The Mountain East (An Undertale Fanfiction)

Chapter 13

"Fifty thousand years."

"Fifty thousand years to create a rift so thin the void caresses it's creations once again."

Silence.

"Who am I kidding. There's no time here. Nor creation. Perhaps, being so close to existence once again, my old conscience remembers the place I used to hold."

The imaginary sound of polished boots on a cold, iron floor echoed throughout the emptiness.

"The only question now is... did my memory withstand the test of time?" The voice seemed to recognize the irony of his metaphor, and chuckled quietly. "Alright. Let's see if I still remember the procedure."

"To enter a timeline from the void is no easy task. The most unpredictable of ingredients are needed to fulfill such a tremendous task. Luck... and cooperation. Luckily, the latter can be manipulated to do so. First the requirement of an anomalous timeline drifting so close to the void, and not being destroyed, altered or otherwise tampered with within the process. The odds are stacked against such an event a billion to one. And yet, that is the least of my worries. In a place and time where neither place nor time are existent... a wait can be afforded.

The entry will be... excruciatingly painful. Even if my body is no longer susceptible to pain in here, it will be in the next world. Reality is a quilt, knitted roughly at the seams. A piece of work created haphazardly, forcefully uniting different fabrics of different matter. My soul, or, what's left of it, will enter a transit in which it will remain in a limbo between life and death.

So, we move onto the second factor.

A machine must be created on the receiving end of the quilt, lest the gap be too miniscule for matter to fit through. The last two times, I relied solely on luck that the Core would perform the job. This time... I have an idea."

The imaginary sound of a soul tearing apart filled the vacuum. Despite the obvious discomfort of the perpetrator, he displayed no sign of feeling or emotion.

"Although my body might not be able to fit through, a portion of my soul will do. A living sentient being, with one goal in mind – to construct, and to use any means necessary to do so."

A small glimmer of light shone from the soul piece. It was immediately absorbed by the darkness around it.

"But the age-old question. What form will it take? A completely new personality and body? If so, I risk having to build a whole backstory and explain to even get close to the materials needed to build it. Or... possibly, a clone, situated perfectly to never see its counterpart, utilizing deception and wit to speed up the grueling process? Yes, that seems to be the call. Surely, the host must be of a scientific background. They must also be relatively familiar to me. I must also keep in mind that not every incarnation of every person in each timeline is the same. They differ shockingly, as seen in my last two... endeavors."

The man stopped and peered through seemingly nothing. Something appeared to contrast the nothing, but was enveloped by the curtain of dark awaiting to consume all light at any moment. The man looked pleased.

"Perfect."

The horrible squelch of a soul morphing into a being rang out through the man's ears. He looked down, pleased at his creation. It remained deathly silent and unmoving. The only object to ever exist in the void other than himself.

"Despite the obvious anomalous aspect of this world, I cannot seem to locate such behavior. That is fine by me. That means less risks. Less chance of me getting beheaded the moment I step through the rift."

The man sighed.

"Why am I even talking? No one is listening. Perhaps I crave too much the companionship of others. Perhaps I hate the silence this void offers. Even though I should consider this void a prison, it acts less of one and more of a sanctuary. A place to observe without harm. A scientific haven. If all goes well... I should never have to see this place in my life ever again."

He sighed.

"Bittersweet, is it not? For the first time in my unfathomable time in this void... I can't seem to let go. This... Stockholm syndrome is... worrying."

For the first time, he allowed the curtains of shadows to coil upwards, revealing his true self.

The years in the void had treated him badly. The darkness he had walked amongst now enveloped him, bubbling and writhing as he shambled about. His face was a clean, perfectly oval white slate, with two cracks on either side of his face. The left was significantly smaller, whilst the right stretched across his disproportionate cheek.

His limbs were thin and bore a striking resemblance to one of a rotting skeleton. A large, perfectly round hole was carved in the middle of both his hands. His legs could barely be seen in the midst of the eccentric darkness.

"Then again, I've said that two too many times. I hope that this is the last."

The man peered through the nothingness once again. His eyes shined after some while, having obviously seen his opportunity to strike.

"The human has arrived. We have reached the absolute. After so many long years, I can finally fulfill my promise."

He looked longingly at the void around him. He pressed the side of his head against it, listening to what thoughtful words it had to say at the moment of departure.

"They, like the others, will not remember me. The king will not remember me. Alphys will not remember me. My creations... they, with certainty, will not remember me. The very reason I sacrificed everything I had for. My legacy is forgotten.

But... after an isolation this long... have my goals, in the end, really changed? To prove that the impossible is possible? Of course, the feeble destination of the surface is not the appeal anymore. Instead, the destination of free travel between worlds is. Perhaps... perhaps every feeling inside me can finally find a place."

A small piece, a chip of his left femur, dropped to the ground in response. He picked it up and smiled before it flew of its own accord, back to where it belongs.

"This is your world. And trust me, when one can finally reach his home... everyone will."

His voice started to split into several in unison.

"I, W.D Gaster..." The voices were of different pitches, volumes and dynamics. But they all had the same destination. A common goal. Cracks formed throughout his body. Orderly bits of different origin, clumped together to form a single entity.

Then, they reformed.

"Will lead us home."