June 20, 2021

After James Pashowar dismissed Dust from his duty, there was a moment of quiet: a perfect peaceful lull of boredom.

No wannabe heroes tried to tangle with him.
No authority tried to flex its powers on him
No missions or jobs were issued for him either.

Dust thought this situation would be excellent. Was he not the infamous lazyman of the Underground, so much so that he drove Papyrus up the wall? He should be ecstatic to be granted express permission to sleep like a slob all day long.

Yet… he found himself rather quaintly unhappy. The Guild had shunned him for losing control of his own mind and body, yet it wasn’t the social aspect that bothered him. After all, ‘being part of the group’ was never his priority. Rather, it was a personal failing.

From a young age, Dust noticed that he had a hefty inclination towards addiction. So, he spent his entire life sectioning his vices into socially accepted placebos.

Ketchup consumption was less dangerous than alcohol.
Keeping five low-intensity part-time jobs beats being a workaholic.
Acting the part of the punny comedian was better than becoming a weapon.

He had reasoned himself into those kinds of positions so that Papyrus would never, ever, ever get into trouble with the Royal Guard over his own poor actions.

And in the end… he had completely lost the battle. That sure sucked.

For about a week since, the skeleton had been observing the formation of a human army in his backyard. With the hopes of ending the source of the Calamity, they had really spared no quarters, bringing in truckloads of bombs, guns, and whatever other firepower they needed for the job. This pile of weapons could very well be the last of their stock, reserved for the fateful day of victory.

As of today, the military finally met up with The Guild. From his vantage point of the farmhouse’s rooftop, he saw some of their bigwigs shaking hands before they adjourned into a huge tent, where they’d most likely continue to talk about strategy and tactics.

The Phantom glared towards the tent. “I hate them. I hate, hate, hate, hate. They’re robbing us blind from right under our noses! Aren’t you gonna do anything about it?”

“Nope,” Dust replied. “If Ole’ James can do a better job by himself, why get in the way?”

“Humbug and poppycocks! We wouldn’t be stuck here for years if those humans could do anything meaningful!”

Dust shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll just have to wait and see. In the meantime, I’m letting my noggin rest.”

“Saaaaaaaaaaaaaans! You and your lazy ways aren’t making my mood better!”

He then heard a familiar set of wheels grinding to a halt nearby. To his surprise, it was Anya. That woman, ever hidden under her cloak, exited the vehicle and reached for the boot. She hauled out a crate, plunked it on the floor, and took out two dark brown bottles. Then, as if inviting him, she raised them up towards the roof where Dust sat.

“A drink, huh?” Dust commented. And here he thought that she would be joining the assault. “Eh, might as well. Not that I have anything better to do.”

He thus teleported down to ground level, settled on the front porch, and popped the caps. Together they drank straight from the bottle, not bothering to pour the booze out into glasses and the like.

“This is new,” he commented. “What do you call this?”

“Whisky,” Anya replied. “Distilled grain alcohol, aged in wooden barrels. These were made before The Calamity.”

“Sounds like we’re getting smashed on some expensive stuff. You fine with that?”

“It’s another price I’m paying for.” She took a swig and sighed. “After all, it’s because of me that Guildmaster Pashowar set you up to fail.”

“Care to explain while my mood’s still peachy from the spirits?”

“Remember the floating castle incident? Or rather… remember that you don’t? By the time we met there, you had absorbed so much lifeforce, it was to the point of amnesia. While you maintained just enough sanity to cooperate, I was forced to report my first impressions to Guildmaster Pashowar.”

“Those being?”

“That you were a very, very dangerous entity, Mister Dust.”

No wonder Anya was always so wary around him. Dust took another swig and said: “Sounds like I was right at the threshold. I did some calculations last night and figured that my limit is about LV 15 before I’d start losing myself.”

“I see… That explains why you returned to normal after the Dark Lords were vanquished. Everything created from that unnatural world would dissipate after its destruction. Lifeforce included.”

