A windy tunnel of perpetual darkness lay beyond the mysterious grey door. While fighting against the surging, deafening flow, Dust kept himself focused by counting the number of seconds passed.

He walked.
And walked.
And walked.

“587… 588… 589… 590…”

It felt like an eternity, despite the numbers indicating otherwise.

"663… 664… 665."

But on the 666th second… the howling gale stopped. He found himself standing in tranquillity, on a plane of white tiles as endless as the dark.

Cautious, Dust looked around and muttered: “Where… where am I?”

An ominous pile of goo began to rise a few tiles ahead, black and white, sundered from the space around it. It moaned and groaned while it continued to coalesce into existence, growing and growing, until it towering over Dust. The features of a skull began to form, distorting into a twisted toothless grin.

In a familiar, gentlemanly, educated, yet distorted manner, the being spoke: “I see that the wayward son has finally returned.” Those words cut through the shadows, as if they were the source of the bone chilling black winds.

Dust stammered. “W. D. Gaster… You’re not dead…"

“Ah, yes… of course you would think I’m dead. After all, you were the one who tried to kill me.”

Six floating hands circled behind Gaster’s head. Each of them bore a hole in the palm, housing a coloured fire.

Cyan.
Orange.
Yellow.
Blue.
Green.
Purple.

Together, they formed a blooming halo for a twisted saint.

“Tried,” said Gaster, “And yet you failed. I still live. Although stuck in this metaspace, I'm definitely better off than you, if I do say so myself.”

A pair of floating hands picked on Dust’s hoodie with the tip of their fingertips, as though he was a filthy rag left behind on the floor.

“What’s this?” questioned Gaster, “100% wool? The material is so rustic, you might as well be a country bumpkin. Did some human villagers take pity on you?”

That high and mighty attitude had always been one of the goopy doctor’s most annoying traits. Grumbling, Dust replied: “Yup. It’s just like you said. They spent weeks making what I’m currently wearing, so get your gooey hands off their hard work!”

The hands vanished into thin air. They returned to visibility by their master’s side.

“What an absolute shame,” said Gaster. “Sans Serif, my protégé, the brightest mind in the Underground of his generation… had become a homeless drifter.”

Of all the possible accusations, Dust didn’t expect that. “Excuse me? A drifter? You mean a ‘bum’?”

“Yes. Homeless. Purposeless. Useless. Worthless. You dare deny it? You lost your house in a fire. After that, you left for goodness knows where, abandoning your little brother! So much for being his guardian, Sans. But I suppose Papyrus never needed your help. After all, he set out on his own, furthering his education in a fine human college.”

That scenario did not match reality one single bit. Was the goopy doctor driven insane from his delusions, or did he base them on an hallucinatory observation?

Dust took a deep breath and stretched out an arm: “Give me evidence. If you still call yourself a scientist, then give me evidence.”

Gaster waved his many hands. Upon his command, a giant monitor screen materialised, hovering behind the liquid man.

“Behold, Sans! When our nation escaped our long imprisonment, fate granted me the means to watch their daily lives!”

On screen, a live broadcast began to play. It displayed Ebott Town, idyllic and untarnished by The Calamity. Happy monster residents went about their days beneath the warm sun, enjoying life with their friends and families.

“What the heck…?” Dust shook his head, realising that the question of ‘how’ wasn’t important. Instead, he took a different approach: “I’m not convinced. Let me find the people I know.”

With another wave of Gaster’s hands, a keyboard materialised before Dust.

“Have fun,” said Gaster. “I bet everyone else is faring better than you.”

First name he typed was ‘Grillbz Grillenn’. The screen immediately focused on a signboard long lost in the air raid, from when the Celestial Calamity loomed over the land.

The image then shifted to the fire elemental himself. He was cleaning glasses behind the counter of his bar, preparing to open for the evening.

Gaster mused out loud. “I suppose running that quaint bar is a nice retirement plan. With a town this peaceful, there is no longer any need for him to continue serving in the army.”

