Chapter Text
He couldn't keep this up much longer.
He was built for magic, for stealth, for ambush! Not endurance. He'd never compared to the others when it came to endurance!
Yet, the others weren't here; it was him, and him alone.
..Him alone against them.
Dust weaved through a crowd of people. He was in a city; it wasn't ideal, but he had no choice. Some kept their distance, while others didn't bother, walking past him without so much as a glance. Life sucked for everyone; he was no different, in their eyes. Why would they help him? Why should they risk their lives for him? Well, they didn't; there was no point in asking.
Feeling sparks of magic to his right, he swerved left. It would take him through a playground, where dozens of little kids were running around trying to maul eachother, or whatever kids did these days. It was of no concern to him. He bolted through, sidestepping whatever children he could; tripping over them would slow him down far too much to recover. He let out a growl as more of them got in his way, all of them smiling just a bit too widely to be genuine; he needed to move faster! For the quickest way out of this place, he would have had to teleport, but his magic reserves were nearly gone—too risky. So instead, he ran, just as he'd been running for weeks now. He hated running; he hated it more than anything else, but what else could he do? Go back to that monster? Go back, and be studied like a rat in a lab again?! He couldn't. He couldn't, no matter how hard they tried to break him.
No one could.
He pushed past the last kid and hopped up on top of the monkey bars, using the playground equipment as easy access to a tree. If he was right..yes, he could get to a rooftop from here, and that would give him some kind of advantage.
Would it really, though, or would he just break his legs trying to jump down?
"Agh!" Dust stumbled, nearly falling as his hands gripped his skull; his only saving grace was the fact that he fell against the trunk of the tree. "Get out of my head!"
He didn't have a chance in the world; did he really think he could escape? What a fool.
A whimper escaped him, but he was in no pain. He..he had to get farther away. He had to run faster.
He pushed off from the tree trunk, sprinting over a sturdy branch to jump to the nearest rooftop; he could get a better view from there. After landing, he looked ahead of him. There were skyscrapers in the distance—unhelpful right now. Closer, he saw a couple businesses, a hospital, and the entrance to a shopping center. Maybe he could lose them among the shops-
He saw a drop of paint in the corner of his eye, and he barely dropped in time to avoid the oncoming barrage of the stuff; he couldn't let that touch him! They were close—too close to make it to the shopping center. Dust ran for the edge of the rooftop, hopping down and grabbing the edge to make the fall more bearable. It was just a one-story building; he was fine. He landed on a sidewalk, ignored by most of the people there. Nobody cared about him. No one ever cared. No one but-
He shook the thought away, turning to run down the walkway. He was getting tired; he must have been running for half an hour by now, or longer..when had he last slept? Had it been..before Killer had been caught?
If only Killer were here now; he was the best at shaking these guys. But then again, he'd been caught; Dust was the only one left now! How had that happened? He..didn't know. They'd been separated, and Dust had been the only one to escape. He didn't know how Killer had been caught; it should have been him. He wasn't as agile as Killer; he couldn't do what Killer could do. And now, it looked as if he would be caught, too.
No. No, he couldn't! He had to make it out of this! He had to escape!
But he had nowhere to go. Everything was either too far or too risky; he needed somewhere with few people, many exits, and enough open space to run freely—and cover to hide behind. But nothing was good enough! He didn't know what to do! He didn't know cities well enough to navigate them like this; he'd always relied on the others for that. But..they were gone, now; it was just him. If only Killer hadn't been captured; he would have had a plan! He..he would've..
What would Killer have done?
Gritting his teeth, Dust turned, darting down an alleyway. He knew what Killer would do: he'd pick the stupidest option available and run with it. And right now? It might have worked. Dust came out next to a parking garage, hopping over a concrete barrier and starting his way towards the door.
Hospitals were one of Dust's least favorite places to be. They reminded him of everything bad he'd ever experienced, from the smells to the equipment to the pure feel of the place. The lobby would be open enough, but once he got farther in, he'd have to deal with tighter halls and smaller rooms. As for exits, there wouldn't be much accessible unless he stayed on the ground floor, and he couldn't risk that. And people..there would be far too many for his liking. But hospitals were always filled with negativity, whether from fearful families of patients, the patients themselves, or the staff. Few were ever happy in these places, and as a result? It might have been strong enough for his own fear to blend in. He hated crowds—he hated people, but right now, he couldn't avoid them.
