Monster Age: A Fantasy Epic

by GR Griffin

  “Let’s just say my manor is undergoing some slight renovation.” Lord Grill wiped his forehead with what was left of his sleeve. No wonder. The journey between their homes was not brisk, and Grill risked a heart attack whenever he had to cover the distance between his chair and the buffet table. “I need a place to stay for… a few days.”

  The master of Mineyor Manors peered over the lord’s shoulder. The soldiers and servants black and blue, the same colour as their master. “And them?”

  Grill shrugged. “My home was their home.”

  Master D. Mind squinted. “‘Was’?”

  Grill lifted his paws level with his shoulders, the thumbs and index fingers touching. “It’s a complete overhaul,” he conceived in the gentlest way possible. “Everything’s getting redone. The walls, the ceiling, the furniture – everything. The décor must be truly perfect for our return.”

  “Well, this is on very, very short notice and the mistress may make a scene out of it…” He scratched the back of his bald head and hesitated. Grill’s frown deepened, making the decision even worse for him. “But… but if you need a place that bad then I’m sure we’ve got room for everyone, as long as you don’t mind sharing…”

  Relief flowed through the bear’s features. “As long as it’s padded, it don’t matter to me.”

  “Splendid,” D. Mind said. On the surface, he was rainbows and sprinkles, but it was a mask for his infuriation. He pushed the door wider and stepped aside, beckoning them to enter. “Come in. Make yourselves at home.” The master recognised a few as they entered: that one guard with the scar on his second upper cheek; the servant who retained his stiff composure at all times; the monster who mans the door – that small one shaped like a dead weight.

  As the group entered, the bear lord leaned close to the cyclops lord and whispered, “Do you have any separate rooms? With strong walls and sturdy supports?”

  “Yes.”

  Grill shot a quick, frantic look over his shoulder as if he were afraid of someone spying on him. “And nothing with the potential to combust?” he murmured in a quieter voice.

  Master Mind took a second to respond, unknown as to whether the question poised was genuine or not. “I should think so. Why are you asking?”

  “It’s for—”

  From the dense foliage, a voice rang out. “Hey Grill! You haven’t run off on me now, have you?”

  The furs on his body went on end. The sound of that voice put him on edge. Through seizing vocal cords, he managed to finish: “—her.”

  A woman with a ponytail of red hair and an eyepatch stepped from the thick foliage, cradling in her arms a couple dozen berries ten times their regular size. Master D. Mind took a good, long look as she approached. He knew everyone in the Oasis, had connections with those outside, yet had never seen this one before.

  Undyne took hold of another berry. “All this walkin’ works up an appetite.” She tossed it into her mouth and chewed away. The berry’s soft nature did not stand a chance against teeth like hers, which were already stained red from five berries previous. “Hmm, these are good,” he mumbled.

  “Who’s she?” Master Mind asked.

  “She’s, uh, my renovation agent… or something along those lines.” Grill pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Look, that room I mentioned – stick her in it. Don’t ask me why. Just trust me on this.”

  Undyne stopped before the door. On the surface, she looked weary. The vision of somebody who had a long day and wanted nothing more than to get some shuteye. “Hey, you hooking me up with a place to crash or what?”

  Master D. Mind smiled and cupped his hands together, throwing the best pleasant façade he perfected. “I’m not so sure about the ‘crash’ part, but I do have a nice room for you to rest and relax in. Down the hall, first left, second right, and it’s the door to your other left.”

  She popped another berry into her mouth. She seemed thankful; for what reason, the master of this manor had no idea. “Sweet. Thanks a bunch,” Undyne said as she walked right in, carrying her hoard of goodies with her, dropping one on the oversized doormat. “I’ll only be staying for the night, then I’m outta here.”

  “Of course. Have a good night.”

  The fish lady gave a tired wave, and then stopped in her tracks. The sudden screech against the shiny floor made both men’s heart skip a beat. “Oh, by the way…” Undyne twisted her head to the right and glared at Master D. Mind from out the corner of her yellow eye. That angry eye focused on him filled him with dread. “You don’t have twenty wives, do you?” she asked, every word had spite behind it.

