape, and form. And even then, he had fun, he had connections, he had memories!

He flipped a few pages.

—-------

Entry 15:

Digital Klezmer is the strangest person here. I do not understand him. He always goes and plays the piano in the common room in A-Wing. He will even take the kids of this AU to show them how to play despite his irrational fear of physical contact.

He even taught them several simple melodies.

What did he gain from doing such a thing?

When I asked, he said “Nothing, I just felt like it.”

Though it was hard to understand him. That scarf of his kept getting in the way. Why does he even have it around?

He said it belonged to his brother. Claimed it meant a lot to him.

It's just a scarf.

His AU is gone. It served its purpose. Why keep the scarf around?

—------

Ink frowned and flipped several pages this time only to find something that they couldn't even describe.

The closest thing he could compare it to, was criminal evidence.

The pages were a mess and hard to understand, scribbles and smudges stacked on top of each other with scrawling and chicken scratches for handwriting. The most he could make out were the words ruined, lost, and done.

Ink didn’t know what they could do with any of this, but he now understood for certain this couldn’t possibly be his. Even the writing itself looked flat under normal circumstances, and they could recall they regularly wrote in cursive, for the sake of comparison. But if this was not him, whose diary was this?

The artist stopped pacing around the room and sat down against the bed’s side, turning to the back of the notebook for empty pages. He fished through the bag for a pen, pencil crayon, something, and got a broken colored pencil, then just to prove to himself that his handwriting was just as good as he remembered, scribbled random words on the empty page.

Okay. Cool. Definitely different.

Ink sucked in a breath and let his head fall back onto the corner of the mattress behind him, letting Error’s snores fill the atmosphere for a second before he started investigating again. Absentmindedly, he reached for the tail ends of his scarf, but their hands closed on nothing. Ugh, they forgot. Without his scarf, Ink felt a little naked.

They sighed and closed the notebook. Maybe they’d ask Error what was up whenever he decided to rejoin the land of the living, but he was… really irritated before Aster took them out of the room an hour ago.

But seriously, what the fuck was wrong with whoever owns this notebook? Ink didn’t want to profile them, but it was clear the two of them shared some similarity… in the… no-natural-supply-of-emotions part.

Ink ran his fingers up and down the fabric making the brown sweatpants he pulled on a few minutes ago ground him, letting them wander over the teal star patches sewn into it. They couldn’t figure out why reading through all that made them so disturbed, not when a big part of their work as the Guardian of AUs demanded he reads the scripts of every disturbing AU alongside every other story in the multiverse, and they definitely could get worse than Underfell. He felt sorry for whoever couldn’t stomach the simplicity of Underfell’s premise.

Though, that would mean he felt sorry for Dream, which didn’t have the most respectful connotation… oh my god. Dream.

He sat up immediately and went back into the closet across from the bed, fishing out a brown shirt, teal tank top to put over it, and grabbed one of Leo’s old hoodies, previously a bright blue, but turned a worn gray-blue shade with its age. He needed some layers. He just needed them.

Did they find Dream yet, cause he had a sinking feeling where his soul should have been that screamed NO.

Their body worked on autopilot, swiping a roll of dark gray sports tape and a silver necklace to add more than just brown and teal to their hopefully temporary look.

Distantly, they heard the front door open and close, catching the vocals of Aster and Leo welcoming in two other sources of voices which they recognized, but was again struggling with names. Aster is married, right…? That would mean he has another parent, and he was blanking on who that could be.

Ink wrapped the sports tape around his feet and ulna and radius, then twisted the necklace around his right arm. If it didn’t look as good as he visualized, they could always change it. The only thing missing still was his scarf and vials.

Okay, they were definitely missing more than that, but they couldn’t think of anything else they wanted right this minute for another layer of self-stability.

Ink sat down again with the bag and pulled out the last thing that stood out, which was another book, and opened it from the middle. The artist was greeted with solid and simplistic patterns, things one would find in birthday party banners from the dollar store, laminated construction paper that hung from the ceiling. It was that kind of deal. Ink flipped through the pages onwards, finding the same thing over and over and over, and the few differences between them that initially began in that middle segment were gradually taken out.

His brows furrowed, paired with another uneasy feeling he couldn’t recall the word to, and flipped back to the beginning, now greeted with more intricate designs and sketches, uses of the paper that had some life etched into it. There was some variety, drawings of people and places, sometimes things one would find specifically in a doctor’s setting, but the one theme common in most of them was this one specific person.