Dust ignored the comments, searching for ‘Undyne’. That flower brat sure loved to pick her as his chosen warrior. Her condition may serve as a hint.

The view changed to Toriel’s school. It showed the fish woman teaching sports to a class of children, while dressed in a police uniform.

As far as Dust remembered, Undyne never did get a chance to form the replacement of The Royal Guard on The Surface. He remembered that she had gained inspiration from her meeting with the human police, but there was no time to implement the concept.

‘Alphys’ was next. The camera highlighted the facility she called home. It was the biggest building in the vicinity, about five floors tall. The lizard scientist worked on maintaining Mettaton’s robot body there. In the background, she seemed to have plans laid out for building more robots to help the town.

Everyone seemed happy with their own lives so far. But what about Asgore?

Bringing up his name showed the royal father. Despite being the King, he ran a flower shop on the side. Helping him tend the golden flowers was a young goat boy with a kind face, wearing a green and yellow striped shirt…

Much to Dust’s surprise, Little Prince Asriel was still alive.

Over at the cash registry, a human child withdrew today’s earnings. Gender, indiscernible. They had rosy cheeks, which marked a sharp contrast on their otherwise pale skin, and sported short brown hair cut just above the shoulder.

Could this be Chara? And if those two children were around, what about their mother?

“Tori…” Dust muttered, “Where is Tori?”

He hurried to type in the name ‘Toriel’.

‘ERROR 404 NOT FOUND’

Dust clenched his hand into a shaking fist. “Where? Where is Toriel? Why isn’t she here???”

Gaster replied, “After you went missing, The Queen filed for divorce. Egads, you’re not only a bum but also a homewrecker. I suppose it’s an open secret that she harboured feelings towards you. King Asgore was given custody of their two children, thus she left the town on her own to start a new life.”

Dust started to contemplate. There was one more person unaccounted for. In this near-perfect world where everyone seemed to be alive, that child had yet to appear. The last time Sans saw them, it was right before the school’s winter holidays.

He keyed in the name ‘Frisk’.

‘ERROR 404 NOT FOUND’

Something compelled him to search for ‘Frisk’ again.

‘ERROR 404 NOT FOUND’

And again.

‘ERROR 404 NOT FOUND’

And again.

‘ERROR 404 NOT FOUND’

Deep down, Dust knew that they’re the most important piece of the puzzle. They embodied the fate of the world, his purpose in life, the meaning behind this madness… everything.

Questions raced through his mind. The more he searched for Frisk, the more the pain on Dust’s chest worsened. It stung, yet he persevered. He persevered until he could bear it no more, collapsing on the ground from the agony.

* * *

When Dust returned to consciousness, he found himself at his farmhouse, tucked into bed. The Willowherb village must have noticed his absence, somehow.

“…Crap,” he muttered to himself. “I haven’t been careful enough…”

He heard footsteps approaching the door. Glancing in that direction, he spotted none other than Stephan, the true owner of the premise. The young farmer froze for a moment before running the other way, as though he was a boy caught in a guilty act.

And guilty, he was. Stephan had the vital job of growing the year’s food supply. Thousands depended on his work, his family included. He should be making the most out of the sunny summer season to grow more crops at the Willowherb village, not wasting time playing nurse. If Dust had any strength left in his bones, he would have given Stephan a good scolding.

But then again… the Seer knew he was the one who screwed up in the first place. This was his second official experiment, and he almost killed himself twice in the process. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be the one getting scolded.

Right on cue, Anya Willowherb entered the room in Stephan’s stead, dressed in cloak and mask as always. The cup of water in her hand quivered from sheer displeasure, spilling a couple of drops over the edge.

“Mister Dust,” she said, “From now on I will accompany you for all future experiments. That is an order! ”

Once she switched to drill sergeant mode, there was no fighting back. Awkwardly sinking deeper into the sheets, he replied with a quiet voice. “…Y-yes Ma’am.”

“Good.”

Anya then pulled over a chair and sat beside him. In a noticeably more motherly manner, she offered him the cup of water. “Please drink. You must be quite parched by now.”

