
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7735897.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Undertale_(Video_Game), Horrortale_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Frisk/Sans_(Undertale), AU_Sans/Frisk, Sans/Frisk
  Character:
      Frisk_(Undertale), Horrortale!Sans, Horrortale!Papyrus,
      Horrortale!Napstablook, Horrortale!Toriel, Horrortale!Monster_Kid,
      Horrortale!Undyne, Horrortale!Muffet, Horrortale!Mad_Dummy,
      Horrortale!Bratty, Horrortale!Catty, Horrortale!Burgerpants,
      Horrortale!Mettaton, Horrortale!Asgore_Dreemurr, Horrortale!Chara,
      Horrortale!Flowey, Horrortale!Alphys, Just_1_OC, Amalgamates_(Undertale),
      Horrortale!Gaster
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Horrortale, Female_Frisk, Slow_Build, Guro, Gore,
      Self-Harm, Violence, Seriously_a_lot_of_violence, Cannibalism, Angst,
      Tragedy, This_is_some_srs_self-destructive_writing_right_here, This_shit
      is_not_ok, Soul_Sex, Ecto-Penis_(Undertale), Yes_there_it_is_8),
      Depression, Post-Traumatic_Stress_Disorder_-_PTSD, Frisk_is_under_18,
      Survival_Horror, Torture, Suspense, Horror, evil_sans, upsetting, Just
      generally_upsetting_stuff, present_day, Eventual_Smut, Eventual_rape,
      Decapitation, Fear, Third-person_subjective, Animal_Death,
      Disembowelment, Slow_Burn, I_am_not_joking_when_I_say_slow_burn
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-10 Completed: 2017-01-07 Chapters: 35/35 Words: 285993
****** Pneuma Rot ******
by MothVolka
Summary
                              H͡o҉rror̡tale͜ ÀU

                    COVER_ART | BLOODSICK_PÉNTALOG (Sequel)

       Frisk, an orphaned miserable child, discovers the horrors of the
                                 Underground.
Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Hello everyone! This is my very first Undertale fanfiction and my
     first writing in literally a decade. Whoa! Thank you so much for
     views and support. I just want to start off by saying that this fic
     is depraved and sick. It is some serious self-destructive writing, I
     tell you what *Hank Hill voice*. This fic will most likely be 30+
     chapters in total.
     This story's setting and characters are inspired by Sour Apple
     Studios’ Horrortale AU with some headcannons.
     DISCLAIMER: I do not own ANY of the Undertale characters. The world
     and its inhabitants are all the marvelous creation of Toby Fox.
     Please please please check out the original game if you have not
     already: http://undertale.com/
     I also do not take any credit for the Horrortale AU. All the credit
     goes to Sour Apple Studios. Check out their amazing brief teaser game
     for Horrortale here: http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/677418
     Also, the cover art was drawn by the amazing artist Leeffi. They do
     spectacular work! Go check out their commissions!
      
     WARNING: This fic is explicit and also a slow-as-hell buildup. There
     will be NSFW content, there will be terrifying sequences, there will
     be general debauchery, guro/gore, sexual exploits, etc. etc. Also,
     please note that Frisk is depicted under the age of 18 in this fic.
     So without further ado, get ready for a bad time!
     /////////////////////
***** I *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 1: Frisk is a somber, miserable child.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
*****
Frisk sat at the edge of the bathtub, staring down at the numerous veiny cracks
that weaved through the tiled floor. Slowly sinking down to the ground, she
wrapped her knees into her chest and gently traced her index finger along one
of the larger fissures. How many times had she sat in this very bathroom,
counting these dang cracks? Too many. She let her chin rest upon her knees,
staring blankly at the bathroom wall, taking notice of just how grimy and gross
the section was where the wall met the floor. She could hear the other girls
just outside the door, talking loudly as they got ready for bed, chatting
freely about their day and homework and simple, petty arguments with friends.
“Shut up…” Frisk muttered under her breath followed by a strained sigh as she
slowly rose up to her feet once more, trying to block out the voices beyond the
bathroom.
She stepped up close to the sink, her hands falling heavy on either side of the
yellowing basin. Frisk's eyes met her own reflection in the mirror. She
examined her features idly. Those dark eyes, heavy-lidded and sporting dark
circles underneath them both. She lifted a hand and brushed back her chestnut
hair. It was starting to grow out a bit, now touching the tops of her shoulder
blades. Her bangs fell over thick eyebrows. God, she looked miserable. Frisk
forced a weak smile at herself in the mirror. It didn’t help. The smile faded
and she tried it again, this time flashing a grin. That was a bit better. See,
she can be happy too, just like all those girls out there.
Just like everyone else…
Frisk brushed her hair behind one ear, the fluorescent bathroom light
flickering once overhead as she gazed at her reflection for what felt like a
long while. As she stared, her thoughts turned sour. How pathetic can you get?…
She lowered one hand and reached into her pocket, pulling out a dark and worn-
out box cutter blade. She placed it onto the edge of the sink.
How many times are you gonna just sit in this bathroom and stare at this knife?
Just do it already! Her thoughts started to race along.
She grit her teeth together and quickly snatched up the box cutter in one hand,
her fingers pushing the small rigged lever upwards, revealing the segmented
blade. The blade slipped out from its metal sleeve. The ceiling light bounced
off its side and for a moment. Frisk held the sharp edge to her right wrist.
Her pulse was racing now… and she could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her
ears. She blinked back at her somber reflection in the mirror. She would have
chuckled at the morbidity of the sight had she not been so desperate for the
end. Her mind bounced around in different directions. Every time her thoughts
would reach a dead-end and a final decision to just disappear and end it all.
It won’t be that bad, Heck, anything is better than this. She held on so
tightly to the utility knife that her knuckles began to turn white, hand
trembling slightly as the blade pressed against her pale wrist, but still not
enough to cut flesh. Come on… come on… She inhaled deeply, holding the breath
in her lungs as her eyes closed, praying for the courage to do it. Maybe in the
next life, if there was such a thing, things will turn out better… just maybe.
Frisk waited for the strength to come, to pull the blade across and put an end
to it all… but that strength never came. After some long minutes she opened her
eyes, staring back at failure… at herself…
“Dang it…” she ‘cursed’ under her breath and roughly shoved her long sleeves up
to her elbows, revealing thin arms decorated in dozens of horizontal cuts. Some
were healed and just faint scars, others were red, fresh and still stung to the
touch. None were deep enough to do too much damage except leave some shallow
marks and bleed a bit. But nevertheless, it was not a pretty sight. Frisk shook
her head at herself. I guess tonight is not the night, she thought, and slowly
lead the knife up to her inner forearm. She cut into her skin, disappointed and
hating everything in that moment, hating it all even more than she had before
she stepped into the bathroom… but hating her own weakness most of all.
 
 
 
Frisk winced while she rinsed her bleeding arms underneath the faucet until the
water ran clear. She washed off her box cutter as well and retracted the blade
back into its sheath before pocketing it. Then haphazardly placed some band-
aids on the cuts before tugging her long sleeves back down and stepping out of
the bathroom into a large dormitory bedroom. About 20 bunk beds lined the
walls. Some of the young girls were already in bed, while some sat clustered
around, chatting quietly with friends.
A few of the girls eyed Frisk as she walked down the middle of the room. She
stepped over to the back corner, avoiding all eye contact and finally reaching
her bed. It was a bottom bunk and it pressed up against the wall where a large
window overlooked the forest that surrounded the orphanage. Guarding the
outskirts of the forest was a tall iron-bar fence. It surrounded the whole
building except for a few entrance ways. Izzy, Frisk's upper bunk-mate, was
already fast asleep and buried deep in a pile of blankets.
Frisk sat atop her mattress. She kicked off her sneakers and pulled her shirt
up over her head. She shivered in her undershirt and quickly slid down beneath
the bed sheets before any one of the girls caught sight of her arms.
I suppose there is always another night, there’s no need to rush it. It doesn't
even matter anyways. Frisk thought and rolled over to face the window as she
rubbed along one of her arms. She tapped at a band-aid, feeling the damp, small
bloodspot at its center while she lazily gazed out into the darkness. There
were a few wall lights above the window which illuminated the grass below. The
ground sparkled, covered in dew from the night air. It was September and the
nights were still as hot as the day. The light that radiated off the crescent
moon smoldered gently in the sky. But the moonlight and the wall lights were
not strong enough to cut through the heavy darkness just a few feet out past
the fence. It was eerie. Frisk could see a thick row of pine trees swaying in
the wind. She never liked walking too close to that fence, but despite her
unease she felt a strong curiosity about the forest. She had been at this
orphanage for 3 years now, and not once had she ever been able to explore
beyond the gates.
The voices of the girls around her started to die down as they went to bed one
by one. She heard the clicking of light switches and the gentle breathing of
her sleeping bunk-mate above her. Soon it was pitch black in the dormitory. Her
eyes adjusted to the darkness, allowing her to see outside with ease. It was
getting late, but like most nights, sleep did not come easy.
Frisk lazily relaxed and tensed her toes underneath the sheets, trying to not
think of anything as she glanced out at the forest with heavy-lidded eyes. She
was just starting to grow drowsy when… wait… what... what was that? Something
moved out there, and it wasn’t a tree.
Every muscle in her body tensed as she shot up from her pillow suddenly,
leaning into the windowpane. There was something large and dark moving behind
the front layer of trees in the forest. The fence obstructed the view, but it
was there. Frisk pressed her forehead against the window, squinting at the
figure. It moved slowly, almost like it was gliding and weaving through the
trees. Could it be one of the teachers? No… No way! This figure was much too
big. It was hulking! Maybe a bear? It seemed to be standing upright. She had
never known creatures to move in such a manner. As Frisk pondered, the figure
would disappear into the thick foliage only to return a few minutes later,
almost as if it was pacing back and forth just behind the tree line.
The figure continued its constant stride for a good while, the movement
hypnotizing. But then, almost as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure
stopped dead in its tracks. It made Frisk jump and sent a wave of shivers up
her spine. The way it stopped so suddenly… it was almost as if the creature had
sensed Frisk's gaze. What the… She pressed hard into the window, her forehead
and tip of her nose flush with the glass. What was that… what in the world was
that thing?! It now stood right in the center of her view, completely still. If
Frisk had not just witnessed it pacing, then she would have thought it was just
another dark patch of trees.
The dark figure started to grow larger, and its coloring lighter and more
defined. Frisk realized it was moving forward, towards her! Her eyes widened.
Whatever it was was moving towards the iron-bar gate, out from behind the
trees. A dynamic instinct told Frisk to shut the blinds and dive down
underneath her covers, but an even stronger impulse steadied herself. She
couldn’t move, paralyzed with fear and curiosity. The hulking creature was
coming into view now. It was… It was like nothing Frisk had ever seen or heard
of before. It was almost human, but it wasn’t. Off-white patchy fur seemed to
cover its whole body from head to toe. A dark and tattered mantel draped from
the creatures shoulders down to its legs, revealing huge canine-like paws with
sharpened nails for hands and feet.
The creatures face… it was like the face of a goat and a wolf combined. Large
white drooping ears framed its features, a long snout, short black horns atop
its head and two massive, green, empty saucer-eyes staring back directly. Frisk
felt her heart pound faster and faster in her chest as the creature took a few
more steps forward. It stepped out from behind the trees fully, now standing
behind the fence. It could have been someone in an extremely elaborate costume,
but there was no way, it was too real. Its ears and paws twitched all the while
staring back, unblinking and terrifying.
Frisk wanted to cry out but no sound came. The aberrations eyes were fixated,
gazing directly at her, into her soul, piercing and almost painful. Then the
creature grinned revealing rows of sharp dog teeth with two pointed canines at
either side, and then… it vanished.
It vanished.
In the blink of an eye, the monstrosity was gone.
W-what?
Frisk scanned the forest foreground frantically, desperate for another sight.
She couldn’t believe what she had just seen. She wouldn’t believe it! She must
be dreaming, she had to be.
It felt like an hour and Frisk was still glued to the window, but there was no
more movement. Only the soft swaying of pine trees. Reluctantly, Frisk propped
her pillows up against the headboard of the bed so that she could sit up and
lean back at the same time while still watching the window. She could not take
her eyes off the forest… she had to know - had to know what the heck was in
there, what that creature was. And as she leaned back into her pillow, the
vision of those empty saucer eyes lulled her to sleep.
*****
Coming up: Frisk enters the woods and has a bad time.
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Toriel sure is a spooky one!
     Thank you to anyone who stuck with it till the end of chapter 1! This
     story has a very slow build, so just a heads up :D But isn’t the
     anticipation always the best part?
     By the way, for any questions, concerns, hate or love mail, you can
     hit me up on my Tumblr at moth-volka.tumblr.com. It's my personal
     Tumblr so there are a wide variety of posts on there (Also 80% of it
     is queued.) So there ya go! Stay tuned for chap. 2
      
     /////////////////////
***** II *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 2: Frisk enters the woods and discovers something terrifying.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Thanks to all for the kudos! I really appreciate it :D I am going to
     try and add a new chapter every 1-3 days. I might go back and edit
     this chapter a bit. I feel like there are some typos in here that I
     missed. Also, constructive criticism is always appreciated. I got
     thick skin, I can take it *grin* Ty again and enjoy.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
Frisk woke the next morning to the sound of her bunk-mates alarm clock blaring
in her ear. She felt exhausted. She must have fallen asleep sometime in the
middle of the night. She slowly sat up, and a soreness that ran up along her
neck quickly followed. Ugh. Frisk groaned and grasped at the side of her neck
with one hand, wincing. Sitting up all night long was probably not the best
idea. Immediately she remembered the sighting, that strange creature, those
huge empty eyes and the terrible dread that had encompassed her. She pealed the
covers off to sit up on her knees and peered out the window again. It looked so
different in the early morning light. The sun was just starting to rise up from
behind the trees. The wind had gone still and the pine trees had ceased
rocking. Frisk scanned the forest, looking for any sight of the monster.
“Hey, c’mon. You don’t want to be late for class, do ya?”
Frisk jolted at the abrupt voice. Izzy, her upper bunk-mate, was already
dressed and packing up a backpack with textbooks. She stood over the nightstand
table next to Frisk’s bed.
“What the heck are you looking at anyways?” Izzy asked with that typical sly
grin of hers, then looked back down to count some papers in a red binder. Frisk
frowned, turning back to face the window. She was almost disappointed that the
creature was not there… The thought that it could have just been a dream
started to creep up. No… no way. It was too real.
“Nothing…” Frisk muttered.
“Well, come on then! I’m not waiting for you again.” Izzy taunted her and made
a beeline for the bathroom, leaving Frisk behind. The dormitory was noisy once
more with girls getting ready for classes, a typical Tuesday morning. It was
just the beginning of the new school year and most of the other kids were still
cheerful and rested from summer. Frisk had to pry her eyes away from the
window. She glanced down at her arms and grimaced at a few of the bloody band-
aids.
The dormitory was starting to clear out now with only a few late-sleepers still
straggling about. Frisk was careful to face the wall as she re-dressed her
wounds, then pulled on a new clean pair of shorts and a long-sleeved shirt. She
so wished she could just throw on a t-shirt like the other girls but not with
her arms in this state… heck no.
Frisk tried to quickly finish getting ready despite the fact that her gaze
would wander over towards the window every couple of minutes. It was so
distracting. Part of her knew she wouldn’t see the monster out there in the
daytime… but another part of her hoped for one more glance of the creature, if
only to reaffirm the fact that it was real.
 
She was the last one out of the dormitory. Frisk trotted along the hallway,
staring out each large window she passed. The forest was so large, it spanned
this entire side of the orphanage. On the opposite side were roads and
buildings and the hustle and bustle of small city life. It was much less
appealing. Frisk reached her first class just in time, quickly slinking through
the door and weaving between occupied desks to take her seat at the back. Izzy
was there, saving her seat as usual, but she had her nose in a book as if she
forgot to study for a test or something. The orphanage also acted as a school
for all the children, both boys and girls. But the dormitories were on opposite
sides and segregated, of course. Most of the teachers were also employees and
would help place the kids in homes or with foster families. Frisk had seen so
many kids come and go. She was older now, just turned 14. Her chances of
finding a family sharply declined with each passing year. Frisk tried not to
think about it so much. So what if she never found a family…
She sighed and pulled out her text books as the teacher entered and started to
jot down things on the blackboard. And like every day, Frisk's mind began to
wander. Her daydreams were a constant part of school. Daydreams about being
adopted, daydreams about characters in books she read, but the only daydream
she was having today was about that forest monster. She rested her elbows atop
the desk, head in her hands as she stared out the window nearby. The forest was
calling to her. Even in the sunlight it looked mysterious… and deadly. The tall
iron-bar fence made it look like the trees were caged in some sort of jail
cell.
 
 
The day went by at its usual snails pace. Literature, Geometry, Spanish, World
History… One by one the classes faded into each other. By the time lunch rolled
around Frisk was starting to doze at her desk. One of the teachers even called
her out on it, telling her to go splash some water on her face in the bathroom.
She had no idea what time she had finally fallen asleep last night, but it must
have been way too late.
“Oi! Frisk! Do you even sleep?” Izzy whispered loudly, kicking her in the shin
under the desk.
“I did… I just went to bed late, that’s all. I need more summer…” Frisk
grumbled back, rubbing her face in her hands. Her eyes felt like they were
burning… so tired.
Finally came 9th period and the last class of a long and grueling day. “Let’s
go get some dinner. Lunch sucked today,” Izzy said bluntly as she packed up her
bag. Frisk did the same, still glancing at the window every so often like she
had done throughout the day.
“Sure. I’ll meet you there though. I’m going back to the room to drop off these
books. Too heavy.” Frisk said, nodding at her friend. Izzy shrugged but agreed
and left her. The sun was starting to set as dusk rolled over the trees like a
thick wool blanket. Now was her chance while it was still light out. She could
wander the grounds without looking suspicious. If she was caught out in the
middle of the night, there would be heck to pay. But not at this time of day.
Frisk quickly stepped out into the hall and made her way through the huge
building, down some stairs and then through one of the side doors, stepping
outside.
 
The early evening outside air enveloped her, warm and heavy with the smell of
cut grass and pine trees. Frisk walked out in the lawn and glanced at either
side. It was still light out, but the sky was just starting to turn a muted
lavender. The yard appeared empty and still. She felt like she was doing
something wrong being out here, but it’s not like she wasn’t allowed out here
right now. Granted she didn’t really have a reason to be outside… but if she
was caught she could easily make something up.
Frisk walked some yards out towards the iron-bar fence. It was tall and
imposing, looming over her as she stepped closer. That fear she had felt last
when she first caught sight of the creature began to return. Being so close to
the forest where she saw it… it sent a sweep of uneasy dread through her
stomach. She wrapped her fingers around the fence bars and pushed her head
between them, staring back into the forest. There was really nothing to see.
Just a whole lot of trees, a couple of dragonflies buzzing by, some falling
twigs. She still felt afraid. Frisk popped her head out from between the bars
and started to walk along side of the fence, scouting the peripheral until she
came upon one of the gates.
It was locked with a heavy iron chain-link that wrapped around one of the fence
bars to hold the gate shut, but it was not locked tight enough. Frisk let her
backpack slide off her shoulders and placed it down next to the fence. She
pushed the gate forward to create just enough space to squeeze through. She was
rather small for her age so it was no trouble at all, but the gate screeched
loudly as she pushed it apart. She tensed and moved through quickly, staring
back at the orphanage in case a teacher heard the sound. The coast was clear.
No one seemed to hear her. No one was nearby. Frisk smiled slightly to herself.
It felt like an accomplishment. She turned around with her back towards the
orphanage to face the entrance of the forest.
That fear she felt before, it was starting to build inside her with even more
tenacity. But it was accompanied by curiosity. A curiosity so strong that she
could not ignore it. She had to see it again.
What the heck are you doing?! That little voice of reason screamed at her but
she took a step forward, then another, and another, and before she knew it she
was already in the forest.
 
 
It was dark. The sickly-sweet smell of mildew was overpowering. Frisk looked up
and could see the shadowy, dusk sky through the treetops. Some stars had
already begun to emerge and they littered the upper atmosphere like a painting.
Frisk looked back over her shoulder. She could still see the fence - although
the orphanage building was now obstructed by trees - and she hesitated to go
any deeper. The possibility of getting lost loomed in the back of her thoughts.
But as long as she made sure that the fence was still in view then there was no
way she could get lost, right? She started to walk along through the forest,
stepping over large piles of leaves and branches. She thought she could hear
owls up in the trees. It was actually rather peaceful, in a way.
As she ventured deeper her fears started to dwindle and the forest seemed much
less threatening. Perhaps this whole ‘facing your fears’ thing actually does
work. The adrenaline was starting to subside as she lazily raked her
fingernails against the base of a tree, feeling over the the damp bark at her
fingertips. A strange-looking burl protruded from the tree and she ran her
fingers around its edges idly. She was starting to get tired again. Frisk
leaned back against the tree and stared into the darkening woods. It was
getting more difficult to see as the darkness fell. She was just about to turn
and head back when she saw something dark ahead.
Was that it? Yes… it had to be! She saw it! A dark figure weaving through the
trees. It was so far deep in the forest that Frisk had almost missed it, but it
was there, it was real.
That unease and dread rushed back within seconds and Frisk felt her body start
to tremble with anxiety. The figure was only there for a moment. It quickly
vanished in the darkness. Immediately Frisk turned and ran back to the fence as
fast as she could. Sharp scraggly tree branches thrashed around her exposed
legs as she ran, but nothing could slow her pace. She finally reached the
closed gate and gripped onto the bars, breathing heavily as she struggled to
catch a breath. She shot a quick look back over her shoulder, back at the dark
forest's periphery, but there was nothing. Nothing had followed her. Nothing
had changed. It was gloomy and empty and ominous, just like before. Frisk
stared carefully at the trees, ready to run if she saw a mere leaf fall, but
there was still nothing. She glanced down at her mud-caked sneakers that had
splattered up all over her socks and shins. Suddenly she felt really stupid.
The whole point of coming out here was to see that monster. She wasn’t afraid.
No. No way was she afraid of that thing. And she was definitely not afraid of
death. Heck, she welcomed it with open arms!
Frisk rolled her shoulders back and stood up straight. He let out a quivering
exhale and convinced herself that this creature was hers to discover and hers
alone. Frisk crouched down before the fence and reached a hand through the
bars. Her backpack was still there. She dug her hand in one of the pockets and
pulled out a simple flip-phone she had gotten a long, long time ago. It was
probably older than she was and the inside screen was cracked badly. The thing
barely even worked anymore. But Frisk still liked to use it for the clock and
the built-in flashlight. She checked the digital clock on the front and it read
‘8:54’. So late already… But she didn’t feel hunger or fatigue, only
determination, and she pressed a side button to turn on the flashlight.
Everything in front of her was quickly illuminated. She brushed off her legs
with a free hand before turning back to face the forest, now armed with light.
The trees looked even spookier as the flashlight bounced off the bark. It
created large shadows that ran up through the pine needles and created
forbidding illusions with light. Frisk took in another deep breath and stepped
back into the woods. She was not afraid this time.
 
She walked slowly, clutching onto the phone. Gusts of wind started to blow
through the trees overhead, creating an eerie rattling. She walked and walked,
looking over her shoulder every now and then as a precaution. She could still
see the lights of the orphanage in the background. And she continued walking
blindly into the woods, shining her meager phone flashlight on anything that
rustled in the breeze. She stepped up to a tree and saw a familiar burl
embedded in the bark. This was the same tree from before. Frisk decided to try
an experiment. She clicked off the flashlight and it was pitch black. She
leered in the direction of where she saw the dark figure earlier. Maybe it
would appear again… if it was dark enough. Her heart started to flutter with
anxiety. All she could hear was wind and rustling, creaking branches and her
trembling heartbeat.
Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, but still nothing came. With a sudden
impulse, Frisk leaned up off the tree and began to tread deeper and deeper… And
even deeper into the woods. She was determined. And even when she began to feel
an unexpected sensation of being watched, she remained determined. Maybe that
feeling was all in her head. After all, she was alone in an unknown and
unfamiliar forest in the dead of night with some terrifying creature roaming
around.
Frisk looked back over her shoulder after a while and her heart sank. No more
light. The faint glow from the orphanage was gone, engulfed in the darkness of
the woods. Shit! Her determination and courage fell to the floor in a matter of
seconds. Oh no… oh shit. She started to panic. She walked way too far, why
hadn't she been paying attention!? Frisk immediately turned the phone
flashlight back on and began to frantically run through the forest. Her chest
felt tight, breathing was difficult, she was working herself up into a total
fear-induced anxiety attack. She thought she heard footsteps… Was something
chasing her!? No, it was in her head. Those were her own footsteps. Running and
running as she shoved large branches to the side. She couldn’t breathe… Was she
being watched right now? Was it that monster watching her? Oh my god… where the
heck is the orphanage!?!
Frisk pushed another low tree branch aside and suddenly banged into something
hard. She almost fell backwards. She had been so worked up running through the
woods that she hadn’t even noticed the large indiscriminate wooden wall. Frisk
eyes darted all over the partition, inspecting it. But it wasn’t just a stand-
alone wall… it was actually the side of a building. A small building in the
middle of the woods. Did someone live here? No…there’s no way. Frisk lurked
around the corner of the building, carefully examining it. The wood was old and
cracked, covered in thick patches of moss, almost camouflaged. She would have
easily missed it if she hadn’t banged right into it. Frisk stepped around
another corner and saw a wooden door. This building was a small shed.
She took a step back to take in the whole abode, shinning her flashlight over
the entirety of it. It was really quite tiny, only room enough for four or five
people maybe. She stepped back up to the door and glanced down at a large iron
padlock. How strange… why was this shed out here? Maybe this forest wasn’t so
isolated after all. Frisk continued her examination of the door. It was old and
wooden, much like the rest of the shack, but the door was made out of slatted
vertically wooden planks held together with horizontal planks and rusting
nails. There was also a strange-looking carving at the center of the door, only
noticeable when she exposed the flashlight rays right against the grain. That
was even stranger… the symbol was runic and didn’t mean anything to her. Frisk
tried to memorize the shape. Sharp angles at the top in three points, curling
into itself towards the bottom. She ran her fingers over the carving. It almost
looked like it had been scratched into the wood with a knife or a rock. As she
traced the carving, her fingers dipped into the small openings between the
planks of wood that formed the door. It was… cold in there.
Frisk blinked. She pushed two fingers deep between the wooden slats, trying to
feel the temperature inside the shed, which immediately baffled her. It wasn’t
just cold, it was freezing. How could that be? It had to be at least 85 degrees
out here… but the temperature inside this haphazard little shed was as cold as
a freezer. That familiar feeling of dread started to creep over her again.
Frisk pressed her forehead against the wood, peering through the slight opening
with one eye. There was only darkness inside. She held the flashlight up to try
and shine some light through the planks. Still only darkness. She couldn’t tell
if the shed was just empty or if some strange, unearthly force was preventing
any light from piercing the shadows.
First that monster… now this shed… what was next? She felt uneasy and unsafe.
She had to get back to the orphanage… but something held her steady. That
nagging curiosity that would surely be the death of her. Frisk wrapped both
hands around the padlock and rattled it. It held fast as the sound of metal
against wood echoed against the trees. She bent over slightly to get a better
look at the lock. It seemed pretty heavy-duty. Definitely industrial. She
pulled at the iron U shape that was locked in place when suddenly…
“Ssssskk… “
She jumped at the sound but kept a firm hold on the padlock in both hands.
“W-who’s there??” Frisk called back in a trembling, soft tone. Immediately she
regretted speaking out… maybe it was that beast finally come to finish her off.
She waited and listened carefully. Only the sound of wind and trees and some
crickets in the distance, and then…
“Sssssssssskkks… “ Again that sound! Her heart almost jumped out of her chest.
“Hhhhuuuman……” The soft whispers were low, ethereal and absolutely terrifying.
Frisk was paralyzed. She couldn’t move a muscle. Her eyes widened with fear as
she stared directly at the wooden door in front of her, staring into the
darkness between the slatted, warped wooden planks. The voice let out a low
chuckle. It sounded like hundreds of ghostly utterances entwined, forming one
speech together. It sent shivers up her spine and the light hairs on her neck
and arms stood on end. A freezing cold breeze fluttered through the door slats
and she almost let out a cry of fear but bit her lip instead. Suddenly, the
padlock that she had been holding onto so tightly, started to warm up in her
hands. It felt like the metal was heating up, like someone had lit an ember
from the inside. What is happening?!?!?
The ghastly voice continued to make unrecognizable sounds from the inside of
the shed. Frisk was so terrified she couldn’t even think straight, let alone
move her feet. The padlock was growing hotter and hotter and just as she was
about to let go, it snapped open. A loud metallic ‘clink’ and the lock gave way
in her hands. The ghastly hissing sound was growing louder and louder from
inside the shed and she turned and ran. She ran in the opposite direction of
the shed faster than before, faster than she ever had in her entire 14 years of
existence. Her head pounded, lungs burned, she was literally running for what
felt like her life.
She burst through a group of thickets and suddenly - light! The orphanage
towered before her like a beacon to the heavens. She had never been so happy to
see that orphanage. She stumbled over towards the familiar fence and fell to
her knees, panting heavily for a breath. Hands still trembling as she crawled
over towards the fence gate and slipped through the opening, snatching up her
backpack and darted forward… back to the towering building. But as Frisk
reached the side door and stepped inside, she couldn’t help but feel that
abhorrent curiosity taking hold once more.
*****
Coming up: Frisk goes back to the forest once more.
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Who's who in the shed???
     Stay tuned for the /real/ Toriel encounter.
     /////////////////////
***** III *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 3: Frisk finally has a chat with Toriel.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hello again all! I wanted to thank you for the wonderful words of
     encouragement! I am really motivated to write this 'effed up story xD
     so for now you can expect a chapter daily for the time being. We
     finally get to meet Toriel in this chapter and boooooy is she a
     creepy one. Also, you get a very slight, very minuscule glimpse into
     Frisk's past. Anyways, enjoy!
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
Frisk sat at her desk in algebra. The teacher was tapping the blackboard and
speaking in that typical drone voice, but Frisk couldn’t hear a word he was
saying. Her mind was elsewhere… out in the forest. She could not stop thinking
about last night’s encounter. Seeing that monster again… and getting lost… and
that shed and that voice. There were so many questions swirling around in her
head. She hadn’t even cut her arms last night; she was so preoccupied with
thoughts of the woods. Yes, she was terrified, but also completely enthralled.
Even Izzy had taken notice of her distracted demeanor. Frisk glanced out the
window at the alluring forest, lost in her own head.
What was in that shed? Could it have been the same monster she had seen out her
window? Did the monster live there? And if so… why was the door locked from the
outside? And how the heck had she been able to open that huge lock without a
key? Maybe it was just old and rusted… but also, why and how was it so cold in
there? Had that voice actually called her ‘human’? That lock… the lock… it had
opened automatically in her hands. Or did she just imagine that? Maybe she
imaged the whole thing. Frisk pressed her forehead down against the desk,
closing her eyes as she scratched at some bug bites scattered along her legs.
Perhaps it was best to wear long jeans in the forest.
 
 
“Hey, are we going to study for that science test later? I’m meeting with a
potential foster mom tonight so we’ll have to study right after class. I think
she might actually be the one!” Izzy exclaimed, chatting happily as she trotted
alongside Frisk down the hallway after class finally let out. Frisk clutched at
her backpack strap slung over one shoulder, staring blankly as she walked.
“Hey, are you listening?” Izzy growled and took a sidestep blocking Frisk’s
path.
“Huh? Oh, yeah… I heard you…”
Izzy raised a brow and pushed her coily dark hair back. “Well you seem like
you’re on another planet. You’ve been acting weird all day. And you ditched me
at dinner last night. What’s up with that?”
Frisk snapped out of her daydreams and glanced back at Izzy. She wasn’t sure
what excuse she could give… it’s not like she was out with other friends or
anything. Izzy knew very well that she had no other friends.
“I just got tied up with some stuff. I started reading that old book again. You
know, the one with the zombies.” Frisk lied and averted her gaze.
Izzy grinned. “You sure are a dork, Frisky. Zombies aren’t even real. Besides,
you should be trying to get adopted right now, that’s the most important thing.
There’s an open-house this weekend. There will be a lot of eager foster
families there. You should go, really.” Her bunk-mate patted Frisk on the
shoulder and Frisk almost flinched at the abrupt human contact, but luckily
Izzy hadn’t noticed. She just made more idle conversation before mentioning
that she had to turn in some overdue paper and trotted off, leaving Frisk alone
in the hall.
Frisk pulled the old flip-phone out of her pocket. It read ‘3:00 pm’ on the
dot. They had a break right now between classes. Maybe, just maybe… if she was
quick enough… she could go back into the forest and try to find that shed one
more time. She could bring her box cutter for protection. As long as she didn't
lose sight of the fence again like an idiot it would be fine. Wait, what was
she thinking?? Why did she want to go back out into those woods? A monster was
probably trying to kill her last night and she actually just considered going
back there? But then again… maybe it wasn’t trying to kill her… Maybe…
All of this speculation was making her head ache. She stood in the hall for a
while thinking it over, then finally made up her mind. Frisk trotted down the
hall with rekindled courage, weaving through various corridors, down the
staircase and back to the side door. She peaked out the door’s window to the
outside lawn. Not a soul in sight. Frisk pushed the door open and stepped
outside.
 
 
It was pretty hot out today. The sun beat down on the top of her head and her
dark brown hair soaked in all the warmth. Frisk squinted in the sun and gazed
around, just to double-check. There was no one. She jogged along the side of
the fence till she reached the same gate from last night. It was still locked
loosely, and for some reason the sight of the untampered lock made her sigh in
relief. No monsters had broken through. Nothing had followed her back home.
Frisk placed her backpack at the gate, the books would just weigh her down. She
decided against taking her box cutter and stuffed it in her backpack. However
she kept her phone, mainly for the clock. She squeezed through the slight
opening like before and stepped between the looming trees into the woods.
 
It was much cooler underneath the canopy. There was a warm breeze and a strong
smell of mildew and moss. But even in the daytime, the forest made her uneasy.
Frisk tried to repress the budding shiver that ran up her spine as she walked
along, gazing forward with a newfound vigilance. Some birds swooped low through
the trees and she heard flies buzzing about and cicadas hissing, but other than
that it was pretty much quiet and desolate. She searched for the shed again,
but couldn’t remember the way back to it. It had been so dark the night before.
And now in the light, it almost looked like a completely different forest. The
only landmark she recognized was that familiar tree with the bur on it, but
even that landmark had been a trek from the shed.
Frisk sat down at the base of a tree. She leaned her head back, looking up at
the bright cyan sky through the treetops, listening to the wind and the birds.
Her fear of the forest dwindled down to nothing as she let the time pass. It
was so quiet and calm out here, it has been a while since she felt so at peace.
Eventually Frisk dug her hand in her pocket and pulled out the flip-phone. She
opened it and checked the clock. '3:30 pm'. Had she really been in here for a
half hour? She was missing literature right now, and remembered there was a
quiz scheduled for today, but for some reason she didn’t seem to care. She was
not one to usually skip class, she often just did as she was told and what was
expected of her. It was the easiest way to get by.
Frisk started to browse through old pictures saved on her phone. A photo of her
mother… and another one of her mother and father together. These photos were at
least 6 years old. The images brought back a wave of painful memories that
caused her physical discomfort. She curled her knees into her even chest,
staring at her mother’s smiling face obscured by that thin crack in the center
of the screen.
Blood… The smell of blood……
and screams…
 
Wait… that was her mother’s voice… were those her mother’s screams?
No… they were her own.
Stop it… don’t think about this…
A gurgling and a panicked cough… a sharp blade plunging into something soft…
soft and wet.
 
No more!
 
No… more…
 
… 
 
… 
 
… 
Frisk jolted, breaking free from those erratic memories and sat up straight.
Her light hazel eyes widened and stared blankly. She was trembling against the
tree. Her cheeks were wet. She lifted a hand to her cheek and… they were tears.
Dang it. She didn’t want to think about that anymore. It had been such a long
time since she had remembered… But seeing those pictures… She had tried so hard
to delete them in the past but just couldn’t. Frisk let out a quivering sigh
and closed the cell. She glanced back up at the sky to seek comfort in the
beautiful clear blue overhead but something felt… off.
The sky was no longer bright. No, instead it was shadowy and overcast, as if it
was going to start storming at any moment. However, that wasn’t the only thing.
There was no more wind… and no more birds chirping or bugs buzzing. It was
completely and utterly silent. And it terrified her.
Frisk sprang up to her feet. She looked around frantically at the forest that
surrounded her, no orphanage or fence in sight. Had she really allowed herself
to lose sight of it again?? No, no, no! She started to walk quickly through the
thickets on high alert. The forest was so muted that it made her ears hurt. All
she could hear was the sound of her own rapid breath and her footfalls.
Her breathing was really loud, louder than normal. Was it because it was so
quiet? She quickly held her breath as she ran along but the breathing
continued. What the- wait… That was not her breathing she was hearing. The
realization made her stomach fall to the floor. There was something running
alongside her in the trees, breathing fast and heavy, she just couldn’t see it.
“Who’s there?! I can hear you!” Frisk found the courage to shout out as she ran
faster, but her voice shook. “Come out! I-I know you’re here!”
She scrambled through a thick patch of brush and then… she saw it. It was
there. About 10 yards away, right in front of her. The beast from the other
night. She would never forget those eyes.
Frisk stopped dead in her tracks, staring back at the creature. She wanted to
turn tail and run but she couldn’t. Something was paralyzing her, and it sure
wasn’t bravery. She was so completely afraid that she literally couldn’t move.
And after a good long minute… “Ah, yes. It seems you’ve finally found me.”
The creature spoke. Its voice was surprisingly high and feathery, laced with an
unsettling ghoulish echo. But it was definitely not the voice Frisk had heard
coming from the shed last night.
The creature started to move. Taking slow and ominous steps forward. Frisk took
a step back, but still she could not run.
“Stay away!” Frisk screamed out at once, heart racing inside her chest,
suddenly wishing she had her utility knife right now.
The creature stilled and stared. Its demon face, like that of a wolf and a goat
combined, contorted slightly. It was still wearing that brown, tatter mantel
over its shoulders that covered its whole body except head, hands and feet.
Frisk was able to make out that the mantel was actually some sort of animal
hide. The monster's matted white fur paws folded together at the middle of its
stomach. The way it stood was… almost human-like and serene.
“Stay away? But you were the one who came looking for me, child.” That voice
again. And the beast grinned wide, exposing two sharp canines at either side of
its maw. The creature stepped forward and raised its massive paws, as if to
signal that it meant no harm. Now the monster was only a few yards away. Frisk
could make out every detail, staring back at those enormous green hallow eyes
with a pin-point pupil in the center. “You have nothing to fear, child.”
Those words made Frisk fear the monster even more, but her paralysis was
finally starting to diminish. Frisk took some steps backwards and the beast
stepped forward in turn. She would run, but the thought of the creature lunging
forward and ripping her to shreds the second she moved burned into her mind’s
eye.
“What… what a-are you?” Frisk managed to choke out.
The creature’s grin faded into what seemed like a slight smile. “I am Toriel.
The mother and protector of these woods.”
Frisk was dumbfounded by those words. Apparently this creature had a name. This
was getting to be too much. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Frisk darted
backwards and sprinted away through the trees, away from the beast. But in a
blink of an eye, Toriel sprung around and appeared before her again, standing
in her path even closer this time. Toriel had moved so fast, it was always as
if she had teleported. Frisk cried out and stumbled and fell backwards.
“Shhh child. There is nothing to fear. I mean you no harm. Now, now.” Toriel
stepped close, too close, then lowered herself directly in front of Frisk who
was now huddled down on the forest floor with her face buried in her hands.
“Although, I am surprised at you, child.” Toriel’s ghostly voice trailed off.
Frisk fought back her cries of fear and glanced up at Toriel through the spaces
between her fingers.
“You sensed me. You can see me. You sought me out, and now you run in fear?”
Toriel said as her voice dropped to a reverberating whisper.
Frisk shook her head. “I… I…“ She couldn’t believe this monster was real and
actually speaking to her like a human. This couldn’t possibly be happening!
The massive Toriel suddenly placed a huge, heavy paw on Frisk’s shoulder. It
made the girl shudder. “I-…” Frisk began, but it was hard to find the words.
“Are you from… f-from that shed?” She blurted out without really thinking. She
had been pondering the question all day and the words just slipped out.
Toriel’s slight smile faded immediately and she withdrew her paw. “You know of
that building?” She said, her voice turned flinty and stern. The overcast
dreary light spilled overhead through the trees, casting forbidding shadows
across Toriel’s features.
Frisk nodded and the creature’s long ears drooped. “You should not go near that
building, child. It is a perilous place. An entrance-way to true horrors.”
Those words rang in Frisk’s ears. A perilous place? An entrance-way? What did
that mean? “Yet it must be protected. Indeed, it was once my home. But now the
door is locked, and I am tasked with guarding it from small, curious humans
such as yourself.”
Toriel’s words were like a terrible fantasy. Frisk couldn’t help but grow more
and more anxious over what she was getting involved in. Toriel had just
mentioned that the door was locked but… Frisk remembered the sound of the metal
padlock clinking open in her hands, that warm feeling as the steel heated up.
She had opened that shed just the night before. A concoction of anxiety, terror
and denial was starting to make her feel sick. And it did not help that this
monstrous creature was towering over her as if ready to attack at any moment.
And despite the fact that Toriel spoke rather calmly, there was an eeriness to
her voice that Frisk just couldn’t shake.
“I heard voices coming from behind the shed d-door.” Frisk whispered out, now
staring up at Toriel, unable to look away as she still sat upon the damp forest
ground.
Toriel blinked once. “You heard it?” Her voice almost sounded shocked, then she
glanced away from the human girl as if lost in thought.
Frisk nodded again. She considered mentioning the padlock and how it sprang
open and how the door was actually no longer locked at all, but something deep
inside convinced her to stay quiet about that. Toriel slowly rose up on her
massive clawed hind legs. She reached down and took Frisk by the shoulders,
pulling her up to her feet. Frisk whimpered out in fear, but no harm came to
her. In fact, Toriel was quiet gentle with those paws.
“Come along now, child. It’s time you go home.” The monster turned and started
to take slow steady steps forward through the trees. Home? Frisk’s mind
scrambled again. She considered running away from the beast, but instead she
did just the opposite. She followed behind Toriel slowly, though careful to
keep a wide girth between them.
Toriel did not speak anymore as they walked through the darkening woods. A warm
summer breeze fluttered past. At least the wind was returning now and it gave
Frisk just a hint of comfort. Frisk followed Toriel in silence for what felt
like ages. Then, there was a light. A light ahead. It was the orphanage!
Frisk’s heart skipped a beat as she saw the building off in the distance. She
ran forward, about to run past the behemoth-like beast when Toriel swiftly
grabbed at Frisk’s wrist and pulled her back.
“Child… hear my words when I say this.” Toriel pulled Frisk in close by the
arm, those huge empty, wide eyes flashing in the faint light of the now dusky
periwinkle sky. “If you are truly the one, the Manumitter, then you must stay
away from these woods.” Frisk shook. The fear she felt in the presence of this
creature had never diminished, and it was starting to rise up again as Toriel
kept a tight grip at her wrist. “You are much too young…” Toriel’s thick black
claws were starting to slightly dig into her long-sleeve shirt. Frisk could
feel them piercing the fabric and pushing at her skin. “You have… too much to
lose.” Toriel released Frisk’s arm, “The others aren’t like me, child. I want
what is best for you. For all humans.” Her voice was laced with a strange
sorrow. Then Toriel flashed another eerie unexpected smile. It was so sudden
and so terrifying, those huge fangs revealed under the monsters dark curling
lips. Frisk stared back in horror and suddenly made a break for it.
She bound forward through the short distance of trees that separated her from
the orphanage fence. Frisk leapt through the final stretch of foliage and into
the clearing. She turned back and saw Toriel still standing there, shrouded by
trees with that hair-raising grin. Then the creature slowly turned and
disappeared into the darkness.
 
 
Frisk breathed heavily, staring back at where Toriel had just stood. The sun
fell behind the treetops. Frisk did not want to be out here right now, not
after all of that. Was she dreaming? This couldn’t possibly be happening. Frisk
squeezed through the gate and dashed to the orphanage side door, forgetting to
grab her backpack which still rested by the fence. She clambered upstairs and
ran into the first lit room she came across. It was a just an empty English
classroom. She sat upon one of the desks, running her fingers through her messy
hair trying to take in deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
What the hell was that????? She could finally think straight again, now that
she was inside, safe and in the light, away from the forest. There is a monster
in the woods named Toriel. It protects the woods and that shed? But that shed
is really an entrance way to some other place? A-a bad place?? And Toriel used
to live there but… but now she is locked outside in the forest and has to guard
it? But… I opened it… I opened that door before… I opened the entrance way the
other night. She said it was dangerous and I opened it. I should have told her
that I opened it… oh god.
Frisk pondered over everything quickly as if she was trying to remember the
plot to a movie. Then she recalled what Toriel had called her. A 'Manumitter'.
Yes, that was it. But what the heck is that? Frisk slid up off the desk where
she sat and walked over to one of the many bookshelves. She ran her finger
along dusty book spines until she found a dictionary. She flipped through the
old pages and came across the ‘M’ section, searching for that word.
“To release from servitude. To free from imprisonment. A savior. A deliverer.”
Frisk read the definition out loud. She blinked and stared at the text for a
long time. Then, slowly, Frisk glanced over one her shoulders, staring back a a
window behind her, through the gleaming glass windowpane into the dark,
unearthly forest.
*****
Coming up: Frisk returns to the forest with a newfound determination, but
things take a turn for the worse when she gets more than she bargained for.
Also, get ready for some Sans (finally, right??).
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     No, Frisk no! What are you thinking!? You want to go back there, even
     after all that? *sigh* Some kids never learn.
     Btw if ya'll have any questions or concerns that you wish to express
     anonymously, you can ask them on my Tumblr: www.moth-volka.tumblr.com
     Stay tuned!
     /////////////////////
***** IV *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 4: Frisk visits the forest one last time.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Thanks to all for stickin' with this story. I really appreciate all
     the kudos and words of encouragement. Makes me feel nice and fuzzy
     inside, unlike our poor protagonist here. Enjoy chapter 4!
      
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
Frisk awoke the next morning in her bed. She slowly sat up and glanced out the
window with sleepy half-lidded eyes to see the sky. It was still dark out and
just starting to turn a pale navy blue as the sun barely peaked up from behind
a vast sea of trees. It must still be early… Frisk rolled over onto her
shoulder and glanced at her bunk-mate’s alarm clock. It read ‘5:45 am’. God,
was she ever going to get a decent night’s sleep? Then the many incidents from
yesterday rushed back all at once. Frisk straightened her spine, staring down
at the stripped blanket that covered her legs.
She had lingered around in that classroom for a long time last night after she
returned from the forest. Mainly she did not want to be caught lurking around
the halls at night. But also because she could barely comprehend what had just
happened… what she heard… and what she saw.
She had waited in the classroom for hours until she finally left, then snuck
into one of the breakrooms and had vending-machine cookies, chips and Gatorade
for dinner. After that, she headed back to the girl’s dormitory, showered, and
went to bed as quietly as possible. Izzy had already been asleep, and was still
asleep now. She was probably furious at her, Frisk thought. But Frisk couldn’t
worry about that right now. She could not stop thinking about Toriel and what
the monster had said to her.
‘Stay away.’ Those warning words Toriel spoke buzzed in her brain and enticed
her to no end. Frisk glanced back out the window, half hoping to see Toriel out
there. Of course she wasn’t. It was just miles of fence and forest. A thick,
cloudy fog spilled out from the woods and blanketed the lawn. ‘The other’s
aren’t like me.’ Others? What 'others'? There were more?… More monsters out
there?…
Eventually Frisk slipped out of bed and quickly pulled on a fresh new pair of
shorts and a long-sleeved shirt. She checked the cuts at her arms. They were
starting to scab now, but she replaced the band-aids anyways. She tied a hoodie
around her waist and reached under the bed to grab her backpack from its usual
spot, but instead of grabbing her bag she just groped at air. Crap… Where was
her backpack? Dang it… she must have left it out by the fence. With an annoyed
sigh she took one of Izzy’s plastic supermarket bags out from the nightstand
table drawer instead. It would have to do for now. She wanted to be out of this
dorm before anyone else woke up.
 
Frisk trotted through the hallways. Rays of sunlight were just now starting to
spill through the rows of windows that lined the walls. There were some
teachers and older students walking around. Frisk rarely got up this early, it
was weird seeing the halls this desolate in the daytime. She stopped at the
breakroom and started stocking up on cookies, chips, candy bars, soda, bottled
water… anything she could fit into the plastic bag. Despite her fear she was
determined, and decided that she would go out to the forest again tonight. She
would find Toriel, find the shed, figure out this horror story once and for
all. The idea of telling an adult about this whole situation buoyed to the
surface of her thoughts. No, no way. They probably wouldn’t even believe her
anyways. They would just call her ‘troubled’ and send her to more counseling.
They would try to get her to take medication again. That’s the last thing she
wanted.
Frisk tied the plastic bag closed tight and hung around in the breakroom for a
bit, waiting for 1st period to start as she contemplated her plan for tonight.
The bell finally rang and she headed out to class.
 
Izzy was clearly annoyed and kept nagging why she wasn’t at dinner for the
second time in a row, forcing Frisk to make up some story about having
detention.
“Oh please!” Izzy whispered harshly under her breath halfway through class,
“When the hell do you ever have detention?” Frisk shuffled her feet against the
tiled floor, trying to avoid her friend’s consistent interrogation.
“It’s not a big deal. I just skipped a class the other day so I got detention…”
Well that wasn’t a total lie. She had skipped class yesterday.
Izzy eyed her suspiciously and tsked. “You better watch it girl. If you get in
trouble again they won’t let you go to that open-house this weekend. You are
coming with me, right?” Frisk nodded and continued to pretend to take notes in
her textbook, only half listening to the teacher drone on.
 
She spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding Izzy and any other acquaintances.
By the time second to last period rolled around she was about ready to make her
move. As all of her classmates piled into Spanish, Frisk slinked back against
the wall, sneaking through the crowd of kids that packed the hallways. She
headed to the cafeteria, where she grabbed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich
to-go. She hadn’t had a real meal in literally 3 days and devoured it in the
blink of an eye. She also grabbed a turkey sandwich and a bottle of sweet tea
for dinner later tonight, shoving them in the plastic bag.
Frisk hung around in the hallways, pretending to look busy whenever an adult
would walk by. She kept a constant eye on the forest outside. The sun was just
beginning to sink lower in the sky. She checked her phone’s clock and it read
‘5:30 pm’. It would be getting dark soon. She smiled uncertainly to herself,
mainly due to the building anticipation that tinged in the pit of her stomach.
Her nerves were starting to give her a slight headache; the waiting was
torture. Now was the time to go, it had to be now. She heard the final bell
ring and a stream of boisterous kids spilled from their classrooms into the
hall. Frisk quickly disappeared among the others and snuck back towards the
familiar dark staircase, downstairs, then out the side door.
 
She stepped outside and inhaled the thick, warm scent of cut grass and mulch.
This was the third day in a row that she had been out here. She must be an
expert at this by now. Frisk hurried over to where the gate was at the fence to
grab her forgotten backpack from last night. But as she stepped up to the gate,
she discovered that it was not there. How strange… Maybe a teacher found it or
something. Ugh… her box cutter was in there… and a lighter she had found and
her band-aids and books.
She huffed under her breath. The plan was to throw this plastic bag full of
snacks in the backpack for easy transportation… but now it had been
interrupted. Frisk frowned to herself and just figured she would have to go
check lost-and-found later. She stared back at the still-locked fence with the
slight opening, took in a deep breath, and stepped on through.
 
 
She was back in the forest. It wasn’t nearly as ominous anymore, in a way it
was almost nostalgic… like returning home to a long lost friend. Frisk stepped
through the thick foliage, letting the free hand of her fingertips glide along
each tree trunk she passed to feel the rough texture. Part of her hoped she
would come across Toriel again right away. She had so many questions, and she
was prepared to ask them this time around. She was not afraid, no. She was
determined. She also desperately wanted to find that shed again and she told
herself she wouldn’t run away. Not this time.
“Hello?” Frisk cupped one hand at her mouth and called out loudly to nothing,
hoping to hear a response in turn… but there was only silence. She checked her
cell to see that it had been an hour of wandering and the sky was just starting
to darken.
Perhaps Toriel was wrong. Maybe whatever was in that shed was better than this.
She knew she was going nowhere in her life currently. Her grades were below
average, she was never going to get adopted, her life was simply an endless
drawl of waiting and re-living a painful past. What was she going to do when
she aged out of the orphanage? She only had 4 more years to go until she was
18. She didn’t want to face that, or think about it. Her future scared her even
more than malicious whispers behind an old, worn shed door… or a huge, lurking
demon-faced monster in the middle of the woods.
Frisk was lost in thought as she paced through the trees. She dug a hand in the
plastic bag and pulled out the bottle of tea, sipping it as she stepped. She
wasn’t even keeping track of the orphanage anymore, intentionally. She always
found her way back anyways and there was no way she’d find that shed again if
she wasn’t lost. The sun hung low in the sky and she could just barely see it
through the trees as the canopy grew thicker overhead. Frisk stopped in her
tracks and took a moment to study her surroundings. The trees here were
slightly different. The trunks looked thicker and older and their roots twisted
around each other creating sinister knots. This was probably the deepest she
had ever been in the forest and yet there was still no Toriel and no shed in
sight.
The air started to grow heavy while she walked, as if it was thick with mold,
making her nose wrinkle. She moved slower and her eyes danced around the
darkening forest. It smelled weird… like old stagnant water. Frisk glanced up
to see the sky but quickly realized, to much dismay, that it was no longer
visible. She felt a slight pang of panic settle in her chest and frantically
looked around. Crap… she really was lost now. She began to step lively through
the trees as it got darker and darker and darker still. She had a terrible
feeling that she was getting herself even more off-track with every stride. Not
only that, but it was getting even more difficult to breath as the air hung
with decay. She took another sip of tea to try and steady her nerves before
returning the bottle to the bag and looping the plastic bag’s handles around
her forearm too free up both hands. It was in that moment that she noticed what
looked like dark pieces of debris falling from the trees.
Frisk raised a hand, allowing the pieces to fall into her open palm. She rubbed
her fingers against the detritus, smearing it into her skin. It was… flakes of
ash? Or at least it appeared to be. Ash was raining from the trees. What the
hell is this??? Frisk clenched her teeth and balled her hand into a fist,
trying to subside the steady building panic and terror that grew.
“Calm down…” she breathed and tried to comfort herself by speaking out loud.
The dark, thick atmosphere had a strange green hue to it, almost ethereal.
Black bits of ash continued to rain down silently. The forest was changing,
something was happening. Something was wrong. Frisk wasn’t sure but this was
not normal. No way. What the hell is this??
Suddenly Frisk stepped out into a clearing where the trees thinned out and a
huge wave of relief spilled over her. She quickly tilted her head back to see
the sky, and to her disappointment saw that it was painted with black clouds
and was dark greenish-blue in color. Well that is not normal. She glanced
around the clearing as bits of ash mysterious continued to descend. There was a
pond nearby at the opposite side of the empty space. She stepped over towards
it and glanced down at her own reflection, taking notice of the dark streaks of
ash that had collected against her cheeks and stained her skin. She rubbed her
face and was about to scoop up some water to wash it off when she noticed how
murky and muddy the water appeared to be.
 
Frisk let out a quivering sigh, staring at her reflection for a bit as she idly
tried to rub the ash from her forehead, when she heard something. A sudden,
loud rustling of tree branches and a small cry. Her heart practically leapt
through her ribs as every single muscle in her body bunched up. She stared in
the direction of the noise emanating from the woods. Her eyes widened and she
heard it again. Oh crap. Maybe it was Toriel?… No… Toriel was silent when she
walked, like a ghost. Whatever was coming towards her was loud. That cry again,
high and piercing. Frisk broke free from her terror-filled trance and leapt
back towards a thick cluster of trees to hide amongst them, holding the snack-
filled plastic back to her chest. Her pulse raced so loud in her ears that she
swore she was going to have a heart attack right then and there. Her couldn't
help but look over the side of the tree, her hiding space. Her eyes locked on
the opposite side of the clearing as the trees began to rustle. Something was
coming out of the forest. What is that?… What in god’s name is that?!
It stepped out into clearing, its movement slow and coarse. Was it a human?
Whoever it was was wearing a dark tattered winter jacket. The fur-trimmed hood
was pulled up all the way over their head, making it impossible to see the face
of whoever just stepped out from the trees. They had on ragged and loose black
pants that dragged at the heels and… blue sneakers. They were tall and broad,
but not quite as massive as Toriel. And they certainly were not dressed like
Toriel. Maybe it wasn’t a monster at all, but just some older kid. Maybe they
live at the orphanage just like she does and they also got lost in the woods?
Frisk was seconds away from stepping out from her hiding space and calling out
the other, when the figure turned their head slightly and she could finally see
what was hidden under the hood. W-what the… what is that?! A horrible skeletal
face with sharp, exposed interlocking teeth. Where eyes should have been were
simply two dark, deep sockets. And in only one socket a dim red hue glowed in a
perfect circle, suspended at the center of the cavity. It was all Frisk could
do to keep from crying out in horror. She quickly clasped both hands over her
mouth, shutting her eyes to try and forget what she just saw. But curiosity
forced her eyes back open and she stared in utter terror at the monster. It was
dragging its feet as it walked and had finally turned some so that she could
now see the front of its torso. Under that dark winter jacket it had on a white
shirt that was… that was covered in… in blood. Oh god… was she really seeing
this or was this all just some terrible, terrible nightmare? She prayed for it
to be the latter.
The skeletal monster had a permanent sickening grin spread across their
features. The single red glow in one socket darted around, as if scanning the
clearing. Each sharp tooth had the thickness of Frisk’s wrist. It was then that
Frisk was finally able to pry her eyes away from the monster’s face and take
notice of what it had resting at its shoulder. Its immense skeletal hand
gripped tightly on the thick wooden handle of a huge ax that lay along its
shoulder blade. The sharp ax-head was also stained in a dark liquid- more
blood… The red liquid glistened in the pale light, streaking down the handle
and dripping onto the ground below. Then Frisk noticed what had been making
that crying sound before, and it certainly was not the monster in the jacket.
There was something small and brown and furry being dragged in the monster’s
opposite claw. It was crying out softly as if injured. A small baby fawn. The
helpless animal was being dragged by its hind legs, which appeared to be broken
and twisted backwards. It was a sickening sight.
The monster finally came to a halt halfway through the clearing and looked up
at the sky. The ash rained down upon it and the small fawn let out a few
destitute wails. Its concentration on the sky was severed by the animals
sounds, and the large skeleton roughly jerked the fawn side to side in an
attempt to shut it up. Frisk held her breath, watching in horror. She didn’t
even want to think about what would happen if she were found out right now. And
yet she had a terrible feeling that this monster already knew she was hiding
here. Her eyes locked onto the skeleton, who simply stood there still for a
while in the raining ash, as if he was taunting her.
Frisk was terrified that the slightest movement she made would alert him. She
was careful with the hand that gripped tightly onto the plastic bag. Even the
tiniest motion would cause that plastic to crinkle. She gripped at the tree
with her opposite hand, her nails digging into the rough bark.
Finally, the skeleton started moving again. It walked across the span of the
clearing to the other side of trees. Frisk saw a light trail of blood stain the
ground behind the dragged baby fawn, which continued to weakly struggle in the
monsters grasp. But it wasn’t crying anymore.
“heh.”
That sound reached her ears. She heard it, a low chuckle coming from the
skeletal demon right before it vanished back into the trees. The monster’s
scoff was deep, haunting and rang painfully in her ears. She watched as the
brush where he had just vanished rustled against one another, the baby fawn
disappearing behind him. Frisk stood there, numb. That thing had an ax?! It was
soaked in.. blood??? Oh my god… I need to get out of here. I need to run. She
lunged deep into the woods behind her, running in the opposite direction.
Frisk ran and ran and ran. The ash in the atmosphere grew ever thicker, and she
coughed and choked on bits of black dusty debris that got caught in her throat.
Yet even still, she did not stop running. Toriel was right. Oh god, why did she
have to question Toriel? She should have stayed away. She could be back at the
orphanage right now. Sitting in the cafeteria with Izzy, laughing and joking
around and daydreaming about potential foster families that would love her
unconditionally. But no. She had let her determination get the better of her,
control her.
Suddenly she stumbled. Her foot got caught under a thick loop of roots and she
fell to her knees painfully, dropping the bag of treats that scattered all over
the ground in front of her. Harsh wooden mounds of roots cut into her knees and
shins, creating long abrasions at the front of her legs that quickly started to
bleed into the dirt. Frisk panted heavily, her messy hair fell in her face and
clung to her sweat-soaked forehead. She felt the sting of tears welling up in
both corners of her eyes but immediately fought them back. No. No. She was not
this weak. She would get out of here. Everything was going to be alright. Frisk
raised her head, staring forward blankly between her tousled locks of hair and
saw it… just a few meters off.
The shed! And the wooden door hung from it’s hinges, wide open.
*****
Coming up: Frisk and the Underground.
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hmmmm a glimpse of Sans. I wonder who that poor fawn could symbolize?
     Well I'm sure we'll see him again. Get ready for way too much Sans in
     future chapters. You're gonna love him *sarcasm* 8D
     And for anon questions/comments/hatemail: www.moth-volka.tumblr.com
      
     /////////////////////
***** V *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 5: Trust no one, Frisk.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Hey all! As always, thank you for your wonderful words of
     encouragement. I can't thank you enough, seriously. So, this next
     chapter is when things really start to take a turn. The real journey
     is about to commence >D Enjoy. 
      
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
Frisk stared at the shed that lay before her at least 5 yards away. The shock
of actually stumbling (literally) across the shed again drowned out the
terrible pain that shot up from her knees, now battered and bleeding. Although
she was clearly not in the deeper part of the woods anymore, since she was back
at the shack, the treetops were still raining with ash. This was not normal.
Not at all. Frisk glanced up to stare at the falling black bits. She still
couldn’t see the sky at all… wait… The sky was visible, just barely. Only it
was pitch black. Not even one star could be seen. It was like someone had
doused the sky with a bucket of oil. Something was very wrong here.
Frisk forced her gaze downward as she blinked back at the shed and the ominous
open door that lead to nothing. It was just blackness inside, as black as the
obsidian sky. The open wooden door made the shed resemble some ghastly maw, as
if it was ready to devour her. She sat there on her knees for a good while,
glancing over her shoulder every few minutes as if expecting that skeletal
monster to come upon her, but the forest remained silent. She finally pressed
both her ash-stained hands against the floor, pushing herself up to her feet.
She took a quick survey of her knees and attempted to rub dirt out of the
wounds. It didn’t hurt too much, but it didn’t look that great either. She
carefully stepped over the protruding cluster of roots so not to fall again and
collected all of her chips and cookies and drinks that were scattered about the
ground. She stuffed them quickly into the plastic bag and moved in towards the
shed.
As she took slow, cautious steps she couldn’t help but think about that
skeletal nightmare and her heart coursed with fear. It was still out there, out
in the forest right at this very moment. Where was Toriel? Maybe that skeleton
monster had gotten her?… No, that couldn’t possibly happen to Toriel. Frisk
tried to shake those weighing thoughts from her head as she examined the small
wooden building.
She stepped up right in front of the open door. Her heart practically skipped a
beat when she felt a gust of wind come forth from the inside. It was freezing.
How could that be!? The breeze echoed off the interior walls of the shed and it
was in that moment that she realized that this shed… wasn’t a shed at all, but
actually the entrance to a long, dark hallway. The echoing and gentle wailing
of wind inside made that quite clear.
Frisk clasped at her forehead with a dirty hand. She had seen so many
unbelievable things over these past few days, so it should come as no surprise
to her to see that this shed wasn’t what it appeared to be. But she still could
hardly fathom it. She paced around towards the back of the small building.
There was no visible tunnel on the outside. There was absolutely nothing to
make it seem like it was anything other than a dingy, wooden shack. She pressed
both her hands against the back of the building, feeling around in the
darkness. It was just wood. There was nothing special to it at all. Frisk
stepped back around to the front and slowly raised her hand. She held her arm
halfway through the shed’s entrance way to feel the temperature drop sharply.
It must have been at most 25 degrees in there. When she pulled her hand back to
her side, the warmth from the woods wrapped around her fingers quickly, heating
them up with a gentle embrace. It was confusing and intriguing and Frisk
couldn’t make sense of it. It was like wading in a brackish river, where both
saltwater and freshwater meet. Although instead of water it was temperature and
atmosphere.
Frisk continued to test the cold with her fingers. She remembered the voices
she heard coming from the shed the first time she came across it. Could it have
been that skeleton monster’s voice? No… she heard his voice earlier. It was
different. And it wasn’t Toriel’s voice either. A third monster? The one from
the shed had been ethereal and echolike, as if there were multiple voices
emitting from the same mouth.
Frisk glanced down at her sneakers and noticed something buried under a tall
pile of ash right where she stood. She reached down and brushed the dark debris
away, revealing the metal lock. So it was still here… Frisk lifted the lock in
her hands and examined it. Then she remembered… Of course, she had unlocked
this door. She had opened it with her hands, somehow. This was her own doing!
Had she unknowingly unleashed some terrible plague upon the forest by opening
this door? Toriel did say that it was dangerous. Was all of this her fault?
Frisk was lost in her own head, her brow furrowed as she struggled with her
musings and tried to keep her mind from going to a dark place. She rubbed at
her eyes with the bottom of her palm - they were starting to sting from the
ash. She thought of turning around and trying to find a way out of these woods,
go back to the orphanage, tell an adult about everything that had happened.
They would know what to do. She caressed the padlock when she remembered she
had a flashlight with her. Frisk stuffed one hand in her pocket and was
relieved to find that her cell phone was still there and hadn’t fallen out
during all the running about. She pulled out the phone and clicked on its
flashlight, shining it directly into the shed entrance way. The light barely
did anything to pierce the darkness. She had never, in all her years, seen a
darkness this thick before. It was abnormally disturbing.
Just as she was about to turn around and leave all of this behind her, she
noticed something towards the back of the shed. Whatever it was was just barely
visible underneath a heavy blanket of shadows, but the flashlight illuminated
it just a tiny bit. Frisk squinted, focusing in on the object that lay on the
floor. It was small-ish, red, it had straps…wait-… that was her backpack!
Frisk gasped and stuffed her phone back in her pocket. She dropped the padlock
to the forest floor and inadvertently leapt through the entrance way into the
darkness. The cold draped around her shoulders like a lead-lined shawl, causing
the soft hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. She ignored it and
bound forward towards her bag. What the hell! How did her backpack wind up in
here? She squatted down upon the ground and tugged open the cloth flap at the
top, quickly taking stock of all of her things. Everything seemed to be in
order. Her box cutter was still in there, the lighter, her box of band-aids,
all her text books and pencils and pens and phone charger.
She sighed out, relieved that nothing was missing, and stuffed her plastic bag
of food in the backpack for safe keeping. Then she swung her bag over her
shoulders, clinging tightly onto the straps with both hands. It was in that
moment that she realized she was actually inside the shed. Frisk glimpsed into
the darkness, a dreary whistling gust exhaled from the black insides of the
building and whooshed past her outside into the warm forest. She took notice of
her breath that came forth from her lips in small visible white puffs. Gosh, it
was cold.
Frisk slowly stood back up to her feet. She was ready to end this. No more
exploring the woods. She would put this whole terrible ordeal behind her and go
on living her life as if none of this had happened. Frisk smiled softly to
herself, feeling a new sense of assurance. She turned on her heals, ready to
head back home, when the shed door slammed shut in her face.
 
 …
 
 …
W-what…
 
She jumped and staggered backwards in shock, her heart hurtling with each beat
as she stared at the back of the wooden door. She could just barely make out a
figure on the opposite side through the darkness, through the thin, narrow
slats that formed the hatchway. The figure that had trapped her inside the
shed, it was Toriel.
“T-toriel!!” Frisk cried out, bounding forward as she pressed both her hands to
the door, trying to push it open. But it wouldn’t budge. Toriel was silent and
staring, those huge saucer eyes glazed in the ghostly green hue of the forest,
making them appear like colossal translucent pallid pools.
“I told you, child, to stay away…” Toriel’s unexpectedly cold voice almost
knocked Frisk off her feet. The monster stared back at the human girl through
the door’s gaps, unblinking.
“I-I-I know… I know b-but…” Frisk stammered and tried so desperately to push
her words out. She heard the sound of metallic clinking and a clunk pounded
once against the front of the door. What… Toriel had… she had just locked the
padlock back in place! Frisk felt like her heart was capsizing. She started to
pound on the door with her fists, crying out in utter panic.
“I’m sorry! Toriel- please!”
“Did you open this door, child?” Toriel asked, finally lowering those haunting
eyes downward to break the gaze as she interrupted Frisk’s pleading.
Frisk stilled her fists, staring back at Toriel with wide eyes. She was not
sure how to respond. When she had encountered Toriel the other night, her gut
instinct convinced her not to mention how the lock gave way with ease in her
hands. It was unnatural and it frightened her, even more than this looming,
nightmarish monster did.
“I-…” she began but Toriel interrupted her again.
“Do not lie, human.” Those words sent a terrible shiver up Frisk’s spine and
was like a knife to her stomach. Frisk took a slight step backwards and Toriel
inched forward, leering back at her through the small openings. She seemed…
enraged. “Did you open this door?”
“I-… I mean… I think-…” Frisk stuttered anxiously, her fingertips were starting
to feel numb from the temperature inside the shed, but her head was hot with
fear. “I did-” She finally blurted out. Maybe that was all Toriel wanted to
hear? Maybe she would release her now… Maybe, maybe… Please god, let that be
so.
“So you are the one. You are the Manumitter.” The creature’s voice melted into
a sadness. Toriel’s expression softened as she glanced into Frisk’s eyes. “Oh
how I so desperately did not want that to be so…”
“The Manumitter?? No- no! I’m not that! I’m not anything!!” Frisk stumbled over
her words but Toriel closed her eyes, taking in a deep inhale as her long goat-
like ears sagged down and framed her face.
“You are so, my child. Unfortunately, you are so. You opened this door. And you
can open the others. You must go forth, child, and open all the others.”
Others!? W-what!?! The monster's words were so cryptic. Frisk was raking her
brain just trying to grasp the heck Toriel was talking about. “I didn’t mean to
open this door, Toriel! It was an accident! I am so sorry… please… please just
let me out. I promise I will never return to this forest.” Frisk begged,
expelling all her words in one struggling breath. But Toriel just shook her
head in return.
“It is too late. You have been… found out, my child. You must go forth and open
the rest of the doors. Only then will you be able to return home.” Toriel
leaned forward right up against the door that separated them. Frisk could
practically feel the monster’s warm breath expel through the slats, cutting
through the painful cold. “You must journey into the Underground.”
The Underground?? What the heck was that!? No, no no nonono! Please, no! Frisk
felt hot tears well up in her eyes which blurred her vision. She was cold and
desperate and confused. And she started to pound against the door again, the
wood from the planks digging small splinters into her palms.
“Please forgive me. I wish it were not this way… They are making me do this…”
Toriel sighed again, ignoring Frisk’s pounding and pleading, simply talking
louder over her cries. “You have the ability, my child. Can’t you feel it in
your hands? In your soul? You are our liberator… our Manumitter. Be strong and
be alert. Because they are very… hungry.” It was in that moment that Toriel’s
eyes glazed over again, and that sickening wide maniacal grin spread across her
face. Frisk had seen that look the other night, in the darkness. It was as if
she was possessed. Or perhaps she had been unstable this whole time.
Frisk saw the changing expression and stilled her hands. She took three more
horrified steps backwards, away from the door, those ghastly green eyes just
barely visible through the open slats. God, she was terrified.
Then the monster started laughing. A cold, cruel laugh that seemed to invade
Frisk’s soul, causing her physical discomfort. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Toriel
apologized between her echoing chortles and gasps, “It has to be this way,
child. They convinced me. It has to be this way! It is inevitable. Fate.”
Toriel smirked wide, her eyes slightly lidded as she grinned, exposing those
threatening canines. But despite her demeanor, there was a sadness to her gaze.
Frisk saw it. She knew that kind of sadness better than anymore.
“Now go, child. Trust no one. Be strong. Fight.”
Frisk shook her head vigorously. She opened her mouth to protest when one of
Toriel’s white paw digits slipped through the crack of the door inside the
small shack. Frisk stared wide-eyed at the single monster digit, watching as a
sharp black nail began to slip out from its sheath. Something was happening. A
soft glow began to form at the very tip of Toriel’s monster claw. A greenish-
golden colored orb started to appear in layers of translucent churning energy.
It was like Toriel was summoning some sort of controlled magic.
Frisk stared back at the orb in awe and terror, her jaw hung open and trembled
as she watched the orb grow larger and larger, balancing right at the tip of
Toriel’s nail.
“I said go, child!” Toriel shouted and sharply flicked the finger to the right.
The glowing orb that had formed burst forward in Frisk’s direction, just barely
missing her head. The orb swerved right past her ear, singeing some tips of her
messy hair, and then exploded directly behind her. The burst caused a hot rush
of air and ember to flood the small foyer of the shed and lit up the darkness
if only for a moment. Frisk cried out in fear, ducking her head down and
covering her face with her arms to avoid getting hit, to protect herself from
the heat and remote licking flames. She heard Toriel’s laughter through the
gusts of hot air while the fiery orb of magic quickly dissipated.
Frisk shot open her eyes, staring back at Toriel who was still grinning wide,
her behemoth eyes burning with a dangerous conviction. "Run forward, child.
Your journey has only just begun.” The demonic goat monster sung out through
clenched smirking teeth. Frisk trembled, completely immobilized, then she saw
yet another sphere of gold magic start to form at Toriel’s index finger. Shit.
She knew that the monster wouldn’t miss a second time. She had to run! She had
to get away right now! Even if it meant jumping out of the frying pan into the
fire.
The orb was growing larger and larger and Frisk turned and finally she ran. She
plunged into the cold darkness, running for her life as Toriel’s deranged
laughter bounced off the frigid cavern walls, following her into the
Underground. Following her into hell.
*****
Coming up: And so, the journey begins.
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Oh man! Toriel, how could you!? Frisk is probably really wishing she
     had put on that pair of jeans about now, amirite? In the next
     upcoming chapters we got some more flashback character development,
     terror, suspense and Napstablook. Don't worry, Sans is right around
     the bend. Stay tuned!
      
     /////////////////////
***** VI *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 6: Frisk is beginning to have a really bad time.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Sup all.
     So these next two chapters (6 & 7) were originally written together
     as one chapter. But it was way too long, so I decided to cut it in
     two. Initially I didn't want to do that, because the beginning half
     starts a little slow (to build suspense & character development) and
     the ending half picks up. So now you have a gradual chapter 6 and an
     exciting chapter 7 D:
     Oh well. Chap. 6 still has some major scene establishment and story
     plot-points that are very important. (*cough*savepoints*cough*)
     Anyways, enjoy! Chap. 7 will be posted tomorrow evening.  
      
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
Frisk sprinted through the darkness, her pulse galloping just as fast as her
feet. Toriel’s laughter followed her into the black space like a flock of
ravens swooping in for the kill.
She continued to run and run… and run…… and… run. Until all she could hear was
the sound of her own rapid breath and her feet against the stone floor.
Toriel’s laughter had been replaced by soft gusts of freezing wind that
whispered past Frisk’s ears. Finally, she came to a halt. She could not take
another step.
She panted heavily as she tried to catch her breath. Her lungs stung, desperate
for oxygen. But it was so painful to suck in that freezing air. She gasped and
coughed and clutched at her chest and it was so dark, so dark… Frisk actually
touched around her eyes for a moment to see if they were even open. She lifted
both her hands, feeling around in the darkness to get a better grasp of where
she was. Still in the hallway. The walls narrowed in close to her, she could
touch both of them with ease if she spanned out her arms at either side. It
gave her a terrible claustrophobic feeling and she had never been one to be
claustrophobic. Frisk pressed her forehead against one of the walls and wanted
to cry. This can’t be happening right now. This can’t be happening. This can’t
be happening… She let out a few dry sobs, banging a fist upon the stone wall,
and her mind started to bounce off in different directions.
Izzy would have to notice her absence. They would come looking for her, right?
Someone must! Frisk thought of turning around and going back to the entrance
way, back to Toriel. Was the monster still waiting there for her? Would she
actually stand there and guard the door to prevent her to trying to escape? She
had tried to kill her! The realization made Frisk’s stomach hurt. Toriel had
tried to kill her with some fiery orb of magic. Not only was she hulking and
terrifying, but she had powers as well! Did all the other monsters have powers?
Wait… Toriel mentioned something… Something about my hands. Do I have powers?
Frisk curled her hands into fists, still leaning against the icy wall. Another
gust of wind blew past and she shivered in the darkness. Slowly, she slid down
to the floor and sat with her back to the stone and her knees curled up into
her slight chest. Her lungs were starting to fill up with cold oxygen as her
steady breath returned to normal. All she could hear was the whistling wind. It
was getting colder… now that she was not running anymore. With trembling hands,
she untied the hoodie from around her waist and pulled it up over her head,
keeping her hands tucked within the long-sleeves for warmth. She pulled the
hoodie’s hood up to cover her ears and the lower part down over her bare
scrapped knees, curling up into a feeble little ball within the jacket.
Toriel had said… there were other doors. Her mind continued to surge. Where
were the other doors? Somewhere in this long tunnel? And what did she mean when
she said the others were… hungry? And who the hell are the others? Maybe if she
just kept going forward she would come across the doors eventually.
After a long while of sitting in the dark tucked inside her hoodie Frisk’s body
heat had started to return. She would cup her hands around her mouth every few
minutes, exhaling hot breaths against her fingers and wringing them together to
keep the temperature up. Eventually Frisk dug a hand in her pocket and pulled
out her phone. The dimly illuminated cracked screen read ‘1:13 am’. Was it
really that late? No wonder she was so exhausted…
Frisk clicked on the flashlight. The meager light did its best to illuminate
the small section of hallway, but not by much. She could see how close the
walls were together. They were made of a washed-out gray stone with small
cracks and indentations that collected at the bottom. Frisk could see the
ceiling too, some feet above her. It was also just stone. Then she shined the
light down both ways of the hall. Only inky, ominous blackness awaited her at
either side.
She propped up her cellphone against the wall to make use of the light and
slowly pulled her backpack from her shoulders, cradling it closely in her lap.
Frisk opened her pack and pulled out the small bag of snacks. She unraveled the
cafeteria turkey sandwich from its foil wrapper, taking a few bites. But
despite it all she had no appetite, her anxiety made sure of that. She
hesitantly chewed the bread and turkey, taking a very small sip of tea to wash
it down. She felt dizzy and sick.
How long could she last in here? She couldn’t stay here forever… eventually she
was going to freeze… or maybe even starve to death. Whichever came first. The
idea of trying to use her cellphone to call someone seeped into her mind, but
she knew very well that the phone had been without service for years. Frisk
packed up the rest of the sandwich and glanced down at her bare legs. The blood
on her knees had dried and the abrasions looked particularly nasty, like
someone had taken a cheese grater to her flesh. There was also dirt and small
bits of bark embedded in the wounds. Frisk pulled out an extra bottle of water
from her backpack and opened it up. She carefully poured some into the bottle’s
small cap, then drizzled the cool water over her wounds. It stung a bit, but
was nothing she couldn’t handle. She washed the dirt and chips of wood out of
her lesions, rubbing away some of the caked-on dried blood as well, then placed
band-aids over each injury to keep them clean for now. The water on her skin
immediately chilled due to the freezing atmosphere, so she curled back up into
her hoodie and breathed down into the neck hole to warm them back up again.
Was she going to die here? She had always daydreamed about death, for as long
as she could remember. But now in this exact moment she was… afraid. Afraid of
death and the unknown. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to go back to the
orphanage, hug Izzy, find a family, be happy. Frisk’s eyelids felt heavy and
her pulse began so slow as a wave of drowsiness washed over her. So dark… so
cold… so tired… And finally sleep took her.
 
 
… 
 
 
… 
 
She was in the light. In the warmth. The sun poured down in brilliant rays from
overhead as she ran along a suburban road. She was laughing and running and
bouncing a tennis ball against the asphalt. A large German Shepherd mutt
bounded alongside her, trying to catch the neon green ball between its teeth,
barking playfully.
“C’mon, boy. C’mon!” A little Frisk giggled and stopped in the middle of the
road. She rolled one shoulder back and threw the tennis ball forward as far as
she could. It spiraled in the air before gravity finally took it, and her dog
ran after it. “Bring it here, Schafer!” Frisk called out her pet’s name,
patting at her thighs to coax the dog back. He returned at a high spread with
the ball in his mouth, running circles around the small girl and she let out a
carefree laugh.
“Let’s go home, boy.” She smiled down at the dog who leapt upwards in an
attempt to lick her face. She hooked her fingers underneath the Shepherd’s
leather collar, leading him back to the sidewalk and down the block until they
reached a standard ranch-style house. Her heart sank at the sight of the house,
as it was a symbol for what was to come, for what awaited her daily. Then the
shouting reached her ears and her brief happiness was swept out from under her.
“Frisk, get the hell in here!” That blood-curdling, aggressive voice made each
one of her nerves stand on end as it called out from an open window. Her gentle
smile faded in seconds and she hung her head, glancing down at her dog, who had
tucked its tail between its legs.
“C’mon…” She whispered softly to her pup and dragged her feet up the walkway to
the front door. She began to push the door open but it quickly swung inward
from a separate force. A tall hulking man stood over her as he gripped onto the
side of the door. His face contorted in a rage.
“How many times have I told you not to take that damn dog outside without a
leash!” He growled out and gripped tightly onto the back of Frisk’s neck,
yanking her forward inside the house. Her dog quickly leapt inside before the
man could close the door, and curled up in the corner of the living room
whimpering.
“I-I’m sorry, dad…” Frisk said, trying to lean back as her father’s grip
tightened around the nape of her neck. She heard a soft sigh from the other
side of the room through an open archway that lead into a small dimly-lit
kitchen. Her mother sat at the kitchen table, her face battered and bruised.
Her soft brown eyes, which once held so much life, now two shallow voids.
“You see how reckless your daughter is?” Her father shouted out towards mom as
his cruel eyes locked onto Frisk, his current target. Her threw the girl up
against the wall. “She’s just like her mother.” Frisk could smell the stench of
alcohol on his breath and seeping through his pours. He stepped up towards her,
raising a fisted hand high over his head. Frisk stared wide-eyed at the
impending blow and pulled her forearms up to cover her face. Her dog began
barking and growling loudly as it bound forward to protect his owner. And
before she could feel the horrible pummel of fist to the side of her head, a
blanket of shadows wrapped around the visuals and turned everything to black.
 