A skeleton wearing glasses, wearing a particularly fluffy jacket and a worn scarf, as they were shown almost every time they were drawn. Sometimes they discarded the jacket and stuck with a normal sweater, sometimes their face wasn’t even shown as they were drawn from a different angle, but the owner of this book had drawn them so frequently Ink could tell it was the same person over and over again regardless, but the one thing that stuck out to him the most was the presence of tear-tracks stretching down their cheeks from the bottom of their eyesockets.

It was no surprise there were other errors, even glitches that closely resembled them, throughout the multiverse, but none of them looked almost completely like Error.

The artist twisted from where they sat to look at their slumbering friend, then held up the sketchbook, turned to a page with the odd character, for the sake of comparison.

Error’s lookalike looked tired, more tired than Error himself did every other day, but this contender really took the cake. And in some sketches, the smile they presented made all of it look like there was no weight to it, no bite.

But Ink still couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong here, and it was beginning to irritate him beyond all else. He knew he knew this person too, and it wasn’t just their physical features shared with Error that ticked every box. He saw this person somewhere. He knew he did.

The sound of boots clacking against the floor down the hall snapped Ink out of their frustrations, and a particular pattern of soft knocking was audible from the guest room door.

“Ink, are you in there?”

Oh! That was one of the people that just got here! The artist sprang to his feet, the sketchbook an afterthought, and slowly turned the knob so the squeak wouldn’t disturb Error. Ink peeked out the door, his vision blurring with the minimal movement he had to offer, but could almost make out the person waiting for him. Now it finally clicked. This was Gaster.

Ink, by some miracle, managed to suppress the squeaky part of a squeal, pushing the door out of his way to hug Gaster’s legs as his other father laughed softly through his teeth, getting the hint he should be as quiet as possible as well, and backed away from the door as an extra measure as Ink proceeded to jump onto his shoulder, hugging Gaster’s entire face, their arms covering his eyes in an affectionate squeeze. Somehow, Gaster was able to maneuver the both of them out of the hallway despite his loss of sight and Ink’s refusal to budge, the artist’s ribcage rattling up a storm, making a fucked up purring noise. Gaster laughed, though it was muffled.

He reached up and patted Ink’s head and used the walls of the hallway to guide himself back to the dining room where Aster, Edelweiss, Balloon, and Leo were at. He knew he got to the dining room the moment he heard Aster gasp.

“Ink! Get off of your father! You could get both of you hurt like that!”

Ink whined as he felt Aster grab him by his sides to gently lift him off of Gaster’s face. Aster shook his head as he chuckled to himself.

Sons…

Gaster also seemed to take joy in the moment.

“Glad to see you easily remember dad than you do your own brother.” Leo teased.

Ink stuck his tongue out at Leo who rolled his eyelights.

“I see our guest is feeling a bit more comfortable,” Gaster looked over at Edelweiss who gave a nervous shrug.

“He will if you don’t tease the poor thing.” Aster whispered and used his tail to playfully pat Gaster’s shoulder.

“Thanks for helping Ink, by the way,” Gaster smiled, “He got us very worried there for a while.”

Edelweiss shrugged, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“Actually wait–” Ink said quickly, “if you can… I mean…do you know where Dream is? Also I’m missing my scarf and a few other things, do you know where they are?”

Aster put the artist down only for him to grab Edelweiss by the shoulders before the soldier could even answer the questions, “Please!”

Edelweiss rubbed the back of his skull and hummed, “I do know where Dream iz, but it will take a while to get zere. Az for zour belongings… I have an idea az to where they could be, but I doubt you’d want to get them on your own, but I might be able to figure out how to get them myself.”

Much to Edelweiss’ shock Ink grinned… then quickly looked away to vomit a pool of his namesake.

“Iz–” “It happens all the time, you’ll get used to it.” Ballon interjected. He didn’t even react when Ink manipulated the mess, shaping it into a carpet, then started changing the design over and over again.

Edelweiss looked at Balloon as if he said the sky was neon pink, and the resident Papyrus’s face brightened in response to his visible shock.

“I’m serious! One day with him will either make you or break you!”

“I think he gets the idea, Dodge Ball!” “Ink, my name is Balloon.” “Peu importe, Ballon.”

Balloon stood up from his seat in a playful threat and cracked his knuckles. “Don’t use your French against me, BROTHER! I WON’T UNDERSTAND YOU!!! I AM BEHIND ON MY FRENCH LESSONS!”

“C'est votre problème de compétence!”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, BUT I, THE HILARIOUS PAPYRUS, WILL ASSUME IT IS AN INSULT!!!”

