Brilliance is unachievable, embrace idiocy - One-shot book of nonsense

Haven and hell, both make you forget something.

Hi guys! Sorry I haven't posted in forever, but take this!

Word count: 1244
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At the very beginning there was a civilization much like the conglomerate called the 'multiversal counsel'. They called themselves Haven, and they were gasters.

This group of Gasters, unsurprisingly, combined their shared passion of science, working together. They accomplished a lot, those noble sixty-four, and eventually lost sight of their original goal: freedom for all trapped in the illusion that was their 'single world'. There were many, they had thought, sixty-five, in fact, and so they thought it foolish to keep everyone divided. Except for the original, of course, but they wanted to keep that au untainted, unknowing. They didn't know what would happen to their multiverse if the originals learned.

But then—in their knowledge, in their 'power'—they forgot what they started for. They thought themselves better. They thought that if one of their own acted in a way they deemed 'savage', they would have to be punished.

So they found a way to punish.

The VOID? No that was too much. But the ANTI-VOID? Oh that was free game.

They knew that a second in the ANTI-VOID could be a week for the rest of the multiverse, just as a second in the ANTI-VOID could be a month, or, most likely, years. And they also knew it was the inverse as well. But they didn't know much more. And, really, how much could it do? The air isn't toxic, the environment isn't dangerous, just disorienting, and there was no creatures that could hurt them.

So they decided that it would do.

And one day, one of them acted 'savage'.

In a fit of rage and desire— no, their urge for justice and integrity, one of them screamed at the others. And kicked and bit and cried. The 'savage' one spat insult after profanity because they realized— we have lost our light, we have lost our goal. And this isn't just anymore, it isn't fair. Why do we get freedom? While they're still tethered? Why? Why, why, why why whywhywhywhy?

And they threw their angry counterpart into the ANTI-VOID, promising to let them out in five minutes.

-

Error couldn't remember his past, before he was in the ANTI-VOID. But he knows that he's been fucked up for a long time. He knows he's lost something, he just came remember what.

It's his code. He's lost a good half or so of his code to glitches. He's lost his code. But when he takes a look at his soul, he finds a part of it gone. He looks at the other souls he has in his possession, wrapped in his strings and held above like trophies, and frowns when he sees them whole.

He's lost something. He just doesn't know what.

His appearance, it has to be how he looks that puts him off. When he looks in the mirror he's an abomination: scarred and ugly, bone unnaturally black and red and yellow and blue. He pictures the other skeletons, with their solid white bones and simple, perfect eye-lights. But when he looks real close, and thinks real hard... no, this isn't what he's missing. This is just how he is, nothing more, nothing less.

He's lost it. He's lost something.

Magic? Maybe it's his magic? When he uses his magic it is different, wrong. A sans' magic isn't supposed to be strings. But then again, he isn't really a sans anymore. But when he looks at the colors of his sharp bones and raging gaster blasters, they fit. They're the same color as his actual bones. But when he looks at his strings as they maim and kill, and then in mirror, raising a hand to trace along the tear tracks stained into his bone, it fits. It's him. Not lost, but discovered. Because really, no one has Ink's brush or Dream's bow or Nightmare's tendrils of darkness. So why should he be like the others if it fits?

It's— he's lost... his memory? Is that it?

When he sits on the unexplainable floor of his ANTI-VOID... yes. That's it. Not the entirety of what is gone, but a portion. He couldn't remember his past. Not the foods he liked or the songs he listened to or his favorite book genre. He couldn't remember himself. He held a hand over the soul beating in his chest, and yearned, and hated that he yearned for something he never really knew, and yearned some more. He wondered if he had a brother, or if he had friends. What his au was like? Was he a swap? A fell? A classic, even?

He doesn't know.

But there's more, too. He knows there's more because his memory and his missing code isn't it all. But for the life of him, he can't... he can't figure it out. Why can't he figure it out? He's supposed to know these things—! Oh.

Oh.

Huh.

Why was that his gut reaction?

Oh yeah, Undernovela's airing in a second.

...He hopes it's not just filler like the last seventy episodes.

The portal glitches a second, and then Undernovela is playing. He shovels stolen chocolate into his mouth, and lounges in his own damn home, on his own damn beanbag chair, watching a shitty au that never really gave him a sense of fulfillment because he had nothing else to do.

So what if he doesn't know about his past? He's got a present to live, a now to take care of. And Now can't wait.

So what if he'll always be unaware? So what if it's been lost to time? He'll never get it back, and learning will only make it worse.

Knowledge is power, as knowledge is weakness. The phrase is etched into his soul, written in his very bones, poorly shoved into his coding by a mad man who wanted to remember.

-

"Knowledge is power, " Nightmare says to him once.

"As knowledge is weakness, " Error finishes, leaning back in his char boredly. "Keep that in mind, Nightmare, check yourself."

Nightmare grins lopsidedly, fingers splayed out on the maps lazily. He's standing, chair pushed off the side. "What kind of self-help bullshit is that?" Nightmare asks, tendrils laying on the floor limply with drowsiness. They'd been there all night.

"It's not self-help bullshit, asshole, just advice."

"From whom?"

Error pauses a second, looking off into the distance. "I think... I think it's from an old enemy."

Nightmare leaned forward, intrigued now. "Oh? And whom were you enemies with? They're certainly not around anymore."

"I'm not entirely sure."

Nightmare leans back, looking down at the god with a calculating eye. "I don't believe you."

"You don't have to, " Error snapped. "Now, weren't we planning something?"

"Yeah, " Nightmare agrees. "We were. Now, we know Ink's planning an ambush, how are we going to react?"

Error grumbles. "I've said this too many times today, we attack before, right at their headquarters, and we steal Ink's brush." He points at a map, hand-drawn on a piece of notebook paper. "We should expand on that."

One of Nightmare's tentacles thrashes irritably. "And I say we attack after their ambush, after they've already tired themselves out."

"We'll be tired, too. That's just stupid."

"Which is why we should think about it more!"

"Give it a rest, we're attacking before."

"No, after."

"Before."

"After."

"Before!"—

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I just think the idea's neat