 
… 
 
 
Frisk sat in a cold sweat in barely lit darkness, breathing fast. She groped
around in the gloom, searching for her blanket. But instead there was only cold
stone. That’s right… She was still in the tunnel. Oh god… It was real. It was
real! Why hadn't it all been just a terrible nightmare? How could this still be
happening?… But that dream… that memory she had just experienced, that was
actually an improvement than her current reality. She silently wished she could
swap the two as she shivered against the ground.
After a long moment of contemplation, Frisk sat up straight. Nothing had
changed, everything was still cold and dark. Thankfully her phone’s weak light
had remained on while she slept. She grabbed at her cell to check the time and
it now read ‘3:45 am’. She must have dozed off for a bit… Part of her wished
she hadn’t. She subconsciously rubbed at the side of her head, pushing those
harrowing memories down, deep down inside her soul. Deep and hidden away where
they belong.
Frisk saw her reflection in the phone screen through the digital clock. She
looked like hell. Her face was still streaked with ash, her hair was a tangled
mess, her eyes were red and puffy. She rubbed at her cheeks with her sleeve,
wiping away the rest of the dusty black lines. She had to keep moving. She
couldn’t wait around here forever. Now was the time to go forward. She would
find those doors and get the heck out of here. She would make it. She suddenly
remembered Toriel’s words: ‘Trust no one. Be strong. Fight.’ They echoed in her
head like a haunting melody and she clenched her hands in two fists, ready to
move onward.
Frisk pushed her legs out from under her balled hoodie and stood up. The cold
immediately cloaked around her bare legs and she rubbed at the tops of her
knees where her shorts cut off and took in a deep breath. Then, she grabbed her
backpack from off the floor, clutched her phone tight in one hand, and stepped
forward into the darkness.
She trotted at a brisk pace through the shadows. The cold breeze blew past her,
chilling her to the bone, but she put it out of her mind. She would get out of
here, she’d escape. Perhaps she would even find Toriel again once she was back
outside. Show that monster just how strong she could really be. Frisk used the
light of her cell to guide her, careful not to bump into the walls which now
seemed to become event more narrow with every passing minute. The empty space
of the hallway were thinning around her. Frisk silently began to panic but she
fought back that emotion as well and just kept going forward. She wouldn’t give
up that easily.
Frisk had been so preoccupied watching the narrowing walls that she hadn’t
noticed a huge puddle of icy black water on the floor, and stepped directly
into it. She hissed out and stumbled backwards, but the water had already
soaked her sneaker and she could just barely feel the wet cold brush against
her toes underneath the sock. Dang it! The last thing she needed right now was
frost-bitten toes. She shook her foot out a bit, draining as much of the water
as she could, and used to flashlight to scan the puddle. There was a ring of
ice collecting around the peripheral of the water where the wall met the floor.
Frisk saw that the puddle wasn’t actually that big, it was just difficult to
see in the dense shadows. She ran forward and hopped over the water and kept
running into the deep.
The walls were really closing in now, they brushed against both of her
shoulders and it was getting harder to breath. Should she turn around? Was she
going to hit a dead-end eventually? How small was this hallway going to get?
Maybe those doors Toriel spoke of were actually nested within in the walls and
she had missed it somehow. Frisk hesitated and was about to turn around when
that gut feeling told her to keep moving onward. So she did… and just as the
walls started to close in on her she reached an opening within the dark.
The halls opened up into a massive, empty space. The wind whistled loudly at
the exit, but as Frisk stepped out into the room the gusts died down to a
silence. She walked forward and looked up. Somehow the vast chamber was not
nearly as dark as the corridor had been, but it was just as cold. Frisk raised
her hand and used her flashlight to try and examine where she was.
“H-hello?” She called out in a cracked, small voice which bounced off the walls
of the room. It was huge and echoing. There was nothing here, just what
appeared to be a massive dark longhall, completely empty and silent. But there
was a soft glow coming from one side of the chamber. Frisk squinted her eyes as
she looked up, way up high towards the elevated ceiling. There was a small
window up there, just barely visible. A gentle, pale beam of light streamed
from the opening only to dissipate in the dark shadows, but it just barely lit
up the room.
Frisk stepped into the middle of the chamber and thought of calling out again
but instead she stayed quiet. There was no one here. Should couldn’t sense a
soul. She felt completely and utterly alone. Was she underground right now?
Toriel had called this place the ‘Underground’ after all. Perhaps she was
underneath the orphanage at this very moment. The thought made her heart feel
light with hope.
She walked a few yards over to the stone wall and brushed her fingertips
against it. As she reached the section of wall where the window was high
overhead, she could see the soft ray of light spill out, dust floating around
in the illumination. Would she be able to see the forest out there? It was much
too high for her to see out of from down below. The single window was at least
five stories up. Frisk stepped out into the center of room to try and get a
better angle, but still nothing. Her foot was wet, she was freezing, this was
torture. She sighed to herself while she rubbed her bitter hands together
before shoving one in the front pocket of her hoodie, her phone in the other,
and continued forward. She felt like she was just walking in an empty void… but
then…
There was another small opening! On the opposite side of the huge dungeon she
could just barely make out a small archway built into the wall. Frisk ran
forward towards it and poked her head inside. More tunnel, but there was
something else. She could see a light. A bright light a least a mile down the
cavern. Frisk gripped onto the sides of the opening, trying to decide what to
do. She could go forward, go towards that light whatever it may be, or head
back now. It wasn’t too late. Maybe Toriel was gone by now. Maybe… No. No, she
will go forward.
Frisk took in a deep inhale, filling up her lungs with oxygen, and released the
steady breath before she stepped back into the new tunnel and stepped lively.
She wasn’t going to run anymore; all it did was wear her out. But she did keep
a brisk pace which added some warmth. The light was growing larger. It appeared
to be spilling out from another room. Whether it was as big as the chamber she
had just came from or a tiny room, she had no idea, but at least it was
something different, something new. Maybe that was where the doors were.
Finally, Frisk got close enough to see inside of the connecting room. She
stepped through the doorway into the flickering gentle light. It was a smaller
chamber, probably less than half the size of the previous one. It was also made
of stone, also cold and also empty except for where that light was originating
from. A small candle sat on the floor in the corner of the room, it’s little
burning ember gingerly dancing in the chilly atmosphere.
A candle?
Frisk stepped over towards the candle with caution. She looked around the room
just to double check if it really was empty, and it was. But the flickering
light from the candle created shadows against the stone walls and it made her
nervous. Why is there a candle here? Frisk thought and actually muttered those
words under her breath to herself. She crouched down in front of the candle and
held both hands up to it, warming them up while simultaneously examining the
object. It was about the size of a soda can and the wax… the wax of the candle
was translucent. It was made up of a cloudy, see-through yellow-ish material.
It was so strange. The dripping crystalline pooled down the sides and created a
circular puddle around the base.
Frisk peered through the candlestick and noticed that there was no wick inside.
The small ember seemed to be floating in thin air, right where it should be
above the top of the candle. This was too freaky, but not as freaky as two
monsters in the forest and a seemingly harmless shed that lead underground for
miles. And at least it was warm…
She pocketed her cellphone - the candle provided enough light anyways - and
felt an urge to swipe her fingertips quickly through the flame. They were
frozen anyways and she used to watch kids at the orphanage do it with matches
for fun. She idly began to glide her fingers through the meager ember. It
actually didn’t feel all that hot. Maybe it was due to the fact that her hands
were so cold, or maybe this candle wasn’t actually a candle at all but instead
something mysterious. Frisk continued to glide her fingers back and forth
through the fire. She leaned forward and gripped onto the middle of the candle
stick with one hand when- w-whoa!! A huge surge of energy pulsed throughout her
body, making her muscles spasm and constrict. Her vision went white and she saw
stars. Her head pulsed and she cried out, not necessarily from pain but from
the sudden shock of the impact. She fell backwards on her rear, staring at the
candle in horror and quickly glanced down at her hands to make sure they were
intact. They were both fine, and so was the candle. Nothing had changed except
the little flame seemed to dance a bit faster.
What the hell was that???? Frisk’s thoughts raced like they always did whenever
something supernatural happened to her, which seemed to happen daily lately.
She sat up on her knees and crawled forward, peering in close at the candle
once more. It made her uneasy.It was time to go.Frisk reluctantly got back up
to her feet and scanned the dimly-lit room. There was yet another doorway on
the other side that she hadn’t noticed before. She could keep going or stay in
here with this candle… Frisk huffed out, rubbing at her dry eyes with both
hands. This was truly exhausting, the unknowing and all the walking and the
terror she felt every time she saw a new doorway ahead. And she took in a deep
breath, pulling her phone back out from her pocket, and continued on.
 
 
She walked through another stretch of tunnel, leaving the flicking candle
behind her. This tunnel was not unlike all the others, except perhaps the air
felt a bit heavier and a tad colder (if that were even possible.) As she
walked, she kept thinking of the candle and what that strange feeling was when
she touched its wax. Had the impact done anything to her? She didn’t feel any
different, but she was paranoid about that kinda thing. She also thought of
Toriel, but her mind instantly went to the skeleton in the clearing. For some
reason that monster in particular kept weighing on her mind… that ax, the
blood… the way he chuckled. Frisk shook the memory from her head and stepped
slowly down the hall, using her phone’s light as a guide, and without even
realizing she walked into yet another new room.
Frisk stopped and glanced about before going any further. For a moment her
heart sank, this room looked exactly like the first large chamber she had come
across. Did she really just go in one big circle?! No… wait… it wasn’t the
same. They looked almost identical but this room was slightly dissimilar. Its
stone walls were cracked and crumbling down, revealing more stone behind the
initial barrier. Also, there was no window perched up high. It was total
darkness.
Frisk walked into the center of the chamber and suddenly she heard something…
and it wasn’t the wind.
“Ssssskk… “
Frisk dove back through the doorway she had just come from, pressing her back
against the narrow wall. She would give anything right now to just melt in that
stone and disappear. Her heart ran like a racehorse and she heard it again…
“Sssssk-… “
Wait… the sound. That sound was familiar to her. Where had she heard that sound
before?
“Sss…” The sound seemed to fade off into the distance until it stopped
entirely. After a couple minutes of utter terror, Frisk gradually peeked her
head over the side of the entrance way. There was still only darkness in the
room, but that gave her no comfort. It just meant that anything could be
lurking in the shadows unseen. She held her cellphone forward, using the light
once more but it didn’t do much to pierce the dark, like usual.
Frisk took in a deep breath. She had decided she wasn’t going to run anymore.
She was going to be strong. Strong and fight, like Toriel had told her to. She
had made it this far… she must be getting close to the exit now. If she had to
fight her way through a monster to return home, then so be it. With kindling
bravery, Frisk pulled her backpack from her shoulders and dug a hand inside.
Her fingers wrapped around her box cutter, her only weapon. She pulled it out
and clicked her finger against the slider to brandish the segmented shape
blade, holding it out in front of her. With her weapon in one hand and her
light in the other, she stepped forward into the fray.
*****
Coming up: Something creeps in the dark...
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Enjoy some Blooky time up next! 8D
      
     /////////////////////
***** VII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 7: Frisk has a friendly chat with a ghost.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Sup, mah dudes! As always ty for the kudos.
     So just a little info about this chapter: Sour Apple Studios’
     Horrortale AU does not have any specific character design or traits
     for Napstablook (it's like that for most characters actually) Blooky
     is not included in the AU at all, so I used my headcanon of him.
     Design wise, I pulled inspiration from the newly released ghost
     pokemon Mimikyu (Image_reference_here). I hope no one is rubbed the
     wrong way by this since it's not exactly conventional ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
     Anyways, enjoy  
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
Frisk walked in silence, clenching her teeth together tight, anxiety swirling
in her head and in her gut. She scanned the room over with each step as she
slowly made her way through the chamber. Another gust of cold wind, but no more
of that hissing voice.
Wait… there was something ahead. Far off on the opposite side of the room there
was another doorway. She felt a wave of relief at the sight. She preferred
being in the narrow hallways rather than in the large rooms, at least in there
nothing could be hiding in corners or above her within the shadows, that is
unless it was right in front of her nose. Frisk picked up the pace and trotted
forward, making a straight line for the open archway. She was just a few steps
away from entering another hall when something dark fell right before her eyes.
A ghastly, thin, black, claw-like arm swung down from above the doorway,
blocking her path. Frisks eyes went wide as she stumbled backwards and
brandished her box cutter out in front of her with a trembling hand. Her eyes
locked onto the thing above the door. It was clutching on the side of the wall
directly above her.
 
It was not Toriel. It was not the skeleton monster in the woods. It was
something different, an atrocious nightmare unlike the others. The creature had
multiple dark limbs protruding out in all different directions that it used to
cling onto the stone. Like some sort of terrible insect, it adjusted itself
against the wall with its numerous legs, raising the limb that had swung
downward towards Frisk. Each arm had a claw at the end of it, and each claw was
decorated in barbed nails. It's many legs were haunting, but the monster’s body
was even more macabre. All of the legs seemed to be erupting from underneath a
ragged white cloth draped over a round form. It almost looked like it was
wearing a tablecloth to conceal its body and face, but it definitely wasn’t
cloth. The cloth-like substance emitted an unnatural gleam of light, just
barely visible. It almost looked like drooping flesh, tattered at the ends.
This thing was like a ghost with limbs.
Frisk stood shaking and held back a cry that simmered in her throat. The
creature dropped down from the wall with a loud thump and started to straighten
itself on its many spider-like legs. It soon towered over her and Frisk could
see what appeared to be two eye holes cut out at the upper center of the clothy
material, exposing a pair of white glowing hues for eyes.
“Ssssskk… human…“ The creature hissed out. That sound again. And it suddenly
occurred to her where she had heard it before. That was the voice! The voice
from the shed!So that voice belonged to this monster.
It leaned down, it’s body and those luminous eyes coming face to face with
Frisk. If she hadn’t been total paralyzed with fear she would have run, or
maybe lunged forward with her utility knife, but no. No, instead she just stood
there and shook. Her legs felt like pudding, like they would give way at any
second. Bravery? Pft… who was she kidding.
“Ssso you…. are the human… “ The monster blinked from behind the white flowing
fabric. That soft whispering voice, low and ethereal and echoing off one
another. Like a collective of voices sewn together with thread. “I knew you
would come…and sssave us… … … ssk…”
Frisk stood, horrified, taking in the monstrous figure and staring back at
those radiant eyes, the only thing visible underneath the cloth. Save them?!
What??? The monster must have taken notice of her terrified expression because
it leaned back slightly away from her.
“Aaah I know I must look frightening.” He almost sounded sorrowful. “I won’t
hurt you… sssk…” The monster said quickly and wrung two thin claws together.
The way it spoke was terrifying, but there was an undertone of sincerity to its
words. Regardless, Frisk’s thoughts bounced around inside her brain like a
newborn fledgling. She was about the run when she heard the monster whisper
again.
“Manumitter…”
Toriel had called her that… the word that meant ‘savior’.
“W-what did you call me?” Frisk finally found her voice, though it was barely
audible through the aggressive trembles that had taken hold. She kept her
cellphone flashlight directly on the ghost. It was better than being in the
dark with this thing.
“Ah, you do speak.” His quavering voice curled around her and he almost
sounded… happy. “You are the Manumitter. I am Napstablook…”
Frisk gripped tightly onto the handle of her box cutter, trying to hold it
steady pointed in the direction of the monster, apparently called Napstablook.
It blinked again. The monster had no mouth, so how was it speaking? Or did it
have one under that draped, glowing ectoplasm? Frisk couldn’t help but wonder
what it truly looked like under that ghostly sheet.
“I-I’m not the Manumitter. I’m just F-Frisk,” She said as she finally broke her
gaze away from Napstablook’s glowing eyes to watch those deadly-looking claws.
“Isss that what you are called? I see… sskk…” The apparition responded in turn
and then remained quiet. It would have been an awkward, strange silence had
Frisk not been so aghast. Maybe it was awkward for the ghost? Who knows. Frisk
had only spoken to one other monster before, Toriel. And although Toriel made
her uneasy, she seemed to enjoy conversation… at least until she had locked
Frisk in a shed and attacked her.
“Napstablook,” Frisk spoke the monsters name. The creature seemed to perk up a
little bit when he heard it, lowering his claws. “Have… have you seen a
skeleton pass through here?”
“A skeleton?… No, no one hasss been through here in a very long time…” His
words trailed off into a wisp. Once more Frisk's thoughts returned to that
skeleton abomination that she had seen dragging that poor fawn… with those
massive, interlocking teeth. Could that thing still be out wandering the woods?
Or was it somewhere in these tunnels with them?
“No, you are the firssst being I have seen down here in agesss. It gets very
lonely in here. But I’m sssure you realize that, you’ve been down here for a
little while… sssk… ssss…”
Frisk blinked at Napstablook’s words. Had he been watching her or something? An
unpleasant surge of unease twisted around in the pit of her stomach.
“It’sss lonely and barren… And you have no idea how hungry I am……”
Those words made Frisk take a step back, holding down a whimper in her throat.
But the ghost seemed to take notice of Frisk’s altered stance and he quickly
lifted those claws upwards again. “Aah… do not worry Manumitter. I don’t eat
meat like the othersss ssk…”
Like the others? What did that mean? The other monsters?? Frisk wanted to get
out of here. She would have done anything to get out of here right now. She was
feeling light-headed from fear and sick from the cold. She parted her lips to
ask Napstablook what he did eat, but then decided to stay silent. On second
thought she did not want to know.
“But it’sss alright. You will open the doorsss and we will all soon be free…”
She wanted to ask him once and for all what that meant. Toriel had mentioned it
too. Free them all from what? Free from this long, dark stretch of tunnels and
dungeons? No… that couldn't be it. And he had just said there was no one else
down here… So where were all the others? Her head ached with confusion.
“I don’t understand…” She finally admitted, lowering her head slightly. The
ghost blinked his vibrant eyes.
“Well, you are a human, aren’t you… ssk?”
Frisk nodded and quickly started to realize she was having a conversation with
a huge spider ghost. She should be running! No, no… just keep him talking. Just
stay calm.
“You see… It is written… in the prophecy… A human will come… sskk… come and
open all the doorsss… Free ussss from the Underground. Each gate is locked down
here. Us monstersss cannot open them. Only the Manumitter can.” The ghost’s
glowing eyes wandered up and down her form, then started to wander away towards
the wall in a casual manner.
Frisk blinked and listened to his reverberating, arcane words. A bubble of
questions surfaced at the summit of her thoughts. “Napstablook…” She began,
drawing his attention once more, “Where are these doors… exactly?”
The ghostly figure tilted slightly to the side, raising its slender, tendril
arms up in an extravagant motion. “Oh there are dozens of doors throughout the
Underground… ssssk… sss…”
Frisk bit at the tip of her tongue, feeling like she was missing some vital
information here. “But I have been walking around down here for a while now
and… and I’ve only seen the first door. The entrance of the shed.” She spoke
slowly to keep her voice from shaking. She did not want to appear scared, even
though it was painted all over her face. She just wanted these questions
answered and to get away from this thing as quickly as possible.
Then suddenly Napstablook chuckled, that motley tone of voice wrapping around
Frisk’s soul like a coiling snake. “Oh, you haven’t even ssseen the Underground
yet. We are ssstill in the entry passageway.”
Frisk’s determination fell into the pit of her stomach with those words. These
tunnels were just the entrance??? She seriously thought she was going to be
sick and lowered her phone-holding hand down to clutch at her stomach.
Napstablook tilted his head to the side with almost a gesture of concern. This
was just… the entrance way… What was awaiting her outside these tunnels? Dear
lord…
Suddenly another question seeped to the forefront of her thoughts. She
remembered some of Toriel’s parting words spoken through the door: ‘You have
been found out’. Frisk glanced up at Napstablook who seemed to be swaying idly
side to side. This monster had seen her open the shed door… he was there when
it happened. He probably saw the lock open in her hands… Was she trapped down
here because this ghost had told someone that she could open the doors? Frisk
almost felt angry, but her fear overshadowed her animosity and she decided to
ask a more pressing question.
“Napstablook,” She began again, and he made a slight sound as if to ask ‘yes?’.
“How can I open the doors… without a key?”
“You don’t need a key… as you are the Manumitter. The key is right here…ssk..”
Napstablook lifted one of his wiry limbs up and pressed the very tip right at
the center of Frisk’s chest. Frisk stumbled backwards as the limb pushed
lightly against her front. She could feel the frigid cold temperature of the
leg through her hoodie. “Ah-… sorry…” He began, lowering his limb back to the
ground. “Everyone hassss a soul… Monsters… Humanssss… Some are just more
powerful than othersss-”
But Frisk ignored his genuine apology and the words that followed. She jolted
backwards away from the ghost, dropping her cellphone to the floor with a loud
clatter and clutched at her utility knife in both hands, holding it out towards
the monster. Without her phone’s light, only the dim glow of the monster’s
ghostly body and eye holes illuminated the space between them. Frisk’s eyes
were wide, teeth clenched and pupils dilated in terror, ready to defend herself
against this giant nightmare if she had to.
Napstablook’s brilliant glowing eyes lock onto the knife and he shifted
slightly. He took a moment, then leaned in close towards Frisk. She let out a
soft cry of fear through her teeth, her hands shaking, but still she did not
lunge. The monster was inches away from her face, his eyes centered-in on the
knife.
“Isss that your weapon?…” He asked, his voice strained with a melancholy that
she had heard earlier when he spoke of loneliness. All of a sudden Frisk felt
embarrassed. Yes, Napstablook was physically terrifying, but there was a
genuine courtesy about him. Instead of answering his question, Frisk lowered
her hands down and away from the ghost. She pressed her thumb at the slider to
sheath the blade back inside the handle.
“Are you a killer, Manumitter?” He asked and raised his gaze up to stare back
into her eyes, still leaning in way too close. Frisk could feel a strange aura
emanating off his form. “Are you going to kill usss, Manumitter?”
His voice was less echoic that time and it scared her. Frisk rapidly shook her
head no, side to side. “N-no… no.” Her voice cracked. She felt demoralized and
afraid. But the monster kept pushing it. One of his tendril-like limbs started
to creep along Frisk’s arm. She jolted in shock from the sudden touch, but the
spidery limb continued its way up, up along her shoulder blade. It felt like
someone was dragging barbed wire along the sleeve of her hoodie and it caused
her flesh to break out in goosebumps.
“Are you sssure?” He asked in that same pensive voice.
Frisk nodded fast and finally found the nerve to pull herself away from that
contorted limb, stumbling over to the side. “I am not a killer! I-I will open
the doors…” She would have said anything to satiate this monster.
Napstablook lowered his arm and his gloomy yet earnest demeanor seemed to
return as he replied. “Ahhhh that is wonderful, Manumitter! The next door is
jussst up ahead…” He stepped to the side with clicking feet on stone floor,
revealing the open entrance way directly behind him.
Frisk quickly crouched down to snatch up her phone that lay on the ground. She
held the flashlight back up, shinning the light in the direction of the doorway
which housed only darkness like all the others.
“If you are successful in opening the ssssecond gate, then perhaps I will see
you again… on the outside… sssskkk…” Napstablook spoke quietly, watching her
with a keen interest. “And if you are unsuccessful, then… I will most
definitely see you again in these tunnelssss…sss…” He almost chuckled, if you
could call it that.
Frisk took a step forward towards the doorway. She hesitated for a second and
glanced back at Napstablook, who remained where he stood. She wasn’t sure how
to end their conversation. She was scared of him, but another part of her also
pitied him. It was a weird, conflicting feeling. Instead she just remained
silent, turned back towards the doorway, and sprinted forward.
Napstablook raised a limb up with a sparse wave, “Good luck………”
 
 
Frisk ran in the dark. Her heart pounding against the inside of her chest. She
had promised herself not to run anymore, but after that encounter she made an
exception. The conversation she had with Napstablook was still fresh in her
mind. But the only comment that really stuck out was that these rooms and
tunnels were nothing more than a lobby for the real Underground. If this wasn’t
the Underground, then what was? And did she even want to find out?
Frisk shook her head as she darted forward. Her feet felt so heavy now. She
held her phone up in front to light the way while at the same time scanning
over the cell’s screen to check the time. It read ‘10:55 am.’ So it was morning
already and she hadn’t even known it. Izzy was probably wondering where the
heck she was. Her teachers would notice. They would come looking… yes, they
would find her…
Frisk was busy trying to convince herself that everything was going to be
alright when she saw something ahead with her flashlight. There were no more
shadows, there was a wall. Was this a dead-end? Had Napstablook lied to her?
She skidded to a halt directly in front of the stone wall before her. Something
was engraved in the center. It was a symbol. She recognized that symbol. She
had seen it before on the door to the shed the very first night she had entered
the woods. Three spears at the top and a loop downward that coiled into itself
in a spiral.
This symbol… did it mean that this was a gate? Like the first door? That had to
be it. Frisk felt a small tinge of accomplishment, like she had just solved
some difficult jigsaw puzzle. She traced her fingers along the runic symbol,
fingertips now ashen white from the cold.
Frisk pressed her hand directly at the center of the etched marking. She was
starting to question how exactly she should open this door, since it really
wasn’t a door at all, but a wall. At least the first gate at the shed had a
padlock. She pocketed her cell and allowed her now freed-up hand join the
other, pushing them both into the wall in the darkness. Suddenly she felt her
fingers warm up. This feeling… it was exactly like the time she had cradled the
padlock. A tepid heat began at her fingertips and then spread throughout her
hands to her wrists. Frisk let out a gasp when she saw a glow forming around
hands. A gentle, red lustrous light that engulfed them both like gloves. The
light ran up her arms and she could just barely make out the glow through her
long-sleeves. She felt the flourishing warmth as it traveled through her arms,
down her clavicle and to the center of her chest. It was so warm… So gentle and
comforting. Frisk stared with glossed, lidded eyes at her gleaming fingers and
then she heard a loud crumbling sound, the sound of rock scrapping against
rock.
The wall began to shake as if it had just been hit by a boulder on the opposite
side. Frisk whimpered under her breath and twitched her fingers, but something
told her to keep her hands where they were. Do not remove them from the wall.
You’re almost there. She held her breath tightly in her lungs and tried to
still her trembling legs. The warmth started to get a little too hot inside her
fingertips. What was happening?? Was she going to burn up from the inside-out?
Was this her soul?
Before one more pessimistic thought could slip into her mind, the wall swung
outward. It opened with a noisy, silence-shattering clatter while bits of rock
and debris fell from the archway onto Frisk’s head. She quickly pulled her
hands again and raised her arms up over her head, slinking down to her knees to
the floor, becoming as small as possible. When the wall had opened and she lost
contact with the symbol. The glow at her hands had vanished. But the gentle
subsiding warmth remained.
Frisk held her eyes shut tight, ducking against the floor until all the noise
stopped. A dynamic gust of freezing wind hit her hard, her hair blowing back in
the strong flurry. She could see a bright, brilliant light through her eyelids
and slowly opened them.
 
Before her was a forest, although it wasn’t her forest. She had never seen a
forest quite like this before.
Every single inch of ground was covered in snow. The sparse trees were all dead
and lurched in the cold wind, creating eerie creaking sounds. There was not one
speck of green, only white and grey. The sky was a dark grey as well, and not a
cloud could be seen. Or a sun, or a moon for that matter. It was just… empty.
Frisk slowly rose back up to her feet in awe. She squinted at the bright
display before her. She had been in the darkness so long, it hurt her eyes to
see all of this white.
So this was the Underground.
She stepped out into the snow and immediately felt the cold bleed through her
sneakers. God, she really was not dressed for this weather. All she had on was
shorts and a hoodie. If all of the Underground was this cold then she was going
to have a huge problem.
Frisk stood a few inches out in the snow and took it all in. She could do this.
She would make it. Everything will be fine. She’ll get through this just like
she got through every other harrowing challenge in her short 14 years of
existence. Besides, how many more doors could their possibly be? And she
stepped forward into the frozen forest.
*****
Coming up: The Snowdin Forest is long and deep.
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Hope that wasn't too painful. Personally, I think he's a cutie
     ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ Stayed tuned!
     P.S. I'm gonna warn you about the next chapter now. It is lengthy,
     violent, Sans-licious and will be posted tomorrow.
     /////////////////////
***** VIII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 8: Frisk meets a skeleton.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Hey everyone,
     THANK YOU FOR ALL OF YOUR WORDS OF ENCOURAGEMENT!
     So we have now reached chapter 8 and the violence can finally
     commence. Get ready, gore lovers! Hurrah!
     I loved writing this chapter mainly because writing Sans is really
     fun for me. That and I get to showcase some brutality >D so therefore
     I will include a warning, and here it is:
     WARNING: This chapter isn't necessarily sexually explicit, but it is
     graphically violent (imo it's somewhat tame but readers may think
     differently.) Enjoy!
      
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
 
Frisk shuttered in the frigid wind as she walked. The snow crunched underneath
her sneakers with each slow step. Every now and then she would look over her
shoulder back at the tunnel exit. It appeared that she had been inside a
mountain the whole time she was in those halls. Should could see the elevated
cliffs towering over the trees behind her. Her thoughts stumbled over one
another. How did she go from her forest in late-summer to a new, foreign forest
in the dead of winter??? Her mind couldn’t make sense of any of it, but then
again she could barely comprehend anything that was happening to her lately.
The wide boulder-like door remained pushed to the side, revealing the hollow
darkness within. Those tunnels had been a nightmare, but then again… it had not
been nearly as windy in there… and she had also grown accustom to the shadows.
Now, standing outside in this forest, everything was new and light and somehow
felt… even more unsettling. She felt exposed.
Frisk wondered if Napstablook would follow after her and she glanced back at
the large cavity once more. She almost expected Napstablook to be standing in
the doorway, but he was not. Nothing had changed, except that the exit was
getting smaller as she tread further out into the woods. Another unyielding
gust of icy wind and she shivered, rubbing her hands at either sides of her
forearms. She tugged her hood back up over her head, which was continuously
blowing off, and quickly stroked her hands at her bare legs to create some
friction. But they were already starting to numb up. She stopped for a moment
and looked down at her hands and tried to use some sort of abstract force of
will to summon that red warmth back to them - the warmth she had felt when she
touched the symbol on the wall. But, of course, nothing happened.
As she walked on Frisk checked her phone again. The time now read “12:02 pm.”
It was lunchtime back home. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to feel warm sunbeams
against her skin one more time. She’d even settle for something warm to drink
at this point. Gosh, a cup of hot chocolate would be nice. Anything to beat
back this chill. Frisk noticed that her cell battery read 50% and felt an
immediate pang of concern. If her phone ran out of battery she wouldn’t have a
flashlight anymore… or a clock. And although she did have her charger tucked
away in her backpack, she highly doubted there would be a power outlet around
here.
How long was this forest? Was this the entirety of the Underground? Just a huge
stretch of frozen woods with doors every now and then that she’d have to open?
And also… where were all these ‘others’ Toriel and Napstablook had mentioned?
As far as she could see, this place was desolate. Not a bird or bug or even a
squirrel. Just miles of empty snowy woods, colorless and bleak. And that sky
was another thing. It was a steel slate that hung overhead, completely deprived
of clouds or even a sun. It was like she had stumbled upon another planet.
Another world.
Frisk looked back over her shoulder once again only to learn that the
mountainside exit was no longer there. She must have taken a turn somewhere
during her dazed walk. Now she was surrounded by dead trees, and only dead
trees. And also lots of snow, of course.
Then, she heard a loud blaring siren overhead, abrupt and completely jarring.
Frisk ducked down, looking skyward frantically. There was nothing there except
grey sky and treetops, but the deafening sound shook her to the core. It was an
air raid siren. Did she just step into the middle of a war or something? Was it
some type of alarm to alert the monsters of her presence? The siren continued
on for a good minute until it faded back into silence. It was in that moment
that it hit her just how much worse this was than the tunnels.
She was definitely going to freeze out here. There was no doubt about that. At
least in the tunnels she had some hope. But this… this was just torture. She
felt an overpowering wave of hopelessness grip around her soul and tears
started to fall from her eyes. She couldn’t stop them. Frisk covered her face
with freezing hands as her soft sobs echoed around her. This was not fair. Why
do I always have to suffer?
She broke down against her arms, rubbing her eyes at her shoulder to wipe away
the tears that quickly became icy and just hurt her eyes even more. She still
had her utility knife with her… should she just end this right now? Cut her
wrists in the snow and let death take her?
A poem she had once come across in her many beloved books materialized in her
mind: ‘Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the
tune without the words, and never stops at all…'
She wanted out, she did… but still… there was hope. Yes, hope. And that hope
steadied her trembling hands. Frisk took in a deep, quivering breath of cold
air and raised her head, staring forward into the countless scattered trees.
Now was the time to focus on what to do next instead of worrying about what
could go wrong. Frisk rolled back her shoulders, stuffed her hands into her
hoodie front pocket, and continued on.
 
 
She walked for what felt like ages. Time went by as slow as molasses. Every
moment Frisk thought she must have been traveling for at least an hour, she
would check her phone, and to much dismay discover that it had only been about
15 minutes. She had to reach a town or a camp or something eventually. If there
really were other monster out here then how could they survive in this? Maybe
they had thick hides or something, and were built to live in the snow. Toriel
should have warned her about this weather… or Napstablook.
She sighed and reached a thicker patch of trees. Frisk ran her fingertips over
the bark of the one closest to her. Something was strange… The wood was brittle
and covered in creeping, dark fuzzy patches. She hadn’t even noticed it before,
but once she saw it she quickly realized that all the trees were covered in the
same substance. It was almost like some type of mold. It ran between the cracks
of bark and engulfed each tree all the way up to the high, bare branches. Were
these trees infected with something?
Frisk saw that some of the moldy rot had wiped off on her fingers and she
hastily rubbed them against the front of her hoodie to brush it off. This
forest was sick; she could feel it in her soul. It also started to smell stale,
like the inside of a mildew-coated well. She continued on and it started
snowing. Small gleaming flakes drifted down from the sky silently. The last
thing she wanted right now was to get caught in a snow storm, but wait… no… no
it wasn’t snow. It was ash. Like the ash she had seen back home in her forest.
The ash was not nearly as dense as before, and it seemed to dissipate in the
wind before it even hit the floor, but it was enough to make her eyes sting and
her lungs feel heavy.
Then she heard something, and it wasn’t the air raid siren this time. It was a
soft, mewling cry out in the woods. It echoed off the poisoned trees and
reached her ears, splitting the painful silence in two. Frisk instinctively
leapt behind the first tree she saw and held her breath. What was that??? Her
thoughts, which had started to grow sluggish from the cold, sprang into action
and she immediately began to panic. So this forest wasn’t desolate after all!
Or were her ears playing tricks on her and it was just the scratching tree
branches overhead?
The noise again. It was louder and almost frantic that time. But there was
nothing unearthly or nightmarish about the lament. It actually sounded like the
cry of a normal animal. Frisk exhaled, her warm breath visible in the pale
light which created billowing puffs. She reached a hand back into her backpack
and dug out her utility knife.
'Are you a killer, Manumitter?'
Napstablook’s spectral words buzzed in her head. No, she was not a killer. This
was for protection! She had no idea what awaited her in these woods. It would
be foolish not carry a weapon. And time was running out. It’s time to go
forward, open those doors. Time to go home. Frisk tightened her grip on the
blade and dashed out from behind the tree, running forth towards the sound.
 
 
The raining flakes of ash seemed to finally cease and her run eventually slowed
to a trot. The weak crying continued. It would howl out every couple of
minutes, growing louder and louder as Frisk approached the source. She could
make out what appeared to be a very small clearing of trees in a circle up
ahead. There were also some frosty, gray boulders that collected around the
peripheral of the modest expanse in clumps.
Frisk made her way to one of the boulders, as quietly as she could, and ducked
down behind the stone. With slow, cautious control, Frisk peeked up from above
the cold rocks to glimpse out into the clearing.
The fawn! The fawn was out there! And also-… and… also…
Her heart faltered. Her hands grew clammy in a cold sweat. She trembled and
held back a terrified gasp as she took in the sight.
The baby fawn was splayed out on the floor in the snow. Its front legs kicked
weakly at air, while its back legs lay limp, bleeding and broken in different
directions. It would thrash its small head about in the snow, mustering a small
cry, trying to roll over onto its feet. But the poor thing was so battered that
even its voice was giving way. And although it was a terrible sight, it was not
even remotely as ghastly as the creature standing over the fawn.
The skeleton.
 
Frisk’s eyes went wide as she stared directly at the monster. The blood on his
shirt, the dark fur-trimmed jacket, the black tattered baggy pants, the single
red gleaming eye. There was no mistaking it, that was the creature she had seen
back home in her forest, in that clearing. The scene was unfolding so close to
her, only about 4 yards out. God, she wanted to scream. It took every bit of
strength Frisk had to hold her voice deep down in her throat.
The skeleton hovered over the fawn, its single red glowing hue for an eye
locked onto the animal. In one lowered hand he held the ax, tainted with
streaks of dried and fresh blood. His opposite claw was raised up to his
chilling face. Bony fingers dipped into his right eye socket, the one that was
vacant and dark, and latched onto the underside of the black, hollow cavity.
His massive teeth interlaced with one another, each tooth fitting perfectly
against the other to form an unsettling, permanent grin. Each tooth as sharp as
a kitchen knife. His shoulders rose and fell with every steady breath. And his
lone maroon eye locked onto the dying fawn, unwavering.
Frisk had a terrible feeling that she was about to watch something godawful
take place. The monster was silent where he stood, and only the sounds of the
wind, trees and the baby deer’s pitiful cries could be heard.
Then the monster took a step forward. He raised the blood-stained hatched high
above his head and brought it down upon the fawn, cutting the thick, sharpened
ax into the back of its neck.
A sickening crunch of splitting bone. Blood sprayed against the white ground,
turning it red. Frisk couldn’t stay silent as she witnessed the impact. She
gasped loudly at the sight. For a split second, she saw the skeleton’s grin
fade and his eye dart up to where she hid. Frisk immediately duck her head down
behind the rocks. Oh lord, did he see me???? Did he hear me?!?? I don’t want to
s-see this! This isn’t happening… This can’t be happening! Her mind scrambled.
A terrible, blood-curdling howl erupted from the fawn’s cut throat. God, it
wasn’t dead yet!? Was that monster still out there?!?!? Loud cries and yelps,
mixed in with an obscene gurgling, caused Frisk physical pain to listen to. She
cupped her hands over her ears, utility knife balanced in her palm, but the
sound made its way through. She could still hear the animal. How could it still
be alive?? What was that monster doing to it???? Her terrible curiosity became
too much and she peeked her head up over the stones once more.
The monster was gone. Vanished. Not a trace of him remained, except for the
outrageous damage he had just inflicted upon the animal. It was still alive.
Its neck cut and gushing at the nape, but it was still alive… barely. The cries
were starting to become fainter and more far apart. Frisk literally could not
stand it anymore. She had to do something! Wrap some cloth around it’s wound to
stop the bleeding?? Or maybe try and figure out a way to stitch up the gash? Or
maybe… Maybe… put it out of its misery?…………
Without considering the danger, Frisk ran out from behind the boulder and into
the clearing, clambering over to the fawn. Its black eyes shifted weakly at the
sight of her.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” Frisk sobbed out over the fawn’s feeble cries,
kneeling down next to it. A pool of red started to form under the creature as
its eyes glazed over. Underneath the dark red torn flesh and gore at its neck,
she could see where the animal’s spine had been crushed. Frisk clenched her
teeth together. She trembled and felt as helpless as ever. She let her backpack
slide off her shoulders and dropped her box cutter to the snow. She held both
her quivering hands over the creature’s torso, fingertips rubbing along the
soft pelt. She could feel its little heart fluttering, slowing… but still
fluttering. It was bleeding out. Fast. But what could she do?
The animal cries soon stopped and the fawn just lay there, barely breathing in
a chilled puddle of its own blood. Frisk’s shoulders shook as she wept silently
over the forlorn youth. It did not deserve a death like that.
Then she heard something.
Something in back of her… Like the sound of a whirlwind of dry leaves rustling
on an autumn day. Frisk quickly turned her head around to see him… Him.
The skeletal monster stood directly behind her. His red eye pulsing, his grin
widening.
Frisk opened her mouth to scream out but no sound came.
“well, now.”
He-…h-he spoke-! She had heard that voice before and only once before. She had
heard him laugh before. That deep, reverberating sinister growl; the voice that
drilled painfully into her soul. And he was so much larger up close. If Frisk
had been standing, he would have been at least 3 feet taller than her.
“W-wait-…” But before Frisk could utter another word the skeleton had already
snatched her up off the floor. His sharp claw pierced through the front fabric
of both her hoodie and long-sleeved shirt, and pressed painfully against her
sternum. He lifted her up off the ground with ease, clutching onto the fabric
in his fist, her legs dangling and toes barely grazing the snow below. Frisk's
eyes darted from his face to his opposite hand that still gripped onto the ax
which dripped with fresh blood.
Frisk tried to speak but instead she just cried out. It simply made that
skeleton’s sickening grin grow wider in return. Her heartbeat was galloping in
her chest, her head spun, and she felt like she was choking against the front
neck hole of her hoodie. She gripped onto his sleeved-arm with both hands,
trying to free herself from his grasp. He held her inches away from his face,
his single red eye pulsing like an excited heartbeat. And before Frisk could
even attempt to fight back, the monster turned to the side and threw her
forcefully against the boulder by the trees.
She slammed hard into the rock, the back of her head hitting the stone. A
terrible pain in her skull and her vision went white then black and then…
unconscious…
 
 
 
 
She could hear something. The crunch of snow under shoes. Frisk opened her eyes
weakly, which was immediately followed by a terrible pain at the back of her
head. It felt like someone had hit her with a hammer. She was down in the snow,
facing upwards, and the skeletal nightmare stood over her.
She quickly recalled what had just happened, and realized that she couldn’t
possibly have been unconscious for more than a few moments. But that was one
moment too many. The hulking monster stood directly over her now, peering down
with that same wide smirk. His fur-trimmed hood up over his head, shrouding his
features, which made him appear even more terrifying.
“hey kiddo. you look dead tired.” He growled out through those smirking teeth
and released a deep chuckle. The monster lifted one arm to the side, the one
that clutched onto the grotesque ax. A strange blue wisp of shadows abruptly
formed and encircled the skeleton’s hand, multiplying from nothing. The dim
shadows began to collect around the ax and suddenly it vanished. The ax, along
with the blue coiling fog, evaporated into thin air, freeing up both of the
monster’s hands.
With both hands now free, the skeleton leapt down on top of her, his knees at
either side of Frisk’s hips. He was massive and hulking, blocking out the grey
sky above. He was so close… too close. And that tainted smirk ever present
across his face.
“G-get away from me!” Frisk’s voice lurched out, finally. She started to kick
and attempted to turn on her side to crawl out from underneath the imposing
monster. Both his claws quickly wrapped around her wrists, pinning her hands up
over her head into the snow. A wave of abhorrent shivers ran up her spine as
she felt his bones against her skin. His slender, sharp fingers were cold to
the touch… and rough. Her head ached, she trembled uncontrollably from fear and
cold as some snow found its way under her hoodie and collected at the small of
her back. She struggled in his grasp, which only tightened. And cried out. Was
she going to die here?… just like that fawn? Was this the end?
“you’re not supposed to go where you’re not wanted, kid,” he spoke again, his
voice low and dripping with malice. “ah well. i’ll forgive ‘ya. besides, you
look way tastier than that brown thing,” he motioned towards the still,
bleeding fawn with a nod.
Before Frisk could even react, the monster had already shifted both of her
wrists into just one of his powerful grasping claws, freeing up a hand. And
that free hand slide down the center of her small chest, down her stomach, down
to the bottom hem of her hoodie. He tugged the fabric upwards to uncover the
flesh just below her ribs- exposing her bare stomach.
The cold stung her midriff. Frisk’s chest raised up and down like some
frightened animal who was about to be devoured by a hungry predator. His hand
pressed against the center of her bare stomach and she cried out again,
completely and utterly terrified. Despite the cold she was sweating from fear,
and continued to thrash around in his grasp. I have to get away I have to get
away I have to get away-
“…way more meat, too. heh.” He said as his glowing red eye locked onto Frisk’s
naked abdomen and his hand curled around the side of her waist to hold her
still. She could have sworn she saw an oozing pellet of drool start to form at
the corner of his grinning maw. Oh god, no. Please, no!
“W-waait!!” With a sudden surge of fortitude, Frisk cried out as loud as she
could muster, “I’m the M-manumitter!!”
The skeleton’s smirk faded before her eyes. The red pulsing hue, housed in only
one eye socket, grew darker… and smaller. And both his sockets narrowed down at
her.
“what?” He whispered out bluntly. His voice immediately lost that cruel,
taunting timber. Now it was just plain terrifying.
“I-I’m the Manumitter… I n-need-… need to open t-the doors-“ She managed to
stutter out of breath.
The monster’s glowing eye started to scan her face quickly, then it scanned her
torso, then up to her wriggling hands, then back down to her face once more.
Frisk’s heart lurched in her chest as she watched him study her… had she just
saved her skin? She was going to get out of this situation unscathed? H-he
would free her now, right?
But her heart plummeted as she watched his grin recover and he let out a loud,
cruel, deafening laugh that seemed to flood the entire forest.
“ahahaaaha!! haha!”
Oh, no…
 
“ahahah!… a-haah… hah… oh, man… that’s a good one, bucko,” He said between
breathless snickers while his hand once again continued to grope along her
midriff, making her feel ill. “…but you’re not a killer. i’d know the
manumitter when i see ‘em. and you’re not it. but you are… dinner.”
Frisk’s eyes went wide at his words. She shook her head no quickly from side to
side. The sting of tears started to pierce the corners of her eyes. This can’t
be happening-!
“…and when it comes to dinner, i like to start with the best parts first. i’m
greedy like that. heh.” His hand released its grasp at her waist and traveled
down her hips to her frozen, bare thighs… Oh, hell.
The monster’s savage smirk spread wide across his features at the sight of her
terror-stricken face. Was he getting off to this!?
He grabbed at the underside of one leg and forced her knee to bend, lifting it
upwards as her bare shin pressed into his chest. Some of the blood that stained
his clothes rubbed against Frisk’s skin and she could feel the tiers of bones
underneath his shirt. No no nononono! The monster leaned his head down so that
the front of his massive, rowed teeth lightly brushed against Frisk’s knee cap.
She would have attempted to knee him in the mouth had he not kept such a tight,
painful hold on her leg. And her wrists were still trapped in his other claw.
The monster slowly tilted his head to the side, now clutching tightly at the
top of her femur while that same hand simultaneously started to push her shorts
upward to expose more leg. His teeth grazed along and downward, underneath her
thigh to that soft, supple, cold flesh below.
“P-please!! Please s-stop!” She cried out, pleading with him. Her heart felt
like it truly was going to explode. It was hammering so hard in her chest that
it hurt.
Frisk watched in horror as the monster’s teeth began to part while he lifted
her leg to get better access to the back of her thigh. He was opening his
mouth, wide. The rows of glossy white canines dripped with a lustrous blue
saliva. She could see his tongue just barely inside and it was blue as well.
The skeleton didn’t respond to her begs. He seemed much too focused on her bare
legs now. His dinner. A flash of parted teeth and the sharp tips dug into her
skin, slowly pressing down. Oh my god oh my god oh my god nonononono!! Frisk
struggled violently and screamed out as loud as she could, but it did nothing.
She could feel his teeth start to sink into the back of her thigh. His teeth,
while sharp, weren’t like razors. They were just slightly blunted at the ends.
It only made it so much worse. More and more pressure against her muscle, and
then that horrible, all-consuming pain shot up through her whole body from the
impact like a lightning bolt the moment his teeth plunged inside her.
The pain… it was unreal. Frisk was no stranger to pain. Clearly, due to her
cutting. But that type of pain couldn’t even hold a candle to this. The monster
was sinking his lethal rows of teeth into her flesh, into her muscle. She
spasmed and cried out. Tears streaming down her cheeks, her nose running. She
struggled to breathe.
His teeth weren’t even halfway inside yet. The skeleton made a noise like an
animalistic groan, with his mouth full of her flesh. He unlatched his jaw and
pulled back from her leg just barely, to get a glimpse of the damage he had
just caused. The double rows of deep teeth marks embedded in her pallid skin
immediately began to bleed red the moment he released. The apex of each one of
his teeth was stained with blood. Her blood.
She screamed out again, even louder than before, hoping someone, anyone would
hear. Someone must be out there! Please god, let someone hear her screams! The
monster just licked his maw over with that inexplicable blue dripping tongue
and lurched in once again, planting another cruel bite at her thigh. It was in
a different spot this time, overlapping the first one, and he sunk those teeth
in even deeper than before.
Stars formed at the back of Frisk’s eyes. God, it hurt. Then he started to jerk
his head to the side with his jaw still clenched, her flesh trapped between his
teeth. W-was he was trying to pull the flesh away from her limb!? No, no no!
Aah it hurts so bad! S-someone help me!
The monster suddenly released her wrists to free up his other claw. His blood-
lust seemed to completely overtake him since he ignored every single one of her
cries and pleads. He gripped onto her hip with the freed skeletal hand, biting
vigorously at her torn flesh.
With her hands now free, Frisk pressed them both against his shoulders trying
to push him off. Get him off get him off get him off!!!! Where was her box
cutter!? She frantically looked around the snow to see that her weapon, her
only salvation, lay just out of reach by the dead fawn. No!!!
She screamed out, using all her strength to try and shove him off her trembling
form. He wouldn’t budge. And Frisk thought she heard a sickening chuckle rumble
in his chest.
Her hands… they started to grow hot. Or was she just delusional from pain? No…
they were hot, hot and glowing red. That familiar warmth spread throughout her
palms, up her arms, to her fluttering chest. She could feel the warm energy
erupt from her soul and run back down her arms once more to her hands and burst
forward.
The skeleton was jolted back from the sudden flare of energy, enough so that he
released his teeth from her leg, yet he remained towering over her. Frisk lay
trembling in the snow beneath him with her hands held out in front. The soft
red glow had dissipated as quickly as it had come.
Her blood dripped from the corners of his mouth while his red eye flashed
brilliantly. For a moment he looked aghast, stunned by the abrupt power that
had pushed him backwards. But then… his features contorted and he looked…
pissed.
Frisk couldn’t move. She lay huddled in the freezing snow, trembling and
sobbing as she tried to hold her injured thigh up off the ground. The skeleton
growled back at her and slammed both his hands down against either side of her
shoulders.
I’m done for. That’s it. This is the end.
“kid…” he growled out through bloody, clenched teeth. His eye sockets were wide
and he was not smirking anymore. His red eye pulsed rapidly like a flickering
light bulb. "i'd say your time down here is limited…"
The monster lifted one hand out of the snow to his side and that blue whirling
wisp of smoke appeared again… and it started to swirl around his slender
skeletal fingers like spiraling snakes. The hatchet appeared in his hand out of
thin air and he instantly gripped onto the wooden handle.
Frisk panted heavily. Was she dying? Bleeding to death? She could feel hot
blood seep along her thigh and stain the backs of her shorts. It dripped down
against the alabaster snow and covered the ground below in wet, red blotches.
Frisk thought she heard that air raid siren blaring again, off in the distance
overhead. Or was she imagining that? No… it was wailing above them. Once.
Twice. Frisk stared back at the monster who now shifted his ax inward, holding
it directly above her exposed stomach. The siren rang a third time. Then a
fourth. Then a firth. And then it stopped. “heh… time’s up.”
He raised his hand up high, the ax head gleaming with blood in the pale light.
Frisk shut her eyes tight while every muscle in her body tensed up and she
prepared herself for the certain fatal impact of that deadly blade to her
stomach. And he brought the weapon down, and-
 
 
“SANS!!”
………………………
 
………………
 
………
 
 
…
What…w-what was that noise?…… Was she dead?…………
…………
 
……
 
Frisk slowly opened her sodden eyes. The ax had stopped its descent only inches
away from her stomach. The skeleton was still crouched over her, holding his
weapon firmly. But his head was turned, looking out towards the side of the
small forest clearing… out at another monster. A tremendous, slender, towering
monster. Another skeleton.
*****
 
Coming up: Frisk meets another skeleton.
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Whoa whoa whoa-! Sans, you are one sick puppy.
     And in the next chapter, get ready for some *drumroll* PAPYRUS!!!
     NYEHEHEHE!!
     (Note: Chap 9 will be posted the day after tomorrow)
      
     /////////////////////
***** IX *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 9: Frisk has dinner with a pair of skeleton brothers.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Hey all!
     I was SUPER excited and overjoyed with everyone's reaction to the
     last chapter. So happy to see all these gore fans in the audience >D
     heh.
     Anyways, this next chapter is lengthy, (well.. I guess every chapter
     is) and it doesn't require any additional warnings for sexual content
     or extreme violence. But it is generally creepy and packed full of
     skelebros & a tormented Frisk. Enjoy.
      
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
Frisk lay in the snow. She felt nauseous. Her vision faded in and out. Her leg
throbbed from the pain. She could feel her pulse deep in the torn flesh,
thumping inside her thigh like it had a heartbeat of its own. She couldn’t feel
her toes. Was it from the cold or from the blood loss? She had no idea.
The skeleton that had just tried to consume her was still hovering over. But
his gaze was out towards the trees, out where another monster stood. Another
skeleton. Frisk’s heart plummeted when she saw it. Could this possibly get any
worse? It had burst through the dead branches and was standing there… staring
at the both of them. It was massive and lanky. Even taller than the monster
that had attacked her. And thinner.
It wore an off-white poncho draped over its wide shoulders which was tattered
and stained all over. The garment had been ripped off half-way down and exposed
the creatures thin, plated skeletal spine that held it upright. Frisk felt her
stomach churn at the sight. It was also clothed in a blue-ish black dilapidated
kilt that exposed its femurs down to its fibulas. And it had two dark boots and
an enormous heavy-looking crimson scarf that dragged behind in the snow.
 
“SANS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO CUT UP DINNER?”
It was… speaking. Its voice was extremely loud and caustic as if it were
shouting, and it echoed mildly like all the other monsters’ voices did. Like
there was some kind of electrical whisk trapped inside its chest. It took Frisk
a moment to realize that this new, hulking monster was actually speaking to the
other one. What the hell is happening??? Was she delusional from blood loss or
something?
“heh. i was, papyrus. ‘till i came across a better meal.”
The monster with blood-stained teeth responded in turn. W-was this one’s name…
Sans? Had she heard that correctly? That was what the other one had called him.
And the tall one… was called Papyrus? Frisk’s headache throbbed as she tried to
grasp their conversation.
Papyrus stepped up the clearing, moving in towards them. His skull was long and
narrow and his eyes were small and hollow, like two restricted cavities which
lacked any glowing hues or brilliant lights at all. They were simply… empty.
His teeth were made up of multiple, massive thin pillars that interlocked in
uneven rows and were filed flat at the tips, human-like. And Frisk could just
barely make out rusty-red stains smeared between each mammoth incisor. Frisk
stared up at Papyrus who now loomed over her. She almost called out to him for
help… but who was she kidding.
“SANS! THAT IS A HUMAN!” Papyrus exclaimed. He almost sounded excited. And he
leaned over slightly to get a better look. She couldn’t even tell where he was
looking with those empty eye sockets, but his skull bent downward in her
direction so she could only assume that he was staring at her. “IS THAT THE
HUMAN?”
Suddenly Sans stood up off of Frisk, leaving her upon the floor. She
immediately clutched onto the sides of her mangled thigh the moment she was
freed. Blood soaked her fingers. She could feel the torn flesh and let out a
desperate sob, hyperventilating from the trauma.
Sans’ red eye darted down towards her then back up to Papyrus. He wasn’t
grinning anymore. Instead he just looked irked. “ 'pyrus… look at her. c’mon,
don’t be a bonehead."
Papyrus titled his head back towards Sans and stood up straight. Frisk lay in-
between the both of them at their feet. She was in so much pain, she was
starting to wish for death to just come and take her away already… just end
this. Her thigh shook as she tried to keep it from resting against the snow.
“SANS!” The colossal skeleton clamored again, “UNDYNE TOLD EVERYONE TO STAY ON
HIGH ALERT BECAUSE A HUMAN WAS NEARBY. YOU KNOW… THE ONE FROM THE PROPHECY!” He
glanced down at her again and she could have sworn that he looked upset… but it
was hard to tell. “WHAT IF THIS IS THAT HUMAN?”
Sans scoffed at the other’s words. “pft… where did you hear that, bro?” His
voice was lackluster. As he spoke that faint blue shadow formed around his ax
hand out of thin air. It quickly wrapped around the bloody hatchet and in
seconds both the weapon and the smoke had vanished. Had he just called the tall
monster ‘bro’?
“I HEARD IT FROM UNDYNE!”
Sans’ eye sockets narrowed at his brother. But his sardonic smirk returned and
he shrugged his thick shoulders. “please, paps. you should know that is just a
myth-“
But Papyrus immediately discounted his brother’s words. Instead he tiled his
head back down towards Frisk and his sockets locked onto her leg. “OH SANS…
WHAT DID YOU DO?” He sighed out and let his massive, ribbed spine bend forward
as he reached down towards Frisk’s leg with his hands. They were clothed in
thick black gloves that matched his boots.
Frisk tried to jolt her leg away from his grasp, but the slightest movement
sent an acute wave of agony through every muscle. She cried out again, ducking
down under her arms, trying to imagine she was somewhere else… anywhere else.
Papyrus’ massive hands wrapped around her shin as he pulled her bare leg close
inwards, examining it. God, it hurt! Don’t touch it!! Frisk’s head surged. For
a moment she thought he was going to bite down on her as well… his teeth were
so extensive and intimidating, she couldn’t pull her eyes away from them.
Papyrus lifted her leg to inspect the dripping wound. It was caked in blood, so
much so that it was difficult to even see the extent of the damage.
“i didn’t do anything.” Sans lied. He wiped the blood from his teeth, smearing
it against his sleeve, then simply stuffed his skeletal hands in both jacket
pockets. “just testing how fresh she is. don’t you want a nice meal from time
to time?”
Papyrus tore his gaze away from the girl’s lesion and leered at his brother.
“WELL, YES… BUT-…”
Sans raised a browbone.
“…BUT FOR NOW THAT FURRY MEAT WILL HAVE TO DO.” Paps pointed at the fawn that
lay a few feet in the snow, clearly deceased now. Then he turned back to Frisk
and spoke to her as his teeth expanded into an unnerving grin. “WE’LL GET YOU
CLEANED UP HUMAN. THEN TOMORROW WE CAN GO PROVE SANS WRONG.”
Frisk winced, staring back into the monster’s vacant eye sockets. She was
horrified, and it was painted across her face. But the towering skeleton seemed
to not even notice her reaction.
Frisk’s eyes darted back towards Sans who stood some feet next to them. She
expected for him to respond with some witty comeback, but instead his taunting
smirk faded at the corners of his mouth and he leered back at Frisk
suspiciously. That look… it made her soul shiver.
“COME, HUMAN. YOU CAN’T POSSIBLY BE COMFORTABLE DOWN THERE.” Papyrus released
Frisk’s leg and gripped roughly onto one of her hands then he sprung back up to
his feet pulling her with him. She whimpered out as she was forced to a stand,
leaning all her weight on the good leg while her injured one trembled over the
snow. She could feel the cooling blood run down her calf and she tried to pull
her hand out of the skeleton’s grasp. But he held on too tight and barely
seemed to even notice her struggles.
Papyrus started to lead her towards the forest. What!?!? No, no! Where are we
going!? Her mind immediately started to surge again as blood flowed back to her
brain. While Papyrus pulled her past the dead fawn, Frisk reached down as
quickly as she could to scoop up her fallen utility knife and loop her arm
through her backpack strap. “OH, ARE THOSE YOURS HUMAN?” He asked, glancing
down at her for a moment, then continued to drag her along in an amble saunter.
Frisk stared up at him and shoved her box cutter into her pocket and squeezed
tightly onto her pack’s strap with her inner elbow. The thought of attacking
them with her knife flashed in her mind, but she immediately recognized that to
be certain death.
“SANS! DON’T FORGET DINNER!” Papyrus called back to the stouter skeleton, who
had already scooped up the dead fawn on his shoulder. Its half-decapitated head
hung backwards by a thin flap of skin, and he followed behind them.
 
 
The three of them walked for a while through the snowy, silent woods. Every
footstep Frisk took was torment. At first she held her cries back in her lungs,
but as the time passed she gave in to the pain and would release a whimper of
agony with each step.
Papyrus seemed oblivious to her misery. He walked on, staring ahead and focused
on where he was going. Sans, on the other hand, was completely tuned in to her
pain. She could hear his whispered snickers every now and then, usually after
she made a particularly loud whine.
 
“AH. HERE WE ARE, HUMAN!”
Papyrus stopped abruptly and Frisk almost bumped into him. She had been so busy
watching her blood drip down into the snow as they walked that she hadn’t even
noticed the large building in their path.
It was a house. A very dark and decrepit house. The two-story building nestled
between the trees. All the downstairs windows were darkened and the upstairs
ones were boarded up. The snow-covered roof tiles were falling off, even
collapsing in at some spots, and were stained with black fungus. The shadowy
concrete walls were cracking and covered in at least a hundred lengthy
fractures. And despite how dilapidated it was, it looked like a house for
humans not monsters.
Papyrus grinned wide and tugged Frisk forward towards the front door. He pushed
it open with his opposite hand and the loud wooden creak pierced her ears. But
that was nothing compared to the thick smell of mildew and rot that almost
knocked her back. Frisk coughed and tried to her roll her shoulder forward in
front of her nose and mouth. She squinted and peered inside. It was so dark in
there; it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. But Papyrus wouldn’t give her
that moment. He let out a gleeful laugh and yanked Frisk inside the house.
“NYEHEH! WELCOME HOME, HUMAN!”
H-home?……
 
The inside of the house was dark and decaying. The only light source was from a
single flickering florescent bulb that hung low above a table, and a flashing
television propped up against the wall with only static on the screen. The air
was stifling and surprisingly humid. At least it was somewhat warm.
The table was surrounded by wooden chairs and there were scattered mounds of
books and boxes throughout the room, along with a collapsing burlap couch
directly in the center. It was actually pretty empty. Frisk noticed some stairs
in the corner that lead upstairs to the shadowy second floor. As well as an
open archway on the opposite side which opened up into a smaller room obscured
by darkness.
Frisk stood staring at her unusual surrounding. Then she jumped at the sound of
a loud and sudden BANG. Sans had slammed the front door shut behind him.
“NOW. LET’S PATCH UP THAT LEG!” Papyrus smiled wide and pulled her over towards
the table. Frisk had literally been in a state of shock the moment Sans had
attacked her in the woods. She felt like she was stuck in some terrible dream
right now. She felt completely paralyzed, but maybe the cold was partially to
blame for that.
Papyrus scooped his hands underneath her arms and lifted her up onto the edge
of the wooden table effortlessly. She didn’t even have a chance to protest.
“THIS LOOKS BAD, HUMAN. BUT I AM A MASTER AT HEALING ALL INJURIES.”
He left her sitting there and stepped over to one of the piles of clutter and
began searching through it. Frisk watched as Sans finally step away from the
front door. He did not look at her, he simply stepped past her and walked
through the archway into the smaller room with the dead fawn at his shoulder.
“…don’t make a mess, paps.”
Papyrus returned and stood over her. His skeletal features, especially those
humanoid teeth, looked particularly daunting in the low flickering light. “I
WILL FIX YOU UP GOOD AS NEW.” Frisk wasn’t sure whether she should thank him or
scream at that point. But the moment Papyrus held out a sharp, bent, rust-
covered sewing needle Frisk had decided on the ladder.
“W-what!? No!!” She found her voice and wailed out, scooting back away from
him, her blood smearing against the tabletop. Papyrus blinked his eye sockets
and actually tilted his head to the side. “ARE YOU SURE?”
Frisk nodded quickly. She was in terrible pain, but much to her surprise her
fear of being trapped in a room with these two overshadowed that pain… at least
temporarily.
“I… I just need some water,” She said.
“OH, OF COURSE! HUMANS NEED THAT KIND OF THING. I KNOW JUST THE PLACE!”
Papyrus tossed the needle over his shoulder and gripped onto Frisk's sides to
pull her off the table. “THIS WAY, HUMAN!” The hulking skeleton grasped at her
hand and dragged her across the room, towards the stairs. Frisk let out a few
trembling cries of protest and tried to pull back, not knowing what to expect.
Anything could be up there! Nononono! But he pulled her up the shadowy steps
into an even darker corridor. There were 4 doors that lined the hallway. He
pulled her through the blackness to the door at the very end of the hall and
opened it.
Inside was a bathroom. A very small bathroom with crumbling tiled floors and
yellowing walls. There was a cracked toilet in one corner and a clawfoot
bathtub in the other. A marble pedestal sink stood under a single boarded-up
window, and next to that rested a full-length mirror propped up against the
wall.
“HERE YOU GO HUMAN. THERE IS WATER IN THAT BASIN.” Papyrus pointed towards the
bathtub and shoved her in the room, then he just stood in the doorway.
Frisk stumbled forward, glanced around, then slowly looked back at him. He
stared back at her silently. They stared at each other. This was… weird.
“Err… t-thanks, Papyrus.” She finally said, speaking his name out loud. He let
out that incongruent laugh. He almost sounded giddy.
“NYEHE! YOU ARE QUITE WELCOME, HUMAN. PLEASE USE ALL THE WATER YOU NEED. I WILL
GO PREPARE DINNER NOW AND COME BACK FOR YOU SHORTLY.”
Papyrus grinned wide and shut the door.
 
 
Frisk just stood there in the tiny room, eyes fixated on the back of the door.
She could hear Papyrus’ heavy footfalls make their way down the hall and then
down the stairs. She stood, completely stunned at this turn of events. Was she
actually standing in these monster’s bathroom right now? How was she not dead?
She had been so close to death and somehow evaded it. She should be dead right
now.
A sharp pain brought her back down to reality and she clutched at the sides of
her swelling thigh. Frisk hissed through clenched teeth and slowly stepped over
to the mirror, rubbing some of the dust off the glass with her sleeve. She
turned around and looked over her shoulder to stare back at the reflection of
the wound. Crap. It looked bad…
It was difficult to really examine the wound at length, since the bathroom was
quite dark. The only light came from small rays that seeped through multiple
cracks in the boarded window. Frisk shuddered at the grotesque sight of her
injury. Her whole back calf was soaked in red, but at least the blood was
starting to clot now.
While she was examining the wound, she heard a sudden BANG against the door.
Frisk jolted to the side and stared wide-eyed at it, expecting it to swing
open. But it didn’t. Then she saw dark spots of shadow moving underneath the
small space between the door and the floor. Someone was… standing out there.
Was it Papyrus?
Frisk slid down to her hands and knees, pressing the side of her face against
the tiles to try and peer through the tiny space. She could see what looked
like the bottom of wooden chair legs. She could also see… sneakers. Those were
Sans’ sneakers. Sans was sitting right outside the bathroom in one of the table
chairs, leaning back against the door. Frisk’s heart jolted and pulsed fast and
she pulled her head off the ground. W-was he just going to sit out there and
guard the door? He hadn’t uttered a word, not even a shallow chuckle.
Frisk slowly stood back up to her feet. Sans was sitting right outside the
bathroom door blocking her only exit. She tried to put that fact out of her
mind. Right now she had to focus on treating her leg. Frisk let out a soft
quivering sigh and glanced back at her wound in the mirror. If she could wash
it out… maybe she could patch it up with a bunch of band-aids or something.
She dropped her backpack to the floor and stepped over to the bathtub and
turned the metal knobs. A loud steady stream of rust-red water spilled out into
the ceramic tub. Frisk winced and thought it was blood for a second, but it was
rust. There was no mistaking that smell. Eventually the water ran clear,
although it was cloudy and still smelled like copper. Frisk leaned over the
edge of the tub and dipped a couple fingers in the stream from the faucet.
Oh my god… It was warm! Her heart leapt with elation. She lifted both hands in
the water and practically teared up with joy. Her fingers had been a sickly
shade of pale blue from the cold and the water immediately turned them pink as
blood rushed back into her hands. It burned, but she didn’t care. She was
starting to regain feeling in them and it was probably the best thing that had
happened to her in days.
Frisk quickly tugged her hoodie and her long-sleeved shirt up over her head.
Kicked off her sneakers and socks. Then yanked down her shorts, carefully
guiding the fabric away from her wound, and tugged down her underwear and
clipped off her small bralette. She slithered over the edge of the tub and sat
naked under the steaming running water. She had to warm up right now. That was
literally the only thought that swelled in her mind. And she had to wash this
wound out before infection set in. She didn’t even think about how insanely
bizarre this must be… sitting nude in a bathtub that belonged to two
monstrosities… And one had just tried to literally eat her. And the one that
just tried that was still right outside the door. Jesus Christ…
The hot water stung her wound so terribly. It felt like someone had just put a
dozen cigarettes out on her flesh. The water immediately turned a dark red as
it soaked her thigh and she cried out from the pain. Frisk panted heavily as a
wave of endorphins ran through her leg. It reduced the pain for a moment, but
it wasn’t nearly long enough. She pressed her forehead down against the side of
the tub, looking away from all the bloody water that ran down the gurgling
drain.
Frisk sat there under the faucet for what felt like ages and the feeling
eventually returned to her fingers and toes. She dunked her head underneath the
water to rinse her disheveled hair and saw more blood drip down her shoulders
along her tiny chest. W-what she bleeding somewhere else? She rubbed at the
back of her head to see blood smeared against her fingers.
Shit… that must have happened when Sans threw her into the rocks. He had really
done a number on her… A swell of fear and animosity took hold of her soul in
that moment. Frisk glared over at the bathroom door. That bastard was out
there… Probably listening to her in the tub, listening to her cry out in pain
as she rinsed her wounds. She shook with a mix of fury and helplessness, trying
to steady the anger.
 
 
Eventually the water was colorless again. Frisk lifted her thigh up to glance
at the 4 rows of bite marks that now decorated her skin. They were deep, nasty
looking, swollen and painful. Frisk finally turned the water off and she could
have sworn she heard the sound of the chair outside shuffling against the
floor. She would be in an extremely helpless position right now if he opened
that door… She didn't even want to think about it. Frisk quickly reached over
the side of the tub and dried herself best she could with her long-sleeved
shirt. Then she threw on her underclothes, blood-stained shorts and hoodie
without missing a beat.
Frisk stepped out of the tub and looked at the wound in the mirror again. At
least now she could see it clearly. She dug in her backpack, searching for her
box of band-aids. Thank god she had taken those with her. She found the box and
popped it open and almost let out a gasp of delight. There was a small bottle
of antiseptic in the box. Oh my god, thank you lord. Thank you! Frisk doused
the wound with the antiseptic, clenching her teeth tight to hold back the cries
from the sting. She didn’t even care how bad it agitated the wound. The
antiseptic was literally a godsend.
After the medicine dried she carefully patched up every single toothmark with a
band-aid. Then she ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of her long-sleeve
shirt, wrapped the cloth around her thigh tightly to protect the bandages, and
stuffed everything in her backpack. Frisk examined herself in the mirror. She
still looked pretty chaotic. But at least now her hair was clean, she wasn’t
blue from the cold, and she was no longer covered in blood.
She let out a heavy sigh and hung her head. It’s time to get out of here now… I
have to get out of here.Frisk stepped over to the bathroom door and pressed her
ear against it. She couldn’t hear anything. Was he still out there? She slid
back down to the floor to glance under the doorway and the chair legs and
sneakers were no longer there. M-maybe… maybe she could make a run for it! Was
that crazy????
Frisk jumped up to her feet and wrapped her fingers around the doorknob. She
was seconds away from attempting to push it open when she heard loud footsteps
clomping up the stairs and down the hallway. Frisk took a step back, and just
in time too. The bathroom door burst open and Papyrus stood there with that
eerie, massive grin.
“OH, HUMAN!” He clasped his hands together, “YOU LOOK MUCH BETTER! HOW WAS YOUR
WATER?”
Frisk stared back up at him, bewildered. “Ah… I-it was… good. Good water. Thank
you.” She stuttered out as she reached down for her backpack.
“WONDERFUL! DINNER IS ALMOST READY NOW. I KNOW YOU WILL LOVE IT. I AM A MASTER
AT THE CULINARY ARTS.” He grabbed onto her hand hard, like always, and dragged
her out of the room and back downstairs before she could even respond.
 
 
Sans sat in a chair in front of the only door to the house. Was he guarding
that door too??? She silently thanked her lucky stars that she hadn’t tried to
make a run for it just now. The skeleton was balancing on the back legs of the
chair, his shoulders pressed into the door. His eye sockets were closed and he
released soft breaths every few moments. Was he… was he asleep?
“TAKE A SEAT HUMAN. I WILL FETCH DINNER, NYEHE.” Papyrus released that
exuberant chortle and took long strides through the open archway, which Frisk
could only imagine was a kitchen. He left her alone in the gloomy room with
Sans. Oh god… Papyrus, please come back! Frisk bit at her bottom lip and
glanced at Sans. He was still asleep. Or maybe he was just pretending to be.
Frisk took a couple quiet steps up to the long wooden table which was
surrounded by three other mangled chairs. She glanced back at Sans again. He
hadn’t moved. He was completely still, except for the soft rise and fall of his
chest with each breath. He was a skeleton… how was that even possible?
She cautiously stepped a bit closer towards him and looked past his shoulder at
the front door. She couldn’t see a lock or anything of the sort… perhaps that
was why he was guarding it. Frisk stepped even closer, probably closer than she
should have. And in an instant his left eye socket shot open and that single
scarlet orb constricted at the sight of her.
“beat it, kid.” He growled out through a sneering grin. Frisk almost bit her
tongue when she faltered backwards. He was smirking wide, those rows of deadly
teeth reflecting red light from his eye. But there was a strain to his smile as
if he was faking it. Like he was actually irate. His hood was down now and
Frisk could see a violent open fracture at the side of his skull. It almost
looked painful.
He wanted to eat her before. He wanted to kill her before. Did he still want
that? She had pushed him back with her hands, somehow… H-how did she manage
that? Did he want revenge now? Her soul trembled. I need to get the hell out of
here.
“SANS! BE NICE!” Papyrus must have heard his brother because he stepped back
through the archway immediately. He was balancing three plates in his hands,
each one piled on with… with… oh god, was that raw meat?
 
Papyrus dropped the plates upon the table then sat down in the head chair.
Frisk seriously thought she was going to be sick at the sight. She looked away
from the plates, holding her hands over her nose and mouth to try and block out
the stench of gore.
Sans’ eye locked onto the meat and he slid up off the chair, sauntering over to
the table and took a seat. The two skeletons glanced over at Frisk who was
still standing some feet away from them.
“HAVE A SEAT, HUMAN.” His words were sprightly as always, and he patted at the
chair opposite Sans.
Should I run? Should I lunge for the door and try the knob?! What should I do!
Frisk’s head ached. This was hell.
Sans watched her carefully with that smirk. As if taunting her to try
something. Oh, how he probably would have loved it if she had tried to escape
right then in that moment.
But Frisk forced her feet forward and reluctantly sat upon the chair. She
peeked down at her plate, which was literally a pile of raw, bloody tendons and
gore. The meat was cut in jagged slabs with bits of brown fur and flesh still
attached in clumps. And it was all swimming in a soup of blood at the bottom of
the plate.
 
…………………………
 
Was this the fawn?!
…………
 
Papyrus grabbed his portion with both hands and started eating loudly, bits of
flesh flying all over his side of the table. Sans, on the other hand, ate
slower. He gripped onto a piece of meat in one hand and tore it to shreds while
his other hand rested atop the table. His fingers tapped along the wood in a
steady rhythm, one finger falling after the other continuously.
Sans stared back at Frisk as he ate and she was careful to avert her gaze away
from his. That look was sinister.
Papyrus was glancing out towards the TV, still flickering black and white
static.
Frisk pressed her hands at her stomach. She felt nauseous listening to the two
of them chewing away. Although she was hungry… She hadn’t eaten anything since
the other night in the tunnels. And even then that was just half a sandwich.
Papyrus suddenly tore his gaze from the television and leaned over Frisk.
“HUMAN! I INSIST YOU ENJOY THIS MEAL.” He reached a blood-stained gloved hand
out and pushed the plate closer towards her. Frisk almost gagged as some of the
blood spilled over the sides of the plate onto the table.
“T-that’s alright. I’m not… not that hungry…” She wanted to sound confident and
brave, but her words betrayed her. Instead they spilled out in fragmented
stutters.
“AH, REALLY?” He almost sounded disappointed. Almost. “I WILL SAVE YOUR MEAL
FOR ANOTHER TIME, HUMAN. IT WILL BE WAITING PATIENTLY FOR YOU IN THE KITCHEN.”
He grinned down at her, bits of flesh stuck between each inordinate tooth.
Frisk simply nodded up at him. What else could she do? This was probably the
strangest situation she had found herself in thus far - and the most daunting.
And she was too disoriented and injured and exhausted to protest anymore.
Sans’ skeletal claw continued to tap along the table and he remained silent.
Then Papyrus started to chat at his brother. Frisk wasn’t sure what he was
talking about. He kept mentioning someone named ‘Undyne’ and he discussed all
the snow they were getting lately. He even boasted about the dinner he had
prepared… if you could call throwing raw meat onto a plate preparation. Sans
didn’t really respond that much, except for a few low chuckles and nods and
agreements every now and then. Would this meal ever end?
 
 
Finally, both skeleton’s plates were licked clean. Papyrus complained that he
was still hungry.
“we’re all hungry, paps.” Sans snickered in response, resting his chin down in
an open claw with his elbow on the table. His radiating eye locked onto Frisk.
“MY, HOW THE TIME FLIES! HUMAN, I WILL SHOW YOU TO YOUR ROOM NOW. WE HAVE AN
EARLY MORNING AHEAD OF US.”
W-what was he talking about? Oh yeah… he was going to ‘prove sans wrong’ but
what did that mean?
Frisk glanced weakly up at Papyrus as he jumped up to his feet, almost knocking
the whole table over. He grasped onto Frisks arm tight. Sans stood as well and
headed over towards the front door, moving the chair out of the way.
“SANS! DON’T STAY OUT TOO LATE!” Papyrus called back at him waving his other
hand about. “I WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE TOMORROW WHEN I DEMONSTRATE THAT THIS
HUMAN IS THE HUMAN.”
Sans chuckled under his breath as he pushed open the door. It was now dark
outside and a thick curtain of snow was falling silently. “heh. you got it,
bro.” He glanced at Frisk once more for just a second. His grin wide and
alarming. His red eye pulsed at her. And he stepped outside and shut the door
behind him.
Frisk’s thoughts began to churn around in her head. Now she was alone with the
tall skeleton. Although she was completely terrified of the both of them,
Papyrus made her feel just a tad less uneasy. Probably because he literally
saved her life earlier. And he hadn’t tried to eat her yet. And his gaze did
not make her soul burn with fear.
 
 
Papyrus lead her back up the stairs. Was he going to lock her in the bathroom
again?… No, instead he stopped at the door right above the staircase and opened
it.
The room was pitch black. Unlike the bathroom, it had no windows. Not one. It
was completely devoid of any furniture. The walls were made out of layered
stone and the floor was decaying wood. Frisk’s eyes adjusted to the darkness
quickly.
Wait… there actually was something in the room. On the furthest wall across
from them there was a thick iron plate attached to the base of the wall.
Hanging from the plated tablet was a chunky iron-linked chain. And at the end
of the chain was-… w-was that a… a collar!?
“COME, HUMAN. THIS IS YOUR ROOM. IS IT NOT WONDERFUL?” Papyrus announced with
delight and immediately dragged her over towards the wall where that daunting
iron collar and chain lay.
Frisk’s eyes grew wide in complete and utter terror. What the hell was he going
to do!? Chain her up in here???
Frisk screamed out and jerked back. Her will to fight returning - surging
through every single one of her muscles. She pulled at his hand, which gripped
around her forearm. “Papyrus! Y-you don’t have to do that!” She felt tears
sting her eyes and tried to scratch her nails into his glove. But it did
nothing.
“HUMAN?” The tall skeleton tilted his head like he was confused by her actions.
“OH, NO. YOU MUST BE KEPT SECURE, HUMAN. THAT IS THE LAW!”
Frisk thrashed around, using every ounce of strength she still had to try and
break free from his grasp. But Papyrus was unbelievably strong. He pushed her
down to the floor and swiftly locked the collar around her throat. It latched
in the back with a heavy ‘clink’ where the chain attached. It was so heavy and
thick. There was no padding on the inside, it was just a massive lump of iron.
It pressed down painfully into Frisk’s collarbone and weighed her to the floor.
Papyrus returned to his feet, towering over her with that wide, humanistic
grin. Only his teeth visible in the diluted shadows… “SLEEP WELL, HUMAN!”
And then he turned. His red fraying scarf dragging along the floor as he
stepped back into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.
Leaving Frisk alone. Alone in the darkness.
 