He chuckled a bit. “You did the right thing, lady. Gonna be frank here: I’m an untrustworthy guy. If you didn’t take the precautions you did, I might have killed ya right where you stand. Bye bye Stephan too.”

“Perhaps so… But you did not.”

They continued drinking in silence for a while. Then, Dust noticed that Anya had outright stopped.

“Can’t hold your liquor anymore?” he asked.

Smirking, she said: “I need to be able to drive.”

“Crash here for the night then. No fun getting wasted alone. We have like, what, ten more bottles to go through?”

“Hmm. Not a bad idea. I’d just need to send a fax to the village to explain my absence. By the way, you seem to be capable of handling your alcohol quite well. Is it a skeleton trait?”

“Nah,” he replied. “When I first got out from under the mountain, I was a total lightweight. Got knocked out cold from a single chug. Nowadays, though, I could finish a whole bottle and stay somewhat sober. Guess I’ve built up resistance over the years.”

Anya then asked: “When The Celestial Calamity is over, what do you plan to do?”

Dust stopped to think, trying to recall his bygone dreams. “My brother and I… we wanted to travel the world. I guess I’ll go do that in his stead. Not like The Guild wants me hanging around here much anyway.”

“Did you manage to apply for a passport?”

“Nope. Shit hit the fan before we could. Come to think of it, I don’t think I would be allowed to get one, being a monster and all. Plus word might have gotten out that I’m a top-tier criminal now. Guess I’ll just wander as an illegal teleporter until the day I crumble to dust.”

“Or… you could join me.” Anya proposed. “I will be going to The Far East to investigate what happened there. Before The Calamity, there were already rumours of ominous incidents occurring in the region. I can imagine it has only worsened in these years of isolation.”

“Damn, you still trust me after what I did on my previous mission?”

She looked at him dead in the eyes and replied with a straight face: “I need a walking danger by my side. The deadlier, the better.”

Dust pulled his head back, nervous. “Okay, now I’m the one getting scared. From the way you’re speaking, The Far East has the potential to be in worse mayhem than here.”

“You’re correct, and—” Her grip tightened on the bottle’s neck. “Sorry. I’m getting too far ahead of myself. The curse over Ebott is not over yet, after all.”

“Ahuh. Welp, since we’re on that topic, I have a question for ya.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

Pointing his thumb over his shoulder, he said: “From the size of the operation, it looks like Ole’ James hit the jackpot and found the source without me. What made the difference from six years ago?”

“More like ‘who’ instead of ‘what’, Anya replied, “You, Mister Dust, actually made all the difference. Your ongoing research and the tales of your past provided us with information that we wouldn’t have otherwise known. The final clue was when you uncovered Doctor Gaster.”

Dust didn’t expect to hear his old mentor’s name. Intrigued, he put the bottle aside, wanting to remain sharp and sober for a bit longer. “I’m listening.”

“He claimed to be alive, existing in a space beyond our physical reality. This oddity prompted The Guild, the military, and the government to dig through their collective intel networks for anything related to Mount Ebott. I too participated in that search.”

“We found that a few years before the emergence of the monsters, the region’s seismic detection system recorded a massive earthquake of unknown origins. The whole southern side of Mount Ebott collapsed, killing a number of unfortunate mountain climbers. Testimonies from survivors described hearing an explosion, reminiscent of a volcanic eruption.”

“A thought thus began to dawn at the meeting table. The monsters once relied on a massive magical geothermal generator, magnitudes more advanced than anything humanity had ever achieved. What if the cause of the earthquake was actually a generator malfunction?”

She wondered out loud: “...Didn’t your mentor say that you tried to kill him, though? What did you do?”

“That’s a good point… What did I do?”

A sharp headache cracked through Dust’s skull, threatening to split it into multiple parts. The pain was so great that his vision distorted into refracted images peppered with white squares.

The woman tried to call for his name. He saw her lips move, but he couldn’t hear a word she said.

‘Stop,’ Dust uttered, or so he thought. The deafening silence prevented him from understanding his own speech.