People..they were worse now than they'd ever been before. With negativity permeating the multiverse the way it did, it wasn't their fault, but Dust could blame them anyway. People lied, betrayed, and hurt, and they never seemed to stop. It was probably worse here. "Do no harm"? What a joke.
He ran through a metal detector. It beeped, but he didn't care; the security in this place couldn't do a thing to him. They wouldn't bother once they saw who was chasing him, anyway—might even root for him, if they had any decency left in them. As soon as he reached a staircase, he started heading up; there was no time to waste. His footsteps echoed through the stairwell as he ran up floor after floor, only reaching the fifth floor by the time his pursuers entered the area; it would have to do. When the door closed, Dust was already halfway down the hall, turning down another corridor to get farther from the stairs. Rushing past all these doctors, patients, and nurses felt..uncomfortable. It reminded him of the place from which he was running. The smell was similar, too, but maybe less reminiscent of blood and dust—just a little. He opened a door to a section of the floor, rushing through-
Only to collide with a nurse head-on. He and the human both fell to the ground, staring at eachother with surprise as a bag of medical supplies spilled between them. Dust's exhausted bones welcomed the fall to the floor, as his gaze drifted up to his hit obstacle. The human seemed..more confused than frightened, but within only a second, her confusion faded, being replaced by..pity? Dust must have looked bad. Well, he had cause.
"You're..running from them, aren't you?" The human asked; it was a far cry from the reactions he was used to, but it had been decades since he'd been seen in the open multiverse, after all, and this nurse didn't look that old..
Dust scowled at the tiles beneath him; he couldn't stay here on the floor, no matter how tired he was. He started to push himself up, but his legs wobbled; they didn't want to go, instead dragging him back down onto his knees. Was this really..the end?
"Hey." One of the human's hands grabbed his wrist, and the nurse dragged him to his feet. "Come with me."
Dust clenched a fist, starting to pull back from the human, but the sound of a certain artist's voice in the distance made him pause. The nurse frowned at him, but all Dust could see were her eyes. He was no emotion expert, but he'd been forced to learn a lot since...everything. And seeing those eyes was foreign to him—so foreign that he'd nodded, letting the nurse take him down the hall. The human's plan was rather simple, but Dust couldn't have come up with anything better; she'd stuffed him in the back corner of a storage closet, tucking him behind some shelves holding boxes of medical equipment.
"Stay here." She directed. "Maybe..maybe it'll be okay."
With that sliver of hope, the nurse left him. Dust leaned against the wall of the corner he was in, letting out a breath he must have been holding since the start of this whole thing. Once he was calm, he closed his eyesockets, and he did everything he could to mute his emotions. There was no way to turn them off completely—many had tried—but putting conscious effort into this would make it far more difficult for that tyrant to find him. So Dust thought about the mundane—the points in his life that hadn't meant anything at all to anyone, especially him. Cold nights reading subpar novels, spending ten hours standing outside a door because it was his "duty," eating breakfast alone in his pajamas. Those moments didn't have any significance at all; thinking about them didn't make him feel anything, and as a result, that tyrant of an empath would have a hard time tracking down his "scent" again. This whole building must have been steeped with fear; looking for terror would lead that psychopath nowhere.
Dust could hear the nurse outside the door, speaking with a coworker about a patient down the hall. He didn't know why she was sticking around.
..Maybe he did.
There was a balance in the multiverse, one between positive and negative emotion. The tyrant kept it constantly tilted toward the negative side, but he never let it get too far; he wanted positive emotions to have their place, after all. He wanted sadism, guilty pleasures, vengeance, and all the happy little evils that plagued the world now, after all; they fed him far more than anger or joy could ever. But..that small window of positivity sometimes let other emotions inside, despite his best efforts. So Dust knew why the nurse had gone out of her way to save him; it was why he'd let her lead him in the first place, what he'd seen in her eyes.
She had compassion.
She was probably the only person in a twenty mile radius to even know the meaning of the word, but she did. It had been ages since Dust had seen something so pure in this world..it almost made him want to smile.
Almost.
He remained neutral as the footsteps of his pursuers passed the closet door, and he refused to be enthralled by the tyrant's aura when he, too, passed. He would be found soon regardless. If only he had some time to rest; maybe then he would have hope.
