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Aeon hails from an Undertale timeline in which he was its undoing. As a result, he was trapped within an empty plane of existence for untold eons. It would take all of that time for him to eventually escape, through seemingly impossible means.


Ever since Papyrus was but a small child, it seemed as though he had always had quite the boisterous fascination with the Royal Guard. From the moment he had learned of their role within the Underground, all that he wanted was to be apart of their ranks. They received so much love and attention, while basking in the glory of their righteous duties. All of this and more was what the young Papyrus desired, total admiration and respect from all those lucky enough to lay eyes upon him. Hence why for as long as he lived, he'd never halt in his attempts to join the Royal Guard. For the years of his childhood through the sprouting ages of his young adolescence, he trained everyday so that he could fulfill his dreams. Unfortunately however, "training" was a bit of an overstatement, as he was actually quite the pathetic warrior. All he knew was flailing about and exclaiming his war-cry, which was much more akin to the sounds of a pained goose. In all honesty, Papyrus was making no real progress, but he somehow had the stubborn belief within his head that he was. The closest he ever came to realizing he wasn't getting anywhere was when he felt that his body was becoming rusty. By his own optimistic perception, it was undoubtedly because he needed to increase the rigor of his training. And he only knew of one person that he believed to be capable of giving him a true challenge, the Captain of the Royal Guard herself, "Undyne The Undying."

Thusly, he proceeded to request that she train him...By standing outside of her house for a whole day and night until she'd eventually give him a response. For the entire time, he did nothing but scream and beg for her to take him under her wing. It was quite a piteous display, which was what might've aroused her to finally answer his pleas. And believe it or not, she actually agreed to become his mentor. But they wouldn't exactly be training as he would've imagined. Instead, she had somehow coerced him into taking cooking lessons from her. Perhaps due to a combination of his naivety and hubris, he was still more than happy to have received this opportunity. Obviously, Undyne must've seen that The Great Papyrus' prowess was already so overwhelming, that not even she could be of any assistance to his supreme potential. Unsurprisingly, this notion only fueled his avidity, motivating him to continue his own training. In fact, at some point he even managed to create his own signature Special Attack. He thought it to be so spectacular that if he showed it to Undyne, she'd just have to let him into the Royal Guard. He certainly appreciated her cooking lessons, but he couldn't help but feel as though his true talent was going to waste. Alas, there did happen to be somewhat of a hindrance to his goal...Each time he tried to perform this attack, his efforts were foiled by a small white Annoying Dog that always ran up and stole his bone. The first few times, Papyrus was only surprised and even a little humored. But after the sixteenth time, it became infuriating. Nevertheless, he couldn't let that irritating mongrel stop him from claiming his future as a Royal Guardsman. So at last, one day whilst he was visiting Undyne, he proclaimed that he was ready to join the Royal Guard, and he knew just how to convince her. Of course, Undyne was rather skeptical, but she reluctantly humored him anyhow. And so without any hesitation, he prepared to showcase his Special Attack.

But just as he was about to, that annoying dog once again stole his bone. Consequently, that was the last straw for Papyrus. Instead of just letting the dog escape this time, he chose to wildly run after it, ready to give it a good piece of his mind. In spite of the good chase that he gave the dog however, it seemed impossible to catch. All over the Snowdin Forest he followed it through many nonsensical twists and turns. Actually, Papyrus happened to barge through many little obscure places in which he had never been to before. If he wasn't currently chasing after this dog in a blind rage, he surely would've taken the time to admire these hidden locations. But eventually, this pursuit of his would lead him to a rather unnerving discovery. He had came across a sizable hole in the side of one of the forest's layers. It looked rather deep, akin to that of dark cavern. Truly, it was quite a daunting sight for Papyrus. Yet, as he heard the faint sounds of barking coming from within the opening, conviction replaced his doubt. He knew that dastardly mutt had to be stopped, otherwise he'd forever be obstructed from attaining the glory that he knew he'd been destined for. So with a dreading courage, he delved forward within the den. What he found at first was a long and narrow path of darkness. It seemed to stretch on eternally, as he walked for several minutes without seeing any end. With luck however, an illumination soon graced his eyes in the distance. When he arrived at this light, he saw the source as a small field of glowing mushrooms. Yet what was more interesting, there was a door, slightly cracked ajar with little paw prints upon the ground leading into it. This was it, he could finally deal with that pest and attain the prestige that he deserved. Although, as he wandered forth into the lair, what he saw would be quite befuddling. It was just a simple room, a rather empty one at that. There was nothing there, except for that bothersome dog of course.