The artist got the message and leaped out of the way of Balloon attempting to grab him. With a shit eating grin on his face, he hid behind Gaster’s legs like the vertically challenged gnome he is in spirit.

“Is everyone here insane or something?” Chara asked.

Edelweiss decided he didn’t want to die today, thus, he kept his mouth shut.

But as if this world hated him, Ink opened his big mouth. “What, you think you wouldn’t fit in or something, Chair-AH—” Leo swatted them with a rolled up napkin, having joined Balloon in messing with him.

Edelweiss grumbled under his breath, “Erschießen Sie mich.”

He was seriously going to have a long, long conversation with Klezmer about his choices in targets to attack. Along with maybe an extremely long month to a year in Asylumtale. Just… trying to figure out how to get this shitty human soul from pissing him off constantly. Perhaps even convincing Toriel to help him get the damn thing to go dormant so he could just live his life without having to put up with the damn demon every five fucking seconds.

“Verpiss dich.” Chara shot back at the soldier.

He heroically held back the urge to freeze his and Chara’s souls in dry ice.

Thankfully now, the world’s unrelenting supply of spite was put on pause. Ink squeezed himself in-between Aster’s wings and the back cushions of the couch, giggling like a maniac as Balloon quickly retreated and Leo attempted to climb right over their father to get to him, pillow in hand.

But have mercy on his impulsive ass, he got swallowed by their parents’ black and violet feathers, trapped for what could be a few minutes. Being trapped with Aster was no joke. The hybrid monster cleared his throat, keeping his grasp on Leo firm until he gave up the struggle and teleported to Edelweiss’s side, picking a couple feathers out of his eyesockets. “So uh. Know how to write with a quill?”

“I know four people who can, not counting myself.” Edelweiss shrugged, taking the biggest feather. He guessed he owed Izanagi an apology gift. Why were their Gasters like this?

In Leo’s absence, Aster had managed to snag Ink in his hold, but unlike his brother, the artist was content with his fate. Gaster sat next to them and crossed one leg over the other.

“May I have your attention, Ink?” “Of course!” Ink sat up a little straighter, watching as Gaster took off his top hat and pulled out folded fabric. The ringmaster straightened it out, then turned it to a shade of brown and started adjusting the color to something more faded. Ink leaned in closer to watch Gaster work, always fascinated with his mode of creation, even for the little things. “I wanted to know if you remembered anything before you arrived here with Error.” “Ah…,” The artist’s face fell, “I’ve been asking myself the same question, but I don’t really recall anything… sorry.” “Mm.” Gaster nodded, “I figured as much, but didn’t want to question your companion. Aster already tried with little results.” “Eeegh… yeah, that’s Error for ya!” Ink replied. “Is there anything we can do for you? It’s no secret you have a limited supply of paints. I’ve already made a few trips to the Doodlesphere and back–”

Ink nodded along, his face twisting with dull emotion, but enough for it to be obvious he wasn’t exactly pleased. The artist sighed, and Aster patted their head. “The creators have been gone for a while… I thought maybe everyone was taking a break, but it got too long and– someone came in and destroyed as many AUs as they could reach. I don’t… Error and I have been doing what we can to keep the remaining ones safe. I even brought their papers with me just in case they went back for more, but… I don’t know what else to do. I thought you and dad would help.” Aster and Gaster exchanged an understanding glance. Gaster breathed in, but Aster cut him off.

“I don’t know what we can do for the other universes, but maybe we can help you with your paints? We already made a few attempts, but they didn’t do anything to wake you until Edelweiss came along.”

Ink frowned, deep in thought. “It doesn’t work that way, I don’t think… My paints are created through, well, creation, and seeing how there hasn’t been much for a while, I uh– eheheh… I’m not sure if you can make the paints by yourselves. That’s the only process to it as far as I remember. Wait–” He then sat up a bit to look at Edelweiss. Thinking about Aster’s words he asked, “You got me the paints right?”

Edelweiss nodded.

Ink then asked, “Where did you get them from?”

Edelweiss sighed, “His name iz Sketch, he’s a bit like zou in the vain zat zou both don’t have souls and rely on paints to feel anything. But unlike zou, he refuses to take them. And despite this he doesn’t stop functioning. He only really carried them around because he didn’t want anyone to try to trick him into taking them.”

Ink stared at the soldier. So that bag and those notebooks belonged to this Sketch-person. Wait a minute…

“Wait, can he communicate with the creators too???”