*****
 
Coming up: Sleepless nights
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Sorry Frisk, but you are probably in for a long night.
     Stay tuned for imperative story development, a mild sexual teaser and
     a lot of panicking, coming up next in Chap. 10!
      
     /////////////////////
***** X *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 10: Frisk discovers her soul.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Hey guys! Oh man, we've finally made it to chapter 10. Double digits!
     Yeeeah!!! *Lil Jon voice*
     I want to say a couple things before we start. I've gotten a few anon
     messages asking me 'where is the smut!?' Well, this fic is story
     first, smut second. Not the other way around. That being said, there
     will be fucked up non-con scenes in the future. But do not expect
     that to happen every chapter. Besides, anticipation and sexual
     tension is the spice of life ya' know!
     And speaking of sexual tension, this chapter has a bit of that.
     Enjoy.
      
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
 
Frisk sat in the dark. She could barely breath from panic. She was
hyperventilating, clutching at the front of the heavy collar around her neck
with both hands. It was so heavy and cold… and although it was too big and
didn’t exactly squeeze her throat, she still felt like she was choking against
it.
 
Frisk leaned back against the wall. She could hear Papyrus’ footfalls make
their way down the stairs. And then it was silent.
N-now what?… What should I do? Please someone help me… anyone, help me…
She prayed silently to a god that she had never really believed in, staring up
at the darkness that surrounded her. Hot tears collected in the corners of her
eyes and she pulled her knees into her chest.
 
Frisk sat there in the dark for what felt like hours. Eventually she pulled her
backpack off her shoulders to lean more comfortably against the wall. The only
meager source of light came from underneath the space between the door and the
floor. And it was already so dark out in the hallway that it only illuminated a
couple of inches of ground.
She slipped her slender fingers underneath the collar to relieve some of the
stress that it put at her shoulders. She could just barely hear the sound of
television static billowing from behind the door. Was Papyrus downstairs
watching TV? Was he honestly watching static right now?… A tremendous unease
swelled in her gut. She was chained to a wall, trapped in a house with a
clearly deranged monster. And another homicidal monster was probably not far
off. The vision of both skeleton brothers ripping and tearing apart their
dinner with their teeth materialized to the forefront of her mind and it made
skin break out in goosebumps.
Frisk pressed the side of her head against the wall and tried to omit the sound
of static. She thought she could hear the roaring wind outside. It must be
snowing pretty hard out there… At least that was one thing she didn’t have to
manage for the time being - the cold.
Her thigh stung sharply and she rubbed a hand against her make-shift bandage,
staring out at the feeble light under the door. In that moment, Frisk
remembered she still had her cellphone in her pocket.
She stuffed a hand in her shorts pocket and pulled out the cell, flicking it
open with her thumb to check the time. The digital clock glowed softly with the
numbers ’9:10 pm’. So it was night already. She had suspected as such when she
saw how dark it was outside while Sans left the house.
Another mind-numbing pain through her leg and she clutched at her phone in
agony, holding back a weak cry. She glanced at the screen again and noticed the
battery level.
 
40%… Crap!
Her throat went dry at the realization. She may not have her phone around for
much longer… What would she do then? What if things got worse? … And when the
time comes… would she be able to cut open her wrists, like she once craved so
desperately, and put a stop to this nightmare? In fact, she could do it now…
nothing was stopping her.
Frisk hesitated. She reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out her box
cutter. Her fingers ran along the metal handle idly. It was cold and
lightweight… and it gave her comfort like a soothing friend.
 
Did she have any other choice?
 
…
 
She began to slide the segmented blade from its sheath. She could just barely
see her reflection in its metal. Frisk held the flat side of the knife against
her wrist, staring down at it for what felt like a long, long time.
 
…
 
…
 
No.
 
……………
 
You will survive this.
 
……………………
 
You have the ability. Can’t you feel it in your hands? In your soul? You are
our liberator… our Manumitter…
 
……
 
Those words. Toriel’s words.
 
Frisk took in a deep breath and she placed the box cutter on the floor to the
side.
 
She was strong. She would fight.
 
She would open those doors. Not for those monsters, but for herself. She would
escape this place.
 
Frisk clicked the button at the side of her cell to turn on the flashlight. The
light quickly illuminated the room, chasing away the shadowed ambiguity that
donned the small space. And a part of her was relieved to see that it was just
as empty as before. She gently balanced the flashlight against the wall,
keeping the gloomy room lit… mostly.
Now was the time for action. Not self-pity.
She sat up on her knees and turned to face the large iron plate mounted upon
the wall. Frisk ran her fingers over its edges, studying the piece of metal
carefully. It was completely secured into the wall with four nails in each
corner. Trying to break the plate from the stone seemed to be implausible, so
she moved on to the next constraint. The iron-linked chain.
Frisk wrapped her hands around the middle of the chain and tugged it firmly.
The heavy links scrapped against one another, filling the small room with an
eerie metallic rattling. She grit her teeth together and stood up, tugging at
it again as hard as she could, yanking the chain away from where it attached
into the wall. But again… nothing. Nothing gave way. Nothing happened. Just the
loud clatter of metal colliding with metal.
Frisk dropped the chain to the floor and glanced over at the door. She walked
towards it but midway through the room the chain yanked her back. It wasn’t
very long.
 
Okay. Let’s try something else. The collar.
 
Frisk reached her hands back behind her neck and felt along the steel. She
could feel the small indentation of where the clasp locked in place. She
pressed her fingers against it, searching for any hint of how the torque
remained fastened. Then she felt a small hole. A key hole. Her heart leapt and
she scooped up her box cutter.
Frisk took in a deep breath and held the weapon in one hand. She swiveled the
loose collar around to the front of her neck and guided the blade upwards. She
knew this was probably not going to work. Obviously, this collar needed a
certain kind of key to open it. But maybe… just maybe.
That sliver of hope made her head hot with determination and she pressed the
sharp tip of the blade against the tiny opening now at the front of her neck.
She couldn’t see what she was doing. The lock was right below her chin. Frisk
twisted her hand to the side, trying to push the tip inside the opening to
latch onto something.
She added a bit more pressure, biting at her bottom lip in concentration. The
knife slipped and scraped along the front of the thick metal then clamored to
the floor. Dang it.
Once more.
She tried again, this time holding the blade at a different angle. And again it
did nothing to loosen the lock. Instead it skid towards the other side, this
time cutting her finger.
Frisk winced and quickly brought her bleeding finger up to her lips, sucking it
clean. God damn it. This was looking bleak.
The realization of the situation began to dawn on her and she sunk back down to
the floor against the wall. feeling miserable.
 
 
She sat there in the dark for what felt like another hour, but a quick glance
at her cellphone informed her that it had only been 20 minutes.
Frisk’s stomach growled loudly and she clutched at it with both hands. She had
to eat something. She pulled at her backpack and tugged out the rest of that
turkey sandwich and a bottle of water. Despite having no appetite at all, she
scarfed it down - although everything tasted like chalk at the moment.
 
The wind was howling outside and she could hear it clearly through the wall.
Frisk reached over and grabbed her cell flashlight again and held it over her
thigh, reexamining the wound, and could see small patches of blood seeping
through the make-shift cloth bandage.
Frisk carefully untied the bandage and pulled off each band-aid one by one. She
hissed out when the plastic strips pulled against her sensitive, swollen flesh.
God… would this pain ever cease? She held her leg up, glancing under her thigh
to survey the bite marks.
They were still as nasty looking as ever. Sans… that bastard… And she wondered
where he was at the moment.
Frisk huffed under her breath and poured some more antiseptic over the lesions
and it stung terribly… It was even more difficult to maneuver with that huge,
metal collar wrapped around her throat.
She applied new, clean band-aids to each tooth mark and wrapped the cloth back
around her thigh.
 
 
Time inched along at a snail’s pace. The TV downstairs was still humming. The
wind was still blowing. Frisk felt her eyelids growing heavier and heavier. She
didn’t want to sleep. She had to stay awake. Stay alert.
She slowly crawled over to the closest corner of the room and curled up there,
holding her utility knife in her lap. If she was going to be ambushed in the
middle of the night, then the least she could do was be prepared.
Frisk stared at the door opposite her. Her muscles finally began to relax as
her head rested against the side of the wall. She was able to find a position
that worked with the collar and it didn’t feel quite as heavy.
So tired… so sleepy… Maybe just a few minutes… She’ll just close her eyes for a
couple of minutes…
And sleep took her instantly.
 
 
Frisk jolted awake to the sound of loud, clambering footsteps making their way
up the stairs. It sounded like Papyrus’ boots. She lifted her head from off the
wall, blinking back at the door with drowsy, half-lidded eyes.
Then she saw a dark shadow appear underneath the space at the door. Her fatigue
vanished immediately. Was Papyrus standing outside? Frisk gripped onto her box
cutter. She’ll be ready for him… if he came, then she would fight. But the door
never opened. And after a long minute, the shadows disappeared and she could
hear him walking down the hall. Then another BANG of a door opening and
closing.
Was… was he going to bed?
Frisk reached over for her cell phone and the clock now read “12:00 am” Gosh,
it was midnight. For some reason she thought it would be later… this night had
already felt like the longest night of her life.
She tugged her hoodie hood up over her head. That collar immediately dug into
her shoulders and she winced. It was starting to hurt now.
Just sleep. Sleep will make everything better.
She curled back up into the corner and closed her eyes, letting that slow flood
of lethargy take her once more and eventually dozed off again.
 
 
Frisk wrenched suddenly, jerking to the side. She had slid down from her
sitting position onto the floor. The sudden movement had forced her awake.
God, what time was it now?… It had to be close to morning, surely…
She reached over for her cell again, the light still gently illuminating the
room, and checked the clock. It read ‘2:20 am’. How was that possible??? It
felt like it should be much, much later. Would she be forever cursed with the
most prolonged night in existence? She wanted to cry but instead just took in a
deep, trembling breath and laid down against the floor. She rested her head
against her backpack. It made an atrocious pillow, but at least it helped with
the weight of the collar.
Frisk stared at her cell screen, watching the time creep by. And eventually
fell back asleep.
 
 
She woke again to the sound of the air raid siren outside the walls. Was it
morning? She glanced over at her cell and it read “3:03 am”.
WHAT!?
She groaned out and lifted her hands to her ears, covering them firmly in an
attempt to suffocate the sound of the blaring alarm out in the distance. It
rang 10 times and then was silent.
Frisk prayed that the next time she woke it would be morning. She forced her
muscles to relax and dozed off again.
 
 
She awoke again in the darkness, rather suddenly. Frisk lifted her head off the
backpack and looked around the room.
She blinked in the faint light. Nothing in particular had woken her up this
time. Not the sound of doors banging or footsteps out in the hall. Not from
rolling around in her sleep. Not from sirens outside. There was only darkness…
darkness and silence.
But despite that, Frisk had an atrocious uneasy feeling in the pit of her
stomach. It felt like something was watching her in the darkness. A terrible
surge of fear started to coarse through her veins… What was this feeling?
Frisk sat up on her knees and reached for her cell. She held it tightly and
looked over the cracked screen which now read “5:45 am”. Well, at least morning
would be upon her soon enough. She took some comfort in that fact.
 
Then, there was a sound.
 
An abrupt sound of stirring air - like numerous whispers, whirling together -
creating a murmur that sent chills up her spine. And it was coming from inside
the room.
 
Next to her.
 
Before Frisk could look over her shoulder, she was knocked forward into the
floor. Hard. The chain-link leash rattled loudly and she let out a cry. Her
phone dropped to the ground with a clatter and slid away towards the other side
of the room. The phone faced down, blocking the flashlight. The room was pitch
black.
Frisk felt two hands grip at either side of her forearms. They lifted and spun
her around onto her back. It was so dark, she could barely see an inch in front
of her face, let alone whoever had just attacked her. But she didn’t have to
see him. She knew who it was…
Those skeletal claws squeezed her forearms painfully, holding her against the
ground. He shifted forward and pressed both his knees against the tops of her
hands, trapping them down. It was so painful and she could feel her knuckles
crack under his weight, immobilizing them completely. Frisk screamed out as
loud as she could. Papyrus was right next door. Papyrus would hear!
But a cold claw clasped over her mouth and pressed down hard to silence her
cries. She could make him out, just barely, in the restricted light.
Sans leaned over her. His eye sockets were two dark craters. His usual red
glowing orb of an eye was gone, and he was even more haunting without it. The
sight of his widening, strained smirk spread along his skull and Frisk’s heart
hammered rapidly in her chest. A panic attack came upon her in full force,
causing her whole body to tremble. She tried to pull her hands out from under
the substantial weight of his knees but it was not possible.
 
“so… paps thinks you’re the manumitter, huh?” He whispered out, his skull only
inches away from her terror-ridden face. His voice was scornful, arrogant, cold
as ice. “i’d like to see for myself…” How long had he been waiting to corner
her and confront her like this? Had he been plotting this all night?
Her mind raced.
This isn’t happening… This isn’t happening. You are dreaming. This is a
nightmare.
She tried to convince herself that this was all just some delusion brought on
by her pain and exhaustion. But that was false. This was real. The pain she
felt made sure of that.
Frisk attempted to scream again, but Sans wouldn’t have it. A thick, blue
coiling shadow started to appear around his hand - the hand which pressed to
her mouth. She had seen that slithering shadow a few times before, usually to
recall his weapon. But this time it did no such thing. The shadow had a
physicality to it, and it spread across her mouth and jawline and stifled her
cries. Frisk felt like she was choking. Like someone had just gagged her with
cotton balls. She could only breath through her nose and she gasped and
struggled for a breath against the blue wisp of energy. The chain attached to
her collar rattled violently with her movements.
“let’s get a look at that soul, kiddo.” San’s whispered against her ear.
W-what did that mean!?
He released his hand from her mouth but the faint whirling smoke remained. It
became more translucent in the darkness, just barely visible, but it was still
there. The weighty energy pressed against her mouth - she could feel it. It
held back her screams and stifled her breath. Lack of oxygen made her head
spin. She clenched her teeth together tightly, grinding them as she tried to
breath in.
Sans leaned up slightly and slid one claw to the front of the collar wrapped
around her throat. He pushed his hand against it, holding her still. All the
while his other hand began to trail away from her forearm to her stomach. He
gripped onto the bottom of her hoodie and started to pull it up. Just like
before… Just like in the woods…
Someone help me!!! Is he going to t-try and eat me again!?!?!!!! Please, please
pleasepleaseplease n-NO!
She could hear a slight snicker coming from him as that hollow gaze locked onto
her enlarged, panic-stricken eyes. And she saw his shadowed sockets widen,
almost maniacal, in the non-existent light.
The he began to wrench at her clothes… He tugged her hoodie up halfway,
exposing her stomach once more… but he didn’t stop there. He continued… to pull
her hoodie up… Up, further, exposing her chest…
O-oh, my god! W-what is this?! Get off of me, you pervert!!!! - Is what she
would have cried out had she been able to cry at all.
Frisk’s mind clamored in her head, the internal dialogue rapping her brain. Of
course she couldn’t speak a word of it, her voice still held back by some
shrouded, mysterious force that Sans had summoned. Her throat still felt like
it was packed with cloth.
Sans pulled her hoodie all the way up to her collarbones, exposing her bare
torso and the small form-fitting bralette she wore. Frisk was not full in the
chest in the slightest. Being 14, she was just only starting to develop. And
she was rather small in stature anyways compared to all the girls back at the
orphanage.
Frisk shivered under him as she felt tears sting the backs of her eyes and she
stared up at the monster in pure panic. Her hands, still trapped under his
knees, were starting to go numb and cold from the pressure.
Wait… had he pinned them down on purpose? So she couldn’t use her hands on him
again?
She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs burned.
Don’t touch me! P-please make this stop!
She thrashed under his weight, trying to turn to the side to conceal her
revealed chest. Horrible images of him doing unimaginable things to her started
to fill her mind and she shut her eyes tight to block out the tears, trying to
demolish those heinous thoughts. She didn’t want to think about that… No… no!
He wouldn’t do that… he couldn’t do that………… Right?
But he didn’t undo her bralette. No, instead he pressed one of his skeletal
hands directly at the center of her soft chest. His claws splayed out over her
flesh causing goosebumps to run along every inch of exposed skin.
 
W-what was he doing?………
 
“heh.”
 
Then suddenly, a sharp mind-numbing pain pierced directly through the center of
her torso - right where his hand lay. It felt like someone had just speared her
through the heart with a sweltering metal rod. It hurt… it hurt!
Frisk arched her back, pressing her shoulders hard into the floor, lifting her
chest upward against his hand in pain. The chain-link leash clattered loudly.
Her lungs felt like they were collapsing. Her vision faded in and out, over and
over, and she shut her eyes. Oh god, what was he doing!? Was he killing her?
Was he finally going to kill her now?!?!?
She felt his hand pull away from her bare chest and the pain faded into the
background.
W-what?…
 
Frisk just barely opened her tearing eyes to glance up at the monster,
breathing quickly through her nose, when she noticed that his view was no
longer upon her face. Instead his head tilted downward towards his hand, his
shrouded eye sockets narrowed.
He was holding his claw directly above her slender bust and in it was….. Was
something strange… something glowing.
Frisk stared back at the object… W-what was that??
A small, perfectly round sphere hovered above San’s open hand. The orb glowed
softly. It was red and clear with beautifully glimmering molecules swimming
around inside like liquid stardust. The translucent orb gleamed and dripped
with a red gelatinous fluid, coating Sans’ fingers and oozing onto Frisk’s
chest.
Sans did not say a word. He just stared at the gently glistening spheroid at
his palm. His grin was gone and his sharp teeth ground together. His eye socket
twitched. There was not one shred of that brash and arrogant expression.
Instead he looked almost… nervous?… Nervous and resentful…
Then Sans pressed his sharp thumb down against center of the orb. Another mind-
numbing pain at Frisk’s chest send her head spiraling and she writhed against
the floor, crying out silently, still unable to speak or breath or even think.
She could taste something foul in the back of her throat… Blood.
Sans’ single red hue of an eye flashed suddenly, returning to the dark socket.
It darted up, locking onto Frisk’s face. He looked so sullen, so terrifying.
“this soul…” Sans breathed out. His voice sounded strained.
W-what did he just say??
“kid… your soul is… fascinating.” his single red eye constricted, leering in at
her. He sounded almost excited. Frisk could see those blue, sheening pellets of
drool forming at the corners of his maw. He glanced back down at the orb,
staring at it like it was something delicious.
Then his hand grasped around her soul and he squeezed it tight. Another
terrible wave of pain shot through Frisk’s chest. It was like a dagger - like
multiple daggers - piercing her sternum one right after the other. Daggers with
scorched blades. Oh god… she prayed for death to just come and stop this pain.
It was almost worse than when he ripped apart her thigh. She coughed with
labored breath and could taste blood against her lips. It felt like her chest
was about to rupture from the inside out.
Frisk stared weakly up at the skeleton as he continued to toy with the red
marble like a cat playing with a dying mouse.
Was that beautiful gem her soul?… Was he trying to destroy it?
Frisk's chest burned with a red glow, as if irritated that it no longer housed
the 3-inch sphere. The orb continued to ooze in Sans' hand while he squeezed it
tightly again and again. Although now the liquid was turning a dark opaque red.
It was starting to look more like blood than glittering water.
 
And then suddenly Sans stilled his claw and pressed the jewel back to Frisk’s
chest. And it slowly sunk inside. The red illuminated ball drove through her
flesh into her sternum. It burned her skin as the orb entered her breastbone
but the terrible shooting pain melted away almost immediately when the soul
settled back within her.
 
The red light at her chest vanished and now only the malicious maroon hue
emitting from Sans’ single eye remained and illuminated the space between them.
Frisk could see what appeared to be drops of blue tinted sweat at Sans’
forehead. That contrived smirk locked in place upon his cracked skull. His
expression was hard to read. Like he was masking trepidation and excitement
behind a cocky smile.
Then he tugged her hoodie back down to cover her chest and abruptly stood up
off her hands. The faint shadow that held her voice back vanished the moment he
released her and Frisk gasped loudly, struggling for a breath as she coughed
blood upon the floor and cradled her injured hands against each other.
“you will open the doors, kid. every door.” His voice was deadly… stern… and it
dripped with venom, “and i’ll be watching you. you take one step out of line
and i’ll be there.” San’s eye flashed brightly for a moment and constricted
back inside his socket.
Then he turned, opened the door, stepped into the hall, and slammed it shut
behind him. Leaving her alone in the darkness once again.
 
*****
 
Coming up: The 3rd door awaits.
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     I've been listening to a ton of Asaki while writing this fic. It's
     really something special. Check 'em out: www.youtube.com/
     watch?v=cgQSThJs7ok
     Also there will be lots of pure cinnamon roll coming up next!
      
     /////////////////////
***** XI *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 11: Frisk and Papyrus travel to the 3rd gate.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hey all,
     Thank you for all of your lovely words of encouragement, comments,
     feedback and kudos, as always.
     This next chapter we get a lot of HT!Papyrus, more cold and finally
     the 3rd gate… and… the beginning of… a hella sick fight scene! Say
     whaaa! When I say this fic is a slow-burn I seriously mean it.
     Anyways, I hope you enjoy regardless.
      
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
Frisk curled up onto her side in the dark and pulled her knees into her chest.
She trembled - helpless and desperate for salvation. Her mind swum in a sea of
questions… and fear. She couldn’t take much more of this… this torture, this
agony. Will there ever be an end to it?
She listened for Sans’ footsteps in the hall. But there weren’t any. She
glanced under the space between the door, searching for shadows. But it was
vacant. He wasn’t there. Somehow he had vanished again. Like he always did.
Sans wasn't just a monster… he was truly a demon. He was not like the others.
Devoid of the tiniest sliver of compassion. And she knew if she wanted to
survive down here then she would have to stay as far away from him as possible.
Frisk coughed hard against the floor. She could taste copper against the back
of her tongue. She was still coughing up blood… b-but why? She first tasted it
when Sans had removed that orb from her chest. Was she bleeding because he had
removed that strange, glittering jewel? Had it caused her to bleed internally
for some reason?
And that orb… what the hell even was that!? W-was that…
 
…
her soul?
 
 
Frisk grit her teeth together and spit a thick clot of blood as she groaned in
pain. She slowly rolled up to a seat and looked down at her trembling hands.
She couldn’t feel them at all. They were completely numb. For a second she
thought Sans might have shattered the bones in her fingers when he had pinned
them under his knees. She attempted to move them and to much relief they
reacted and wiggled in turn. Thank god.
Eventually the feeling returned, although her hands were sore and she could
just barely make out black and blue bruises forming against her knuckles in the
darkness. Frisk brought them to her chest and pressed lightly. It stung when
she added some pressure, but the terrible mind-splitting pain that she felt
when Sans had squeezed the orb was gone.
He had removed her soul from her body. B-but why? To see if she was this savior
that everyone kept mentioning? Would her soul reveal that?
Frisk reached for her phone at the other side of the room, then scooted back to
huddle in the corner. The iron-link leash that kept her bound to the wall
rattled as she moved. Her inflamed hands trembled as she clutched the cell
tightly to her chest, staring at the door opposite her.
What if he returned? What if he came back to finish the job?…
But then, why hadn’t he just finished her off right now? Was something stopping
him?
 
…
 
He had mentioned the doors. He had called her Manumitter. Was that the reason,
then? He wanted her to open the doors, just like every other monster trapped
down here. Was she really this savior that everyone kept talking about? Sans
had examined her soul, so did that mean he recognized it to be a soul of the
Manumitter?
No, no!!! No way!! How could that be possible!?! She was just Frisk! Just a
scrawny depressed orphan who had nothing and no one. Who was just trying to get
by without completely succumbing to her misery. She was not the almighty savior
of some horrible underground hell. This was all wrong.
 
She sat as still as she could. Her hands throbbed, her chest ached, her thigh
stung, the back of her head was swollen, and the heavy iron collar at her neck
made her shoulders feel like they were about to collapse. She began to wonder
how long she could last down here if things kept going the way they were going.
 
 
Frisk sat in the dark for what felt like hours. The whole time her eyes focused
in on that door. She held her box cutter in one hand, and her cell phone in the
other. Part of her was ashamed… ashamed that she didn’t have her knife when
Sans had appeared… ashamed that she hadn’t fought back.
 
……
 
‘Be strong. Fight’
 
…
 
I’m trying, Toriel!… I’m trying.
 
Silent tears pooled in her eyes and obscured her vision. Frisk sniffled quietly
as she wept against her knees. She let out a trembling exhale, rubbing her eyes
and nose against her sleeve, and looked down at her cellphone screen. It read
‘7:45 am’. So it was early morning now. What horrible things awaited her today?
Frisk unlatched the top flap at her backpack and pulled out a small bag of
vending machine cookies and a can of juice. She ate a few of the snacks, mainly
just to try and get the taste of blood out of her mouth. But the acidic orange
juice stung her empty stomach and she swapped it for a bottle of water instead.
As she slowly chewed, she began to think over some conversations she had had
with the monsters throughout the Underground so far. But one detail stuck in
her mind.
‘Are you a killer, Manumiter?’ – Napstablook had spoken those words to her,
which felt like a lifetime ago. He said that to her when he took notice of the
utility knife. Why would he ask that?
 
And also:
'but you’re not a killer. i’d know the manumitter when i see ‘em…' – Sans had
said that to her as well.
 
Was this savior, this Manumitter that everyone seemed to see her as… was this
person a murder? A killer?… What did that mean. If this person was supposed to
open all the doors, then why would they kill the monsters?
 
Frisk shut her eyes tight as she felt a wave of nausea rush over her. She held
her stomach in her hands and took in slow, steady breaths as she waited for it
to pass. Eventually it did and she rested her head down against the backpack.
Her eyelids started to feel heavy. It had been such a nightmarish, restless
night. She found herself debilitated with fatigue. Frisk let her eyes flutter
shut and relaxed against the backpack, holding her hands to her chest.
 
 
There was a BANG.
She jolted upright, staring wide-eyed at the door.
Loud footsteps clambered down the hallway.
Every single muscle in Frisk’s body bunched. She pulled her knees in close to
her chest, trying to become as small as possible.
Then a shadow appeared underneath the space below the door. Someone was out
there. The shadow hovered there ominously for a good minute or so, and then-
The door burst open and Frisk jerked back into the corner.
 
It was Papyrus. He stood in the doorway with that usual unsettling grin that
exposed every single one of those extravagant, flat-edged teeth. It was
practically all she could see of him through the shadows.
The towering skeleton’s hollow sockets settled upon Frisk on the opposite side
of the room and his grin widened further.
“HUMAN! IT IS MORNING NOW!” He began with that deafening voice that caused a
headache to swell up at the back of Frisk’s skull. “I DO HOPE YOU SLEPT
SOUNDLY.”
If Frisk hadn’t been so terrified of him she probably would have let out a
laugh at the irony of that statement. Instead she just clutched onto her
backpack and her cellphone and the sheathed handle of her box cutter, finding
solace in those few, precious objects.
Papyrus ducked his head underneath the doorway and stepped inside the room and
Frisk immediately jerked back again, causing the chain leash to rattle loudly.
The skeleton almost tilted his head to the side in confusion, his wide grin
faltering just barely at both corners.
“S-stay away from me…” Frisk managed to whisper out. Her throat was so dry. She
found it incredibly difficult to speak.
“STAY AWAY?” He repeated her words and grinned once more, “AH, I CANNOT DO THAT
HUMAN! TODAY IS THE DAY I PROVE SANS WRONG. I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE THE LOOK ON
HIS FACE, NYEEHEHE!”
Papyrus let out that bizarre, erratic laugh and clasped his gloved hands
together. He stepped in closer towards her, indifferent to her reaction. Frisk
almost lifted her knife as he approached… almost. But instead she just sat
there on the floor, looking up at him pathetically with that terror-stricken
expression that seemed to have become a permanent fixture.
“COME, HUMAN.” Papyrus pulled out a rusty, antique key from his kilt pocket and
crouched directly in front of her.
He was so close; she could see every one of those small fissures embedded in
his skull. His empty eye sockets were much smaller than Sans’ large ones, and
she could actually see a very faint dark orange hue glowing deep within each
crater.
Papyrus slipped his fingers up underneath her heavy collar so fast that Frisk
did not even have an opportunity to flinch. His hand gripped brashly at the
iron, rotation it around her neck to find the lock at the center. He pushed the
key inside the space, turned it, and the weighty torque clanked open.
“THERE YOU ARE, HUMAN.” He jolted upright back to his feet. “YOU CAN FINISH
YOUR LEFTOVERS FROM LAST NIGHT. I ADMIT, I ALMOST ATE THEM AS A MIDNIGHT SNACK.
BUT I AM A MASTER OF SELF-DISCIPLINE.”
His voice bellowed and he gripped onto Frisk’s shoulders, tugging her up. She
quickly stuffed her knife and cellphone back in her pocket and clutched at her
backpack tightly as Papyrus pulled her out into the hallway.
 
 
He led her downstairs back into that gloomy, mold-infested living room. The
television was still flickering with static. The light bulb above the table
continued to flash weakly. Small rays of light peered through spots between
congealed grim that painted the windows black.
Frisk looked over towards the front door. Sans was not there. She had expected
him to be there, guarding the door and pretending to sleep. But he was gone and
she found herself wondering where he was now.
“SIT, HUMAN” Papyrus shoved her down upon the burlap couch. She immediately
sunk in between the grimy cushions and winced as she heard grotesque crunching
sounds coming from underneath the pillows.
“I WILL BRING YOU BREAKFAST. IT HAS BEEN MARINATING ALL NIGHT.” Papyrus
blustered and stepped lively towards the open archway against the far wall: the
kitchen.
Frisk could hear loud clattering sounds coming from the small room. She brought
a hand up to her neck and rubbed against the sides. Her flesh was rubbed raw.
But at least the collar had not cut into her throat. She really could not
handle anymore wounds right now.
 
Papyrus returned almost immediately, holding the same cracked plate in his
hands from last night. The rotting meat stacked high at the center in a small
pyramid.
“HERE YOU ARE, HUMAN.” He held the plate out for Frisk to take, hovering it
right in front of her face. “I AM QUITE JEALOUS.” His askew grin softened.
Frisk suddenly remembered what Toriel and Napstablook and said. How all the
monsters in the Underground were… starving. Was there no food available to
them? Is that why Sans had tried to eat her? And why he had gone out into the
human world when she had opened the shed to find some meat? Come to think of
it…… how did he get out there? Did he trek through the tunnels like she had? Or
did he… teleport? He always seemed to vanish and appear abruptly.
Frisk’s mind boiled with questions and she stared blankly at the plate of meat
in front of her. Papyrus blinked. “…HUMAN?”
His voice shook her out of that deep contemplation and she looked back up at
him.
“Papyrus… w-why don’t you eat the rest of it.”
His eye holes grew wide and his grin even wider. “AH, HUMAN!” He sounded
elated, “I WILL ACCEPT THIS GIFT!” And he immediately plopped down next to her
upon the couch and began to tear apart the meat with rows of daunting obelisk
molars.
Frisk scooted to the other side away from him, mainly to avoid getting covered
in small chunks of flying flesh. She stared out at one of the tinted windows
and could just barely see snow falling outside. Or maybe it was more ash? No,
it was snow. Of course it was still snowing out there… She had wished so
desperately that the cold would just go away. At that moment she almost
preferred the skeleton brothers’ house to the forest. Almost.
Papyrus finished every scrap of meat instantaneously and licked at his fingers.
He had a tongue too, just like Sans. And it was orange and glistening with
saliva, much to Frisk’s amazement.
“HUMAN. WE MUST HEAD TO THE GATE NOW.” Papyrus roared out. He tossed the
depleted blood-stained plate into one of the clutter piles and hopped to his
feet.
Frisk hesitated. “W-where is Sans?…”
The taller skeleton blinked and pushed his thick, dilapidated red scarf over
his shoulder. “HMM? OH, HE IS PROBABLY OUT AND ABOUT. NOT TO WORRY, I WILL BE
SURE TO RELAY EVERY DETAIL TO HIM. DETAILS OF WHEN YOU, THE HUMAN, OPEN THE
GATE! WHICH WILL PROVE, ONCE AND FOR ALL, THAT I AM THE MORE SUPERIOR BROTHER.
AND THAT I WAS RIGHT!”
She listened to Papyrus ramble. His sharp, ribbed spine straightened and he
stood with his hands at his hips as if he was posing for a photograph. She was
almost entertained by his nonsensical words and actions. Maybe he was not that
terrible of a monster… The way he acted at times was almost juvenile. So unlike
his brother.
Wait. No. No! He is a hulking monstrosity that feasts on raw meat! They both
are!
 
Papyrus wiped at his jaw with one hand and reached out to grasp at Frisk. But
for once, she was fast enough to pull away from him. “Wait, Papyrus…”
He blinked again, “IS SOMETHING THE MATTER, HUMAN?”
“I… I can’t go out there in the snow again. I’m going to die out there. It’s
too… cold.” She actually mustered up the courage to speak an entire sentence.
It felt like the most words she had spoken in one breath since she had arrived
here.
“WELL I CANNOT HAVE YOU PERISHING, HUMAN. THEN I WON’T BE ABLE TO BEAT SANS!”
He exclaimed in that boisterous, echoic tone.
Papyrus stepped away from her, moving in on a pile of junk in the corner. He
started throwing refuse all over the room as he searched through the clutter.
Frisk glanced back at him over her shoulder. Then her eyes darted towards the
front door.
Should she run???? Papyrus seemed plenty distracted. S-should she take a leap
of faith and attempt it?
 
……
 
Frisk’s heart started to race. Her soul started to pulse. She shifted against
the couch cushion and inched forwards towards the edge of her seat. But then
those words - Sans words - bubbled to the surface of her psyche: ‘you take one
step out of line and i’ll be there.’
Frisk released a heavy sigh and reluctantly sunk back against the couch. Common
sense settled within. She couldn’t possibly attempt such a feat right now. She
was too exhausted, too battered, and she surely was not strong enough.
 
Papyrus returned and held out what appeared to be a dark clump of draped
fabric. He shook the cloth out in both hands and revealed a small black winter
coat. Frisk blinked. Out of all the things she had expected Papyrus to pull out
of that pile of rubble, clothing had not been one of them.
The coat had a brown speckled fur-trimmed neckline but besides that there was
nothing remarkable about it. Well, except for one thing. There was something
off about the jacket. It had four sets of long sleeves. This coat was clearly
meant for a small monster, not a human.
 
“HERE YOU ARE, HUMAN. THIS SMALL HUSK SHALL KEEP YOU SHIELDED FROM THE COLD.”
Papyrus looked extremely satisfied with his find as he laid that jacket upon
Frisk’s lap. She examined the four sets of sleeves and almost laughed at the
absurdity.
“Ah… well… T-thank you.”
“YOU ARE MOST WELCOME!”
Frisk slid up off the couch to a stand and pulled her arms through the first
set of sleeves. The coat was a tad big on her, but it was padded with layers of
fabric and was extremely warm. It smelt like burnt charcoal and made her nose
itch, but at least it was something to protect her from the bitter weather. She
wrapped the second dangling set of sleeves behind her waist and tied them in a
knot at her back, creating a sort of makeshift bow. Then she latched up the
large wooden buttons at the front and patted it down. The coat reached just
below her knees. Her legs were still bare but she wouldn’t say no to a warm,
fur-laden jacket.
Frisk glimpsed up towards the towering skeleton when she had finished and
quickly noticed a change in his stance. He had been watching her carefully as
she adjusted the coat, but his gaze was alarming. The way he was staring… It
reminded Frisk of a hungry dog leering at a slab of ham hanging in a butchers
window. it reminded her of Sans’ gaze.
“Er…” Frisk took a step back away from him and she felt her heart tremble. Her
fingers twitched towards her shorts pocket where her knife was hiding. If she
had to fight him off than she would. She wouldn’t hold back. Although it would
be the shortest fight in existence, no doubt.
Papyrus blinked his alcove eye sockets a few times and rolled his shoulders
back as he came to from his crippling daze.
“AH… MY APOLOGIZES.” He shook his head and stepped over towards another pile of
clutter. What the heck was he getting now? Frisk eyed the door warily,
internally struggling with the desire to dash out of the house. But the
skeleton returned just a few seconds later and in his hand was… was…
A-another collar!?
“HUMANS MUST BE RESTRAINED, THAT IS THE LAW.” He said and that intimidating
grin splayed across his face while his hands reached down to her shoulders. He
clasped the smaller steal around her exposed throat and roughly yanked at a
thick leather leash that was bound to a ring in front.
Frisk stumbled forward towards him. She fought against her urge to scream and
lash out. It probably would have led to her death, but this was getting
ridiculous. Just stay calm… just stay calm… She had been bound up all night and
now he was going to lead her through the forest by a leash like some kind of
pet!? What kind of freaks were these monsters???
But Papyrus gave her no time to enjoy the final seconds of warmth inside the
house. He yanked her towards the front door and led her outside by the leash.
Frisk stumbled after him into the snow. She still had her hoodie on underneath
the new coat and pulled the hood up over her head and grasped at the backpack
straps around her shoulders.
The freezing, bitter wind hit her. Hard. It was like a punch to the face. Frisk
whimpered and lowered her head down, standing behind Papyrus so that his
imposing physique would shield her from the cold. If anything it had become
even colder than the day before, if that were even possible. It was a blizzard.
 
 
 
Frisk walked closely behind Papyrus, practically stepping on the heels of his
boots, and pressed her face into his sinuous red scarf. It was freezing outside
and the snow blew hard and fast in their direction. She couldn’t see anything
through the white haze, but it didn’t matter. Papyrus was leading the way
regardless. Frisk had lost the feeling in her feet, hands and legs ages ago,
but thankfully the new monster coat did a decent job at keeping her arms and
chest warm. However, her thigh still ached and every step she took was a
salient bolt of pain.
Papyrus, on the other hand, trotted along like it was a warm summer day. The
weather did not affect him at all. If anything, it put a little spring in his
step. He wrapped his hand tightly around the end of the leather strap leash the
other swung back and forth at his side.
This new collar at Frisk’s neck was much smaller than the one from the night
before. And it pinched painfully against her skin. It didn’t help that the cold
practically turned the steel to ice. It was dreadful and Frisk tried to stuff
her fingers underneath it to keep her skin from touching the metal but they
wouldn’t fit.
 
 
And the two of them walked… and walked… and walked through the frigid forest.
The trees were as black as oil and rooted closer together than when she had
first entered these woods. Frisk would glance up at the grey sky every now and
then when she heard that familiar air siren alarm blaring off in the distance.
She wanted to ask Papyrus what that alarm was for, but she couldn’t bring
herself to speak.
As they walked, Frisk stuffed a trembling, blue hand in her shorts pocket and
pulled out her cell phone. She glanced at the clock that now read ‘1:34 pm’.
How long had they been out here? She was going to die before they even got to
their destination.
They continued on, and on, and on… And just as Frisk thought she was going to
collapse from exhaustion she noticed something ahead of them. It was dark and
massive and just barely visible through the rough flurries.
A colossal stone wall.
 
 
Frisk tilted her head back as they approached. The wall was monumental and must
have been at least 50 stories high. She had almost mistaken it for a mountain
ridge at first, but as they tread closer she could see that it really was a
wall. It was built out of stacked black bricks stained grey from the frost.
There were no trees around, as if they had all be cut down to make way for it.
If Frisk hadn’t been so cold and scared she would have probably been quite
impressed just by the sheer size of it.
“HERE WE ARE HUMAN!” Papyrus said as they started to close in on the barrier.
There was a large ancient-looking wooden doorway at the center. It looked small
compared to the entire structure, but as they approached Frisk could see that
it was quite massive as well. The door alone was about 3 stories tall.
Papyrus yanked at Frisk’s leash and she lurched forward, almost bumping her
head into the exposed bones at the bottom of his rib cage.
“ALRIGHT HUMAN…” He surging words were laced with anticipation as he brought
those massive hands down and started to untie the leather strap leash from the
front of her neck. She lifted her head waiting for him to remove the collar as
well… but he didn’t. Then he grasped onto her shoulders and shoved her towards
the door and took a lanky step back, staring at her intently.
Frisk stood there in the cold. She stared back at Papyrus who stared back at
her. He had released her. They were outside… Should she run?
……………
 
She stood there for a while, unmoving. Papyrus did not move either. He just
watched her as if waiting for a volcano to erupt.
…
 
Might as well just… give it a shot…
 
Slowly, Frisk forced herself to turn around and face the massive door. She
studied the wooden aperture up and down. There were no doorknobs or padlocks or
anything. Just two towering planks of wood slammed shut.
She stepped closer and walked along the span of the doorway, letting her
sleeved hand brush against the it to scrape away caked snow that painted the
wood white.
 
But then her eyes caught something. She stopped dead in her tracks. Wait… what
is that?Something engraved in the wood underneath the ice.
The symbol!
It was there. Faded, but there.
 
Frisk used her sleeve to rub away the frost, revealing the familiar rune carved
into a section of the black wood. She traced her pasty fingers along the
design, feeling each indentation and curve at her fingertips. She took in a
deep breath, ignoring the cold that stung her lungs, and brought both hands up.
Then pressed them against the center of symbol and allowed her eyes to close.
Focus. Focus…
 
The wind blew. The snow whirled. The trees stirred in the rough gales a mile
behind them.
 
And then… warmth.
 
A marvelous warmth, lukewarm at first but growing stronger. It began at her
fingertips and ran through her slender digits down to her palms. Through her
wrists and up her arms and into the center of her chest. The sickly blue tint
that stained her hands melted away and a gentle red glow began to encompass
them both. Her hands and arms radiated vermilion and the light bounced off the
white snowfall, turning the atmosphere around her a gentle pink.
 
Frisk’s stared back at the symbol upon the door as the red glossy reflection
glazed over her eyes. Her expression was calm. Her soul was serene.
She heard a loud gasp behind her, from Papyrus, who was watching everything
unfold. The massive wooden doors began to shake. They trembled and huge mounds
of snow started to fall around them from above.
Frisk shut her eyes and pushed harder. Harder… The doors trembled under her
touch and started to split open. The gate was opening outward with deafening
creeks and metallic screeches. The noise was so vehement, it sounded like a
building was collapsing. It echoed through the trees around them. A huge gust
of cool wind blew past Frisk from the widening space between the doors. She
could see through them, just barely, over to the other side.
The doors opened wider and wider. Her hands burned hotter. And then suddenly it
all became quiet.
 
Frisk hunched over, eyes closed, holding her hands to her chest. The soft glow
weakened the moment she had removed them from the gate but the warmth lingered.
Frisk opened one eye to stare at the open gates before her. She could see now.
She could see what the gates led to.
It was more forest… but it was different. It was darker, warmer. There was no
snow in the air, just some upon the ground. And it looked as if it was melting.
The air was heavy and the atmosphere was tinted a putrid olive green. It
clashed with the freezing white wind from the opposite side where they stood.
Frisk rose to a stand and took an alarmed step back. She bumped into Papyrus
who was now standing directly behind her.
 
“WOWIE!!! HUMAN!!! YOU OPENED THE GATE!” He clasped his hands together, staring
astonished at the expansive unfamiliar woods in front of them. “SANS’ EYE WILL
SURELY POP OUT OF HIS SKULL WHEN HE HEARS OF THIS!”
Frisk almost smiled up at him. But she was so exhausted, so cold. Although that
new forest looked much more daunting than the snowy one, the warmth was too
tempting to pass up. She started to walk forward but Papyrus placed a heavy
hand upon her shoulder.
“I KNEW SANS WAS WRONG THIS TIME. HE IS GOING TO BE SO CROSS WITH ME,
NYEHEHEH!”
Frisk looked back up at Papyrus and simply nodded then tried to take a step
forward again, but he yanked her back once more… rougher that time. Frisk felt
a sudden pang of fear split her heart as her sneakers skidded into the snow
ankle-deep. She glanced back up at him and her eyes widened when he spoke once
more…
“HUMAN. THANK YOU FOR OPENING THE GATE. BUT NOW I MUST BID YOU FAREWELL.”
 
…………
…
 
W-what…?
 
Papyrus released her shoulders and took a step back. He was staring directly at
her with narrowing craters. The skeleton grinned wide with that jubilant
deranged toothy smile, exposing every single one of his humanoid canines.
He raised a gloved hand skyward and Frisk felt the ground shake.
What is this??!
Massive bones began to erupt from underneath the snow in vast pillars. They
shot up one by one, encircling Frisk and trapping her within a small confined
space. The bones were jagged at the ends and cracked all over, revealing
sickening dark red bone marrow inside. And there was an orange emission that
glowed around each one of them.
“P-papyrus!” Frisk shouted back at him through the deafening cyclone of snow.
She tried to lunge forward between a small open space to escape the cartilage
cage, but another tremendous bone obelisk shot up towards the sky and stopped
her in her tracks. She was trapped.
Papyrus’ hollow eyes began to glow a bright orange in both of his sockets. They
pulsed and vibrated steadily. It was terrifying. He looked hungry. His crimson
scarf blew behind him in the rough wind and he lifted his hand once more.
More bones started to break through the earth’s crust at Papyrus' feet, pushing
through the snow as if he was summoning them from hell. They were different
than the ones that formed the cage. They were smaller, sharper, and hovered
around his hand in a steady circle.
Frisk stood trembling inside the casket that trapped her in place. She gripped
at the bones and she tried to push them over or squeeze through the slight
spaces. She watched Papyrus summon his weapons in utter terror and her mind
stumbled over itself.
This whole time… she should have never trusted this monster!!! W-what about the
other doors? Was that a lie? Was she going to die here now? Impaled by bone
spears?? Used for target practice??
Papyrus pointed his hand directly at Frisk. The hovering bones turned sharply
and locked in on her as he commanded them, obeying his every whim. And he
smirked wide.
“FAREWELL!”
 
*****
Coming up: T̼̰̘̯ͤ̐͂̓̑̃͐h̀͛̇ͬͣ̄͌e͆̐̓̅̉ ̣̏ͣ̃ͭ́͐t̺̰̭͔̠͙̙ͭͪͫͥo̭̥̗̗̭ͭ̑̅ͮw̫̠͚ͅn̗̪̖̳ͧ̓
ͬ͆̌̒̉͑o̼̪̟̱̠̊͛͐f͚̺͇̿ͥ ͑̊͋͊̊̾S̳̜͋͐ͥ̏n͖̯̭o̹̣̻̥̘͖͖ͩ̓̉͆̇w̒ͦd̰͈͖͍̽ͪͦͯͅị͉̗̫̼̿̂n̠̘̉̋
͙̜͔̲͈̇̿ͩ͑ͮ͑ă̳̱̏͆̍̂w̝̩͕͎̺̲̞ͬͬ͊a͙̬͛͛̓̆͗ͅi̪̺͕͔̯̒ͣ͑̽̇̇ͅt̟̻͈ͣ̿͗͒s̮͚̯̘͍̔.
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Paps!! Noooo!!! Why you do dis!!!
     Find out tomorrow 8D
      
     /////////////////////
***** XII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 12: The Decaying Town of Snowdin
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Sup guys!
     Ty all for you continuous wonderful words of encouragement. They
     always motivate me to keep on writin'. And keep writin' I shall! Get
     ready for some Chapter 12! Woo! Frisk’s soul becomes slightly more
     powerful with a newfound ability, more story development, the Town of
     Snowdin, and HT!Papyrus being kinda cute?
     Enjoy.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
 
Multiple serrated bone spears hovered around Papyrus’ gloved hand in a perfect
circle. Frisk watched in horror as the bones began to glow a bright blood-
orange, steaming with the monster’s energy. Each end was sharpened to a jagged
point and stained with dry blood. They stirred in the air for a moment,
vibrating rhythmically, then shot forward. Directly at her. Like multiple heat-
seeking missiles honing in on their target.
There was nowhere to run. Frisk raised her arms straight out in front of her
and held her hands up to protect her face. A vision of Sans’ smirk seeped into
her mind for a brief, fleeting moment. He probably would have loved to see her
die this way…
 
So this was it, then. This is how it ends.
 
She took in a deep breath, holding it tight in her lungs, waiting for that
painful impact. Waiting for those spears to skewer her…
 
…
 
…
 
But there was no pain.
 
There was only…
 
Warmth?
……
Warmth that turned into heat…
……
Heat that grew hotter and hotter… And started to burn.
 
Frisk’s hands were hot. Sweltering, in fact. She thought perhaps the bones had
punctured her palms and the orange energy was burning them up. She opened her
eyes and clenched her teeth, expecting the worst. But she was greeted with
something… unexpected.
 
A bright, red, vibrant glow obscured her vision. The glow emitted off a screen,
which hovered directly in front of her. It was about 3 feet tall, suspended in
the air just a few inches away from her outstretched open palms. The partition
was translucent and dripped with red gelatinous liquid that shimmered in the
light. Clear vermilion particles swirled around inside the shield and glimmered
like a marvelous starry sky. The coloring of the shield looked familiar… Where
had she seen that color before?… Wait- It looked exactly… exactly like her
soul. But instead of a small orb it was a burning forcefield of pure energy. It
was so warm, so beautiful. A safeguard of glittering microscopic gems that
protected her from the skeleton’s deadly attack.
The bone spears spiraled forward and impaled the barrier violently, and the
force pushed Frisk backwards, pinning her against the back of the cage. She
clenched her teeth and squinted at the damaged shield that flickered before
her. Oh god… Papyrus was too strong… W-was the shield going to shatter? But the
soul barrier did not give way. Its sheen quivered, but it held firm. The bones
pierced through it and became trapped, embedded inside the screen, the crimson
sharpened tips only inches away from Frisk’s face.
The shield… It protected her from the barrage. It saved her life.
Frisk could just barely see Papyrus standing out in the snow through the lucid
red barrier.
Oh, no…
 
Her heart sank to her stomach when she saw another cluster of orange glowing
bones appear and circle around Papyrus’ hand once more. He was summoning
another wave. H-he was going to attack her again!? The light that emitted off
the shield shuttered. It was pierced with multiple bones all over. She knew it
would not last another onslaught.
“Papyrus!!” Frisk screamed out as loud as she could through the howling
blizzard wind. “Stop, Papyrus!!! Stop it!”
Papyrus raised his hand further up in the sky. She could just barely make out
his skull and he looked deranged. His eyes glowed bright orange, his grin was
wide and terrifying. The bones were charging up, they were quivering in place.
No no no no!
“Papyrus! P-please don’t do this! What about the other doors!” It was the only
other words she thought to scream out besides pleads. Frisk ducked back down
behind her cracking barrier. She shut her eyes again and prepared herself for
the next assault of bones.
But they never came.
 
…
 
Frisk opened her eyes. She could make out the towering skeleton through the
shield, out in the snow some yards away. The new set of bone spears he had
summoned now lay on the ground at his feet. Papyrus simply stood there with his
tattered red scarf flapping behind him. He looked confounded. The burning
orange hues in his sockets were gone and they were small, empty cavities once
more. His grin faltered, turning downward at the corners of his jaw. He
appeared almost startled by his own actions.
“HUMAN! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” He called out.
Was this some sort of messed up monster joke?……
 
 
Papyrus trotted up towards the bone cage and gripped onto the entrapping
pillars, peering inside back at Frisk. She was trembling and panting heavily
and beads of sweat glistened at her forehead. Her back pressed into the bone
cage bars behind her as she tried to stay as far away from the approaching
monstrosity as possible. She thought Papyrus was different… she thought he was
a friend…
“FORGIVE ME, HUMAN. IN MY EXCITEMENT I HAD FORGOTTEN THERE WERE STILL PLENTY
MORE DOORS TO OPEN!”
That haunting, unstable, inculpable grin spread across his features once more.
It was like he had completely disregarded what he had just done. Frisk’s shield
started to crumble. It fell apart in chunks upon the snow and melted into a
crimson glittery liquid that almost immediately lost its lustrous sheen,
turning an opaque dark red. It looked like a puddle of blood… and the bone
spears stuck out from the ooze in various directions. Frisk was paralyzed from
shock. She couldn’t even concern herself with the shield right now.
“P-papyrus!” She could feel tears start to glaze over her eyes as she cried
out. “You tried t-to kill me!” Her voice quivered. He had just tried to murder
her! He had almost impaled her to death with razor sharp bones simply because
he forgot!?
“INDEED! ONCE THE DOORS ARE OPENED YOU MUST BE DESTROYED. IT IS THE LAW.”
His words were so blunt. They cut through her heart and it felt as if a stray
bone spear had somehow found a way to impale her chest.
“W-what?” Frisk whispered and her rage melted away and morphed into a feeling
of pure poignant dejection. She stared up at Papyrus with wide glassy eyes. Had
he really just said those words?
“THAT IS THE LAW, HUMAN. UNDYNE’S LAW.” Papyrus reached both hands through the
bone cages and began to tie the leather rope leash around Frisk’s collar yet
again. She was in such a state of shock from his curt words that she just stood
there, staring blankly, letting him re-attached the leash without a fuss.
Papyrus pressed his hands to the massive bone cage bars and they started to
shiver. Thin, long cracks formed in segments and ran through the bones almost
immediately, and they crumbled down upon the snow in tall mounds, freeing Frisk
from the enclosure.
Then the towering skeleton pulled her forward by the leash, towards the now
open gate doors behind them. Frisk felt defeated. She stumbled after Papyrus,
letting her feet drag in the snow. He was just going to force her to open all
the doors and kill her in the end anyways… So what’s the point? Why even bother
fighting it anymore? Might as well just go along with this. This horrible
nightmare. This never ending hell.
And Papyrus rolled his shoulders back. He narrowed his eyes at the opening
between the gateway and took a step forward, pulling Frisk along behind him
like a pet dog. And they both walked through the massive archway togeather onto
the other side.
 
 
The second forest was darker and warmer. All of that freezing wind and snow was
now a thing of the past, although there were still clumps of ice upon the
ground in piles. The ice was melting and turned the ground into gritty slush.
The trees towered overhead, still covered in black fuzzy mold, but some of them
actually had leaves at the branches. The entire atmosphere had an eerie moss-
green hue to it. It almost reminded Frisk of her forest at home, back when she
first opened the shed door. Back when she had first laid her eyes upon Sans.
Then she caught herself thinking of Sans and immediately tried to push him out
of her mind. Why was she always thinking about that demon?
As they walked, Frisk’s state of shock started to subside. She lifted both her
hands and stared down at her open palms. They were cold again. That red glow
and warmth had long since faded away. She thought of the shield she had
created… That gleaming red barrier that appeared before her and protected her.
Had she created that without even knowing it? And what even was that thing? Was
that shield her soul? Her soul’s power? Frisk furrowed her brow and closed her
eyes.
Focus. Focus.
Perhaps she could summon it again. Use it against Papyrus. Break free from his
restraint.
But nothing happened. And she clenched her hands into fists.
 
 
 
Ash began to rain from the trees. The air was so heavy with mildew. It made
Frisk cough and she held her sleeve up over her nose and mouth so she wouldn’t
breath in the debris.
Papyrus kept a firm grip on Frisk’s rope leash, leading her into the unfamiliar
forest. But each step he took was not nearly as firm and driven as before. He
seemed to bit more reserved as he walked and he glanced around the surroundings
in an apprehensive manner.
That’s right… He had most likely never been in these woods before, either. This
was a first for both of them.
 
Some of the black cold slush began to seep through the bottom of Frisk’s
sneakers, coating them in frosty mud. She coughed against her sleeve again, her
eyes growing itchy. She felt sick from the heavy air and leaned in close behind
Papyrus, lifting her opposite hand upwards to hold onto the back of his crimson
scarf. Her fingers buried in the thick fabric. It felt warm… and for some
reason gave her just a sliver of comfort.
Why is this comforting!? He just tried to murder you! Let go! Get away from
him! Are you really that desperate for affection???
Her inner voice raged. The skeleton hadn't noticed her gripping hand. He was
much too busy maneuvering through the forest.
 
 
“Papyrus…” Frisk finally spoke, her voice a soft and mellow wisp.
“HUMAN?” He responded and glanced back over his shoulder down at her.
“Why… why is there a law to kill the humans?” She forced the question forward.
It had been weighing on her mind this entire time. She couldn’t shake it.
“THE LAW ONLY APPLIES TO THE HUMAN.” He said. She thought she could see those
orange hues flicker scarcely, buried deep down in his small, shadowed eye
sockets.
“You mean… the Manumitter?”
“INDEED! THAT IS THE ONE!”
“But why? I was told that I had to open all the doors down here… to help the
monsters escape. If I am helping you, then why should I be murdered for it
afterwards?” Frisk simply let her questions flow fourth. She was terrified and
cold and miserable, of course. But if she had no choice in the matter, she
might as well just get some answers. She felt like a prisoner being led to the
gallows.
“THE PROPHECY SAYS THIS HUMAN IS DESTRUCTIVE, AND THE PROPHECY NEVER LIES!”
Papyrus turned his head to face forward once more as he pulled Frisk through a
particularly deep puddle of inky slush. It splattered up onto her shins and
made her wince with disgust. “THIS HUMAN IS A DANGER TO ALL OF US, YOU SEE.
INDEED, IT IS WRITTEN THAT THEY WILL OPEN THE GATES, WHICH IN TURN SHOULD FREE
US ALL FROM THE FAMINE-RIDDLED UNDERGROUND. BUT THEY WILL MURDER EVERY MONSTER
THEY MEET ON THE WAY.”
Frisk listened to his words carefully. Her grip tightened at his scarf.
“…SO, TO PREVENT THIS MONSTER HOLOCAUST, UNDYNE’S LAW STATES: CAPTURE THE HUMAN
BEFORE THEY KILL. CONDUCT THEM THROUGH THE UNDERGROUND TO OPEN EACH GATE.
DESTROY THEM ONCE THE FINAL GATE IS UNLOCKED.”
Papyrus stated the law like he was reading from a script. His words swirled
around in her head and it made her think back to her conversation with
Napstablook… it was hard to believe that she had been inside the dark entrance
way tunnels only a few days ago. And for a brief moment Papyrus did not sound
nearly as deranged as before. Perhaps this towering skeleton might be more
astute than he led her to believe.
 
There was a long awkward silence as they journeyed forward and Frisk finally
brought herself to respond. “But… why would they, this Manumitter, do that? Why
murder the inhabitants?” Suddenly a sour hint of guilt crept its way into her
soul. She knew exactly why someone would kill these monsters. Because they were
terrifying, cruel, blood-thirsty beasts.
“I DO NOT KNOW WHY, HUMAN. BUT UNDYNE SAYS IT IS SO. WHEN WE FINALLY MEET HER,
WE CAN ASK HER FIRST-HAND!” His echoic voice almost leapt with anticipation.
Her?…
“Where is Undyne?”
Frisk had heard that name uttered from Papyrus multiple times before. She
figured it was some other monster. And she remembered that Sans seemed to have
bitter feelings towards them. But Papyrus acted as if she were some kind of
leader. Could the Underground even have a leader? This place was a hell hole.
If Undyne truly was their leader, then she must be the devil.
Papyrus stopped dead in his tracks at Frisk's words and she bumped into him
from behind, stumbling backwards. “HMM… I AM NOT SURE, HUMAN. WE NEVER SEE
UNDYNE. WE ONLY HEAR HER. UNDYNE’S VOICE BELLOWS FROM THE SKY SOMETIMES AFTER
THE ALARMS RING.” And he started walking again.
Frisk lurched forward as he pulled her along. She was starting to feel very
cold. She tugged her hoodie back up over her disheveled brown hair, bangs
falling over her eyes. She traced her fingers down the front of the rigid iron
collar, still wrapped around her throat. “…What are the alarms for?” She had
been wondering about those air sirens since she had first arrived.
“THOSE ARE UNDYNE’S ALARMS! NYEHEH!”
That wasn’t really an answer to her question… but she decided not to press it.
Papyrus let out a bemused, haughty laugh and he wrapped the leather leash
around his hand, shortening the distance between Frisk and himself.
For some reason it made her heart start to beat fast. He pulled her in closer,
forcing her to walk next to him now instead of behind. Frisk staggered forward
and her shoulder pressed lightly against the side of his exposed off-white
pelvic bone and she glanced away from him. Papyrus simply grinned down at her
with that usual oblivious macabre smile. Every single one of his flat-edged
desultory molars flashed in the shadowy green complexion of the forest.
 
 
They walked in the silence of the woods for a while longer until Frisk finally
spoke up again. “I’m not a killer, Papyrus…” She whispered under her breath
while she stared down at her muddled sneakers.
Papyrus gazed down at her. Frisk flinched as she felt one of the skeleton's
tremendous heavy hand suddenly placed upon the top of her head. He shifted it
side to side, patting her. W-what is this? Frisk was baffled by his actions.
They were almost tender. He had just tried to kill her not that long ago. Do
not trust him. Do not trust him. He is not your friend. He wants you dead.
“AH, BUT YOU ARE, HUMAN!” Papyrus responded.
“No, I’m not…” She exhaled a quivering breath, trying to hold a cough in her
lungs “…and my name is Frisk.”
Why the hell are you even telling this monstrosity your name!? He wants to
murder you! He plans to murder you! And then most likely eat you afterwards!
Frisk tried to discount her pessimistic conscience and she coughed again into
the sleeves of the monster coat wrapped around her form. It really was starting
to get more and more difficult to breathe in this forest.
“FRISK…” Papyrus repeated her name in a softer tone compared to his usual
blusters. For a moment he sounded almost concerned. But then the skeleton
stopped suddenly in his tracks and the leather leash tugged Frisk backwards,
the heels of her sneakers skidding into the chilled mud. She had been so
preoccupied with her conflicting thoughts - and his hand against her head -
that she did not even notice what lay before them at least a half mile away.
There was a cluster of tall buildings way out in the distance in a vast
clearing of the woods. It almost looked like… like a village!
The buildings huddled close together. They were old and collapsing and
historical. Each roof had a tall chimney but no smoke could be seen. There was
a wooden fence that seemed to surround the entirety of the hamlet, but it was
broken in more than one section, creating multiple entrances.
“HUMAN… DO YOU SEE THAT?” Papyrus whispered out under his breath. He sounded
anxious and enthralled.
“Yeah…”
 
 
Papyrus bound forward, dragging Frisk behind him without concern. She clenched
her teeth and tried to keep up with him as she gripped onto the leather leash
with both hands, almost slipping in the mud.
He pulled her along roughly and the village started to grow larger and more
intimidating as they approached. It wasn’t small at all. It was huge! And then,
finally, they both came to a standstill at one of the open entranceways.
 
The two of them stood there, staring inside the town. Dark ash continued to
rain from the treetops above and it covered the village in a blanket of black.
Every structure was made of dilapidated dark bricks. It reminded Frisk of the
wall where Papyrus had attacked her. Windows were shattered and the doors hung
open from their hinges. There was a narrow cobblestone path that weaved
throughout each building and created a small roadway. The entire town was
shrouded in the ominous jade atmosphere. And despite the fact that it appeared
abandoned, the village felt dangerous and evil and poisonous. There was
something very wrong with this place…
Papyrus began to take a step forward onto the stone path but Frisk hesitated
and pulled at her leash. The skeleton stopped and looked back at her with a
tilt of the skull. “HUMAN?”
“Papyrus, wait… what is this place?”
“I BELIEVE THIS IS THE TOWN OF SNOWDIN.” He seemed unconcerned with the dangers
that most likely awaited them.
“What if it’s… unsafe?” Frisk whispered out as she stared back at the multiple
towering buildings. It was silent inside the town. The only noise came from the
gentle breeze that stirred the falling ash.
“NYEHE! FEAR NOT, HUMAN! I AM A MASTER OF ALL WARFARE.”
Well she knew that for a fact. She had witnessed his abilities first hand. But
somehow she still felt uneasy.
“COME, HUMAN. ONE OF THESE ABODES IS SAID TO CONCEAL ANOTHER GATE.”
W-what? The 4th door was located in this place?
 
 
Papyrus yanked at Frisk’s leash hard and forced her forward as he began his
descent inside the town. Frisk bit at the tip of her tongue and stared wearily
at each building. They were extremely decrepit. Some of the structures had been
invaded by the thick patches of black mold, and the rot was spilling from the
windows and doorways. The insides of each building was shadowed and completely
black. Frisk felt a pang of dread each time they walked past an open door,
expecting the worst.
Papyrus glanced around each building as they trudged through the soot that
stained their shoes. His menacing grin was hesitant. He seemed to be
disoriented by the vast majority of them.
“HUMAN…” He finally spoke and he rubbed at his forehead. “I BELIEVE WE WILL
HAVE TO INSPECT EACH HOME.” His resounding voice weighed with apprehension. Was
he nervous?
He started to drag Frisk over towards the closest open door and Frisk jerked
her form back again.
“Papyrus… Release me. I can look as well. We will cover more ground.” Frisk
stared up at the skeleton with a rare confident determination. She was actually
impressed by her own words. For once they did not quiver.
“OH, NO HUMAN. I CANNOT DO THAT. IT IS AGAINST THE LAW!”
“I promise I won’t run.”
Papyrus shook his monstrous skull and began to tug at her leash again but she
held her ground, digging the rubber heels of her sneakers between cobblestones.
“I promise, Papyrus…”
The skeleton’s bone brow furrowed as he listened to her words. He seemed to be
lost in deep thought and his uneven incisors ground against one another. Then
he took a step forward, towering over her. Frisk’s heart stumbled suddenly,
half-expecting him to do something monstrous and attack her again, but instead…
instead he bent down and untied the leather leash at her collar.
“ALRIGHT, HUMAN… BUT I AM ONLY DISCHARGING YOU TO QUEST FOR THE NEXT DOOR.” He
stuffed the leash in his kilt pocket and straightened his exposed spine back
upwards. “KEEP IN MIND THAT IF YOU ESCAPE, I AM A MASTER OF RETRIBUTION.” His
grin widened with those words and his eye sockets flashed for just one abrupt
moment. Frisk stared back up at him and felt her soul flutter in fear. That
gaze… maybe Papyrus wasn’t entirely unlike his brother…
“Y-yes…” She tore her eyes away from his and looked down the cobblestone road
at the various buildings.
“SEARCH THE OTHER SIDE, HUMAN.” He motioned towards the parallel row of houses
across the path. Then the skeleton turned and stepped through the shrouded
doorway into a rotting building, leaving her alone outside.
Frisk stood there in the raining ash staring at the veiled open doorway.
Papyrus did not return. She looked over at the rows of creeping houses on the
opposite side, each one more dismal than the next. Frisk slowly started to make
her way down the cobblestones and glanced back at the home that Papyrus had
entered.
 
He was still inside. She was still alone.
 
…………
……
…
 
Run.
 
Her inner voice screamed at her suddenly.
 
Run, now!! Go! Before he comes back!
 
N-no… there will be hell to pay…
 
Only if I’m caught! GO!
 
But what about Sans?…
 
GO NOW!
 
Frisk clenched her fists and shut her eyes tight, struggling with her desire to
flee. For a brief moment she saw the orphanage in her mind. The sun was shining
overhead outside in the courtyard. The gentle, sweet breeze of summer, the
smell of freshly cut grass. Izzy’s face… her teachers… her mother…
 
 
…
 
Frisk opened her eyes. Shadow, decay, corrosion, horror. It surrounded her.
 
She coughed again and held a hand over her mouth, taking in a pained, heavy
breath.
And then she sprinted forward.
 
*****
 
Coming up: ♑♏⧫ ❒♏♋♎⍓ ♐□❒ ♋ ♌♋♎ ⧫♓❍♏
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Oh man, Frisk… are you seriously going to step out of line? Well it’s
     your funeral.
     Coming up, get ready for some
     G̸̛̦̜͎̦͓̼ͭͬåͣ̈́͗ͦ̓͜͏͍̺̤̼̥s̯̭͓̲̐͑͒̒͢͢t͉̣͖͔̞̭̼̯̳̑͛̄e͚̊͗ͅr̛͇̩̝̀̓ͦͤ͂̑͌̇̌͟.
     It’s gonna be brutal ;)
      
     /////////////////////
***** XIII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 13: t̶͎͇̻̮͖͈̣͍͛͌ͧ̐͐͌͒͠ḩ̘̠̱͊ͨ̔̃ͬ͆eͬͨ̏̉ͮ̅̿̔҉̱͓̪͇͖
     ̷̡͎́̽̎̾4̸̙͍̺̯̞̘̻̈̇ͬͨͅţ̦̤͇̭͕̜̅̏͆ͯ̍h̵̴̙̺͚̩͍̤̮̳̒ͥ̓̈ͬ̃
     ̢̎ͧ̃ͣ͆̌͗̈́͏̙̤̯̙̮̝d̴̡̺͉͇̯̖̞ͪͮ͒̀ͯ͂o̴͕͓͉͈̮̰͇̊̓͛͢͢o̸͉̮͕̤͍̠̥ͤ̀͑̆̚r̜̞͉̮̣̘̙̲̪̓̅ͧ
     ̵͈̥̋̽̓̅͢a̜͚͍̮͓̻̲ͥ͛w̷̞͉ͮ̅͊̋̌ͫ̄ä̴̬͎͈̗̝̣́ͅį̴̱̱̦͍̤̯̉ͭͮͪ̉̉̍ͮt̠̼̹̟̹̙̍̅̉͊̐̐͘ş̀̇͏̥͇
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     'SUP EVERYONE!
     Oh man, you guys want some awesome dark ambient music to listen to
     while you read this next chapter? Have a listen to this (https://
     youtu.be/m1NyZE9x_Cs) It's spectacular.
     In chapter 13 we meet… W. D. Gaster. Are you ready for some nasty
     slimy melty grossness!? Cause here it comes! And something tells me
     he doesn’t really care much for the Manumitter prophecy or leaving
     the Underground. Something tells me he's just… hungry.
     WARNING: This chapter contains slime guro, vomit, asphyxiation and
     some mild sexual implications. Emetophobics, you have been warned.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
 
Frisk ran through the village, her sneakers clattering against the
cobblestones. The ground was caked with black ash that continuously fell from
the sky. The raining soot stained her cheeks and legs and caught in the back of
her throat with each inhale, but she didn’t stop. She continued forward in a
mad dash. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her mind galloped in rhythm with her
footfalls.
 
She had to escape this nightmare. She had to escape. Even if she didn’t make it
in the end… She would die trying.
She was not a slave. She was not simply a meal for the horrors that surrounded
her.
 
No.
 
No!
 
Her determination swelled and her chest, her soul, felt warm for a fleeting
moment.
 
 
Frisk continued to make her way through the decaying town of Snowdin. She
skidded along the narrow paths, weaving in and out of towering rotted
structures. Where were the exits!
Every now and then she would glance back over her shoulder with anxious
anticipation. She half expected to see Papyrus’ massive, lanky structure
chasing after her with those macabre humanoid teeth and bloodorange glowing
sockets. But the gloomy pathways were barren. The village was devoid of any
life. And Frisk started to wonder if this town really was completely abandoned
after all.
 
 
Finally, she slowed to a trot and leaned back against the side of a
disintegrating building. She coughed and held the front of her hoodie up over
her mouth to gasp for a breath of air that wasn’t tainted with ash. How long
had she been running? Had Papyrus noticed her absence yet? Would he come
looking for her? And what then?… What would happen if he found her?
A sharp wave of nausea ran through Frisk’s stomach and she abruptly held a hand
to her mouth, feeling like she was going to be sick. Oh, god… and Sans… what
about Sans? Was he watching her right now? W-was he going to materialize out of
thin air again? Would he make her pay for running away? Surely, her attempted
escape was ‘stepping out of line’ as he put it.
 
…
 
No! Come on, Frisk! Pull yourself together! He can't see me! That is
impossible.
 
She coughed again and waited for the anxiety-induced nausea to slowly subside.
She rubbed at her eyes, which stung from the diseased atmosphere, and slipped a
hand underneath her coat into her shorts pocket. She pulled out her box cutter
and unsheathed its blade. Still sharp and shining dimly in the light. If one of
those demons came for her, she’d be ready. She’d fight.
Frisk pushed herself off the wall, clutching tightly onto her weapon, and began
making her way back down the path. She couldn’t go backwards; she could only go
forwards. Although part of her wondered if she would ever find the exits of
this town again.
She leered at each open window with caution as she passed them. She could just
barely make out the insides of the buildings. They simply looked like
disheveled homes - like some terrible earthquake had run through this place and
destroyed everyone and everything.
 
The atmosphere was growing darker. The air was getting heavier. The ash started
to fall in drab sheets. Frisk jogged along for what felt like ages, barely able
to see a few feet in front of her. She continued on and on… and on… until she
couldn’t continue anymore. The cobblestone road led her to a massive, towering
building that boxed her in. There was no more path. Nowhere else to run.
 
Frisk tilted her head back and glanced up at the imposing structure. It was
dark and made of stone, just like all the other buildings. But this one was
different from the others. It was much larger, enormous, at least 10 stories
tall. There were no windows embedded in the walls, not even shrouded ones. Rows
of black brick steps led up to a pillared veranda with two stone doors settled
in the center. It almost looked like it could have been the town’s city hall at
one point - it gave off the vibe of a government building.
She silently scanned the courtyard for an alleyway or a small hidden backstreet
to go around the structure. But there was none. Was this a dead-end? Had she
run this whole way in search of an exit, only to be met with this towering
coliseum? Was there really no way to go around this building?
The terrible realization that she might have to actually go through the
daunting hall settled upon her. But maybe… maybe those doors were the 4th gate.
 
Frisk’s heart surged in her chest and she took slow steps forward towards the
stairs. She ascended up each step, slippery with ash, until she stood in the
covered patio directly in front of the grandiose stone doors.
She leaned in and examined them. There were no symbols etched in the masonry.
Maybe this wasn’t the gate after all… Perhaps she had been wrong.
Frisk bit her bottom lip in thought. She noticed a petite wooden handle
embedded in one of the duel doors. She wrapped her fingers around it, turned
it, then pushed forward. The wood practically disintegrated in her palm but
much to her surprise the door trembled and inched open.
She leaned one shoulder against the door and pressed all her weight into it.
And the door swung forward. She stumbled inside the entrance way and quickly
jumped backwards, back out onto the patio.
 
 
There was only darkness inside. A pitch black mysterious void that echoed with
the steady wind behind her. But the temperature inside was surprisingly tepid
and it smelled like… like… a fireplace?
Frisk sniffed at the heavy scent that hung in the air. It was a gentle aroma of
fresh burning wood. It smelled good. She hesitated for a long while, allowing
her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but still she could see nothing past the
entrance way.
She reached into her other pocket and pulled out her cell phone. It had been a
while since she checked the time. The cracked screen flashed ‘5:31 pm’. Whoa…
it was almost night time already. Last time she checked it had been around 1pm…
back when she was traveling with Papyrus. Her heart sank as she scanned over
the battery life: 20%. She might as well get the most use out of the flashlight
before her phone dies completely.
Frisk pointed her cell phone forward and clicked the side button. The light
flickered on and quickly illuminated the inside of the building. It was a grand
room with square-tiled floors and concrete walls. The space was expansive but
the ceiling hung low. The room was completely desolate. No furniture, no debris
on the floor, no monsters hiding in corners. Nothing. And compared to the rest
of the village, it actually looked somewhat clean.
Frisk resisted the impulse to call out into the room. She waved the flashlight
around at different angles, examining every inch. She thought she could see
what looked like an open archway against the furthest wall. Would it be
entirely insane to enter this ominous building and go down that hallway? Is it
any more insane than waiting around out here in the open for Papyrus to find
her?…
She gripped tightly onto her flashlight in one hand and her blade in the other
and began to summon every shred of courage she posessed.
You can do this. Be strong.
And she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
 
 
Frisk leaned back against the door once it was shut. She stared directly in
front of her, terrified, just waiting for some shrouded monster to creep out
from its hiding place. But that never happened. The room was just as empty as
before. She forced her feet forward and began to walk through the center,
making her way towards the entrance way. She flashed her light inside the
narrowing space, but there was nothing. Just a long dark hall that appeared to
curve to the right.
It reminded her of the tunnels she first ventured through at the beginning of
her journey. Except these tunnels were warm and had a pleasant smell. And for
some reason she felt more courageous now, perhaps due to all the trauma she had
been through already.
She made her way down the shrouded hallway. The walls were dark concrete. They
were barren, just like everything else about the building. She reached the end
of the hall and turned down the corner, only to discover even more hall. Frisk
flashed her light again. It was just as empty, except for another bend at the
furthest end. She walked down to the next corner and was met with yet another
hall. And then another. And another. This was starting to get a bit…
repetitive. Was this hallway even leading anywhere?
She continued down one of the many dark corridors, scratching at her neck
underneath the collar still bound to her throat - it was making her skin very
itchy. And just as she began to regret her decision to enter this place, she
noticed what looked like an open door against one of the side walls. And
emitting from that open door was a light.
She felt her heart race almost immediately at the sight and took a step
backwards, her eyes locked on the soft yellow glow that spilled out onto the
floor. What was in there… Was it a fireplace? Was that the scent she had been
smelling? She held her breath in her lungs for a moment to remain as still and
quiet as possible, listening for any sounds of a crackling fire. But there was
nothing like that. Only deafening silence.
Very slow, Frisk began to tip-toe towards the archway. She pressed her back up
against the wall as she approached. She would have to pass by the opening
anyways to get to the other side of the hall… might as well just have a peek
inside. Sweat collected against her back and bled through her hoodie. It was no
longer freezing and the monster jacket she donned was starting to make her
feverish.
Frisk took in a deep silent breath, steadying her nerves, and very carefully
inched over the side of the doorway to peer inside. But it was just a small,
empty room. There was nothing… nothing inside the room except… a candle!
She staggered forward into the tiny space, eyes wide with amazement as she
stared back at the candle that sat in the corner upon the floor. She had seen a
candle exactly like that! Back in the Napstablook tunnels! She had touched it
before, and it sent a strange wave of energy through her. Why… why was it here
now? Or was this a different candle?
Her mind overflowed with questions and she stepped closer towards the
flickering object. She crouched down and placed her cell phone and box cutter
at her feet and held her hands up towards it. This candle was just like the
last one. Small, transparent, its tiny ember floating above the top suspended
in thin air. Frisk held one hand out and let her fingertips press against the
side and then suddenly - that familiar burst of energy. Her vision faded into
white for a split second and she faltered back against the ground.
Her heart darted around inside her chest as she stared wide-eyed back at the
candle. What was that!? Why did that happen every time she touched that thing!
She took in deep heavy breaths, trying to slow her rapid pulse. That is it. No
more delays. It’s time to break free from this nightmare.
Frisk grit her teeth as a sudden surge of animosity swelled in her head. She
snatched up her cell phone and box cutter, adjusted her backpack straps at her
shoulders, and dashed back out into the black hallway.
 
 
Frisk ran through the dark corridors. Her little sneakers clattered against the
tiled floor. She turned swiftly at every corner with her hand held out in front
of her, the cell phone light guiding her way. Her thoughts were swimming. There
has to be a way out of this labyrinth. There has to be an exit eventually!
There just HAS to be!
And then… there was a door.
 
 
She skidded to a sudden stop right in front of the dead-end. Well, except that
it was not a dead-end. There was a door, after all. It was wood and spanned the
entirety of a wall in front of her. It was a bit odd, considering that the
front door had been made out of stone, along with everything else in this
building. It seemed out of place.
Frisk peered carefully at the door but there was no symbol. So this was not a
gate either… Disappointment weighed in her heart. Where the hell is that 4th
gate?!
Her mind became clogged with grief. It seemed to be just one obstacle after
another. Frisk let out a troubled sigh and leered at the door. Slowly, she
raised her hands towards it. She pressed against the wood and it felt… warm?
But this warmth was not due to her soul power. No, the door itself was warm to
the touch.
Might as well just go on in. Perhaps it will lead back outside.
Frisk took in a substantial inhale, filling her lungs. She breathed out slowly
and pushed the door open with an exhale.
But it did not lead outside. No, instead she stepped into another room. And
Frisk stared around her new surroundings in awe.
 
 
It was a chamber. Extensive in size and pleasantly warm in temperature. The
ceiling loomed overhead at least five stories up and the black brick walls were
lined with mounted torches. Each torch burned softly with a peculiar black
flame that engulfed the entire space in a haunting shade of violet light. But
the size of the room and the strange torches upon the walls were not what took
Frisk’s breath away.
The entire chamber was filled with rows upon rows of towering bookshelves. Each
one stretched up towards the ceiling packed full with thick leather-bound
tomes.
What the heck… is this place… A library?
 
Frisk stared out at the succession of bookshelves, her soft brown eyes wide in
astonishment. She stepped over towards the closest shelf, stuffing the cell
phone and knife in her pockets to free up her hands. The black flame torches
provided enough sufficient light anyways, although just barely. She ran her
fingers along the book spines. There was no writing on them, no titles. Some
looked newer, some looked shabby, while others were wrapped up with string.
She came to a stop at the center of the shelf and carefully hooked her finger
at the top of one book in particular. She pulled it from its place and opened
it in her hands. It was filled with pages of illegible symbols. There were no
pictures or diagrams… just symbols. Could this be some strange foreign monster
language?
Oddly enough the shapes of the symbols reminded her of the runic engravings she
saw upon the gates. Frisk shifted uneasily where she stood and looked back over
her shoulders. She was still alone. She glanced back down at the tome and
closed it shut.
She let out a sigh, returned the book to the shelf, and began to walk along the
side of the room while simultaneously examining each bookshelf she passed.
Nothing jumped out at her, figuratively or literally, although she was starting
to feel uneasy. Was there a way out of this place? Would she have to go back
all the way through the hallways to the beginning?… Was Papyrus still out
there? Maybe he was looking for her right now or maybe he was still searching
the village for the 4th gate completely oblivious.
 