And Papyrus would've immediately berated the dog for always ruining his moment, if it were not for the thing that stood within the room's corner. It appeared to be a regular old computer, though truth be told, Papyrus had never seen one like this before. It was odd...Looking into it felt as though he were gazing upon a fraction of himself...And his home...His brother...It all felt so familiar yet even more unknown. It was only shortly after this moment that Papyrus realized that something was wrong. Everything about this wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to be there, and this prospect resonated deeply within him. So there was nothing else to do but get out of there, to just leave and forget he'd ever seen this. But as he turned around, he saw that there was no longer any door there. It was simply gone, as though it had been erased like stains from a cleaned sheet. Though even more disturbingly, he noticed that the dog was no longer there either. It was now that Papyrus' senses began to spiral out of control, twisting into an uncontrollable hysteria. He was trapped, stuck in a room with nothing but himself...And the computer. As he looked back towards that quixotic thing, he felt himself being drawn towards it. When he stared into the screen, a warm comfort dulled his trepidity, the feeling growing as he came nearer towards it. Each step was like a subtle return back to familiarity. In fact, once he was standing right before this machine, he felt like he was already home.

But when he'd finally be compelled to actually reach out towards the computer, he'd regrettably find that this remembrance was but a fleeting one. As the exact moment in which he made contact with it, all of reality would be unraveled. In that instance, beneath the crumbling layers of existence, there was an infinitude of different colors that blared in every direction, beaming like a brilliant miasma. This unworldly event seemed to have only transpired for only a split-second. Yet for Papyrus, he had just gleaned the truth of eternity's interminable depths. His eyes were wide and vacant, whilst his jaw was agape with utter shock. Each flashing light that he had seen was far more than just a simple gleam. It all meant something, and it was clear that Papyrus could barely withstand this insight. And even so, there was still more anguish for him to endure. He felt it coming through the pangs in his chest, beating like heavy palpitations of the heart. Their paces grew unremittingly, until it could be felt as if something were to soon spring forth from within him. Indeed, it would only be but a moment later that something was purged from his body. Suspended in the air before his very eyes, it was his soul. Had the colors not been clouding his senses, he would've wailed and wept from the pain. It was a sharp, drilling pain, like hooks twisting, turning, and ripping through his ribcage as his soul was torn out. But as he gazed upon the very animus of his body, even with the streaking lights which muddled his mind, he'd be able to clearly make out the sight of it being briskly deconstructed into mere wires. These threads were bright and electrical, shining with a green hue that conveyed pure life and energy, only for them to be soon be erased like words from paper...The very crux of who he was had just been erased, and it was only then that the colors would finally subside.

Weak and at a loss, he trembled upon his feet, only for him to soon fall upon his knees from the vitality that had been drained from his body. Knelt upon the ground, he stared off into the computer's screen with nothing short of absolute bewilderment. His eyes would only be pried away from the computer once he heard a slow creaking coming from behind of him. As he turned his head, he saw that the door had returned, and was now opened. For a moment, he didn't know if he had the strength to leave. It took him a little while to actually pick himself up and hobble out of the room. But once he did, he bore witness to an unimaginable sight...Nothing. Simply put, everything was gone. He now stood within an expanse of pure nullity. He looked up to see nothing but darkness, while at his sides he saw only the sheer, endless perpetuity of this tenebrous void. And as he looked unto the ground of which he somehow stood upon, he beheld the stygian sea beneath him. This plane was aqueous, yet it remained still. And within its murky infinitude, he saw only a reflection of himself. Yet, there was no longer any dismay or terror set upon his face. The expression he wore now was purely forlorn, a visage that conveyed only sorrow.