Edelweiss thought about it, “The last time I heard anything about him doing so, he could hear them but never really tried. Mainly observed from a distance. I don’t see why he couldn’t communicate with them. Though I think he can only really hear two of them?”

Only two…

Shit.

Gaster looked down at Ink, “I doubt that would be enough to help recover enough of his medication.”

“Surely your friend knows more creators…” Balloon mumbled.

Weiss cringed at the word ‘friend’, “I can’t even say he knowz those creators. Like I said, he only observes them. Maybe he and Ink can go around looking for some. But I cannot promise anything.”

“It’s better than nothing.” Leo shrugged.

It was a gamble, but Ink had to admit it was better than nothing. Before Ink could say anything he saw Error walking into the room, stretching all the tension he could out of his bones.

“Error!” Ink exclaimed, “Have a nice nap?”

Error nodded, “Mmmhm–” he froze and stared at the soldier. Eyeing the shorter skeleton suspiciously.

“Oh, that’s Edelweiss!” Ink said only for the glitch to suddenly attack the soldier with a flurry of scarlet bones. When the shock wore off, they found the chair was impaled beyond repair, but Weiss was gone.

Weiss was barely able to dodge the attack but was able to make a quick teleport to the other side of the room.

“ERROR, WHAT THE—”

“You IDIOT, that’s the guy who shot Dream!” Error growled, “That Klezmer guy was the one who told us that, remember!?”

Edelweiss didn’t deny it.

—---

Klezmer watched as the multiverse went dark. He hated it. Fact was he hated the darkness of what always appeared to be Death. It was just something that made him shudder. He found his target and yet had to contend with the fact that his target was likely going to kill him if he didn’t find Edelweiss should the worst come to fruition. That was his end of the deal.

If anything were to happen. If he were to find himself nearing Death’s door. If he were to be running out of mana. He needed to find Weiss and just be nothing more than a mouse leading the predator to a different target for his own survival.

It was the worst feeling in the world. But here he was, with the weapons that Edelweiss crafted for him.

Edelweiss had discovered that enough gravity magic could force the arrows to shatter. It was thought only Morabito himself could ever break the arrows and destroy them – powderize them. But no. Edelweiss, being the weapons master he was, found that enough Gravity Magic was the one other factor the arrows had no other choice to give into. It took a lot of mana, but he was able to craft the many weapons they all had been relying on to try to at least incapacitate the abomination that was Nightmare.

But this… this was practically his Magnum Opus. The epitaph to Nightmare… hopefully.

Ribbon-spears woven with Klezmer’s strings coated and woven with strings made of the Positivity Magic Morabito had to make the arrows. He had about twenty, considering that he often had Edelweiss’ help with weaving all of them when they were first developed. But this would allow him to be able to control the weapons without even thinking about it, as always.

He had them all pulled back the same way he had them in his fight against Ink. The rotating strings lending their momentum to the ribbon-spears, all the strings pulled taught just to lend to their soon launch to have a velocity and power that would rival any arrow’s pound-per-square-inch.

Here he stood on a gaster-blaster waiting for the abomination to show itself. He even had a ribbon spear, unfurled and wrapped around his neck like a scarf. He knew that if anything, this was going to be a fight to the death, whether he looked for Edelweiss or not. It wasn’t an exaggeration.

That creature was only against killing because it preferred torture. Calling it a monster was insulting. It was more than a monster, more than any demon Izanagi could ever summon. It was worse than that, and the issue was there weren’t enough words in the English language that could properly describe it.

And Klezmer was suicidal enough to say ‘Fuck it, I’ll fight the damn thing to bide Dream some more time to recover because balance and whatever.’

The moment he spotted the damn creature, Klezmer held back the urge to vomit. He wasn’t sure why. Fear? Maybe. Disgust? Possibly.

A complex mix of emotions that couldn’t even be described due to the fact that he could hear Death’s humming as it observed him and the damn creature, knowing what the outcome would be despite the fact that nothing has happened yet?

Definitely.

That damned song.

Oh Death, won’t you spare me over til’ another year?

That accursed song.

That song it loved so much because it showed its favorite aspect of the living. The unyielding begging to be spared from being taken.

Klezmer summoned the embodiment of his contract: The Lantern. He stared at it. Its faint emerald glow made him feel uneasy. He kept it.

He swore he heard a chuckle.

He took a deep breath and used the spell Edelweiss taught him: Calculation.

With a wave of his hand he was able to see where his target was and all the escape routes it could take. It was as if the Check spell was more advanced. More designed for enhancing lethal spells. The moment it finished…

He fired 18 of the ribbon-spears at his possible murderer.

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