As Frisk walked along, lost in thought, she stepped over a square slab of wood.
The hollow sound startled her and she quickly jumped off the platform. Upon
first glance she quickly realized that it was some sort of trapdoor embedded
within in the floor. Frisk crouched down and knocked against it. She could hear
a loud echo from behind the door underneath the ground. And then she noticed
something… something in the center of the wood. The symbol!
This was it! This was the 4th gate! Well, hardly a gate. A trapdoor… but still!
Her heart shivered with elation and she scooted in closer, studying the faint
emblem carefully. Perhaps not all of the doors were doors at all… some could be
small like this one, or massive like the one Papyrus led her to.
Frisk furrowed her brow in thought. If all the doors were different, then she
would have to be hyper-vigilant and remain on high alert for the symbols in
particular…
 
Then something interrupted her thoughts.
 
… There was a sound…
 
She heard something…
 
Footsteps…Wet footsteps.
Like someone was trudging through mud.
 
Frisk scrambled up to her feet and her eyes darted around the space in a panic.
Those were footsteps… oh god… Someone is here… Something is in here… Her palms
began to sweat and her heart coursed.
 
“H-hello?…” She whispered, barely able to find her voice through the fear.
The footsteps ceased.
 
“………… Hello?……” Her quivering voice ricocheted off the stone walls. There was
no response.
“Papyrus?…… ”
Still nothing.
“… Sans?…”
 
She inched her fingers towards her pocket to grab at the box cutter, when-
 
“H̛̥͚͓u̗̣͝m̤̯̲͚a̬͚̳̞͚̭n͓̭̺͙s̹̙̥̹̙ ̗̭͇͜ͅca̢̦̯̤̦n̞̦̥͖̱͇̕n̥̹̱̝̝̞͝o̝̗̲̺̘ͅt͟
̣̹̘si̛̖͖͖̙m̯̰͎p͓͞l̵̳̼̱y̡̼ ̲̥͔̠s̴͖͇̹̥̤t̮o̷̞̼p ̧͈̬̭b̮̺͍̬̱͙ͅe͈̩i̧͓n͏̰g͏͚̣̮͖̦̯
̱͍w̻̲̠ḥ͍͈̭̥͔̬o͖͕̗̗ ̪̻̦̥̰͓̞̕t͏h̟̫̹e̛̜̠y̗̖̳̞ ̗a̶̳̳͍r̡̝̖̱̤e̝͙̯ ͢I̻̟̻̲͕̯̥
̯̩̻̘̻͠s҉͖̮̘̪͖ṷ̫̩̦͍̩p̱̹̹po͉̱͡s̗e҉͖̙ͅ.͏
̤̣̪̦͜ͅS̮͟e҉̤̣͇l̷͎̣̫̗ͅf̨̙͎̞̳̼̣i̷̜̤̼̦͈s̺̱͞h҉̣̻̗͖͖ ̷̺̞a̤̱n̙̻̟͎̝̦͖ḍ̢̫̠̮̟
̼̬̜͈s͚p͚̦̮͍it̖̳͟e̶̝̦̱̣̰f̞̯u̖̰͎̜͡l͏̞͖̱̻̻͕;̫ ͜y̞̪̟͙e̟͙͚͔̳t̬̦͔͔̰
s̲̹̹͔̖̫͎ti͓͕̥͇͠l͖̥l͔̙̳̲̥ͅ ̸̙̼̼͍̮̹̺v͙͘e͈̜̲ͅr̦̪͕̳̜̣̱y̥
̲͡i̼̼̤̺n͈̤̰̲q҉͈u̡̜̬i̫̤̳̘̥siṱ̘͎͕͔̱͚i͙̼v͈̜̬̟̘̠̪e͇̻̘̳.̠”
 
……………
 
……
 
Frisk felt a wave of shivers run up her spine as she heard the strange sound
behind her… A voice - unlike any voice she had ever heard before. She spiraled
around with eyes wide and felt her pulse clamber at the sight.
 
There was a figure, a dark, looming figure. It was standing in between the
bookshelves closest to her, obscured by the dark violet light. For a moment she
thought it was a human man. But her heart quickly sank when the monster stepped
out of the deluded shadows and came into view.
 
It was not human… not in the slightest…
 
It was tall, almost as tall as Papyrus. And slender and radiating darkness.
Obsidian ooze dripped off the monster’s exposed flesh. In fact, its tendril-
like limbs seemed to be made of black slime itself. Thick globules of tar
seeped down against the floor off the creature’s form, while more of the liquid
rose behind it like sentient tentacles. Like massive sprouting millipedes.
A dark grey illumination hovered around the monster, creating a haunting
shadowy aura so thick it could be cut with a knife. And its face… It was almost
skull-like but rounder… and distorted. Its eyes were two wide voids with
multiple gaping cracks running down like tears. And its mouth was a thin black
incision underneath those sockets. It was smiling.
It seemed to be draped in a black cloak but it was hard to tell if it was
clothing or if that was actually part of the monsters body.
 
Oh my god, oh my god…
Frisk gawked at the creature, trembling, still standing on the trapped door.
What is that!? What the hell is that! I-it’s oozing!
 
The creature took a slow, ominous step forward. As it grew closer the
overpowering scent of charcoal and rot wrapped around Frisk like a blanket and
she could feel heat emitting from the monster’s form. Oh god… It was still
smiling!
“Stay back!” She shouted as loud as she could. She grabbed at her utility knife
and lifted it up in both hands. Her arms were trembling so terribly that should
could barely keep them straight.
But the monster did not stay back. It ignored her words completely and took
another step forward, closing in on her. And then, very softly, it whispered
out again.
 
“Y̞̫̗o̝̠̠͎̘ųr͉̳̖̫̰̹̖͜ ͕̬s̻͔͍̙̗͢o̢u̘̯̜̬̗̭l.͚..̖͢.̜ ̻̹ͅW̷̟̺̟h̖̭a̗̖̺̹̟͚ṱ̰̳̣
̥̬͢a͍̺̺̮ ̗̜̙̞̮͝ḑ̫̮͎̞e̞̩͠li̫̣͍̩̦̻ͅc̩i͚͇͙̻̟o̞͖̝̺͇͠u͙̖s͎͉͠
̦s̩ọ̻u̪l̝͕̗̰̟̟.̩̭̞̝̹͉͝.̠̱̪̖.̵”
 
It spoke once more. And this time Frisk caught a glimpse of teeth under that
wide smiling maw. Rows and rows of razor sharp piranha fangs in perfect
alignment, just barely visible through the dark aura. That voice was so soft,
so eerie. Like the rattle of tree branches scraping against a window in the
dead of night. And a familiar haunting echoic tint laced through each word. But
she couldn’t understand what he was saying. His voice was obscured with
spectral noise and static. And he seemed to be speaking a different language
entirely.
Frisk was paralyzed with fear. Her legs trembled, her heart was sprinting, her
soul was shivering. She stared over her blade at the monster in utter horror.
It was closing in. Dear god, run! Do something!
It continued towards her. Closer and closer. She could see a thick trail of
black slime smear along the floor behind him. The slime was moving like there
were worms or bugs within it. And now the monster was just a couple feet away,
towering overhead.
 
“C̦͍̞̫̭ͬ̑́̂ͬ̅o̴̰͈̤m͙̣͇̗ͭ͊ͮ͌ͫ͟e̺̞̪ͣͫ̃̅̐̿ ̩̰h̖ͨe͔̯̗̰͈͚̐̃̈́̾̐r̠̹̻̺̣̞͈ͥͮe̓ͨ̽,̿̀͂ͩ͠
̏ͮ͒̉̎̀͘l̙͓͚͇͐ͪ̍͊ͮ͆ͅï̔͊͋͒҉̺͔̼ͅt͕̟̟̽ẗ͇̫ͤ̾ͭ͌l͎̃ͥe̲̼̱̗̖̟ͭͯ̓̓͌
̢̫͙̞̠̩̞̿ͣ̊̏ͯͩ̿ͅo̸̻͇͈̲̬͒ͫͅn̫̦̣̣̽̒ͭ̌̎̂ͥe̴͚̜̝.̶̜͈̗̽.̘͚̟́.͈͂̒”
 
Run! For the love of god, run! Get AWAY from it!
The glutinous monster raised a hand out directly in front of her as if waiting
for her to take it. His fingers were white bony claws. There was a deep crater
directly at the center of his hand that opened out to the other side. Squirming
tendril bubbles of black ink licked up around his wrist and moved on their own.
Those empty wide sockets locked on her.
Frisk felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. A surge of determination.
 
Fight!! FIGHT IT!
 
She grit her teeth firmly and bound forward, knife in hand, aiming for the
center of the monster’s chest. The only thing she could hear was her own pulse
throbbing in her ears and her inner voice screaming bloody murder.
But the monster swiftly side-stepped around her with graceful ease and Frisk
stumbled forward, almost slipping on the slime.
Oh, no…
 
Before Frisk could even turn around and try a second time, the creature wrapped
its slender fingers around the back of her metal collar. The iron immediately
heated up from his touch. It was so hot, so painful! Oh god, it was burning! W-
why was it so hot! S-stop!
Frisk cried out from the pain. It felt like the collar was burning into her
flesh. The monster swiveled her around and threw her up against the nearest
wall between two mounted torches. Frisk yelped as her head hit the stone. She
panted heavily from the fear and adrenaline that coursed through her veins. And
the creature moved in close, directly in front of her.
But she didn’t stop. She swiped at the monster’s chest again with her box
cutter clumsily. He leaned back to avoid it once more. His movements were as
fluid as his liquid form. Then he pressed her hard into the wall, pinning her
there with one hand digging painfully underneath her chest, knocking the wind
out from her lungs. The black ooze that dripped from his limbs immediately
spilled down the creature’s hand and soaked into Frisk’s jacket. It was like
boiling tar. She could feel its heat radiating through her coat and hoodie.
Thankfully it didn’t burn through.
With his other hand he gripped at her forearm, pinning her knife-wielding arm
down, causing her to drop the blade with a loud clatter. Without thinking she
pushed at his chest with her opposite hand. Her hand sunk deep into the
monster’s viscid slime and she cried out as it enveloped her fingers. The ooze
was hot! So hot! It wrapped around her wrist practically sucking it inside his
chest. But she ignored the heat and continued to push him back regardless.
Desperate to shove him off of her. Desperate for salvation.
FOCUS! FOCUS! USE YOUR SOUL! USE YOUR POWER!
But nothing happened.
W-why wasn’t anything happening?!
 
He leaned in close and that calm, eerie haunting smile widened. Frisk’s eyes
grew and her pupils constricted at the sight of his exposed teeth. Dozens of
small triangular knives in perfect rows. Deadly fangs meant for only one thing:
tearing flesh apart.
 
 
“Y̷̵̒ͤ̌̀̀̃̎̚҉̨͓͖̦̤̻̜̘̤͙̻̝̫͠Ơ̜̼̰͎̝̩̗̗̼͔̠̟̤̋̓̉ͦ͗̈̓̈̓ͭ̀̚̕ͅƯ̶͗͒͆̄ͭͪ͏̬͉̪͖̯̬̬̜̥͉͞'̷̵̵̺͚̫̱̱̳͚͕̟͚ͩͣ͊̔̆͊ͥ̅̐ͯͬ̾͗͛̂̔̚͜͡R̛̛̮̩̹͎̜̲̙͓̟͇̣̳̩̹̰̙̜̖͎͋̎͗ͣ̕͞E̢̓ͫ̌̇̀ͦͦ́͂̚͞͠͡҉̰̦̠̺̟̬̹͇͍̯͔̮̯̯̹̭̦
̨͕̖̖͔͕̟̩͎̱̰̤͓̘̖͚̲ͮ͗ͥ̊͆̌̐̆ͭ̄̉̀͒̚͡M̵̢̲͓̱̦̰͚̙̟͎͍̜̱̠͎̪̮̠͌̃̒̒ͭͭ͊ͬ͌͌̈́ͬͦͣͬ̑̔̌̕͞ͅI̶̐ͧ͆̉ͣͧ̓ͣͭ̆̈̊̎̓̽̎ͪ͋͞҉͎͎̤͍͉̹̪̹͕͍͖͚̠̩̱̙N̴̢̝̱̙͔̟͚̯̮̱͚̯͕̹̣̓̑͑͗̊̎̈́ͯ̓̒ͪͨ͒̏̚͢E̵͆̽̀̉͑͗͂͆͂̏̐̒̒̓̏͝͏̰̠̗͖͔͖͎̰͍̙̘̬͖̱”
 
W-what!?!! What did he say? Oh my god! Someone help me!! A-anyone!!
She couldn’t understand him. And his foreign words were no longer a soft fog.
No, now they were jumbled and screeching and twisted painfully inside her ears.
Frisk screamed out as loud as she could, her cries echoing in the vast library.
But the monster held her tight. Hot black globs of glossy ink dripped all over
her jacket and her bare legs as he leaned over her. His foggy aura surrounded
her… and the aura was getting darker… and almost… thick. It had a weight to it.
The shadows began to melt into an opaque liquid. Globs of black rot expanded
throughout the air and surrounded them. It looked just like the ink that
dripped from his body.
Frisk couldn’t breathe. The murky aura was suffocating her. Black oil stained
her skin. Poison treacle creeped along her exposed flesh and smeared against
her neck and jawline, seeping down her throat. W-what the hell…! She was
choking. Gasping for a breath of air, but each inhale only took more of the
monster’s contaminated liquid tar into her lungs. She coughed and gagged,
swallowing down a huge mouthful inadvertently. That foul taste of burnt rubber
filled her mouth and stung her tongue. It was hot, burning her esophagus. She
was drowning in it. Her nose was running with black syrup. Her head was
spinning. Her vision blurred. All she could see were his hollow eye sockets and
serene smile through carbon black haze. He was invading her lungs, penetrating
her soul. It hurt. It hurt so much.
Frisk felt her will to fight start to fade into the background. Her muscles
spasmed then began to soften as she choked against the black sludge that seeped
painfully down her throat. She was suffocating.
Just give in. It hurts now, but it will be over soon. It’ll all be over soon.
She weakly pressed one last time into the monster's chest with her only free
hand, seconds away from letting him take her…
 
…
 
……
 
She felt something…
 
A warmth.
 
A familiar tingling heat flushed throughout her slime-coated hand, the hand
embedded within the creature’s chest. It started to burn. But it wasn’t hot
from the ooze.
 
It grew hotter and hotter.
 
A flash of brilliant red beset her vision and shielded her from the black
sludge that hung in the atmosphere. Her dazzling crimson soul barrier appeared
before her hand. The sudden force of energy pushed the monster back and he
dropped her upon the floor. She could hear the liquid squish of his feet as he
stumbled backwards into one of the bookshelves. Frisk fell to her knees the
moment she was released. The shield vanished once her hand hit the ground. It
had gone as quickly as it had come.
She gagged violently upon the ground and vomited up black liquid tar that
spilled out in a steady stream. Frisk gasped for a breath of air, unable to
hold back her coughs. The ink stained down the front of her jacket and hands
and legs. She retched again, heaving up another wave of the slick obsidian. It
was so disgusting. The taste so vile. So painful. Her whole body trembled from
the severe throbbing ache in her chest.
But the monster was just a few yards away from her. He was clutching at the
front of his sticky chest with one hand, as if in pain. Suddenly the black
thick aura that surrounded his body began to vibrate and the smooth liquid tar
stiffened and turned into dozens of sharp tendrils that hovered in the air
behind him. The creature slowly tilted his head up, staring back at Frisk. His
eyes wide and he smile wider, exposing every single one of those teeth. That
look… the look of hunger and fury… He was raging.
Frisk raised her head weakly, staring out at the sable sludge creature with
trembling shoulders. He was starting to rise to his feet.
Oh my god. RUN RUN!!!! The trap door! Get down there now!
Frisk scrambled over towards the trap door immediately in front of her, almost
slipping against the trail of black goo. She scurried to the center of the
wooden platform and slammed her sticky hands upon at the symbol.
GOGOGOGOGO!!! HURRY!!! GO!!
Her heart felt like it was going to erupt. Her lungs and stomach burned from
the abhorrent oil. She felt so sick and held back another gag and focused every
ounce of energy she had left on opening the door. Please, for the love of god
open! Open! Open! She pounded against the engraved marking, desperate now.
Desperate for the gate to open underneath her.
Please!!!
Oh god, he was walking. Slowly making his way back towards her. His cloying
grin spreading over his skull, his black sticky aura pulsing. He was just a few
feet away!
 
Frisk felt her hands heat up again, then glow through the black sediment that
caked them. She almost cried from joy. The heat pulsed through her arms to her
chest and back down to her hands. And the trap door swung open outward into the
ground right underneath her.
 
She fell through the open gate. Plummeting down into the cold, black abyss.
And as she fell she looked up.
The last thing she saw was the fading violet light from the library overhead
and the face of that gruesome monster peering over the side of the chasm.
And then it vanished from her vision. And she fell… and fell… and continued to
fall into the darkness.
And everything went black.
 
*****
 
Coming up: Frisk learns what happens when you step out of line……
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
      
     Holy crap… Frisk… why… that was nasty… gross.
     Oh man, nothing good can come from that.
     Side note: I didn't have Gaster speak in actual wingdings because for
     whatever reason it kept glitching out, so I used zalgo instead.
     Advance warning: The next chapter contains explicit graphic violence,
     ero-guro & sexual undertones. Ya know, the good stuff! Stay tuned ;)
     /////////////////////
***** XIV *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 14: "Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn. My god,
     do you learn." - C.S. Lewis
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Heeeeeey everyone,
     Ty for all your wonderful praise and kudos and comments! I really do
     appreciate all the love!
     SO… I honestly felt like I should go to hell after writing this
     chapter. And this isn't even the worst of it yet! Not even the tip of
     the iceberg… a-ahah…hah…… :’D
     If you want to skip over this chapter I completely understand.
     Skippers: Please scroll down to the bottom_notes for a brief summary.
     WARNING: This chapter contains graphic & explicit violence/guro,
     cannibalism and sexual undertones. Enjoy.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
 
 
Pitch black cold surrounded her. Every muscle ached. Every bone felt broken.
Her lungs were swimming in thick mud and she coughed violently, gasping for a
breath of fetid oxygen.
 
Frisk opened her eyes as she gasped for air, only to be met with darkness.
 
Where was she?… What was this place… ?
 
The last thing she remembered was falling down. Just falling into an infinite
void. But then her memories of that library and that oozing demon started to
creep back into her conscious and she cried out from the sudden influx of
terror.
Frisk immediately scrambled to her hands and knees. There was nothing visible
around her. Only a pitch black ambiance. She outstretched her hands at either
side and her fingers brushed against rough stone walls. They felt cold… and
wet. Like the inside of a well.
She patted her hands down to the floor. The ground felt cushioned and damp. She
grasped at the flooring, scooping up a handful of what felt like decomposing
leaves and mud. It must have softened her fall… How the heck was she still
alive right now?
She glanced up overhead. Of course, it was only blackness. She reached one hand
upwards and could feel an opening embedded in the rocks above her. She could
also feel damp tree branches that seemed to be jutting out from the stone. Some
of the branches were broken. Had those stifled her fall too?
 
Suddenly a sharp wave of nausea crept over her whole body. She gagged and
quickly pressed her forehead against the wall and vomited down onto the floor,
clutching at her chest with her hands.
O-oh… no… what was this… s-something felt… wrong.
Her whole body felt like it was eroding from the inside out. The bile was thick
and sticky and tasted like burnt charcoal. … T-that monster’s sludge… she had
breathed it in… swallowed it down.
Frisk felt tears sting her eyes. She hurled up another wave of black tar then
faltered against her rear, panting heavily, sitting in the pile of wet humus
upon the floor.
Calm down… Just take in a deep breath. Everything is okay. There are no
monsters here. You are safe.
She felt a tender stinging surge at her throat and suddenly remembered the
burn. How that monster had grabbed her collar and it heated up and burned into
her skin. With trembling hands, she tried to lift the collar, but it was too
tight around her swollen flesh.
 
Frisk sobbed against her knees as she hugged them to her chest, trying to
ignore the sickness that swelled in her stomach and the pain at her throat. She
wiped the black syrup from her mouth and chin and tried to calm her restless
nerves.
 
Slow breaths. In and out.
 
Her mind buzzed and she desperately tried to remember just exactly how she got
to this point.
She had been with Papyrus… He was leading her to the gate. But then… then he
attacked her? Somehow she summoned something… a shield… a barrier that her soul
created. She stopped his attacks and then he… he ceased when she reminded him
of the other gates. It was then that he said she would be murdered once the
final gate was opened. He would kill her!… And then there was a town… it was
old and decrepit and somehow she was able to free herself from the skeleton.
Oh, right… she had lied to him. She said she would help look for the 4th gate
but instead she just… ran. And she ran into a large building… and then she met
that monster… made out of a black slime… and it infected her… but she was able
to get away. The 4th gate was a door within the floor and she just barely made
it out… and she fell. Fell down here. That’s where she was right now.
All of the memories spilled back into Frisk’s head like an overflowing
sinkhole. She rubbed at her wet eyes with the backs of her hands and tried to
steady her trembling shoulders.
 
Eventually the tears dried and her hysterical breaths returned to normal. Frisk
reached a hand in her pocket and pulled out her phone and clicked on the flash
light. She didn’t even want to check its battery life, she knew it was probably
in the single digits by now. And the small space was quickly engulfed in light.
She was in a modest stone chamber that lead out into a long tunnel. Actually…
it looked like some type of storm drain or sewer system. The stone floor was
flooded with water to her ankles and leaves and debris floated along the
surface. She flashed the light overhead to see where she had fallen from. It
was a long way up and obscured in shadows. There were tree branches rupturing
fourth from the walls and they ran up the entire pipeline. Some of the branches
looked broken, a few were hanging limp. So those branches had actually
suppressed her fall.
Frisk flashed her light down at where she had retched upon the ground. Her
heart started to race at the sight of it. She was vomiting up an inky dark
substance… thick black bile that the creature had forced inside her.
T-that can’t possibly be a good sign.
Was she infected with something? She certainly felt horrible. And her hands and
jacket and legs were stained with the substance as well. Panic and tension
started to pool in her mind.
She reached for her backpack that lay next to her leg and found a bottle of
water. It was damaged, most likely from the fall, but thankfully it hadn’t
leaked out. She popped it open and cleaned the black gunk off her hands. Then
she drank the rest, trying to get that horrible taste of charcoal out of her
mouth. It didn’t really help.
 
 
Frisk shuffled through her bag and considered the small collection of snacks
she still had. She felt like she had been poisoned or something and had
absolutely no appetite, so she left them. She examined the various small cuts
and bruises all over her legs from the fall but it was nothing to waste her few
precious band-aids on. She also checked over the bandage at her thigh and the
bite-marks didn’t hurt nearly as bad as before.
She pulled out that tiny bottle of antiseptic and poured it down against her
neck underneath the collar. A terrible, burning pain pierced through her flesh
and ran down the front of her chest and she struggled to hold back cries of
agony. God… how many wounds had she dealt with so far? It was getting difficult
to even keep count. But she couldn’t do much else for the burn.
She reached into her pocket and felt around for her box cutter. … Oh… no… oh,
god… Where was it!?! It wasn’t there!! She felt like she was going to be sick
again when she remembered that it had dropped to the floor during her fight
with the monster. It was still up there… up in the library. Her only weapon!
Well, her only reliable weapon. This strange soul power she possessed had
certainly proven itself untrustworthy in a tense situation. It only appeared
when she was desperate enough. But it had not prevented her from absorbing in
that monster’s foul black residue.
Frisk hugged her backpack tight and sat there in the shadowy darkness for a
long while. She had to regain her courage… her determination. She still had to
get out of this torturous underworld. She was now past the 4th gate. How many
more were left? She felt so sick… But it was not a normal feeling of sick. It
felt like her soul was drowning in a bucket of wet cement. What was this
feeling?
 
Eventually Frisk forced herself up to her feet and she glanced down the long
dark of drainage pipe. She just barely fit and had to duck her head down to
keep from hitting the ceiling. She flashed her light down that one and only
stone channel. There was nowhere else to go. And even if she could somehow go
back up the way she came, she wouldn’t do that for a billion dollars. Without a
proper weapon she would have to be extra careful now.
She grabbed her backpack and began the journey down the circular narrow tunnel.
 
 
Frisk tread along slowly and silently. Water seeped into her sneakers with each
step and it made her shiver. At least the water was room temperature and not
freezing.
The tunnel seemed to wind around and stretched out for miles. Frisk began to
think about how many dark caverns and hallways she had walked through during
her time in the Underground and almost laughed.
As she walked along, her mind kept returning to that terrifying liquid monster.
What was he doing?… Trying to kill her? Poison her with black slime?… Eat her?…
It seemed that most monsters in the underground were unaware that she was the
Manumitter. Sans’ didn’t know, nor did he seem to care at first. And that slime
monster didn’t know or care either. And they were all so… hungry. No wonder it
was written in the prophecy that she should be killing them as she goes along.
Frisk came to a standstill at her realization. She looked down at her
waterlogged sneakers. If she ever escaped this place, what then? Would she
relay her findings to the adults at the orphanage? Would they send the military
in here and kill all these monstrosities? Perhaps she was getting ahead of
herself…
 
 
She continued down the drain pipe. Frisk flashed her cell light around with one
hand while simultaneously staring down at the other. It had a couple scotched
blisters on it from when she pushed it inside that hot black slime, but they
didn’t hurt too badly. She relaxed and tensed the tendons in her fingers then
closed her eyes.
Focus. Focus.
Frisk opened one eye and peered down at her hand. It didn’t glow. It didn’t
even feel warm. She just felt… sick. She frowned and stuffed her hand back in
her jacket pocket, feeling hopeless.
 
 
She continued to walk for a while. Every now and then a terrible wave of nausea
would wash over her and she would have to stop and hurl up more bile. Just the
sight of it made her feel atrocious and she tried not to look. Her nose also
began to drip with the same velvety black ink. It felt like a nosebleed, but…
it wasn’t blood.
The fear that that monster had contaminated her with some decaying deadly rot
started to drive her anxiety up the walls. She glanced at her cell screen and
saw the time. ‘8:22 am’. It was already morning. Last time she checked it, it
had been around 5:30 pm the day before. She must have been knocked unconscious
for a bit when she fell.
 
Frisk was starting to feel cold. Not from the temperature in the sewer, which
was lukewarm at best, but from another source. Perhaps from the poison inside
her. It was getting harder and harder to walk. The wet atmosphere around her
felt heavy. She stumbled with each weak step, trying to keep her head up. She
felt like she had been drugged and the toxin was just starting to take hold.
But wait… there was something up ahead. Way out in the distance. Was she
delusional? No… there was a light. There was a light!
She almost sprinted forward but immediately was hit with another wave of
queasiness, so she kept her pace steady and slow and eventually she reached the
end of the tunnel.
 
 
Light spilled out in small segmented streams from open grooves in a drain
grate. Frisk staggered up to the round iron threshold and pressed her forehead
against the cool metal. It felt good at her feverish forehead. She peered
through the vertical slits of the gridiron and stared out into the other side.
Out at what awaited her.
It was some sort of swamp. There was not one speck of snow, or even ash. Just a
vast forested wetland. The water was muddled, stagnant and completely lifeless.
There was no breeze in the air and the bog seemed to stretch on for miles. It
didn’t look too unusual. It could have almost been mistaken for an ecosystem in
the human world. Well, except for that dark mist that ascended up from the
water. And every cluster of trees had been painted with that familiar black
mold.
Frisk squinted her eyes and saw a raised wooden plank pathway that seemed to
led deep into the marshland. It was wide and rose out over the water, weaving
in and out of the bunching trees.
So this was the next battlefield.
What nightmares could be hiding in this dreary purgatory?…
 
 
The bog was light enough to not need her flashlight, so she clicked it off and
stuffed it back in her pocket. She still had not brought herself to check the
battery. She knew it was most likely dangerously low.
Frisk scanned the grate. There was no symbol. This was not the 5th door. She
laced her fingers through the small openings and pulled it to the side. It was
so heavy, and the extra exertion of strength made her want to puke again, but
the round barrier slowly gave way and slid open.
She stumbled out from the drain pipe and hopped down onto the wet, muddled
floor. Her sneakers sunk into mud almost immediately. It made her wince in
disgusted and she dragged her feet over to higher ground. She walked towards
the wooden steps that led up the raised pathway. Dark fog from the swamp
spilled out along the floor of the wooden route and the sight sent a chill down
her spine. Frisk started to walk up the stairs and just as she reached the top
step she felt another terrible surge of sickness wash over her. She clutched
onto the path’s wooden railing and heaved over the side into the swamp water.
U-ugh… this is… b-bad…
She wanted to cry. Her stomach felt like it was collapsing in on itself. Frisk
pressed her forehead down against the railing, letting out a heavy trembling
breath.
………And then she heard something.
 
The sound of rushing wind.
 
Oh, no! Oh, god!
 
 
The swamp had been so muted that the tiniest sound made her swivel around.
Her heart sank to the floor and she felt sick again… so sick… at the sight…
Sans.
 
“hey kiddo.”
 
 
Sans was leaning back against the railing opposite her. His hood was pulled up
over his cracked skull. Those deadly sharp interlocking teeth splayed out in
his signature smirk. His lone crimson eye flashed, buried deep within one of
his massive sunken eye socket, taunting her. It pulsed rapidly like an eager
heartbeat, like he was excited… so excited to see her.
Frisk stared back at him in horror and quickly clutched her hands at her mouth
to keep from puking. Oh, god… oh, no… oh, hell……!!!
The eerie dark fog from the swamp made the large skeleton appear even more
daunting as the shadows distorted his features. Sans had both hands in his
jacket pockets and his white shirt was stained with dry bloody streaks. He did
not have his ax with him. Although Frisk knew he could summon it in an instant
if he wished.
“i see gaster really fucked you up, huh?”
Gaster? W-what??
Sans let out a chuckle that sent Frisk’s already wounded soul spiraling
downward. Every muscle in her body tensed. She slowly lowered her hands and
gripped onto the pathway railing behind her, shifting her sneakers against the
wood ever so slightly.
Get ready. Get ready to run. And if you are caught… show him no weakness.
Sans took notice of her readiness. He leered down at her fidgeting feet then
glanced back into her eyes. He knew that hesitant stance. She knew that he
knew… that she was going to make a run for it.
 
Then Frisk bound forward towards the stairs.
 
Too slow.
 
Sans lunged after her and swiftly grabbed a hold of her hoodie’s cowl. He threw
her backwards hard. Into the wooden floor at his feet. Frisk let out a yelp as
her tailbone hit the ground painfully and she instinctively raised her arms up
to cover her face.
“you stepped out of line, buddy.” His voice was sardonic and cold, and at the
same time it dripped with a malicious rage that festered inside of him.
Sans crouched down next to her, his sneakers causing the wooden planks
underneath to creak. He wrapped his rough skeletal claws around her upper arms,
pulling them away from her face, and pinned them down into the floor as he
hovered over.
Frisk clenched her teeth and held her breath in her lungs. She felt like she
was drowning in her own fear. All she could focus on was that single blood-red
eye, burning so brightly in the gloom. It hurt to look at. She started to
struggle violently, kicking at him, crying out, thrashing under his hold. She
shifted her arms about and managed to grab onto one of his wrists with her
hand.
Use your power!!! FOCUS! FOCUS! Push him back with your shield!!!
Her conscious was spinning inside her head like a tornado. She so desperately
tried to focus… please focus!
 
… But… nothing happened!
 
Why didn’t anything ever happen?!
She couldn’t feel that warmth. She couldn’t feel that determination.
Something was wrong. Wrong with her soul.
 
Sans simply smirked at her feeble struggles. He leered down at Frisk’s hand
clenched around his wrist and shook his head.
“i know what you’re tryin’ to do, kid. that little magic trick might work on
‘pyrus and gaster, but it won’t work on me. not again.” He let out a cruel
sneer and tilted his head back slightly. His fur-trimmed jacket hood slid down
to his shoulders and exposed the jagged, grotesque empty cavity at the side of
his skull, “…besides, your soul is infected. you can’t use it anymore.”
………………
 
W-what did he say?……
 
She stared back at him, shock and confusion painted all over her face. And Sans
grinned wider, drinking in her turmoil like it was something delicious.
“heh. what? you hadn’t noticed?” He released one hand from her forearm and let
two off-white claws trail down along her throat, brushing against the collar,
down lower to the front of her ink-stained jacket. “see this? it’s rotting your
insides as we speak.”
His words made her jolt in fear and stomach churn. She was paralyzed with
trepidation. She glanced down to watch his fingers smear the sticky tar that
stained her chest black. Then she slowly looked back up at him in bewilderment.
“W-what are you talking a-about?……” Frisk used every ounce of courage she had
to push her words fourth, whispered and trembling and barely audible.
What was he talking about?? Was she truly infected? Had that vulgar slime
creature poisoned her??
 
“i can show you,” He responded in a whisper, his eye sockets lidded as he gazed
down at her. That vehement look of hunger… it was all she could do to keep
herself from sobbing. He removed his wandering fingers from her chest and
gripped onto both her forearms.
Frisk started to shake her head ‘no’ and began struggling under his hold once
more. Her pulse sounded like a rampant powertool drilling in her head.
“Get away from me, Sans!” She cried out abruptly and raised her knees to her
stomach to press the bottoms of her muddy sneakers to his chest, trying to push
him away with everything she had. But her weakened strength was nothing
compared to his.
“kid, i’m gonna show you what some monsters can do… if you’re not careful.”
Every single one of those thick vicious fangs flashed in the dim light, and he
roughly flipped her over onto her chest.
Ohgod!!!! H-HELP- HELP ME!!
Frisk started to hyperventilate, now pinned on her stomach. Sans crouched over
her with his knees digging down at either side of her hips. She could feel the
solid strong weight of his pelvic bone pressing into the bottom of her spine
through her clothes… against her backside. Her heart pounded frantically in her
chest. Feverish blood rushing to her brain. Sweat dripped down her forehead and
the back of her neck. H-he was right over her… there… oh god… he had her
pinned.. on her stomach… right… right behind-… w-what- what was h-he going… to…
do…!!! No no no no no no nonononononono!!!!
But Sans merely chuckled at her panicked reactions. He released her arms and
his daunting hands made their way down her sides… down… lower… down to her
waist. His heavy rib cage pressed painfully into her back, restraining her
small form underneath him.
Frisk outstretched her now free arms in front of her and clawed into the wooden
planks. She frantically tried to crawl out from under him, trying so
desperately to get away. He was too heavy. She couldn’t move. She felt like she
was suffocating.
“G-get off!!!” Frisk screamed. It did nothing.
One of his hands started to inch its way underneath her, between the floor and
her torso. It slid up under her winter jacket… under her hoodie… while his
other hand grasped at her waist. That sinister hand under her clothes pushed
into her tender stomach. Frisk could feel his segmented bone claws splaying
against her bare navel. She almost threw up again, her shoulders lurching
forward. His lingering touch made her feel sick and violated. She held the
black bile back in her throat and choked and gagged against it.
“it would probably be best to get it all out, kid…” Sans sneered into her ear
from behind as he felt her dry heaves. His skull was so close… brushing against
the side of her face. She could feel the front rows of of his canines lightly
graze along her jawline and his heavy, impatient lukewarm breaths cascaded
against her skin. It made her shiver in disgust. “…even though it’s too late,
anyways.”
Too late!?!???? What was he talking about????
She wanted to beg him for answers but instead she just cried out.
And that hand… oh god, his hand… It continued to slide up along her stomach, up
further over her slender ribs and between her small breasts. He pressed his
hand down hard into her breastbone. Stop it! Stop!!!
It hurt!!
Frisk cried out from the pain that swelled directly under his hand. Oh god, it
hurt so terribly. Like a burning spike was pummeling into her chest over and
over and over. She couldn’t breath. Her outstretched hands scratched painfully
against the wood and countless splinters buried inside her palms.
“i got it,” He whispered in her ear and she could just barely see his vibrating
red hue out of the corner of her eye. He got what?…… W-what was he talking
about?
Frisk felt so weak. Her heart was racing and her chest was pulsing from that
burning deep agony. She suddenly felt a strange emptiness swell up inside her.
Sans began to pull his hand out from under her hoodie. He lifted his arm over
her shoulder and held out something - that small red shimmering orb - right in
front of her face from behind.
“take a look, sweetheart.”
Frisk panted heavily and stared forward at the sphere in his hand.
 
It was her soul.
 
But… but something… something was wrong with it.
 
She could see through the small red lustrous gem and it was filled with black
oil. Oh, god… it was dripping with that thick dark sludge and it coated Sans’
fingers and oozed against the floor. Sans skewed the orb to the side and shook
it a little, stirring up the dark fluids, letting Frisk get a good look at her
own contaminated, poisoned soul.
“see?” he chuckled again and tightened his grasp upon at the tar-filled marble,
squeezing it.
A sharp pain shot through Frisk’s chest when he clutched it tight and she let
out another pained cry. She panted heavily from exhaustion as her small tongue
hung out from her mouth.
Sans smirked to himself. He brushed her sweaty bangs back with one hand while
he dropped her toxic oozing soul to the floor. It rolled along the wooden
planks, leaving a black trail of slime behind it.
Frisk stared back at her damaged soul and felt tears sting the backs of her
eyes. W-what did this mean then?…… Her soul was damaged? Broken? Sans… he just
pulled it out of her and threw it aside like it was garbage.
 
“stay away from gaster next time.”
Next time!?! What next time????
Her heart jolted at his words. Her thoughts began to race again, so fast,
swirling inside her head like a raging hurricane. What did he mean!?
Suddenly, Sans lifted his heavy weight up off her back and Frisk gasped for a
strained breath. It had been so hard to breath with him on top of her, she
panted heavily as the oxygen rushed back to her head making her dizzy and
nauseous.
“now…” Sans began, his tone of voice so sinister that it cut her heart in two,
“… with your soul in that state, you’re going to die anyways… and i am
starving, kiddo.”
Frisk slowly turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder.
 
N-no……
 
He was hovering over her with that wide, malevolent smirk. Drool oozed down
from the corners of his maw, blue and translucent and gelatinous. It dripped
upon Frisk’s back. His single red eye pulsed rapidly, constricting and
expanding over and over. He looked so hungry… so eager for another taste.
Frisk stared back up at him in horror, her chin quivering as she held back a
scream. She attempted to lunge forward but he gripped at both sides of her hips
and yanked her back. He pulled her into his chest and lifted her up off the
ground against his lap.
She thrashed against his grip. Sans’ hold on her was like a vice. T-too strong!
It was suffocating! He leaned his head down, nudging the front of his skull
between the small space at her neck and the top of her shoulder. He began to
claw at the front of her jacket, pulling it to the side, down below her
shoulder. And he gripped at her hoodie too, lowering it further to expose the
smooth skin of her shoulder, upper arm and her thin clavicle.
He lowered his head in between that small, sensitive section of flesh. N-no!!!
Get away from me!!! P-please!!!
Each one of his canines could have been the thickness of her wrist. He started
to open his jaw and those barely-dulled pointed teeth brushed against her
exposed skin between her collared neck and shoulder.
“think of this as your punishment for lying to my brother…” Sans whispered
against her rotator cuff. His voice was velvet venom and fevered with desire.
She could feel each one of his lusty exhales against bare skin. His hot saliva
trickled down her slender collarbones and smeared against her chest.
His teeth parted wide around the end of her shoulder and then… they clamped
shut.
He began to bite down. Sinking in deep. Plunging into her soft skin. Descending
inside her muscles and tendons. Cracking her bones.
 
White hot mind-shattering pain.
 
Every single one of her nerves were screaming.
 
A rush of endorphins followed by crippling agony.
 
The sheer intensity of the pain blinded her and Frisk screamed and cried and
gasped and begged him to stop between sobs. She violently struggled in his arms
that wrapped around and held her firm. Blood spilled into his mouth and seeped
down the sides of his monstrous maw, dripping onto the wooden planks below them
in puddles.
Oh my god… i-it hurt so terribly. T-this cannot… be……
Someone help!… A-anyone… help… Izzy…… Mom…… h-h-help… m-me…
……………
 
All Frisk could do was scream and tremble and pull weakly at his hands and
scratch at his chest. It did nothing. He was devouring her alive.
Sans began to tear apart her shoulder muscles with his teeth, jerking his head
to the side viciously like a starved wolf. She gasped and gagged from the pain
as he ripped thick chunks of flesh from that soft spot above her clavicle.
Tearing her shoulder to shreds. Into a mess of blood and gore and meat and
protruding bones. He growled out, groaning deep in his chest from the taste,
excited from her raw cries. She was so soft, so delicious. He was overtaken by
a lust so strong that nothing could stop it now.
Frisk sobbed and her head hung to the side as he continued to rip apart and
devour her shoulder and upper arm. She began to cough up blood. Her body was
bloodied and damaged beyond repair. Thick gore spilled down the front of her
clothes and his shirt, staining them a foul crimson red. She couldn’t stop
screaming and crying… though now even her voice was starting to fail her. Her
vision was fading… in and out. It was getting so dark… so cold. She couldn’t
feel her hands anymore… or that arm. Had he torn it off? She tried to press at
his wet vermilion chest with her opposite hand in one last desperate attempt.
But her limb fell lifeless to her side as her strength faded immediately. She
was going limp his grasp, whimpering between sobs against his blood-soaked
shirt. Her eyes began to glaze over, blood-shot and half-lidded. S-she couldn’t
see… anything… not even his red pulsing eye… everything was ….g-going black…
she was so cold…
As he held her tight into his upper body she thought could feel something…
something beating fast… so fast. It pulsed rapidly against her torso through
their bloodied clothing…… it was coming from Sans’ chest…
 
……… Was that his heartbeat?…
 
…………………… His soul?…
 
Sans’ lithe, messy fingers ran through her hair at the back of her head,
holding her steady as he tore into her shoulder without a shred of compassion,
over and over. She could just barely feel the sensation of his wet wide tongue
lapping inside her open wounds, penetrating the massive laceration. And then…
she couldn’t feel anything anymore.
“see you soon, kiddo… heh.”
It was the last thing she heard before she bled out.
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: 1̣̞̺͔͙̜͍̍ͦs̛̛͓͇̻̬̭̤͈̈́ͦt̩͕͕͖͕̠ͣ̈ͫ͌ͭ͐́
͖͕͊͂̏̿̃̑̾͟r̛̠̟̻͉͈̰ͪ̓̾͆̀̆̽̂ȇ̷̝͈̘͎ͤͥ̇͛̉ͨs̰͕̝ͯ͑́ͧ̚ē̸̩̹͕̦̙̲͖̩ͭ̏͆ͧ͢t̷̖̬͔̟̯͋ͧ̇̃ͬ
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Oh… Frisk… I’m so sorry…
     Just when we thought Sans couldn’t get any worse…
     But he can get worse. Trust me, he can get so much worse.
     Stay turned for Frisk’s first reset and some Chara, coming up!
      
     ~~~
     CHAPTER SUMMARY FOR THE SKIPPERS: Frisk escaped from Gaster by
     falling through the 4th gate. She lands at the bottom of a drainage
     storm pipe. When she comes to, she’s overcome with sickness due to
     Gaster’s black ooze she was forced to ingest. Frisk wanders through
     the tunnels and staggers towards the exit. It leads her into a swamp.
     As she starts to journey into the next gloomy landscape, Sans appears
     and jumps her. He pulls out her soul and shows her the infection. He
     tells her to stay away from Gaster next time. He eats and kills her
     for multiple reasons: Her soul is infected and she needs to reset,
     for running away, for lying to Papyrus and simply because he’s
     hungry. 1st reset.
     ~~~
     /////////////////////
***** XV *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 15: Frisk recovers from the 1͇̥͍̠̫̇̓ͭ̂ŝ̬̪̯̐̍ṭ̙̪͍͚͉ͮ̊͋
     ̔̐̎͋͗̓r̞̜̩̱ͬ̌̐͛e̪̙̯̳͋ͨͭs̲̟̠̞̊́͊̒ͅe̦̮̳͇̹̜ͥͬ̌͂t̤̯͔͈͚̞͓̔̅̒̇̆̑ͯ
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Sup all,
     I didn’t know so many of my readers were such hardcore gore fanatics
     (I guess I should have figured tho). Ya’ll are evil freaks! I’ll have
     to work even harder to please in future chapters ;P ♥
     So chapter 15 mainly covers Frisk coming to terms with her first
     reset. A lot of distressing internal dialogue, a brief flashback and
     more story/character development. Nothing crazy. This chapter doesn't
     really require any warnings except it does contain mild animal abuse,
     PTSD and suicidal ideation/attempt. Also an intro to Chara.
     Hope you like it.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
*****
 
 
It was so hot.
The sun was beating down against the back of her head as she walked along the
cracked sidewalk, her lunch box in one hand and her bookbag in the other. Frisk
made her way down the suburban street from the bus stop. School had just let
out and she couldn’t wait to sit in front of her small electric fan at home.
She trotted along the concrete, little sneakers patting against the hard path.
And she eventually reached the last house on the block, that standard ranch
one-story with the red tiled roof and white wooden paneling. No landscaping and
every window was open, like always.
 
Frisk stepped up the winding path and reached the front door. She didn’t need a
key. She didn’t even need to knock. It was always open.
She pushed the door inward and was immediately met with the sounds of sobbing.
“Mommy?…” Frisk whispered out as she closed the door behind her.
A woman sat with her head in her hands at the kitchen table, the florescent
lights in the small kitchen flickered ominously overhead. She was visible
through the open archway from the foyer. Her long dark hair fell over her
hidden face.
“Mommy… what’s wrong?” Frisk asked gently as she dropped her things by the wall
and carefully stepped up to where her mother sat. She pressed her little hands
against her mother's shoulder, shaking her gently. But the sobbing woman
shrugged her off, ignoring the small child.
Frisk stood there with a pained heart… What could she do?… It was always like
this.
Then she heard a voice, that voice, the one that made her skin crawl. That
atrocious, deep shout that made her want to curl up into a ball and disappear
forever.
 
“Fuckin’ dog!!” Her father was shouting from the other room. Frisk’s ears
perked at his words and she scampered from the kitchen and ran down the dark
hallway, leading towards the back of the house, following the voice.
Oh no… oh no!
Her heart was pounding and she almost tripped over a rug in the center of the
hall. She reached the back room door, opening it frantically.
Her eyes grew wide at the sight. Her hands started to tremble. Her knees grew
weak.
 
Her father, drunk and stumbling, stood in the center of the room towering over
her German Shepherd. The wounded animal lay on its side, whimpering, bleeding
and barely moving while the man kicked into its flank over and over. So violent
and aggressive… senseless cruelty.
Frisk stood in the doorway, stunned. “S-stop it!!! Stop it!!” She cried out as
loud as she could and bound forward, tossing herself over the dog and took a
hard kick to the ribcage instead.
Frisk sobbed into her pet’s warm, bloodied fur.
“S-Schafer?…”
She could feel the animal’s labored breathing, slowly raising up and down.
She couldn’t stop her tears.
Blood stained the front of her school uniform…
 
B-but…
 
There was so much blood… There was so much…
 
Blood and teeth…
 
………
 
Oh god, it hurts……………
 
Please stop!!! P-please…
……………
 
I’m so afraid…
 
There’s s-so much pain……
 
Blood and bone and sharp, ripping fangs……
 
And that red hue…
 
That red glowing eye… pulsing…
 
Always… watching me…
 
Please stop!!
 
No… No!! NO NO NO!!!! GET AWAY!!!!
 
GET AWAY FROM ME!!!!!!!!!!
 
 
 
 
 
 
A flash of blinding light and Frisk was screaming, clutching at the back of her
head with both hands, her face pressed against her knees.
She gasped for a frenzied breath between trembling cries and immediately
gripped at her shoulder. She squeezed the side of her collared neck and her
clavicle and her arm. Her heart was pounding so rapidly. Her chest felt sore
from her pulsing heartbeat. It was beating so fast… too fast. She could barely
breath, asphyxiating on her own violent, hysterical sobs.
 
O-oh god……
 
Frisk took in deep trembling breaths and clutched onto her shoulder even
tighter. She slipped her hand underneath her hoodie and her fingers examined
over every inch of skin… but… but there was no blood. There was no gore or torn
flesh or jutting bones. Her arm was still attached.
And there was no mind-shattering pain. No pain at all, in fact. And she didn’t
feel nauseous. That terrible taste of burnt charcoal was gone. Her neck did not
burn. Her stomach felt normal… Her soul felt light.
 
What was happening………
 
She was curled up in the corner of a dark, warm, temperate stone room made of
black bricks. And it smelled like fresh burning firewood. It was completely
desolate, except for a small candle that flickered silently right beside her.
Frisk’s thoughts stumbled over one another. Had it all been a dream?… No… That
was not possible. It was not a dream.
 
She sat in the corner staring blankly, hyperventilating, lost in her own mind,
her eyes wide and red and sodden from tears. Her throat felt like it had been
rubbed raw with sandpaper from the inside. She started to undo the buttons at
the front of her monster coat and pulled it off, then tugged her hoodie up over
her head. She glanced down at her bare shoulder and examined it in the
flickering light.
There were no open wounds. There were no cuts or teeth marks. No scratches… Not
even a mere bruise.
 
’see you soon, kiddo’
 
Sans’ cryptic words rang in her head. The last words she had heard… She could
see his red pulsing eye in her mind, the last thing she saw. Every single
detail of her death spilled over her thoughts like fresh paint, yet it was
obscured behind an umbrage shroud of incredulity.
Had he actually devoured her alive? Did that honestly, truly happen? It was so
clear in her conscious. She began to peel back the layers of her memory… Sans
ripping into her shoulder, flaying her flesh, her bones snapping between his
teeth as they dug inside so deep inside her … and her arm… her arm… h-had he…
ripped it from her socket?…no, no… she was choking against her own blood,
begging with him to stop… S-sans… please, stop!… but he just ignored her cries…
and it hurt so terribly she just wanted to die… It played out like a movie in
her mind… over… and over…and over… no… no no No NO!!
 
I don’t want to see this… Don’t show me this!
 
Frisk cried out again and clutched at either side of her head with trembling
hands. Her tears dripped down to the stone floor and her shoulders quivered and
she weakly pulled her hoodie over herself like a blanket, curling back into the
corner.
 
 
Time inched by slowly. Frisk remained in the corner. She felt numb, barely able
to move, and stared down at the flickering candle ember with an empty lidded
gaze. She found herself compulsively grasping at her shoulder every couple of
minutes, as if to check that it was still in one piece. She was so exhausted…
 
’see you soon, kiddo’……’see you soon’…………
 
………………
 
She couldn’t stop… she couldn’t stop replaying it in her mind. And no matter
how tired she was, she couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw
it all again. She could practically smell the fresh blood… her blood.
 
 
After a long while Frisk finally started to shift her legs. She glanced down at
her feet where her backpack lay. She pulled the bag in her lap and clicked open
the top flap, then she dug inside for something to drink.
W-what…
Her eyes widened and she pulled out that bottle of water… The same one she had
finished when she fell in the storm tunnel.
 
What. Was. Happening……
 
She couldn’t fathom it. Had she gone back in time somehow? Why was she in this
room?
In that moment she realized that her legs and her winter jacket were no longer
stained with black tar… And there were no splinters or blisters on her hands.
And also… the burning pain around her throat underneath the collar was entirely
g-gone?
Wait a minute… If she HAD gone back in time…… then none of that had happened
yet. None of that had come to pass. She had not met that grotesque slime
monster in the library. She had not been poisoned. Her soul was still intact.
 
'stay away from gaster next time.'
 
Sans’ words pierced through her thoughts like an arrow.
 
Was this her ‘next time’? Had she been given a second chance?… Had she… died
and been reborn?
No. She didn’t simply die. She was murdered.
 
Frisk felt tears burn her eyes again and she quickly rubbed them away with the
base of her palms. She let out a trembling whimper and tried to take in slow,
steady breaths. She lowered a hand down to her chest over her heart and for a
moment she thought she felt Sans’ rough skeletal claws against her skin. He had
been so close to her… right on top. The thought made her heart start to pound
and her head feel foggy with vertigo. And she felt disgusted and wanted to
scream in anger. The way he had touched her… The way he ripped her to shreds…
And defiled her…
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. It never happened. Put it out of
your mind.
She had never felt so helpless and weak in her life.
 
 
It felt like hours had passed by the time Frisk finally sat up. She ate some
cookies from her bag and pulled her hoodie back on. She folded up the 4-armed
monster jacket and stuffed it in her backpack, it was too warm to wear anymore
anyways.
Much to her surprise, her box cutter was still in her pocket. She hadn’t
dropped it in the library yet, and that one fact almost made her cry with joy.
Then she idly stared at the candle for a little while longer. She touched the
side of it with her fingers, but nothing happened. There was no sudden shock of
electricity or flash of white light and she thought that was strange.
Eventually Frisk stood back up to her feet. The familiar open archway loomed at
the other side of the room and she walked over, peering down the lengthy dark
hallways at either side. She recognized them immediately. The subtle warmth,
the smell of firewood, the dark stretch of tunnels. This was the large black-
brick government building in Snowdin.
What should she do?… Maybe… go back to the entrance? Look for Papyrus? Beg him
for forgiveness and stay by his side?… Perhaps Papyrus could kill that slime
monster. Or maybe… Maybe she should go forward by herself. Run past that
monster, go back down the 4th gate… But what about Sans? Was he still in the
swamp, waiting for her? Was he watching her right now?
Frisk’s head ached from the conflicting thoughts. She was at a cross-roads.
Which path should she take?… Both had benefits, but they were also overshadowed
by terrible disadvantages, of course. If she ran back, Papyrus may kill her… or
worse. And if she ran forward, that slime monster, Gaster would be waiting. And
if she remained where she was? Well, honestly that seemed like the safest bet
at the moment, but she couldn’t stay in this room forever.
 
Frisk closed her eyes.
 
Be strong. Stay determined. Trust no one. Fight.
You will escape this place.
 
She opened her eyes again to meet the darkness. Frisk grabbed at her cellphone
from her pocket and flicked on the flashlight. There were only two paths, left
and right. And they looked exactly the same. She took in a deep breath and
followed her gut. Whichever way she went was fate. Whether it be towards Gaster
or Papyrus. She turned right and sprinted down the hall.
 
 
Frisk ran through the darkness of the black brick corridor. Every time she
turned a corner, her muscles would become rigid with apprehension. But it was
always just more hall. Part of her hoped that she was heading back to the town,
back to Papyrus. But her heart sank when she reached that dead-end. The wooden
door.
 
Density led you here. This time you will not falter.
’stay away from gaster.’
I will. He won’t lay a hand on me this time.
 
Frisk stood directly in front of the door. She clicked her phone light off and
stuffed it in her pocket and swapped it out for the box cutter. She did not
need a light, she knew exactly what awaited her on the other side. She knew
exactly where to go. Frisk unsheathed her box cutter blade and shoved the
wooden door open with her opposite hand.
 
 
That warmth, the violet light, the wispy shadows. All of it embraced her the
moment the door swung open. Frisk felt a sudden influx of terror and the
memories came racing back. That grotesque black tar… how it wrapped around her
hands and dripped along her legs and chest and seeped down her throat… ughhh
STOP thinking. STOP IT.
She felt like she was going to gag for a moment and clutched at her stomach.
Breathe. Stay determined. You know where the door is. You will not hesitate
this time.
 
Now go.
 
Frisk felt a surge of adrenaline and burning fortitude. She sprung forward into
the library and ran as fast as she could along the side of the room. Her heart
was racing… faster… and faster… Gaster was in here. Was he watching her? Was he
waiting? Waiting in the shadows for her to run past? Each familiar dark violet
torch curled around the stirring air as she dashed past them. She could see the
wooden trapdoor. Up ahead. And it was still locked shut.
Frisk stumbled forward onto the hollow wooden platform and immediately fell
down to her knees. She shoved her utility knife in her pocket and roughly
slammed both hands hard against the center of the engraved symbol.
 
Focus. FOCUS. FOCUS!
 
She shut her eyes, clenched her teeth, pounded her hands against the runic
engraving once more. Every muscle in her body stiffened as she waited. She knew
what to expect. When the door opens, she would fall… down into the darkness. Be
strong.
 
OPEN! OPEN! OPEN!!!!
 
Her mind was galloping in her head. Her heart felt like it was skipping over
every other beat.
 
For the love of god OPEN UP!!!
 
She heard something……… Footsteps.
 
N-NO NO NO!! OPEN!! OPEN!! OH GOD, OPEN! P-PLEASE!!!
 
Frisk started to breathe hard and fast and she clashed her hands against the
symbol again.
 
“Please open!” She actually cried out under her panicked breath. The footsteps
were getting louder. Something was moving in the shadows. It was lurking behind
the bookshelves.
She turned her head to the side and saw it… that white round face, distorted
and grotesque hollow gaping eye sockets, black liquid feelers sprouting up all
around him. That eerie wide smile. Gaster.
 
NO NO NO!!!! NO! NOT AGAIN!
 
Frisk ripped her gaze away from Gaster as he slowly started to move towards
her. She screamed and slammed her sweaty hands again upon the trap door in
desperation.
 
Then she felt it. That heat. Collecting at her fingertips, running up her hands
and wrists and arms. The warmth burst into her chest, into the center of her
soul. It ran back down and illuminated her limbs with a bright, dazzling red.
And the door swung open. And she fell into the dark.
 
 
She was falling. Fast.
Falling down into the tenebrous shadows.
The cold, damp wind licked at her legs and hands. Wet tree branches hit her
from all sides and she plummeted down the narrow pipeline just barely big
enough for her. The wind wooshed past her ears quickly and she held a scream
back in her lungs. She shut her eyes tight and held her arms up to protect her
face from the protruding sprigs.
Another barrage of tree branches, scraping against her knees painfully, and her
hoodie’s cowl caught against one and almost immediately halted her decent.
“A-ach!” Frisk cried out and grasped onto the flimsy tree branch above her with
both hands, clutching to it tightly so her hoodie neckhole wouldn’t choke her.
She could feel multiple twigs and branches around her sides. They pressed
painfully against her arms. Some jutted out against her waist and back, some
more right below her feet. She was surrounded by them.
W-what should I do?… Let go and continue falling?
Frisk was so completely overwhelmed with adrenaline. She thought she was going
to faint as a full-blown panic attack took over. She wrapped one of her arms
around the branch she clung to and clumsily grabbed for her phone in her
pocket. She clicked on the flashlight and it immediately illuminated the small
space.
She panted heavily and flashed the light down below her feet and her heart
leapt. She could see the floor! She wasn’t far off. It was about two stories
below her.
 
Be brave.
 
Her soul pulsed with determination and she shut her eyes tightly, tensing every
muscle, and let go of the branch.
 
 
 
Frisk fell down hard into the sloppy mound of mud and leaves and broken twigs.
She cried out from the sudden impact. She had landed on her side against her
shoulder and it hurt but at least… at least she was alive. She had escaped
Gaster this time. She had not been poisoned. Her soul was intact. She had her
knife.
This was a fresh start. A second chance.
Frisk quickly clambered up to her feet, wiping the mud from her shins, and
almost smiled. It really did feel like a small victory, though fleeting. She
brushed her messy bangs out of her eyes and stared ahead into the darkness.
Then she grabbed at her cell phone and clicked on the light. The clock read ‘6:
04 am’. Her first time in these tunnels it had been around 8 am. So she was
early this time.
Frisk reached into her other pocket and pulled out her box cutter, then she
raised her flashlight out in front of her and started to dash down the narrow
tunnel. The muddy water splashed up with each hurried step, soaking her knees
and flooding her sneakers. Stay determined.
 
But as she ran Frisk’s mind started to falter. Her thoughts went back to that
dark place… a place of blood and teeth and that palpitating crimson hue. Those
rough skeletal claws scratching along her bare flesh under her clothes. She
suddenly felt extremely dirty and her pulse surged with an abrupt rapid tremor.
Sans.… Was he still out there? Out in the swamp waiting for her?… Would he jump
her like last time? She could never feel safe… never again.
But her fear and worry melted into budding rage. It festered deep inside. It
was so overwhelming, it made her soul feel heavy and noxious, and she grit her
teeth in anger as she ran along. T-that bastard… pervert… monster! He KNEW she
would come back to life. He knew it… What did that mean for her then?
 
 
Then there was a light. Deep down at the end of the tunnel. Those familiar rays
spilled out in multiple thin horizontal rows. Frisk ran forward until she met
the grate and peered through its narrow openings.
The swamp.
Everything looked exactly the same albeitit a tad darker. The water was just as
still, the breeze just as absent, the air silent and stifling. An eerie bog
that stretched on for miles, blanketed by a dark looming fog.
You can do this. You have come so far. Your soul is burning. Your determination
is at a climax.
Frisk took in deep, unwieldy breaths. She dropped her phone back in her pocket
and grippd onto the grate, pulling it to the side. Then she jumped down into
the mud which immediately rose to her ankles and absorbed her sneakers. She
winced and trudged through the muck, over towards higher ground, then scraped
her feet against the dirt and slowly lifted her head, staring back at the
stairs… those wooden stairs. They lead up to the raised trail that entwined
throughout the thick mangrove clusters.
Her heart began to pound. Fast. Faster. So fast. It hurt. Frisk let out a
trembling exhale and clutched at her chest with one hand, her blade in the
other. She forced her feet forward, slowly ascending up those stairs.
This is where you died…
Frisk felt so weak and overcome with anguish. She fell to her knees at the top
of the steps and pressed both hands down against the planks. She was trembling
and her eyes glazed over with tears… T-this… spot… The wood was clean. There
was no blood, no stains, no bone or flesh. No Sans…
Nothing.
She clenched her hands into fists and pounded them down hard against the hollow
wood then raised her head and screamed out in agony. A rage was burning in the
pit of her stomach, she could feel it… tainting her soul.
“SANS!!!” She shouted as loud as she could. It was jarring to hear her own
voice so heavy with resentment. And it echoed throughout the marshland.
“S-sans…” Her voice lowered to a trembling whisper as the tears started to
spill. She pulled her knees into her chest and remained there in the quiet dark
for some time. In the spot where she died.
 
 
 
 
Frisk walked along the wooden trail. Her feet felt so heavy. Every step she
took was exhausting. The path stretched on for miles and miles and miles. Was
it even leading her anywhere? How far would she have to walk until she came
across something new? Did she even want that?… This gruesome, heinous,
harrowing hell… She didn’t want any of this anymore. She never did.
Frisk stared idly out into the muddy swamp that surrounded her. It was so
quiet, her ears buzzed painfully from the silence. The stagnant water was
devoid of any life. The air hung low, heavy and lifeless. The sky was that
familiar slate of grey. All she could hear were her own breaths and reserved
footsteps. Her eyes were red and her throat felt laden from crying. Her
determination… it was dwindling. She didn’t want to do this. She just wanted to
sleep. She just wanted this to… end.
Frisk came to a stop and let out a sob against her long hoodie sleeve, rubbing
at her eyes and runny nose. She still had her box cutter in her other hand.
Some good that weapon was… Frisk stepped to the side of the trail and glanced
over the railing down at the shallow water. Dark fog spilled over the surface
like a tablecloth but she could just barely see her reflection within the
carbon glaze. It had been a while since she looked at herself in a mirror. Her
eyes had dark shadows under them, her hair was knotted and tangled, and her
hoodie and shorts were stained with grime and dried blood. She looked like she
hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep or a meal in months. How long had she been
down here in this hell?… It certainly felt like a month. Had it really only
been a few days?
Frisk slowly sunk down to a crouch and she slipped through the small space
between the wooden bars of the railing. She hopped down into the mire, which
reached to her upper thighs. Her sneakers sunk into the mud under the thick
water, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything anymore.
And if I die again… what then? Will I go back in time once more?… There was no
electric shock from the candle a second time. Maybe I only had one chance.
Maybe it will all be over… An escape from this wretched place.
Her head hurt. She felt dizzy and hopeless and so, so alone. And every time she
closed her eyes she saw his red eye. Haunting her. Watching her.
 
Frisk clenched her teeth together and held back a rush of turmoil as she began
to roll her sleeves up to her elbows. The dark fog wrapped around her pale
arms, decorated in dozens of long thin scars. She almost felt foolish as she
gazed down at the mended cuts. Back then, she never knew what real pain was.
She had no clue. Her past self was so naive. She longed for that time… back at
the orphanage. Doing homework and lazing around outside on the weekends and
reading her ghost stories and zombie novels and cutting her arms over the
bathroom sink at night because she thought she was so lonely. She thought she
was so unhappy.
Frisk exhaled. She leaned over and sunk her hands down into the murky dark
water. She could just barely see them through the shade, and she gripped at the
unsheathed box cutter tight in one hand.
Just two swift slices… and it will all be over. Don’t give Sans another chance.
He won’t ever touch you again. End it all now. Things will only get worse. End
this now.
Her inner voice was oppressive and dismal and it guided the blade. She watched
through her tears and pressed the flat side of the knife to her wrist
underneath the surface of the water. She held the blade there for a lingering
moment…
I am sorry Izzy…Toriel… Mom… I am not strong enough.
Frisk blinked away her tears and closed her eyes. She slowly tilted her wrist
to the side, leaning the blade inward. The sharpened edge began to press
against her flesh. She could almost feel her pulse vibrating through the thin
metal of the blade. She pressed down a little harder. It started to sting.
Please… Please just end this… There will be no more pain after this…
Frisk hesitated for a moment. She released another slow, trembling exhale. Do
it. She lifted the blade and brought it back down to her wrist and-
 
 
 
“Stop.”
 
 
 
 
A voice……
 
There was a voice…
 
 
Frisk’s eyes shot open as her hands faltered and she dropped the box cutter
into the water. She staggered back against the wooden path planks behind her,
staring forward. Her heart was darting around in her chest at the sight.
 
T-there was a figure. Standing out in the murky bog just a few yards away from
her. A small, dark-haired figure dressed in all black.
 
 
A human.
 
*****
 
Coming up: You are not as weak as you think you are.
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Poor Frisky… and who's that spooky little human? Is it even human at
     all?
     Find out in the next chapter.
     Also get ready for some Monster Kid & Waterfall~
     /////////////////////
***** XVI *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 16: Your soul is a weapon.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hey all!
     First of all, thank you as always for your awesome feedback, kudos,
     comments, praise, etc. etc. It always motivates me to keep writing ^^
     I also want to give a huge shout out to Ammy who has drawn some
     AMAAAAAZING comic art from the fic! Ammy, you are so very talented! I
     love your art so much, keep up the amazing work! And you guys have
     got to take a look, it's so spectacular. You can view all three pages
     on their Instagram here: X X X
      
     So that brings me to Chapter 16. Nothing too insane in this chapter.
     We see some unsettling Chara interaction (probably a bad thing),
     Frisk works on perfecting her soul skills, internal dialogue,
     traveling, and a glimpse of a new spooky monster :D who could that
     little fella be? Hmmm. And if you want some dark atmospheric
     background music while you read, try_this_one_out. It's eerie and
     lovely. I was listening to it on repeat while writing this chapter in
     particular.
     I'm sure you guys are itching for some gore and guts. Well don't
     worry, you will be getting plenty of that and more in the upcoming
     chapters. It's closer than you think. It's gonna be a bloodbath 8D
     Enjoy!
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
*****
 
 
Frisk stared wide-eyed at the person before her.
I-it was… it was… a human!
 
It was a human!!
 
She blinked in disbelief. T-there is no way… that is a human!… Wait… no… No,
this is a trick. This is a trap. There is no way!…
The human was small, much like Frisk, with black choppy hair that framed their
face. Their skin was pale, almost ghostly, and they were draped in a long-
sleeved black sweater and dark knee-length shorts. It was a girl. At least
Frisk thought it was a girl. And although the girl’s expression was stoic and
cold, Frisk couldn’t help but think that this human almost… almost looked like…
like herself.
Except there was something wrong. Something was off. Their eyes… A pale cyan,
spectral and uncanny. And those constricting pupils were thin dark fissures
embedded within the blue. Reptilian eyes…
 
This was not a human.
 
Frisk clenched her teeth together as terror began its decent deep within her
chest. She frantically began grabbing around at her shorts pockets for her
weapon, but immediately realized that she had just dropped the box cutter in
the water. Down to the bottom of the swamp.
Frisk was panicking. She shot her hands up, outstretched in front of her. Use
your shield if you must! Her arms were trembling, her knees were weak. She
stared directly back at that false human in dismay.
 
Don’t let them trick you! D-don’t let them come near!
 
“Stay back! D-don’t come any closer!” She shouted back at the human, trying to
keep her voice as steady as possible.
But the girl just stared. Unblinking. Unmoving. Completely silent.
The girl looked so ambiguous. But Frisk could tell that she was very young,
perhaps around the same age as herself. But… no. No. This just couldn’t be…
with those eyes… that is a monster.
 
Trust no one.
 
Frisk grit her teeth firm and kept her hands raised out, palms facing forward,
“Who are you!?” She shouted back again, listening to her own quivering voice
permeate the foggy marsh.
W-what should she do? Make a run for it? Climb back up onto the trail and run?
Last time she tried to run it led to her death… And why weren't they moving?
Why weren't they saying anything? Oh, god… T-this is bad… stay away from me… g-
god…
Frisk’s thoughts were climbing the walls of her mind, her anxiety so strong
that it hurt to breathe.
But then, the human, the dark-haired girl, took a step. A slow, ominous step
forward. And she……
 
She smiled.
 
Frisk’s heart immediately started to clamor as she watched the human take one
daunting step after the other through the thick water. She was moving closer…
closer towards her.
“Stay back! Stay away from me! I-i-i mean it!!” Frisk screamed out again, her
hands trembling so terrible she could barely hold them up.
 
Focus! FOCUS! FOCUS! Use your shield! Call it forth! Protect yourself!
 
The dark-haired human stopped in her tracks, but that modest aloof smile spread
across her features. Those bright blue eyes looked like two perfectly circular
finch eggs. Those eyes were the only things clearly visible behind the rolling
shadows.
 
 
“I'm you.”
 
 
……… What did she just say?
 
That voice… She spoke. And smiled even wider. But she did not possess sharp
razors for teeth. She had normal human teeth. Every single thing about her
resembled a normal human, except for the eyes of course.
 
“……… What?” Frisk responded in a hushed whisper. She quickly shook her head and
tried to steady her raised arms once more, “You’re not me! You’re a monster
like all the others!” She yelled back at the figure and desperately tried to
will her shield forth. Please! Please! Of course it did not come. And the dark-
haired child’s smile wavered.
 
“Frisk…”
 
The human spoke again. T-they said… her name. Their voice was a gentle wisp of
smoke. Impassive and dry. There was no echoic tint to it either. All Frisk
could do was stare back into those lucent sky blue eyes. They made her heart
fluctuate.
“H-h-… how d-do you know… my name?” Finally Frisk forced her words forth, so
hushed that she could barely hear them over her own heartbeat pounding in her
eardrums.
“Because I am you.” That eerie placid smile returned and the human took another
step forward, causing the dark water’s surface to ripple outwards.
“Manumitter……”
Frisk felt her heart jolt again when she heard that word.
 
‘Manumitter.’
 
“You are not me…” Frisk responded and she scowled back at them. Frisk could
feel a hint of anger buried under multiple layers of fear. They are lying. They
are a monster, like every other cruel creature in this place. Don’t let her get
close. Stay away. “You are a liar!” Frisk shouted back and spayed her fingers
out wide as she waited for her red soul barrier, praying for her shield to
spring forth and drive away this impostor.
A heavy weight of panic started to take hold. Frisk’s chest hurt and her breath
was short and limited. Her head was spinning. She felt so weak, so dizzy. She
closed her eyes, shivering violently. And she was besieged by a sudden surge of
memories. She was pinned under Sans’ chest. It was wet and stained vermilion.
She was crying out, bleeding to death in his arduous grasp, his jaws locked in
her flesh. She was numb and choking against her own blood that spilled up from
her throat… and that eye… That terrible red eye locked on her like a missile.
Pulsing. Hungry. Eager. He was devouring her and it hurt so terribly. She
wanted to die. Please let me die.
 
Please let me die!
 
 
…………
 
“……Frisk-…”
 
…………………
 
They spoke again…
 
…………………
 
“……You are not weak.”
 
……
 
W-what?……
 
 
 
Frisk opened her eyes, her vision masked by a hot film of tears. The dark-
haired child stood directly in front of her. Frisk’s bottom lip trembled and
she tried to take a step back, but the wooden path behind her deterred any
movement.
Then the human stepped even closer and Frisk’s outstretched arms pressed
directly against their chest. T-they felt… warm. Warm and alive, unlike the
monsters in this hell. Was this really, truly a human? Another lost human just
like herself?
 
Frisk stared back at the other, unable to move from shock. And they smiled
again. It was almost kind, yet detached at the same time. But those eyes… Those
eyes. There was something wrong with those eyes. Something… flawed. Something
buried deep.
The dark-haired child raised one single hand and pressed it between Frisk’s
outstretched arms, then gently placed it at the center of her chest. There was
a warmth to the mystery human’s touch, and Frisk’s fear and anxiety and deep-
seated despair seemed to melt away.
 
W-who… are… you…?
 
“Your soul… our soul… It is unlike any other-” Their words flowed forth like a
melody. It embraced Frisk with a warmth she had yet to feel in the Underground.
“The soul of the Manumitter.”
Frisk gazed back into those haunting blue mirrors in a trance. She could almost
see her own reflection in them. Her own soft, hazelnut eyes stared forward,
mesmerized. The other child’s hand was so warm against her chest, pressing
gently into the center of her slight torso. Frisk couldn’t pull her eyes away
and each one of her harrowing thoughts seemed to disintegrate.
And the dark-haired child just smiled and spoke again,
 
“And your soul… it is a weapon.”
 
What?…
 
“And with that weapon, you will never feel hopeless.”
 
Those words wrapped inside Frisk’s mind like entwining snakes. They were
seducing. Captivating. They trampled over every fear, every worry. But still
Frisk could not respond. She was enraptured with the gentle building heat at
her chest, the heat that seemed to secrete from this strange human’s hand.
Frisk could almost feel the heat penetrate her soul. And those whispered words
kept her hypnotized.
 
Suddenly the child pulled their hand away from Frisk’s chest, away from her
rapidly pulsing heart. The girl raised her hands and pressed her palms flat
against Frisk’s. Then she laced their fingers, entwining them together.
 
“Manumitter… They want you dead. He wants you dead. You can fight back. You are
not powerless. You are not weak. Your soul, our soul, is stronger than you
know.”
 
He?…… Sans?…
 
The dark-haired enigma spoke those words and stared directly into Frisk’s eyes
as their thin reptile pupils dilated and constricted in the dark, foggy
atmosphere. Their eyes were so blue and clear, sharp slivers of ice. It almost
pained Frisk to look into them. It felt like this person was staring directly
into her thoughts, reading her mind, peering into the depths of her soul.
“I-I…” Frisk still couldn’t speak. Her hands merely trembled within the grasp
of the other’s. A tepid fever seeped through Frisk’s hands and arms. But it was
not that familiar heat of her own soul that she knew so well. It almost felt…
unstable. Yet it was masked under layers of gentle warmth, obscured behind that
serene glow.
Frisk could just barely grasp the tainted feeling that spilled from the human,
but before she had a chance to even consider it, the girl broke contact. The
dark-haired child let go of Frisk’s hands and instead they grabbed at Frisk’s
exposed wrists.
Frisk flinched, but the strange girl tilted Frisk’s hands, shifting her wrists
to the side to lift her inner arms upwards. They glanced down at Frisk’s
various healing scars with that stoic blue gaze.
 
“There is a limit. Each death will take you a step back… And bring you closer.
Remember that.” The girl spoke in riddles.
 
Each death? A step back? Closer? Closer to what?
 
“And not every door is the correct door.” The girl ran her sallow fingers along
some of Frisk’s scars, then released her wrists before glancing back up at her
once more.
Frisk bit at her lower lip as she considered those words, staring back at the
mystery girl in a stupor. “Who… who are you… really?…” Frisk whispered,
desperately trying to look away from that cerulean gaze.
 
There was a long, unsettling silence. But it was broken when the strange child
spoke.
 
“Chara.”
 
The girl, Chara, grinned as she revealed her name. She flashed her pearly teeth
in the dim light. Yet her expression remained tranquil, her eyes lidded and
sly.
 
…… Chara…
 
The girl took a slight step back from Frisk and she reached down into the murky
water, her dark long-sleeved arm plunged into the cloudy black quagmire that
surrounded them. Frisk watched the girl, completely mystified and curious. She
felt a strong connection, like she was under an aberrant spell.
Chara pulled her arm out of the water and held out Frisk’s box cutter. It was
caked with mud from the swamp floor, but besides that it was unharmed.
“Frisk, you will need this… in the end.” Chara slowly placed the handle of the
disheveled utility knife into Frisk’s hand. And Frisk glanced down at the
blade, wrapping her fingers around it tightly.
Frisk felt a wave of emotion overtake her. Her shoulders started to tremble and
she let her head drop down. Her disheveled chestnut hair fell in her face as
she tried to hold back a sob, shutting her eyes, quivering and clutching the
knife close to her form. “C-chara…” Frisk whispered, holding back her tears.
She slowly raised her head to glance back at the mysterious girl… but…
 
She was gone.
 
 
 
 
Frisk stared forward, her eyes wide. She blinked and looked around. That girl…
The girl had vanished. Not a single trace of her remained. The water had not
even rippled. Frisk’s shoulders slumped as she glanced up at the ash-grey sky.
She was alone once more.
Had she really seen that? Or was it an illusion brought on by the swamp fog?
Frisk didn’t know what to believe anymore. But her fingers wrapped tightly
around the box cutter in her hand and she clutched the weapon to her chest.
 
’You will need this in the end…’
 
The end, huh?…
 
…………
 
Chara……
 
 
 
Frisk’s vigorous trance was abruptly severed by the sound of an air raid alarm
wailing overhead. It made her stumble backwards and almost slip into the water.
She hadn’t heard those sirens in a while. Actually, she had completely
forgotten about them… Had they always been that loud? It hurt, and Frisk
clamped her hands over her ears to try and block out the sound. It almost
sounded like they were nearby.
The air raids blared for a good couple of minutes until they finally faded back
to silence.
 
Frisk rinsed her box cutter in the murky water best she could before sheathing
the blade and stuffing it into her pocket. Her contact with that strange,
ghostly child… Chara… had kindled something deep inside her. In that moment,
she no longer wished for death.
Frisk stared out into the morass. Her eyes scanned over the labyrinth of low
hanging swamp trees and dense sawgrass. The nonstop blanket of fog billowed
along the surface of the water. It was a gloomy sight, but Frisk felt her
determination start to take hold of her soul. Though it felt different than
before. It was still warm and encompassing, but there was a seed of animosity
that nested deep within.
You will escape this place. No matter what.
Her inner voice was almost hostile. She clenched her teeth and curled her hands
into fists.
Yes. I will escape. By any means necessary.
 
 
 
 
Frisk climbed out of the swamp back up onto the wooden path. She began to make
her way down the winding trail. Her step had been rejuvenated with a newfound
energy and she trotted along in silence. She was determined once more. She
would keep moving forward. She would stay strong. Stay strong and fight.
 
As Frisk continued on, she lifted her hands towards herself with palms facing
upwards. They were grimy and pale, stained with mud from the swamp. Frisk took
in a deep breath and filled her lungs with musky oxygen. She slowly exhaled and
turned her hands to face outwards, then she closed her eyes and began to tap
into her soul.
 
Focus.
Focus.
 
Her cluttered thoughts churned inside her head. Toriel, Napstablook, Papyrus,
Gaster…Sans… She saw them all in her mind’s eye. Each one a vicious, blood-
thirsty monster set on her destruction. And Chara’s words laced through each
monstrous vision, melting them into nothing.
 
 
’Your soul is a weapon.’
 
A weapon?…
 
’They want you dead.’
 
I… I know…
 
’He wants you dead.’
 
He’s… h-he’s a monster…
 
’You can fight back.’
 
I will… I will fight back…
 
’You are not powerless. You are not weak.’
 
I am not weak.
 
’Your soul… it is stronger than you know.’
 
 
I am… NOT WEAK.
 
 
 
There was a sudden burst of energy. A burning heat wrapped around Frisk’s hands
and ran up her arms, piercing the center of her chest painfully. A heat so
strong it felt like she had stepped through a curtain of fire. Frisk saw the
bright flash of red from behind her eyelids and her heart started to pound
vigorously. She stopped dead in her tracks and slowly opened her eyes and she
saw it… the shield.
It was larger than before, spanning from her ankles to the top of her head. A
beautiful, radiating barrier of liquid crimson crystals. Transparent and
gleaming so brightly it hurt to look at. It was brighter than it had been
during her fight with Papyrus, and it turned the humid atmosphere around her a
brilliant scarlet.
Frisk stared back at the shield. She was enamored with its extruding warmth. It
was so much like her soul, it even dripped with that viscous liquid-red and
stained the wooden planks at her feet.
She had summoned her shield. She did it! She did it all on her own!
Frisk smiled softly to herself and stiffened the muscles in her arms, holding
the shield out directly in front of her. She raised her arms high, and the
shield remained hovering before them just an inch away from her fingers. Then
she spread her arms apart, bringing them down to her sides forcefully. The
shield remained floating, but it began to waiver. Without her hands there, it
started to sink where it hung in the air, sliding down to the floor.
Frisk quickly brought her hands back and the shield froze. She guided her hands
back up and the barrier followed, leading it back to it’s rightful spot in
front of her form.
 