What had just occurred, it was hard to grasp. But, as enormous of an enigma that this disaster was, it was still easy enough for him to understand the crushing gravity of such a situation. Where existence once thrived through the various sequential tides of past, present, and future, nothing short of absolute nihility had now taken its place. In simpler words, all that there ever was, was no more. To tell the truth, not even a point to contravene this tragedy had been left. The only thing he could do now was to accept the inevitability of his misshapen fate. And that was precisely what he'd do, by submitting himself to the constraints of this emptied plane for untold eons. He would have gone insane, had his emotions of grief and regret not overshadowed the degradation of his own mentality. Though, despite his irrepressible despair, simply sitting there and wallowing in his misfortune was not all that he did for those countless years. Oddly enough, those flashing lights from before never completely left the recognitions of his psyche. For all that time, they'd continue to plague his mind in random intervals, flaring within his head like vibrant migraines. Yet, from the moment he had first observed them, he knew that these were not just mere illuminations. They held a distinct significance that would take him a great myriad of passed lifetimes to fully comprehend. It required him to memorize each different color he saw shine within his head, a process which involved plenty of trial and error. Honestly, what Papyrus was attempting was logically supposed to be impossible in all aspects. But, with all the rest of time on his hands, what else was there to do but try? Besides, as it so happened, an exiguous speck of his former mentality somehow managed to still cling upon his riveted psyche. This little piece of himself may have been worn down to the barest extent, but like a human's soul on the verge of death, it was determined to stay alive. And rather than letting Papyrus succumb to total desolation, it instead perceived these harrowing circumstances as a mere challenge. Thus, if Papyrus were to complete this challenge, then he'd no doubt have the honor of piecing together perhaps the greatest puzzle in all history.

And thankfully, such an outlook would prove to be his rescue, as after what could have been a true eternity, he had eventually obtained a full understanding of these lights and his tragedy. Apparently, as an entity with a scripted being, no iteration of himself was ever meant to have made contact with that strange computer. Yet, as the one illogical instance of which this did occur, it affected the entirety of his original timeline. It descended down the universe's chronological stream, Papyrus having seen each passing timeline as it did, until it fell into oblivion. It turns out that those lights that afflicted his mind were the temporal fragments of the universe, every timeline in existence. To have perceived this, Papyrus envisioned each one and connected them. Essentially, he had mentally put together a bona fide puzzle out of the timelines. And with such extensive knowledge of the universe's chronology stored within his cognizance, there came the discovery of the formula of time itself. Not only did he now understand the fundamental components of time, but he had also discerned how to consciously maneuver it as well. There was no more limitation or boundary, he could transcend through the everlasting river of infinitude which was time. Containment was only an illusion now, and he saw past its methods with such clarity. Despite this, even when blessed with the capability to do so, he chose not to undo what he had done.

He no longer had the heart to face the world that he came from. Having seen how each variant of his reality ends, it pained him far too much to just simply go back. Yes, there were many instances in which everyone got to live happily ever after. But more often than not, all he witnessed was the genocide of Monsterkind by the hands of a single, mere human. Yet there was an even more disheartening realization than this. Through the cycles, he observed just how stupefying his own idiocy was. Each and every time, he believed in this human's ability to repent and become a better person. He thought that there was good in all people, that no one were truly evil, just lost in their ways. It was this ingenuous belief caused him to keep dying a death which was nothing more than a blatant waste. A needless casualty which ultimately only served to add fuel to the smoldering, charred pit of bloodlust within the human's determined soul. Had he not been so naive, he could have done more to prevent such carnage. But there was no more significance to that. How could there be any meaning, when all that he knew was gone, all because of him. And if this foolish tragedy had remained purely a contrariety, it's still likely that his faults would've led to the same conclusion. For himself, there was nothing else to it. The evidence was irrefutable, with his own verdict being that he was guilty...Therefore, punishment was in order...A ceaseless lifetime of misery would do.