He hadn’t noticed the thirst until she offered the drink. He accepted the cup and glugged down half the consents in one go. “Thanks. Uh. How long was I out? What’s today’s date?”

“It’s been twelve hours, based on the computer’s timestamps. Today is the 6th of June.”

“Okay. Noted. But how did you guys know I was in trouble? I was alone, y’know.”

The lady replied. “We… received a message reading ‘help’, scrawled in large capital letters, using this terrible faux-ancient handwritten font. I believe The Red Soulstone influenced the fax machine, somehow.”

“Welp. Guess I really should let them have all the booze tonight then, as compensation for their trouble. Say, was the machine still active when you arrived?”

“No,” she replied.

“Phew. That means the stopgap worked. It would have started eating through The Red Soulstone otherwise…” He then asked: “By the way, could you hand me my mirror?”

“You mean this pocket mirror?” She reached for a pouch on her belt and took the item out. “I noticed you had it lying on the table.”

“That’s how I keep track of my own stats. I can get details on anything as long as I can look at it, myself included.”

The colours in his eyes lit up when he inspected his own reflection.

LV: 1
EXP: 0
NEXT: 10

Putting the mirror down, he let out a long, tired sigh. “Yep. Just as I thought. I’m bone dry. Not a single borrowed lifeforce left. Dammit. It’s back to square one.”

Anya asked: “…Can I presume from your frustration that the experiment ended in failure?”

“Actually…” Dust finished the rest of the cup and placed it aside. “It was a complete success. I found my target: he was my old mentor, Doctor W. D. Gaster. He said I tried to kill him, but… I don’t remember when or how. After that, I discovered something… better? Worse? Can’t quite decide. Need your expert opinion on that matter.”

And so, Dust reported the results of his experiment. What he had felt, what he had seen, what he had experienced…

“…And that’s the conclusion of the report.” he finished, “Thoughts?”

The lady pondered. “I believe you discovered a window into a dream world. Since it’s full of your former citizens, I won’t be surprised if it’s a creation of The Celestial Calamity. Your mentor seemingly believes that the dream is reality itself.”

“A dream world, huh? Have you ever encountered any?”

“Yes. The Hero’s Guild and the military had discovered a plethora of lesser ones scattered throughout the land. We’ve managed to successfully dismantle some, though more keep cropping up. The Celestial Calamity must indirectly power their existence.”

“So if I pop the big bubble, then the rest should burst right after.”

“That is the hypothesis. But…” Lingering hesitation weighed down upon her shoulders. “There… there is something I want to share.”

“Welp, I’m all ears,” he replied. “More information always helps.”

So, Anya began: “The first dream world The Hero’s Guild encountered was a case I personally handled. It was based on a short story about a prosperous city named Omelas. In this utopia, there was no sadness, no frustrations, no troubles, no grief. The citizens were the most intelligent, sophisticated, and cultured lot to ever exist, so much so that they required no government or leadership.”

“However,” she continued, “Their prosperity came at a cost. Every summer solstice, at the height of the festival, a single child would be chosen to live in perpetual condemnation: bearing the city’s filth, darkness, and misery.”

Dust smirked. “Heh. Knew there’s a catch to that happy-peppy nonsense. No conceivable way a society could exist without problems, unless something changed at a fundamental level. Using a supposedly cursed child to absorb all the naturally existing evils is a prime example.”

“I… tried to rescue them.” Anya’s voice strained, trying to hold back her regret. “But the moment I took them out of their prison, the world shattered. I was left with the shrivelled corpses of Omelas’ former residents. Not even the forsaken child survived.”

“…The victims were in the dream for too long,” Dust concluded. “Looks like you were dealing with time-sensitive stuff.”

“Indeed. Because of the fatalities involved, The Hero’s Guild deemed it ‘immoral’ to justify the destruction of the less harmful bubbles. If the lives inside were better than they could ever achieve in reality, wouldn’t it be cruel for us outsiders to terminate it?”