When the intent to question ceased, the pain faded and his vision returned. Dust found himself panting heavily. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead, flowing down to his chin. Between his wheezes, he said, “I… I don’t know what’s going on… But… don’t ask about Gaster…”

He fumbled for the bottle. After grabbing the neck, he guzzled down a quarter of the contents. Somehow, it calmed him down. It was either the alcohol, or the act of drinking itself.

“The dreamworld,” he muttered, “How did…. How did you guys figure out the location of the entrance? The search was supposed to be the next part of my project, and I hadn’t even started on that.”

Anya reached out towards him, concerned. But she soon decided to withdraw, choosing to answer in a more stoic manner instead. “It was an educated guess, to be honest. The Core provided the best chance of finding the entrance to Ebott’s dreamworld, but it was not a guarantee.”

“Once the source of the Calamity is found within the dream, The Guild and the military will attempt to destroy it by any means necessary. Should that fail, I will be next in line to finish the job. And, should I fail too… James Pashowar himself will step onto the field.”

“And the rest of the Willowherb? When will they act?” Dust asked.

“I truly hope it never comes down to that.” Anya chuckled. “If The Guild’s heroes can save the world, we’ll let them take the credit. Guildmaster Pashowar is a strong yet kind man: the leader we need to rebuild this country. I just want hope for the future to return…”

Deep down in Dust’s heart, a hundred mental alarms began to ring. They were loud enough to overpower his urge to be a smartass about James’ lack of transparency. There was a huge flaw in this operation. And judging from Anya’s gloom, the humans were completely aware of it.

Yet, they’re willing to risk their lives for this final stand. Their best shot. A now-or-never situation. The do-or-die.

Dust capped his bottle and returned it to Anya. “Keep it safe.”

“Huh?” She asked, “Where are you going?”

“Gonna scout The Core for a bit. I got a feeling the heroes are in for a bad, bad time. Don’t worry about me, I’ll make sure I stay hidden.”

“What about the machine? Couldn’t you spy from a safe distance?”

“Forget it. I don’t have enough lifeforce to use that right now. Anyways, I gotta go. Wait for me. I’ll be back later.”

Dust envisioned the clearest image of place Underground that fulfilled two specific requirements. One, it should be close to The Core. Two, it shouldn’t be crawling with heroes. Good thing he had left a marker there for his mind to teleport to with minimal sickness.

A colossal leap later, and Dust found himself at his childhood home, amidst the darkness of the unlit Underground. Despite his efforts, he still felt some nausea. It had been a while since he came here, so his memory had faded.

Powering through the unease, he hurried out to New Home’s main road. That would be the fastest and shortest route to The Core.

However, he soon saw that the path ahead was lit up by human activity. Every few metres, a pair of men stood guard, watching the backlines.

“What the… they’re already this deep inside? Looks like they dispatched these scouts ahead of time.”

Dust rushed to head for one of the many portal shortcuts that littered the Underground. On the other end, he felt his foot drop too far and too sharp. He immediately stepped back before he tumbled forward into god knows where.

“Whoa!” He realised that he teetered over a lake of magma. Whatever safe land that once existed had been completely destroyed, replaced by towering black briars. Had he been any hastier, he would have plunged straight into a fiery death.

“Damn. How am I going to get to The Core now?...”

Thus, he began to do some thinking. “…Mettaton’s old hotel connects to The Core from the back entrance. The elevators aren’t powered anymore, so the humans are gonna be slowed down by the long stair-filled way. I might be able to get ahead of them if I’m quick enough.”

Where, though? It had been years since he had seen the interiors of the hotel. For him to make the jump, he needed a concrete image of his destination.

After some pondering, he ended up in a location that he could never forget even if he wanted: the decaying restaurant wing of Mettaton’s Underground hotel. The wallpaper there had peeled from the years of neglect.

The Phantom whispered: “Isn’t this where you threatened the little human?”