Aeon has an appearance which clearly resembles the typical mold of a "Papyrus" in the Multiverse. However, he does indeed appear to be significantly taller than what's usual, looking to stand over eight feet tall. Likewise, his expression is far more despondent and sorrowful than Papyrus' regularly gleeful and ambitious attitude. Yet in contrast to his relatively familiar visage of Papyrus, he dons a starkly different apparel. He wears tattered robes with a dull-gold outerlining. These drags cover the entirety of his lower torso, all the way down to his feet. Above, there is a single thick, and heavily coated sleeve that's draped over his right arm and hand. On the left side of his body, half of his rib-cage is visible whilst his other arm remains uncovered as well. In the hand of this arm, he is seen wielding a large thin bone that reaches all the way to the ground like a staff. The bottom of it is flat, while the top still possesses two nubs where a golden twinkle floats overhead, presumably being a Save Point. Lastly, around his waist he bears that iconic red scarf of his, worn as a sash now.


Generally, Aeon is a fairly lugubrious fellow. He's been through some particularly disturbing events, ones which would have crushed most beneath the benumbing pressure of despair. But thankfully, the resilience of his beaming emotions allowed his mind to remain ever stalwart. Stored deep inside the core of his very self, his soul prospered with an undying hope, and gumption which knew no bounds. Each and every second longer that he suffered through his tribulations, he held onto these feelings, keeping faith and believing in a better tomorrow. However, this would be exactly what eventually costed him the emotional capacity to express any sentiment so freely. Of course now he's escaped from those everlasting days of suffering, but the damage will remain forever. The effort he exerted just to barely keep a wavering smile, it was indescribably exhausting. Nowadays, his sense of expression is mostly consumed by nothing but recycling thoughts of misery, contempt, and immolation. And unfortunately, to make matters worse, he also took a rather significant blow to his rationality. After what he endured, his already feeble perception of logic had been twisted into an even more gullible and erroneous outlook. This is not to say that he has become a simpleton, as if anything, he's developed into nothing short of a pansophical sage. Still, if someone were willing to take the time, it'd actually be entirely possible for him to be convinced that even the most contradictory or nonsensical lie is an irrefutable truth. Although, this isn't completely just a fault of pure naivete. It's simply that his own recognition of reality has been warped to a nigh-inconceivable degree, due to concept of time no longer corresponding to his perceptions as it does for everyone else. He actually sees and experiences things which are not actually there, but also technically are. Ergo, he can come off as a little illogical or demented at times.

There isn't much that Aeon derives joy from anymore. At this point, only about several things are capable of bringing a smile to his face. The most significant of these joys would likely be the memories of his original timeline. Although of course, this is a source of anguish and sorrow for him as well. But, it is these bittersweet remembrances that remind him of life's deeper meanings. They come and go, drifting in and out of his mind from time to time. It has been a reasonably long while since he's even last seen his original timeline after all, so properly envisioning it can be a rather strenuous task. Nonetheless, just a few seconds of reminiscing will supply him with the little pieces of contentment that he needs to keep him going. Another delight of his comes in the form of others being happy. To observe people smiling, laughing, and just simply enjoying the moments in which they live, it replaces the gloomy ambience of his psyche with one of relief. Moreover, while many of his traits may have been subverted as a result of his trauma, his fondness for cooking has managed to persist. In fact, due to some of his more extraneous explorations with the unending time he'd be given, his cusinal skills have even improved significantly. Offer to let Aeon cook for you, and he'll be more than happy to whip you up a meal that you'll not soon forget. Although even more so than his affinity for the culinary arts, he appreciates a good meal. After having subsisted off of nothing but the void that had consumed him, he'll consider any sort of edible food to be a gourmet meal. It could be just a meager crumb of bread or a slice of fruit, neither the quantity nor the quality will bear any significance to him. Simply having something to eat in the slightest will gladden him. And a final, more subtle satisfaction of his is that he's likely the most patient person anyone could ever meet. Frankly, he actually seems to enjoy waiting, presumably because he believes that good things do indeed come to those who wait.

