⇨ INVASION!

[ringleaders]

Who: Everyone! But especially HARBINGERS!
When: S2:D16-22
Where: All over Wismuth!
What: As the Harbingers reveal themselves, those among the carnival that Creation has chosen will start to discover new powers within themselves. It's because they're magical girls, yo.
Warnings: Harbingers being assholes.

HARBINGERS OF VOID↴ On Day 16, the Harbingers begin revealing their new selves... in the form of wreaking havoc on the city! CY-Ren isn't looking for mass panic or serious structural damage - instead she wants constant annoyances and distractions, of the sort that will keep those that might be on her tail distracted from her true plans. However, when Creation is faced with the threat of twelve new Harbingers, it will have to fight in kind... ► HARBINGERS: Your job is to use your powers to create messes for other people to clean up! CY-Ren gives no specific instructions outside of a general framework... flex your powers! See what you can do. Don't destroy the city or anything, but give Creation a run for its money. She needs these civilians alive for her later plans. ► STAR GUARDIANS: Twelve members of the carnival have been chosen by Creation to fight in its name, even if they don't realize it yet. When confronted by the Harbinger's chaos, their Sparks will make themselves known in whatever form is appropriate to the character - and they will be asked if they are willing to use the power of their soul to fight the darkness. How this scene plays out can be flexible, but essentially they will find themselves faced with the question: are they willing to fight for the preservation of life? If they say yes, their Spark will emerge, and they will be able to trigger a magical girl transformation, as you do. ► CHARITY CONCERT: While everyone else is busy with the sudden rise of the Harbingers, CY-Ren's PR team is releasing a statement -- they will say that new information has revealed that there had been bomb threats made against the canceled concert, which are now being blamed for the damages. CY-Ren will make a personal statement, saying that in order to apologize for the failure of her previous performances, a new free to attend event is being planned for the near future - people who had tickets to the previous event and had to go home early get top priority!

Comments

[spaghettimonster]

"I don't even have a dungeon," Papyrus protests. Where would he have one? In the penthouse? It's entirely too high in the building for that. Unless the humans of Wismuth have very different building regulations.

But, as intriguing as the local zoning laws might be, he's getting caught up with inconsequential nonsense. Which would be fine, if it was distracting enough people. But here and now? It's just Sans.

...In a strange place, with no ground, no gravity, and no apparent exit. If he handles this badly, would Sans get away, and leave him trapped here? That would be even worse than being stuck back at the carnival.

"And that's not important! Stop distracting me." Papyrus exclaims, then forces himself to calm down a little. Spreads his arms imploringly, trying to draw Sans' attention back to him - look, his hands are empty of bones or fresh dust, nothing to attack with. They're still just talking. "The important thing is... Well, I could try to ma-- help you understand what I'm feeling! So you feel it, too. Then you can decide, yourself."

Probably Sans would protest if Papyrus frames it as making him do anything, considering. And... he's not completely sure if his powers work like that. But they do offer influencing emotions, pushing specific sorts of hallucinations, and so on. It might work.

[osteothropy]

The profound weariness on Sans's face in response to that offer is clear, and not just because Papyrus was just trying to drug him with magic dust. He's still testing his eyes, blinking them heavily in an effort to stay focused, but right now taking a nap would be so much easier than dealing with this shit.

"Bro... You know I really don't want to get my head messed up again," he says, exhaling slowly. He can't see any way out of this that isn't a confrontation. "That just sounds like it'd be asking for it. As much... as I know you want me to understand right now."

This is stupid. He already knows, from experience, that there will probably be no convincing Papyrus of anything when he's like this. Sans doesn't know the objective truth, but he knows that giving up on people like this isn't what his brother has been about. Basically ever.

"You never would have given up on everyone like this on your own. That's supposed to be my schtick, right?"

Please, please just go back to being normal.