..Hope. He sounded like everyone else he'd ever met, didn't he? Hope was what fueled the multiverse now; it was all anyone had. The tyrant had made it so; he'd found that, when people thought there was hope, he liked them best. Hopeless masses fought back too hard, often thinking there was a better chance in anarchy and war than in a horrid life with no joy at all, and those who had too much took it for granted, fighting just as hard because they thought they knew they could win. Somehow, though, the tyrant had struck just the right balance all those years ago. The people of the multiverse had hope, yes, but just a sliver; they weren't foolish enough to believe they could dethrone him, but they wished for a day when someone stronger then they—a hero—would come along and do just that.
Their hero would never come. But he kept them believing that, despite the reality that lay right before their eyes. There was no one bold enough to stand up to him.
"What's in here?" Not even the former Protector.
"A closet?" The nurse replied. "It's just medical equipment; why do you ask?"
"Show me."
"..It's kind of a mess in-"
"Open the door."
After a moment of hesitation, the door opened. Dust wasn't visible from the entrance, but he doubted a simple look would suffice for this one. As his enemy took a couple steps inside, Dust had to evaluate his situation. He didn't have a weapon to defend himself, and his magic reserves were close to empty. His body was exhausted, having been pushed far past its limits already. What situation was there to evaluate? He had no chance, short of-
They locked eyes. Dust's tired, dull, bicolored eyelights stared into the ever-changing, sharp eyelights of the right hand of the multiverse's tyrant king, the former Protector himself.
"Ink.." Dust breathed out the name as the other approached.
"Gave us a run for our money." The other commented, kneeling down to grab Dust's wrists.
"I-Ink..please.." Dust had nothing left. "You have choice! I know you do..I-I've seen it. You.."
"I'm not letting you go."
Dust struggled as Ink poured some paint onto his wrists, the liquid starting to solidify immediately; it was no use. "Ink, please! You can't take me back; you can't! You know what he'll do to me—you know! Haven't I suffered enough?!"
"..Just a little longer."
Ink dragged Dust out of the closet into the hall with that phrase; Dust didn't understand it. He was too hysterical to acknowledge it much at all, using the last shreds of his strength to uselessly pull away from Ink's grip. He couldn't break free; he could hardly walk. Yet, his fear pressed him to try futile escape once more regardless. His fear was founded. Ink was going to take him to the tyrant, and that was the last person anyone wanted to see—his tormentor of decades, the one who had taken everything from him and the others.
"No!" Dust yelled uselessly. "No, please, please let me go, please, Ink!"
Ink kept walking, and Dust screamed and begged all the way to the end, when he was faced with the tyrant, whose aura felt so much stronger now that he could just reach out and touch Dust. And the moment he did, Dust fell to his knees, head bowed as he resigned himself to his fate. He could never escape now; it had been a stupid idea, anyway. At least..he would see the others again. Yeah..it would be nice to see them again.
Dust smiled.
"Mostly unharmed.." The tyrant commented, looking over the prisoner. "Nice work, Ink. Take him back, now; I'm sure he's ready to go back home. Aren't you, Dust?"
"..Mhm." The prisoner nodded, letting Ink lift him to his feet.
"So compliant—that's why I like you, Dust! I'll be sure to visit you soon! Won't that be nice?"
Another small nod. Ink led the prisoner through a portal back to the castle, and the tyrant let out an accomplished sigh, glancing over to the ghost who floated beside him.
"I'll never get tired of watching that." The spirit admitted. "The way they crumble.."
"You won't be seeing it again for a while." The tyrant informed, entering a portal of his own. "I don't think escape will be on their minds too much now."
"You're no fun, Shattered." The ghost sighed. "Could've at least followed them."
The king let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he entered his room. He sat on his windowsill, looking out upon the innermost reaches of his empire. The ghost hovered outside the window, his transparent golden eyelights staring into Shattered's one.
"Ink has it handled." The king replied. "Besides, I have better things to do than to spend my days watching prisoners in the dungeon."
"I don't." The ghost reminded.
Always so strong-willed, this one. Shattered appreciated it; he'd been the one to teach him, after all. This Dream was nothing like the Guardian of Positivity the multiverse had once known.
"I'll take you to see him tomorrow." Shattered decided. "You deserve it, I suppose."
Almost, anyway.
The spirit gasped, grinning at the thought. "Oh, I can't wait! Nighty's gonna be so happy!"