Just as he harbors no great amount of indulgences, neither does he any enmity. Be that as it may, he is still as vulnerable to the sways of passion just as anyone else is. And there is no greater subject which will rile him more, than himself. It was due to his actions that he became inadvertently responsible for the erasure of his entire timeline. Everything and everyone that he knew was wiped out because of his recklessness and greed for approbation. Truly, he'll never be capable of forgiving himself for what he's done. So much resentment does he foster against himself that he cannot even bring himself to return to before his timeline had been expunged. The utter guilt that has festered within him has caused his own perspective to turn self-loathing. He sees himself as unworthy to return after the egregious mistake which he had made. Consequently, it is his belief that the emotional torment that he suffers through is just what he deserves for his crime. Yet aside from his aversion towards himself, he also brandishes a much more selfless quality. Under no circumstance will he ever permit others to experience the excruciation that he did. Ultimately however, this translates into him distinctly scorning just the very prospect of others having to endure such misery. Hence why he'll always do his utmost to provide protection to those which cannot defend themselves. Although, in regards to the topic of others, there is one thing which he would never vocalize to anyone else, or at least wouldn't do so without great difficulty. Speaking on the specifics of his past is a trial which he just can't endure. Similarly, he doesn't even like delving too deep in his thoughts with such a topic. The memories of his former life are refreshing, but the scars of his time spent in that empty abyss have already nearly torn him apart. This is particularly evident from his apprehension towards loud noises. Just a single bang or boom often causes him to break down.


    • Time Government: Due to his complete knowledge of time's structural facets, and his existential synchronization into its interminable quintessence, he is capable of altering its flow in a diverse multitude of ways. For instance, he can affect the rate at which it functions, causing it to accelerate, decelerate, or even be suspended from performance. It all really depends on the level of creativity that he's able to exert. And with his stagnant position in time's stream, he's surely had long enough to think of some remarkable tactics. As a matter of fact, his proficiency has likely ascended to such a superlative level, that his dominion over time may as well be considered absolute.
    • Chronological Fixture: This is the very ability which can be attributed to how Aeon finally escaped from the nullified timeline. Essentially, this power allows him to transport his physical being to absolutely any location, so long as there was at least one point in its history where time was extant. Conjointly, this means that Aeon cannot visit places that both existed before time did, and also operate without its functionality. Not even if he were to have found another entrance, for his own subsistence in time would then be terminated from its performance.
    • Staff of Hope: For some reason, Aeon treats his staff as if it were his very own living, breathing, thinking friend. He'll actually converse with it, while also taking its opinion into account on most matters. And for as strange as that may seem, it's not entirely insane. Given that it was likely with the powers of his temporal sovereignty, he gave a systematic structure to the reserves of Thoughts and Determination stored within the staff's Save Point, almost like a brain. Ergo, it may occasionally appear that the staff itself is genuinely alive. Similarly, like any good friend, the staff will help Aeon. By both defending him, and assisting him in day to day tasks that he can't perform on his own, due to his impractical physique.
    • Temporal Continuance: One of the most convenient aspects of his control over time is the connection that it has with his physical being. Should he ever be dealt a fatal blow, his entire body will be expunged like the reflection in a body of water's surface being washed away. While soon thereafter, an exact duplicate with the exact same consciousness will then be spawned. Essentially, this grants him access to a simulated form of immortality. The only major downfall being that each time he dies, he relives his entire lifetime up until that point.
    • Prospective Influence: The final skill which Aeon exhibits is the capacity to manipulate the foundation of which time falls upon: Probability. If time itself is said to be a river, than this ubiquitous facet of reality is undoubtedly the bed of the stream. Indeed, Aeon is acutely attuned with the knowledge of how all scenarios and contexts, which he is cognizant of, will occur. But this capacity does not end at mere wisdom, as he can even increase or decrease how likely an event is to occur, even if they're theoretically impossible or ultimately inevitable.