Dust furrowed his brows in suspicion. “Why do I get the feeling that those so-called ‘heroes’ are too afraid to take action? Enjoying the limelight too much to get their hands dirty?”

The cynical chuckle from Anya confirmed his thoughts. “Without the support of civilians, a hero is a nobody.”

Obligations and perceptions bound the ‘good guys’. How typical, Dust thought. Even if Anya herself wanted to restore the affected lands, she would be alone in doing so.

“Heh,” Dust smirked. “Tell James that I don’t bloody care about my reputation. If I need to destroy someone else’s heaven to do my job, I’m gonna do it. I’m already a licensed murderer anyway. The numbers don’t make a difference to me. Those worlds are huge stashes of lifeforce waiting to be harvested. It would be a waste to let them sit around.”

Anya tightened her grip. “Are you certain the numbers don’t make a difference? Or is that just false bravado?… I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to put it without sounding offensive.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind.”

“Then, allow me to ask this: could you make the same claim when it involves your fellow monsters? More so concerning those you had fostered connections with?”

“They’re already dead,” he replied. “Be they humans or monsters, whoever’s in that dream world is long gone. I’m just being logical. Why perpetuate a lie just because it’s sweet? Someone’s gotta burst the bubble.”

“It’s different when they smile. I found myself wishing their happiness could have continued for just a little while longer. Could you still kill them, knowing that it will irreparably damage your soul?”

The sorrow of duty weighed heavy on Anya’s shoulders. Whatever happened to the dream of Omelas still haunts her today.

Dust wanted to answer ‘yes, I will’. Over the years he had tried to prepare himself for these dirty deeds, casting aside his interest for comedy, his hopes of a normal civilian life, and even his own name. All to make himself less of a person and more of a weapon.

Yet… he still could not answer Anya. Instead, he chose to deflect. “Sheesh. You’re dropping bombshells on a bone tired guy, lady. Kinda much, dontcha think?”

“I suppose so.” She smiled with a weak sense of relief. “Apologies.”

“Eh, it happens.” Dust sunk back down into the sheets. “I’m gonna lie down a bit more, if you don’t mind. Still recovering and stuff.”

“Very well. Please rest, Mister Dust. I’ll go make some lunch in the meantime.”

* * *

Later in the evening, after Anya went back to the village, Dust had a stroke of inspiration to deal with his new problem.

First, he needed reference. He was sure he had read about a potentially helpful tool, either in The Book of Vanquishing or The Book of Curses. So, he asked Willowherb R&D about it.

A couple of hours later, they faxed back a diagram of what they called a ‘Soul Lantern’. The schematics described it as a device to store excess lifeforce within a white flame.

The downside? The device required constant fuel in the form of a ‘Spirit Candle’. Notes on the side explained how the wax should be made from the fat of a ruminant, which would then be mixed with a blend of ground herbs and cured in a magic field purified by the prayers of a pure-hearted maiden.

“Looks like the max capacity is about… 300 EXP. And to keep that, I would need to replace the Spirit Candle every nine hours. That’s almost three a day, per lantern, for however long it takes. Dang… that’s a lot of candles.”

Just the thought of the sheer inefficiency made his head hurt. “Ugh, why does it have to be lifeforce anyway? Can’t I just use regular old electricity and be done with it?”

The small complaint opened up a window for deeper questions. Indeed, why did all the requirements specifically ask for lifeforce? What about the sacrifice of a living, sentient being changes the fundamental nature of the mana?

In his experiments, he had observed plants having plenty of lifeforce, correlated to their size, age, and species. Yet no matter the amount, the lifeforce would alway dissipate within seconds of absorption.

Animal sources fared a little better. Though they were still fleeting compared to actual people. This relative permanence reminded Dust about the ancient legends, where human souls were said to last much longer than a monster’s.

“Determination…? Has that been the secret spice all the while?”