The ghost began to float around the room, thinking about a visit with his brother, and Shattered simply watched. If he could, the other would have spent every moment of every day with his twin, but unfortunately for him, he was bound to Shattered, forced to follow where he went. It was the same for his twin, of course: Nightmare—the real Nightmare—was bound to stay near the one who had taken his body, too, but with that one being stuck as a stone statue in the dungeon, he and his brother, the real Dream, didn't get to see eachother often. Dream had been utterly soulbroken when Shattered had cast that spell, but it had been the lost guardian's first step into corruption, and for that, Shattered couldn't complain about all the whining.
"Dream." Shattered addressed, taking the ghost out of his daydreaming.
"What?" The other responded, turning to glance at the thief of his body.
"After we come back tomorrow, I'm going to have you spy on Ink. He's planning something, and I want to know what it is."
"He's always planning something!" Dream sighed. "Why don't you just kill him? It would be so much easier."
"But far less amusing, and horrible for my reign. He's the people's only hope, Dream; I couldn't possibly snuff him out now."
Dream rolled his eyelights, but he relented. "Fine."
"Good. You're a valuable asset, Dream; don't forget that."
"You could've just said thanks."
"..Thank you."
With that, Dream quieted, and Shattered continued to enjoy his view. Ink was Shattered's best soldier, though he would never be fully loyal. He betrayed the king at least once a month, but Shattered always came out on top, and Ink always lost. Someday, Ink would lose the will to fight, but Shattered hoped it wouldn't come soon; he enjoyed the plans and plots of his right hand, after all! But he did need Dream to watch that artist to ensure he would never be surprised. Dream couldn't be perceived by anyone but Shattered and his brother, which made him indispensable when it came to things like this; everyone thought the Dream they'd once known was dead, after all. And in a way, he was: he would never live again as he once had.
The rest of the evening was peaceful. Shattered chose to stay in his room, seeing no reason to leave, since there was no more work to be done right now. The former gang's escape had been an important matter, but it had been the only important matter for a while, and now, it was over. Shattered preferred the quiet. He liked it when everything went according to plan without a hitch, and more often than not, he got his wish. Nightmare had always been such a workaholic, spending all his time in control working instead of enjoying the fruits of his labors. Shattered was nothing like him; he was proof that age meant nothing when it came to wisdom.
The next day arrived with the dull light of a cloud-covered sun. The castle felt normal today—no surplus of fear, no overwhelming positivity. It was the way Shattered liked it. He could even feel some of his favorite emotions pooling in the dungeon; the escapees were getting back into the swing of things! It must have been so hard to deny their LV out there. Shattered smiled at the thought, pulling on his coat before entering the halls. Dream let out a whine when he was pulled away from a book he'd been enjoying, but he didn't argue; he'd learned well not to do that. Dream had limited ability to impact the world, just as his brother did; that one had taught him, and Shattered really didn't mind. So what if Dream could pick up a book and read it? He rarely did anything out in the open, and if he did, it was always to mess with someone. He never tried to ask for help, and for that, Shattered allowed him to do as he pleased.
"When are we going to go see Nighty?" Dream asked, as Shattered walked in the opposite direction from what he'd hoped.
"Later." The king replied. "I have things to do right now."
Dream sighed, but he followed along; he had no choice. Shattered and he had found that Dream could stray no more than twenty-five feet from his body, which gave him little room for free roaming. Still, it was enough to allow him to easily spy on others, as long as Shattered could keep himself hidden nearby. Sure, Shattered could do his own spying, but people tended to feel watched when Shattered did it himself, and there was nothing when Dream did it. It helped a lot. And it meant that later, when Dream would spy on Ink, the former Protector would have no idea.
Speaking of Ink, he was in Shattered's throne room when he arrived, waiting for him. That was unusual.
"Ink." Shattered addressed. "You're early."
"..So I am." The right hand of the multiverse replied.
Wait..surely, he wasn't enacting one of his plots now? Ink had only just rebelled last week; he typically waited at least three weeks between his plans. Unless..
Unless that had been some kind of ruse to catch Shattered off-guard now.
"He has something." Dream alerted. "I..I don't know what it is, but I can sense it..be careful."
"Ink, I don't like your stance." Shattered kept calm, smiling at the other. "Are you really trying something again so soon? Was breaking every bone in your body not enough to deter you?"