I need to learn…
 
Her heart was pounding so quickly, her thoughts were spinning like a top. She
let out a soft laugh of pure elation, feeling joy for the first time. Now, she
just had to learn how to control this power. And learn exactly how it
functioned. Although the shield shined brightly, it did not look extremely
solid. After all, it was transparent and almost fluid. It reminded Frisk of
melting glass. But she knew just how strong it was. She saw it take a wave of
Papyrus’ bone spears. And now it was larger than before. It was much more
substantial.
 
Frisk stared back at the shield for some time. It just hovered in front of her
hands, emitting a gentle hum mixed with the subtle sound of stirring crystals
like a wind chime. She tried to reach out to touch the barrier, but every time
the shield would inch forward just barely out of her grasp. And all the while
Frisk’s hands and arms illuminated with that gentle vivid crimson that matched
the screen.
Now… How to put it away?
Frisk bit at her lower lip in thought. She balled her hands up into fists but
it did not affect the shield. She lowered her arms down, and it also did
nothing but move the shield slightly downward. Hmm… wait. She remembered. Frisk
quickly pulled her arms apart to her sides, away from the shield swiftly. The
red screen started to tremble the moment she removed her both hands away from
it. And it started to sink in the air. Its sheen flickered a few times, like a
flashing light bulb. The clear, stardust liquid inside started to lose its glow
and the shield faded away. It vanished.
Frisk stared back at the now vacant space before. She reached a hand out,
swiping it through the air. There was nothing there, and she began to walk
again.
 
 
 
The wooden plank path seemed to stretch on for more than just a few miles. Soon
the minutes turned into hours. Every now and then Frisk would stop and sit and
pull out a pile of snacks from her backpack. She finished a bag of chips, a
muffin, some smoked jerky and a can of soda. She would sit at the side of the
trail, her legs hooked over the edge with the tips of her sneakers just barely
touching the still, stagnant water below. The swamp was eerie and dark. But at
the same time, Frisk found it almost peaceful. Compared to the rest of the
Underground, it was pleasant. No freezing bitter wind and snow, no falling ash
that made it impossible to breathe. It was humid and the lukewarm atmosphere
made her clothes stick to her skin, but she’d take that over the other areas
any day. And she was starting to grow accustomed to the stark silence.
 
 
Frisk walked on. And as she walked, she continued to test her shield. She
discovered that she didn’t need both hands to summon it. She could call forth
the barrier with just one hand as well, although it seemed to be slightly more
unstable when she did that. She remembered her clash with Gaster, and how she
pushed him away using her one-handed shield. It was a very useful trait.
As she walked down the trail, Frisk summoned her shield over and over.
Memorizing and practicing every way she could hold it. It was definitely a
learning process. And she was slowly but surely getting the hang of it.
Although every time she summoned the shield, she found herself growing more
exhausted. It was a powerful exertion of energy each time so she decided to
take a break.
Frisk thought of Chara as she walked along. Was that girl really a human? Her
words had been so arcane and ambiguous. What did she mean when she said ‘Each
death takes you a step back and brings you closer’? She had already died once…
Did that mean she had multiple lives? What did Chara mean by ‘a step back’? And
what did it bring her closer to? A permanent death? And also ‘Not every door is
the correct door.’ Was Chara talking about the gates?… And what did she mean
when she said ‘I am you’? There were just so many unanswered questions, and it
caused a sudden wave of unease to settle in the pit of Frisk’s stomach.
She then found herself thinking of all the monsters she had come across.
Toriel… What was Toriel doing right now? Still out in the woods back home?
Guarding the shed door? And what about Napstablook? Did he remain in those
dark, gloomy tunnels or did he escape into the snowy forest? And Papyrus… Was
he still back in the poisonous town of Snowdin? Was he searching for the 4th
gate? Had he noticed that she made a run for it? And Gaster… He must still
reside in the library or had he tried to follow her down into the sewers?… And…
and Sans… What about Sans?…
She saw his red, pulsing eye in her mind and almost felt his touch along her
bare stomach, gliding up over her rib cage against her chest… And she could
just barely feel that pain… the terrible pain that formed under his skeletal
claw each time he stripped her of her soul… No. No. Do not think about him. You
are not weak.
Frisk shuddered and rubbed a hand to her forehead, trying to push those
memories back down, burying them deep within the depths of her consciousness.
She sighed and stopped walking for a moment, leaning back against the side
railing. She had been so busy playing around with her newfound shield summoning
skills and recollecting her thoughts that she hadn’t even noticed how dark it
had become. The sky was now a shadowy flint grey and just as desolate as
always.
Frisk reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She flipped it
open and saw the time: ‘7:10 pm.’ Last time she checked it, it had been 6 in
the morning. She couldn’t believe how late it was already. Frisk was dreading
it, but she quickly let her eyes scan over the battery. It read ‘6%’ Her heart
twisted in a surge of panic.
6%…
She held her finger over the off button at the side of the device. If she
wasn’t using the phone, then she decided she would keep it turned off. That
might help save what little battery life she had left. She stuffed it back in
her shorts pocket and started walking again.
 
 
She walked on, staring idly out in front of her. She was tired but she did not
want to stop. And as she wandered forward something strange happened. The dark,
gloomy fog that constantly flowed over the surface of the water started to
glow. Its shade of graphite black morphed into a hue of azure blue. The glow
illuminated the swamp, and it actually… it actually looked pretty. But it was
also perplexing. At least it provided light, and Frisk was relieved that she
didn’t have to walk in the dark.
The drooping marshland trees were starting to grow thicker. The branches hung
low over the path, creating a canopy. Frisk reached up and touched the thinning
rows of leaves. But she immediately pulled her hands away when she felt that
fuzzy mold. So that stuff was on the trees in this swamp as well… It seemed to
be everywhere in the Underground.
Frisk began to nod off as she walked. Her eyelids grew heavy and she stumbled
over her own feet. Perhaps… perhaps she should take a little break… She came to
a stop and looked around. The swamp was just as quiet as before, the water just
as still. It was too dark to see down the path and the shadows obscured the
trail, creating a daunting passageway. The rising azure fog illuminated the
water around her an uncanny blue. The color almost reminded Frisk of Sans’
magic. That blue wisp of smoke that would wrap around his hands when he
summoned his ax. And she immediately found herself liking the glow
significantly less.
 
Frisk finally came to a lethargic stop. She sunk down to her knees by the side
of the path and pulled off her backpack, placing it beside her. She grabbed the
folded monster jacket from her bag and shook it out, then tugged it over her
shoulders like a blanket. It was probably not the best place to camp for the
night, but she had no other choice, and she was too exhausted to doubt it.
Frisk rested her head against her backpack that created a makeshift pillow and
stared out into the spectral marshlands. Her fingers ran along the front of the
iron collar still wrapped around her throat as she watched the blue mist roll
on the surface of the water like a phantom. She blinked slowly and a steady
wave of drowsiness took hold. So… tired… just rest… just sleep… You are safe
here.
She allowed her eyes to close and her muscles to relax. And, finally, she
slept.
 
 
 
 
The delicate blue glow seeped along the trail. It buried the planks under a
heavy sheet of fog. There was someone sitting next to her, right next to her
backpack where her head lay. They were facing the swamp. Their legs dangled
over the sides of the path and their fur-trimmed hood was pulled up over their
head. A hand rested atop her shoulder… It was cold… cold and heavy and
squeezing her gently.… Their fingers were off-white and slender… a skeletal
hand…
Sans.
 
 
 
 
Frisk’s eyes shot open and she sat up abruptly, breathing hard. She turned her
head forward, but no one was there. She was alone. Alone in the dark cobalt
haze.
Sans was not there.
A dream… it was a d-dream…
 
Calm down. It was only a dream.
Breathe. He was never here. You are safe.
 
Frisk let out a quivering whimper and rubbed at her shoulder. She thought she
could still feel the pressure of his hand there. It had felt so real. Was… was
it really just a dream? It must have been, because the way his hand rested
against her… it… it almost felt… comforting. That was not the Sans she knew.
Frisk shook from the surge of trepidation that had woken her so abruptly and
curled up into a ball.
It was still dark. It must still be pretty late.
Frisk pushed her bangs out of her eyes. She felt sweaty and feverish from the
humidity and she pulled her sleeves up above her elbows and the hoodie’s bottom
hem up to her ribs. It didn’t really help. It was still uncomfortably warm and
muggy. Frisk forced her eyes shut and tried to fall back asleep without
thinking about that monster. Eventually, she did. And she had no more dreams
after that.
 
 
 
 
There was a strange noise. The water was bubbling. Small waves rippled along
the surface… What was that noise? It was getting louder and louder. And it
wouldn’t stop… What was that?
The bothersome sound stirred Frisk from her slumber and she opened one eye. She
was half asleep and her surroundings were just a confusing haze. Where… where
the heck was she? Frisk slowly sat up and rubbed at her eyes with both hands,
trying to wake up. She felt so sore from sleeping on wooden planks all night.
She glanced around lazily and remembered she was still in the bog. But it was
light. The darkness had melted away, along with the gentle blue glowing mist.
Once again, the marshland looked like nothing more than an ordinary swamp.
Frisk yawned softly and blinked a few times. She shifted to the side to grab
some snacks from her backpack… but she saw something. A movement out of the
corner of her eye.
 
Something… someone… was there.
 
And it was right next to where she sat, down in the swamp water outside the
pathway below.
 
There was a face… a scaly, yellow-tinted face. It was reptilian, and yet it had
four stacked sets of large black eyes with a crimson dilating pupil at the very
center of each one. The creature had a protruding row of dark, sharp platelets
that ran vertically from the tip of its snout, up the bridge of its nose and
down the center of its forehead and skull like some sort of dinosaur. And it
stared up at her, its quadruple eyes locking onto Frisk keenly.
 
Another monster.
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: Waterfall and the 5th door.
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Stay away, yellow lizard boy!
     Get ready for some Waterfall and…… *drumroll* UNDYNE! FUHUHUHUHU!
     /////////////////////
***** XVII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 17: Waterfall.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Heyo!
     I hope all my readers are doing well. And tyty for the kudos &
     comments ♥
     Are you all ready for some UNDYNE!? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) *Plays the Space Jam
     theme*
     Writing this chapter was fun. I love fight scenes. Also this chapter
     is stupid long, probably the longest one to date. And I apologize in
     advance for that. I just didn’t know where to cut it off.
     Anyways, in this chapter we will discover some Waterfall, Monster
     Kid, Undyne, the 5th gate and Frisk’s second and final soul ability.
     Enjoy!
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
*****
 
 
Frisk’s drowsy state disappeared in an instant as she stared back into those
four leering eyes. She cried out and hopped up to her feet, staggering
backwards against the opposite side of the path.
 
Oh, god… oh, no… She had NOT been alone in these swamps after all. A monster!
Another monster! No no nonono!!
 
Her heart was darting around inside her chest and she felt nauseous from fear.
It was hard to see exactly what the monster looked like or how big it was,
since she could only see just a fragment of its face between the vertical
railing bars. It was drenched in swamp water and liquid clumps of mud dripped
down the side of its face.
“Get back!!” Frisk screamed and held her trembling arms in front of her. There
was a flash of bright red and she immediately summoned her soul shield without
hesitation. The barrier displayed its lustrous crimson sheen, glowing brightly
and dripping with liquid rubies.
Frisk’s pulse raced, her fear felt like it was ramming against the back of her
skull. But despite it all, she was relieved that her shield, her soul, had
appeared the moment it was called. She held it out directly in front of her and
peered through its translucent luster at the monster on the opposite side.
Frisk expected to hear some beastly growl or a hiss from the creature, but
instead-…
 
“Whoa!”
 
 
…………………
 
 
Did… D-did it just say that?
 
The monster’s head rose up and its multiple eyes stared back at her shield in a
daze. Its nostrils flared at the end of its short, tapered snout and Frisk
could see sharp rows of alligator teeth jutting down from its upper jaw.
“I-I mean it! Get back or I will hurt you!…” Frisk fought against the quiver in
her voice. She tensed up every muscle in her arms, desperately trying to hold
the shield steady.
 
You are not weak.
 
Her knees were trembling and her head was spinning. But the monster… the
monster was starting to rise. It was leaning up out of the water. Oh, no… oh,
hell! She stared back in horror as it ascended from the swamp and began to
squeeze through the space between the path’s wooden railing. Frisk felt faint
but she couldn’t bring herself to run. The monster climbed up onto the path
directly in front of her.
But much to her surprise, it wasn’t very big. It was only a couple inches
taller than she was. It was draped in a heavy brown leather cloak that reached
its ankles, dripping with mud and pond scum. Oddly enough it didn’t appear to
have arms, either that or they were hidden underneath the soaked mantle.
Although it did have two thick-set legs with sharp webbed toes and a wide scale
plated tail that rose out from the cloak. And those four sets of black eyes and
sharp rows of serrated teeth sent a current of dread up Frisk’s spine.
 
“That is an amazing soul!”
 
It… it spoke again. The monster’s voice was a blithe rumble woven together with
that familiar echoic touch. And he almost sounded… enthusiastic. He wasn’t
frightened of Frisk’s shield at all. In fact, he leaned in even closer to the
red barrier, staring directly at it in awe as all four of his eyes blinked in
unison.
Frisk slowly stepped to the side, trying to distance herself from the monster.
Her teeth clenched together tightly to imprison the whimpers in her throat.
Should she make a run for it?? Could she outrun this unnerving bipedal reptile?
Should… should she attempt to fight it? But before Frisk could even settle on a
decision, he spoke again.
“Are you a human?” The monster asked. He tilted his large head to the side ever
so slightly as he peered through the shield directly at Frisk.
Frisk just stared back at him, stunned and terrified. “I-…” She managed to
stutter out before he interrupted her.
“You must be, ‘cause I’ve never seen a soul that color before. What are you
doing out here?” The monster spoke almost casually.
“Erm-… I… I’m… o-opening… the doors…” Frisk immediately regretted her response
and bit at the tip of her tongue. Don’t tell this monster what you are doing!
Don’t give him any information to use against you! They want you dead,
remember!? Just run!
Her inner voice was raging but the little monster blinked again, and then he
grinned… wide.
“Oh! Are you the Manumitter!?” He exclaimed and his thick scaled tail started
to pat against the hollow wooden planks behind him creating loud thumps that
sent vibrations through the floor. “I’ve heard about you! But you’re a kid,
like me. That’s pretty cool!” The monster was gushing. His massive black eyes
went wide and each red pupil darted around as he glanced from Frisk to her
shield, then back to Frisk again. “You’re in big trouble, you know.”
Frisk blinked at his words. She lowered the shield just barely. Its sheen was
starting to flicker and grow dim, but Frisk was much too preoccupied with the
monster's words at the moment. “W-what?” She asked, petrified.
“Yeah, Undyne’s alarms have been going crazy ‘cause of you.”
The monster started to rub his thick webbed feet against the floor as muddy
swamp water dripped from his cloak and formed a puddle underneath him.
“Undyne?…” Frisk repeated the familiar name that sent bells ringing in her
head. That was the monster Papyrus was always speaking of. W-wait… that was the
monster that had a law enforced to kill the Manumitter… To kill her.
“Yeah! She has the whole Underground on alert ‘cause she heard you were here.”
The monster grinned again. But his smile was zealous, not threatening.
Frisk’s arms were starting to hurt from the burning glow that wrapped around
them. The shield was draining her energy, fast. And she couldn’t stop it. She
winced, trying to hold her barrier up, fighting through the pain, but the
shield’s glow flickered and started to turn an opaque crimson. Reluctantly,
Frisk pulled her hands to the side and the shield vanished immediately. She
panted from the extensive exertion of energy and leaned against the side of the
railing, arms shaking.
The monster blinked again as her shield faded into thin air and made another
sound of amazement.
“Where… w-where are we?” Frisk changed the subject. Her heart was still
pounding and her head was foggy. Although this monster was apparently young,
and certainly acted juvenile, she had to keep her guard up. His eyes were
alarming, but it was his teeth that put her on edge. Those teeth were not to be
underestimated. But he didn’t seem very interested in eating her. He seemed
more interested in her soul shield.
“You don’t know? We’re in the swamps of Waterfall right now.” The monster
started to pat his tail against the floor again, splattering muddy water
everywhere. “Well, I should probably take you to Undyne now.”
He stepped closer towards her but Frisk immediately jumped backwards, creating
as much distance between them as possible. “W-what? No! I don’t need to go to
Undyne!” Her heart began to stumble over itself as it pounded faster and
faster. If she had the energy, she would have called forth her shield once
more, but she was completely drained.
The monster just blinked and tilted his head to the opposite side. His look of
eager excitement morphed into one of concern. “But… it’s the law.”
Frisk quickly shook her head. She knew that this Undyne monster was bad news…
If Undyne was the one who set forth a law to kill her in the first place, then
it could only mean death if she was captured. Also, Frisk was highly suspicious
that Undyne was some sort of leader in this abhorrent hell. They were clearly a
dangerous monster.
Frisk’s thoughts were pulsing in her head. But despite her fear, she began to
devise a plan. “Look… I just need to open the doors. That’s what the Manumitter
does. They open the doors and then you can all be free.” Frisk kept her words
surprisingly stable. She was actually impressed with herself for once. Her
terror started to melt into that gentle embrace of determination instead. You
will escape this place.
The little reptile monster seemed to be thinking over her words. His stare was
blank and his rapidly patting tail slowed to a sluggish wiggle. “But… I’ll get
in trouble…”
Frisk shook her head again “If you show me where the next door is, I promise we
will go meet Undyne afterwards,” The moment her words, her lie, spilled from
her lips, she immediately remembered Sans’ warning. And a cold wave of dread
spiraled down to the pit of her gut.
 
 
'you take one step out of line and i’ll be there'
 
 
Last time she had lied, she paid for it dearly. But last time her soul was
contaminated and she couldn't defend herself. This time… this time she could
fight. She had her shield. Her soul was growing stronger. Her determination was
tenacious. If Sans came for her again, she'd be ready. She would fight him. All
she had to do was get through the doors as quickly as possible. She felt like
she had been traveling for ages. She must be close by now.
“Oh, I know where the door is!” The monster piped up and his concern seemed to
fade, “Just follow me.” He stepped past Frisk and began to trot down the wooden
path.
Frisk stared after him, shocked. He… he was really going to lead her there? He
was going to show her the door? He actually believed her? Frisk blinked a
couple times and her determination swelled in the center of her chest. She
smiled to herself, feeling a bold courageousness she had never felt before.
Then she quickly scooped up her backpack from the floor and followed the
monster throughout the winding marshlands.
 
 
 
 
 
The two of them walked on, following the wooden trail. The little monster was
quite a talkative one. As they walked, he started to chat at Frisk. He
mentioned that his name was MK and that he lived in the main section of
Waterfall. He talked about how boring the swamps were, how there was never
anything to eat, how cool Undyne was, and how he always thought that the
Manumitter was a myth.
Frisk kept her feedback to a minimum, simply responding with a nod of the head
or a ‘yeah’ and an ‘i see’.
They had only been walking for a short while when Frisk saw something up ahead.
It looked like a mountain along the horizon. The fog that rose from the swamp
was so thick that she had not noticed it before. But now as they grew closer,
it was clearly visible. Although it was nothing like the mountain she had seen
back at the very beginning of her journey. No, this was a mesa that settled low
with a stretch of flat plateau at the top. But it was massive regardless and
spanned the entire skyline. Frisk even noticed what looked like adobe mud
buildings assembled along the sides and at the highest elevation of the
mountain.
“That’s Waterfall!” MK explained and nodded towards the mountain, “There are a
ton of doors in there.”
Frisk furrowed her brow, “A ton of doors?” She was immediately reminded of
something Chara had said to her.
 
'not every door is the correct door'
 
Frisk felt a swell of unease and she stared at the back of MK’s head, following
cautiously.
“Yeah. I can show you the room that has a bunch of doors in it, but I don’t
know which one you have to open. They don’t tell us kids those kinds of
things.” MK said as he trotted along.
“How many monsters live in Waterfall?” Frisk asked. It suddenly occurred to her
how dangerous the journey into Waterfall was going to be if it was some sort of
town and had a population of monsters. She might be able to fool this little
alligator kid, but it honestly just felt like dumb luck.
“Hmm… not too many. We all live up top in the village. I’m not even suppose to
be out in the swamps. But sometimes I find meat out here.” MK turned his head
and grinned back at Frisk with a wide smirk. She didn’t like it one bit, but
she held her emotions in check and simply gazed back out at the mountain in
front of them.
 
 
Suddenly, the wooden trail ended. It was such an abrupt cutoff, like the path
had been crushed by something. There were jagged planks of wood sticking out
from the dead-end that led into the swamp. Frisk peered over the bog and stared
at the mountain… and she noticed that the mountain had a gaping cave entrance.
The swamp actually seemed to lead inside the grotto.
MK jumped off the side of the trail and started to wade through the shallow
murky water as if it was just a normal everyday activity. Frisk stopped and
stood at the edge, staring back at the ominous chasm in the side of the
mountain. She was starting to doubt herself and felt a building upsurge of
fear.
 
You have come so far. Do not hesitate now. The 5th gate is in there somewhere.
You can do this.
 
Frisk closed her eyes for a moment. Her determination smoldered deep within the
center of her chest. She lifted her hands and pressed them against her sternum.
She could feel her heart pounding softly. That warmth, the heat of her soul,
simmering inside. She opened her eyes and hopped down into the squalid bog,
treading slowly.
 
 
 
 
The water reached her mid-thighs like before. But as she followed after MK the
water rose, and she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket before the water
reached her waist. It made her wince in disgust as the repugnant greenish pond
scum circled around her. The mud down below absorbed her sneakers with each
step and she almost lost them a few times. The rising fog didn’t make it any
easier. Soon Frisk found herself missing the snow. She’d take cold over wading
waist-deep in a putrid marsh any day. But eventually the water started to
decline. And by the time they reached the massive cave entrance the water was
back below her knees.
Frisk wrung out the bottom hem of her hoodie as she stared into the deep chasm.
The inside was obscured in dark expanding fog, and it looked like the marsh
simply continued on within the cave. MK stood beside her, but he seemed
impatient to go in because his tail kept churning up the murky water below
them. He was always doing that… always patting against the water with his tail…
It was starting to irritate her.
 
 
And the two of them set off into the cave. Frisk kept looking over her shoulder
back at the fading light behind them, back at the dreary marshland and drooping
trees. The inside of the cave had no trees. It was just swampy muddled water
and thickets of sawgrass. The atmosphere was pleasantly cool, but the darker it
got the more concerned Frisk became.
“Hey MK, have you ever seen a… a candle around here?” Frisk finally broke the
silence as they waded through the water.
The little monster glanced back at her, all four of his dark eyes blinking
simultaneously. “A candle? No, I’ve never even seen fire in Waterfall!” He
chuckled.
Frisk chewed at her lower lip and looked back over her shoulder again. It was
getting even darker and she could barely see the entrance to the cave anymore.
Though MK seemed completely comfortable in the darkness. Frisk was about to
turn on her phone and use what little battery life she had left for the
flashlight, when that familiar blue cobalt glow began to settle at their knees
above the water’s surface. She stopped in her tracks and stared down at the
gentle haze. It chased away the obsidian shadows and illuminated the entire
cavern an eerie azure.
“Oh, the swamp fog turns all blue when it gets dark. Cool, right?” MK grinned
and splashed his tail around in the foggy water. Frisk nodded and continued on.
That color… it always brought her thoughts back to Sans. She frowned to herself
and unconsciously grasped at her shoulder with one hand.
 
 
As they walked deeper within the cave, the water started to clear up. The slime
and mud began to thin out, and Frisk could actually see her feet underneath the
surface. But then the water started to deepen once more. It rose back up to
Frisk’s waist, which she didn’t mind too much because at least it was clear
this time. But a heavy wave of worry cascaded inside her as the water simply
got deeper… and deeper… and deeper. Soon it was up to Frisk’s chest and she had
to hold her backpack and cellphone up over her head to keep everything dry. It
was starting to become too concerning to ignore, so she came to a stop.
“Hey, MK… This water is getting pretty deep… er-… are you sure this is the
right way?” She called out to the monster in front of her.
“Yeah, there’s a path up here,” He motioned to the right and Frisk followed his
nod.
She had been so busy worrying about the water levels that she hadn’t even
noticed the various multiple open tunnels entrance ways that lined both sides
of the cave. Perhaps they led up to the top of the mountain? Each open entrance
had a stripe of paint over it in a different color.
 
MK led Frisk over towards the right side and they stopped in front of one of
the apertures. Frisk peered inside and it seemed to be a long tunnel that led
into a chamber. She looked up above the opening and saw a streak of white paint
marking it. Perhaps, one day, she would need to find this passageway again… and
she quickly memorized the shape of the stripe.
 
Frisk followed MK into the narrow tunnel. Thankfully the water started to
decline and it sunk back down below their knees. Frisk shivered, dripping wet,
and tried to wring out the water from her hoodie and shorts again. At least the
clear, cool water had rinsed all the mud from her clothes, but the temperature
in the cave now felt significantly colder. Her teeth chattered and she brought
her hands under her hoodie try and warm them against her own skin. It didn’t
help much.
They reached the end of the tunnel after a brief minute and Frisk stared out
into the vast chamber before her. It was still illuminated blue from the fog,
but there were minuscule rays of light cascading down from the high rock
ceiling. It was like… like some sort of sunken arena.
Overhead were multiple tiers of stone balconies that encircled the room. The
various streams of light descended from narrow openings in the ceiling,
creating thin glowing rays that criss-crossed above them. With the blue glowing
atmosphere and the intersecting beams of light, it almost looked pretty. But
Frisk’s heart sunk when she saw what the room contained.
 
 
Doors. A whole bunch of them…
 
 
The room contained dozens of open archways that lined the wall. The archways
lead into smaller nooks, and each one contained a door. And each door… had a
different yet similar symbol carved at the center.
 
 
Oh, no………
 
 
Frisk stood in the center of the arena, glancing around at every hollow inlet.
T-the symbols… they all looked so familiar. Any of them could have been the 5th
gate! How was she suppose to find the correct one? She stood there, stunned and
cold and absolutely aghast.
MK stood next to her and grinned wide. “See! I told you I’d take you to the
doors!”
Frisk stepped over to one of the archways and stared at the door towards the
back of the small den. It was large and wooden and had an engraved symbol upon
it. It could have been the correct symbol, or maybe… maybe it was the wrong
one. Why had she never copied the symbol down!? She had paper and pencils in
her backpack. That would have been really useful right about now!
“Ah… why… why are there so many?” She asked as she stepped up close to the door
in front of her and examined the runic engraving. She racked her brain for any
details, anything at all from previous gates.
“Undyne created a bunch of fake doors to fool the Manumitter.” His voice was
blunt.
There was a nefarious hint in his tone. Frisk instantly noticed it. Something
was wrong. MK’s enthusiastic timbre was gone. And he was violently slapping his
tail against the surface of the water.
She felt a wave of terrible unease spread throughout her limbs like pins and
needles. Frisk staggered back in the water, moving away from the door, and
turned to look at MK in the center of the room. He had a shrewd smile spread
across his crocodile features.
“MK-…” Frisk began, but her words were cut off from a sound overhead. Like the
sound of metal scraping against stone…
 
 
Oh, no………
 
 
Frisk glanced up. There was a large daunting figure standing on one of the
stone balconies above them about three stories up. Another monster.
 
Oh… crap……
 
Her heart plummeted and spiraled down to her feet. She thought she was going to
be sick with dread as her stomach churned painfully. Her pulse started to beat
so fast in her skull that it gave her a headache. And her soul was burning in
the center of her chest, burning with pure panic.
 
 
Oh no… oh, no nonono!!!
 
’Trust no one.'
 
Was… W-was this a trap!?
 
 
“I got her, Undyne! I got the Manumitter!” MK yelled out, his voice echoing off
the walls, and he sprinted through the water making a beeline for the tunnel
they had entered from. Frisk ripped her gaze from the figure overhead and
watched as MK shut a heavy iron cage door behind him, locking Frisk inside the
water arena. She hadn’t even seen that gate in the shadows when they had
entered! Oh, this was not good……
 
No…… No NO NO NO!!
 
Frisk’s paralysis diminish and adrenaline took its place. She dashed towards
the iron-barred door and shook it violently with both hands, but it held firm.
“MK!!! MK!! Don’t do this!!” She screamed back to him through the tunnel, but
he was already gone.
 
Someone was… w-was laughing…
 
And it shook her to the core.
 
That figure, the monster that towered above her perched up on the stone
balcony… Undyne. She was laughing. It was cruel and cold and made Frisk’s soul
convulse. Slowly, Frisk turned and stared up at the monster, her eyes wide with
genuine terror.
 
 
Undyne was tall and covered in scales just like MK, though her scales were a
deep shade of sapphire blue. A set of sharp pectoral fins framed her face and
her rust-colored hair was tied back in a messy knot. Her right eye was a narrow
slit of red with a golden pupil and the other side of her head was wrapped up
in bandages. They concealed her left eye and a dark crimson bloodspot seeped
through the bandages and ran down the side of her cheek. Her teeth were thick
needles, interlocking with each other in a perfect row to form a grotesque wall
of skewers. And every tooth was stained blood-red. Her webbed claw hands were
massive and she was dawned in thick crimson-colored iron armor: a breastplate,
plated breeches and thick tassets that hung from her hips. And Undyne gripped
onto a large iron spear with a sharpened, hooked tip.
Frisk trembled in the water where she stood. She stared up at the wyrm woman in
horror. She couldn’t run. She was trapped… trapped in this small flooded
coliseum. And Undyne clearly had the high ground.
“Manumitter! Is that REALLY you??” Undyne shouted a taunting provoke down to
Frisk, that sickening red smirk spread wide across her features. Her voice was
a harsh reproach. It blustered out like a chorus of echoing war drums and
incited pure fear throughout Frisk’s whole body.
“Fwuahah! I’ve been waiting for this moment! I knew you weren't a MYTH! I knew
it!” Undyne called out and raised her spear, she twirled it between her webbed
claws then gripped tightly around the center of the pole-arm and pointed it
directly down at Frisk, “Now, hold still!”
Frisk’s eyes grew wider. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t breathe. Tears
of fear started to sting the backs of her eyes. She… she couldn’t move……
 
Run, dammit! Run! Run now!!
 
Her conscious was screaming at her, trying to will her legs to act. But she
just stood there, trembling fiercely. She couldn’t move… her determination was
drowning in terror.
Frisk watched as Undyne rolled her shoulder back, taking aim, and then threw
the iron javelin right for her. It happened so quickly. It speared through the
side of Frisk’s hoodie sleeve with such a violent force than it pulled Frisk
backwards into the stone wall behind her, pinning her arm against the rocks.
The sharp spear just barely grazed Frisk’s flesh, only centimeters away from
skewing through her forearm completely.
Frisk cried out as the sharpened thick metal scraped against her skin under the
sleeve. It stung and she saw blood seep through the fabric out of the corner of
her eye. The sudden jolt of movement and abrupt pain shook Frisk from her
stupor. She used all her strength to rip her long-sleeve free from the piercing
polearm at the wall.
“Don’t move, Manumitter! We still need you alive! FOR NOW!”
Frisk could hear Undyne sour screams overhead. She scrambled over to the other
side of the room, moving out of Undyne’s line of sight. Her hoodie sleeve was
torn and stained crimson. Her mind was literally twisting inside her skull.
Pure trepidation backed by adrenaline.
 
Oh my god… Oh my god!… GET TO A DOOR NOW!!! TRY AND OPEN ONE!
 
She sprinted to one of the open alcoves and her eyes locked on the door at the
back of the shallow cavern. She could hear Undyne’s heavy iron-plated greaves
overhead. Undyne was running. She knew that the monster was moving to the other
side to target her again.
 
Use your shield!!!
 
Use it NOW!
 
Frisk turned to face the arena and held her trembling arms out in front.
Dazzling red blinded her as the liquid ruby soul shield appeared before her
hands instantly. It spanned the opening of the nook, protecting her inside with
the door. Frisk could see Undyne through the translucent barrier. She had run
to the other side opposite and was leering down at Frisk below. And Frisk
watched in horror as the armored monster began to summon another spear. It
appeared in her claw through a green wisp of smoke. Undyne was scowling at
Frisk’s shield, spiraling into a rage.
“You… little BRAT!” Undyne shouted and propelled the second spear directly at
the shield.
Every muscle in Frisk’s body tensed and she shut her eyes. She let out a cry as
she heard the polearm skewer the screen. But… but it held firm. Her soul held
strong! It didn’t shatter or crack or even tremble. The spear just barely
pierced the center of the gleaming crimson barricade.
 
The door! Try and open the door! FAST!!!
 
Frisk knew she couldn’t keep her hold away from the shield for very long
without it vanishing. In a reluctant gesture, Frisk tore her hands from the
shield and quickly slammed them hard against the door behind her, directly at
the center of the engraved symbol. Hurry… for the love of god, hurry!! She
could hear Undyne screaming above and an earsplitting crash as yet another
spear puncturing her shield. She was racing against the clock.
 
OPEN! OPEN!!!!
 
But something felt… wrong. When she pressed her glowing hands against the
symbol, it didn’t feel warm. The door felt cold and corrupt. Its aura was
contaminated. This door is a fake door. This is a ruse. Don’t touch it!
Frisk pried her hands from the door in a panic. She immediately swiveled around
and replaced her hands against the shield, which now had three spears jutting
out from it on the other side.
“Get out here, you LITTLE BRAT! I’m not playing games!” Undyne taunted her from
overhead.
Frisk was sweating, fighting against the anxiety induced head-rush that started
to paralyze her again. She had to move! She couldn’t just stand here behind the
shield! It would shatter eventually! Its sheen was already starting to flicker.
 
You have to try another door! You have to be fast!
 
Frisk scanned the doors on the opposite side of the arena. Her eyes locked onto
one of the symbols. It looked somewhat familiar, but she couldn’t be sure. She
would have to test it. It was the only way……
 
Once the shield is down you RUN.
 
Frisk counted down in her head, desperately trying to ignore Undyne’s provoking
jeers that rained down on her from above.
 
 
One…
 
Another spear came flying down and drilled into right side of the shield.
 
Two…
 
Her soul’s barrier was starting to waver and she heard a sharp cracking of
glass as a narrow fissure ripped through the liquid red. The shield was
starting to shatter.
 
………THREE!
 
 
Frisk pulled her hands to her sides and the shield disappeared. The multiple
spears fell into the water with a loud splash and Frisk darted across the arena
to the opposite side. She skidded into another alcove and quickly summoned a
new shield behind her as fast as she could. This was too much! She could barely
breathe. Her heart was frantic and battering the inside of her chest.
 
T-this one… Try this door!
 
She ripped her hands away from her shield for just a moment to try the second
door but it was just as cold as the first. Her heart sank… a-another fake!?
Frisk heard Undyne start to laugh overhead. That echoing cackle was so bitter
that it literally left a bad taste in her mouth.
“Fwuahaahahaha!! Confused, Manumitter? I can do this all day, but you certainly
CAN’T!” Undyne shouted and Frisk flinched as she heard another spear ram into
the shield behind her. Frisk quickly pulled her hands away from the second
false gate and replaced them back at her barrier. Sweat was dripping in her
eyes and her heart weighed down in the pit of her stomach with apprehension.
She was panting heavily, struggling for a breath. Her arms were growing weaker…
the soul barrier was draining her energy.
 
This is… bad.
 
Frisk peered through the shield, back at the other doors. She was at a loss.
Spear after spear pierced her soul’s wall. Every symbol… they all looked so
similar! W-what could she do!? A full blown panic attack was starting to grip
around her heart. Every shred of hope was dwindling. If this monster caught
her… would that be the end? Was this the end of the line?
 
Somebody help me! Anybody help me!
 
 
This is hopeless…
 
 
…………
 
 
‘Your soul... it is stronger than you know.’
 
……
 
 
Chara's words rung in Frisk’s head like a distant lighthouse out at sea,
piercing the darkness that hovered all around it. A shred of hope. An upsurge
of determination. And it cut through the despair.
 
Frisk blocked out Undyne’s screams and perpetual piercing arrows. She closed
her eyes, breathing hard as she searched deep within her memory.
 
 
Remember…… Remember…… Remember the shed door… Remember that symbol… The first
time you saw it… How scared you were… How dark it was… It feels like years ago,
but you can see it… You can see that symbol… It had sharp angles at the top in
three peaks… Curling downwards… Curling into itself in a spiral…
 
 
…………
 
 
……
 
 
And she saw it. She saw the symbol in her mind’s eye. She remembered.
 
 
Her eyes shot open and scanned every door frantically. But wait… wait, that
door… the door towards the opposite right side of the arena. Frisk’s eyes
settled upon that alcove in particular and she saw it. The symbol. That was it.
That was the one. That was the 5th gate!
Frisk pried one hand away from her shield and dug inside her pocket. She pulled
out her box cutter, gripping it tightly, and slid the sharp 5-inch segmented
blade out from its sheath.
 
 
'You are not weak.'
 
 
No. I’m not.
 
 
Frisk ripped her hand away from her shield, pierced by at least ten of Undyne’s
iron pikes. The shield vanished instantly and all the spears plunged into the
water.
 
 
Run.
 
 
Frisk lunged forward through the center of the room, splashing through the
ankle-high water making a straight line for the door. The 5th gate. Her escape.
 
Suddenly the whole arena shook violently. The abrupt motion made Frisk trip
forward and she fell down to her hands and knees in the water. She was so
close! Only a few feet away from the 5th gate.
But Undyne had jumped down from her pearch. She sprung down to the lower
waterlogged floor with such substantial force that it shook the entire
hippodrome. And she was just a few yards away from Frisk. Just a few yards away
in the center of the chamber.
 
Oh god, RUN! RUN NOW!!
 
“I am DONE playing games!” Undyne sneered as she threw her spear to the side to
free up both her claws. Her crimson teeth clenched together so tightly that her
gums started to bleed down her chin.
Frisk clambered back up to her feet and gripped her box cutter tightly. Her
knees were shaking so terribly that she could barely stand. She stared back in
horror as Undyne approached. Frisk could see her clearly now that they were
both on the same level. And she was so much more terrifying and daunting up
close. Frisk started to sprint again but Undyne was already charging after her.
 
She’s right behind you!!! USE YOUR SHIELD!!
 
But Frisk was too slow. Undyne grabbed at the back of Frisk’s backpack, tearing
it from her shoulders and threw her hard into the flooded floor. Frisk slammed
against her side in the water with a yelp. And Undyne stood over her, that
sickening red smirk dripping with her own blood.
“You are coming with me, you little BRAT!” Undyne screeched out and reached
down. Her sharp webbed claws dug into the front of Frisk’s soaked hoodie,
piercing the fabric, digging into her flesh painfully. Frisk cried out as those
claws punctured her chest. Undyne lifted her out of the water off the floor,
holding the girl only inches away from those grisly teeth. And Undyne’s claws
curled deeper inside Frisk’s skin. It hurt! Frisk’s mind was spinning from the
pain. The armored monster grinned wider at Frisk’s trembling cries and growled,
“ … And after you open that last door, I'm going to mount your head above my
MANTEL!"
 
Your blade! USE IT NOW!
 
This was it. The last desperate attempt. Frisks determination surged throughout
her entire body. Her soul felt like it was burning a hole in the center of her
chest. And her power ran down both her arms, turning them a brilliant scarlet.
She lifted her box cutter in one hand, her fingers encompassed in spiraling
liquid red like circling snakes. The dazzling gelatinous material ran down
along the knife’s handle, down the blade, and extended outward, creating a… a
weapon. A shimmering blade made of red translucent liquid glass, shining so
brightly in the humid atmosphere.
 
 
Her soul…
 
Her soul modified that measly box cutter into something new. Something
powerful.
 
Her soul had generated...
 
A sword.
 
 
 
Frisk brought the sharpened edge of the crimson crystallized sword down against
Undyne’s gripping hand without thinking. It cut into the monster’s flesh and
she screamed out and dropped Frisk to the ground.
“W-what!?!? You-… LITTLE… FUCKING… BRAT!” Undyne was raging and cursing as she
grasped at her damaged hand. She was bleeding… Frisk’s sword had actually cut
deep enough into the monster’s exposed wrist to make her bleed.
Frisk stared back at Undyne, pure horror and amazement overthrowing every
thought. She scrambled up to her feet and darted to the door. To the 5th gate.
Her heart was pounding so fast, her head was spinning, her lungs burned with
each frenzied inhale.
 
GET TO THAT DOOR NOW! THROW UP YOUR SHIELD AND OPEN THAT DOOR!
 
Frisk didn’t even know if the 5th gate would lead to an escape from Undyne. But
it was the only chance she had. She scampered through the water to the alcove.
There was no time to think. No time to consider the consequences and Frisk
needed both her hands. She dropped her box cutter to the floor and the gleaming
crimson sword immediately disappeared the moment she let go, morphing back into
an ordinary utility knife. Frisk threw up both her hands in the alcove archway,
creating another soul barrier between her and the arena.
But Undyne wasn’t far behind. She ran after Frisk and stopped in front of the
barrier. Undyne was cursing and screaming and she summoned another spear and
started to stab it repeatedly into Frisk’s soul shield. Over and over. So
jarring and enraged. The monster’s own blood splattered against the shield. She
was in a frenzy.
“GET OUT HERE, YOU FUCKING BRAT! GET OUT HERE AND FIGHT ME, MANUMITTER!”
Frisk’s arms were trembling violently as Undyne’s spear jammed into the shield
in the same spot. Oh, god… She was trying to break through . The barrier was
going to crack. It won’t hold if she kept that up!
 
Open the door! Open the door!!! HURRY!
 
Frisk whimpered from pure terror. She only had one shot at this. Only a few
seconds to do it right. She had to try.
 
Frisk ripped her hands away from the shield and slammed them down against that
familiar symbol engraved upon the door. All she could hear was the sound of
Undyne screaming and smashing against her shield behind her. Her chest was
bleeding furiously through her soaked, ripped hoodie. She tried to ignore the
pain and just focused on the door. Focus. FOCUS.
 
 
P-please!
 
Nothing happened…
 
Come on!!! PLEASE!!! PLEASE BE THE CORRECT DOOR! PLEASE OPEN!
 
Undyne was screaming incoherently behind her.
 
PLEASE!
 
The sound of glass splitting pierced her ears. Her soul’s shield was starting
to break. It was beginning to shatter.
 
O-oh god… HURRY!!! It can’t end this way!
 
 
Then, her red luminous fingers started to tingle.
 
She could feel that familiar warmth flow down her arms to her open palms from
the very center of her soul. Her hands grew hotter and hotter against the
engraved symbol and the door started to tremble under her touch. This is the
one! Her heart leapt with elation and the wooden door creaked open. A sudden
rush of humid wind blew Frisk’s hair back as the door swung outwards. It was
pitch black on the other side and a deafening noise of fast rushing water was
the only thing she could hear.
 
A waterfall…
 
She was standing at the top of a waterfall.
 
 
“YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE, MANUMITTER!” Undyne was screaming at the top of her
lungs. Frisk heard a sickening shatter over the sound of the loud surging
waterfall at her feet. Her soul shield was cracking and crumbling to the floor.
 
 
YOU NEED TO JUMP!! JUMP NOW!
 
Frisk looked over her shoulder in a panic, back at Undyne who was literally
tearing the soul shield to pieces, ripping it apart with her bloodied claws,
trying to grasp at Frisk through a jagged opening in the crystalline glass.
 
JUMP!!! HURRY!!
 
Frisk tore her terrified gaze from Undyne and staggered forward into the dark
open doorway.
 
W-wait!! The box cutter!? It was in the water!!
 
She swiveled around and saw the blade below the clear water at the base of her
crumbling shield.
 
THERE IS NO TIME!!! LEAVE IT!
 
Undyne burst through the shield and clumps of liquid rubies crumbled to the
floor, turning a putrid opaque crimson. The armored monster lunged for Frisk,
her sharp clawed hand outstretched. Her nails just barely grazed against the
back of Frisk’s wet hoodie.
 
GO!!
 
Frisk felt like she was moving in slow motion. She staggered forward, holding
her breath, closing her eyes tight, and stepped through the open archway into
the misty darkness. A rush of turbulent water immediately swept Frisk off her
feet and she was sucked down into a black, sinuous river.
 
Deep down into cold, rushing, liquid darkness.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: Hotland.
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hnngggg!! HT!Undyne is so badass… I… I cannot… *shamelessly fangirls*
     Get ready for the beginning of Hotland and some… oh, god…… HT!Flowey
     ಠ╭╮ಠ
     Advance warning: The next chapter will contain graphic violence &
     guro.
     Actually… Advance advance warning: The next 3-4 chapters will all
     contain graphic and explicit violence, guro, and the first
     anticipated brutal non-con scene. So, yeah… Looking forward to it!
     /////////////////////
***** XVIII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 18: Frisk’s escape from Waterfall and the entrance to
     Hotland.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hey all you deviants!
     Welcome to the thunderdome! No- wait… that was the previous chapter.
     In Chapter 18 we'll see a brief look at the beginnings of Hotland.
     Also, Flowey makes an appearance. In the original Horrortale teaser
     game, Flowey is sort of an unseen guide who only appears after the
     protagonists dies. I'll be doing a different take on Flowey here. And
     my only reason for that is because I'm a complete sucker for sadistic
     Flowey. I'm sorry, that's not a very good excuse :'D aahah…
     Anyway, things are starting to pick up rapidly in this chapter. I
     don't really want to give anything away so I'll keep these notes
     vague. Also, I apologize again for the length. I might edit it down a
     bit later.
     Warning: This chapter contains graphic and explicit depictions of
     violence/guro.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
Frisk coughed and gagged and gasped for a breath as she fought against the
pitch black rushing water. The swell pulled her under a surge of choppy waves.
She couldn’t see anything. It was as dark as night and the piercing water
chilled her to the bone as each crashing wave cut into her skin like knives.
She could barely hear her own cries over the roar of the winding and twisting
upswell.
And then she was falling. She was falling down in a crashing torrent of water,
down the waterfall. Every muscle in her body tensed as she waited for that
painful impact and she hit the maelstrom below severely. It felt like she had
just fallen on a bed of needles. The impact knocked out what little wind she
had in her lungs and she gasped for a breath, only to breathe in a painful
mouthful of water. And even after reaching the bottom of the falls, the water
continued to rush. The channel tide was relentless and she started to crash
against wet rocks along the surface of the surging flood.
 
GRAB ONE!
 
Frisk gasped and coughed violently in the dark and she tried to grab onto one
of the boulders. They were so slippery. She kept missing them.
 
You are going to DROWN if you don’t do something!!
 
Frisk reached out and grabbed the next slab of rock that hit her. She dug her
fingers hard into the stone and shifted her body to the side of it. The water
raged and she lost her gripping. She was swept up by another tide, but she
slammed back into something hard. It felt like… like the stony riverbank.
Frisk nudged her way in between two jutting boulders, trying to gasp for a
breath of air above the surface. She used what little energy she had left to
pull herself up onto the rocks and climb over them, away from the raging river.
She crawled forward in the darkness and collapsed just a few feet away from the
fierce stream on the riverbank.
 
Oh… god…
 
She lay there in a puddle, panting heavily and coughing up the water that stung
her lungs. Her chest hurt terribly, but she couldn’t even see the damage. It
was so dark… but it was not completely black. There was a light. Frisk could
see a light out of the corner of her eye from above. She weakly glanced up
towards the light and she could see the open doorway. She could see the gate
that she had just opened. And she could make out the massive waterfall… Had she
honestly fallen down THAT!? How the hell was she alive right now!
It had to be at least twenty stories up.
Frisk also saw the dark silhouette of a figure standing in the doorway at the
very top of the falls. oh, god… It was Undyne. Frisk could easily make out the
spear she was holding. There was someone standing next to her. W-was that…
MK??? MK was standing next to her and they were both peering over the side of
the waterfall. Were they searching for her?
She could just barely make out the taller figure stamping her feet and throwing
her arms up in the air. Undyne was in a rage. C-could they see her down here?
No… no it was too dark and obscured by the waterfall and mist. They looked like
they were arguing. Undyne was probably furious.
Frisk stared back at the two dark silhouettes. Her eyes were slowly but surely
adjusting to the stark black that surrounded her. She could see the raging
river now, and the multiple jutting boulders that decorated the banks. She
could also see the side of the cave walls. The cavern was large and stretched
on for miles, and the river ran right down the center of it. She weakly stared
back up at the figures at the tip top of the waterfall. She watched Undyne turn
away, heading back into the arena. The shorter figure reluctantly followed
behind her. They both disappeared and all Frisk could see was the empty bright
doorway hanging ajar.
 
Holy hell… What… W-what should she do now?
 
Frisk panted heavily, struggling to catch a breath. She tried to stagger up to
her feet but fell back down to the floor immediately. She had no strength.
Every shred of energy she had had been drained during the fight with Undyne…
and the last ounce of determination was spent to save herself from the raging
river.
Frisk pressed her forehead down into the puddle of water below her. She was
soaked and shivering and her chest stung terribly. She reached underneath
herself and held a hand to her breastbone. She could feel warm liquid seeped
against her open palm… blood.
Undyne had scratched her chest to shreds and she was bleeding through her
hoodie.
“G-god…” She couldn’t even hear her own voice over the vigorous tides beside
her. She slowly sat up and glanced down at her chest. She could just barely
make out the damage in the shadows. Her fingers ran over the torn fabric. There
were three aggressive, sunken claw marks that ripped through the front of her
hoodie - It looked like she had been attacked by a bear - and she could see her
wounds through the holes.
The lacerations were deep and her torn skin was caked with glossy crimson. The
lesions ran down between her small breasts to the bottom of her rib cage. Her
skin was flayed at the edges where Undyne’s claws had hooked under her flesh.
Frisk clenched her teeth tightly and hot tears began to stream down her cheeks.
She couldn’t stop them. She felt so desperate… so hopeless. The wounds sent
waves of agony up her torso and she pressed both her hands against her front to
try and stop the bleeding.
 
How long… How long can I keep this up?…
 
She wanted to scream but instead she sobbed. She hung her head, short wet
chestnut locks falling in her face. She wanted to die in that moment. It was
too much. It was not worth it. Too much pain, too much terror. And for some
reason Frisk saw that red, pulsing hue appear in her mind.
 
 
’and i’ll be watching you…’
 
 
San’s voice rung in her head. Was he watching her right now? Was he getting off
to watching her suffer like this? Or was it all some hilarious joke to him?
But before Frisk could contemplate another second of those harrowing thoughts,
she heard a loud siren wail overhead. It was so loud that it cut through the
roaring river tides. Oh crap… The air sirens, they were screeching loudly,
echoing off the wet walls of the cave which only amplified the sound even
further.
 
Undyne must have sounded the alarms. Those were her alarms, remember!? Every
monster in Waterfall is going to be searching for you! You have to move!
 
Frisk somehow managed to stumble to her feet. She reached around for her
backpack, but quickly remembered that Undyne had ripped it from her shoulders.
She also lost her box cutter in the arena… her blade… The memory of her knife
dawned in red and glowing and extending out like a sword swept through her
mind. But she didn’t have time to evaluate it right then. She had to get as far
away from this place as possible.
Frisk staggered up and limped over towards the side wall of the cave. Her
shoulder pressed against it and she slumped forward, grasping at her chest with
one hand. She began to take slow, steady steps, following the river downstream.
She glanced back over her shoulder at the roaring waterfall and the faraway
open gate, but soon they both began to disappear into the misty shadows as she
moved.
 
 
 
 
 
And she walked and walked and walked on in the wet darkness. She moved slowly.
She was completely drained of the slightest shred of energy. Her determination
was buried under a blanket of pessimism. Frisk reached a bloodied hand into her
pocket and felt around. Miraculously she still had her cell phone. She pressed
her thumb against the side button but the phone did not turn on, and water
leaked out from the backside. Shit… Now she had no light either. Or a clock… or
food… or anything. And the air raid siren continued to wail… but it was
starting to soften. Frisk was slowly making her way deeper into the dark
tunnels, away from Waterfall, away from Undyne and MK, away from the sirens.
 
 
Take deep breaths…
 
I’m so tired…
 
I know. Breathe in and out. You are still alive.
 
It hurts so much...
 
 
Frisk let out a whimper, still clutching at her soggy hoodie. The blood that
stained her hands in thick layers had already begun to clot and dry. Somehow
she wasn’t bleeding out. Perhaps the wounds weren't nearly as deep as they
looked. And they certainly looked nasty.
She stumbled along in the dark, using the wall next to her to guide every step.
It was terrifying, and she started to grow more anxious with every passing
moment. She kept expecting to hear footsteps from monsters out on the hunt for
her. But all she could hear was rushing water, and even that started to
subside. The once raging upswell of waves had dwindled down to a steady
bubbling stream.
Suddenly Frisk noticed something and she stopped dead in her tracks. She saw
it, out of the corner of her eye. It was just barely visible… it was… it was a
light. A dim, red hue that rose up from the river. Frisk blinked, staring
cautiously at the waterway in the center of the yawning cave. She slowly made
her way towards the riverbank and peered down into the stream. There were long,
bright red gaping fissures at the very bottom of the river. She could see them
clearly through the unclouded water. W-what… what was that?
Frisk decided to keep walking along the river’s border. Her eyes followed the
red crevices. They were starting to become brighter, and the light illuminated
the tunnel in a faint maroon glow. At least… at least she could see now. She
wasn’t in the pitch black anymore, but the red light gave her no peace of mind.
If anything it made the caves even more disheartening.
 
Frisk would stop and sit every now and then. She felt so weak from her fight
with Undyne and from blood loss. She wished she had something to eat, maybe a
snack would have helped her regain some strength. Frisk stared down in the
water as she rested along the bank. Her eyes studied the fissures carefully. It
almost looked the red hue inside the cracks were moving.
She blinked and lowered her hands, holding her palms over the slow churning
surface of the stream. The water… the water was hot.
 
What the…
 
The water was actually steaming. Frisk sat there in a stupor and slowly pulled
her hands away from the surface. And it suddenly hit her. Those red fissures
down there… W-was that-… lava? Some sort of underwater volcano crevice? She had
noticed that the cave, which was once pleasantly cool, had been getting warmer
and warmer as she journeyed forth. But she just figured that it was from her
own anxiety, or maybe she had a fever from the blood loss.
Frisk stared back at the red running underwater breaches. There were dozens of
them, and they ran along the bottom of the river like tree roots. They were
actually somewhat aesthetically pleasing to look at. The color reminded Frisk
of her own soul.
 
 
 
 
After the short break, Frisk pulled herself up to her feet and continued on.
The temperature rose steadily. At least she wasn’t cold anymore… but Frisk soon
found herself trying to fan her face with her hoodie sleeve. And as she walked
along her thoughts began to swell with visions of her soul shield… and that
sword. Was that a new ability she had discovered? Chara had mentioned that she
would need her utility knife ‘in the end.’ Is that what she had meant? Had
Chara known that her soul could summon forth such an amazing, beautiful weapon
with the use of her box cutter? And if that was the case… how did Chara even
know that? How did Chara know so much?
 
'I'm you.'
 
Frisk clenched her teeth as Chara’s words spilled over her brooding thoughts.
They made no sense to her, and she didn’t want to think about it.
But suddenly, Frisk noticed something up ahead. She stopped dead in her tracks
and almost crouched down. It was hard to make out in the dim maroon light, but
there was something dark against her side of the cave wall. It was… it was an
open archway. And there was a pale light spilling, just barely visible, from
the opening.
Frisk’s heart lurched at the sight of something new and unexpected. She stepped
over to the side of the wall and slowly slinked along, moving towards the
archway. She couldn’t hear anything except the sound of the running river and
her own heart beat. All of Waterfall was probably out searching for her right
now. She had to be cautious.
 
 
 
Frisk reached the edge of the opening and pressed her back flat against the
wall. She took in a deep breath of warm, humid cave air, and very slowly peered
over the side into the small dwelling.
It was simply a small empty cavern. But wait-… There was… there was a candle.
 
There was a candle!!!
 
Frisk stumbled forward and ran over to the candle towards the back of the room.
She fell to her knees before it, staring at the gentle wisping ember with wide,
glassy eyes. And for some reason the sight of the candle, the sight of
something familiar, made her smile. Tears began to glaze over her soft brown
eyes and she almost wept with joy. A candle… a save-point… something
recognizable in this hell hole…
She reached a hand out towards the candlestick. Clear, glossy beads of wax
dripped down its sides, forming a translucent puddle around the base. Slowly,
she inched her fingers closer and closer. She knew what to expect and tensed up
every muscle, and her fingertips pressed into the warm wax and she felt that
sudden surge of electricity run up her spine. The swift force blinded her,
turning her vision into a robust white light. The shock propelled her backwards
but it was over in a split second.
Frisk opened her eyes. Her hand was still outstretched and trembling, and she
breathed heavily as she glanced back at the candle. She could never quite get
used to that. But a wave of relief spilled over her. Last time she had died,
she returned to a candle. If she went by that logic, then that means that if
she were to die again then she would return to this candle. Just the thought of
having to face Undyne again filled her with dread. At least she was past
Waterfall.
 
 
 
 
Frisk remained in the small hollow alcove next to the candle for a while. She
leaned back against the wall and pulled her hoodie up over her head, trying to
rest. She checked the wounds at her chest again. The bleeding had stopped but
the entire front of her clothing was soaked with blood and ripped to hell. At
least the tears in the fabric didn’t reveal anything besides her injuries.
Frisk began to doze in and out. Sleep would take her, but then she would wake
shortly afterwards from pain, or anxiety, or from the stifling warmth. She was
hungry… and thirsty. She lifted her hands and tried to summon her shield. Her
arms glowed faintly but the shield never came. She did not have enough energy
to call it forth. And she could just barely feel her soul simmering in her
chest, but it felt wounded and tired.
What should she do? She couldn’t stay here in this little alcove forever… She
had to keep moving forward. She had to find the next door… the 6th gate. How
many gates were there? Would she be doing this forever? Frisk started to wish
that she had asked more questions. She should have interrogated Napstablook or
Papyrus or even MK when she had the chance.
 
 
After what felt like hours of unsuccessfully trying to get some sleep, Frisk
rose up to her feet. She glanced back at the candle one more time before she
turned and exited the small stone niche. And began walking down the red
illuminated cave once more.
 
 
It was getting hotter. The water was turning redder. Frisk stared down at the
river and noticed that the crimson fissures at the bottom were now gaping wide.
That layer of lava was actually starting to spill into the water, cutting it in
two. What was once a cool, rushing stream was now a river of melted molten
rock. The stench of toxic sulfur hung heavy in the atmosphere and it burned
Frisk’s nose. The cavern was no longer dark, it was illuminated a bright red
from the lava stream and Frisk could see every corner clearly. She could
actually see the ceiling now and it hung high overhead.
 
The cavern extended outwards. The narrow tunnels were now large chambers. The
lava river expanded and formed multiple currents that ran along the floor. It
was so hot. Frisk was sweating. She tugged the front of her hoodie up over her
nose so that she wouldn’t breathe in any thick toxins, but it reeked of blood
under her clothes. She couldn’t decide which was worse.
As she walked, Frisk began to notice something strange along the edges of the
cave chambers. There were large crushed stones, but they looked like they had
once been carved to form square bricks. It looked like… like ruins. Some of the
rocks were painted different colors. Had there been a village down here? Who
could have survived in this place? This certainly was not Waterfall… Perhaps
this was a desolate, abandoned village like Snowdin. Except it was inside a
volcanic mountain.
Frisk carefully maneuvered her way through the room, stepping over narrow
streams of bubbling lava. Just standing close to them made her feet burn up. At
one point she thought that the heat was going to melt the rubber soles of her
sneakers. Frisk inched towards the edge of the room, away from the lava
streams, over by the ruins. She studied the rocky debris. It was so dilapidated
but she could see broken pillars on their sides and crumbled roof shingles. A
small house once stood there.
 
This place… This place has a dangerous aura…
 
 
She was dripping with sweat and felt light-headed from the heat but she kept
moving, she kept walking along the edge of the massive caverns. She tugged at
Papyrus’ metal collar still wrapped around her throat. It felt like it was
choking her.
It was… so hot… It was getting harder to breathe. Her vision was starting to go
hazy. Her head was spinning. There was… no oxygen in this place. The boiling
heat was stifling and she was so damn thirsty. She watched as shivering mirages
rose from the lava and the sight made her feel queasy. Frisk panted heavily and
stumbled over towards some collapsed, broken walls that lay in chunks on the
ground. She sunk down to the rocky gravel floor and grabbed at her bleeding
chest with one hand allowing her eyes to shut.
 
 
You can’t stay here… you have to keep moving…
 
I can’t… It’s too hot… I’m so tired…
 
You have to move! It’s dangerous here!
 
I don’t want to move anymore…
 
There’s something alive…!!
 
So hot…
 
There’s something alive and moving in the ground! Can’t you hear it!? Get up!
 
So… tired……
 
G-get up!! Move, you idiot!
 
 
Frisk’s inner voice began to trample over her debilitation and she slowly
opened her eyes.
Wait… she had heard something. And it was not the sound of the bubbling lava.
It was the sound of stirring gravel. And it was getting louder.
Frisk glanced down at the ground with a depleted gaze. Something was trailing
under the rocky soil, heading straight towards her. Her eyes immediately shot
open and her heart started to hurdle at the sight. Oh, god… w-what the hell!!
What was that!?!?! Please, no… not another monster. She couldn’t handle it. She
couldn’t take another monster right now.
Frisk tried to stand but she stumbled back down to the ground. Her legs felt
like jelly. And whatever was under the soil was moving closer, heading straight
for her.
“G-get back!” Frisk cried out back at the buried lump. It was not very big. The
moving mass was probably about the size of a bowling ball. But regardless, she
didn’t want to meet it, whatever it was. Frisk tried to grasp at some of the
rubble behind her and climb up to her feet but she faltered again. Her energy
was long gone.
The shrouded bulge burrowed its way directly in front of her before it stopped
short. Frisk stared at the mound in horror, her teeth clenched as she held back
a terrified whimper. She raised one frail arm outward, her other hand still
clutching at her bleeding chest, and tried to summon her shield. A dull light
flickered before her palm, but it didn’t stay. She was too weak. Her soul was
exhausted.
And then, whatever was hidden under the rocky soil, started to rise up. It
burst through the crust of the earth at her feet.
 
It was…… i-it was… some sort… of plant?
 
What the hell.
 
It was some kind of flower. But… oh, god… it was not like any flower she had
ever seen before. It had a face directly in the center framed by dozens of
decrepit, mold-stained petals. And within its face, it had one single, daunting
eye. It also had a mouth with thin black razor blades for teeth positioned
underneath the eyeball. It was like some kind of grotesque alien life form.
The plant monster rose up from the ground in front of her. Its thick snake-like
stem was adorned with small red tipped thorns. The eerie monster’s solitary
cyclops eye was massive and tinted a deep red with a round green constricting
pupil at the very center. Its teeth were small shards of obsidian that
interlinked perfectly with one another and reflected against the red light of
the cave.
And the macabre plant monster… smiled.
“Get away!!!” Frisk screamed without hesitation. Please, for the love of god,
please summon your shield! Please! Please!!!
She dug deep into her soul, searching for her determination, searching for her
power. Her hand trembled out in front of her as she tried to call forth her
barrier. But there was simply a meager flicker of crimson for a split second,
and then it vanished into nothing. She couldn’t call it… s-she couldn’t protect
herself.
And the flower blinked slowly and smiled wider. The way it smiled, it was
almost cheerful - a stark contrast to its alarming and grotesque features - and
that jubilant smile terrified her even more than its appearance.
 
And then… then it spoke.
 
“Hi-ya.”
 
…………
 
The flower…
 
The flower just said ‘hiya’……
 
“What’re you doing down here?”
 
Oh, god… It spoke again.
 
Frisk stared back at it, her auburn eyes as wide as saucers. She clutched at
her bloodied chest with one hand while the other stretched out before her,
trembling fiercely. The flower’s voice was an echoing screech that burrowed
deep inside her ears. It was piercing and acidic, like jagged fingernails
scraping against a blackboard. It sent goosebumps along every inch of her
flesh. And the monster was starting to skulk even closer towards her. Its thick
stem contorted and inched forward in the air like a cobra ready to strike.
Frisk pressed back firmly against the rocks behind her. The heels of her
sneakers dug and slipped into the dirt. She felt so light-headed from the heat
that she thought she might have been hallucination.
The flower inched in so close, his macabre face just inches away from hers.
That round vermillion eye began to narrow as the monster studied her over. His
teeth were clenched, baring an elated grin that disturbed Frisk to no end. And
his sickly-green pupil darted around in a pool of red.
“I haven't seen anyone down here in ages.” He spoke again. His cheery grin
expanded along his simple features.
Frisk’s chin quivered as she stared back at the coiling creature. She reached
deep down in her exhausted soul for some courage to face him. There was none.
“P-please…” She whispered out in a dry, desperate plea. She couldn’t do it
anymore… She could not manage anymore blood-thirsty monsters. She was so tired.
She was in so much pain.
But the flower acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “You’re a human, aren’t ‘cha?”
His voice spilled out like corrosive oil. The flower twitched and shifted to
the side, leaning out of Frisk’s line of vision. Frisk quickly turned her head,
watching him carefully. She did not want this delusive creature out of her
sight even for a second.
 
You need to get away from this thing… right now!
 
The inner voice was frantic and panicking. Despite his cheerful smile, Frisk
knew this monster was malicious, whatever his intentions were. Frisk could
practically sense his nefarious weighty aura.
Then there was a sound, like stones scraping against each other, and Frisk
turned to look down at the ground. One of the flower’s tendrils had pierced
through the gravel flooring. It was a thick bronze stem adorned from top to
bottom with rows of thorns… large, massive thorns.
“I knew you were a human. I could smell your blood from a mile away!” The
flower’s wide, daunting cyclops eye ripped its gaze from Frisk’s face and it
glanced down at her bloodied chest. Her hoodie was still torn, and it was caked
in sticky, clotting crimson. The flower… I-its eye locked onto her multiple
lacerations. The way he stared at her injuries… it made Frisk’s stomach churn.
It reminded Frisk of the way Sans stared at her…
 
Run. NOW. RUN.
 
Frisk felt a terrible surge of fear. A crushing upswell of terror, almost as
aggressive as it was during her fight with Undyne.
 
MOVE!!
 
Frisk summoned what little energy she had left and clumsily leapt up to her
feet. She almost tripped against the cracked ground as she bound forward
towards the center of the volcanic chamber, clambering away from the monster.
 
But… but something… s-something grabbed her…
 
Something powerful and gripping wrapped around her ankle from behind and it
yanked her leg backwards out from under her. Frisk fell forward painfully
against floor. Her chin hit the ground and she inadvertently bit her lower lip
hard.
She cried out, immediately tasting blood, and gasped as the wind was knocked
from her lungs. Oh-… oh, god… something was dragging her back. Frisk screamed
weakly and kicked her foot behind her, trying to shake off whatever it was that
was hauling her back towards the stony ruins. She frantically peered over her
shoulder and her heart started to plummet at the sight.
The monstrous flower had wrapped his thick thorny tendril around Frisk’s ankle.
It was exceptionally powerful and dragged her backwards towards him. Frisk
clawed at the ground, trying to pull herself away, kicking violently behind
her.
 
Oh my god, oh my god!!! D-do something!!
 
There’s nothing I can do!!! Get this thing off me!!!
 
“G-get off!!! Get off me!” Frisk finally found a voice. It trembled and cracked
as she screamed out and she clutched onto the sweltering rocky cave floor with
both hands. It did little good. The flower’s brooding vine yanked her back so
aggressive, so jarring, pulling her towards him. Frisk felt a terrible pain at
her lower leg and for a moment she thought that the plant monster had crushed
her ankle under his squeezing root. But… the pain was distinct. Frisk looked
down at her foot and she could see the monster’s thorns were actually piercing
into her flesh. They dug in deep, slipping inside her skin like hot scalpels
cutting through raw meat.
Frisk screamed out. It hurt… it hurt so terribly. The skin at her ankle was
sensitive. The stinging spurs pierced through her flesh, pressing into her
joints, into her bone. She could feel hot liquid running down in her sneaker -
thin streams of blood. She tried to kick off the thorny tendril again but it
yanked her back even rougher and soon Frisk was positioned underneath the
coiling flower.
“S-stop… please…” She begged him weakly. If she had the strength she would have
tried to jab at the creature's eye with her fingers, or kick at his face with
her opposite foot. But instead she just clung to the floor with both hands.
The flower’s delighted wide grin never wavered. He simply tightened his grasp
at her ankle and leaned in close to the side of her face. “Ya know, I can’t
even remember the last time I had a decent meal. And you smell sooooo good.”
Her heart started to pound furiously . No… no no no NO NO! This cannot happen!
Not again!
“S-stop!! I am the Manumitter!” Frisk screamed frantically. She reached back
for the vine that grasped her ankle and started to pull at the coiling,
malleable stem with her fingers. The thorns dug into her hands the moment she
grabbed them she cried out again from the sharp pain in her palms. It stung… It
burned! Thorns sunk into her hands like thick needles and it felt like they had
just been doused in acid.
The flower blinked down at her. He was finally listening.
“Oh, the Manumitter? Is that right?” But his words were a sly scoff. He may
have been listening, but he certainly didn’t believe her. “HAH! That’s rich.”
And his squeezing tendrils tightened at her ankle and started to jerk her
around, pulling Frisk against her shoulder on her side.
She heard the sound of rocks crumbling again. She could feel the floor stir
underneath her, and two more thick curling roots sprung up from underground.
They immediately wrapped around her hands and wrists, binding them together,
and her other ankle, pinning it hard to the floor.
The thick vines bound her limbs, the thorns dug into her flesh and she could
see blood seeping from each pierced wound. The palms of her hands were covered
in small, bleeding cavities from where the thorns had been. She was starting to
feel… strange… she was starting to feel dizzy. Her limbs felt hot, but it
wasn’t that familiar warmth of her soul. Something was wrong. It felt like she
had been drugged.
“N-no… Please!… I- I need to open the doors… Don’t you- don’t you want t-to be
free?!” Frisk tried to ignore the vertigo burrowing in her head. Her words were
literally the only leverage she had over these blood-thirsty beasts… and half
the time it didn’t even work. Frisk was slowly starting to discover that most
of the monsters didn’t even want freedom… they just wanted… a meal.
The flower leaned back down towards her where she lay, bound by multiple
thickset restraining tendrils. Frisk glanced weakly into his spectral red eye.
She could see her own reflection in it, like some grisly scarlet mirror.
“What, are you trying to be funny or something? I know for a fact that the
Manumitter is a fierce warrior. You are no warrior. You’re a puny, bleeding
little runt.” The flower let out a laugh… an upbeat, buoyant laugh. He sounded
so elated even while he tortured her. It made Frisk feel sick to her stomach
and she could see his tongue buried in that narrow mouth as he spoke. It was
black… like his teeth. “I’m not sure how you got all the way down here, but I
could care less.”
“I s-swear… I can show you…… I can show you my soul… p-please…” She begged him,
but her words were starting to slur. Something was terribly wrong. Her arms and
legs had gone numb. It was as if those thorns that pierced her flesh had
injected some type of toxin into her bloodstream. She couldn’t move, she
couldn’t even struggle. The room was spinning. Her vision was blurring.
“Pfft! If you were the Manumitter, then I’d probably be dead right about now!
The Manumitter is a relentless killer.” The cruel weed hissed at her and Frisk
could feel another vine wander against her side… It was yet another thorn
encrusted tendril. It began to slide around Frisk’s waist, moving up along her
chest at the outside of her hoodie. The flower’s winding arm pressed against
the bloodied lacerations that Undyne had left on her torso.
Frisk’s eyes went wide as the thick vine started to prod into her wounds. She
cried out again from the pain, desperately trying to move her limbs. But even
if she hadn’t been numb her ankles and wrists were still bound by thorny
tendrils.
 
T-this is… not fair… T-this is cruel… What did she ever do to deserve such
torture…
 
Another vine burst from the floor and began to wrap around her throat. It
squeezed up underneath the collar at her neck, thorns scraping painfully
against her sensitive skin. The winding shrub arm coiled around her throat as
it slipped up under her tight collar, leaving not one centimeter of wiggle
room. The thorns were burrowing into her jugular vein. She was choking and
gasping for a frantic breath. And the poison started to make the inside of her
esophagus go numb as well.
All the while the flower’s bright red eye watched her sadistically. His teeth
were splayed in that ecstatic beaming grin. That look… it was deranged. And he
kept glancing down at her bleeding chest. It was her blood that urged him on.
“Ehh, sorry shrimp…But down here, it’s eat or be eaten.” Wicked words despite a
jarring smile.
 
N-no…… god, no…
 
Frisk stared up at the monster, her eyes wide and tearing from the pain around
her throat. But at least… at least she couldn’t feel her legs or arms anymore.
The flower’s poisonous thorns made sure of that. But she could certainly feel
the pain in the center of her torso… and against her stomach… It was even worse
than the pain at her neck.
The flower monster’s thick, jagged tendril had pushed it’s way through the rips
at the front of her hoodie. The vine was pressing against the open wounds,
pushing inside… slowly… piercing her bleeding gashes… Frisk screamed as she
felt the vine cut through her flesh at the center of her torso. She could feel
hot liquid start to spill down her stomach. Blood pooled against her hips and
seeped between her thighs, staining the front of her shorts and hoodie a bright
red. It felt like someone had skewered her with an iron rod.
She started to violently cough up blood. Blood mixed with stomach acid. She was
choking and gasping for a breath as she convulsed against the floor. Her throat
already felt numb. She couldn’t swallow and was drowning against her own
scarlet fluids. It spilled down the corners of her mouth and dripped to her
neck and painted that other vine that continued to squeeze her throat a deep
red. She kept her fading gaze forward… She didn't want to see it… she didn't
want to see the damage.
 
P-please…… help…
 
Chara…… C-chara… please help m-me…
 
Frisk wasn’t sure why, but her thoughts went to Chara. She saw the dark-haired
girl in her mind - that first time they had met out in the swamps of Waterfall.
The way Chara had made her feel… Powerful and fearless… and just a little bit…
malevolent.
 
But that vision was almost immediately replaced by one of Sans… when she was
back at his house… when he first laid his eyes on her soul. And then when he
first killed her…
 
 
He made her feel so weak.
 
So pitiful…
 
God, she hated him.
 
S-she wanted to kill him…
 
She wanted to kill them all.
 
 
Frisk’s thoughts were interrupted by an unbelievable wave of pain that advanced
throughout her torso. The pain escalated and spread, reaching every corner of
her body that wasn’t numb. She tried to scream but instead she coughed and
gagged against another thick mouthful of blood that erupted from her throat. I-
it hurt… It hurt… She wanted to die.
Her eyes were lidded and glazed over as she stared blankly up at the flower
monster’s face. He was still… smiling. His thick tendril was contorting inside
her stomach now. The serpentine root pushed inside her so deeply. It would slip
out for a brief moment, allowing a thick stream of blood and clotting carnage
to spill from the fatal gaping incision, only to push back inside her once
more. He impaled her organs, curling between her liver and the underside of her
rib cage… ripping open her stomach before penetrating it. The blood-soaked
thorns slashed the edges of the opening. The pain was unbelievable… crippling,
but at the same time it began to subside ever so slightly as the thorns
injected her internal organs with that numbing toxin.
There was so much blood… Frisk felt like she had just been doused with a bucket
of it.
And then… the sadistic monster started to squeeze another root inside her
wound. The second one was even thicker and it was ripping her open, mutilating
her insides. It pressed flush against the first as they both wedged inside her
stomach, bulging underneath her slight body fat and trembling muscles. The
vines invaded her mangled entrails, ripping them apart with those thorns,
coiling inside her like lethal serpents.
 
P-please… just let me die…… please…
 
Her vision was fading in and out. Her heart beat was a sluggish thump. She knew
what was coming… she had experienced this once before. Frisk glanced up with a
hollow stare, blood spilling from her lips. She could see the flower’s mouth
moving like he was speaking, but she couldn’t hear anything. And everything…
was getting dark… dark and cold. It was a familiar sensation. The pain was
melting away but the forceful pressure against her stomach remained. And she
thought she could feel a third thorny tendril push inside her, assaulting her
soft insides and ripping her organs to shreds. Turning her viscera into nothing
more than wads of meat.
 
And then it all went dark.
 
 
…………………………
 
 
…………………
 
 
………
 
 
……
 
…
 
 
 
……………
 
 
 
Open your eyes.
 
 
 
…………
 
 
……
 
…
 
 
 
Manumitter.
 
 
 
………
 
 
…
 
…
 
 
Frisk slowly opened her eyes. She was trembling, laying on her side with her
hands concealing her face. Hot tears streamed down her checks. Her throat felt
sore from sobbing. She tried to catch her breath between frantic whimpers as
she cried into the palms of her hands and curled into herself.
She was in the small alcove…the one along the river in the cave. She was back
in Waterfall. Back from the dead.
Frisk peered beyond the slight spaces between her fingers, staring at the
candle that settled directly in front of her eyes. It’s gentle ember hovered
over the top and that lovely translucent wax oozed down the sides like
gracefully falling pearls.
 
You’re alive…
 
…
 
“I don’t want to be alive!! I want to die!!!” Frisk started sobbing harder and
she cried out, shouting back at her own consciousness in the dark. Her voice
echoed off the walls of the small chamber and her loud bawls were deafening.
 
……
 
You don’t want that…
 
“Yes I do!!! I-I can’t do this anymore!” She clutched at her chest with both
hands. She was still bleeding, but it wasn’t from the massive open wound that
the flower monster had produced. It was from Undyne’s deep scratches. Her time
in the lava chambers had not yet come to pass.
 
……
 
Don’t you want revenge?…
 
Frisk sniffed and continued to sob against her sleeves. She was so exhausted,
but… but she could feel her determination, deep down inside her chest. It was
blazing ever so faintly. It scared her.
 
…… Revenge?…
 
No, no… That’s-… no…
 
Don’t you want… to make them pay?
 
…
 
Frisk felt something…
 
She felt an abrupt pressure against her shoulder.
 
A hand.
 
She flinched and jolted, clambering backwards on her hands and knees, away from
the unexpected figure that was kneeling behind her. Frisk heart hurdled
violently in her chest from the sudden shock. S-she hadn’t been alone… This
whole time there was someone with her… It was… It was…
 
Chara.
 
 
Frisk stared wide-eyed back at the familiar face. That raven choppy hair, those
large sky blue snake eyes. The girl wasn’t smiling. Her expression was stoic
and bleak, just like before.
 
……
 
“… Chara?…” Frisk managed to stutter out between heavy whimpers, her eyes were
glassy and rubbed red from tears.
 
Chara sat calmly with her legs folded underneath her knees and her hands
resting on top of her thighs.
“How… how d-did you get here?…” Frisk asked with a voice hushed and trembling
and raw from crying. She was aghast.
Chara stared back at her, those eyes like perfect orbs of ice. “I’m you,
remember?” And then the girl smiled, very gently.
Frisk clenched her bloodied, grimy hands together into fists and started to
shake. She wasn’t shaking with fear or anguish, but with fury.
“Y-you’re not me! Stop saying that! Stop lying!” Frisk screamed out as she
shouted through the tears that continued to pool in her eyes. She clutched at
her head again with both hands, leaning over and pressing her face down into
the floor. She was so distraught. So tired. She just wanted to sleep. Every
thought, every recollection, it was all too overwhelming. She just wanted it to
disappear. She wanted to forget.
A sudden surge of memories impaled Frisk’s mind… that flower… his blood soaked
tendrils stabbing inside her… that excruciating pain… so deep… so s-shameful…so
depraved… Please… no more… don’t show me anymore of this…
 
I don’t want these memories!
 
Frisk felt two soft hands light press against the tops of her shoulders. They
were warm and gently caressed her collarbones through the hoodie. They ran up
the sides of her neck, still locked behind the collar, moving further up to
Frisk’s slender jawbones, and then they cupped against both her cheeks.
Chara lifted Frisk’s head in her hands, the girl’s pale thumbs wiping some of
the hot tears from her face. Frisk stared back at her, her brown eyes wide and
glassy, her chin quivering. She felt so ashamed… so distraught. But those warm
hands against her cheeks, they were reassuring.
Chara stared back into Frisk’s eyes, blinking slowly. And then she spoke.
“Frisk… Can’t you feel your soul?… Your power?…” Her voice was a gentle blossom
swept up in a raging storm. But those cold eyes, they narrowed. And she
whispered out with a bit more tenacity, “You are the Manumitter. So act like
it.”
Frisk stared back at Chara’s frigid gaze. Her hands were trembling against her
knees. She couldn’t move. That gaze… that gaze pierced her soul. It mesmerized
her, it soothed her, it frightened her. And the girl’s hands held her head
steady.
Chara slowly released her warm hands from Frisk’s cheeks and she brought them
down, directly at the center of Frisk’s chest. The girl pushed her hands into
her torso, against her heart, against her soul. Frisk was in such a state that
she didn’t even flinch when Chara’s fingers grazed over the open lacerations.
There was a warmth. A familiar warmth she had felt back in the swamps, back
when Chara had first appeared. Chara had pressed her hands to Frisk’s chest
back then too. And that budding heat… it was- it was getting stronger. It felt
strange. A burning, captivating fever that encompassed Frisk’s soul from the
inside out. It wrapped around the culmination of her being, squeezing tightly.
Frisk felt a tinge of pain, she gasped and bit at her lower lip.
 