  Cold sweat broke on his scaly forehead. “Umm… no. Just the one.”

  Undyne said “Okay” in a casual, friendly voice and continued down the hall.

  Lord Grill slapped an arm around the other’s shoulder. “Sweet dreams,” he called out, waving manically at Undyne. Afraid that the slightest unpleasantness would awaken the shark within. “Breakfast will be from eight o’clock until ten-thirty. Don’t miss it.”

  Mind turned to Grill. “I have a breakfast schedule?”

  “Since five seconds ago. You’re welcome.”

  * * *

  Meanwhile, deep within Rocklyn, the soundless sleeping golem of an island rocked as the house parties, especially from A. Town, were blaring. The routine of the vegetable monsters was still in full effect: work, rest, play, repeat. It was not a house party, but house parties. Every house in town set up music, food, and entertainment, and all the population could move about and enjoy whichever place they saw fit.

  Things were different on that night, however, as the whole of the town’s populace congregated in Bub’s house, attracted by the unexpected visit from their celebrity guest.

  In the middle of the hustle and bustle, of monsters crowding and precariously balancing drinks, Alphys, Papyrus, and Sans sat at the couch, the scientist wedged between the skeletons like the filling in a sandwich. She was as timid as ever, hunched and rigid; a plastic cup in hand filled with a substance that would most likely kill her brain cells, in which she had not taken a single sip. Sans sat chilled with one leg over the armrest, nursing a bottle of ketchup taken from the restaurant across the street. This ketchup tasted odd, but in a good way. Less sugar, more tomato flavour. Like honey, smooth going down.

  Papyrus gawked at everything, a juice box with a straw in his gloved hands. “Wowie! An actual party, and it’s way past my bedtime.” His voice was drowned out by the din of voices and loud music. Mettaton on screen was performing his spectacular opening from song number twenty six of his album, named It’s Vacation Time (Vacation For Me Anyway (No Vacation For You (Burgerpants))) “Ooh, now here’s a good song!” Papyrus rattled in his seat and brought the straw to his teeth, sipping the mixture of apple and orange.

  From the thicket of guests, Bub forced his way through. His potato body made the perfect plough. “Are we enjoying ourselves, doctor?” he asked. Since that evening, his dirty vest had gotten dirtier, stained with beer and soda and fragments of potato chips.

  Alphys glanced uneasily left and right, taking in the vast amount of monsters present and the crowds that she was not used to. “Y-yeah, sure… I guess…” She raised her head up, stretching herself higher in her seat. “But… but we really shouldn’t be staying. I-I mean, it’s not like we don’t a-appreciate the hospitality – it’s just that we gotta find someone.”

  Sans leaned over, his face meeting hers. His cheekbones flushed red. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Al,” he said, sounding like a friendly drunk. Sans was a hundred percent sober – the sauce contained no alcohol whatsoever – but he liked to envision the ketchup as his addictive crutch. “Fleck can take care of themselves for a bit. How do ya think they made it through the Underground? Let’s kick back, enjoy tonight and search for them in the morning.” He pulled his head back into the cushion, looking at his brother from over Alphys’s shoulders. “Besides, Pap seems to be having fun.”

  Alphys turned from Sans
to Papyrus. He was humming along to the song. For being one of his favourites, he really did not know the lyrics very well – or at all, for that matter. Alphys sighed and lay back in her seat. Unfortunately for her, the mental clock of dilemma continued to tick, twisting her stomach and making her fingers twitch. She felt like she had sheer minutes to find Fleck, otherwise the human who she ‘guided’ through Hotland and ‘aided’ against the merciless, singing and dancing robot parading around on the flat screen, would be lost forever and it would be all her fault. Alphys tried to ignore it the best she could. Fleck will be fine, she tried to affirm to herself, but the nagging feeling persisted. She could almost sense that the human was a few dozen feet away, with the monster who kidnapped them ready to sacrifice them with some insane ritual, most likely to achieve godhood. Not so insane when, in a monsters case, that would be true.