[spaghettimonster]

Papyrus can see it in his brother's face, before he even talks. Polite refusal, but still refusal. And that pitying way of trying to talk him around... It's as awful as he'd thought it would be.

He drops his arms to his side, slouching. A picture of disappointment. And casually tucks his hands behind his back, behind his cape.

"But I was on my own," he says, softly. Explaining with words, or maybe confessing away the last of his own hesitations. One last shot, while he prepares to fight his brother. For real. For the... first, only time.

A bone forms in his hand behind his cape, held carefully vertically. Deeply red, sharper than usual, and filled with pain. Dust from it - even broken off by colliding with a skeleton - should conjure memories of injuries, of breaking things in anger, of grief and loss. Maybe even strong enough memories to be lived through. It's not as gentle as he'd hoped to be, but... they don't get what they want.

"Completely on my own. Nobody came to push me around, or talk me to a different view, or anything. It was all me, and nothing else. Remembering my life." He's facing Sans, but his eyesockets fix a little away on memories. "All the things you got, and I didn't, and... unable to hide from it. The way I usually do."

[osteothropy]

Sans has no idea what Papyrus can do, yet. Not besides some kind of sleep related magic, which much have a more cohesive theme, because sleeping sure as hell doesn't seem like what his Spark would be based around. Unless it was a passionate hatred.

Sans spreads his wings, steeling himself. His aura thickens, projecting inner strength to the outside, getting ready for when an attack inevitably happens. He knows it's coming but he doesn't know in what form it will be. He can't guarantee he'll be able to dodge it.

The weight of angelic judgement fills the air as Sans holds himself aloft, looking at Papyrus, visibly heartbroken.

"Please don't do this," he says quietly.

[spaghettimonster]

His feelings on sleep have turned around a lot, lately, thanks to Sans. He's gone from hatred to conflicted to begrudgingly grateful; they're a lesser evil. A lesser, necessary evil. Merciful, compared to other things. But sleep's merely a mechanism for delivering dreams where the dreamer won't hurt themselves, walking around and making mistakes. Blissful ignorance.

Something he doesn't get to have anymore, anymore than he gets to go without that look on his brother's face. He doesn't want to do this. He isn't even sure, yet, what he's going to do. Hurt him, obviously. Kill him...

"What else am I supposed to do, walk away?" Papyrus asks, defensive and irritated about it, and he spreads an arm to encompass their dim and nearly featureless surroundings. It's just them, and the dust slowly spreading.

His fine control with his bullets would let him fling ordinary bones at his brother without hurting him as much as he pleased... but does that extend to these powers, which he's still figuring out? Oh, he really doesn't want to have that extra pain weighing on him through the end of things. He wants to go back to the penthouse, laughing and plotting with Carly.

"Y-You brought us here. Give me an out, if you want to stick around hurting for the rest of time."

[osteothropy]

"I don't have an out," he says, the rush of fear and anticipation enough to sharpen his senses again. "If I let you do this... I'll be gone. I kinda promised myself I'd try to stay alive."

It hurts more than he can say, having Papyrus essentially telling him that he'd be better off dead. That they both would be. He has to believe this is all something his brother will regret later, if he ever gets the chance.

He doesn't want to strike first anymore. Let him keep that one off his conscious. Or maybe he just lost his nerve.

"You take me out... there's nowhere to go, either. You're gonna have to live with it, bro."

[spaghettimonster]

It's briefly flattering, hearing Sans' reasons why he's refusing to let Papyrus leave. That he considers his brother to be such a big player in all of this... that capturing him could be enough to prevent the end. Or prolong it, long enough for the rest of Sans' life.

Then the first phrase echoes through his skull, and Papyrus screeches.

"There isn't an exit!? Even if you're knocked out? Dead? You're planning to just... keep me in here??"

It's nearly the same fate he'd planned for his brother, but on the receiving end it's maddening and unacceptable. Aware that he's been baited and taunted and challenged, and furious at the idea of not doing what he's supposed to do, after all the pain he went through to get this awakening... Papyrus pings himself forward, launching himself at Sans and swinging that bone wildly.