This heat…
 
It felt… so strong… corrosive… toxic… captivating…
 
Her determination was rising and pulsing within her. She felt a surge of
strength. Her soul was radiating with a deep-seated resentment. And Frisk was
suddenly unafraid.
 
Chara stared deep into Frisk’s eyes as her fingers twitched and her hand
pressed harder against Frisk’s chest. “You know what you have to do…”
Frisk stared back at her, unblinking. Her eyes glazed over. She was spellbound
by that heat. That power.
“They want to kill you, Manumitter. He wants to kill you. They won’t stop.”
Her words oozed with animosity. Frisk was trembling. Her head was spinning. So
much… vigor. The vitality was overwhelming.
“Just look at what they did to you…” Chara continued and her fingers gently ran
along the bloody scratches before she returned her hands to Frisk’s soul, “…
and what they will continue to do to you.”
 
T-they are evil… They are monsters.
 
“They will never stop. You know that.”
 
I know… I k-know…
 
A slight smile painted across Chara’s features and she removed one of her
blood-stained hands from Frisk’s chest. Chara lowered her hand and let it slip
into her shorts pocket. And then she slid something out. Something small and
thin and metal. It reflected in the pale candle light that illuminated the
cavern. Frisk glanced down at the object in the mysterious girl’s hand.
 
Her box cutter.
 
Chara was holding the box cutter. Her fingers ran along the handle slowly and
her thumb began to push against the small lever to the side, unsheathing the
long segmented blade. “Frisk. I will send you back. You must open the doors…
the right way.”
 
W-what?…
 
Chara started to raise the box cutter upwards, twirling it around between her
fingers, while her other hand pressed against Frisk’s chest firmly. Another
wave of warmth wrapped around Frisk’s soul, that all-consuming bitter heat
which secreted from the girl’s touch. Frisk couldn’t look away, she couldn’t
tear her gaze from those ghostly pale azure orbs.
“Remember, everyone has a soul. Monster… Humans… You just need to know where to
look-” Chara pressed even harder against Frisk’s chest and she let out a soft
whimper. It hurt. “…-right here.”
The foreign warmth that seeped inside Frisk’s soul was contorting and growing
within her. It felt noxious and alien to her body… but at the same time it felt
so, so good. Such power. Such fury. It was intoxicating.
“Your shield is simply a barrier,” Chara narrowed those pale eyes of hers, both
pupils dilating, “But this… this is your true weapon.” She held the blade up
before Frisk’s gaze, tilting it as the blinding reflection bounced off the side
of the knife into Frisk’s eyes. “… so keep it safe this time.”
 
My weapon… my sword…
 
“Frisk, I am sending you back. Back to your previous reserve. Back to Snowdin.”
Chara swiveled the blade around in her fingers and swiftly gripped onto the
handle. She leaned in close to Frisk and tilted her wrist, lifting the blade up
against Frisk’s throat underneath the collar. And Frisk flinched, her eyes
growing wider. It was cold, and the sharpened edge pressed into her skin. It
stung… the razor edge began to dig in deep. Chara pushed the blade forward, and
then she whispered…
 
“Kill them all.”
 
…
 
K-kill them…… Kill them…
 
…
 
Kill them all…
 
……
 
I’ll kill them all.
 
The blade burrowed deep inside Frisk’s throat and Chara swiftly yanked her
wrist to the side, severing the jugular vein instantly. The dark-haired girl
brought the blade back down and pushed it in deeper, sawing through Frisk’s
throat, slicing through her vocal cords, hitting against her ribbed spine at
the back of her neck. Glossy vermilion spilled down the front of Frisk’s chest.
 
She could taste the blood. She couldn’t scream. She coughed and gurgled against
the crimson, raising her trembling hands to clutch at Chara’s wrists.
 
But she bled out before she could grab them.
 
And she collapsed onto the floor.
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: G̵͍̩̞͕͓̟͇͎͈͈̹͡ ̶̟̤͇͓̩͎̤̱͙̻̪È̛̺̮̝͖̘̀͟͜
̸̧͔͚̼̦̯̣͙̙̱̱͕̮̮̪͘͟ͅͅͅŃ̨̢͔̹̪̜͉͇͚̖̰͇̝̙̹ͅͅ ̨͜҉͙͕̫̻̖̕͝Ó̷̷̻͈̬͎̹͉̲̯̰̼͠
̶̦̫͖̼͕͡C̸͖̭͉̫̰͉̫̬̟̞͉͖̥͞͝ ̵̢̮̲͓̫͎̗̲̤̟̀͘͢I̸̶̜̳̹̪͍͓͕̲̲̖̯̦̭̪̻̙̯͟͝
̛̙̦̹͖̖̕͟͠D̵̴̮̥̦͍̜̺̟̝̘̺̖͚͚͢͝ͅ ̷̴̡̲̗̬̩̳̻̳̪̘͙̥̻̟̬̰̥͢E̡̘̯̟̩̬̪̜͢͢͡
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Two deaths in a row… that’s brutal Frisk. Sorry about that, buddy.
     Perhaps now you’ll finally learn that these monsters deserve n̡o̧
     ̴mer̨c̕y.
     Advance warning: The next chapter will contain graphic depictions of
     violence/guro.
     /////////////////////
***** XIX *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 19: "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two
     graves." - Confucius
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hiya all!
     As always, thank you for your praise, encouragement, kudos, comments,
     and feedback! I really love hearing from you guys and will always try
     to respond :D
     Okay, so… this chapter… I feel like I have to go lay down after
     writing this chapter hah… Um… yeah… clearly Chara has poisoned
     Frisk’s soul and she has gone full turbo. That’s all I’m gonna say
     about that. Just… just read it… I apologize.
     Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence/guro
     and it is just generally upsetting :/ I’m really sorry.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
…
 
…
 
……
 
 
Open your eyes, Manumitter.
 
………
 
……
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
It was dark.
Dark and humid.
A gentle warmth wrapped around Frisk’s limbs. The oppressive atmosphere
permeated through her clothing. And a strong aroma of firewood encompassed all
her senses.
 
She was alive…
 
Again.
 
Frisk kept her eyes closed and lifted both hands to her neck. Her fingers
pressed against something hard… the collar. Papyrus’ collar was still clasped
around her throat. She guided her fingertips down to the exposed flesh
underneath the torque, but there was no blood. There was no pain. Her throat
was unscathed. Frisk’s fingers wandered down further to her chest. Her hoodie
was not torn. The claw marks… Undyne’s claw marks were gone.
Frisk slowly opened her eyes and took in the dim light. Her pupils dilated in
the flickering glow of a candle that settled next to her upon the floor. She
glanced around the room. It was familiar… Yes, she had been here before. The
black brick walls and flooring. The scent of firewood. This was Gaster’s
building. She was back in Snowdin.
 
……
 
Back… in Snowdin.
 
The sudden realization made Frisk jolt up from the floor where she lay. She sat
on her knees and frantically looked around the room. Her hands started to
tremble as she pressed them hard against the ground. S-she was completely
alone. No Chara. No Sans. There was no movement at all besides that small,
shuddering ember that perched atop the candle beside her.
But Frisk’s shoulders started to quiver and she sunk back down to the floor on
her side.
 
All of that work… All of her traveling… She had gotten so far…
 
All of it for… n-nothing.
 
For NOTHING.
 
FOR NOTHING!!!
 
“God, dammit!!” Frisk screamed. A violent wave of anger settled in the pit of
her stomach and spewed throughout her entire body. She was trembling with rage,
her hands curled into fists, her teeth clenched tightly together. Her features
contorted in fury and she shut her eyes again.
 
So much wrath… anger… hate.
 
Anger for every monster in this abhorrent hell. Anger for Chara who sent her
back here.
The hatred consumed her. It was like a toxic venom that coiled deep within her
pneuma.
Frisk began to curse loudly as she screamed. She staggered up to her feet and
lunged towards the closest brick wall next to her, slamming her fists against
the stone violently. In that moment she was blinded by her resentment. She
slammed her fists down against the wall, over and over, until they were raw
rubbed with abrasions. She screamed out in a fury until her throat was coarse.
A burning, besieging mania of anger. It was the first time she had ever
screamed in such a rage.
 
I-I had gotten so far… It was all a waste… It was all pointless…
 
Will this hell ever end!!!!
 
Burning tears started to form behind Frisk’s eyes. Her head was spinning from
that ignited exasperation. She tried to take in deep breathes. She tried to
calm herself. But the resentment continued its decent inside her soul. It was
almost painful.
Frisk glanced down at the floor as she tried to hold back her enraged cries.
Her backpack lay at her feet… She had not lost it in Undyne’s arena yet. She
patted her hands down to her pockets and felt the outline of her cellphone in
one and her box cutter in the other.
 
'You are the Manumitter.’
 
…
 
’So act like it.'
 
Chara……
 
'This is your true weapon.'
 
Chara's haunting words washed over Frisk like a smokescreen. Her bloodshot eyes
went wide as she remembered it all. Chara had killed her. Chara had brought her
back here. Frisk stared blankly at the brick wall in front of her while all of
the memories came rushing back in a flurry. The lava, that sadistic flower. And
Chara had… had cut her throat?… Chara had cut her throat open with her own
blade. She had died twice in a row.
Frisk let her fingers wander into her pocket and she pulled out the box cutter.
The soft candle light reflected off the metal handle and Frisk stared down at
her meager weapon, unblinking. She wrapped her fingers around the knife’s shaft
and pressed her thumb against the side lever, unsheathing the thin blade. Frisk
turned to face the center of the room and held the utility knife out in front
of her. She glanced down at the exposed shank. The ember glow reflected against
the grooved metal like there were fireflies trapped inside it. It was hypnotic
and Frisk’s eyes glazed over as she stared.
 
’Your true weapon.’
 
Chara’s words…
 
’Your TRUE weapon.’
 
Chara’s essence… It weaved in and out of her thoughts… tainting her spirit.
 
Focus.
 
Frisk teeth clenched again and she shut her eyes.
 
FOCUS
 
A toiling heat began to rise within the center of her chest at the very crux of
her soul. That animosity remained sheltered deep inside and it simply kindled
the budding fever. The heat began to spread. It seeped out from her soul and
ran down along her arm, the arm that held her knife. Her limb grew bright red.
The color of her soul. The hue erupted from her flesh and licked up in the air
like embers. It ran down her forearm to her wrist then encompassed her entire
hand like a velvet maroon glove. It was beautiful. Shimmering clear crimson
that danced and entwined between her fingers.
The radiating red wrapped around the handle of the knife in her grasp. It was
coiling around the box cutter like some thick, translucent serpent. It
slithered up the exposed blade and encased the metal. That glistening
gelatinous energy squeezed the blade tightly. Her soul… It was her soul. It
expanded against the sharp knife and spread outwards and formed that familiar
shape… the shape of a sword. It was see-through, similar to her shield, and
thick red clouds of shimmering stardust swirled around inside the larger blade.
The sword encompassed her box cutter within it. She could easily see her
initial measly weapon embedded inside.
“My true weapon…” Frisk spoke under her breath as she stared down at the
dazzling sword in her hand. Although it was much bigger than her box cutter, it
did not feel heavy at all. In fact, it felt like she was still holding the
unaffected utility knife.
Frisk lifted the sword high over her head then brought it down. It cut through
the air in a swift motion. It felt powerful. She could hear that familiar
gentle sound exhaling from the weapon. Like the sound of muffled, vibrating
wind chimes. It was the same sound that her soul shield created.
And the sword emitted a burning heat that spread through Frisk’s fingers as
well. It felt strange and slightly uncomfortable. Her fingers tingled like hot
blood was rushing to them. But Frisk simply tightened her grasp at the handle
of the sword and sliced it through the air again.
And her soul… Her soul felt different. It had a heavy weight to it: a
flourishing fever that would not subside. It felt like it had been contaminated
with something she couldn’t explain. But at the same time it contained a
volatile surge of strength and energy that Frisk had never felt before.
 
She was unafraid.
 
She was… irate.
 
Frisk continued to stare at her sword in a daze. Her other hand idly reached up
to her throat and her fingertips caressed the front of the collar clasped
around her neck.
 
Papyrus…
 
She ripped her gaze away from the captivating sword and stared out towards the
dark, hollow entrance that lead into the hall. Her soul was burning and her
whole body felt fevered and inflamed. She squeezed even tighter against the
shaft of her weapon and took a step forward.
Frisk left her backpack upon the floor next to the candle. She didn’t need it.
And she stepped through the doorway, dawning her newfound luminous crimson
cutlass to light the way.
 
W-what are you doing?…
 
……
 
Her conscious was weak but she could just barely hear it burrowed under layers
of cloying anger. She pushed her inner voice down, deep down inside her soul
and suffocated it underneath a thick blanket of malice. She didn’t want to hear
it.
Frisk walked through the tunnels and she turned to the left. She remembered
this time and knew that the right hallway led to the library. She was not going
to the library. No… no, she was headed back out to the decrepit village.
 
This is unwise…
 
Shut up.
 
SHUT UP.
 
Frisk clenched her teeth tightly and a rush of memories coiled with her
thoughts, taking hold. That flower… Undyne… MK… Papyrus… Napstablook… Toriel…
Sans.
 
Each one of them made her feel so weak… so powerless.
 
They would never make her feel that helplessness. Ever again.
 
Another burst of vehement enmity. Her soul was burning and Frisk’s fingernails
raked around her sword’s handle. She held the blade up in the dark,
illuminating the narrow black brick tunnel with dazzling soul energy. She
walked along in silence, staring ahead sternly. Her heart was beating fast and
her pulse throbbed within her ears.
 
Don’t you want revenge?
 
Y-yes……
 
Don’t you want to make them pay?
 
……
 
The winding corridors were just as long as she remembered them. It all felt so
bizarre. Walking through the tunnels overpowered her with an uneasy feeling of
déjà vu. And for a split second Frisk almost let out a chuckle from the entire
absurdity of her situation. She knew very well that it wasn’t simply déjà vu.
She had walked through these very tunnels just a few days ago. But back then
she has been so weak… so terrified.
And as Frisk walked through the winding tunnels her eyes locked onto her
guiding sword. The illumination glazed red over her vision and the realization
hit her… of just how much she had changed in only a few days. Was it… was this
an organic change? Or was it something else? Her soul felt different, yes. She
couldn’t put her finger on it. And just as she started to skim the surface of
the conflicting thoughts, another all-encompassing wave of anger washed over
and distracted her.
 
They are monsters.
 
They will never stop hunting you.
 
He will never stop hunting you.
 
Suddenly, Frisk stepped out from the hallway into the large chamber. She
immediately recognized it to be the lobby of the building. It was massive and
pitch black with dark tiled floors and stone walls, completely devoid of any
furniture or debris. And it was so dark that the burning glow from her sword
couldn’t even reach the shadowy corners. She carefully tread through the center
of the entrance hall, her sneakers gently squeaking against floor, and she
reached the towering wooden double doors on the opposite side of the chamber.
Frisk stared back at them. Her determination was boiling within her soul and it
hurt her chest. But the raging fortitude masked any pain. Frisk brought her
sword down to her side. Despite the impressive soul sword she wielded, the
ordinary box cutter remained intact underneath the glow. She slid her thumb
upwards and grazed over the lever of the handle, pulling it down to retract the
shape blade back inside its sheath. The moment she did this the glow of her
sword flickered and began to dull. The red liquid crystals that formed the
weapon started to melt and ooze against the floor. The material had become
unstable. Her sword was collapsing. And it vanished.
Frisk blinked and tilted her head down to stare at the ordinary knife in her
hand, but she couldn’t even see it. Without the glow from her sword the room
was pitch black once more. She could feel sticky remnants of the weapon
staining the palm of her hand and it dripped from her fingers. Frisk wiped the
handle against the front of her hoodie and stuffed it back into her pocket. She
pressed both her hands to the door and felt around. She touched something, the
doorknob. She wrapped her fingers around it and roughly pushed the doors
outward.
 
 
 
 
Gloomy grey haze blinded her eyes for a moment as the doors opened, revealing
the dismal landscape before her.
 
Snowdin…
 
She really was back in Snowdin once again.
 
It felt like a dream. The air was cold and thick and stagnant, just how she
remembered it. Frisk stepped out from the doorway onto the covered patio. She
glanced around her surroundings, watching the thick curtain of ash continuously
rain down from the sky. She had only been outside for a few moments and her
lungs already began to feel saturated with the toxic debris that danced in the
air.
Frisk raised a hand and held it over her mouth as she began to descend down the
steps, slowly, one by one. Her gaze was sober but her soul… it was boiling. A
resentment reached every corner of her being and urged her forward. It took
control of her actions. She was possessed by it. Blinded by vengeance.
 
Stop… You can still turn back.
 
Frisk grit her teeth and ignored her internal hindsight as she began her
descent back inside the village. Instead, she forced her thoughts on Papyrus.
 
Papyrus…
 
That daunting, deranged skeleton. He had locked her up… Bound her with not only
one, but two collars. He had attempted to murder her. He summoned a cage to
entrap her, then tried to skewer her with razor-sharp bones like he was
shooting a fish in a barrel. Like she was simply target practice. He was cruel.
He was evil. He was a monster, just like the rest of them. He wanted… he wanted
to eat her.
Don’t forget the way he stared… That hunger in those empty sockets. He wanted
to rip the flesh from her bones. That’s all he wanted.
 
He saved you… He saved you from Sans. Don’t you remember that?
 
…
 
He gave you a jacket to keep you warm…
 
SHUT. UP.
 
Frisk clutched at her head with both hands and came to a stop. Her head ached
in an unusual way. And her conflicted thoughts were so distracting. She hadn’t
even realized that her mindless wandering had lead her to the ash-coated
cobblestone path between the dilapidated and battered buildings.
She stood in the center of the path. Each breath she took was strained and she
panted softly while grasping either side of her head. She slowly released the
hold at her skull and brought her hands down to her chest. Her spirit was
pulsing inside. It hurt.
 
It was burning.
 
But…
 
No…
 
No more doubt.
 
You are the Manumitter.
 
Frisk straightened herself. She brushed unkempt hazelnut locks back behind her
ears, relishing in the seething rage that consumed her soul once more, and
continued on.
 
 
 
The ash had begun to wane and finally she could see clearly. Frisk listened as
she walked along. She listened for any foreign sound or the blusters of
Papyrus’ voice. But most of all she listened for the sound of brisk, rushing
wind… Was Sans watching her right now? She buried that concern deep down beside
her conscious and focused on the sound of her own footsteps and shallow
breaths.
Frisk leered at each house she passed. They all looked identical, except she
noticed a few landmarks along the way. One house was completely collapsed from
the molting black rot. She remembered it, she had run past that house when she
first fled from Papyrus. She must be getting close… he must be nearby. That is,
if he was still in this town. Perhaps he returned to the forest in search for
her. The timeline confused Frisk. She did not really have a concept. How long
had she been away from Papyrus? If she was reborn at the exact moment she
touched the candle, then it had been about an hour or so - maybe longer - since
she escaped from him.
Frisk was lost in her own complicated thoughts when she heard a sudden sound.
She stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the cobblestone path, eyes
widening. There was a figure clambering out from one of the houses. It was
pushing through a thick curtain of rot that draped the front of a doorway.
Frisk’s heart pounded rapidly as she stared back at the monster… that familiar
lanky structure, that bright crimson flowing scarf. It was Papyrus.
 
He was still here. It was Papyrus.
 
The hatred that engulfed her soul started to pulse at the sight of him. Frisk’s
fingers twitched anxiously and she stood there, unmoving and staring back at
the monster that stepped out onto the cobblestone path. He was just a few yards
away from her. Papyrus lifted his gloved hand up to shield his eyes from the
falling dust while he glanced around the village. Then he turned his head and
his hollow sockets settled upon Frisk.
 
…
 
“HUMAN!”
 
He… he called out to her……
 
…
 
Would he attack?………
 
Every muscle in her body constricted as the massive skeleton immediately began
to sprint forward towards her. Frisk’s hand automatically inched towards her
pocket, towards her box cutter, but she stilled herself. She steadied her
frantic, racing thoughts.
 
Be calm… Bide your time…
 
 
The massive skeleton ran straight forward and came to a skidding stop as he
reached her, towering overhead. Frisk could feel her heart spiraling down to
her stomach. S-she felt… scared. But only for a moment. She glanced up at
Papyrus, using all of her courage to keep herself from flinching or running.
But he didn’t attack. He just tilted his head down, those restricted black
cavities for eyes locking on.
“HUMAN! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Papyrus bellowed. His voice had a hint of ire to
it. Was he angry? His hollow eye sockets narrowed down at her and he furrowed
his browbone. Each humanoid teeth ground against one another.
Frisk stared up at him. She fought against the fear that sideswiped the rage
inside her soul. She swallowed and averted her gaze away before finally forcing
herself to speak, “I… I was looking for the gate.” What a lie. It spilled from
her lips so unexpectedly. Her voice wavered a bit, but it did not tremble.
“AH! DID YOU DISCOVER THE GATE, HUMAN?” Papyrus asked and his skepticism seemed
to melt back into that unhinged, buoyant enthusiasm almost instantly.
 
So… he had not even noticed. He had not even noticed that she fled.
 
He was still looking for the 4th gate this whole time. He believed her.
 
Frisk’s soul burned with septic toxicity. An unusual smile spread across her
features and she turned her head back, glancing up at the skeleton.
“I found it, Papyrus. I can show you,” Her words spilled forth. They were so
calm and serene, they sounded foreign to her own ears. They almost reminded her
of… of Chara.
Papyrus clasped his gloved hands together above her head. “THAT IS WONDERFUL,
HUMAN! I HAVE BEEN SEARCHING THIS VILLAGE TOP TO BOTTOM. BUT, AS YOU CAN SEE, I
HAVE COME UP EMPTY HANDED. PERHAPS MY TRACKING SKILLS ARE NOT NEARLY AS
MASTERFUL AS I BELIEVED THEM TO BE.” He let out a genuine chuckle and pushed
the tattered scarf back over his shoulder.
Frisk simply stared at him. Her forged smile wavered back to that stoic gaze
and she nodded once. “It’s this way…” She turned on the heels of her sneakers
and stepped over towards a random deteriorated shack, the one closest to them.
 
 
 
 
The building was crumbling to the ground. Black layered mold and soot caked
each cracked window. There was no door, just an ominous empty archway that led
inside the rotting house. And inside the home was nothing but piles and piles
of large rocks and rubble and an ordinary decaying door at the back wall which
most likely lead to a closet.
Frisk stepped through the doorway and stood at the center of the room. It was
small and dreary and completely obscured in shadows. The only light descended
in a single ray from the open doorway. She walked over towards the wooden door
at the very back of the space and stared directly at it. She knew this door was
not the 4th gate… she knew that.
“AH, I THOUGHT I ALREADY SEARCHED THIS HOME. PERHAPS I MISSED IT.” Papyrus said
as he followed closely behind her, ducking his head underneath the open
archway. He glanced around the room before his eyes settled upon the ordinary
decaying door, “IS THIS THE GATE, HUMAN? WHERE ARE THE ENGRAVINGS?”
Papyrus stood directly behind her and leered at the door. She could feel the
bottom of his rib cage subtly press against the back of her head and the frayed
ends of his tattered white poncho feathering lightly against her shoulders.
Frisk’s heart was scampering. Her pulse pounded painfully in her head. Her soul
was boiling within a smog of malice.
 
'They want to kill you, Manumitter. They won’t stop.'
 
Her fingers twitched. Her hand made its way into her pocket silently.
 
'They will never stop. You know that.'
 
She felt the cold steel brush against each fingertip.
 
'Everyone has a soul. Monster… Humans…'
 
Her slender fingers wrapped around the handle and she pulled the blade from her
pocket, promptly pushing her thumb against the lever, unsheathing the knife at
her side.
 
'…You just need to know where to look…'
 
Her soul was burning. Her chest felt so hot. It was so painful. Her rage… her
rage was at a peak.
 
'Right here.'
 
Frisk felt a terrible pressure at her chest. It felt as if her soul had been
pierced with a scorched fireplace poker. It hurt. It was burning her inside
out.
And she hesitated and stared directly at the door. She could hear Papyrus’ soft
breaths behind her.
Slowly, she turned around and took a slight step back to face him. He glanced
down at her and tilted his head to the side in question.
 
“HUMAN?”
 
Do it.
 
A sudden burst of crimson light. Sporadic heat instantly encompassed her entire
arm. Red coiling translucent energy made its way down her wrist and wrapped
around the utility knife. Her sword erupted from the box cutter in a fitful
malevolence within seconds. Luminous red liquid flames danced high in the air,
illuminating the entire space around them. The power that oozed from her sword
was unlike her shield. Its energy was unstable, violent, irregular and
malignant. It was as if the weapon was bewitched by some unseen compulsion.
Papyrus blinked down at the glowing sword, his sockets widening. It had been so
unexpected. He barely had a second to react. He flinched and began to shift his
feet, when-
 
DO IT.
 
Frisk lunged towards him. She raised the blade high over her head and brought
the sharp sword down directly at the center of his chest. It cut through his
clothing with ease and sunk in deep between his ribs to the hilt of the blade.
Frisk’s eyes were wide and burning, her teeth clenched, her hand trembled from
a fury that poisoned her soul and tainted her innocence.
Papyrus faltered backwards with the sword pierced through the center of his
torso. Frisk pulled the blade from his chest swiftly and stabbed him again in
the same spot. And she did it again. And again. And she screamed out in a
frenzy of complete madness as she impaled his chest with the heinous weapon.
“H-HUMAN!”
She could hear his voice through her screams. He sounded surprised and began to
cough up a vile opaque orange fluid mixed with… with blood. It ran down his
jawbone, soaking the front of his scarf.
 
Kill him.
 
N-no…
 
Shut up! DO IT!
 
Stained blood-orange liquid began to spread throughout his white poncho,
directly at his chest where the weapon impaled inside him. The liquid coated
his entire front and it dyed the sword’s blade and dripped against Frisk’s
fingers. Papyrus faltered back and fell to the floor, but Frisk pounced on top
of his rib cage and continued her relentless assault. She stabbed at the front
of his chest repeatedly, tearing open his poncho until she could see cracked
and bleeding long curved rib bones. They were broken from her attack, from the
power of the sword, and the jagged open fractures dripped with velvet red blood
and clotting bone marrow.
She could see Papyrus’ soul settled deep inside past his bones. Her sword had
pierced it dead center. It was a small, round, glowing honey-colored orb that
hovered within the middle of his rib cage. It reminded Frisk of her own soul,
except his was not translucent or shimmering.
Frisk’s eyes locked onto the orb. And in her treacherous onslaught, she began
to cut open the spherical essence. It split and oozed with cloudy orange energy
and she could hear Papyrus scream as she hacked it in two. Blood began to spill
from his spirit. It dripped all over the inside of his ribs, soaking his spine
and her sword and her hands as she sawed through the globule relentlessly.
 
KILL HIM.
 
She cut his soul open completely and teared it apart with her blade. Blood and
orange ooze sprayed against Frisk’s arms and chest as she began to chisel the
sphere to pieces, crushing it, destroying it. Her other hand gripped tightly
around Papyrus’ cracked ribs. Her shoulders trembled as she tried to catch a
frenzied breath.
“F-FRISK……”
 
DIE! DIE! DIE!
 
She could hear his voice. She could hear her name. Frisk’s manic eyes darted up
to Papyrus’ face. His sockets were glowing faintly, blood and orange clotting
fluids spilled from his jaw which hung open halfway. His body was trembling
ever so slightly underneath her and he raised a gloved hand, reaching out for
her. But it collapsed back down against the messy floor.
Frisk ripped her gaze from his skull and stared down at his soul. Its glow had
faded. It was no longer hovering within his interior. It lay against the inside
of his chest cavity, severed and cut into multiple grotesque chunks. And her
sword was still embedded within him, pierced through his thorax to the back of
his vertebra.
She slowly staggered up to her feet and pried the sword from his ruined soul.
Papyrus let out a shallow, trembling cry as she ripped the blade from his
broken bones. She stood over him, dripping with fading orange energy and dark
red muddled blood.
Frisk glanced down at her sword. It was so caked with that clotting tangerine
that she could barely see its translucent red. She pulled the lever down with
her thumb and retracted the blade back inside the handle. Her sword vanished
immediately and she dropped the ordinary box cutter to the floor.
 
S-stop this…
 
No.
 
She lifted her leg, climbing up off of him, and stood over the dying monster.
Frisk leered down at the fading skeleton. He had once scared her so much. Not
anymore. Her hands were shivering with adrenaline and toxic rage. Papyrus was
trembling and coughing and choking against his own blood. His gloved hands
slowly grasped to his chest. She watched as he weakly fingered around through
his exposed broken ribs trying to reach for the shattered soul within him.
Frisk stepped over to the side of the room and picked up a large mold-encrusted
boulder. It was heavy and she had to use all her upper body strength to lift
it. She stepped back over towards Papyrus, standing directly over his skull
with the massive rock in her arms. She glanced down at him, her expression
apathetic and sober but her eyes… her eyes were abundant with lustrous spite.
 
This is wrong…
 
Her inner voice fought feebly against the noxious anger that possessed her.
 
FINISH HIM.
 
But her soul continued to burn and guide her actions.
 
Papyrus whimpered out as he stared up at the massive slab of rock in her arms.
His sockets were wide, his teeth were chattering lightly against each other.
She could sense his fear.. He coughed again, turning his head, and started to
retch blood and orange bile against Frisk’s sneakers.
Frisk raised her arms up over his skull from above. She hesitated for a moment,
listening to the sounds of his vile gurgling groans. And she released the
boulder. It plummeted down directly on top of his skull.
The sickening crunch echoed off the walls of the dismal room. The heavy rock
crushed his skull underneath. Shards of bone and teeth ruptured forth and
clattered all over the floor, along with a hot spray of blood that squirted
against her shoes.
 
………
 
……
 
W-what… what did you do……
 
Frisk stood over the mangled corpse. She stared down at the large boulder that
sat directly above Papyrus’ ribbed vertebra that was his neck in a puddle of
blood and bone. Her hands were trembling, her eyes wide and twitching, her soul
was on fire.
 
……
 
…
 
What did you do…
 
I-I……
 
He deserved it.
 
Stop it!!
 
The conflicting voices in her head began to scream all at once. Frisk cried out
from the pain that burrowed deep within her sternum and she clutched at either
side of her scalp with bloody hands. She dug her fingers in her hair clawing at
both sides. And she stared down at the skeletal remains at her feet and fell to
her knees beside him. Her eyes scanned the grotesque open cavity of his chest.
Each one of his broken ribs were coated in fluids. He wasn’t moving. He was
completely still. He was… he was…
 
Didn’t you want revenge?…
 
That voice again. The voice in her head. Her own voice. Frisk whimpered through
clenched teeth and clutched at her chest with one hand and she grasped around
at the floor, reaching for her box cutter that lay next to her. She lifted the
blade up and held it tight.
She outstretched her opposite hand along the skeleton’s midriff and her fingers
wrapped around his thick exposed vertebral column. His bones… they were cold
and so intricate. Frisk’s inquisitive fingertips brushed along the curves of
his hip bones and in between the small dips within his iliac crest. She led her
hand lower and slid her fingers inside Papyrus’ kilt pocket. She felt something
cold and metal and looped her fingers around it. And she pulled out a large
iron key. Frisk brought the key up to her throat and she slipped it inside the
small keyhole at the front of her collar. The moment she turned it, the torque
opened and fell to the floor behind her.
 
Didn’t you want to make them pay?
 
Y-yes… yes… but-
 
This is your revenge.
 
Frisk dropped the key to the ground and ran her messy fingers along her bare
throat. She leaned over Paprus’ chest and lowered her hand to his neck. She
entwined her fingers between the folds of his scarf still hanging from his
steady shoulders. Her fingers dug deep within the burgundy fabric. It was still
warm.
 
You are the Manumitter.
 
Frisk took in deep, frenzied breaths. Seething mania that settled deep within
her soul continued to grow and spread. It was all-encompassing and she was
starting to surrender to the enmity.
 
So act like it.
 
Frisk lifted the box cutter in her hand and unsheathed its blade once more. But
this time she did not call forth her sword. No, instead she pierced Papyrus’
thick scarf with the knife and started to cut through a long piece of draped
fabric. She sliced off one of the hanging textiles and lifted the cloth up in
her hands. She buried her face against it, taking in the scent. It just smelled
like mildew… and blood.
 
Don't linger. You need to move on to the next target. Sans could show up at any
moment.
 
Her heart jolted at the sudden realization. That’s right… They were brothers…
They were brothers. She had just killed Sans' brother.
Frisk’s fingernails dug deep into the scarf fabric and she almost let out a
deranged laugh. She peered over the cloth back at the blood-stained boulder,
her light brown eyes wide and glazed over with maniacal corruption.
 
Now go. Finish off the rest of them.
 
She slowly pushed herself up to her feet. She wrapped the ripped torn scarf
around her neck and glanced down at the carcass one more time. Then she
tightened her grip on her weapon’s hilt and stepped over Papyrus’ body towards
the open doorway.
All she could hear was the sounds of a gentle breeze outside and the delicate
rustling of ash drifting to the floor. Frisk wiped some blood and honey-colored
residue off her cheeks and she sprinted back out and down the cobblestone path,
leaving the somber corpse behind her.
 
 
 
 
She ran through the deteriorating town taking heavy, frantic inhales, listening
carefully to her surroundings. It was quiet, except for her feet and rapid
breath. Her newfound stained red scarf wrapped around her neck and drifted in
the air behind her. She made her way through the town, weaving in and out of
buildings. She knew exactly where to go. She had been through this village
three times now. Frisk ran along while the corroding hate that encompassed her
soul edging her forward, until she finally reached the massive black brick
government building in the center of the town square.
Frisk glanced over her shoulder as she came to a stop. She half expected to see
Sans standing behind her, but she was alone. Perhaps he wasn’t watching her so
closely after all. A caustic smile spread across her features and she turned
her head back to the daunting building. She ascended up the steps and kicked
the double wooden doors open with the bottom of her foot.
 
Gaster. Gaster is next.
 
Frisk stepped into the large entrance chamber and held her knife out in front.
A painful surge of energy shot through her arm as she called forth her sword
once more. It spiraled up along the blade and formed the weapon, illuminating
the shadows all around her a bright, eerie copper. And Frisk set off into the
tunnels at high speed.
She ran through the dark corridors as the rubber soles of her sneakers skidding
along the tiles. That delicate, nostalgic scent of firewood suffused her
senses. She almost ran past the open entrance way with the candle settled in
the corner but she slid to a halt. Frisk glanced in the room and saw her
backpack laying there in the center of the space and she quickly snatched it
up.
 
 
She continued on through winding halls, turning each corner sharply. Her
thoughts went to Papyrus for a moment… and what she had just done… but the
polluting hostility within her insides immediately repressed it. It was as if
she had no control… no control over her own thoughts or actions.
Frisk panted and trotted along. Normally she would have become tired by now,
but the anger that wrapped around her soul seemed to give her a second wind. It
boosted her energy and she felt fearless. Frisk clutched at the red scarf
wrapped around her neck with her other hand and she came to a skidding halt. A
dead end. A grand wooden door. The library.
Sans’ low, haunting voice rang in her head as she remembered his warnings about
the slime monster, Gaster. But Frisk wasn’t worried. She knew what to do. She
was no longer a timid, weak child. She was so much more powerful now. Her soul
was scalding hot and overflowing with malice and it made her powerful.
 
Power, eh?… You ambushed him.
 
Shut up…
 
Frisk buried her inner thoughts back down and tried to keep them there. She
pressed her opposite hand against the door and shoved it open.
 
 
 
 
Flickering violet light, rows upon rows of towering bookshelves, and the heavy
aroma of burning wood took hold as she entered the massive chamber. Frisk
stepped into the room and glanced around. He was in here… somewhere. But she
wouldn’t have to search. She knew he would reveal himself in time. He was too
hungry not to.
Frisk walked inside the library and moved over towards the wall. Her hollow
gaze settled upon one of the spectral torches mounted upon the stone in a
perfect row. She raised a hand up to the nearest torch and let her fingertips
skim along the wooden haft that was linked to the wall by a detachable chain.
Then she wrapped her fingers around it and unhooked the burning torch and held
it out in front. With the blazing violet beacon in one hand, and her inflamed
sword in the other, Frisk followed the wall along the edge of the grand chamber
until she came upon that familiar trap door.
 
The 4th gate.
 
Her eyes settled over the shallow runic engraving that decorated the wood.
After her fight with Undyne she could never forget that symbol again. Frisk
stepped to the side of the hatch and leered out into the shadows that draped
over the bookshelves beside her. She stared forward, glaring into the obscured
darkness.
He was in there. He was in there, somewhere. He would come for her eventually.
Frisk took in a deep breath of scorched oxygen. Her arm arched from the
additional exertion of energy used to keep her sword intact. Her soul was
burning in the center of her chest. The pain put her on edge and she began to
wonder if something was terribly wrong… Wrong with her soul… With herself…
 
Something is wrong.
 
But her mind drifted to thoughts of Sans, like it so often did. She could see
his red, pulsing hue so clearly. She hadn’t seen him in a while… and the last
time she saw him he was ripping her shoulder apart with those gnashing canine
fangs. The thought made her shudder and her pulse start to course with
malignance. Where was Sans now? Surely, he hadn’t seen her murder Papyrus, or
he would have put a stop to it. Was he waiting out in the swamps for her? Was
he even watching her at all?
 
The sound of footsteps stifled Frisk’s cluttered thoughts.
 
Wet footsteps…
 
She blinked and stared ahead sternly. Gaster. He was here. He was coming for
her, just like she had anticipated. And she almost grinned.
 
How predictable.
 
But her brash demeanor instantly diminished as the vile monster stepped out
from behind the shadows. Frisk felt that wave of shivers drain down her legs at
the sight of him. He was just as she had remembered. Towering, slender,
dripping with glossy velvet obsidian ooze. And those hovering tendrils sprouted
up behind him and coiled in the air. His large hollow sockets settled upon her
and that grin… that grin spread wide along his pale face.
 
And he spoke.
 
“W̙͓̆̚h̺͋ͯ̆a̖͕̒͆t͈ ̩͙̹͉̻͖̼͋͒̎ͧa͎̩͖͈
̝ͭͮ͂̋͌ͧ̚p͒̂ͨ̌ͥͧe̖̣͎c͓̲̯̯ͨͨȕ̻̾̓ͭ̎l̞̊̂ͯͥ̃ͧi̻͇͍̻̫ͅa̟̙r͔͇̼̪͚
̐ͨs̗̦ͨ̑ọ̭͚̬̲̞͍ͭͭ̂ͫü͚̠̜̤l̬ͭͅ.͎̰͖͋.̝̠̰̾.̼͙̜̰͔ͯ̒̑̎ͥ͂
͈̤̖̩͋͛ͭ́T̗̩͕̤͒̉ͨͭ̏h̬̲̗͇̫̩̾͆͒ȁ̳̫̻͙̫̑̈́ͣt̲͙̗̼̍̉ͭ̆ ͕͖ͦi̙̱͉̞̦s̙̰̖̝̭͎͕̓
̻̦͖ͤͮ̇̓̐a̬̫̪̝͎̔̾͆̾ͩ̅ ̥̣h͙̱͉͈͔͇͊͑ͮ̇̔̿̒u͚̐m͓̰͉͖̎͛͒̇ͩa̖̗̺̼̙͉͔̎͒ͫ̄̚n̚
̆̂s̬̗̫̞̿̇ͨ̀̚o̫̦̣̍̓̍͑̍̆̇ȕ̪̻̱ͦl̲̦̲̥͍̔̍̓̈́ͩͅ.̱ͮ̃.͇̋̑.̖̋”
 
His voice… she could never forget that voice. It was soft, eerie, fortified
with haunting vibrating static. Although she couldn't understand his words. He
spoke in a language she did not know.
The dripping monster stepped out into the haggard violet light. Frisk’s eyes
widened and darted around his presence. She felt a sudden surge of fear take
hold of her heart, but the malevolent rage cut through her anxiety in an
instant. It would not allow her to be afraid.
“Gaster…” Her words spilled forth automatically and her auburn eyes narrowed
back at him. She tightened her grip around both the torch and her sword at
either side.
The monster came to an abrupt and swift stop as he heard his own name spoken
out loud. His facial expression contorted ever so slightly. His white, skeletal
hands rose up and tapped against one another in front of his chest. And he
stared back at Frisk with a look of perturbed perplextion.
 
“Hu̜̠ͥm̱̲̫͇̱̞͎̌̀a̳̦͔̙̣̞̘̾̌ͫ̄͗̈́n͙͓̗̳̳̍̀ͅ.̲̖̃̍̽ͯ̉̉̚.̗̹̰͕͉̹̳͆̍̄ͪ͛̑̒.̗ͬ͋
͙̘̼̩̊ͩy̩̥̎͂͊̅ͮ̃o̜͌ͪu̻͔̣̤̹͐̄͑̈ ̤̟ŝ̼̤m̟̪̉ͪ̍ͯëͫͯͭl͇̬̰̜͙̼̙̊̇͐͗̋l̺͈͈̓͆̂͂
̹̫̣̍l̝̬̣̠ͬ͒͌ͅi̾ͫ̿̃̄ͯk̞̑ͪ̉͋e̥̱͚̟ͭ͌̓̏
̦͒̏ͭ̐b̪̺̗̈̍̏̽l̲͕̣̜͓̦̀͋̔̽͋̚o̍ȏ̤̂d̲͒̍́͑͂̈́.͇̩.͓̪.͈͕͚̞͎͛̂͛̋ͅ”
 
He spoke again. That astringent voice stabbed through Frisk’s courage. But the
sweltering frenzy of resentment which ignited her soul burned throughout her
entire form. She rolled her shoulders back and lifted her arms at her sides.
She kept her solemn gaze locked onto his face. She wouldn’t look away.
 
Come get me, you bastard.
 
Gaster took notice of her taunting stance.
All of a sudden the black, inky liquid tendrils that sprouted from his back
began to shiver violently behind him. They grew in size and the ends morphed
into sharpened spears that dripped with hot black tar. A nauseating sneer
spread across his face and Frisk gritted her own teeth at the sight of his
razor sharp fangs. That wide smiling maw. His teeth formed a perfect barrier of
interlocking scalpels, just barely visible underneath the heavy black aura that
surrounded him.
 
Let him come to you. Do not falter.
 
“Y̯̘̝̱̹̖̆̊ͧ́̍ͥ̔o̙̱̭̬͕͋̀̑̀̉͆̔ͅṵ͆ ̲͚̞͙̃ͥͯͧ̂s̍̌͛ͧ́̎m̯̗̞͉ͭ̔e͕̮̗̖̝̣͍l̝͕ĺ͇͇̖͈̭̐̔̏ͬ̚
̣̣̺̻̈̏͆͂͐̿ͅl͖͎̙͋̄̅̀̍̿̒i̤k̬̬̙̼̺͊ë̺́ͦ̽͗̄̉.̮̔.͕̥̩̭͎͈ͯͪͯ.̞͓̙͕̹̤̠̇̒̔̄͆̂͌
̭̘̹̤̜̰̦͂ͦ̔͌ṃ̮̖̗̤̟ͪ̎̎ͩͤ͆ͣͅo̰̗̪̯n̤̜̮s̰͚͚͔̋͐ͩt̗̠̯̰͉̺͎e̩̞̥̥r̺̎ͩ̉̒ͭ̇
̔̅̚b̞̞lȯ̫ͬͫo̖͕̮̺͎͖ͥ̃d͕̻ͫ͌ͯ̍.ͪͫ”
 
He spoke again.
And then he lunged.
Gaster charged forward directly towards her. Frisk’s eyes widened as he bound
for her so suddenly. Slime tendrils rose up over his head and at his sides and
they spiraled forward, aiming for Frisk’s chest.
Poison heat took control of Frisk’s body and she dove to the side immediately,
just barely evading the fatal impale. Gaster’s liquid tapered barbs grazed
against Frisk’s shoulder and they pummeled into the stone wall directly behind
her.
 
Run!!! GET BACK!
 
The brick wall split in two and cracked under the impact. Deafening echos of
crumbling stone engulfed the entire room. He was fast. Frisk panted heavily and
her whole body began to tremble as adrenaline took hold. She had dodged his
attack, but only barely, and her hoodie sleeve was soaked in charcoal slime. It
reeked of burning tar and she could feel the heat of the liquid through the
fabric.
Gaster’s black inky arms ripped from the stone and he began to charge her
again. S-shit! Frisk scampered past and ran as fast as she could through the
shadowed towering bookshelves. She weaved in and out of the massive rows. Her
heart was pounding frantically, desperately. She… she felt f-fear… She could
feel her own fear through encompassing fury. She took in frenzied inhales while
darting forward and squeezing at her sword’s handle and torch in her hands.
 
Don’t let fear soften you! Lure him out! Use the torch!
 
She could hear him moving in behind her. He was right there. He was so close.
She could feel the heatwave radiating from his body. He was only a few feet
away, closing in on her. Frisk could see his spiraling tendrils propel forward
out of the corners of her eyes at either side while she ran. His sentient
tentacle limbs were faster than she was and they rocketed ahead and interlocked
directly in front, blocking her path.
 
GET DOWN!
 
Frisk ducked and plummeted to the floor, rolling to the side. She just barely
avoided the entrapment but Gaster's dripping oil aura had already smeared
against her back and arms and cheeks. It burned. She immediately tried to rub
off some of the sludge from her face with her shoulder as she tightened her
grip around her duel weapons in both hands.
 
H-holy crap…
 
I-I… can’t do this…
 
YES YOU CAN! GET UP! KEEP MOVING!
 
She gasped for a breath and lurched against the floor as she scampered up to
her feet. The violet torch flame in her hand wavered in the air as she ran. And
her opposite arm burned as she kept her sword summoned. Her chest felt like it
was going to burst. It hurt! Animosity smothered her anxiety. She felt like
someone had taken control of her body and and she sprinted around Gaster behind
him back down the tunnel of bookshelves. And as she ran she stared down at the
muddled glossy slime trail upon the floor. Gaster’s slime trail…
 
DO IT!! NOW!
 
Frisk came to a skidding halt and swiftly turned back to face the monster.
Gaster was at the end of the bookshelf passage. His tendrils were vibrating in
the air all around him. He was raging. He was furious that she had evaded his
attack a second time. And he started to charge her again.
 
 
“M̧͇̥̫̖̬͈̙͕̹͌̿̐̐̒͌͛͛̎̉̊̌̀̋͆̓̍̄͡͞Ą͇̩̙̟̫͙͎͓̖̦̇̓ͤ͂̓̄ͤ͘N̘̫̻͔̟̪͕̯͕̫̥̙̭̦͕ͥ̔ͨ͐̓̓̂̈́̂̈ͩ́ͭ̅͗͠͡ͅU̸̧͈͖͙̭͓͔͙͉ͨ̇ͮ͌̊ͦ̅M̿̎̉̂͝͏͈̭̙̖͙̺̗̗̼̤̟̠I̡̡͔͎͕̻͓̦̹̯͎̳̝͔̗͎̝̥͐̈́̓̈́̉̎̍̒̒͛̐͒ͨ̄̅̚T̶̸̼̠̟̤̖̩̮̘͕̦̹̃̔̒͗̔͠T̸̶̢̩̟̻̞̮͈̆ͯ̏̅͂̿̃̄̑̾̌͊̓̊̇̐ͥ͌̚͝E̵̷̸̡͚̱͈̪͙̠ͩ͊̒́͊͑͑͆͑̇̃ͩ̔̚̚̕Ȑ̢̛̙͕͓̫̖̥͙̯͓̻̺̰̲̺̺͍̌͂̐ͤ̾̈̈́̉̒ͦ̀̍̋̋͘͞!̵̛͙͈̹̺͎̓͗͋ͪͮ͛ͪ̂̓ͪ̓̚̕͜͠”
 
 
KILL HIM!
 
Frisk threw the violet burning torch down into the stream of sludge next to her
feet. A brilliant wall of fire erupted from the oil the moment the flame
collided with the path of ooze. It was so hot. So bright. Searing purple flames
leapt high into the air like wildfire and it swept down the liquid tar trail
back to Gaster. The moment the fire reached the monster he rose up in a
tremendous mass of fire.
Frisk staggered backwards with her back pinned against the bookshelf, away from
the fiery barrier. She stared back at the monster in horror and he began to run
down the side of the library. He was burning alive. Encompassed in flames.
Appalling screeches and ear-splitting screams emitted from his form as he ran.
The sound made Frisk feel ill and a toxic stench of burning rubber soon
replaced the aroma of firewood.
It was so hot and the flames were so close. The violet fire was out of control
and it bound high in the air against the ceiling, licking at the bookshelves,
catching them on fire as well. Frisk ran along the side of the passage back out
into the spacious edge of the library. The whole room began to flood with thick
smoke and bright amethyst light. She could see the trap door upon the floor and
sprinted for it, but that malicious inner voice wrapped around her form and
steadied her feet.
 
No. Go back and finish him.
 
B-but…
 
FINISH HIM.
 
Frisk’s legs trembled and she averted her gaze away from the trap door. She
turned towards the opposite side of the room. She could hear the monster
wailing out over the roaring fire, every sound he made sent a wave of dread
through Frisk’s whole body.
She slowly walked along the side of the library and turned a shelve corner.
Gaster had collapsed to the floor on the opposite side of the library. The fire
that had encompassed him had died down now, but his whole body remained
engulfed in low burning cinders. His face was charred black and his hands were
trembling at his sides. His form had begun to melt onto the ground. It shaped a
putrid puddle of black sticky tar around him. The sight was appalling and Frisk
almost retched, but the smell of burning rubber was even worse.
And despite her horror, ferocity urged her forth. Frisk stepped slowly up to
the convulsing monster. She stood over him, careful not to let the continuously
burning lavender embers lick at her legs. She stared down at his limp broiling
tendrils that lay trembling.
Another injection of rage shot throughout her limbs and gripped around her
soul.
 
Kill him.
 
……
 
KILL HIM NOW!
 
Her head hurt. Her soul was scalding hot. Her eyes were wide and twitching.
Frisk started to pant heavily as her chest and shoulders rose up and down from
each toiling inhale. She slouched over the monster and pointed her burning
scarlet sword directly at his pathetic physique.
 
“Die…”
 
Frisk heard her own whispered voice spill forth. It sounded foreign to her
ears. It sounded vile. But she couldn’t stop herself. She lifted her sword up
high and brought it down with all her strength, impaling the crimson blade
through the searing monster’s chest.
Gaster let out another deafening scream. It pierced through her ears but she
did not flinch. She sunk her saber deep into the monster’s body, jerking her
wrist to the side to get better leverage as it pierced through him and struck
the floor underneath. The monster was twitching violently against the ground in
a pool of his own filth. Gaster’s hollow eye sockets were wide and black ooze
started to rupture from his mouth in grotesque bursts.
Frisk grit her teeth together, watching the monster struggle… watching him die.
His skeletal hands rose and tried to grasp at the sharp edges of Frisk’s blade.
He was trying to pull the weapon from his chest to no avail. Frisk scoffed and
yanked the sword from him, then stabbed him again in a different spot. Her
blade cut through his burning liquid body like a hot knife through butter and
he shrieked out once more. Hot tar erupted from his mouth and eye sockets and
chest and it splattered all over Frisk’s bare legs and sword-holding hand. It
was hot, but she didn’t care.
Frisk continued to stab him repeatedly. Over and over. Slicing through his body
with her blade so violently, so overcome with hate. The fissures she left upon
him burst with heinous foaming ink like popping boils. She stabbed his chest
vigorously, destroying his body, destroying his soul. Until he finally stopped
moving.
Soon all Frisk could hear was her own rapid breathing and the sound of flames
overhead. The whole library was engulfed in fire now and the flares swirled
amidst the top of the ceiling. Every single bookshelf was burning fiercely.
Frisk could barely see her oil-coated sword or Gaster’s body through the smoke.
She stumbled backwards away from the oozing corpse.
 
Now it’s time to go…
 
Frisk turned and ran. She coughed from the heavy smog that descended and
wrapped around her. Her eyes were watering. Her legs were dripping in hot,
blistering tar. She could barely see through the smog. The heat was
suffocating.
As she ran, Frisk quickly sheathed her box cutter blade and in turn retracted
her soul sword. She shoved the weapon in her pocket and finally reached the
wooden trap door. She fell to her knees and slammed her hands down upon the
engraving.
Crimson light burst forth from her arms almost immediately. That translucent
liquid red wrapped around her limbs and ran down to her hands. The light
encompassed the entirety of the wooden exit and her soul forced the door open
and it swung out underneath her.
 
And Frisk fell into the damp shadows, back down into the sewers.
 
Her furor pulsed as she plummeted in the dark.
 
Her poisoned, burning determination cut through any fear.
 
Her voice of reason was gone.
 
Her revenge had just begun.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: N̷̶͇̩͔͔͕͍͍͍̺͔͕̲͍̾ͥͦ̓͑̃͊̆̆̉̏͐͘o̷̶̷̭͙͖͍̠̥̳̹̰̠̬̪͕̥̗̪͒̔ͧ̃͆̈́̐̓͞ͅ
͆̓̂͌ͤ͑́͏҉̠̜͖̳̜̬m̡̜̳̳̝͔͍͚̑ͤ̉̈e̵̛̝͈̯̹͚̩̥ͤ̈́͊̾͌̇ͥͥ̌̈́̇͗̚̚r͚͕̗͎̳̤̞͔̝̤̩̘̫̮̊̌͛̆̿͛̄̎͛͗͒̚̚͟ċ̸̰͎̬̪̲͔̜̩͍͕̟͊͐̇͆̋͜yͯͮ̓͒̿͒ͭ͐ͧ̇ͣ͑̈́҉̷̴͓͓̻͉̼͡͝
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     I’m sorry, Papyrus…
     Writing that was honestly very difficult for me. I might write a
     quick 3 chapter fluff story with Paps that is separate from this fic
     just to try and cheer myself up. I’m not even kidding ( ´△｀)
     Also, I’m sure Sans is going to be furious when he sees what Frisk
     has done… I don’t even what to think about it…… *chuckles weakly and
     sweats*
     Advance warning: The next chapter will contain graphic depictions of
     violence/guro.
     /////////////////////
***** XX *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 20: The G͞ e ͞ǹ ò ̛c i d ͟e̛ continues.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hey guys!!
     Firstly, I wanna do another shout out to Ammy who drew some more
     AMAZING comics for the fic! It's from the scene where Frisk first
     meets Chara in Waterfall's swamps and they are AWESOME!!! You have
     gotta go take a look. She has some mad skills <3 Ty so much again
     Ammy, I love seeing your renditions! You can check 'em out on their
     Instagram here: X X X X X X
     Secondly, things are getting super crazy, right!? Frisk is definitely
     starting to break from reality. I mean… the revenge is pretty sweet,
     but I just hope it won't completely destroy her in the process. Well…
     I guess you can find out right now in Chap. 20! Enjoy ;D
     Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence (per
     usual).
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
Frisk plummeted down into the cold darkness. Wet, sharp branches struck her
arms and legs as she fell through the stone drain pipe. Every muscle in her
body tensed and she held back a cry as she plunged. She tried to grab onto one
of the many coiling tree roots that swept past her, but they were so wet and
her hands were soaked and slick with black sludge. She couldn’t grip them. Her
hold kept slipping.
She fell further, and another wave of branches clashed against her body and
they began to cushion the speed of her descent. She could hear the branches
snapping all around her and suddenly she landed onto the ground with a loud,
painful thump.
Frisk lay against her side and groaned out, gasping for a breath. The painful
impact had knocked the wind from her lungs and she whimpered out, panting and
taking in deep, struggling inhales. Every inch of her was sore. Her chest
ached. She felt like she had just fallen from a twenty story building.
 
F-fuck…
 
Don’t linger. You need to keep moving.
 
That voice again. Her own voice rung in her mind like it had a conscious of its
own. It was controlling and burned hot within her head. Frisk panted as she lay
against her shoulder and brought both hands to her chest. Her sternum was still
broiling with energy. She could still feel that rage… a turmoil that squeezed
around her soul.
Frisk sat up in a thick pile of wet leaves, hands at her chest. She looked
around but there was only blackness. Not one shred of light. It was as dark as
she had remembered. She knew exactly where she was.
The sewers.
This was her third time in this squalid tunnel. But at least… at least it
wasn’t freezing cold or sweltering hot. Frisk began to cough and held a grimy
hand over her mouth. Her lungs were burning, perhaps from breathing in fetid
smoke in the library.
 
Oh, crap… t-the library.
 
She tilted her head up to glance above her, but of course she saw nothing but
velvet black. Her mind began to dart around in her head like a caged canary.
She had killed Papyrus… she had brutally murdered him. Then she murdered Gaster
and set the entire library on fire…
Frisk started to tremble. Her eyes went wide and she grasped at either side of
her head with both hands, tousled hazelnut bangs falling in her face.
 
They deserved it. Remember?
 
N-no… No… that’s…… That’s not-…
 
They are monsters. They would have killed you anyways.
 
But…
 
They want to kill you, Manumitter.
 
Frisk felt her soul start to shiver and coarse and she hung her head. That
overwhelming wave of hate and resentment burst forth from her chest and it
caused her hands to shake terribly. She was breathing hard, her shoulders
raising up and down like some deranged beast.
Frisk’s shivering hands finally released her scalp and began to grope around at
her knees and bare legs. Her flesh was sticky. She smeared the slippery oil
against her fingers and attempted to wipe the remnants of Gaster from her skin
but to no avail. Frisk pulled her backpack from her shoulders and she
immediately thanked her lucky stars that she had grabbed it. She opened her bag
in the dark and felt around for a bottle of water blindly, while her other hand
dug into her pocket and pulled out the box cutter. Thank god… thank god she
still had it with her.
She wrapped her fingers tightly around the sheath of her weapon while she
pushed at the knife’s side lever. The blade extended outward and summoned her
soul’s power forth. In an instant that bright red dazzling illumination flooded
the small space and she could see. Her sword appeared before her hand and
glistened so beautifully in the dark, humid atmosphere. Frisk smiled down at
her weapon. She was actually quite impressed with her own ability to summon it
so effortlessly now.
She held the weapon over her legs to get a look at the damage. They were
covered in obsidian fluid. Blisters and burns caked under tar. Frisk open the
water bottle and started to douse her legs, washing the ink from her skin. The
water rinsed away most of it. She could see the wounds easily now. Her injuries
stung but the scalding pain inside her chest overshadowed them.
Frisk tossed the empty water bottle aside and reached in her backpack again.
She pulled out a small plastic bag of vending machine mini muffins. Despite
everything - the deaths, the onslaughts, the rage and fear and pain - she was
still hungry. Frisk tore open the bag with her nails in one hand, keeping her
sword in the other, and popped one of the mini muffins into her mouth. But it
tasted… it tasted revolting… Why? Frisk coughed the food onto the floor and
grit her teeth.
 
W-what the hell… Why did it taste so vile? What was this?…
 
She rose her sword up overhead and used the light to peer back down into her
backpack, glancing over her dwindling food supply. Her eyes settled upon a
strip of beef jerky… and… for some reason… her mouth began water. It felt
unnatural. What did this mean?
But the searing animosity that had taken hold of Frisk’s soul smothered her
troubled thoughts and she snatched the jerky from her bag and immediately
ripped open the plastic wrapper with her teeth. She scarfed down the meat like
she hadn’t eaten in days. She was craving that flavor… the flavor of flesh.
 
You have been infected by a monster…
 
Be quite.
 
Frisk blinked and stared ahead at the mossy walls. She finished the jerky and
licked at her chops and fingertips before tossing the plastic to the side. She
slowly tugged her backpack over her shoulders and stumbled up to her feet. Her
eyes traveled down to her chest. Her entire hoodie was soaked with black liquid
grime. The sight made her cringe. She also saw streaks of crimson blood… and
muddled orange.
Frisk tore her frigid gaze from her hoodie and her eyes settled upon the ruby
scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. She let her fingers slip through the
thick folds and held the fabric up to her nose, taking in its robust scent of
mildew with closed eyes.
 
That’s quite a trophy you got there.
 
Her eyes shot open. Her expression was detached. Her deadpan gaze as cold as
ice. And she stepped forward through the singular tunnel. She held her sword
out in front of her and used its vermilion fluttering luminescence to light the
way. Her heart was palpitating rapidly and her soul simmered in a clout of
fevered toxic animosity that refused to subside.
 
 
 
 
Frisk tread through the murky waters of the drain pipe. It was just as she
remembered it the last two times. However this time, she was not afraid. She
was encased within a fortress of power. It spewed from her soul and traveled to
her hands and fingertips. It spawned her sword. And it guided each movement she
made. She was powerful and determined and ruthless.
 
That’s right. You are the Manumitter.
 
She walked calmly through the waterlogged aqueduct. Moldy leaves and twigs
encircled her ankles as she marched. And her thoughts returned to Sans… Sans.
She tightened her grip around the shaft of the sword. Was he even watching her
or had that just been a lie meant to terrorize? Where was he right now? Was he
waiting for her at the end of this tunnel? Perhaps… perhaps he was just biding
his time… Waiting for her guard to falter. And then he would strike.
Frisk’s anxiety ruptured forth and began to pulse throughout her limbs. The
idea that he could be lurking around any corner was even worse now than she had
ever known it to be. The suspense alone was torture. W-was this part of his
torment? Part of his game? Could he really be that cruel?
 
You can take him.
 
Are you insane?…
 
Every monster has a soul. Even Sans.
 
But he is not like the others.
 
She came to a stop. Frisk grasped at her forehead with a free hand and tried to
settle her painful clashing mentality. She was trembling. Her teeth were
clattering from restlessness. S-something was wrong… Nothing is wrong. Another
painful burst of agony, heat and resentment fractured deep inside her soul. She
continued on through the drain pipe.
 
 
 
 
She traveled through the wet tunnel silently. There was a light up ahead. Those
familiar vivid rays streamed out in multiple segments. Frisk recognized it
immediately and sprinted forward. Her sloshing steps slowed as she reached the
drain grate. She held her sword down to her side and pressed her opposite hand
against the cold, wet metal while she peered through its vertical crevices.
The swamp awaited her on the other side. It was just as bleak as always. Miles
of lifeless, putrid marshland. The air was stagnant and utterly silent. The
mold-coated weeping willows hung low around the raised wooden pathway that
weaved throughout the bog. And the shadowy black fog glided along the surface
of the mire like a phantom cloud.
Frisk looped her fingers between the iron grate and began to force it to the
side halfway, but her own malignant words suddenly whispered in her ears.
 
Caution. Sans could be lurking…
 
She hesitated and held her breath, knees feeling weak.
 
Prepare yourself.
 
Frisk let out a slow, shuddering exhale and shoved the heavy grate open.
She jumped down into the dreary limbo. Her legs sunk knee-deep into a morass of
mud. However, she did not flinch. She quickly wrapped both her hands around the
crimson sword and held the long blade out in front of her. Frisk’s eyes
narrowed as she scanned over the landscape.
 
Where are you, you bastard…
 
It was silent. No movement. Not even a mere breeze. Even the obsidian fog
seemed to solidify. Frisk felt her heart pound so rapidly in her chest. It was
difficult to breathe. The toxic, controlling rage ripped through her fear and
it was painful.
 
He’s not here. Keep moving.
 
Frisk blinked and glanced over at the wooden bridge a ways away. She trudged
through the mud up towards the high ground and stood at the bottom of the
stairs. Her stoic gaze locked onto the spot directly above the steps. Her eyes
glazed over as she stared. That spot… T-that spot.
 
Never forget what he did to you here.
 
Frisk’s teeth bared and she and clenched them together brashly. She wanted to
scream out but some unknown force held her voice down in her throat. Her rage
simply continued to storm and fester within her soul as she released a volatile
exhale and began to swipe through the air in front of her with the burning
blade. It was a temporary release of anger but it helped a bit.
She sighed and retracted the knife into its handle, and in turn the soul sword.
Her arm ached from the additional energy used to keep the weapon summoned for
such a long period of time. She clutched at the handle and began her ascension
up the steps.
Wooden planks creaked under her feet. Frisk began her journey along the side of
the bending path. She couldn’t believe she had to do this walk again. But
something deep within her soul told her it may not be the last time.
 
 
 
 
Frisk stepped quietly as she ventured forth, again, along the wooden trail. Her
heartbeat continuously pulsed through her veins. She was paranoid and kept
looking over her shoulder out behind the trees. But as she walked, she found
herself glancing down over the wooden railing into the swamp water. Thick dark
fog obscured the marsh, but she could just barely see her reflection painted
along the surface. And the sight of her own reflection made her soul course.
 
W-what…
 
Frisk came to a sudden stop and crouched down next to the edge of the path. She
poked her head in between the wide wooden columns and reached her free hand
downward to swipe away the black mist. Frisk blinked down at her mirror image.
A budding lump of unease started to sprout in the pit of her stomach and clog
her throat as she stared at her own reflection. H-her eyes… Something was wrong
with her eyes.
Frisk leaned in further to get a better look. She used her fingers to pry open
her eyelid. The coloration of her iris… it w-was distorted. The soft hazelnut
hue had been fractured with slivers of ice. She carefully examined the fissures
of pale blue within the brown. It looked… it looked frightful and infected. Her
pupils were small, narrow pinpoints directly within the center. The rest of her
looked a mess but ordinary, regardless. It was her corrupted eye color that
really scared her. That light blue discoloration… it reminded her of… of
Chara’s eyes.
She let out a dry huff, trying to calm her nerves. She felt sick to her
stomach, yet hungry at the same time. S-she wanted more jerky… Frisk used the
tarnished scarf to wipe away stray smudges of oil from her cheeks. She stumbled
back up to her feet and continued on. Oddly enough, her anxiety settled almost
instantly. The parasite within her soul infiltrated the unease and worry and
smothered her concerns. And she felt that placid, malicious energy take hold
once more without a care for her altered eye color.
 
 
Frisk began to pick up the pace. She trotted along the path with the box cutter
sheathed in one hand. Where was Chara? When she first met the mysterious girl,
it had been out here in these swamps. Shouldn't Chara be here? Frisk scanned
the dismal horizon of the water as she ran. It was barren. Chara was nowhere to
be seen. After her reset, her death, both Sans and Chara were not in their
usual spots. Well, she sort of expected that Sans wouldn’t be there, but Chara?
Perhaps… perhaps those two… were different somehow. They were both unaffected
by her resets. Unlike Papyrus and Gaster.
 
Do not let your thoughts distract you.
 
……
 
You are the Manumitter.
 
………
 
Your only objective is to destroy these monsters.
 
But… what about the gates?
 
That is secondary.
 
Frisk clenched her teeth as she ran faster, only the sound of her sneakers
clattering against the wooden planks echoed along the path. Despite her inner
voice’s words, her thoughts returned to Chara once more. Chara had killed her…
she had sent her back to Snowdin. B-but… how? Frisk had never died twice in a
row before so it was something new. Every previous death had happened right
after she touched a candle, a savepoint. And she found herself wondering
exactly how those candles worked.
 
‘There is a limit. Each death will take you a step back… And bring you closer.’
 
Chara’s ambiguous words echoed in her mind. Each death will take you a step
back… a step back… Had she been speaking about the candles? So after each
death, she would go back a candle? Was that why she had returned to Snowdin?
Because she had already died by Flowey's hand and used up her savepoint in the
Waterfall cave?
Frisk’s eyes widened. Her thoughts sprinted faster than her own feet. D-does
that mean… that her next death… will take her all the way back to the
beginning? Back to Napstablook’s tunnels?! No… NO NO NO! That CANNOT happen!
She could not return there. She had to get to the lava caverns. She had to find
another new candle as soon as possible. She felt fear. Her fear was so strong
that it burned through the tainted animosity that held her soul. She could not
die. It was not an option. She could NOT allow herself to be killed again.
There was an electric surge of determination and she ran faster. The humid air
brushed her hair back as she sprinted along the wooden road. ’There is a
limit.' A limit to the amount of resets she had… so her very first save,
Napstablook’s candle, was the final threshold. What happens if she were killed
without a candle to return to? Would that be a permanent death?
Frisk smiled weakly to herself at the thought. A permanent death certainly
sounded better than anything she had encountered during her time here. Her mind
glazed over old memories of the orphanage… of Izzy… It felt like those days
were centuries behind her.
Her soul began to throb painfully. It hurt. It burned her sternum and Frisk let
out a soft whimper. She clutched at the center of her chest with her opposite
hand, breathing hard while she sprinted. Her soul… h-her soul was poisoned. You
are fine. There was a parasite within her. You are the Manumitter. Like like
when Gaster had contaminated her… This is your destiny. Except… it was
different this time.
 
'Are you going to kill usss, Manumitter?'
 
Napstablook… Those words he had spoken to her, so long ago.
 
S-she had… become a… a killer…
 
THEY DESERVE THIS. REMEMBER WHAT THEY DID TO YOU.
 
Frisk struggled to fight against her malicious mentality. Her head was aching.
Her chest felt like it was being gouged open with sweltering needles. But the
rage… it won in the end, and her doubt died back down. And Frisk’s gaze
stabilized as she stared dead ahead, waiting for the massive caves of Waterfall
to appear over the horizon.
 
 
 
 
The bleak light that hovered around the entire swamp was starting to subside.
How long had she been running? She did not feel tired. Her muscles ached, but
they urged her forward regardless. The landscape around her was starting to
grow darker. The number of wilting swampland trees had begun to increase and
they hung overhead, creating an eerie hollow canopy. The black mist that
constantly rose up from the water was growing thicker… and very softly the
color began to morph into a deep shade of azure blue.
Frisk stumbled and stopped in the middle of the path. She brushed her sweaty
bangs out of her eyes and watched the lighting change from a dim, murky grey to
ominous black. The fog wafted up into the atmosphere and illuminated the swamp
a dense sapphire. Why… why did this happen? Was it just a natural occurrence
out here in Waterfall’s swamp?
 
You cannot stop.
 
But… it’s so dark…
 
Call forth your sword and continue on.
 
She squeezed the box cutter in her hand and pushed the lever up, unsheathing
its blade. She summoned her unstable soul energy. It burned at the center of
her chest and wrapped around her arm before it ran down to her hand, creating
the dazzling saber around the ordinary knife. Frisk held the sword out in front
of her like a resplendent torch.
 
Keep your eyes peeled for MK…
 
 
 
 
And she continued on her way. The blue hue from the fog and the red shimmering
light from her sword turned the humid atmosphere around her a gleaming shade of
amethyst. It was unsettling and as quiet as ever. Frisk continued to glance
over her shoulder every now and then. The thought of Sans appearing out of thin
air was a constant weight on her mind. And now, in this darkness, it was even
more daunting. She tried not to think about what would happen the next time she
saw him… But as always, her aggravated rage smothered her thoughts
instantaneously. She couldn’t think about it anyways, even if she wanted to.
Her mind would not allow it.
As she ran, there was a sound.
 
A sound.
 
Get down.
 
Frisk plummeted to the wooden planks below her. Her movement felt automatic,
like she had no control of her own body. She immediately retracted her sword
and the red shimmering light vanished. Her heart was racing in her chest and
her hands felt clammy from fear. Oh, god…… Oh, god… w-was it Sans?
 
It’s the kid.
 
Frisk blinked and peered through the wooden railing pillars at her side, out
into the dense blue swamp. She heard the sound again. It sounded like soft,
distant splashes. Like someone was out in the middle of the mire trudging
around. Frisk narrowed her eyes and squinted through the fog. She couldn’t see
him, she could only hear his slow movements.
 
Don’t trouble yourself. He will come to you.
 
Those words pulsed through her head. It was her own voice. It had a mind of its
own. Somehow… the voice… it knew. T-the parasite… The infection that gripped
her soul. She didn’t want to think about it. And her trepidation wouldn’t allow
her to ponder over any concerns. She simply sat up and scooted back, sitting in
the middle of the obscured path with her shoulders slumped forward, legs
crossed and head hanging. And she waited in the shadows.
 
 
 
Frisk idly played with the scarf as she sat. She traced her fingertips over a
dried stain of blood while simultaneously listening to MK out in the distance.
She knew he would approach her eventually, when he realized that he was not
alone. And then… and then she would…
 
He’s simply a monster, just like all the others.
 
He’s just a kid…
 
So are you.
 
……
 
He deceived you. He led you to Undyne. He led you to your downfall. Don’t you
remember that?
 
………
 
Don’t be so naive.
 
Frisk took in a trembling inhale and pressed her face against an open palm. She
felt like her mind and her soul were being torn in two. And the pain within her
chest never once receded.
The subtle splashing out in the swamp was growing louder. MK was trudging
closer to the path. She could hear him, hear his thumping wet steps. Rage
started to churn in her stomach and it spread throughout her whole body as she
listened.
Frisk pulled her face from her hand and glanced out into the swamps. She could
see him. MK was standing waist deep in the blue misty bog. He was only a
handful of yards away. And he was staring back at her, all four of his dark
stacked eyes as wide as saucers.
“Whoa! Hey!”
She heard him call out and the small scaled monster immediately darted forward.
He reached the edge of the path and stared up at Frisk with a look of pure
amazement. Frisk remained silent. She stared back down at the monster, the
traitor. Her gaze was apathetic and callous. Her abnormal eyes glazed blue from
the glowing smog.
"Wow! I've never seen anyone else out here before!" MK exclaimed and his
crocodile teeth widened in that large familiar smile. He was bursting with
excitement.
MK forced his way in between the wooden pillars of the path and squeezed
through them, climbing up onto the planks using his teeth as grappling hooks.
He was dripping with scum and algae. And Frisk quickly rose up to her feet in
front of him. The little reptilian monster shook himself off, spraying water
everywhere. He was still dawned in that stained brown leather cloak.
“Where are you from? You’re not from Waterfall, are you? How did you get here?”
His questions spilled forth as those dark quadrupel eyes scanned Frisk from top
to bottom.
 
Watch out for his tail…
 
His what?
 
His tail.
 
Frisk stared blankly as she listened to the conversation in her head. She could
barely hear the monster's words over the voices. Hatred began to fester deep
within her soul like it often did, and it pulsed vigorously. Every thought that
filled her mind dripped with venom and anger. An anger so strong that it made
her light-headed. Her hands were trembling at her sides and she squeezed around
the handle of her box cutter so tight that its metal edge cut into her palm.
MK blinked his eyes simultaneously and stared back at her. His look of
amazement altered into one of concern.
“Hey… are you a human?” He whispered under his breath and he took a step
forward moving in close.
Frisk blinked. Her deadpan gaze darted down, locking onto the creature's tail
at his side. It was thick and scaled and it wiggled silently in the air. And it
began to rise behind him. He was going to bring it down against the wood. So
that was how he did it. The vibrations from his slapping tail… He had done it
consistently back then. That was how he had alerted Undyne last time.
 
Kill him.
 
……
 
NOW.
 
In an instant, Frisk flipped her thumb against the utility knife’s lever,
unsheathing the blade, and her brilliant glistening sword ruptured fourth. The
light was blinding in the dark and she couldn’t see through its glare, but she
knew where to aim. That guiding force urged her feet forward and she lunged to
the monster's side then brought her arm down behind him, slicing her sharpened
translucent blade through the middle of his tail. Her movements had been so
swift that the small monster hadn’t even flinched.
MK let out a gut-wrenching scream which echoed throughout the whole swamp. He
staggered down to his knees and began to writhe on the floor. His tail had been
severed - cut in two. The amputated detached appendage wriggled against the
wood as crimson blood gushed from his open wound. The sight was appalling. The
monster screamed louder, his eyes wide and tearing, his stubby feet scraping
against the bloody planks below him.
And Frisk ripped her blade from the floor. Her sword dripped with blood. The
crimson fluids ran down the handle and painted her hand. She rolled her
shoulders back, taking in a deep inhale, and stood over the frantic convulsing
monster. Her face was expressionless… but her heart was pulsing rapidly.
 
T-this… this is too much…
 
FINISH HIM OFF.
 
Frisk stepped over the monster with her feet at either side of his waist. He
was screaming and crying and shouting inaudible curses back up at her. His
whole body was trembling as blood spewed from the base of his severed tail and
it pooled against the wooden floor and dripped into the water through the slits
between each plank.
But Frisk simply stared down at the creature. Her poisoned eyes were immense
and maniacal. She wrapped both hands around the blood-stained handle of her
sword and held the blade over the monster’s chest, locking it into position.
MK’s frantic movements stilled and he stared at her with wide eyes. His face
contorted with fear.
And a soft stream of words whispered past Frisk’s lips.
“I’m not just a human. I’m the Manumitter…”
She did not even recognize her own voice. Frisk lifted the sword high above her
head and brought the sharp blade down governed by resentment and rage. The
blade cut through the monster’s torso so violently. It pierced through his
cloak and penetrated the front of his scaled chest. But Frisk did not stop. She
ripped the sword from his flesh and brought it down again. And again. And she
repeated her heinous, brutal assault, hacking him open.
Blood burst and ruptured fourth as Frisk ripped the sword from the monster’s
insides, only to bring it down once more. Dark, silky crimson coated the front
of her hoodie and scarf and it splattered against her face and legs and hands.
 
They want you dead, Manumitter.
 
She sliced the blade through his body until she could feel the tip of her
weapon pierce the wooden floor underneath.
 
They are all the same.
 
The length of MK’s torso had been cleaved in two. His cracked exposed rib bones
jutted out underneath the gore and viscera that spilled onto the path. His eyes
were wide open, his tapered reptilian jaw hung ajar. Yet Frisk continued her
rampage.
 
Kill them all.
 
She could see blood pooling in the back of his throat and dripping down his
teeth. He was not screaming anymore. He was completely still.
 
I’ll kill them all.
 
Frisk’s hands finally steadied. She panted heavily, barely able to catch a
frantic breath. Adrenaline and hate coursed through her veins. She was dripping
in his blood and her whole body felt flushed with anger. Her soul… her soul was
savoring the depraved rancor that tainted her entire being.
Frisk swapped her sword’s handle to one hand and brought it to her side. She
stepped over the monster and stared down at his mutilated corpse as blood
dripped from her bangs and ran in her eyes.
 
That was easy.
 
S-stop this…
 
The perishing voice of reason was so faint that she could barely hear it. Frisk
sheathed her sword and stuffed the bloodied weapon back into her pocket. She
crouched down next to the remains of MK. And for some reason… her mouth… her
mouth began to water at the heinous sight. She peered inside his open chest
cavity and her eyes locked onto something just barely visible within his ribs.
There was something buried deep inside his ruined entrails.
His soul.
A small brown orb, splintered like a broken marble. It oozed blood and auburn
energy.
 
It’s time to go.
 
Frisk heard her own voice purr in her ears, but her curiosity urged her arm
forth. She reached a hand and slipped it inside the monsters gushing, fatal
wound. It was warm inside him… and slippery. Her fingers wrapped around the
small broken soul. She ripped the sphere from MK’s body and held it up in front
of her eyes. It dripped with hot essence. The color reminded her of the muddled
swamp water. It was fitting, she supposed.
 
Move.
 
Frisk reluctantly rose to her feet. She glanced down at the maimed mound of
blood and internal organs spread out before her and she dropped his soul to the
floor. It landed with a soft thud and rolled along the wooden planks until it
reached the edge of the path and fell into the water.
Frisk lifted her head and stared up at the canopy of black molded trees above.
She allowed her eyes close and took in a trembling inhale before releasing the
breath slowly. I am the Manumitter. A ruthless killer. Powerful. Vengeful. And
a tranquil smile radiated along her features. Then she turned and continued
down the path, leaving a heinous trail of bloody shoe prints behind her.
 
 
 
 
Frisk walked along the wooden trail using only the rising azure fog to light
the way. It was still dark. Her entire body was stained with clotting blood and
it had begun to dry against her skin. It felt itchy and uncomfortable, but
Frisk did not stop to wash it off. She knew the end of the path was up ahead,
and in turn the entrance to Waterfall. Her voice of reason no longer whispered
in her head. Frisk walked in silence and her thoughts were static and hollow.
The only ideation that bubbled in her mind was the urgency to reach Waterfall’s
caverns, get past the lava caves, and find another candle… a new save point.
 
Frisk came to a sudden stop and stared down at the path. She finally reached
the end of the trail and the abrupt cut-off of jagged wooden planks was
unchanged, but she did not hesitate like last time. Frisk stared ahead and
stepped down into the murky mire. The blood that coated her legs immediately
began to wash off in the water and it permeated along the surface below the
blue fog. She trudged forward in the substantial darkness. Soon the water rose
to her waist but she was completely unbothered by it. Besides, the water was
efficient in cleansing her flesh of blood… but it could not wash out the deep
red stains that tainted her clothes.
Frisk lumbered through the thick swamp. Her sneakers caught on mounds of mud
and roots at the marsh floor. But she did not have to walk long before the
water started to dwindle back down to her ankles and she came upon the massive
gaping cavern entrance.
Waterfall.
She stared down the continuous stretch of swampland that spanned the length of
the cave and stepped inside.
 
 
 
The temperature plummeted the moment she entered the cave. The trees were gone
and she was surrounded by nothing by swamp, rising sapphire fog, and wet cavern
walls. Soon the clearing water began to rise to her chest. It was no longer
muddy swamp water. Frisk glanced down through the azure mist and she could see
her own feet underneath the glassy surface. She pulled her box cutter out of
her pocket under the water and rinsed it clean of any blood.
But as Frisk tread deeper into the cavern, that unsettling wave of paranoia
started to suffuse her soul once more. She found herself glancing over her
shoulder every couple of minutes. Sans…… Sans… Where are you?…
 
Don’t you worry about him.
 