  “Can I get you anything?” Bub asked, noticing the scientist’s deflated expression. The doctor responded with a declining wave of the claw. “Okay then. Have fun.” With that, he disappeared the best he could into the fray.

  With nothing better to do, Alphys watched the television. The recording of Mettaton’s big television debut had been on repeat since that morning. He had come a long way from preforming in the Underground. She was almost confident that upon reaching the human surface and appearing in front of a human video camera, Mettaton would have been shot down in an instant. Humans fear what they did not understand, and a robot with self-absorbed tendencies, a repertoire of (literally) killer moves, and luxurious hair was not an easy thing to comprehend. The alternative, however, took her by surprise. The humans on Earth have come to accept him, and have even gone so far as to love him, allowing him the chance to shine in his own show. Mettaton’s achievements, in some small way, were also Alphys’s. As she stood before oblivion so long ago, she believed wholeheartedly that nothing that she ever did or aspired to do would ever be accepted, not in the Underground or on the surface. Or elsewhere. Now, she had living, breathing, dancing proof that all of her doubts were for naught.

  “Hey, Doc…” Sans broke the silence that was already shattered into oblivion. His eyes remained forward on the screen. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask for a while now...”

  Alphys broke from her thoughts. “Yes, Sans?” A bead of sweat formed on her brow.

  “What are you a doctor of anyway?” After asking, Sans began to lift the nozzle up to his grinning teeth, eager for another swig.

  The doctor’s face scrunched up into the personification of an embarrassment person. She could answer that, but the real question was: would he accept it? “D-derma-dermatology,” she replied reluctantly.

  Sans stopped the bottle an inch away. Even he was surprised by that. “Really?” he asked, turning to her. He sobered up in an instant, mainly because he already was. “And you were the royal scientist?”

  “Well, there were only two people in the Underground who possessed a medical degree of some kind. The other guy – I can’t remember his name to save my life – he was the royal scientist before me. He was doing a great job until one day he j-just… vanished without a trace.”

  “Yeah… I’d bet.” Sans went sombre for a moment. “Flip the switch,” he said. Yeah, man, which one? The left or the right? You tell me. Sans tipped the nozzle between his teeth and savoured the taste as it poured in. It helped him think. Why did he install that trapdoor anyway? I told him it was pointless, not to mention dangerous, but he didn’t listen. He swallowed and followed up with, “Have you ever put your skills as a dermatologist to actual use?”

  Alphys paused, pursed her lips, and stared down into her cup. “There was that one time… Undyne needed my help to remove an embarrassing tattoo.”

  Papyrus took notice. “She used to have a tattoo, you say?” He stroked his prominent jawbone as he pondered. “Undyne and I have taken many a cooking lesson. I don’t recall seeing any tattoos. All I recall is seeing a lot of red.”

  Alphys gestured around her face. “Someone had drawn a moustache and monocle on her face while she was sleeping.” She looked down at the ground, smiled and breathed a giggle. “We found out at the very last minute that it was just pen ink. That reminds me: she never did find out who did it.”

  “Yep,” Sans added. “What happens in the Underground stays in the Underground.” He glanced to the side and winked to himself. The master prankster had gotten away with it once more.

  “Oh, by the way, Sans,” Alphys said, turning to him, “you were there when Papyrus and myself entered the teleporter. What happened after that?”

  “Yes, indeed. What happened after that, brother?”

  Sans scratched his dome. “Let me think….” He pointed at Papyrus. “First you…” Then Alphys. “then you… oh, yeah, and then Undyne.”

  “Undyne?” Alphys blurted. Her eyes behind her glasses went wide. “She went in?”

  “And then Asgore and Toriel…”

  “G-Gorey and T-T-Tori!” The cup in her hands was shaking, leaking precious liquid, staining her lab coat. Despite her loud tone, her outcries went unheeded by everyone.