Dust’s attention turned towards a dust-covered table. A long, long time ago, he talked a bit with Frisk at that very same spot. If it weren’t for his promise with Toriel, that child would have been dead where they stood.

Thinking back, Dust wondered… Was it a joke? Was it genuine? Or somehow both?

“It doesn’t matter anymore, bro…” He said, brushing the memory aside. “Let’s go before the humans get here.”

Stepping into the lobby, he found that the briars had blocked all exits except the one leading to The Core. There was no time to ruminate over this curious convenience, though.

The moment he entered The Core, he looked around for a place to perch. One of the massive pipes overhead provided him with the perfect spot to lay low.

The scouts’ footsteps could already be heard from a distance. Soon their chatter followed.

“What an eerie facility… The hairs of my skin won’t stop standing.”

“I heard that this giant heresy pumps out more magic juice than all of our generators combined. I say we should have wrecked it before everything went to shit.”

“Focus, guys. We’re in unknown territory. Keep chatter to a minimum until we confirm the location of the dreamworld.”

Leading the way was one of The Guild’s high-ranking heroes. He had seen her face on the leaderboards before, back when he was a guest in their establishment. A faint red aura surrounded her, indicating that she was a Red Soul like Anya.

“…I sense an especially strong abnormality coming from the left,” the woman said, “It’s unstable. Distorted. Be on guard.”

There, amidst total darkness, awaited a section of The Core that burned in perpetuity. Despite his curiosity, Dust could never get close to that place without a splitting headache.

Good thing there were several maintenance balconies there, jutting out from the side of the wall on the upper levels. They’d allow him to view that location without too much pain. They stood a bit further up than he’d like to be, but that would have to do.

As expected, he was too far to hear them talk. Based on their positive reactions, they had found what they were looking for: the entrance to the dreamworld.

But in the middle of their victory, Dust noticed there was something terribly wrong. The fires were glitching out. Movement skipping. Light shearing. And the humans… they didn’t know any better.

Then, the flames began to roar. The blaze grew bigger. Taller. Denser. Until they formed a roaring walkway.

As the party of heroes cautiously backed off from the edge, Dust saw the unbelievable: a black knight in full plate emerged from the darkness beyond. The clinks of his heavy boots reverberated with every step.

Guns raised and ready, the soldiers opened fire. Bullets sparked when metal hit the metal. Many of the shots punctured the armour all the way through, letting out a bright orange light.

Despite the damage, the knight was unflinching. Unyielding. Undefeated. Whatever wounds he suffered were undone, closing up and shutting out the inner shine.

The knight drew his sword. The ever-burning flames answered his command, drawing themselves into his body.

And the heroes began to run…

…Alas, it was a futile effort.

In one swing of his mighty blade, the human leader was cleaved down the middle in a swift and instant death. Each half of her body got charred into cinders and ash. Any blood spilled, vaporised before it touched the ground.

The entire corridor behind that unfortunate soul, all the way up to the entrance, combusted into a furnace.

Every human soldier in the vicinity was burned alive. Their flesh set alight… and their suffocating lungs melted with every choking hot breath.

The knight marched ever onwards, cutting down anyone still writhing in their dying moments, ensuring a merciful end to their merciless suffering.

Dust covered his nose and mouth to block out the smoke. Nevermind the searing heat rising upwards and threatening to roast him. He teleported out of The Core, pronto.

From the skyline of New Home, Dust thus found himself looking over the main road. The intense glow from The Core grew brighter and brighter and brighter.

Hot. New Home started to become hotter than Hotland. Those soldiers on the road must have felt the blazing heat, facing the approaching threat. Although they still trembled in fear, sheer discipline overrode their instincts for self-preservation.

When the knight emerged, every gun fired ceaselessly at their target. Yet again, those efforts were for naught. The main road erupted into an inferno bigger than the last. The cacophony of panic, pain, and agony sounded once more.

And just like before, the silhouette of the knight dashed down the path, ending each scream by the edge of his blade. No prisoner was taken, and no survivors were allowed.