[osteothropy]

Well, it's more complicated than that, but Papyrus can think about it however he likes. Realistically, Sans just feels like Papyrus is the Harbinger he is most personally responsible for dealing with. It's a family thing.

But, Sans doesn't get much chance to elaborate on anything, because Papyrus is immediately reacting with utter outrage, and finally going for the attack. Sans pulls what is probably the expected response, and teleports out of the way, placing himself behind his brother instead.

Then, he summons up his own bones, infused with angelic energy and glowing a bright gold. He brings them down in a cage formation, trying to trap Papyrus rather than hurt him. Meanwhile, he puts some distance between the two of them on wing, though he knows the physical limits of this dimension will come into play if he pushes it too far.

[spaghettimonster]

That's fair, the family thing is why they keep trying to look out for each other. It's why they spent so long talking, both hoping to convince the other to switch sides. And Sans has so many eyes to be looking out with, of course he'd be even more focused on the task.

Papyrus has an inkling of his brother's intentions here, not least because of the cage of bones forming up around him... Though his thoughts frame it more as, Sans is pulling some turnabout nonsense, an exchange for the Manor business. Thinking his poor little brother, so hurt and confused that he mustn't really know what he's doing, needs to be kept harmless and safe.

But it's not the same at all. Even past his responsibility, even past the pain... Unlike Sans, Papyrus struggles to sleep at the best of times. To be stuck in this place, floating and immune to his own dust, no stimuli to focus on and no ability to escape...?

Stuck alone in the Void, again, but to no purpose...?

"Don't you dare," he screams fear and pain, swinging with the charged bone at the bones of one wall, intent on shattering them.

[osteothropy]

Maybe in a different situation the bones would have held. Maybe if Papyrus wasn't so charged, and Sans wasn't so put off. After all, the magic is an extension of him. The bones don't have strength beyond what he can put into them.

Papyrus is right, that was his plan. Catch him in the bones just long enough to get out of there, and take the pocket dimensiomn back to the carnival. He doesn't understand the context for why the idea would make Papyrus as upset as it does - why being alone in the darkness would be so familiar and terrifying. He's never had Papyrus scream at him like that before. He's not sure if he's ever heard Papyrus be that genuinely afraid.

If Papyrus ever tells him, later, it will make him sick to his soul. Right now, though, just hearing that reaction is enough to stun him. All the reaction time in the world can't save him if he doesn't know what to do.

The bones crack and fizzle into rings of radiant light, while Sans just stares.

[spaghettimonster]

As the bones crack and shatter around him, Papyrus spins to break more of them just because he can, he can break them and free himself and--!

The bone splinters as it crashes against them, Papyrus punctuating the cracks with furious muttered refusals, and once he's surrounded by red dust and fading lights he turns to look for his brother. His jailer. And the anger he's unable to feel at CY-Ren or the Void, thanks to her geased loyalty, churns up and projects onto this next best target.

Trapped, helpless, in pain, and here's the cause of it, a thought says. There's no way out of it.

Once you destroy everything, there won't be any more pain.

He shivers as more bones form a ring around him, finally letting go of the assumption he needs to hold these heavier physical bones. In this place, without gravity, there's no need to. They're not bullets, but they're bone magic and his. They'll follow his commands as any other would.

The bone barrage hurls through the space between them, the bones traveling in pairs such that they'll collide along the way, to shatter into a field of shrapnel. They're filled with anger and pain, still, but also the nightmares of a cracked and broken skeleton, of being alone and forgotten.

[osteothropy]

He had one ace in the hole here, the gift from the Ringmaster that's been securely around his neck this whole debacle. It's purpose was straight forward - it could deflect a single, lethal attack each day. He'd only had to use it once before, to protect against a void creature that had attacked him while he spied on the Penthouse, but it seemed like a good fit. Sans's strategy wasn't to soak damage, it was to avoid it.