Ink didn't respond. That wasn't typical; usually, he had a whole heroic speech lined up about how he was going to end Shattered's reign once and for all! What was he doing..? With silence, Ink unsheathed his brush. Shattered prepared himself for anything, when Ink began to finally speak.
"It's been a long time since I became the Protector of this world." Ink sighed, using his brush to begin painting on the floor. "I never knew everything I could do—everything I could really, really do. I probably still don't, but..I'll learn, once you're gone. I'll be the Protector this multiverse deserves..and I'll start by getting rid of you."
Shattered let out a small chuckle. "And how do you propose to do that, Ink? We both know I can best you in combat any day of the week! Are you just out of ideas?"
"..I don't have to fight you, Shattered; I never did. Wish I'd known this sooner.."
"Shattered.." Dream was afraid. "I..I feel weird.."
Shattered did, too..but he didn't know why. Ink kept painting-
No. Not painting...writing. He was writing with symbols, slowly across the floor. If this was all, then Shattered just had to take his brush, right? That would be simple. Shattered lunged forth, and swiftly, he relieved the Protector of his brush. Did Ink really think some magic-infused symbols would stop him? Shattered shook his head, but Ink's expression didn't change a bit.
"Ink, you really are running out of ideas, aren't-" Shattered's words came to a screeching halt as Ink lifted the carpet that led to Shattered's throne, revealing line after line of the same symbols he'd been trying to write.
The floor was covered. The symbols repeated over and over, and although Shattered couldn't read them, he somehow knew what it all spelled for him.
Banishment.
"..I'm sorry, Dream." Ink looked down. "I tried to save you, but..it didn't work out. Goodbye, old friend..I'll miss you."
With those words, Shattered's senses stopped working. He saw nothing, heard nothing, felt..nothing. Was this the end? Him, bested by some ancient Protector magic that even Ink himself hadn't known about until now? Was this death? Was this the end? It had all happened so fast; he had hardly registered anything happening at all. He'd been just fine until Ink had uncovered those markings; he must have been up all night making them. It was a good plan: doing something that Shattered couldn't possibly defend himself against. He could have banished him in the middle of the night, and he wouldn't have been any the wiser. Ink had wanted the last word, though, and so he had waited. Or maybe..he had just wanted to bid farewell to Dream. It didn't matter anymore, though; Shattered was probably dead, now—Dream, too. This must have been death.
No..wait. He felt something..
It felt cold—cold and slushy. Light began to shine beyond his eyesocket. Was he..not dead? Shattered moved his hand, grasping whatever he was lying in; it felt like..snow? He was alive, huh? But..where? Was he in a different universe? No, it felt too positive for that, and Ink wouldn't just cast a spell to banish Shattered from a single universe; it must have been the whole multiverse.
But, then..did that mean there were more multiverses? Ones separate from his own? Was this one of them? Shattered opened his eyesocket, and he found himself looking up at a familiar scene: Snowdin's forest. Well, it seemed other multiverses could be similar, perhaps? That, or Ink really did accidentally send him to a different universe. Shattered sat up, finding his ghostly companion nearby; Dream hadn't yet gained his bearings, only starting to come around. It was odd, for a ghost, but then again, that entire spell had been odd..
If this was a different multiverse, had Ink meant to do this? Or did he not know? Shattered couldn't imagine that Ink had intended to unleash him upon a brand new world to conquer. Yes, Ink was probably oblivious..which meant he wouldn't come looking for Shattered. As far as Ink was concerned, he'd just killed Shattered; there was no reason he would come here, then. And that meant..Shattered had a new world to conquer. He grinned, remembering the thrill of molding his empire in the beginning. Oh, yes..he'd love to do that again.
"Oh, hello, stranger! May I have your na-" The voice stopped short as Shattered turned to it.
He'd reacted on instinct to defend himself, his senses highly wary in this new place. He had no idea what this new multiverse would hold for him, after all; he couldn't be too risky. But..admittedly, he didn't have to react like that. He hadn't had to stab one of his tentacles through the soul of whoever had come close..but he had. And now, hanging limply on a tentacle skewered through his soul, gasping for life as the light drained from his eyelights..
Was the Dream of this world.
~~~chapter end woot~~~
Shattered sausage is banished!
Thanks for reading my banishing writing!
Bye!