  • Frail Physicality: It only takes one attack to kill him, and he's incapable of physically dodging.
  • Forgotten Tactics: He no longer knows how to utilize his original abilities and battle strategies, making him a helpless combatant.
  • Unstable Emotions: If his inner grief can be triggered, he will enter a state of lament which leaves him paralyzed and defenseless until he can be consoled.
  • Pacifism: He will never intentionally start a conflict, and it will take him great consideration before he ever decides to attack someone else, even if they've made it clear that they want him dead.
  • Mental Concentration: If his mental faculties can be disorientated, it will disrupt his powers. Once killed in this state, the timeframe of his return will be much longer, ranging from days to possibly even years.
  • Fickle Presence: Due to his own physicality being nothing more than a temporal projection, he can only use his abilities so many times before the conservation of his corporeal form is temporarily lost.
  • Déjà-Vu Trauma: Being that each time Aeon dies, he goes through every single second of his life up until that point once more, dying excessively in short amount of time can be a good way to trigger his inner grief, thus incapacitating him.


Bearing in mind the utterly heartrending tribulation which Aeon had faced, it would not be wrong to assume that he would've just submitted himself to a life of disdain and dormancy. Yet rather than giving into the oppression of his dysphoric woes, he's actually discovered an alternative method by which he can work past his trauma. Through the will of his unworldly powers, he'd decide to list himself amongst the Multiverse by the title of the: "Voyager of time." He's given himself this particularly gaudy title by reason of his various travels throughout all the innumerous and diverse myriad of timelines in the Multiverse. As a result of his temporal expeditions, it's given him the honor of precedently witnessing various iterations of the countless timelines in each Universe. Although of course, this transcendental avocation must be met with caution, for the butterfly effect can be a cosmical quandary. Hence why Aeon follows a certain selection of guidelines that were composed by his own intuition. He refers to these regulations as the, "Golden Rules of Intervention," and they follow as such:

  • I: He shall not disturb a conflict that does not involve him.
  • II: If a person is unarguably destined for their fate, he is not allowed to help them.
  • III: Should he be assisting someone through information, he can't give them a straight answer.
  • IV: The likelihood of a circumstance or possibility cannot be construed in the direct favor of others.



  • He is ambidextrous, but he primarily uses his left hand.
  • He suffers heavily from Cyberphobia now, the fear of computers.
  • Coincidentally, his favorite meal happens to be none other than spaghetti.
  • Of his Golden Rules of Intervention, he tends to break the first one the most.
  • He knows the day in which his death is docked for, and he looks towards it with enthusiasm.
  • He is unable to express hatred for anyone else, as he believes that he is already the greatest scum alive.
  • He seems to fear, or at least be wary of, the prospect of himself being integrated too deeply within the lives of other people.
  • Even though he can just barely manage to hold a fork, through some outwardly inexplicable means, he somehow wields his staff just fine.
  • In spite of the primordial powers which he flourishes, without a doubt, he is quite possibly the physically weakest person in all the Multiverse.
  • His abnormal height is a result of his body being minutely yet continuously stretched and thinned as the eons passed while he was trapped. This is also why his frame is so emaciated, why his strength is so abysmally feeble, and why it only takes just the slightest attack to kill him. The very dimensions of his being has been spent to the very last inch. Truth be told, had he spent any longer in that obliviated prison, he would have ceased to exist entirely.