Witnessing the slaughter firsthand, The Phantom sang his praises. “The scale of this destruction is something to behold! What elegance! What beauty! What destruction! A magnificent orchestra of the netherworld pleasing to both eyes and ears. Sans! Who is this man? Why have I never seen him before? You should take him as an example!”

What bothersome commentary. Dust ignored the chatterbox to analyse the movements of the magic flames. He had noticed some unusual behaviour.

As evident from the knight’s cape violently tossing back and forth, cold winds from The Surface were rushing into The Underground in response to the superheated air. By all logic, those same currents should push against the fire, directing the flow deeper underground with every gust.

And yet – defying the laws of physics – the inferno marched forth even when the knight did not. As though driven by a powerful will, the flames trailed ahead of their master as though they were an army of their own.

Should this walking calamity manage to leave The Underground, he would wipe out every last human in the vicinity of Ebott. Beyond doubt, a Game Over.

The knight stopped walking. He then turned towards Dust, staring at him square in the face.

That was his cue to retreat all the way back to the farmhouse. He refused to stay behind to satisfy his morbid curiosity, for he had already seen enough.

Knees, weak. He fell over and rolled on the porch. Anya hurried over to help him up.

“Mister Dust?!” she exclaimed, “What happened?”

“Abort…” Dust grabbed her cloak, clutching it tight under his grip. “Abort the mission! Your guys, they’re dying as we speak!”

Anya did her best to remain calm. “Describe the enemy.”

“An armoured knight. Commands fire. Unbeatable. Invincible. Saw him take a boatload of bullets like a damn Swiss cheese and live! Nobody stands a chance against this man, myself included.”

Horror dawned under her stoic front. With a slight quiver in her voice, she concluded: “That… That’s an Immortal Guardian. A being created with the sole purpose of protecting the source of The Calamity.”

Dust and Anya heard an explosion from the mountain. He scrambled on his feet to get a better view.

A plume of smoke and flame bleached out from the eastern exit. The Immortal Guardian was advancing. Fast.

“Do you know his identity?” The Willowherb mage asked, “If the Guardian is a resident of your town and not a Hollow construct, I may be able to use True Name magic to imprison him.”

“True Name. Right, his name. He… He’s…”

Each and every person within the Ebott dreamworld should be an acquaintance of his. That knight couldn’t be King Asgore, and it most definitely couldn’t be Captain Undyne.

Who… Who was it? Who in the Underground possessed that much prowess to begin with?

Try as he might, he failed to match the description to anyone he knew.

“Dammit!” He slapped himself across the cheek. “Remember already! Why can’t you remember, you useless oaf???”

Then, Dust had an epiphany. His attention turned towards the cursed machine sitting in the farmhouse’s living room. Since his memories continued to fail him, he was better off reviewing the past itself.

Rushing into the house, the first he did was to swipe the Red Soulstone from its resting spot. He briefly apologised to the people inside, saying: “Sorry guys, but we’re kind of in a pinch right now.”

Stone in hand, he climbed on the altar, laid down, and activated the machine.

………

Once upon a time, in the long forgotten past, a teenage Sans had just started his training with Doctor Gaster. His first duty was to meet every person in the Royal Guard, especially the Captain.

In that era, he met someone other than Undyne: a man in a dark imposing armour. It was the exact same design massacring the human soldiers in the present.

The young boy straight up said: “I wanna see your face, Cap. What if some funny guard took your armour and dressed up as you? Don’t wanna mistake you for an impostor or something, y’know.”

Perhaps it was the age, perhaps it was the wit. For whatever the reason, the Captain obliged the request without objection.

The Dust of today was dumbfounded before the truth. Beneath the dark armour was none other than the gentlest fire elemental he ever met. No one else would let him incur such an ungodly debt on his tab.

“…Are you the new trainee?... Welcome…”

His voice was the final confirmation. The Immortal Guardian was none other than Grillby, the mild-mannered bartender.

True Name: Grillbz Grillenn. Former Captain of the Royal Guard.