The air was still humming from the blaster’s test when the sound cut—sharp, metallic.

A figure stepped onto the platform.

Clover.

His coat fluttered in the heat. His eyes locked on Sans. His hand raised.

A gun. Pointed. Ready.

Sans barely had time to react.

The shot rang out.

Gaster moved instantly—his hand flared, summoning a blaster to intercept.

But something went wrong.

The blaster surged with unstable energy, reacting to the CORE’s pulse.

It didn’t block the bullet.

It exploded.

The force knocked Gaster backward—straight into the CORE.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t reach.

He vanished.

The shockwave tore across the platform. Clover was caught in it—his body thrown; soul exposed.

Sans was hit too—his bones cracked; his magic scattered.

He was falling. Fading.

Then, he touched Clover’s soul.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t clean. It was survival.

The soul fused with his own. The light flared. The platform went silent.

Sans opened his eyes.

He was alive.

But something was wrong.

His stats—his strength, his defense, his magic—everything was locked.

All at 1.

He sat up slowly, breathing hard.

Sans (quietly): “Great. Just great.”

The CORE hummed beneath him. Gaster was gone. Clover was gone.

And Sans was changed.