What if he could somehow imbue DT into a modern battery? It might have way more capacity than a Soul Lantern, without any of the maintenance. Alas, he doesn’t have the time or resources to test that theory. He’d just have to make do with what he has.

Dust reached for the bowl holding the Red Soulstone and poured the contents out on the flat surface of his work table. Placing the tip of his finger on the edge of the heart-shaped gem, he rocked it like a cradle.

“Hey,” he said, “Could you guys tell me how y’all ended up this way? If you don’t mind sharing. Research purposes, y’know.”

The Soulstone whispered in fearful recollection. Some were kidnapped off the streets, others were duped by fake job offers. The most unfortunate ones were sold by their own family members in exchange for sustenance.

When the moment of truth arrived, they were rounded up to stand on a huge magic circle. One heretical chant later and their souls were stripped from their bodies, condensed into a crystal.

“…I see. No different from your standard slave trafficking. That sucks. Guess that’s why you like booze, eh? I would want to drink those memories away too.”

The aberration then floated around to disrupt the conversation. He was annoyed, restless, and annoyingly restless.

“Brother, I hate this!” The Phantom complained, “I hate this soooo much! That woman is going to hover over our shoulders during all the big science??? It’s as if we don’t have a private life anymore!”

“Sorry,” Dust replied, “It’s all because I screwed up twice.”

“Ugh, how incompetent.” The Phantom grumbled. “Here I thought that you were finally getting your act together.”

“Welp. I’m trying.”

“Why not take one or two souls from the Red Soulstone?” The floating brother suggested. “They should provide more than enough EXP.”

“Na-uh, absolutely not. I need our gem friends to serve as the graphics card, so to speak. Taking even one soul from the lot may create a small crack, and when enough cracks accumulate, complete structural failure follows. Without the stone, I’m blind at best, dead at worst.”

“As usual, you’re being needlessly difficult!!!”

“Yup. I know.”

The Phantom peered at the diagram. Already, Dust could feel the disapproval rising. “What’s this? A container to offload lifeforce? You’re planning to separate yourself from all the goody goodness?!?”

Patting himself on the ribs, Dust said: “This old sack of bones ain’t gonna pack enough juice for the machine. You can’t expect me to absorb beyond my limit.”

“But do you even know where your limit is? If you keep burning that lifeforce away, how are we ever going to find out? And how are we ever going to get stronger??? I noticed that you’ve never even gone beyond LV 15!”

“…Why LV 15? That’s oddly specific,” The elder brother asked back. “The most I’ve ever managed to scrounge up was about 10, maybe 11.”

Exasperated, The Phantom planted his face into his floating palms. “Brotherrrrr! Did you really forget?! It was during the floating castle incident! You were so, so, sooooooo close to becoming truly strong!”

The floating castle was supposed to be where Dust first met Anya. Crossing his arms, he tried to recall anything about that time.

Failing to remember anything, he replied: “Yup. I totally forgot. That, my floating brother, is a big warning sign. Reaching LV 15 must have fucked with my head somehow. So. I’m definitely gonna get as many lanterns as I can. No weird EXP-induced amnesia allowed.”

The Phantom started throwing a tantrum by rolling around inside his head. “Nooooooooooo! I want us to acquire more, and more, and more, until we’re unstoppable!!!”

Raising an eyebrow, Dust said: “In other words, you want the fun of murder without the responsibility of power.”

“Yes!” The Phantom replied, “Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Sorry bro, that’s not how life works. C’mon, if you’re tired of the boring stuff just laze away. That’s what I would do.”

“Fine! Whatever! Suit yourself!”

And so, the aberration vanished. Peace and quiet returned to the desk. What a headache that Phantom. In many ways, he was still immature.

Then again, how could Dust blame him? He was based on the younger brother after all. With inexperience comes tantrums. Papyrus had plenty of those too.

Thinking about the carefree days reminded Dust how much he missed the noise.

He quickly put the thought aside before it paralysed him. There’s still much to be done. Such sorrowful drowning can wait until after The Celestial Calamity has been dealt with.

Starting tomorrow, the hunt begins anew.