She dropped her blade back in her pocket and cupped her hands underneath the
clear glistening blue water. She bent down and splashed some against her face
and dunked the top of her head underneath the surface, rinsing away stray
splatters of blood.
As she continued on her eyes began to scan the walls. Soon she noticed the open
archways, each only sporting a different colored streak of paint above the
inlets. Frisk came to a stop and she felt her heart shiver with a rare
collision of apprehension. The white paint… That is the one you need… The white
streak on the right side of the cavern.
Frisk stepped over towards the right wall and she slowly passed each open
tunnel entrance. Her eyes quickly studied every stripe of paint. Blue… red…
purple… no, no… oh wait- that one. White. She came to a stop and peered down
the long stretch of tunnel. It was narrow, flooded with spectral blue fog, and
she could see the arena at the end of the passage.
Frisk lifted her foot to take a step forward but the predominant rage that had
settled inside her soul stilled her movements.
 
No. Undyne must be destroyed.
 
But… but the 5th gate is this way…
 
That is not why we are here.
 
………
 
Use the next tunnel up ahead.
 
Frisk chewed at her lower lip and for a brief moment she felt like herself
again as a rush of emotions fought with the parasite in her soul. But, like
always, the hate attacked her conscious and she felt that terrible shooting
pain pierce her dead center. I-it hurt… She clenched her teeth and held back a
cry, grasping at her chest with one hand and stumbled back against the cold,
wet wall. She took in unsteady, agitated breaths. T-this must stop…
 
Do not linger. Now move.
 
She pushed herself up off the wall and staggered forward, walking past the
entrance with the white streak and headed for a narrow opening next to it. It
was a tunnel as well, and the archway had a black streak of paint above it.
Frisk peered down the second channel and she quickly realized that it wasn’t a
tunnel at all, but a long stretch of ascending stairs.
 
Go on.
 
Frisk stepped through the archway and began to climb the stairs that rose up
out of the water. Without the swamp, the blue hue diminished and Frisk found
herself scaling the steps in darkness. They were slippery and she pressed both
of her hands at either side of the walls to steady her movements. But the
stairs were only about three flights up and soon she could see a light at the
top of the steps. Frisk peered through the open archway as she reached the
final stair.
She was at the top of the arena… she was standing upon the stone balconies that
hovered over the concave Colosseum. Horizontal streams of light descended from
those slight openings embedded within in the ceiling and illuminated the space.
This… this was where Undyne had loitered during the first half of their
skirmish.
Her soul began to pulse with seething resentment. Frisk found it difficult to
stand breathe. She slowly stepped over towards the side of the stone edge and
peered down into the arena. It really did look like a fishbowl. So this was
what Undyne saw. What a cruel and unfair advantage she had… Frisk’s hands
curled up into fists and she dug her nails into her palms with closed eyes. Her
teeth clenched as her soul soaked in hate and rage like a sponge.
 
Manumitter, open your eyes. And go finish her off.
 
Frisk obeyed. She stared ahead, back towards the end of the circular space. On
the opposite side of the room was a small concave alcove. And within that
narrow space was a massive stone throne with an… an armored monster… sitting
right in the center.
Undyne.
Frisk felt faint at the sight and immediately sunk to her hands and knees.
 
O-oh god… Had she seen her!? How could she have NOT seen her???
 
She had been out in the open distracted by the stone platform verandas,
completely unaware that she was standing in the same room as that terrible,
deranged wyrm woman. But w-why wasn’t she shouting? Why wasn’t she attacking?
 
Be calm. She is resting.
 
Those words settled the burning anxiety and fear that clutched around Frisk’s
heart. She slowly lifted herself from the floor and squinted back at the alcove
on the far end of the room. Undyne was perched upon the throne with her legs
crossed at her knees. Her scaled claws propped atop either side of the chiseled
stone arm rests and her thin iron spear was leaning against the side of the
throne. Undyne’s only visible eye - the eye that was not wrapped with bandages
- was closed. Her platemail clad chest rose and fell softly with each steady
breath she took. She definitely appeared to be asleep.
 
Be quick.
 
Frisk’s legs were trembling but she could not stop her slow tiptoeing advance
forward. She stepped silently along the side of the rounded room, making her
way towards the back, towards Undyne. Her body felt fevered and her soul felt
like it was going to shatter from searing pain. Frisk’s hand inched towards her
pocket and she reached for her box cutter, pulling it out and unsheathing the
knife without a sound.
 
This is insane! You are going to die!
 
SHUT UP and FINISH HER!
 
Frisk stepped closer…
And closer…
She could hear Undyne’s constant breaths. She could see the monster’s sharp
black claws scraped into the stone. She stared at the left side of Undyne’s
face, at the sticky, wet blood-stained bandages glistening in the pale light.
Even in her sleep, the monster’s teeth were bared. That grotesque interlocking
wall of thick bleeding needles. They cut into her own gums and red velvet
liquid oozed down her chin.
Frisk stepped up to the side of the throne. She could see Undyne’s closed eye
twitch underneath her eyelid for a brief moment and Frisk felt as if she was
going to cry out from fear. S-she’s going to wake… oh, god… she will wake… But
the toxic rage steadied her terror like it always did.
 
If you do it quickly, she won’t wake.
 
…
 
She will die in her sleep. That is a rare luxury.
 
………
 
One she does not deserve. But we are running out of time.
 
…
 
So finish her now.
 
I-…
 
Do it.
 
Frisk stepped forward and stood directly in front of the sleeping monster. Her
distorted eyes were wide, her pupils constricted into thin specks within her
iris. She lifted her hand, holding the drawn box cutter out in front of her,
the blade pointing directly at the monster’s exposed throat. But Frisk’s hand
was trembling, her soul was engulfed in the flames of hate and turmoil… but
also confliction. A voice of reason, her mercy, ignited within the depths of
her soul in one last desperate attempt of cohesion.
 
Manumitter, what are you waiting for?
 
Please…
 
Out of all the monsters you have defeated, this one warrants your vengeance the
most.
 
I know that… b-but…
 
It was UNDYNE’S law that states you be captured.
 
It… it was…
 
It was UNDYNE’S will that you be led through the Underground like a dog.
 
She’s… just a monster…right?…
 
It was UNDYNE’S aspiration that you be murdered after the final gate is
unlocked.
 
She’s a beast…
 
SHE is the reason for all of your suffering! For all of your pain!
 
She must… die.
 
Now KILL HER.
 
I’ll kill her.
 
KILL HER!
 
I’ll kill them all.
 
Undyne’s singular eye twitched again underneath the blue scaled lid. Her eye
was starting to waver.
All of Frisk’s hate and anger and resentment for this abhorrent hell, for every
monster in this purgatory, for Papyrus and Gaster and Toriel and Napstablook
and… and Sans, all of her tremendous loathing burst forth in the form of her
soul’s energy. The translucent unstable flames erupted from her chest and arm
and licked up into the air violently. The power ran down her limb, through her
tendons, and enveloped the box cutter in an instant. And her magnificent sword
generated before her eyes and burned so bright and erratic. The blade was
volatile. It was capricious. Her soul was completely unhinged with fury.
Undyne’s eye shot open, but it was already over.
Frisk swiped the blade horizontally and her sword’s edge cut clean through the
monster’s throat. It severed Undyne’s skull from her neck and her heavy
decapitated head landed upon the floor with a revolting wet thump. Undyne’s
decollated body slumped to the side of the throne while vermilion claret spewed
from her cleaved neck.
But Frisk was not finished.
She screamed out in a rage over the sound of her sword’s energy, and she
started stabbing through Undyne’s torso. Her sword pierced the thick armor and
impaled the monster’s breasts and chest violently. Frisk’s hate was so
overwhelming, her energy was burning, her limbs felt like they were aflame. She
stabbed through Undyne’s body, through Undyne’s soul, counting the numbers of
each thrust in her head until she lost track of them.
 
 
 
 
 
Frisk stumbled down the stairs back into the main cave. She made her way
through the tunnel that led to the bottom level of the arena. Her movements
were sluggish. Her eyes wide and twitched with vitality. Frisk’s soul sword was
still drawn and she dragged it behind her, its crystallized sharp tip scraping
along the waterlogged stone floor. She was soaked in blood and slivers of blue
flesh and scales. The red scarf she wore dripped with it. Her entire body was
shaking. Her mind was simply an overflowing basin of poisonous malice.
Frisk’s hollow, bloodshot eyes scanned the room until they settled upon the 5th
gate. She lurched towards it and slammed her free hand down upon the symbol.
Her energy spewed forth and the door swung open immediately. She was so strong
now. So strong… Her power… Her energy… It was unparalleled.
She let out a deranged chuckle and a sweeping gust of cold wind blew back
blood-soaked hair from her face. The waterfall. She stood atop that dreadful
waterfall. The water raged before her feet. There was nothing but obscured
darkness on the other side of the door, along with deafening rushing riptides.
But there was no other way down. And the malevolent parasite that had now taken
complete control directed her forward. Frisk swiftly sheathed her blade and
gripped onto the handle tight before stepping down into the water. She was
immediately swept up by the current. She held her breath tight in her lungs as
she was sucked under the glassy surface. It was cold and the underswell of
waves pummeled against her. But it did not last long. The roar of the raging
current grew louder as she reached the edge of the waterfall and plummeted down
the massive length of the falls and into the deep river below.
Frisk’s heart was pulsing frantically in her chest as she was swept down the
river, but she did not feel afraid. The anger that possessed her masked every
shred of fear. Her hands gripped onto the first rock she felt and she pushed
herself back against the riverbank. She climbed up the rocky edge and coughed
against the floor. Her whole body was trembling but she did not feel cold. Her
skin was flushed with burning vehemence.
 
Good job. Now move.
 
G-give me a minute, will you??
 
Frisk coughed again, retching up foul river water she had breathed in, and
clumsily pushed dripping locks out of her face. The voice whispered so clearly
in her head over the roar of the falls next to her.
 
There’s no time, Manumiter. Flowey is next.
 
Flowey?…
 
I’m sure you remember Flowey.
 
Frisk’s hands curled into fists. Her knuckles turned white from the strain and
she leered forward in the darkness as that malignant rage spread through her
once more.
 
That flower…
 
 
She summoned her sword began the hike along the river’s edge, using the red
glow to light the way. Her movements were slow and staggered. She felt like she
had become a puppet to some internal parasite. Her whole body ached but the
pain was severed by the monster within her. It wouldn’t let her rest. It
wouldn’t allow her to feel fear or empathy. She was simply a husk of her old
self.
As Frisk walked along, the river’s current began to soften. She saw that red
glowing hue rise from the water’s surface out of the corner of her eye. She
knew she was getting closer… closer to the lava chambers… closer to the
unknown. And then she came upon the small cave.
Frisk stopped in her tracks and turned her head to glance back at the hollow
inlet. A familiar candle sat by the wall and flickered gently. For some reason
the nostalgic sight made her heart pound eagerly. Frisk’s curiosity pushed her
forth and she stepped through the open archway and up to the spectral candle in
the small chamber. She sunk down to her feet and let her fingers graze over the
warm wax… but nothing happened.
 
Did you really think something would happen? You have already saved here. You
must find the next candle, Manumitter.
 
She felt her shoulders start to tremble and took in a deep, unsteady breath.
She felt sick… and deplorable.
“Chara…” She spoke softly and her voice actually sounded like her own for a
fleeting moment, “Chara, where are you?”
But nobody came.
 
 
 
Frisk eventually rose back to her feet and continued on along the stony
riverbed. She watched the water as it went from a clear, rippling stream to a
luminous river of bubbling crimson. The lava filled the entire space with
stifling heat and soon Frisk was sweating. She remembered this feeling very
well. She had felt it right before she died.
She rolled up the sleeves of her hoodie and tread closer to the walls of the
vast caverns. She walked along the edges of those familiar stony ruins and
narrowed her eyes as she studied the dismal landscape.
 
This monster is a tricky one. He will come to you under the right
circumstances…
 
Frisk blinked and squeezed the handle of her sword.
 
He is hungry. Hungry for blood. Use that weakness and lure him out.
 
She stopped in her tracks and glanced around the interior of the sweltering
cave. Her rage throbbed and she turned around to face the rubble behind her,
gripping tightly onto one of the broken pillars with a free hand. She climbed
up onto a disheveled wall of the ruins and leaned over the side, glancing down
at the floor.
 
Go on.
 
Frisk let her energy spread through her arm as she retracted her sword back
within her poisoned soul. But she did not sheath the blade of her utility
knife. No, instead she held the measly sharpened edge to her palm and cut into
the flesh. She flinched slightly from the sting and watched as a few drops of
blood dripped onto the floor. Her blood… Her trap. She’d lure that vile demon
out from his underground dwelling and destroy him.
And Frisk crouched quietly upon the ruins up off the ground. Her eyes locked
onto the small beads of blood on the gravel. She was lying in wait for him. She
was the predator now. And it did not take long. It had only been about 10
minutes before she heard the sound of stones shifting.
 
He’s coming.
 
A mound began to rise up from underneath the earth’s dry crust. It was him.
Frisk watched with narrowed eyes, pupils distending with anticipation. She
leaned forward silently, perched upon the low wall.
The flower broke through the gravel directly in front of the blood spots. He
was facing away from Frisk. He hadn’t seen her yet. He rose up from the ground
like a twisting serpent and lowered his head down at the blood, inspecting it
over.
 
Kill him.
 
Frisk hesitated. Her scathing soul drummed painfully.
 
KILL HIM.
 
That familiar burst of rage took hold and she surrendered herself to the
controlling fiend within. Frisk swiftly flicked her wrist and her unhinged soul
energy burst forward down her arm through the knife. The dazzling transparent
sword erupted forth before her eyes.
It only took a second.
Frisk jumped down off the wall behind the rising flower and pierced through the
top of his head with her blade. He didn’t even see it coming. She speared
through the center of the creature over and over, stabbing his singular cyclops
eye until it was nothing more than a bloody pulp. She could hear his screams as
she skewered his entire physique, the tip of her blade piercing him into the
floor. Frisk swiped her saber through his coiling vines that formed his body,
hacking the creature into multiple pieces. Some of his trembling thorny
tendrils burst from the ground, but she cut each one down the moment they
reached the surface.
He was no match for her vengeance.
Blood and petals and chunks of red smearing vine coated her legs. Frisk
continued to stab her sword through the monster's head and thin body until he
was nothing more than mounds of bloody flesh.
Die! Die! DIE! DIE!!
The flower’s form was unrecognizable. It was vile and heinous. And Frisk
sneered as she stomped the bottom of her messy sneaker down into the heap of
gore. Red pulp splattered against the stones and upon her shoes. Her discolored
eyes were wide and twitching and a cynical smirk spread across her features.
She was gone. Long gone.
 
 
 
 
…
 
Manumitter…
 
……
 
Frisk took in enticed inhales as she stared down at the splattered viscera. Her
smirk twitched, her hands shook with excitement. There was so much power
running through her. So much fury. But the voice was ringing in her ears and
would not give her a moment to relish in the kill. And it sounded different. It
sounded… anxious.
 
Manumitter. You need to move.
 
Frisk blinked and slowly lifted her head, staring ahead with demonic dead eyes.
 
He’s close.
 
………
 
What?…
 
Move now.
 
Wait… w-what!?
 
There is a candle up ahead. Go!
 
Frisk’s maniacal smirk faded almost instantly. Her distorted eyes started to
quiver. He’s close… She felt her heart plummet to the center of her stomach.
Her pulse was galloping. She even felt a fragment of fear start to splinter
through the pit of her soul. Oh, crap… And she immediately bound forward.
 
Get to the candle! Quickly!
 
The malicious inner voice sounded frantic. It had never sounded like that
before. It scared her. Frisk clenched her teeth and gripped a blood-stained
hand tightly around her sword’s hilt as she ran through the vast caverns. She
jumped over narrow streams of lava that weaved throughout the floor. The heat
singed the bottom of her sneakers, but she didn’t falter. Sweat dripped in her
eyes. She still did not stop her frantic dash forward. If she could just get to
the candle… but where is it!? Where is it??!!
Frisk ran into another vast broiling chamber. Towering ruins along the walls
seemed to rise up from the ground. They loomed overhead and reminded Frisk of
white ancient Roman structures, but they were completely demolish.
She scanned the room frantically. Her conscious was screaming at her but she
couldn’t hear the words. She darted forward, leaping over multiple lava trails.
Her anxiety was almost crippling.
 
But wait-… Wait, she saw something. Out of the corner of her eye. Yes, a
light…!
 
On the opposite side of the chamber, perched up high upon broken columns within
a mound of ruins. A candle.
It was a candle!
It flickered softly and it looked like a little speck of ember surrounded by
collapsed white buildings. Frisk stared up at it with astonishment. She glanced
down at a row of thin ascending steps that seemed to lead up to the balcony… a
stairway that rose up to the high shelf where the candle was perched.
 
Run, you idiot! Get to those stairs! Hurry!
 
Frisk held her blade at her side. She darted forward, stumbling over more lava
and piles of sweltering obsidian gravel. It was so hot and the shivering
mirages danced around the sultry atmosphere and burned her bare legs. It’s so
close! Just get up those steps! She stumbled towards the expansive and
intricate collapsed structure and skidded around the corner of a towering wall.
 
And then-
Something hit her…
 
Hard.
 
It was like a kick to the face.
Brunt force slammed into her jaw and Frisk was knocked to the opposite side of
the rubble enclosure. Her head bashed against stone and she immediately tasted
blood in her mouth and violently coughed up a tooth, her own tooth, that struck
against the back of her throat from the savage impact.
 
Oh… o-oh, god…
 
Something had knocked out her tooth…
 
She staggered to her feet. Wet bangs hung in her face and blood dripped from
her mouth. Her jaw felt like it had been fractured. She slid her tongue over
the space between her teeth where her front canine tooth had been knocked out
from the clash. Frisk blinked away the sweat that ran in her eyes…
And she heard it…
 
That deep, reverberating sinister chuckle that made her blood run cold.
 
There was a large figure standing before her…
 
He… he had been hiding behind the walls.
 
Waiting for her…
 
N-no… no…
 
…
 
“end of the line, kiddo.”
 
 
Sans.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: b a d t i m e
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Whoooooa. Things are getting pretty heated in here. Pun intended.
     Ah… um… yeah. I’m not gonna say much about the next chapter. But I
     will leave you with a little warning below ↓
     ADVANCED WARNING: The next chapter will contain the first REALLY
     FUCKED UP non-con rape scene along with brutal graphic depictions of
     violence/guro. I am definitely going to hell for writing this chapter
     (lol). So please, proceed cautiously.
     /////////////////////
***** XXI *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 21: On days like these, kids like you…
     S͕͎̠̭͇̽̃̌Ḣ̈ͯÖ̙͔͎̹́͒̽̽̍̿͋UL̃͑͊̔̚D̤͔̠̞̞̐̂͛͆ͪ̑.̹̹ ͨ̓͒͊͋ͥḆ̝͊ͭ̾͑̊͋̇E̺ͭͣ͂.
     ̫̭B͖̲͓̯͔̤ͣU̠͂̽ͬRͪ̍ͣ̎ͧ̽N̹̬̼̄ͅIͦN̼̳̺̱G͔̼͈ͭ̏̄̽̀.̠͚̩͇̫͇̞̾̔̏̒͗̑̃
     ̫̃ͯ̋I̟͌ͤͦ̈͛N̩͓̥̽̇̓̒.̰͐̔̈́ͯ͑ͮ ͣ͊ͫ̚Ḧ̪̯̹̠̿ͥ̇́̇͑ͅE̾̾L̗͖̤̩̱̭͍L̰̼̎ͨ̽̈́͌͗.ͤ
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Haaaay everyone,
     ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)………
     I wonder how many of you sick puppies have been waiting for this one
     *shifty doggo eyes*
     Ahah-… Anyways! As always, thank you for your words of encouragement,
     kudos, feedback, etc! I love reading and responding to all of the
     comments. It's really awesome to see everyone's perspective on the
     story and characters as a whole. So keep ‘em coming!
     Btw this fic is about 40% complete. We are closing in on the halfway
     point here (Holy moly it’s already 100k+ words wtf.) Granted that
     could change. Nothing is set in stone. I originally anticipated this
     fic to be 30ish chapters, but with the way things are going it will
     most likely be more than that.
     So… Chapter 21. I don’t think I need to say much about this one.
     ALSO, THIS CHAPTER IS SO STUPID LONG THAT IT’S DISGUSTING. I’m so
     sorry!!!! I’m really trying to shorten the word count but it’s hard!
     Skippers, please proceed to the bottom_notes for a brief summary.
     Readers, please see the warning below.
     WARNING WARNING WARNING: This chapter contains detailed and explicit
     non-con sexual violence as well as graphic physical violence/guro.
     Please please please proceed cautiously.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
Frisk pushed herself from the stone wall and staggered back up to her feet. She
grasped at the side of her aching jaw with a free hand and held back a cry,
still gripping at her sword’s handle in the opposite hand. God, it hurt. The
entire left side of her face felt numb from the impact and she peered through
sweat-soaked bangs that fell like a curtain in front of her eyes.
 
S-sans…
 
It was Sans.
 
The towering skeleton stood before her. His fur-trimmed hood lay back, framing
his shoulders, and Frisk could see that gaping, jagged aperture at the topside
of his skull. His hollow sockets were wide and twitching at their lower lids.
His single vermilion malevolent sphere, the hue that haunted Frisk’s thoughts
day and night, pulsed rapidly within the right eye socket. The way it throbbed…
it was like a thrashing heartbeat. And Frisk could just barely see a black
pinpoint pupil visible within its center. His eye shone so brightly that she
had never even noticed a pupil before… and it was locked on her like a missile.
Sans grasped at the side of his skull with one hand and his sharp phalanges
curled around his cheekbone and dipped inside the parallel cavernous socket.
His opposite hand hung down at his side, clenched around the middle of that
grotesque blood-soaked wooden handle… the handle of his ax. His weapon… his
weapon was drawn and he was ready for combat. His thick, sharp teeth
interlocked in a wide, cruel grin. A resentful smirk. He was furious. He was…
seething.
Frisk stared back in utter terror. She ripped her trembling gaze from his face
as her eyes locked on to his chest. Dark maroon streaks decorated the entire
front of his white shirt. There were way more bloodstains than she had ever
seen on him before. But they looked dry. And mixed within the smudged red were…
w-were smears of… of orange. Muddled blood-orange liquid stained his clothes in
splotches. It was all over his dark jacket sleeves.
 
Oh…… crap……
 
Oh, god…
 
Oh, no- no no no nonono…
 
He- He saw Papyrus… He saw it… He had seen Papyrus’ corpse…… He saw what she
had done.
 
MANUMITTER!
 
The dominant voice screamed in her head, but Frisk's fear was all-encompassing.
She couldn’t move. She was paralyzed with apprehension. She stared back at Sans
in horror, clutching at her jaw with one hand and the sword handle in the
other. Her arms were trembling and her palms were sweating so terribly that the
glowing saber almost slipped from her fingers.
 
MANUMITTER! YOU NEED TO RUN!
 
Please, no…… no… no…
 
MANUMITTER! LISTEN TO ME!
 
Sans’ wide shoulders rose and fell in a steady pace as he took in rabid
breaths. The way he stood… She could see that his entire form was shuddering
ever so slightly. But unlike Frisk who was quivering with fear, he was
quivering with fury.
“kid…” He growled out and his voice cut through her soul like scalding hot
knives. “…i’ve been looking for you.” He took a slow step to the side, moving
out of the shadows that cascaded from the deteriorating wall and stood directly
in front of the bottom of the stairs, blocking Frisk’s only avenue to the
candle above them.
 
MOVE, DAMMIT!
 
She still could not move. Her feet were planted within in the hot gravel. Her
knees were trembling, she was overthrown with panic. She could barely breathe.
And Sans’ tainted smirk widened. He could see her fear painted across her face,
he could sense it deep within her tainted soul, and he drank it in like it an
exquisite elixir.
“S-sans-” Frisk began, her voice a stuttering wreck, but the heinous skeleton
spoke again and abruptly cut her off.
“you really stepped out of line this time, buddy,” Each one of his words
dripped with bitter toxin. Sans pulled his clawed fingers from the empty eye
socket swiftly and he brought his hand down to the ax handle. He squeezed
around the middle of the shaft with both claws and lifted his weapon, holding
it out in front of him, directly at her.
 
FRISK!
 
She heard her name. It screamed in her ears so loudly that it shook her to the
core and pierced through her paralysis. She could move. Frisk shifted her
sneakers against the dry ground and blinked. Wide eyes darted to the side,
towards the vast empty sweltering chamber beside her right outside the ruins.
 
Manumitter! You can take him! Lure him away from the stairs! NOW!
 
A sudden surge of energy pulsed within her chest. The demon, the parasite that
had taken refuge within her soul, it was slicing through her fear and anxiety.
It was forcing her to move. It made her feel unafraid, if only for a brief
moment.
Her hesitation was cut short. She couldn’t think, she could only act. Frisk
automatically dove to the side and ran out past the ruins’ archway entrance.
She sprinted out of the rubble enclosure back into the sweltering lava chamber,
her tattered scarf fluttering behind her. She could taste her own blood. It
seeped against her tongue to the back of her throat from her wounded gums.
Frisk hurdled over small streams of lava that spread throughout the ground like
bright red tree roots. The back heel of one of her sneakers slipped and skidded
against the edge of a tiny lava stream and it burned through the rubber
instantly. But she held back the pained cry in her lungs and kept running. It
was as if some overpowering force had taken control of her entire body.
 
BEHIND YOU!
 
Frisk could hear a churning rush of wind directly behind her. In an instant she
wrapped both her hands around the handle of her box cutter, her sword, and
swiveled around mid-sprint holding the blade in front of her defensively.
 
Sans had followed after her.
 
He was only inches away.
 
He lunged behind her and he brought down his ax from overhead so forcefully,
his attack was boiling with uncontrollable anger. The bloodied metal of his
jagged ax head clashed with her vibrating soul sword and a blinding burst of
red sparks erupted from the impact. An abhorrent sound of metal scraping
against glass echoed around them. Frisk was terrified that her sword was going
to shatter, but it held. It actually held his weapon at bay, somehow. And she
managed to parry his strike.
Sans leered over the clattering weapons. His eye sockets narrowed down at her,
the corners of his smirk twitched. He was delirious with rage. Sans tore his ax
from Frisk’s sword and started to thrash his weapon down repeatedly into her
blade.
He- he was so strong. So powerful. She could barely stand her ground. Each
impact from his daunting tomahawk sent a wave of burning sparks flying in the
air as he attempted to cut through her sword so violently, over and over.
Frisk‘s heels dug into the ground from each brutal blow. Her arms were
trembling as she tried to steady her blade out in front and above. S-she
couldn’t stop his assault. And he knocked her backwards each time he brought
down the heavy ax.
 
FOCUS, MANUMITTER!
 
The voice was screaming within her mind and it steadied her fear. Frisk
clenched her teeth and she took the offensive, lunging forward towards Sans'
torso for the split second when he had lifted his ax. She swiped her blade at
his chest but-
 
Too fast.
 
Sans jumped backwards instantly. He was so quick, it happened in the blink of
an eye. And he stood some yards away from her in the center of the cave. He was
breathing heavily, his shoulders rose up and down like a fervent wild animal.
But unlike Frisk he displayed no fear. He was excited.
“so you want it like that, huh, kid?” He breathed out with that wide taunting
smirk and released one claw from his ax’s handle. Sans swiftly brought his free
hand down to his side, then began to lift it up in the air in front of him.
That familiar blue swirling whisp of smoke started to appear out of nothing and
it wrapped around each one of his skeletal phalanges. He was summoning forth
his energy… his soul’s power. Frisk blinked the sweat out of her eyes and
stared at his rising claw, watching that azure-blue serpent shadow encircle his
fingers. She felt her stomach lurch in her throat and almost instantly the
ground at her feet started to shake. S-something was erupting from underneath
the floor directly below her. W-what… what was that!?
 
MOVE! HE’S GOING TO CAGE YOU!
 
The ground convulsed below her feet like a miniature earthquake. Frisk darted
to the side just in time, rolling onto the sweltering gravel. Thick blood-red
bones shot up from the floor in an encircling entrapment only inches away from
her. They were massive pillars with sharp jagged ends like spears atop each
pinnacle. And Frisk’s thoughts immediately returned to that bone cage that
Papyrus had used on her… but Sans’ version was so much more sinister looking.
Each bone was a deep shade of maroon, covered in ripping fractures, exposing
the sickening bloody bone marrow within. It was like something out of a horror
movie.
Frisk staggered back up to her feet quickly, using her sword’s glassy blade as
leverage, and she started to run along the peripheral of the cavern. S-she has
to get away… this… this is bad! She took in frantic inhales, the stifling
volcanic oxygen burned her lungs terribly. Her pulse was churning within her
veins and she could feel it thumping at the backs of her ears.
But Sans wouldn’t give her a moment to recover. His red eye followed her as she
ran and he lifted his hand again in her direction. Another wave of bones jutted
out from underneath the ground, grazing the bottoms of her sneakers, causing
her to stagger forward. Frisk sprinted faster, just barely missing the rising
sharp tips of another cage that shot up directly behind her.
 
MANUMITTER! YOU NEED TO GET BACK TO THE CANDLE!
 
Sans grit his teeth together as his enclosure missed her for a second time.
Frisk could just barely see a hint of irritation painted across his features
out of the corner of her eye. She sprinted forward without stopping. She was
panicking. She w-was… scared. Sans clenched his risen hand into a fist and he
released a low scoff.
“heh…” The daunting skeleton lifted his forefinger, pointing it at Frisk,
following her movements along the periphery of the cavern. A blinding burst of
blue energy detonated around his slender digit and about a dozen thin, narrow
bones started to apparate out of thin air. They hovered directly in front of
his hand, sharp knives made out of cartilage. They were also blood-red in
color, but a soft hue of blue surrounded each one, controlling them. They
shivered in the air like hummingbirds, awaiting their master's orders.
 
YOUR SHIELD!
 
F-fuck…!
 
Sans swiped a claw in the air and the sharp bones spiraled forward like arrows.
Frisk ripped one hand away from her sword’s handle and lifted it out in front
of her as she came to a skidding halt. She felt a terribly surge of pain and
heat within her chest and her soul shield erupted from her open palm. The
dazzling barrier appeared before her in seconds and it blunted the terrible
blow just in time. Dozens of bone spears pierced through the translucent shield
and became stuck within the gloss. The force of the collision knocked her back
into the side of the cave.
 
T-they were so strong… They were piercing through her shield!
 
Frisk tried to steady her trembling arm, holding it out in front of her as the
bones impaled her shield violently. She watched in horror as her soul’s glowing
blockade started to waver. O-oh, god… it was going to collapse! She could see
sharp cracks splinter through the liquid crimson. They ran down along the
shield as its energy weakened and began to shatter under such a volatile
pressure. Sans stood in the middle of the chamber. He watched her through the
translucent red. His eyes were narrowed, his malicious smirk dawned, his solo
eye was pulsing with anticipation as he watched the girl struggle.
 
FRISK! THE CANDLE!
 
The pressure against her shield was so strong that it almost knocked her to the
floor. Sans swiped his hand within the air once again and the bones started to
pierce through the barrier with even more force, like iron nails driving
through drywall. Her shield was crumbling. The bones were pushing through,
directly in front of her face and chest.
 
GET DOWN!
 
Another surge of pain shot through Frisk’s soul and it encompassed her limbs.
Her soul shield shattered and she dropped down to the floor as the bone arrows
launched forward. They pierced through the cavern wall directly above her head,
but-… b-but Frisk was not unscathed. One of the lower hovering bones had met
its mark. It had plunged deep within her shoulder during her descent to the
floor and it embedded itself inside her muscle. Frisk let out a cry from the
pain. F-fuck-… It hurts! Her soul’s shield crumbled to the floor above her like
vile chunks of bloody glass, and the moment the pieces fell they melted into a
puddle of cloudy gelatinous red liquid.
Frisk still had her sword in her hand, but she could barely lift it. The bone
spear within her shoulder dug deep and pierced through her onto the other side.
It skewered her directly underneath the collarbone. The pain was so tremendous,
it felt like Sans was sinking his teeth into her flesh all over again. Frisk
held back terrible whimpers of agony in her throat. Her quavering eyes locked
onto the jutting weapon embedded within her. She lifted her opposite hand up,
wrapped her fingers around the end of the bone, and tried to pull it from her
flesh. But it wouldn’t budge.
And she could hear Sans… Out in the center of the chamber as he watched her… H-
he was… he was chuckling.
“you wanted a fight kiddo, well you got one.” His voice made her stomach churn.
She felt sick from such physical pain. Blood started to seep and stain her
hoodie where the bone had pierced and it ran down the length of her arm.
 
MANUMITTER! THE CANDLE! GET UP AND GO NOW!
 
The voice screamed so loudly in her head that it felt like someone was crushing
her skull in a vice. Frisk staggered up to her feet. She could barely grasp at
her sword’s handle with her injured arm. Her body was trembling and blood
streamed from the wound and ran down her fingers upon the blade’s hilt and
dripped to the floor at her feet.
“hm?” Sans blinked. He almost looked taken aback. She actually had the strength
to stand up? But his look of surprise immediately melted back into that
smirking glower. He took it as a challenge. His sickening grin was wide and
malicious as he spoke, “you want more, huh?” He laughed and swiped his hand in
the air again, summoning another wave of sharp bones.
 
I-I… c-can't do t-this…
 
YES, YOU CAN! THE CANDLE!!! GO!
 
Frisk ripped her terrified gaze away from Sans and invoked every scrap of
strength she had left. She lunged forward, following the edge of the cavern,
making her way back to the stony ruins on the opposite side of them. She fought
through the terrible pain in her shoulder as tears stung the corners of her
discolored eyes. She dashed forward and jumped over multiple streams of lava.
Another burst of blue and Sans directed his cartilage weapons at her like
bullets. They impaled the wall behind her in rapid succession, just barely
missing. All she could hear was the sound of her frantic breathing and the
burst of crumbling stone as each bone pierced through the cave’s rock walls.
 
GO! GO! YOU’RE ALMOST THERE!
 
Frisk finally reached the ruins’ entrance and she swerved around the corner.
She could hear more bones pummeling into the wall that separated herself from
Sans and the rest of the cave. The stairs were in front of her… t-the stairs…
the candle was right above her!
 
HURRY!
 
The voice sounded so frantic, so alarmed, as it wailed in her head. Frisk
lunged forward and began to clatter up the crumbling steps. The candle was
right overhead. It was so close. She could see it! Like a marvelous beacon of
hope, just barely out of reach.
 
But there was a sudden burst of blue energy right before her eyes.
 
Sans teleported directly in front of her, right upon the next step that she was
about to take. And he kicked her hard with the bottom of his foot in the center
of her stomach, knocking her down the stairs back to the floor.
Frisk cried out and toppled down the white, crumbling stairway. She fell back
into the shrouded enclosure, dilapidated white rubble surrounding them. She
collapsed upon the ground and landed painfully on her tailbone. The back of her
head hit against a wall behind her. Bright stars ruptured in front of her eyes.
Pain blinded her and the fall wrenched the wind from her lungs. Frisk gasped
out and released a piercing cry. She released her sword. The moment she dropped
the weapon her soul’s energy vanished and it morphed back into her ordinary box
cutter and clattered down to the side. Frisk automatically clutched at the back
of her head with both hands. T-there was blood, oh god, it was dark red and hot
and it seeped against her fingertips.
And Sans began his slow, ominous descent down the steps, one hand in his
pocket, the other grasping at his ax. Frisk whimpered and sobbed as she tried
to add pressure at the back of her scalp to stop the bleeding. Every part of
her body ached and she could barely keep her wounded arm lifted due to the bone
which remained embedded clean through her shoulder.
 
GET UP, MANUMITTER!!!
 
The malicious internal voice was screeching at her, but she couldn’t move. She
could barely breathe.
 
HE’S GOING TO KILL YOU!
 
Frisk peered through a film of tears as she trembled violently. Copious amounts
of blood stained the palms of her hands at the back of her skull. It matted in
her hair and smeared against the wall behind her.
 
YOU IDIOT! YOU HAVE TO FIGHT!
 
She could see her tormentor’s pulsing red eye flashing brightly overhead. Sans
was standing above her. H-he was right in front of her now.
 
YOU CAN’T LET IT END LIKE THIS!!
 
And he swooped down upon her in an instant.
 
Sans’ heavy knees pressed against either side of her hips. He lifted his ax and
held it in place against the wall above her head while his other hand slammed
down into the center of Frisk’s chest, keeping her pinned underneath his
imposing form. His skeletal fingers slipped upwards along her torso and they
entwined around the front of her scarf… Papyrus’ scarf… which hung from her
neck.
His smirk widened and quivered at the corners as if he was masking a deep-
seated repentance. His expression was enraged and maniacal and his sharp
fingers dug into the stained fabric… his brother’s scarf… her trophy.
 
N-no…
 
Frisk stared up at him and started to thrash violently under his crushing
weight. O-oh my god, oh my god!! She pushed through the pain as only adrenaline
surged through her veins and she tore her bloody hands from her head and
pressed them against the front of his chest, trying to push him off.
Sans simply grinned down at her. This sick bastard… He was practically getting
off to her feeble attempts as she struggled to shove him back. He lurched down
towards her, his skull only inches away from her face.
“good try, kid. but not good enough.” The tone of his voice sent a flood of ice
cold shivers down her spine. It was deep and reverberated within his hollow
chest. His red eye pulsed and Frisk could see round, clear droplets of blue-
tinted beads of sweat drip along the sides his skeletal forehead. He was
enraptured with her fear.
 
FRISK! YOUR SWORD! STRIKE HIM NOW!
 
Frisk’s soul throbbed rapidly within the center of her chest, underneath Sans’
firmly pinning hand. It was so hot, her entire body felt fevered and her soul’s
tainted energy ruptured fourth and spread down her arms. Frisk clenched her
teeth, her demonic eyes burning as she glared back at Sans. Her anger… her
hate… had returned. The fear was severed for a split second as the demonic
monster inside her took hold. She released her grasp at Sans’ chest and lurched
one arm out to the side, grabbing at her utility knife.
Her fingertips brushed against the handle and she scooped the meager weapon up
in her hand. That burning bright crimson luminous glow shot through her
bleeding arm. The red dazzling hue ran down to her wrist and encased her hand
as her sword’s blade burst outward around the ordinary knife. Her sword… her
beautiful, relentless, searing sword. It would protect her. Yes, this was her
salvation! She brought the blade down, aiming to strike against Sans’ shoulder.
She’d slash him open. She’d cut him down. She’d kill him!
 
KILL HIM!
 
But-…
Sans……
His movements were swift and precise.
And they were so much faster…
 
So much faster than hers.
 
In a matter of seconds he gripped around the handle of his hatchet against the
wall overhead. Sans furled the weapon around in his grasp and brought it down.
Down upon her arm. Directly above her elbow.
The thick blade cut through her flesh. Through her bone. And sliced all the way
through until it hit the ground underneath.
 
W-what-…
 
FUCK!
 
Frisk’s eyes widened. She ripped her gaze away from Sans and stared down at her
limb. The red swirling energy of her soul that had been wrapped around her arm
immediately dispersed and she could see the damage clearly… Her severed
appendage.
 
A tremendous rush of endorphins ran up from her elbow to her shoulder but the
pain chased it away instantaneously.
 
Hot, searing, mind-numbing pain.
 
It was crippling. She couldn’t breathe.
 
O-oh, god… i-it was… it was unreal. Pure, unabated agony.
 
H-he cut her arm… He had cut off her arm…!!!
 
Frisk gasped for a breath as she sobbed and a blood-curdling scream erupted
from her throat and echoed off the walls of the entire cavern. Her arm had been
dismembered right above her elbow and the open wound immediately began to gush
with a deep red stream of glossy blood. She could see ripped tendons and the
inside of her muscles and humerus arm bone It was a horrifying sight. Sans
pulled the blood-soaked ax away from the impact. S-she had never felt such a
pain before… Dear, god… h-he cut it off! W-what- No!!!
Her severed lower forearm lay limp upon the floor in an expanding pool of
blood. Her soul sword immediately vanished the moment Sans had cut her arm in
two and she could see her utility knife laying in the palm of the detached hand
beside her.
She couldn’t stop screaming. Her cries spilled from her lungs as she began to
hyperventilate from the pain. She reached her other hand around her chest and
grasped at the open wound, at the cleaved end of her bicep. Nausea burrowed
deep in her stomach. She swiveled her head to the side and began to cough and
retch up nothing but stomach acid. She had barely eaten in days. There was
nothing to vomit up. But that didn’t stop the all-encompassing queasiness that
rose up from her stomach like a tidal wave.
Sans was still hovering over her. He idly dropped his weapon to the side and
wrapped his blood-stained fingers around Frisk’s jawline, forcing her head back
to face him. Frisk could feel his hand lightly shivering as he grasped her
face. His shallow inhales were sharp and eager, his malicious smirk was wide.
His gaze pierced through her trembling soul… And he looked so hungry.
That single red eye of his locked upon her and Frisk saw his dark specked pupil
dilated ever so slightly. He was staring back into her eyes… He was examine
them. And then, he spoke, in a soft, cold whisper between impatient breaths.
 
“chara…”
 
D-did he just……
 
Frisk’s bloodshot eyes widened at his words. For a moment she thought she was
just delirious from the pain. Did he just say…‘Chara’? He was so close to her
face, his heavy exhales cascaded along the front of her neck. He was studying
her eyes. He was inspecting those light blue schismed splinters that fractured
through the hazelnut brown in each discolored, tainted iris. He knew… Somehow……
he knew.
Frisk trembled violently in his grasp and she cried out again, sobbing as
another crippling swell of agony shot up from her severed limb and ran
throughout her small body. She was bleeding out at the back of her head. The
sharp bone in her shoulder drilled through and punctured her directly
underneath the left collarbone. And her left arm was beyond repair, amputated
directly above her elbow.
Then she heard the voice. Her own voice. The parasite’s words swirl around in
her head. It sounded weak, like it was fighting to control her, yet it
continued to guide her rage regardless. Even with a severed arm, the strong rot
that contaminated her soul would not give in that easily.
 
Manumitter… your shield. U-use your other hand.
 
Frisk’s struggled for a frantic breath, but she obeyed. She ripped her grasping
hand away from the open wound at her arm and stretched her bloodied hand out to
Sans’ chest. Her soul began to burn again and another spiral of red,
translucent energy ran down along her uninjured opposite limb.
 
Yes…… M-my shield…My shield…
 
But Sans knew exactly what she was attempting to do. The red glow around her
arm gave it away in an instant. Before she could call forth her barrier, he
wrapped one hand around her wrist tightly and jerked her hand backwards.
 
Oh, god!
 
Frisk tensed up as he began to force her wrist back so violently. H-he was
breaking her wrist. He was going to snap her bones!
 
“S-sans!!! Please-!!” She could hear her own trembling words over distraught
cries. Her voice cracked and she sobbed hysterically and fought against the
pressure he inflicted upon on her slender limb.
But he just… he just grinned.
He chuckled and ignored her pleas and roughly jerked his grasp backwards. He
snapped her hand back, severing her wrist bones forcefully. It happened in an
instant and Frisk screamed out again as she heard the revolting crunch of
breaking bone.
 
Oh god… please… I don’t w-want to die again…
 
P-please… this is…… I-I was s-so close…
 
Frisk sobbed and gasped for a breath of harsh oxygen. She felt like she was
drowning in a sinkhole of pain. Both her arms were ruined. Sans had mutilated
them without a second thought. Her broken wrist went numb from the fracture.
She couldn’t feel her fingers and she could see her jutting radius wrist bone
puncturing through the swollen, torn flesh at the base of her palm. Her
disjointed hand hung limp and backwards.
 
C-chara…… help me… p-please… help me…
 
That forceful voice within her head had gone silent. It had abandoned her.
 
But Sans was not finished. Frisk’s demolished wrist lay trembling against her
chest, while her amputated bicep continued to bleed out at her side. Despite
the sweltering heat within the cave, she felt cold… so cold and so weak. And
yet the frenzied waves of agony and nausea refused to subside. Her vision was
starting to blur and all she could see was the haze of Sans’ vile, daunting
smirk and pulsing eye.
“stay with me, kiddo.”
Sans’ sneering whisper spilled over her neck. He began to slide his hand along
her lower stomach. She could just barely feel his blood-stained claw slip up
underneath her hoodie, trailing along her soft quivering navel, over her ribs
and to the center of her convulsing chest between two barely formed breasts.
And she was too weak to fight off his groping hand.
 
But she knew what he was after…
He was searching for her soul.
 
The tips of his phalanges dug into her chest and scratched down along her skin.
Frisk sobbed harder as she struggled to turn onto her shoulder, anything to
move away from him, but he held her down firmly with the opposite hand. His
open palm pressed against her sternum and she felt that familiar burning pain
burst forth from her breastbone, right underneath his palm. She whimpered
through clenched teeth, shutting her eyes tight, her back arching upwards. It
hurt… it hurt and he wouldn’t s-stop! He was ripping her soul away from her
body so painfully. He wanted to cause her pain. He wanted to break her.
Frisk felt a snap at the front of her chest like a thick tether had been
severed. She coughed violently, vomiting up another wave of bile against her
uninjured shoulder. Sans’ slipped his hand out from underneath her hoodie and
held it over her.
In his hand was her soul. Her soul… It was bright red, just like she had
remembered, and it shimmered softly between the monster’s skeletal fingers.
Sans adjusted his grasp around the sphere and held it before her eyes. And
Frisk could see it clearly through her clouded vision.
 
But… something was wrong… something was wrong with it…
 
Swirling inside the hallow of her small sphere was a liquid. But it was not
that beautiful, translucent crimson stardust she had once seen. The liquid… it
was dark red, muddled and clotting like infected blood. It looked like- like
gore from some diseased rotting carcass. The vile dark fluids dripped from
small pours and seeped along Sans’ fingers and down against her chest.
 
She had been infected… this whole time… H-her soul had been poisoned.
 
Sans’ eye sockets narrowed as he inspected the orb carefully. He wasn’t smiling
anymore. He almost looked troubled by the sight of her sickly soul. He gave it
a squeeze for a brief moment, causing Frisk another terrible wave of agony, and
then he threw the dripping contaminated globule to the side with a growl. Her
soul rolled along the hot gravel a ways away from them, still oozing with
noxious, fetid sludge. Sans leered back down at Frisk. He wiped his messy hand
against her hoodie while his other claw gently caressed the side of her face.
His fingers smeared hot blood along her skin, yet they still felt cold. And
Frisk flinched from his touch. After everything he had just done to her… He
actually had the gall to stroke her like that… H-he’s a monster…
“kid… “ His malicious smirk returned, spreading wide across his skull in an
instant as his words purred out in a tainted whisper, “ …you’re in for a real
bad time,” Frisk felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach at the sight
of his grin and the sound of his voice, “i’m not even halfway finished with you
yet.”
 
……
 
She truly thought she was going to vomit again, but she was too weak from blood
loss. She could barely even scream or cry anymore, let alone move.
Sans roughly released his grasp at her jaw and snatched his heinous ax from the
floor. He leaned back off her, just barely, and pushed the bottom hem of
Frisk’s hoodie up to expose her hipbones and bare stomach. Sans let the blade
of his weapon hover directly above her gently trembling abdomen, the sharp edge
grazing against her navel like a gentle caress.
His pinpoint pupil constricted into almost nothing and his vicious red eye
resonated deep within its concave socket. He started to breath hard and fast
and he lifted the demonic hatchet up in his hand.
“see you soon, sweetheart…”
And he brought the blade down. Down through the middle of her lower stomach,
cutting through her flesh, through her insides, puncturing her fading internal
organs. He jerked his hand to the side, ripping open the massive laceration as
he disemboweled her instantly. Frisk’s lower intestines spilled from the gaping
wound. Blood and gore spilled down to her hips and pooled at her crotch,
staining her shorts. The glossy deep vermilion seeped along her sides and
started to form a puddle of hot crimson underneath them both.
Sans dropped his weapon to the side the moment he eviscerated her. His hand
slipped between the fissured flesh, sliding over her exposed sultry viscera and
he pressed his claws within her violently. His fingers explored her insides as
he stared down, that single red eye pulsing wildly. The lust in his gaze was
palpable. Sans began to rip the intestines from her decimated body and he
feasted upon them like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
But Frisk couldn’t feel a thing.
Her eyes stared dead ahead, glazed over and lifeless.
She was already gone.
 
 
…
 
………
 
……………
 
………
 
 
………………
 
 
………
 
………
 
……
 
 
……
 
 
…………
 
Manumitter…
 
……
 
 
…………
 
……
 
…
 
…
 
It was cold.
 
So cold…
 
Why…
 
…
 
Her memories floated along the surface of her thoughts like a distant dream.
She could barely grasp them. But she remembered the heat… and the red, bubbling
lava.
 
What happened… what happened to the suffocating heat?
 
Where was she now?…
 
Frisk kept her eyes closed. She could just barely see a dim flickering hue on
the other side of her eyelids. The cold hard ground pressed into her shoulder
at her side and she immediately realized that she was laying down on a hard
stone floor. Her fingertips grazed along the rocky surface underneath, feeling
each dipping crevice within the ground.
 
And then, almost instantly, the memories started to swell around the outer edge
of her mind.
 
And they all came rushing back at once like a terrible nightmare.
 
S-sans…
 
Frisk’s eyes shot open and she let out a deafening cry. Oh, god… oh, my god…
Sans had killed her… S-she had tried to FIGHT him. That voice… that voice that
had guided her. Controlling her movements. That terrible voice that pierced
through her conscience… that heinous voice that made her… made her perform
unspeakable acts… no- no no… She h-had… murdered… She had KILLED. And then… and
then Sans… he-… He had cut off her… her arm, oh my god! Her arm!!!
 
Frisk pushed herself up off the ground and clutched at her left arm with a
trembling hand, cradling it against her chest. But… her arm was intact. W-
what?…
She blinked down at her arm with wide, glassy eyes. Frisk lifted her arm out in
front of her and tugged her hoodie sleeve up to examine it over. It was
completely unharmed, well besides her healing self-inflicted scars, of course.
She wiggled her fingers and each one moved flawlessly. Frisk glanced down at
the opposite hand. Her wrist was not broken. There was no jutting bone or
blood. It was intact. Both her arms were perfectly ordinary.
Frisk scanned over her legs. There were no blisters or burns. They were
completely unscathed… and the bandage… that make-shift bandage she had wrapped
around her thigh ages ago after Sans first attacked her was gone. There were no
bite marks. Her hoodie was clean of any blood or black sludge. There was no
terrible burning pain at the center of her chest and that voice… the voice that
had rung consistently in her head… it seemed to be gone. The lingering
persistent craving for meat had vanished too. She felt completely normal,
albeit rather cold.
 
That’s right… she had died… wait-… if she was dead, then that means-
 
Frisk started to frantically look around her dark surroundings from where she
sat upon the floor. Her eyes locked onto the small, shivering candle right
beside her leg. The atmosphere did not smell like firewood at all. Instead the
heavy air hung low with the scent of damp, frigid musk. And it was so chilly,
she felt like she was inside a walk-in refrigerator.
She was not in Waterfall’s caves. She was not back in Snowdin inside Gaster’s
vast dwelling. She was… She was back in-…
 
Napstablook’s tunnels.
 
She was back in Napstablook’s tunnels.
 
Back…… All the way back… At the very beginning………
 
…
 
“N-no…” Frisk muttered out loud under her breath and hot tears started to swell
along the rims of her eyes. She pulled her bare knees up to her chest and
buried her face against them. She felt like she had just woken from the most
disturbing, soul-shattering nightmare in existence only to find that it wasn’t
a dream. It was reality and she was still stuck within it.
 
This cannot possibly be happening. She had gotten so far. She was so CLOSE.
 
The candle back in the lava caverns… it was right there, within her grasp. But
she just couldn’t reach it.
Her mind stumbled back over her memories of Sans. The way he had attacked her
with his bone knives. S-she had actually fended off his ax for a brief moment.
But… that bastard could teleport. He had stopped her ascension up those stairs,
only a second away from touching the next save point. He had sent her all the
way back here.
Frisk started to feel sick as she remembered the way he had severed her arm and
snapped her hand… and how he pulled out her soul. Wait- her soul. It had been
infected with something. W-what was that!?
She continued to shiver, curled up in a sobbing little ball upon the floor. She
rubbed at her eyes with one hand and her forehead with the other. She didn’t
want these memories. The vile things she had done… and the way she had been
killed… it was too much.
 
Shhh… Don’t worry. It never happened. You reset. Those things never happened.
 
She tried to remain calm and convince herself, taking in slow, steady breaths.
That’s right. Since she had returned to the first threshold then those terrible
things never happened. But- but why did she feel so tainted, then? Tainted and
depraved and malicious. She had become a monster.
Frisk sniffed and rubbed at her runny nose with the hoodie sleeve. She blinked
the tears from her eyes, wiping them away from her cheeks, and continued to
glance around the shadowy stone room. She remembered it very well. It was
rather small, with two umbral entranceways leading into opposite tunnels at
either side. One hallway led to Napstablook and the 2nd gate. The other led to
Toriel and the 1st gate.
 
Wait…
 
Toriel.
 
Toriel… M-maybe Toriel was still outside, guarding the first door!
Yes… Yes, that's what she'll do. She'll run back to the beginning of the
tunnels. Back to Toriel and beg her, plead with her, to free her from this
hell. She could not continue to open these gates. She could not keep doing
this! She was not the Manumitter. These monsters were wrong about her. She's
just… just a kid! Surely someone else could perform this terrible task. She had
been killed four times now… FOUR. She had to go back to the orphanage, back to
classes and back to focusing on finding a family and doing her homework and
getting good grades and spending time with Izzy and-… and…
But wait…
 
…Could Toriel even help her?
 
The gate was locked from the outside. Frisk herself would have to touch the
padlock to open the door, like the first time she had come across the shed.
Toriel couldn’t open the gate, only she could.
No… no, surely there was a way. There must be! She’d break the damn door down
if she had to. She’d use her sword and slice through the wood. There had to be
another way out of this torturous limbo besides the final gate. There just HAD
to be!
 
Wait… her sword.
Frisk’s eyes darted down around upon the floor. Her backpack lay a little ways
away near the candle. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and felt around.
Both the cell phone and box cutter were still there. Thank god… She still had
her sword.
 
Frisk scooted back towards the wall and pressed her shoulder against it and she
slid up to her feet. She stood trembling from the cold while her frenzied
thoughts collided into one another. That’s what she’ll do… She’ll go back to
Toriel. She came to the decision and began rehearsing what she would say to
that ghastly goat demon in her head. Last time she saw Toriel, she had attacked
her. Perhaps this time that would not happen, what with her sword and shield.
 
Frisk let out a soft sigh and reached down for her backpack. She stepped over
towards the hallway opening, the one furthest away from the candle. She
remembered that it lead to the beginning of the cavern. She took one slow step
in front of the other as she reached the shadowy passageway.
But…
There was a sound-
 
And a flash of light.
 
Directly in front of her, inside the hall.
 
A bright sudden flash of blue accompanied by the sound of a rushing whirlwind.
Azure bursts illuminated the walls of the stone hallway for brief second. And
then everything went dark instantly.
Frisk staggered backwards into the small room behind her and she stared at the
shadowy opening which was once again shrouded in darkness. W-what the heck was
that?…… She took another step forward to inspect, and she could see something…
a figure… a figure was emerging from the obsidian veil.
 
 
Sans.
 
 
Her blood ran cold at the sight, as cold as the atmosphere around them. Her
heart began to pound frantically within her chest. So rapidly, it literally
hurt the inside of her rib cage. Her pulse was like a ticking time-bomb and she
could hear it clamoring in her ears. Her knees grew weak. She felt sick. Her
eyes widened and her head went fuzzy with fear and anxiety. P-please… she must
still be dreaming… this has to be a nightmare…
Sans’ fur-adorned hoodie cowl was pulled up over his head this time. The hood
shrouded his already cloaked features. But his burning eye was visible through
the darkness, so clearly, like a sphere of fire. And that loathsome signature
smirk of his widened as he took a slow, daunting step forward into the small
chamber.
R-run…
Frisk’s instincts took over and she stumbled backwards and swiveled around,
leaping for the opposite tunnel. But she did not get far. Sans dove towards her
in a second and grasped at the back of her head. His fingers dug through
Frisk’s messy short hair and he squeezed at her thick locks and yanked her
back. G-god! It hurt!
Frisk let out a panicked cry, reaching her hands back to pull at Sans’ wrist,
trying to free her hair from his powerfully clenched fist. He jerked her hard
and threw her into a corner of the room. Frisk’s shoulder hit the wall with
such force that she fell to her knees upon the ground.
She cried out from the pain that pierced the back of her head and clutched at
her scalp with both hands, but luckily he hadn’t ripped her hair and she could
feel no blood. Frisk frantically turned back to face him. He stood only a few
feet away from her in the center of the chamber. His shoulders rose and fell
with each rooted breath. The look on his face… he was smirking and his eye was
pulsing and he looked just as enraged as he did during their brawl in the lava
caves.
But a swelling surge of courage wrapped around Frisk’s soul. Her determination.
She hadn’t felt it in so long. That feeling… it was like a long lost friend.
“Get back!” She screamed out at Sans and lifted her hands out in front of her.
The heat from her soul began to swell in her chest and that bright glossy red
illumination wrap around her arms and ran down to her fingertips. Her soul
shield burst forward, lighting up the entire space, and it hovered in front of
her where she sat upon the floor. The beautiful translucent shield glistened
with swirling stardust. Her patron… her protector. But the shield was
quivering. And it was not glowing nearly as brightly as it once did. It was as
if her soul had been weakened from so many deaths. Something was definitely
wrong.
Sans sneered at the shield. His anger was just barely visible underneath that
daunting grin. He called forth his weapon instantly and those eerie blue wisps
of smoke wrapped around one hand, summoning his ax within his grasp. Oh, god.
S-she couldn’t take another fight. She was too weak! Sans lunged towards her
and began to smash the head of his hatchet into her shield. Frisk cried out
from the impact and looked away. Her arms were trembling. She could hear the
sound of his ax piercing through the barrier. It was not strong enough- it was
too weak to hold him back!
He brought down the deafening blows one right after the other in the same spot,
weakening her shield until it began to crack under the pressure. His rage…… His
rage was like a typhoon of fury. Thick spiraling fissures ran through the
luminous liquid red and her shield shattered overhead.
 
No! N-no… please… please, this cannot happen!
 
He had destroyed her shield so quickly. So effortlessly.
 
The shield fell to the floor in chunks and melted into the ground and Sans was
upon her in an instant. He withdrew his ax back within his soul and quickly
wrapped those cold, rough skeletal claws around her wrists, pinning her hands
down into the floor below. Frisk was trapped underneath him, pushed into the
corner of the room. Her back was pinned to the floor and the larger skeleton’s
knees dug at either side of her hips. W-why did she always find herself bound
under this monster… it was like a waking nightmare.
Sans lurched down as he leaned in close, his skull just inches away from her
face. His vermilion hue was blinding and Frisk whimpered and cried out and
started to struggle against his hold. She was so desperate as she fought back
his gripping hands. If she could just free them- if only she could free her
hands!! H-her knife was in her pocket! She could summon her sword!
“if you wanted another fight, kid, all you had to do was ask,” He chuckled and
dry sarcasm stained his words. “ …but i’m not really in the mood for another
battle.” Sans tightened his grasp around both her wrists. He was squeezing them
so tightly, it hurt! Pain began to run up and down her forearms. Oh, god… would
he break her arms again!? No!!
“G-get away from me… y-you monster!” Frisk cried out in response. Her whole
body was overcome with fear and she shook violently against the cold floor.
Sans let out a cruel laugh. It echoed off the walls of the small room. “ahah-……
i’m the monster, eh?” He pressed her wrists hard into the ground and forced
them back, lifting them over her head against the floor, “you should take a
look in the mirror, buddy.”
Frisk began to feel a cold, heavy weight encompass both of her wrists. It was
not his hands, it was something else. Blue ghostly magic was spewing from his
fingertips and dozens of magic serpent-like cords wrapped around her arms and
locked them down against the floor over her head. Her hands compress back into
the corner of the room painfully and Sans pulled his newly freed-up claws away
from her arms.
 
T-this…… This is bad…… You need to break free! You need to get away, somehow!!!
Whatever it takes!
 
Frisk fought against the ropes of energy that kept her hands pinned. She tried
to summon another shield. Red magic burst against her arms but it seemed to cut
off the moment it reached the blue bindings. Frisk’s low lip quivered as she
stared up at Sans in horror. That look he gave her… He looked hungry… and so,
so eager.
Sans’ watched her terror-filled expressions with a lusty lidded gaze. He
chuckled again, a teasing snicker that sent a wave of dread through Frisk’s
entire body, and he lowered his hands to her hips. He began to push her
hoodie’s bottom hem up along her stomach, pushing it up further exposing her
small chest and collarbones, letting it rest in a coiled bunch at her neck.
 
No!!! He’s going to take your soul!! He’s going to take your soul again! I-if
he takes it, you will be powerless!!
 
Frisk cried out from panic and dread and fought against the bindings. They
simply tightened with each vigorous thrash. And they were so cold, like dry ice
cutting into her flesh. She could feel Sans’ rough phalanges glide along her
bare torso to her chest and he slammed his hand down against her pounding
heart, against her soul.
His red eye flashed brightly. His black pinpoint pupil within the center
shivered in a pool of red. His grin widened. H-he was an avid beast -
relentless without a shred of empathy. The sharp pain started to form deep
within Frisk’s chest and she cried out again. It was like a collision of
burning awls piercing of sternum over and over. My god, it was agony! But in an
instant the pain settled and Frisk could see the soft glowing orb within his
grasp. Her soul…
 
He had taken it again. This had been the fourth time he tore it from her body…
 
Without it she felt even weaker, her chest felt hollow. And Frisk stared back
at the lovely round sphere in the skeleton’s palm, breathing fast. Sans
examined it carefully like he had done so many times before. But there was no
blood-red gorey fluids swirling around inside. There was no black sludge or
contamination. It was healthy and vibrant, just how she remembered it the first
time she saw it. And inside swirled that beautiful gelatinous translucent
crystal silt.
Sans raised her soul up high and another burst of blue erupted from his
fingers. He summoned a cloud of energy forth and it wrapped around Frisk’s
soul, encasing it. Sans tossed her soul in the air and it hovered above them.
H-his energy… it held it there… H-how?!? Sans pushed the glowing orb away from
them and it gently floated through the atmosphere like it was submerged
underwater. Her soul glided to the opposite wall by the candle, idly hovering.
 
F-frisk… your soul… you have no determination!
 
The warmth in her chest was gone. She attempted to summon her soul shield
again, but nothing happened. Without her soul she was completely stripped of
all her abilities. And she was powerless and trapped underneath Sans’ heavy
weight. Oh, crap… she was… in trouble…
“now then,” Sans growled out and his voice vibrated within his chest. The way
he spoke, there was a hint of fevered greed laced within his words. It made
Frisk’s heart beat so fast. She felt a panic attack start to come upon her in
full force and she desperately tried to push it down.
“S-sans…” Frisk whimpered out and tried to steady her trembling form. Use your
wits! Free yourself! Her thoughts were spiraling in her head like a riptide,
“Sans… if you k-kill me again… then that’s it. No more resets…” Frisk’s words
spilled forth and she used every scrap of courage she had to keep them from
cracking. Show him no weakness! “ …If you kill me now… t-then you and the rest
of the Underground… you will never be free…”
She stared back into his pulsing red eye directly above. He leered and his grin
softened ever so slightly at her words. Yes… had she just saved herself? He
would free her?… He must free her! She almost felt a small sweeping sensation
of triumph.
But-… but it vanished… in seconds.
Sans’ grin widened suddenly. His sharp teeth - like the ends of thick machetes
- interlocked with one another in that terrifying smirk right before her eyes.
 
…
 
No-…
 
“i wasn’t planning on killing you,” He whispered out and his heavy breath
cascaded down along Frisk’s bare chest. His eye was shivering within the hollow
alcove of his socket, and she watched that narrow pupil start to settle
downward. Sans ripped his gaze away from her face… he was staring down at her
barely clothed chest… “no, i have something so much better in store for you,
kid.”
And he began to shift his weight. His heavy pelvic bones pressed right against…
against her hips … H-his hands… they wrapped around either side of her slender
waist and he pressed his open palms against the soft skin of her midriff. His
rough skeletal fingertips dipped between her protruding rib bones at her sides
and he pushed his hands up further…further… further… until they curved
underneath her barely formed breasts, which were almost flat as she lay against
her back. His fingers slipped underneath her white cloth bralette and hooked
around the fabric, lifting it up to expose her.
 
Oh, my god…. O-oh, god!!!! DO SOMETHING!!! NO NO NO!!! H-he’s going to- NO!!!!
DO SOMETHING!!
 
There was nothing she could do…… T-there was nothing……
 
Sans’ hands cupped and pressed down against her pubescent flesh. Frisk’s
nipples began to stiffen in peaks almost automatically, against her will, from
the jarring painful touch. His fingers were so rough against her sensitive
tissue. Frisk started to hyperventilate and cry out and she struggled to pull
her legs out from under his weight. Her sneakers dug into the ground
frantically, she fought against the binds at her hands. Oh, god… this pervert…
this shameless demon… his hands… they were groping at her naked chest… His
fingers were digging into her skin… H-he had l-lifted her bra… this can’t
happen-… no- no… please, no!
Sans’ eye sockets were wide and twitching. His grin was shivering with a hungry
vehemence at each corner. His red eye throbbed rapidly like an impatient pulse
deep within its alcove. And Frisk’s struggles and cries simply drove his sick
excitement up the walls. His thumbs dipped down against her dense tender
nipples, pressing them inward and rolling them around against his touch. His
fingers were sharp… it hurt!
Frisk started to scream out again, but a sudden thought pierced through her
mind like a lightening bolt.
“NAPSTABLOOK!!! NAPSTABLOOK, H-HELP!!! PLEASE HELP-!!”
She screamed at the top of her lungs and her voice resounded off the stone
walls. That ghost! That spectral demon with those sharp long limbs… Yes,
Napstablook! He lived within these caverns. He was nearby. He would hear her!
He would save her!
Frisk sobbed out and continued to scream. She could feel her own rapid
heartbeat pounding against the inside of Sans’ fondling palm. But Sans started
to chuckle, his shoulders lurching forward. Then he tossed his head back as he
let out cruel laugh and his fur-trimmed hood fell down to his shoulders.
“a-haha! hah-… heh… i already took care of that ghost, before you even opened
your eyes, kiddo. it’s just you and me down here.” He purred. His rough
knuckles began to knead into her flesh. Frisk felt her mind go numb and she
jerked her head to the side, burying her face against her shoulder. S-she
didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t want to watch this… This cannot be
happening… But Sans was hungry for her cries. He tilted his skull down towards
her chest and parted those massive teeth, his sapphire-blue dripping tongue
lolling out past his canines. Thick saliva trickled down against Frisk chest.
It was wet and warm and repugnant. It sent a terrible wave of shivers through
her whole body and she quickly lifted her head down to watch his movements. I-
it was… humiliating!
Sans wide tongue pressed down between her breasts and slipped up along her
budding flesh. God… it was so vile and disgusting and Frisk felt sick from the
sensation. He lapped his thick tongue upwards, leaving a trail of lightly-
tinted blue saliva upon her torso. His teeth began to graze against one of her
nipples, teasing her, taunting her. The entire front of her chest was coated
with his oozing saliva and it dripped down the sides of her ribs and smeared
into her curved underarms.
“S-sans… please… don’t… don’t do t-this-…” She whimpered out between hiccuping
sobs. Her voice trembled so terribly that it was almost inaudible. Her face
felt hot as blood rushed to her head, flushing her cheeks over like a burning
fever.
He ignored her pleas. His eye locked onto her bare chest while his hands
slipped over her saliva-coated breasts and they began to travel downward…
lower… down to her hips. His fingers left trails of slick salivation along her
waist and navel before his claws reached her hipbones. Then his fingers hooked
against the waistband of her shorts.
 
NO!!! NO NO NO!!!!! GOD, DAMMIT, NO!!! YOU CAN’T LET THIS HAPPEN!!!!
 
Frisk's internal dialogue was almost as loud as her cries. She shook her head
violently side to side and Sans lifted his weight up off her ever so slightly.
The moment he pushed off her Frisk pulled her knees up to her stomach and
roughly kicked at his chest with the bottom of her sneakers. She kicked him as
hard as she could. G-get away! Get away!
But Sans swiftly grabbed onto her ankle and held her foot firmly. His sharp
claws dug into her skin and he twisted her foot to the side. A sharp pain bound
through the center of Frisk’s calf. H-he’ll break your foot… S-stop… It’s not
worth it! He was twisting one of her ankles painfully. He was so strong, it was
inhuman. And then… he began to slip off her sneaker and sock.
 
W-what!?
 
Frisk flinched as the cold atmosphere wrapped around her bare foot. And Sans’
vile, oily tongue slid up against the sole of her foot, between her toes and
down the front of her shin. The sensation sent wave after wave of tingling
dread down her spine. It was s-so… disgusting. He was tasting every inch of her
leg like she was a piece of hard candy. His other hand grasped tightly at her
opposite limb. And despite the vice-like grip at her calf, she continued to
writhe and thrash underneath him. Her ankle swelled in pain, it felt like it
had been sprained. Sans’ tongue slipped up along her inner thighs and his teeth
lightly pressed against her taut flesh.
“heh… no teeth marks. well whaddya know, it’s like our first encounter never
happened,” His voice rolled out from his chest as he examined the backs of her
bare thighs. Frisk could barely hear him over her panic. She was
hyperventilating against the ground, her exposed, sticky chest raising up and
down in rapid succession as she struggled to take in a breath.
“i plan on leaving a lasting impression… this time around.”
He began to bite along the insides and backs of both her thighs, decorating her
flesh in shallow bleeding lesions. He was careful not to bite through her
muscles this time, but the bite marks still bled regardless. The flavor of her
blood simply urged on his lust. His groping hands were shivering with debased,
perverted furor. Frisk screamed each time his teeth sunk into her skin. It was
like dozens of razors were being dragged against her. It burned and it hurt.
And the blood oozed down her legs, creating a red, slippery mess against Sans’
open palms.
And then his claws returned back to her hips and he looped his phalanges under
her waistband and began to tug her shorts downward… along with her panties…
down to the middle of her bleeding thighs… This is not happening this is not
happening this is not happening.
Sans’ hands rolled around her backside, down along her exposed rear, before he
continued to pull her shorts even lower until they caught at her knees. Frisk
immediately clamped her bloodied and bruised thighs together, concealing
herself as fast as she could. Her eyes were wide and a thick layer of tears
glazed over them, blurring her vision, as she stared back at her rapist in an
all-encompassing terror.
“Sans…… P-please… I’m sorry… I’m sorry!! Please don’t do this… I-i’m so sorry-
…” She sobbed out between gasping inhales. Her thighs were trembling in his
hands. Her fingers were standing to go numb from the binds that held her wrists
in place. Frisk glanced down at the monster that hovered low over her stomach,
begging with him, pleading with him. S-surely this was just to scare her!… H-he
couldn’t possibly do what she thought he was going to do…
"kid… i'm gonna show you no mercy, just like you showed my brother." His words
were so harsh. They dripped with that liquid velvet venom and they cleaved
through her trembling heart. Sans’ bloodied claws grabbed around her kneecaps
and he forced her thighs apart roughly, spreading them open.
 
D-dear, god… You are not here. You are elsewhere. This is happening to someone
else, not you…
 
Waves of anxiety and panic and dread ruptured from Frisk’s quivering chest and
she cried out again, screaming for someone… anyone… for the one person who may
be able to save her from this impending hell.
“CHARA!!! H-HELP ME… C-chara!!……”
Sans ripped his eager gaze away from her exposed velvety heat. His eye sockets
narrowed as he leered up at Frisk over her spread knees. He was still smirking
wide, but there was a shallow underlayer of ire stirred into his expression.
His red eye flashed brightly as he spoke.
“that fiend can’t help you, kid. why do you think chara tainted your soul and
used you to do her dirty work in the first place?” The steady stream of words
cut through Frisk’s panic and she stared down at him with wide, tear-glazed
eyes, ”yes, she is manipulative, but physically she is weak. she can't help you
anymore than you can help yourself.”
 
W-what!? What was he saying!?! C-chara… Chara had… had been the one to infect
her soul?… Chara was responsible?
 
And with his words, Sans’ wide, daunting smirk returned in an instant and he
drank up Frisk’s terror-stricken visage with a chuckle. Her heart was beating
so fast, it was bursting from her chest.
 
Then his claws slipped down underneath Frisk’s knees.
 
And he spread her wounded, soft thighs apart wider.
 
Yanking her forward around his waist. Forcing her thighs to wrap around his
hips.
 
No- no...no...no… no… please, not this… please… anything but this…
 
Sans began to grind his crotch between her legs, rolling his thick sacrum bone
against her spread pink vulva. Her soft velour slit seeped with honey, and it
smeared against the front of his pants and along the subtle folds. Frisk was
not wet from pleasure, but from the monster’s consistent taunting touches. Her
body felt like it was betraying her. The way he moved against her… it was so
horrifying and vulgar. She wanted to die.
 
Please let me die…
 
Frisk was sobbing so terribly. She couldn’t breathe. She felt like she was
suffocating. And then she felt something… something firm and pulsing faintly…
r-right underneath the front of his tattered pants… It was throbbing and
straining against her through the fabric… between her thighs… The mound grew at
the center of his heavy pelvic bone. It was pushing between her smooth pussy
lips, only a single layer of damp fabric creating a barrier between them. And
it felt like it was… growing in size. Sans thrusted hard against her, grinding
his bulge against her exposed entrance. It felt wet…… Fluids were seeping
through the fabric. It was so wet and… and warm and hard.
Sans began to growl softly in his chest. His eye continued to pulse rapidly,
matching the rhythm of his throbbing bulge. His excitement dripped from his
forehead and droplets of drool formed at the corners of his mouth. He was
completely overcome with malevolent desire. Sans grasped at one of Frisk’s
thighs with one hand, holding her close against his pelvic bone, while his
other hand slipped down between them and pressed at the front of his pants,
pushing down the hem with his fingers.
And Frisk could see it between their aligned hips… she could see it through her
tears. It was blue and glowing softly, just like the magical soul energy he
possessed… G-god… it was as thick around as her upper arm, lavish and dripping
with azure translucent fluids that matched his saliva. Sans wrapped his fingers
around his cock and guided it out from underneath his pants. He pressed the
underside of his palpitating erection against Frisk’s smooth rounded pubic
mound. Hot oozing precum that dripped from his cock and smeared along her flesh
as he began to rut against her so forcefully, grinding her body down hard into
the cold floor.
 
T-this cannot happen this cannot happen… no- no NO NO please… no… don’t let
this happen… I-i don’t want this to be my f-first-… please… somebody…
anybody!!!!
 
Tears ran down Frisk’s cheeks. Her head felt like it was stuffed with
cottonballs. All she could hear were the sounds of her panicked sobs and Sans’
depraved growls of excitement. He was breathing fast as he stroked his dripping
length down against her hipbones and lower stomach, pressing against her milky
flesh, imagining that he was back in Hotland and her abdomen was split open and
her organs were spilling down her sides. What a sick bastard.
“S-sans… please…” Frisk whispered out through her cries, begging him for
forgiveness in one final desperate attempt. “P-please… I’m sorry… a-ah!… I-I’m
begging you! Please don’t d-do this… please stop-!”
Sans’ stroking hand came to a standstill and he leaned over her once more, his
daunting skull directly above her head. His erection pressed painfully into her
lower stomach, it was sentient and fluctuating against her. Frisk could see his
foul desire painted all over his face. His pupil dilated and constricted within
the flashing red hue, his eye sockets were lusty and lidded, his smirk was just
barely quivering with an eagerness… an eagerness to feel her insides. He could
barely contain his excitement.
“tell me, did Papyrus beg when you crushed his skull?”
A flash of maniacal animosity surged along his features as he spoke. There was
a fury burning within his crimson eye. It was so terrifying, the way he stared
down at her. Frisk couldn’t respond. She couldn’t speak at all. All she could
do was cry and weakly struggle under his pinning weight. Sans lifted his hips
back for a brief moment and guided his cock down, the head smearing against her
slippery entrance.
H-he was… pushing forward… He was starting to drive his hips forward…
The head of his erection began to push against her slight opening. He was
forcing himself inside.
N-no- too big! It hurts!! Please, no!!
Frisk let out an ear-splitting scream as Sans guided the head of his cock
between her dripping tight opening. It felt like she was being impaled with a
knife. It hurt so terribly, despite how wet they both were. She kicked her weak
legs back against the floor, trying to push up off him, trying to push away
from his pelvis. But Sans’ wouldn’t allow it. He released his hand from his
dick and grabbed at both sides of her hips, pulling her down roughly upon his
lap. His cock slipped deep inside her, forcing it’s way in, stretching her
tight quivering muscles open around him.
“f-fuck…” He breathed out through his clenched, smirking teeth. He could barely
contain the pleasure that cascaded up from his loins and tingled along his
fevered pelvic bones. Frisk’s velvety soft insides wrapped around his length
like a glove. So tight, he could barely even move inside her, and he wasn’t
even halfway in yet. Sans continued to pull at her hips, pushing her down
against his cock inch by inch. He groaned and began to pant, bent over her, his
forehead pressing against the top of Frisk’s head.
But while Sans was in heaven, Frisk was engulfed in a pain so terrible. It was
hell on earth. She shut her reddened eyes to block out the tears. Her throat
felt dry from the constant sobs. Sans was piercing her insides. It felt like
she was being ripped open. O-oh god… He was starting to move now. Sans rolled
his hips forward. His cock pushed deep inside her just a little more than
halfway. He shuddered from the intense thrill, and he pulled his hips back,
letting his cock slip just a few inches out only to thrust back inside her once
again.
Frisk could do nothing by cry and continue to beg him to stop. It felt like she
was being penetrated with burning daggers. The agony was overwhelming. He
ignored every word she uttered and began to fuck her hard. Sans’ dripping
erection pressed deep within her plush, virgin insides. The head of his cock
began to grind against her cervix. He was so deep. Too deep! Gelatinous
cerulean luminescence coated the walls of her depths a glossy blue and it
dripped out from her stuffed pussy against the floor each time he pulled back.
And she felt so sick… so nauseous… it hurt worse than any pain she had ever
experienced, as if her lower abdomen was going to rupture at any moment.
His onslaught was relentless and sadistic - pumping into her, forcing her
trembling hot muscles open painfully around him. Frisk tried to hold her cries
back within her lungs each time he thrust forward. She was so desperate to keep
her voice down, fighting against Sans' cruel efforts to extract a pained wail
or a whimper. That was what he craved. To see her writhing in fear and agony.
She couldn’t give him that… no… b-but she could not help it… as a quivering sob
spilled from her parted lips each time he thrust forward and struggled to slide
himself all the way inside.
And every continuous powerful thrust jolted her entire body back hard into the
corner of the stone chamber. Frisk felt fevered and she dripped with sweat,
despite the cold atmosphere. Something clicked in her head, like a mental
defense mechanism, and suddenly her mind was on the ceiling. This is not
happening. This is not happening. You are in a terrible nightmare. You are
safe. You are not here. But each time she tried to disassociate herself, Sans
would bring her back. His pulsing erection slammed so forcefully against her
tight silky cervix entrance deep inside, it was as if he was trying to fuck her
womb.
His hands left her hips and one of his claws glided against Frisk’s throat,
squeezing it lightly before he brought it behind the back of her neck. His
fingers stroked against her nape as he violated and penetrated her without any
regard. The thrusting movements of his hips were ruthless and oozed with pure
simmering malice, but his stroking hand at the back of her neck felt almost
tender.
Frisk closed her eyes again. His skull was so close to her face. His heavy, hot
breaths cascaded against her jaw. The way his red pulsing hue stared into her
eyes, it was as if he was not only assaulting her body but her mind as well.
She didn’t want to see it. She just wanted to die. She felt numb from the waist
down and she turned her head to the side against her outstretched bound arm.
But suddenly she felt Sans’ hands cup at either side of her cheeks as he
continued to grind so deep inside her. The unexpected touch made her flinch and
cry out.
"open your eyes, manumitter…"
That phrase…… she often heard that gentle phrase fluttering along the surface
of her conscience. He whispered it out between lusty panting breaths. His
harsh, rigid movements slowed for a moment, giving her a chance to recover from
the pain.
Frisk shook her head and kept her eyes shut. G-get away…… Get away…… I want… to
die… p-please let me die…
“open your eyes…” He spoke again, a little more vigor in his tone. He was
growling softly in his chest and his rough phalanges trailed down her tear-
stained cheekbones, pushing her messy brown locks behind her ears. She kept her
eyes shut tight.
Sans thrust hard into her unexpectedly, causing her whole body to jolt hard
into the floor. She cried out and her thighs trembled against his hips. She
felt his thumb… His thumb was stroking along her face… It was gliding against
the bottom of her eyelid. It-… it was starting to hurt. He was pressing his
sharp skeletal thumb down against her right eye. He was pressing hard… Oh, god…
no- please!! W-why!
“S-sans no!! Please! P-please… please…… no!” She shot open her left eye but the
right remained closed. He was prying his finger between her eyelids, piercing
through the center of her eyeball. Bright white glowing spots feathered along
her vision like fireflies. The pain was unreal and she screamed as he dug his
digit through her single right eye, penetrating the socket, blinding her. His
hands clasped tightly at either side of her head like a vice. And with her left
eye she watched his malicious smirk and pulsing hue. He was overcome was rage.
He was possessed by hatred. This was his revenge. She was paying for each
murder… for the genocide… for her sins… for Chara’s sins.
 