One hit could make all the difference with him. Here, though - this isn't one hit. It's done with a killing intent that Sans had never anticipated, and it's all over the place. While the scarab necklace dutifully springs to life, warding off the very beginning of the assault, he already knows it won't be enough. He can sense his own death on the horizon, just as clearly as he had for any lost soul back in Portland.

Maybe he could have teleported away, in the time the scarab bought for him. But, the thing is... it could protect him from the shrapnel, but it didn't protect him from the toxic dust created by it. His world starts sinking into something paralyzingly dark before the pendant's protection has even given out. When it does... it almost seems like it will be a relief.

The soul knows. It's the monster species' greatest weakness. There's no way he can be meant to survive such vicious killing intent from his own brother.

He feels the emotional pain more than he feels the physical part. He doesn't even really know what happens to his body, after the strikes, though on the outside it's more clear - bones peppered into dust by sharp edges, leaking bright blue ectoplasm along side. The lack of floor or walls means that he's just left floating when it's finished, the worst wounds already starting to break apart and disintegrate, as all monsters do.

His remaining hand clutches at his face, one pinprick eye still focused on Papyrus as everything falls apart. He's practically numb with despair. The light of his wings and halo flicker and go out, releasing into a faint gold aura around the two of them.

"M-Maybe you're right," is all he can manage, before willfully letting go.

[spaghettimonster]

It doesn't go quiet immediately; a few of the bone fragments keep colliding, fragmenting further as they spread through the dark space.

But it does, eventually, and then there's no sound except Papyrus' movements, those of a skeleton still shaking. Trembling, the one splintered bone still loose in his hand.

"About... what?" he asks, voice rough - from all the screaming, maybe.

Something's wrong with his thinking. He stares at the familiar clothing and personal effects floating in that dust cloud like he expects an answer. As though this was a trick, as though Sans teleported somewhere at the last second, and the mass of dust was residue from the void bones. Or, maybe, like the time with the wolf - and he was secretly unconscious in the pile of his own dust.

Papyrus reaches a hand into the cloud to confirm: dust like a monster's, mixed with that awful blue slime he bleeds these days. No hidden brother, no note left behind. No signs or sounds of Wismuth reappearing around him.

...It seems Sans was telling the truth. There's still no way out.

"No, no no, no no no," he desperately denies, twisting and turning to look in every direction. No exit, no exit, no brother and no exit and there's nothing. It's dim and featureless, nothing but him and the slowly expanding cloud of dust. He bursts away, blue magic propelling him into the space, but something about it seems to twist and turn back on itself as the woods around the carnival do.

Papyrus exhausts himself, moving around and trying to make something change. Forming bones of any type - void-touched, white or blue, perfect volleys or frantically misshapen constructs - and flinging them into the distance. Even summoning a blaster, shooting light into the dim ambiguous distance.

Nothing works.

The space fills with bones, at least, it doesn't stay featureless and forcing himself in on himself... and he could cover his face to hide from the dust...

But after some time - an hour? Two? More? - he remembers there's no need to hide from this. This is what's supposed to happen. What needs to happen. It wasn't the way he'd wanted, the timing... but what were those hopes but dreams, and what were dreams but the lies of existence? He's been here before. He already learned this. Playing games along the way was fine, but losing his focus... just made everything hurt again, even worse.

He lets his bone constructs dissolve, and stares at the cloud of dust as it grows thinner and thinner, until he's almost staring at the Void again.



Several hours later, the pocket dimension collapses in a nondescript street in Wismuth, expelling a cloud of dust. A small heap of things covered in dusty blue goo - clothing, a scarab pendant, various personal belongings - fall together into a fire lane. A skeleton, hidden under a human-shaped glamour, lands nearby and breathes for the first time in half a day... then walks away.

Beyond the artificial lights dotting the city, it's getting dark.