  Papyrus cackled, oblivious to the grave danger the doctor could have put them in. “It’s a party and everyone’s invited!” All he could see was the bright side.

  “And then, uh… oh, right.” Sans looked away. “How do I say this?” he wondered to himself before taking another swig.

  “What? WHAT?” Alphys pushed herself up onto her knees. Usually, this kind of news would be something she did not want to hear, but in this case, she needed to know. “Tell me! Please!” Unless she found out, the world was going to collapse.

  Sans took a deep, regretful breath and let it all out at once. “Your robot entered the chamber and both of them blew up.”

  Alphys face melted into that of a truly horrified person. While her expression fell, the opposite effect happened to the taller, younger skeleton. Papyrus dropped his head back and breathed a happy sigh through his grinning teeth.

  There was no time to think because her thoughts were crammed with the worry that her friends and girlfriend could be shattered across space and time forever. The pressure was so high that it threatened to crush her skull. She needed to make it stop. Right now. The dermatologist threw her head back, opened her mouth as wide as she could, and poured the contents of her cup right into it, downing it all in down mouthful. It burned going down the throat and simmered like hot coals in her belly. After swallowing, she expelled a vicious bout of coughing.

  “Whoa, easy there, Doc,” Sans said while Papyrus gently patted her back. “That’s some powerful stuff. You should really take your time with it… not like it matters now.”

  Alphys hacked away. Her throat was on fire. She feared that her next cough would vomit up molten lava, and then she feared nothing as the substance entered her system. Opening her eyes, her vision sparkled as bright as roman candles. The edges shook as every line distorted and the colours sharpened. It felt rather nice, as if she were afloat in ether.

  “Doctor Alphys?” Papyrus voice was laced with concern. “Are you alright?”

  The scientist rolled her head back, feeling like it had lost a few hundred pounds. “Never better! Why you askin’?” She slurred her words.

  Papyrus pointed to his rows of teeth. “Because you’re smiling, that’s why.”

  It must have been the drink blocking the nerves on her face, but yes, the panicky Alphys was indeed smiling. “Oh, so I am.” She glanced down at her empty cup and giggled. “This stuff’s great!” And held it above her head and twirled it around. “What does it take for someone to get some service around here?” Her request was fulfilled in less than two seconds. A random partygoer pulled out a bottle and poured some more into the waiting cup. “Th—tanks!”

  Just as she took another mouthful, the serene piano for song number twenty seven began to rise, eloquently titled A Clever Name For The Twenty Seventh Song I Wrote to Berate Burgerpants. Out of all the songs, this was the one Al
phys was most familiar with. There was something she had always wanted to do with this song, but never had the confidence.

  Alphys handed the cup to Papyrus. She mumbled, “Here, hold this,” before slumping off the couch and stumbling across the crowded floor, bumping into everyone she crossed. Beside the TV stood a microphone on a stand. Another needed addition to succeed at Mew Mew Kissy Cutie. Alone in her laboratory, concealed under one foot thick walls, the scientist’s singing was still muted to a slight whisper, afraid that a passing bystander with abnormally sized ears would hear her pathetic attempts at harmonising. As her woeful spirit drowned in a sea of a more powerful spirit, all her fears were cast aside.

  Off-key, off-beat, off-tune, and clearly off her head, Alphys seized the mic and screeched:

  Last night, all I did was write a song

  When I’d rather, make sure you work all day long

  But as we know, a guy’s gotta make a buck

  Like you do, even know you truly suck

  The room erupted into an applause – wild hooting and hollering broken up with clapping and fist pumping – for their guest of honour.

  “Odd.” Papyrus spoke to his brother. “I’ve never seen the good doctor act this way before…”

  “And pray that you never do again, buddy,” Sans replied as the doctor’s glasses slipped down her nose and the button on her collar came loose. She yanked the microphone from its stand and struck poses as she carried on:

  What to write? How do I hone my muse?

  You’ve got me stumped. My, oh my, how do I choose?

  Just kidding! I can’t stop writing down these tunes

  As rapidly, as burgers from your pantaloons