 
Sans ripped his thumb from her bleeding, gouged eye and she watched as he
licked the blood and sickly fluids from his digit. The pain at the right side
of her face was so intense, it felt like she had just been doused with acid…
She felt like she was dying. And all the while he continued to fuck her hard,
thrusting so deep within her abused, torn insides.
“P-please… just… kill me…” Frisk begged him. Her words were a monotonous
slurring, devoid of any timber. The pain and the trauma coursed through her
whole body as she continued to tremble underneath him. She stared up at Sans
with her single unscathed eye. It was glazed over and hollow. She was already
dead on the inside.
“kill you?” Sans responded with a fervored grin. He pressed his forehead down
against hers softly. “but you still have to open the gates, sweetheart. and now
you have to start from the very beginning.” Those words were almost as heinous
as his actions. “…and this time… i'm not leaving your side.” He whispered out
the final verdict, barely audible.
Sans brought his blood stained hands back down her her hips and his deep,
aggressive thrusts turned into short, slow strokes inside her. He was close.
His chest pressed down against Frisk’s own and she could feel his fluttering
heartbeat… his rapidly pulsing soul practically bursting with excitement. It
was embedded deep within his rib cage and it vibrated along his bones and in
turn vibrated against her. Frisk simply stared back into his crimson eye with a
blank, lifeless gaze. She had no fight left in her. He had taken everything
from her… everything. She had never wanted to die so badly before than she did
in that moment.
Sans grabbed hard against her hips roughly and pulled her whole body downward,
forcing her to meet his upward thrusts. He panted hard and fast, pressing the
front of his skull against the side of her neck. He was so close, only moments
away from that sweet release. Each time he pounded so forcefully inside her,
her muscles would wrap and squeeze around him automatically and it felt so
deliriously amazing. He couldn’t hold back, he couldn’t hold on anymore.
He let out a husky gasp followed by a sharp inhale as he kept his breath back.
He pushed his hips forward between her thighs and held himself there. His
throbbing cock was buried deep, so deep, almost entirely embedded within her.
And thick translucent glossy blue cum erupted forth, flooding her insides with
his essence, with his soul energy. Frisk felt the burst of heat. It gushed
internally throughout her, flooding her womb, warming her up from the inside
out. Frisk clenched her teeth as hot tears spilled from her single eye. Her
damaged eye was bleeding down her cheek, throbbing and ripped open so
heinously.
She was fading. Her whole body felt numb and her head roiled with vertigo from
the grotesque agony within her right eye. Her body was spent and it trembled
uncontrollably. The pain and the exertion… the humiliation… it was too much.
Was she dying? God… god, she hoped so. She was praying for death. She could
feel Sans continue to push within her even after his release, churning up the
thick load of cobalt syrup, forcing his ejaculant deep inside. He lifted an
idle claw to her bound wrists and she felt the tethers fall limp as they
released her cold hands. But she couldn’t even move them, they simply lay
lifeless.
Sans looped his arms up underneath her chest and his fingers caressed her
spine. He lifted her from the floor, holding her small marred body against the
front of his rib cage so tight.
 
His soul was pulsing rapidly like a caged sparrow deep within him.
 
She could feel his heartbeat entwining with her own.
 
All she could hear was static buzzing in her ears.
 
Her vision was fading in and out.
 
And she went limp in his arms.
 
And then everything went dark.
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: Journey to the 6th gate.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     ……………………………………
     *slowly descends into hell*
      
     This was difficult to write. I’m so sorry, Frisk. I have no words rn.
     Stay tuned for the trek back with bad-time Sans (geez… he is
     seriously the worst.) Hatemail can be re-directed to my tmblz.
     ~~~
     Skipper summery: After Frisk’s relentless murdering spree, she finds
     herself face to face with Sans in Hotland. He is the only thing that
     stands in the way of saving at the next candle. Chara, who has
     infected Frisk’s soul, urges her fourth into combat. There’s an epic
     battle between Frisk and Sans (It’s pretty sweet. There’s lava
     everywhere and shit lol.) Sans triumphs in the end by amputating one
     of her arms and snapping the other. Without her hands, she cannot
     summon her shield or sword. He notices the discoloration of eyes and
     Chara’s possession. He rips her soul from her body then kills her.
     Frisk resets back in Napstablook’s tunnels (The very first
     savepoint.) She contemplates running back to the first gate to beg
     Toriel to free her, but Sans appears again. He ‘punishes’ her for the
     genocide, but mainly for the brutal murder of Papyrus. Let it be
     known that Sans is very aware that the murders were Chara’s doing.
     And he doesn't care (What an asshole.) Also, during the sexual
     assault, Frisk loses an eye.
     ~~~
      
     Advanced warning: The next chapter will contain non-con sexual
     content and violence. Ya know, it might just be safe to assume that
     most of the chapters from this point on will contain violence in one
     way or another.
     /////////////////////
***** XXII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 22: Don't you dare step out of line.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hello everyone,
     First of all I want to apologize to anyone who had a hard time with
     the previous chapter. I know it was rough and a difficult read. I
     apologize if anyone was deeply affected by it negatively. Please read
     my warnings before you go into a chapter. They are there to keep you
     safe :(
     Anyways, this next chapter is another long one with lots of stuff
     going on. There is a TON of Sans in it (evil bastard…) and in a way I
     think it is another difficult read because it deals with the
     aftermath of such a traumatic event. Please be aware of this. Besides
     that, there is nothing too crazy in this chapter? The violence is
     kept at a minimum but there are multiple scenes that contain heavy
     undertones of non-con sexual content.
     Anyways, enjoy.
     Warning: This chapter contains disturbing & unsettling content that
     have to do with sexual assault as well as non-con sexual undertones.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
It was raining.
 
…
 
…
 
The rain fell down in sheets.
 
The sky overhead was dark, embellished with thick clouds.
 
The scent of wet grass and dirt hung heavy within the atmosphere.
 
The air was warm, but the downpour was cold. And the conflicting blend of
temperature made her skin break out in an influx of goosebumps.
 
Frisk was kneeling in the grass. She was outside, out in the backyard behind
her house. She glanced up at the wooden fence paneling that ran along the
perimeter of the small enclosure, various planks broken and fractured in more
than one section. The yard was vacant except for that rusty charcoal barbecue
that lay on its side in the corner of the field.
But now… now there was a new addition. A large rock rested in front of her bent
knees upon the ground.
The rain soaked Frisk’s chestnut hair and she pushed back a thick curtain of
bangs that fell before her eyes. She tugged at the collar of her yellow plastic
raincoat, readjusting the parka with little success. She was already soaked
anyways. Frisk pulled her gaze from the fence and stared down at the rock
before her. An unwieldy, trembling whimper spilled from her throat and the rain
continued to stream down, running along her cheeks, fusing with the hot torrent
of tears that just wouldn’t stop.
Frisk lifted her hands from her knees and placed them atop the rock. Her
shoulders started to shake. She stared at the boulder, teeth clenched tight as
she fought back another wave of sobs. S-schafer… Schafer… Her beloved dog… Her
only companion… Her only friend in this world. She was alone now. Terribly,
terribly alone… Perhaps she had always been alone. But now without the
distraction of her German Shepherd, it felt authentic. Her loneliness. Her
misery. It was absolute. It was all-encompassing. And there was nothing she
could do… Nothing she could do to save herself from the pain.
Frisk’s small hands caressed the sides of the boulder. She let them trail
downward to the patch of raised earth underneath her and gripped at the mud.
The fresh grave… She had watched her mother dig it through the kitchen window.
But she could not watch as her mother lowered Schafer’s limp body into the
ground and fill the hole back up again.
An overwhelming surge of hopelessness spread throughout her. She bent forward
and pressed her forehead against the rock, releasing another choking sob.
 
Please… please rest well, Schafer. You are in heaven now. You are free.
 
But why… why did you have to leave me behind?
 
The sudden sound of a creaking door from behind jolted Frisk from her lament
and she quickly lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder. Her mother stood
in the doorway, that usual apathetic, lifeless expression infused within her
features. She lifted a cigarette in one hand and idly rubbed at a black-and-
blue eye with the other.
“Frisk… c’mon.” Her mother’s detached, monotonous voice lulled Frisk to her
feet. She quickly rose up and stood at the center of the fresh grave, wiping
mud from her knees.
“Come inside, now…” Her mother turned and stepped back within the house,
leaving the door open behind her. Frisk let out another trembling sob. She
rubbed at her red eyes with the backs of her hands and glanced down at the
simple gravestone one last time. It was such an inadequate monument for the
memory of such a beloved friend. The melancholy sight sent her heart spiraling
down like it was sinking in a bucket of wet cement.
 
Goodbye…
 
Frisk turned and took slow, sluggish steps towards the open door, following her
mother back inside the house.
 
 
But…
 
 
It suddenly grew dark.
 
A blanket of black satin fell before her vision, concealing everything.
 
The rain, the delicate scent of fresh outside air, the gentle sorrow… It all
melted into a shadowy void.
 
The memory had been severed.
 
The dream… it had been fractured in two.
 
Her distant recollection was shattered by… by…
 
 
Pain.
 
And…
 
Fear.
 
 
And the overwhelming stench of blood.
She was choking against the darkness. It hurt! Her flesh was on fire. Every
part of her body ached and burned. She was being crushed underneath a flood of
surging mud. Sharp spikes decorated the floor and drove into her spine like
nails.
It was chaotic. She couldn’t breathe. Her flesh was being flayed and rubbed raw
and split open. But the battering turmoil wouldn’t kill her. It wouldn’t let
her die… It refused. It kept her alive, just barely, to continue the ruthless
torture.
And she saw that bright red hue in the center of the darkness. It was burning
against the back of her eyes. It hurt to look at… s-so, so terribly. It was
agony. It was a swelling inferno piercing deep within her skull. Penetrating
her head. And her body. And the red burrowed inside her memories, inside her
vigor… and her soul. It tainted her entire being and she wanted to die… please…
just kill me… p-please…
 
 
Please let me die…
 
………
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
Frisk’s eye shot open and she was screaming.
 
She gasped for a breath and rolled over onto her side against the hard floor,
clutching at her face with quaking hands. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t
think. She was suffocating in a sinkhole of agony. The right side of her head
felt like it had been bludgeoned with the backside of a hammer. The pain was so
intense, it blinded her limited vision over and over, like the flare of a
camera flash in the dead of night.
She sobbed from the ache in her head and curled her knees into her chest. W-
what was this?! A migraine?? It was unreal. Her fingers quickly ran over the
right side of her face, examining the source of the pain. She let her
fingertips press against her right eye, but… t-there was something there.
Something tangible. It felt like… like cloth? Like a thickly layered square of
gauze held on by tape of some sort.
Her fingernails dug against the edges of the tape, trying to peel the strips
from her skin and remove whatever this bandage was. But before she could manage
it, another terrible wave of pain shot through her head and galloped up her
spinal cord. She clutched at the right side of her face with one hand and tried
to push herself up off the floor with the other, but faltered back down to the
ground.
Another pain, a different type of pain, erupted from her lower abdomen and ran
down the insides of both thighs.
 
This pain… It pierced through her stomach and heart and made her whole body
quiver.
 
And then… the memory…
 
The ordeal…
 
Every detail…
 
Every single vile, depraved, nefarious detail came rushing back.
 
Her eye… he had…
 
He had gouged out her eye.
 
And he had… n-no… no!
 
It played out in her head, against her will, like a living nightmare.
 
Over and over.
 
And over.
 
And over…
 
And Frisk screamed out again as she began to hyperventilate. Rage and hopeless
and fear, and every other negative emotion in between, it was coiling within
her stomach and pressing against the inside of her heart. N-no… It never
happened. She pushed those visions down. They were false. It had been a
nightmare. S-sans… NO! Those were fake memories. An illusion.
She ripped her hand away from the side of her face and slammed both fists
against the stone floor. The ground below her was cold… and damp. There was a
light at the opposite side of the room that she could just barely see out of
the corner of her single, uncovered eye. A soft flickering hue. The candle.
S-she was still in this room… She was still in the beginning passageway… at the
first candle… in Napstablook’s tunnels.
 
No… NO NO NO NONO!!!! NO NO!!! GODDAMNIT!!! NO!!
 
Frisk started crying out with anger and disbelief. Tears erupted from her left
eye and spilled along her cheek and neck. She brought her trembling hands down
between her thighs and they were… sticky… Oh, god. Frisk quickly looked down,
blinking away the partition of tears. Her thighs and legs… they were covered in
a coating of tacky, drying blood. And visible under the crimson bloodstains
were dozens of bite marks embedded within her flesh. Each one looked more
heinous than the next. But the pain at her thighs was almost nonexistent, as it
was nothing compared to the pain within her skull and the agony that drilled
inside her abdomen.
 
It never happened. It never happened. It was… a dream. Yes, a dream. Just a
terrible dream. A nightmare, in fact. But it did not happen to you. It happened
to someone else, not you.
 
Frisk began to rub violently at the tops of her thighs with her sleeves,
scraping away flaking blood from her skin. She quickly lifted her head and
glanced around the surrounding area in a panic. But she was completely alone.
Her backpack lay propped up against the side of the wall right next to her. She
was still housed within the corner of the room.
 
I-it didn’t happen… Not to you… not to you…
 
Very slowly, Frisk pushed her hands against the floor again, lifting herself up
from the ground into a sit. She cried out as another pain shot up from her hips
this time. She felt so sore and bruised all over. She leaned back into the
corner where the two walls met, breathing hard and fast. Her chest felt hollow.
Her soul… It felt like her soul was missing… There was no warmth within her.
 
It never happened.
 
Frisk reached a quivering hand forward and lifted her bag closer. She unlatched
the buckle at the top and grabbed a bottle of water and began to pour the clear
liquid all over her thighs. It stung terribly, but the worst part was the
frigid atmosphere that immediately felt ten times colder the moment she soaked
her skin. She washed the blood away best she could, using the entire bottle.
She could see each bite mark easily now. They were adjoined in rows, and they
wrapped around to the backs of her thighs.
 
It never happened…
 
Frisk wiped her legs dry and she pulled out the box of band-aids, placing a
flesh-toned rubber bandage upon each bloody tooth mark. She was careful to give
first priority to the particularly deep ones, the ones on the insides of her
thighs. But as she toiled over the wounds, her eye glanced along the front of
her shorts. H-her shorts… the zipper… the front button… it was… it was opened…
It was opened.
 
It n-never happened…
 
Frisk’s hands started to shake at the sight. She clenched her teeth together,
but she could not stop them from clattering. Small whimpers of fear and dread
stirred inside her throat as she slowly brought a hand down to the front of her
pants. She slipped her fingers underneath the hem, sliding them lower… lower…
between her thighs. O-oh… god… no… It felt… w-wet.
 
P-please… please… tell me that it never happened… It was a dream, right? It was
a nightmare… right?
 
She just barely scooped her fingers against her opening and let out a sharp,
sudden cry. It hurt! I-it… hurt… she felt torn. It hurt so terribly. She
couldn’t touch that spot without flinching from the pain… but she had to know.
She had to be sure. And she rubbed her fingers against herself again, wiping
off some of the wetness, and pulled her hand from her shorts.
She glanced down at the thick fluids upon her fingers…
 
 
 
Blue…
 
 
 
It was blue…
 
 
And translucent… and it dripped down her palm.
 
And strings of thick, twining blood weaved through the glossy cobalt extract.
 
………
 
N-no……
 
…
 
No…
 
NO NO NO!!
 
NO!!!
 
Frisk’s hand fell limp to her side and she stared up at the ceiling. She ground
her teeth together to hold back a sob. Hot tears spilled from her left eye, and
in turn her right covered eye burned terribly. She felt so defeated… so tired…
Her chest felt hollow. Her soul was gone.
 
It had not been a terrible dream.
 
It had not been a nightmare.
 
Sans…
 
That depraved, heinous monster. That demon… He had-… He had actually-…
 
Don’t say it. It WAS a dream.
 
Frisk’s powerful mental defenses immediately rose up and contrived a barricade
of walls within her mind. They tried to block out each memory, each detail. But
deep down she knew. And in turn the details spiraled fourth and clawed at the
surface of her thoughts. Sans. Sans had attacked her… His tongue… his tongue
had scraped along her bare chest. His hands scratched against her stomach and
hips… Every touch was painful… He held her thighs apart… around his waist…
Grinding against her… Forcing himself inside her… He… he-…
 
STOP!
 
Frisk’s trembling hands began to button up her shorts then she dug them into
her pockets without a second thought. She pulled out her cell phone and
searched for her utility knife… but her blade… her box cutter… the only freedom
she still had from this hell… her only escape… it was gone. It was gone. No… NO
NO NO!!
She pulled her backpack into her lap and began frantically searching for it.
But it was nowhere to be seen. Vanished. Sans… he must have taken it. Did he
know what she would have attempted had she still retained her knife? Why
couldn’t he just let her DIE! She immediately wrapped both hands around her
throat and began to squeeze… harder… harder… but each time her head began to
feel foggy, her grasp would automatically lessen. Her body rejected the self-
strangulation. It wouldn’t let her die.
Frisk sobbed and threw her backpack to the floor and turned to her side facing
the wall. She slid back down to ground and lay there, curling up into herself
in the dark cold chamber.
How long would it take to freeze to death in here?
It was cold… but… not that cold.
She closed her eye and tried to force sleep to take her. Perhaps if she simply
stayed within this room she would just fade away. Maybe starve to death,
eventually… but… what if Sans came back?
 
’you still have to open the gates, sweetheart …and this time i'm not leaving
your side’
 
Sans’ words cut through her heart and her eye shot open.
 
N-no…
 
She had to get out of this room. She had to run. What if he returned? And
attacked her again? What if he brought her back to his house… a-and kept her
there and-… oh, god… No no no!!! She had to escape… back to the snowy forest…
Yes… Toriel could not help her anymore. And it was foolish to think that Toriel
ever could. She was a monster, just like all the rest of them. Frisk’s only
salvation was death. And it couldn’t come soon enough. If she ran to the
Snowdin forest and just plunged herself deep within the snow, then she would
freeze to death. Yes, she would pass away… All of this suffering would end. She
was at the final threshold. There were no more resets left. It would be over.
All the pain would finally be over. She would be free.
 
Frisk lifted herself off the floor once more and attempted to stand. Her legs
felt so weak. Her head was throbbing and she managed to stagger to her feet.
Wave after wave of sharp, searing agony shot through her abdomen and ran down
her thighs and up her stomach. She could feel a disgusting trickle of wet
seeping out from inside her, down the back of one leg. God… p-please just let
me die… I just want to die…
Frisk steadied herself and turned to face the empty hallway opening. She knew
it led directly to the 2nd gate, to the snowy forest. But what about her soul?…
Frisk rested one shoulder against the wall as she stared directly in front of
her. Her chest felt hollow, her soul… it- it was… gone. Just like her blade.
Sans had taken it.
She lifted her arms out in front of her and tried to summon forth the shield,
but nothing happened. Without her soul could she even open the gate? Didn’t she
need that to open them?
Frisk let out a trembling sigh and clutched at her throbbing lower stomach with
her hands. It was worth a shot… She might as well just try to open the gate.
The only thing she cared about in that moment was suicide. She had to try…
And she stumbled forward, grimacing with each step. It was so painful just to
walk, but she took in deep breaths. Inhaling the cold musky oxygen, then
releasing, then inhaling again. You will be free soon. It will all be over,
very soon. She fought through the pain and began to journey fourth into the
dark tunnel.
 
 
Frisk walked along through the shadowy stone corridor. Her head was throbbing
so terribly. She grasped at her right covered eye with one hand, adding some
pressure to try and relieve the pain. She was in denial. She could not come to
terms with the fact that… she was partially blind now… She could barely come to
terms with Sans’ assault. Her fingers ran along the front of the gauze patch.
Who put this here? Sans? No. Don’t think about this. It is pointless to think
about this. You will be gone soon anyways. It will all be over and there will
be no more pain. No more suffering.
Frisk reached a hand into her pocket and pulled out the cell phone. She clicked
the flashlight’s button at the side and quickly illuminated the narrow hallway.
And she couldn’t help but glance down at the cracked screen. The time read ‘6:
04 am’ and the battery was at 67%… So she really had gone back, then? All the
way back to the very beginning.
She stumbled through the tunnel, letting out soft groand of pain with each
step. She stared ahead… she could see the end of the hallway. It was obscured
in draped shadows, but she could just barely see it. That large chamber where
she had first met Napstablook so long ago. She immediately found herself
wondering where Napstablook was… then her thoughts returned to Sans and the
assault and she just couldn’t shake it. It was a constant memory that seemed to
play on repeat inside her head.
 
Please… let me die…
 
Frisk staggered towards the slight narrow opening. A soft rush of wind bellowed
through the archway from the larger cavern. It was so dark, even the
cellphone’s flashlight could barely cut through the black. She took a step
forward to enter the spacious dungeon.
But something immediately rose from behind the wall right outside the doorway.
 
Something blocked her path in an instant.
 
 
An arm…
 
 
But it was not the thin, long ghostly limb of Napstablook…
 
It was a sturdy arm draped in dark fabric like a jacket sleeve… with… with a
skeletal hand.
 
…
 
Frisk cried out and stumbled back, hitting her shoulder against the side of the
tunnel. She dropped her phone to the floor with a loud clatter, turning the
entire space around them pitch black. And she shut her eye and lifted her arms
up defensively over her face. No… no… No… please, no… H-he had never left… He
was here this whole time… waiting to ambush her again!
 
 
Sans…
 
 
No… no… NO-… NONONO NO NO!!
 
Frisk felt a cold claw, rough and slender, wrap around one of her wrists and it
yanked her forward. She was lurched out from the hallway into the chamber but
kept her eye closed. She was shivering so terribly. Her legs felt weak and
blood rushed to her head. She felt as if she was going to faint.
“kid…” She knew that voice. She could never forget it. Ever. It was deep and
harsh, laced with a haunting echo that speared through her heart like a barrage
of arrows. The sound of his voice sent her spiraling back into that small room…
she was underneath him again… he was grabbing at her hips… tearing up her
flesh… ripping through her insides… P-please… no more!… And Frisk couldn’t even
move. She couldn’t even attempt to pull her wrist from his tight grasp. She
simply stood there in front of him, cowering with her head ducked down
underneath her free arm.
 
This isn't happening. This isn't happening. No… please… you should have stayed
in that small room. You should have stayed there! You allowed yourself to get
caught again!
 
Frisk kept her head lowered, but she couldn’t hide from him. He wouldn’t allow
it. His cold phalanges feather along her chin and she recoiled. They grasped at
her jaw roughly and forced her head up, tilting it back to face him. The tips
of his claws dug into her cheeks. S-she couldn’t run. She couldn’t fight. She
just stood there so pathetically, trembling and desperately trying to hold back
distressed sobs as he clutched her jaw.
His grip began to tighten and Frisk finally let out a cry. Her left eye opened
slowly… slowly… It was so dark within the room… but his bright crimson hue
flashed and pulsed rapidly before her. The red illuminated the space between
them and she could see his face clearly within the vermilion shadows. His eye
sockets were lidded and devious. He glanced down at her with that heinous
smirk. She couldn’t help but stare back at his teeth… and she could just barely
see red stains along the pinnacle of each canine… her blood… her blood.
“what's with that look? you didn’t think i’d leave again, did you? don't you
trust me at all?” He chuckled. He was taunting her. Even after everything he
had done… God, he was cruel… He was twisted… She felt sick… She was going to
vomit. Frisk's stomach churned. She could barely keep her knees steady and she
started to stagger to the floor. But Sans released his grasp at her chin and
his hand immediately lurched behind her and squeezed against the nape of her
neck painfully, pulling her in closer towards him. “i never left you, kiddo… ”
She could see that veiled rage buried deep within his scarlet eye as he spoke,
his pinpoint pupil shivering with a usual look of… of hunger. And hate.
“S-s-sans… p-please…” Frisk whimpered over the stutters. She could barely
speak. She could barely move. She was so overcome with fear. And Sans’ fingers
slipped up underneath her thick short hair at the back of her head, scraping
along her skull. It was repugnant.
“enough.” His voice was suddenly harsh and his concave sockets narrowed down at
her. He released his grasp from her wrist, but his other hand remained gripping
at the back of her head, holding her steady. Sans dug his hand into his jacket
pocket and pulled out… oh, god… the collar… The one that Papyrus had used on
her so long ago… N-no… god… Was he going to use that on her now!? Dear, lord…
please no…
“you are going to open the doors, kiddo. and i know you won’t step out of line
again, right?” He raised a browbone down at her while looping his index finger
through the collar and began to idly twirl the iron ring around his digit. The
metal clattered against his bony finger as he taunted her with bondage… and
with the possibility of another rape.
“N-no… I… I swear-” Frisk’s left eye was wide and glazed with fear as she
responded. Her heart was pulsing so rapidly in her chest. It hurt… her chest
hurt from that beating heartbeat. She thought she was going to collapse from
fear, truly.
“that’s a good girl.” He sneered, drinking in her terror-stricken expression.
Then he shoved the collar back inside his jacket pocket. W-wait… he was not
going to bind her? He was going to allow her to walk freely?… Perhaps… it was
because he knew there was no reason for it… Unlike Papyrus, she could never
escape from Sans… Ever.
And he swiftly lowered his hand back down to the back of her neck once more and
pulled her to his side, then shoved her forward into the open chamber. Frisk
stumbled in front of him. She held back a cry of pain in her throat from the
abrupt movement. Her whole body was so sore. Her head was aching and her
insides writhed from trauma.
“go on.” He growled out. Sans stood close behind, towering over. And he shoved
at the middle of her back once more, pushing her forward. W-was he honestly
going to march her through the Underground? Lead her through each door until
they reached the end? Was he going to finish what his brother had started?
Frisk could hear his sneakers shift against the ground. She could tell he was
already starting to become impatient and she did not want to test him… n-not
after… what he had just done to her.
So she slowly stepped forward into the darkness, walking through the center of
the massive enclosure. It was so dark and the only light came from Sans’ red
eye. It did very little to illuminate their surroundings. And Frisk took slow
steps forward. The soft squeaks of her sneakers against stone resonated through
the chamber. All she could hear were her own steps, her racing heart, and the
steady sound of Sans’ breath directly behind her. He was following so closely,
but at least he wasn’t touching her.
 
God, kill me… please let me die…
 
They continued to make their way through the chamber. It felt so much larger
than it had when she first walked through this room and met Napstablook… W-
wait… Napstablook… Where was he? Had Sans… had Sans killed him?… Although Frisk
had tenacious, bitter feelings towards that ghost, the monster who was pretty
much solely responsible for her entrapment within the Underground, she found
herself wondering where he was. But as they began to approach the opposite side
of the room something caught Frisk’s eye. There was a faint light up overhead.
A faint blue light. It was way up high, within the furthest corner of the room
against the ceiling. She could just barely see it with her uncovered eye. W-
wait… was that Napstablook?!?
Frisk came to a stop and she felt Sans brush against her shoulder. She stared
up at the glow against the ceiling. It was a blue hovering cloud of azure
energy, floating within the atmosphere above them. And entrapped within the
wafting mist was… the ghost. It was Napstablook. He was trapped inside Sans’
soul energy. He wasn’t moving or struggling. He was just gently hovering within
the cerulean fog. Oh god, was he dead? Was he asleep? Stunned? Frisk’s head was
racing with questions.
“Napstablook…” She whispered under her breath and stared at the confined
monster in shock. She could see Sans’ red eye flash brightly to her side and
felt his hand grasp at the back of her neck once more. She flinched at his
touch and quickly tore her gaze from the imprisoned ghost above. S-she
shouldn’t stop walking… She didn’t want him touching her ever… ever again. If
she just obeyed then he wouldn’t touch her, right?…
“he’s fine. move.” Sans almost sounded annoyed and he pushed her forward once
more.
 
 
 
They walked through the chamber and reached the final tunnel opening. Frisk
continued forward into the hall without stopping. She refused to hesitate as
they stepped through the archway and journeyed into the narrow passage towards
the 2nd gate - she did not want to give Sans any excuse to touch her again.
It was so cold. Her fingers were numb. She could barely see in front of her but
continued forward regardless, taking in labored inhales. She wanted to cry. Her
rapist walked directly behind her. He was so close… she could almost feel the
fur-trim from his lowered hoodie’s cowl brushing against the back of her head.
Please don’t touch me…
But then, suddenly, they could not continue any further. A dead-end… It emerged
from the shadows and blocked the way. But Frisk knew very well that this was no
ordinary impasse. She stared at the runic engraved symbol upon the wall. This
was the 2nd gate. She remembered opening this gate so clearly. She had been so
startled when she first opened this door… When she had seen her soul’s
beautiful power erupt forth for the first time… She had been so innocent back
then… Naive and filled with determination to escape this hell. N-not like now…
Not like now…
She felt a building surge of sadness wrap around her heart. Frisk hung her head
and she trembled where she stood. Hot tears burned in the corner of her left
eye. Her shoulders were quivering. Sans leaned in close behind her. She let out
a terrified whimper from the sudden contact. His firm chest pressed against the
backs of her shoulder blades and both his hands gripped around her upper arms.
He would not speak a word, and the fact that he said nothing made it all the
more terrifying. Frisk’s heart started to pulse with anxiety as she felt those
skeletal claws sweep down the outside of her arms. He leaned forward further,
practically pushing her up against the wall, and he wrapped his fingers around
both her wrists and lifted her hands up…
He forced her hands flat against the center of the barrier, directly upon the
etching. Frisk stared ahead at the barrier with tears in her eye. She held back
the sobs in her lungs which in turn made her throat feel like it was thick and
compact. She hated him… she hated him… Get away from me, please… p-please don’t
touch me, you- you evil, cruel d-demon… pervert… rapist! She wanted to scream
out her thoughts and pull away, but instead she just stood there with her arms
outstretched and palms flat against the surface of the cold stone.
Sans held her hands there for a moment, then he released one claw from her arm.
Frisk could hear the sound of him digging within his pants pocket… He was
searching for something, and he pulled it out and lifted it over her shoulder
before her eye.
 
Her soul…
 
It was her soul.
 
Frisk’s heart leapt at the sight. She stared down at the softly glowing red orb
within his grasp, just as beautiful as ever. It shimmered and swirled with
glittering red liquid embedded in translucent sphere. It dripped energy against
Sans’ fingers as his thumb lightly glided along the surface, wiping away the
dazzling crystalline residue.
“you’ll need this first, kiddo.” His words purred from deep within his chest
and he pulled his hand back… and then he lowered his arm against her side… and
wrapped it around her waist. Frisk’s muscles tensed instantly as she felt his
arm press flush against her. He was inching his hand up underneath the bottom
of her hoodie from behind, like he had done so many times before to remove her
soul… but this time, this time he was returning it.
Sans slipped his hand underneath her clothing and pressed the hot, dripping orb
against her navel, up further along her quivering abdomen, against her rib
cage, directly at the center of her chest. His opposite hand released her wrist
and he gripped onto her waist, holding her close as he began to push the soul
firmly against her sternum.
Frisk cried out from the sudden influx of pain and heat. She gasped and her
knees buckled and she took in sharp breaths, holding oxygen within her lungs,
fighting against the broiling pain that pierced through her breast as Sans
pushed her soul painfully back inside. And she gasped and stumbled forward and
lowered her forehead against the wall. I-it hurt… please… just hurry… She could
feel Sans’ hard rib cage firmly against her upper spine. S-she could feel his
heartbeat pulsing rapidly and his skeletal claw shivering ever so slightly
between her breasts as he pushed her soul deep within. G-god, he was getting
off to this, wasn’t he? Her pain was his pure bliss. He was so depraved… He was
truly a spawn of hell.
But then almost instantly the pain vanished and Frisk felt that tremendous
warmth cascade deep within her body. Her soul was back. That hollow feeling
that weighed within her chest had been filled. It felt so warm… and it would
have felt almost comforting had it not been for Sans pressing into her back
directly from behind… it almost felt like he was grinding into her. A wave of
terrible, heinous memories drilled through her mind and she shuddered and
slouched forward, feeling sick.
But Sans did not remove his hand from underneath her hoodie. He kept his
skeletal palm splayed flat upon her warm chest. Oh god, why!? W-why… don’t
touch me… please. Before Frisk even had a chance to protest, she felt her arms
start to burn. Her soul was overflowing with simmering energy, with
determination. The dazzling red glow wrapped around her arms instantly and they
spread down her limbs, down her wrists, encasing her unsteady hands in
gauntlets of clear scarlet. The red illuminated the space around them and Frisk
watched as the wall started to shiver under her touch.
 
It was opening.
 
The sound of crumbling rocks immediately bellowed forth. The wall started to
shudder violently and it strain outward. Frisk cowered and ducked her head
down. Stones and debris fell from the ceiling overhead like an avalanche. Her
hands were quivering but she kept them in place and the wall ruptured fourth
with a silence-shattering clash of rock. All that red luminescent energy at her
arms faded as the wall unfastened forward. The gate… it opened… out into the
snowy forest.
Bright, blinding white and a bitter gust of freezing wind collided with Frisk
and she stumbled backwards into Sans’ chest.
She stared ahead at the cold landscape with her single chestnut eye wide. That
freezing snow… She had forgotten just how cold it was. Just how treacherous.
Another gust of wind and she shuttered and pulled her hands back to her chest.
But- Sans… his hand was still pressed hard against her sternum under her
clothing. G-god… Would he ever stop his brutal torture?…
Almost instantly, Sans wrapped his opposite arm around her middle so tight and
yanked her small form back against his body. It was as if he had expected her
to run forward. Frisk released a cry, his sudden violent touch brought her back
to that small chamber all over again, the room that would haunt her for the
rest of her life… She could almost feel his claws upon her bare thighs… And his
pulsing vigor… thrusting deep inside her… But a sudden pain brought her mind
back. A terrible surge of swelling agony within her chest.
 
N-no… He was-… he was removing her soul again!? He wouldn’t let her keep it!?!
 
Frisk cried out, tossing her head back against his shoulder, panting heavily as
her chest rose and fell and her heart fluttered with fear. Sans’ hold on her
was strong and he lifted her feet up off the ground. He restrained her body
tight, violently tearing her soul from the safety of her chest. It hurt so
terribly, just like always, as if someone was ripping open her chest with thick
talons. And then she felt that familiar snap as he wrenched the soul from her
body. She almost went limp in his arm from the agonizing endeavor.
“heh…”
He chuckled behind her, his skull just inches away from the side of her face.
But she couldn’t see him. He hovered by her right side… by her blinded eye.
Eventually he pulled his hand from under her clothing and grasped tight against
her soul, sending a wave of pain through her briefly before shoving the orb
back in his pants pocket.
 
No… n-no he couldn’t possibly do this… Was he going to return and remove her
soul for every single door? Was he honestly going to control her in this
appalling way?
 
Sans placed her back on the ground and released her waist. He pressed both
hands atop her shoulders and lowered his head. Frisk could feel each one of his
lukewarm breaths against the back of her neck.
“let’s go.” His voice was like a rigid jab to the spine. It was so unyielding,
so unkind. And he shoved her forward into the thick blanket of snow.
 
 
 
 
 
Frisk tread through the freezing, wet snow that wrapped around her sneakers.
Each step she took was still agony. The right side of her head was pounding,
and she found herself clutching at the thick gauze bandage every couple of
minutes. Erratic waves of pain shot through her lower abdomen and refused to
wane. And now to make matters worse, the bitter cold wrapped around her entire
body and pierced her core.
It was so cold… so cold… and so tired. She just wanted to collapse into the
snow and fade away. But every time she staggered and began to slow Sans would
shove her forward forcefully with one hand.
 
He wouldn’t let her rest…
 
He wouldn’t let her die…
 
Sans paced close behind. Frisk could just barely see the vibrating crimson
radiance from his eye reflecting off the silver forest floor. She knew he
certainly was not cold, but she had lost the feeling in her legs and arms.
Would he even care if she got frostbite? Pft… who was she kidding… of course he
wouldn’t… Well, that is, as long as it did not affect her hands. She had to
open the damn doors, afterall.
As they walked, Frisk stared out at the vast forest that surrounded them. The
woods rose up overhead and twining dead branches collided with each bitter
gust. That familiar black mold adorned every tree and Frisk could just barely
see ashen flakes of debris falling from above. It was not snow. It was the
molding soot that seemed to plague this entire hell.
Suddenly there was a sharp, shrill sound overhead and it made Frisk stumble
backwards into Sans’ chest. T-the air sirens… Air raid sirens bellowed loudly,
stirring the whole forest. She had completely forgotten about them. The first
time she trekked through these woods she had heard them… And back then she
thought she had entered some kind of forbidden war zone. Sans gripped his hands
at the sides of her shoulders for a moment, jolting her back from the memories,
and pushed her forward again.
They continued on. They walked in silence. Sans would not utter a word. It was
terrifying, knowing that the one monster who caused her so much pain and
anguish was hovering so close behind. If he wanted to try something again,
there was absolutely nothing she could do. She was stripped of every ability.
She had no weapons to defend herself… The only leverage she had was the fact
that she was on her last life. If she died now, then it was all over for her
and the Underground as well. But… that was hardly leverage when it came to
Sans. She knew very well what kind of torture he could inflict without killing
her.
 
Suddenly a strange feeling began to course within the center of her chest.
 
W-what… What is… t-this…
 
Frisk clenched her chattering teeth and brought both colorless hands up to her
breast. What w-was this feeling?… It was a building pressure deep within her
rib cage, where her soul would normally settle. She could feel the ghostly
remnants of warmth even though she knew there was none. The pressure was
pulsing down through her abdomen and it made her legs tremble. But it was not
painful. Just a squeezing tension that affected her entire body and forced a
soft cry to spill from her lips as she staggered to a stand-still in the snow.
 
What… the hell is… this???…
 
Was she dying because her soul had been outside her body for too long?
 
It almost felt as if she was dying… It almost felt… like a sweet release…
 
The burrowing tension would decline, causing her to gasp out from abrupt
relief, but then it would simply grip within and continue again. W-what the…
hell… Sans stepped up beside her and tilted his skull down. God, she had almost
forgotten that he was still with her. Frisk glanced up at him as gripped both
hands onto the front of her hoodie, fear and confusion quivering in her single
uncovered eye. Sans’ sickening smirk spread wide. His thick sharpened canines
interlocking in that sly, cryptic sneer. His alcove sockets were lidded and his
crimson hue actually throbbed slowly for once. He pressed one hand against the
center of her back, but his other hand… his other hand was buried in his pants
pocket.
 
W-was he doing this?…… Was he doing this, somehow?… No… no way…
 
“c’mon, kid.” He spoke in a low whisper and pushed her forward. The strange
sensation began to slowly dwindle down as they continued on. And the pain
returned, deep within her right eye and her abdomen and thighs. Whatever that
was… it had been a brief distraction from her agony… but she did not want to
feel it again.
 
 
 
Frisk could see a small clearing between the thick forest as they continued on.
She saw large boulders encircling the space. She remembered that small expanse.
Yes… she could never forget… Where the fawn had been killed… Where Sans had
first attacked her… And Sans shoved her forward, directing her towards the gap
within the trees.
Frisk slowed just barely as they stepped into the circular clearing. She
glanced down at the snow, but there was no blood. No mutilated baby fawn.
Nothing except more snow. Sans stood beside her. His eye start to flash rapidly
again.
“the first taste. heh… i’d be lying if i said i wasn’t hooked from that point
on.”
God, his words made her feel sick… sick and angry. And he spoke them so
casually. Frisk clenched her hands into fists, feeling hopeless. She tried not
to remember what had occurred in this spot, when he had ripped her thigh to
shreds. But her conscious drifted back to a much more heinous memory almost
instantly.
His cold claw returned to the back of her neck and she flinched. Sans pushed
her forward again and continued to lead her through the clearing back into the
thick forest.
 
 
 
It was getting colder. The bitter wind began to collide into them, brushing
fast in their direction. Each frigid gust pierced through Frisk’s core. She
felt like her bones were going to crumble from the cold. She released hot
breaths against her shivering hands and would shove them in her hoodie pocket,
desperate for any warmth. But her body heat was minimal. Perhaps she would
freeze before they got to the 2nd gate… The thought was almost comforting and
she pictured how furious Sans would be if she froze to death before she could
open anymore doors.
 
That would show him…
 
But suddenly Frisk could see something out in the distance of the woods. A
house. That was Sans and Papyrus’ house! And it was just as decrepit as she
remembered. And they… t-they were walking towards it. A sudden influx of
panicking thoughts surged through Frisk’s mind like a cyclone. Would he bind
her up in that room again?… N-no… no… please… Her breath turned short and
shallow as she struggled against building dread.
They walked closer towards the house and Frisk could just barely see through
the dark grime that caked each bottom window. She could almost see a flickering
light within, that low-hanging lightbulb and the TV screen. And then she
thought she saw a dark figure sweep past the window. Papyrus!? That was
Papyrus! He was inside the house… He was still alive! Frisk felt her heart leap
at the sight. She had never killed him. He was alive and bustling around inside
the gloomy home. She could practically see the bright red of his scarf through
veiled glass.
Never in a million years had Frisk thought that she’d actually be happy to see
that tall, slender skeleton. No matter how deranged he was, he was certainly a
better option than Sans. He had protected her once before, perhaps he could do
it again? And Frisk found herself craving the humid warmth of their home. She
stepped forward in the direction of the front door as they passed it, but Sans
swiftly gripped the nape of her neck and held her still.
“i don’t think so.” He words were as bitter as the snow around them. “you’re
not going anywhere near my brother, manumitter…”
Frisk looked over her shoulder at the towering, cruel demon behind her. Sans’
eyes were narrowed, his pinpoint pupil constricted deep within the flashing
sphere. His grin faltered at each crevice. He was masking burning resentment…
but she could see it. She knew his expressions well. He looked so enraged… as
if he was remembering… remembering what she had done. And Frisk felt her heart
sink into an ocean of fear.
“go.” He growled out and shoved her forward roughly, guiding her around the
house and back out into the dense forest. Frisk felt hot tears prick at the
back of her lone eye. There was no salvation from this monster. He was her
living hell. Her rapist… torturer… executioner. H-he wouldn’t even allow her
one shred of comfort… God, she wanted to die.
 
Please let me die…
 
And the cold burned her limbs as they continued on. The forest was growing
darker. The rushing wind blew faster. The falling ash had been replaced by
actual snow, and it danced around them in brisk flurries. Frisk pulled her
hoodie’s cowl up over her head, but it did little to warm her. She moved slowly
through the snow as if she had been submerged under water and was fighting
against an oncoming current. And as they walked, Frisk found her thoughts
drifting to… Chara. It was a welcome diversion from the memory of the savage
assault that continuously plagued her mind.
'why do you think chara tainted your soul and used you to do her dirty work in
the first place?'
Sans' words…
Chara had poisoned her soul, just like Gaster had done so long ago. But Chara’s
poison was different. It was controlling. It had possessed her. Chara had
tainted her essence with rage and burning vengeance. But when had she done it?
When they first met in the swamps? She had touched her chest then. Frisk
remembered feeling that malicious warmth spew from the dark-haired child's
fingertips against her. Or maybe it was in Waterfall, when she saw her a second
time right before she cut her throat? C-chara… why… why did you… do this to m-
me?… Why did you make me… kill? The murders, the deaths, Sans' revenge… it was
all Chara's fault.
 
It was all Chara's fault… right?
 
And then Frisk saw something up ahead. About a mile out away from them. There
was a vast clearing within the woods and it opened out into a wide stretch of
nothing… and erupting from the ground was… was the wall.
That enormous, towering black brick divider. It spanned the entire horizon. She
could just barely see it shrouded underneath the building snowstorm. The 2nd
gate. She almost fell to her knees at the sight of it, but Sans shoved her
forward painfully, urging her on.
They trudged along in silence until they finally stood directly before the
limitless barricade. Frisk had forgotten just how massive the blockage really
was. That grand wooden vertical gate erected within the center of the wall and
towered over them. Frisk stared back at the snow painted wood. She knew there
was an engraving hidden underneath that thick layer of white. She remembered
this gate like it was yesterday. Her brief battle with Papyrus… When she first
saw her shield.
Sans stood close behind her. He reached a hand over her shoulder, brushing away
the snow from the gate, revealing the engraved symbol right before their
vision. Three peaks. A coiling spiral downward. The gate’s distinctive marking.
Sans wrapped both his hands around her forearms. Frisk clenched her teeth and
watched as his hands worked their way down to her bare wrists. God, his fingers
were so cold! Don’t touch me you sick bastard! He guided her frozen hands and
pressed them against the front of the gate like he had done before, back at the
1st door.
Sans’ firm chest pressed flush against her spine directly behind. The thick,
layered fabric of his winter jacket rubbed against the back of her neck. His
body shielded her from the terrible gusts of wind and it… it almost felt… warm.
Stop it… STOP IT… I know you are cold… I know you are desperate and defeated…
but don’t you dare find comfort in this monster. Don’t you dare.
However, Sans wasted no time. He released one of her wrists and plunged his
claw within his pant’s pocket, pulling out her soul once more. He wrapped his
opposite arm around her waist and slipped his hand under her hoodie. H-his hand
was freezing! Like dry ice burning through her flesh. Frisk let out a cry from
the sudden contact of his fingers against her navel, but he simply lifted his
hand higher up to her chest and pressed the warm, dripping soul against her
sternum.
That familiar agony. That burning heat. It pierced through the core of her
being. Sans did not hesitate or taunt her with pain this time. No, instead he
shoved her soul back inside her quickly and in an instant the blinding red
burst from her chest and encompassed her arms and hands. Her soul’s crimson
energy burned high, like a bonfire's flame dancing in a deluge of snow… Her
power… It was surging through her chest. It felt hot and forceful and almost
hostile. It almost felt as if it had… grown stronger.
The wooden gate began to tremble under her palms and it slowly spread open,
splitting outward into the next adjoined forest.
A gust of chilly, damp air rushed forth from the gate. That familiar smell of
sodden mold, like the inside of a basement, encompassed her senses. The door
opened before them and caused the ground to shake violently. Frisk shut her eye
and pressed back even further against Sans’ chest, holding her hands up over
her head. Clumps of heavy ice and snow tumbled from the shaking doors and fell
all around them. She could feel Sans’ arm wrap tight around her waist, his
opposite claw still pressing to her bare chest. And Frisk slowly lifted her
head and blinked up at him.
 
Sans was watching the door open. His red eye pulsed rapidly. His smirk was wide
and frenetic. There was a look of eagerness, a look of triumph within that
aberrant gaze.
 
It was Sans who was opening these gates, not her.
And he was delirious from this newfound ability… from this power.
She was simply the tool.
 
The hardware.
 
He would free the Underground, yes.
Free Papyrus.
Free them all.
 
 
N-no…
 
 
That cannot happen.
 
 
 
But in an instant mind-shattering pain rupture from her chest. Sans tore her
soul away… again. Whimpers of agony erupted from her throat. She was shivering
in his tight grasp. She shut her eye and gasped for air. The way his hand
pressed upon her bare skin… and his fingers explored the edges of her small
breasts… The way he ripped the warmth from her body. It felt like he was
assaulting her all over again. S-so disgusting… Don’t… touch… me…
But the pain was severed and her soul was back within his grasp once more. Sans
lowered his hand out from underneath her hoodie and shoved the red orb back in
his pocket for safekeeping. T-this… bastard… Then he lifted his hand up to her
face and his slender claws wrapped around Frisk’s jawline. He smirked down at
her as they stood between the threshold of both drastically different forests.
“heh. you did good, sweetheart.” Did… did he actually just say that?… Those
words made Frisk’s heart start to race rapidly in her chest, whether from fear
or anger or shame, and she ripped her gaze from his face with clenched teeth.
Monster… He released his claw from her chin and pushed her forward aggressively
through the gateway… onto the other side.
 
 
 
 
 
It was so dark.
Dark and damp and that noxious jade hue hovered within the stifling atmosphere.
The ground was covered in melting black slush and ever step Frisk took pushed
the icy mess further through her sneakers. Her whole body was still numb from
the previous snowy forest, but at least the feeling had slowly returned to her
legs and arms. This ecosystem was not nearly as cold as the previous, although
it had a completely different set of faults and Frisk couldn’t decide which was
worse. The air was so thick with mold and falling ash that she could barely
breathe. Each inhale made her cough. Frisk held her hands over her nose and
mouth to block out the dust. She was so tired.
 
J-just let me die already…
 
Sans walked close behind. She could hear his heavy footfalls trudging through
the freezing mud. They walked in silence for what felt like ages. Frisk
remembered her journey through these woods… She had been with Papyrus. There
had been a collar wrapped around her throat. She had been so scared. But she
had also been determined. Determined to break away. Determined to free herself,
despite the impending doom. Frisk almost smiled to herself as she remembered
her daring escape from Papyrus… Ah, it was a stupid move, but a bold one
nonetheless.
 
Would she ever feel that courage again?
 
And they walked on… and on… and on.
Frisk knew that the town of Snowdin, the 4th gate, was somewhere up ahead. But
each time she glanced forward there was nothing but more dismal, diseased
forest. And every time her pace began to slow, Sans would shove her roughly.
She truly felt like his prisoner… like his slave. A burning pit of hate swelled
deep within her stomach, but it was swept away in a sea of fear… her potent,
constant fear of him. Monster. Rapist. Pervert. Sadist!
Frisk rubbed at her single eye with one hand. It had become red and watery from
the contaminated atmosphere. It was difficult to get used to her new limited
vision. She still refused to believe that this was now a permanent fixture.
That she was permanently blind in one eye.
And Frisk stared ahead with a blank gaze, but the sight of something dark out
between the trees made her heart start to coil. The town… the village… yes,
it’s there. It’s up ahead.
The ample town of Snowdin settled within the trees before them. For some reason
the sight made Frisk pick up the pace of her footsteps. She was eager to walk
on cobblestones instead of vile muddy slush. And the two of them walked on
until they reached the outer edge of the fence.
 
 
 
Sans led Frisk along ash-coated cobblestones. Dusty flakes of soot began to
rain down overhead and Frisk started to cough even with her hoodie sleeves
pulled up over her mouth. It was painful… painful to breathe. They walked on
through the village. Uncomfortably silent and just as dreary as always. The
small houses that lined the edge of the path were crumbling from disrepair.
Frisk knew that there were no monsters hiding within the dark doorways, but she
couldn’t help but cringe with dread each time they walked past a particularly
shadowy one.
Frisk turned her head to stare out at the homes. They continued on and they
reached a section of the town that immediately looked very familiar. So
familiar. She felt her heart and head start to drown in a noxious feeling of
distress… and she came to a sudden stop before one of the houses. That house.
That was the house… where she… murdered… Papyrus… She thought she could still
smell the blood.
She felt nauseous and her legs trembled as she remembered… She remembered that
feeling of rage and hate and poisonous malice. It drove her actions. It turned
her into a killer. A ruthless killer. She remembered that feeling of elation
when she plunged the blade deep within Papyrus’ chest and tore apart his soul
like it was nothing. How she… crushed his skull… and smiled while she did it…
How she ripped his scarf and donned it over her own shoulders like some
marvelous memento.
 
 
 
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to do it again?
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
That voice…
 
 
…
 
…
 
Frisk’s single eye widened. Each muscle in her body became rigid with fear.
 
That voice.
 
Her voice.
 
The voice with a conscious of its own.
 
For a moment she thought she had heard it… whispering deep within the recesses
of her mind. A ghostly memory of a heinous past. Chara…
 
No. No that was not possible.
Chara was gone.
 
Chara had abandoned her.
 
Sans came to a stop beside her. His daunting presence shook her from the
troubled rumination. She quickly glanced up at Sans. He was staring back at the
house as well. H-he remembered… he remembered it… Sans’ smirk wavered. His
massive teeth clenched tight, grinding into each other. The bright, burning hue
of his crimson eye began to… to darken… into nothing… until they had become two
hollow sockets.
“S-sans…” Frisk could barely speak. God… h-he looked so enraged. Without the
red he looked even more terrifying than ever. She took a step away from him but
his hand immediately grabbed at the back of her neck and he lurched her in
close against his chest. P-please… don’t touch me… “Sans, please… I’m sorry…
I’m s-sorry…”
Frisk whimpered as fear squeezed her heart. She was paralyzed with dread and
could almost feel her rapist’s soul pounding frantically against the front of
his chest. Sans slowly tilted his skull down at her and she watched as the red
started to form back within his single socket.
 
But he said nothing.
 
There was nothing to say.
 
And he roughly shoved her forward back towards the dusty path through the
buildings.
 
 
 
 
The lack of clean oxygen made her head spin. God, she was so exhausted. Her
legs ached from their nonstop journey. Her thighs and abdomen continued to burn
from the assault that had only just happened. The pain within her right eye was
a constant pulsing throb. Please… just let me rest… I’m so tired…
Sans forced Frisk through the town until they eventually came upon a familiar
clearing. Soot fell from the sky in thick curtains. The massive, black
windowless building towered above them. Gaster’s library. Frisk rubbed at her
tearing eye and stared up at the structure as Sans led her towards the stairs.
They ascended each step slowly and stood before the wooden doors.
Sans pushed the doors open with one hand while simultaneously jolting Frisk
forward into the dark expanse with the other. The doors closed behind them and
it was pitch black. Well, besides the flashing red hue that hovered overhead.
For some reason the abrupt darkness sent a wave of dread through Frisk’s
vertebrae and she felt the sudden urge to run.
 
Run… Run!
 
No-… There’s nowhere to run…
 
It was lukewarm within the space. That familiar scent of burning firewood hung
in the air. But Frisk shivered where she stood as she felt two skeletal claws
grip around both her shoulders. Sans’ grasp was so strong and his touch made
her flinch in fear like it always did. Every time she felt his phalanges upon
her, those terrible memories would crash down within her mind like a fatal
tidal wave. Please… kill me…
“let’s go, kid.” Sans muttered out. It was the first time he had spoken in a
while. Sans pushed her forward and led her through the dark entrance hall, his
maroon glare lighting the way, but this time he did not release her. One claw
kept a firm grasp upon her shoulder and his other hand stuffed down into his
pant’s pocket. He forced her to walk along beside him as they entered the
narrow winding tunnels.
And they continued on through the shadowy labyrinth.
But as they walked, Frisk began to feel that strange sensation once more. O-oh
god… no…… not again! That deep-seated swelling pressure rising up from her
chest, spreading down to the nethers of her body. It sent wave after wave of
hot shivers down her spine and her legs quivered as she walked.
 
W-why… was this… happening?…
 
Frisk hung her head, her chest rose up and down rapidly with each fluttering
breath. She tried to hold back a desperate whimper in her throat. God… Sans…
was still… clutching at her arm. He could probably feel every shudder that
swept through her form. Frisk hesitated and tried to pull away but Sans’ grip
simply tightened… and she thought she heard him… chuckle.
“you alright there, kiddo?”
 
…D-don’t touch me…
 
The sensation… it almost felt like… like a building heat… a stirring fever of…
pleasure. It was so vulgar. It was unwanted and the feeling made sick. It felt
forced and tainted and vile. And on top of everything it was confusing… and so
embarrassing.
Frisk grit her teeth tightly and held down a gasp as another unwanted wave of
pressure lurched vigorously. P-please… stop… She was so distracted by the
feeling that she barely even noticed the familiar alcove entrance against the
side of the hallway as they passed by it - a room with the flickering candle.
“heh…”
Sans chuckled and he stared ahead, the sharp ends of his fingers lightly raking
along her shoulder.
Slowly the straining tension began to die down again, but it left Frisk’s head
spinning and thighs shaking. She took in quivering inhales and relished in the
calm after the storm. And then suddenly Sans stopped dead in his tracks. Frisk
stumbled and glanced up. They stood before a large wooden door… the door… the
door to the library…
The door to Gaster.
Hundreds of questions started to flood through Frisk’s mind. Would Sans fight
Gaster? W-would Sans force her to fight Gaster? W-what… what was going to
happen now? Would Sans trap Gaster in another one of those blue encompassing
energy entrapments like he did with Napstablook? What if… what if they fought
and Gaster actually won? Was that possible? No… no way. Sans was too strong.
But… if Gaster did win, then what would happen to her? Each thought was more
dismal than the next, and Frisk watched in horror as Sans slipped his hand from
his pocket and pushed open the doorway.
 
 
 
 
Flickering violet light spilled forth and Frisk squinted her left eye at the
vast library. She had so wished she would never see this room again. Just the
sight of it sent her heart spiraling down to her gut. Sans stepped through the
archway and pulled her along. He closed the door behind them and tilted his
head down. His smirk was not nearly as brash as it usually was and his eye was
barely pulsing. He looked almost stern.
“wait here, kid.” That brazen grin returned for a moment as he spoke softly. “i
don’t think i have to tell you what’ll happen if you step out of line.”
Frisk’s lone eye widened. Fear swelled within her expression and she quickly
nodded her head back at him. Sans just chuckled. He turned and stepped forward
along the perimeter of the colossal chamber and disappeared within the shadows,
leaving her alone by the door.
 
W-what?
 
Frisk blinked and stared back at the veil of ghostly obsidian. He… he was gone…
she was alone… Was he going to ‘take care’ of Gaster?… She bit at her bottom
lip and slowly sunk down to a crouch upon the floor. Her heart was racing. She
was so exhausted. She just needed to sit for a little bit. But the moment she
sat down, she felt that heinous pain against her hips and wanted to cry.
 
………
 
Run…
 
God! No!!! Do NOT RUN.
 
Her thoughts were so conflicting. Frisk stared back into the shadows from where
she sat upon the floor. She idly reached a hand into her pocket, searching for
her phone, but it was not there. That’s right, she had dropped it… Damn…
A slowly budding swell of drowsiness began to wrap around her head. She stared
with a half-lidded gaze into the darkness. The warmth and scent of spiced
firewood simply fed into her debilitation. So… tired…
But before she could even close her eye to rest the sound of footsteps rung in
her ears. Frisk quickly staggered up to her feet, chasing away her fatigue, and
watched as Sans returned from the shadows. He took languid steps towards her
with that typical smug smirk and vibrating hue. Both his hands were in his
jacket pockets and his fur-trimmed cowl was now pulled up over his head. Had…
had he taken care of Gaster? She hadn’t heard a sound. What did he do?
“c’mon,” He muttered out through his teeth and nudged his head to the side as
he motioned towards her. Frisk walked along the edge of the wall and he
followed close behind.
“What… what about… Gaster?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as steady as
possible. But Sans did not respond. He simply guided her forward in silence
until they came upon the large wooden trapdoor embedded within the ground.
 
 
Frisk stared down at the 4th gate. The 4th gate… She hated this gate. It was
painful. Every time she plunged down that stone pipe-way into the sewers it was
agony. It would knock the wind out of her and she was honestly surprised that
she had never broken a bone from the fall.
She hesitated and ripped her gaze away from the gate, glancing up at Sans who
stood directly beside her. Sans leered down at her with a hint of impatience.
Then he swiftly looped his arm around Frisk’s waist and lurched her forward
roughly against his chest. D-dammit!
Frisk’s mind started to race instantly. She knew he was just going to return
her soul… she knew that… but each previous time he had done it had been from
behind… she did not have to look at his foul face that way. And now the way his
chest pressed flush against hers… it made her whimper and want to scream and
the sensation brought her back to the trauma.
She was panicking and shivering in his grasp, but Sans simple dug one hand
within his pocket and pulled out her soul. He slipped his claw down between
them and began to slide his hand up under her hoodie. Frisk clenched her teeth
and looked away from him. She didn’t want to see him. She hated him. S-she
wanted to kill him!
Sans’ hand slid up her torso, rolling her hot, wet soul against her flesh as he
did so, and finally reached her chest. He pushed his palm down flat against her
sternum.
The usual pain and Frisk let out a sharp gasp. The monster forced the essence
back inside her so violently. She could see his red eye pulsing overhead and
his other hand ran up her back, to her neck, to the back of her skull, and he
pressed her head down hard against his chest holding her there. No… There was
not much she could do except take the pain and trembled against him. Her ear
was against his chest… she could hear his heart beating rapidly. Did he even
have a heart? Was that possible? But almost instantly the pain was gone and he
released her. Then he shoved her onto the door.
Frisk stumbled forward and stood there, staring back at him. Her soul sent
waves of warmth through her whole body. S-she had her soul now… and his hand
was not against her, ready to remove it… She could… she could try something…
Ridiculous ideas of actually attempting to summon her shield right now pierced
through her mind, but she quickly shook them from her head.
 
Don’t you dare step out of line…
 
“go on,” He growled, leering back at her. His smirk was immense. The look he
gave her… it was sickening. He was taunting her. He probably wanted her to try
something. He would have LOVED that.
Frisk shifted her feet. The wood echoed underneath them. She glanced back down
at the engraving, then back up at Sans and she felt so hopeless. Tears began to
swell in her eye and she fought against the building wail within the inside of
her throat.
“S-sans… this gate… p-please-…” She began to beg him but her words stuttered
into nothing as she watched his expression shift to that terrifying glower of
rage. Rage and eagerness and rancor. And his grin widened and his eye pulsated
violently.
Frisk shook at the terrifying sight. There is no choice. She fell to her knees,
letting out a heavy sob, and pressed her hands flat against the symbol.
Perhaps… perhaps the fall will kill you this time. Then it will all be over.
Try to land face first. The fall will break your neck. And you’ll be free.
Those bleak thoughts cascaded around the rim of her mind. They were comforting
in a way.
She closed her eye and took in a deep inhale of warm oxygen. Her soul’s power
began to swell in her chest and burst outward. Bright red flashes of liquid
energy wrapped around her arms and traveled downward to her hands. Frisk opened
her eyes and stared at the liquid pneuma flutter along the surface of the gate.
In an instant the door began to heat up under her touch and it swung outward
underneath her knees.
And she plunged down into the darkness, praying for death.
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: Journey to the 6th gate.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     God dammit, Sans! Why are you so terrible!? GRRR.
     Anyways, stay turned for more traveling with bad-time Sans. Also, in
     the next chapter there is a bit of forced soul sex involved. It's
     gonna be fucked up, not like Chapter 21, but it will still be fucked
     up non-con shit regardless. So please be aware.
     Advanced warning: The next chapter will contain detailed and explicit
     non-con sexual content.
     /////////////////////
***** XXIII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 23: I hate you.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Howdy!
     Get ready for some lewdness comin' your way folks 8D
     Chapter 23 pretty much solely deals with the struggling, totally
     fucked up relationship (or whatever you want to call it) between Sans
     and Frisk. It's toxic as hell. Honestly, this chapter was originally
     meant to contain MUCH MORE traveling to the 6th gate, but the damn
     soul scene took up too many words >.> Anyways, enjoy and please make
     sure to read the warning below.
     Warning: This chapter contains detailed and explicit non-con (Yes, it
     is non-con) sexual content. AKA forced soul sex. And not the kind
     you'd expect. Please be aware.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
She was falling.
 
Fast.
 
Plunging down.
 
Deep down into a vacuum of shadows.
Darkness wrapped around her arms and legs while damp, malleable sprigs began to
whip at each limb painfully. The warmth and fetor of firewood above mutated
into frigid wet and a thick musk of decay.
Frisk held her voice down in her lungs as she plummeted. It was difficult to
breathe against the rushing wind, but it didn’t matter. She could feel each
protruding tree branch slap against her, but she did not reach for them. She
wouldn’t grab on. She wouldn’t save herself. And she tried to rotate around to
face downward during her descent, so that she would land head first, but the
stone channel was too narrow to manage it.
Frisk grit her teeth hard and each one of her muscles bunched involuntarily as
she waited for the impact, that fatal contact that would hopefully end it all.
Please… please… please let this be the end. Let this be the final fall. The
last ounce of pain that I have to endure in this miserable life. She welcomed
the impending collision. And as she fell she saw flashes of the orphanage in
her mind’s eye. Brief snippets of lazy summer days with Izzy outside in the
courtyard… And… and her beloved dog Schafer… And her mother… And a gripping
wave of sadness sunk deep within her heart as she realized that those far and
few recollections were the only comforting memories she had ever known.
The clusters of branches grew thicker and she knew that the end was near.
Please… please… The volley of snapping wood echoed around. Each bough gave way
under her falling weight. She braced for the fateful impact, her left eye shut
tight. Please!-
 
But…
 
Something seized her abruptly in mid-air.
 
… M-more branches?
 
No…
 
Someone had caught her just a couple of feet from the floor at the very bottom
of the duct.
She could feel the thick padding of their jacket and those sturdy arms looped
underneath the backs of her knees and supporting the middle of her spine. Her
shoulder pressed roughly against… against his firm chest. She could feel each
tiered indentation of his rib bones through his shirt. And that lukewarm,
erratic breath cascaded against her trembling arms.
 
Sans…
 
It was Sans.
 
He… he must have teleported to the bottom the moment she opened the gate. Had
he known what her initial intentions were?
 
God, dammit!
 
Frisk opened her only eye and she immediately saw that shivering radiance of
red above. It cut through the pitch black of the sewers and illuminated the
space among them. She was trembling in his arms from the shock of the fall, and
the cold and the fear. And she quickly shut her eye again and jerked her head
away from his chest. She didn’t want to look at him. She hated him.She hated
him so much. But he simply let out that usual deep, brash chuckle which echoed
off the walls and sent abhorrent tremors down her vertebrae.
“you didn’t think i’d let you off the hook that easy, did ya?” Sans whispered
under his breath. His fingers slipped from their grasp at her shoulder and
feather upward along her jawline, up further to her cheek, before they reached
her forehead. Bony digits ran through her messy chestnut locks, pushing them
back away from her face.
She immediately flinched at his cold touch, but in turn he gripped hard at a
fistful of hair and yanked her head back towards him. She kept her eye shut. P-
please… put me down… don’t touch me!
“you know i can’t let you keep this…” His bitter words trailed off and he
released his tight grasp. Sans' hand ran down to the front of her chest - to
her soul. He pressed his palm against her sternum through her clothes and Frisk
recoiled again. But in a split second he sunk down to ground and slammed her
hard into the wet, leafy floor.
Frisk let out a cry from the abrupt entrapment and her eye shot open. He was
hovering over her just like he had done so many times before. He… he was so
close… so close, directly above. His smirking interlocked teeth were only
inches away from her face. The sewers’ alcove was cramped and there was barely
enough room for one person, let alone two. He was much larger than her and
practically filled up the entire space around them.
 
Please… I can’t… I c-can’t handle anymore of this…
 
His red eye pulsed rapidly and the black specked pupil within began to dilate
from the darkness. One of his hands pressed against her lower abdomen and the
pressure sent waves of agony through her entire body. I-it hurt! Her insides
were still so sore… right there in that exact spot. It was like he knew exactly
where to press to cause her pain… he knew it. And his other hand began to inch
its way up underneath the bottom of her hoodie to steal her soul again.
Frisk shoved both her quivering hands against his chest. Terror ripped through
her pounding heart and almost automatically, without any control, her chest
began to burn. Her soul was shivering. It started to pulse. No! She could feel
that familiar heat. It was stirring and spilling down her forearms. She was
starting to summon her shield, Oh, god!… S-she wasn’t even trying to! It was
materializing all on its own! And it began to rupture forth without any regard.
Sans saw the red wrap around her arms and he felt the building heat underneath
his palm. He ripped his opposite claw from her abdomen and automatically
wrapped those rough phalanges around her throat, squeezing hard.
“…don’t you dare.” His voice was a snarling resound of rancor and those deep,
concave sockets narrowed in turn with the threat. Sans’ red hue pulsed so
rapidly, like the wild raging flames of a forest fire, and his usual taunting
smirk wavered and shifted into a dangerous sneer. That look terrified her. God,
he was terrifying.
Frisk stared back at him with one wide eye and desperately tried to pull her
soul’s spilling energy back inside its capsule. She gasped and strained for a
breath, fighting against the squeezing hand at her throat. Yes, she wanted to
die, but her body acted on its own in an instinctual self-preserving struggle.
And slowly the heat that spilled from her chest and arms began to reside. And
she pulled her soul’s energy back, burying it deep within her chest.
 
Thank god…
 
Sans’ grip at her throat softened, but that pain was almost immediately
replaced with a splitting agony that was so much worse, directly within her
breastbone. He ripped her capricious soul away from her. It hurt so terribly,
it hurt more than it ever had before, as if he was causing her this extra pain
as punishment for allowing her soul to act on its own accord.
Frisk shook. Tears spilled down from her left eye. She stared up at Sans
weakly, crying and gasping with each burst of agony. She was hyperventilating
underneath him, watching his teeth grind together. His crimson sphere flash
maliciously as he dug her soul out from within her. The way he looked… the way
he hovered directly over her, the pain, all of it brought her back to that
small candle-lit room in an instant.
That vulgar memory… it slashed through the inside of her mind, tearing at any
shred of hope she still had left… at every fragment of happiness… at her
determination. It was so painful… shameful… and she thought she could feel his
teeth against her thighs all over again. How his claws wrapped around her
waist… That memory… She wanted to die… She wanted to die as he pulled her down
against his hips so violently, so rough… battering her insides, ripping them
raw, splitting her soul in two.
Sans… p-please…… I’m sorry! I-I’m so, so s-sorry!…
 
……
 
…
 
…
 
“S-sans… I’m sorry…”
 
…
 
“I’m s-sorry-… “
 
……
 
“I’m… sorry…”
 
…
 
Frisk could hear the sound of her own voice. It was not one of her internal
dialogues. She was speaking softly, each plead a quivering whisper of fear. The
memory slowly faded back to the recesses of her mind. The recollection freed
her from its terrible clutches once more and she opened her eye to gaze up at
Sans. Her chest was hollow. Her blank, glazed stare so defeated.
He was hovering over her. He was only inches away from her face. But… the look
in his eye… The expression he wore… It had changed. It was different… She had
never seen that demeanor before.
He was no longer smirking or sneering, and his wall of teeth curved down at
each crevice. His eye had shifted from a daunting rapid flash of hate into a
dim shade of maroon just barely illuminated. His sockets were lidded and his
gaze… his gaze was somber.
 
The look on his face…
 
That look…
 
A look of…
 
…remorse.
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
No… no way.
 
 
It was faint, but it was there. Frisk could just barely see it buried deep
within that red sphere. But it was fleeting, and his gaze turned stern again
almost instantly. Sans blinked his sockets once and he released his grip at her
throat. He pulled her faintly beating soul out from under her hoodie and
stuffed it in his pants pocket. And then… he averted his stringent gaze away
from her.
 
W-what?…
 
“Sans?…” Frisk muttered softly as she stared up at him with a timid look of
surprise. Had she honestly just seen that look? No. There is no way. It was not
possible. She must have been mistaken. Sans was not capable of emotions like
remorse or regret. He did not feel those things. He was a monster.
Sans pressed his hands upon the floor as pushed himself up to his feet. Then he
swiftly reached a claw down and grabbed at Frisk’s wrist, yanking her up with
him.
“… c’mon, kid.” His voice was flat and hard to read. He almost seemed
irritated, but there was an underlayer of something else Frisk just couldn’t
grasp. She staggered up to her feet and pressed a hand against the side of the
stone channel to try and steady herself. The skeleton tightened his hold on her
opposite wrist and stepped forward, down into the waterlogged aqueduct, pulling
her behind him.
 
 
Frisk stared wide-eyed at the back of his skull as he tugged her along. Her
gaze locked onto the jagged, notched crater against the topside of his head.
She stumbled in the water, trying to keep up with him, and glanced down at his
skeletal hand around her wrist. He… he wasn’t saying anything… And for some
reason the silence felt awkward.
He does not feel regret. He does not feel remorse. He violently raped you. He
has taken everything from you. Don’t think even for a moment that he cares. You
are nothing but a tool to him. A tool that will unleash unspeakable horrors
upon the human world. That’s all he cares about. That’s all.
Frisk let out a silent sigh and hung her head. The negative thoughts engulfed
her mind in a churning whirlpool, but they were right. He never cared. He felt
no remorse. He was a cruel, evil monster and she hated him.
 
 
 
 
They walked through the sewer pipe in almost complete darkness. The only light
came from Sans’ lone eye. It was bright once more, and it flashed and turned
the gloom around them an eerie muddled red. Frisk’s head was spinning with
fatigue. Her wrist ached from the skeleton’s tight grip. She stumbled behind
Sans, bumping into him a few times, and she almost tripped and fell more than
once. God, she was exhausted. She wouldn’t be able to go on much longer at this
pace. They had just spanned the entire first 4 gates so rapidly without
stopping once.
But as they tread through the ankle-high water, Frisk found her thoughts
gravitating to her soul. She glanced down at Sans’ pocket. She could just
barely see the gentle glowing outline of her shimmering red orb through the
fabric. Sans was so powerful. He had crushed her during their battle in
Hotland… so why? Why did he have to remove her soul after every gate? Was it
simply to cause her more grief? To torture her any chance he got? Or maybe he
just wanted an excuse to grope her bare chest like the heinous pervert that he
was… But… but what if… what if it was for an entirely different reason?…
 
He fears your soul. He fears the power it contains.
 
…
 
’kid… your soul is… fascinating.’
 
Those words that Sans had spoken to her so long ago… The way he stared down at
her soul back then, like it was something exquisite and supreme. But there had
also been a concrete look of greed and hunger in his gaze… like he wanted it
all for himself.
An overbearing rush of fear swept through Frisk’s whole body and she idly tried
to pull her hand from Sans’ grasp. Of course it wouldn’t budge, if anything his
clutch tightened. But almost immediately the dread that flooded the pit of her
stomach dwindled as Frisk noticed a dim light way down at the end of the stone
artery. She held her breath and stared around Sans’ side at the streams of
light. The swamp. However the light that spilled in those segmented rays were
blue in color. It… it must be dark outside.
 
 
They reached the circular iron grate and Sans’ looped his fingers through the
slats, shoving the barrier open with ease. That spectral glow of azure was
there to greet them. It was already pitch black out in the swamplands. The only
light came from the sapphire vapor that rose off surface of the water like an
eerie apparition. And it was completely and utterly silent.
Sans stepped out through the passage and roughly yanked her behind him down
into the mud. G-god… She grit her teeth and glanced up at Sans who didn’t
really seem to mind. Actually, he almost appeared to be… distracted. His gaze
remained solemn and it stared ahead into the mire. But he did not linger. He
yanked her forward through shin-deep grime towards higher ground and the wooden
pathway beside them.
They reached the bottom of the stairway and Sans began to ascend up each step,
but Frisk stumbled over the first stair and immediately faltered backwards,
pulling her hand at his grasp. T-these stairs… this spot… he had attacked her
here once. He had devoured her here. That heinous memory came upon her in full
force. It was a memory she had not recalled for a while and it made her stomach
turn. She tried to jolt away from his grasp again as a small whimper stirred in
her throat.
Sans glanced back down at her. His arrogant smirk quickly returned. His eye
flashed bright and he pulled her forcefully up the steps into his chest. He let
out a daunting chuckle while his opposite hand rubbed against the side of her
face.
“c’mon, kid. as tempting as it is, i promise i won’t eat ya this time… heh.”
 
G-god… She hated him… she hated him she hated him she hated him-
 
Frisk shook and clenched her teeth, feeling a fever of anger spread over her
flesh as his skeletal claw caressed the wounded side of her face… directly
underneath her patched right eye. D-don’t touch me… But Sans simply released
his grasp and turned, pulling Frisk by her wrist behind him as he began the
long journey down the wood-planked trail.
 
 
 
 
They walked on in silence for what felt like hours. Frisk was so exhausted, her
body ached, her head was spinning with pain and anxiety. She stared weakly up
at Sans’ fur-trimmed lowered hood with an abashed gaze. She began to wonder how
many times she had walked through this swamp… This will be your fourth time.
Four times? Really?
She lazily glanced to the side, staring out at the vast blue stretch of bog.
The smoke ascended so slowly, as if it was solidifying within the air. Thick
mysterious mist spilled out along the surface of the pathway at their feet. And
Frisk squinted her eye as she stared… Chara… where are you?…
It was probably foolish to think of Chara, but she couldn’t help her wandering
mind. This was where she had first encountered that dark-haired child,
afterall.
 
 
 
 
And they walked on… and on… and Frisk grew more exhausted with each step. Her
legs were trembling. The pain within her right eye burrowed deep and fed into
her dizzying weary. She felt a terrible swell of vertigo take hold and stumbled
to the side, falling to her knees. But Sans caught around her waist
immediately.
“S-sans… I’m begging you… p-please let me rest…” She was actually somewhat
shocked by her words. She never would have spoken to Sans before but she was
desperate from the drowsiness. Of course he wouldn’t let her rest. She must be
crazy to think otherwise. But her pleads spilled from her lips regardless and
she shivered with that all-encompassing fatigue against his supporting arm. “…
I’m just so… tired…”
Sans tilted his skull and stared at her. He let out a reluctant scoff, but his
taunting smirk wavered just barely.
“… fine, kid.”
 
W-what? Really?!
 
Frisk’s sleepy eye widened up at him. She actually felt a pang of gratitude
stir deep within her heart. But she quickly realized how defective it was to be
thankful that he accepted her request. He was… so toxic.
Regardless, Frisk was relieved. She didn’t even cry out when he shoved her down
to the floor. She leaned back against the wooden path railing and allowed her
eye to close for a moment, trying to relax her sore muscles. It hurt to sit,
but that terrible pain in her abdomen had been dulled due to the lethargy.
Sleep… sleep… It will make everything better.
Frisk pulled her knees to her chest and she slowly opened her eye. Sans had
taken a seat upon the path directly across from her. He was sitting cross-
legged, his gripping claws upon his knees, leering back at her with an
alarming, strained sneer. His eye flashed in a steady pace. His teeth ground
into one another slowly. That look… it was so intimidating. Oh, god… Maybe…
maybe it was not a good idea to stop walking…
But Sans said nothing. He just sat there and stared her down. Frisk quickly
shut her eye again. She didn’t want to look at him. The way he stared directly
into her eye… it felt like he was trying to peer inside her mind… and his sharp
gaze always brought her back to the assault. He had forced his penetrating gaze
deep within her eye then, too.
Frisk sunk down to her shoulder against the hard wood floor and she rolled over
to the opposite side facing the swamp.
 
Just… try to sleep…
 
What if he attacks in the middle of the night?
 
He could have attacked while you were walking too. At least now you can recover
some strength.
 
She opened her eye and glanced out into the swamps. Blue condensation danced
gently over the glassy surface and the fog almost looked tranquil in its own
way. The gliding translucent mist was so unusual. Its sapphire shivering
movements reminded Frisk of the aurora borealis.
She remembered resting out here once before, back when she was still filled
with determination. She had dozed off staring at these same swamps and the
gentle movements had lulled her to sleep. And she… she had a dream… Sans… He
had been in her dream. And in the dream he sat beside her and his claw rested
against her shoulder. His hand was cold… but it lay gently. That dream…
 
That was a dream. Just a dream and nothing more.
 
Frisk felt a sudden plague of sadness take hold in her mind. Her shoulders
began to tremble and she held back quiet sobs in her throat, biting her lower
lip to keep them from spilling. She was so tired of this life… She sniffed and
rubbed at her tearing eye with one hand and her nose with the other and she
curled herself up into the smallest ball possible. Was Sans still staring at
her? Was he getting off to the sound of her lament?
Her curiosity was too much and she slowly turned her head back over her
shoulder.
Sans remained seated in his spot. He was leaning back against the railing, but…
his head had turned away. He was shifted ever so slightly, staring out into the
swamps behind him. She could see the profile of his skull. His smirk was gone,
his gaze was distant and detached and almost melancholy. That look again, the
look she had seen in the sewers. His eye was a dim shade of red and it barely
shivered. He was staring blankly out into the mystifying marshes, listening to
her quiet sorrow.
 
…
 
What was going through his mind right now?…
 
……
 
Staring at him from this angle reminded Frisk of the first time she saw him.
Back before she had even entered the Underground, when she was still in her own
forest. She remembered it like it was yesterday… He had stared up at the sky
with that wounded fawn in one hand and ax in the other. But… but how did he get
there? How did he arrive in that forest?… The 2nd gate had still been locked at
the time, so it was not possible for him to trek through the entry ruins.
Was Sans truly trapped down here in the Underground like all the others?… He
was different. He was different from the rest of them. He was unaffected by her
resets. Was he trapped or was he actually… free? Was he free yet simply
remained here within this desolate hell… to watch over his brother… and to help
salvage the other monsters?
 
If that is the case then you will never be rid of him.
 
Even if you manage to escape this hell… you will never be free.
 
…
 
I will never be free…
 
…
 
Frisk took in a slow inhale and tore her gaze from the skeleton behind her. She
turned back to face the marshes and let her eye close once more. Sleep… sleep…
sleep…
It was so quiet. She could just barely hear the sound of Sans’ steady breaths.
Cerulean fog rolled along the path, creating a warm, damp atmosphere around
her. Her sore muscles relaxed and each aching pain subsided. And the sweet
relief of sleep finally took her.
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
Manumitter…
 
…
 
…
 
 
Manumitter…
 
 
…
 
 
Wake up, Manumitter.
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
Frisk opened her eye.
It was still dark. The dense, azure vapor continued its deluge over the entire
landscape.
 
How- how long had she been asleep?
 
A voice… a voice had woken her.
 
A familiar voice.
 
Frisk slowly pushed herself up with one hand and blinked back at the mire in a
sluggish daze. There was nothing out there except a vast stretch of darkness
and hovering blue. It was completely still… and deafeningly quiet. But there
was a stirring sense of foreboding in her gut. Something was wrong.
Frisk slowly shifted herself to face the path. Sans was still behind her. He
hadn’t moved. He was leaning back against the side of the trail. His legs were
crossed and both hands rested atop his thighs, but his head tilted downward
with his chin at his chest. His sockets were closed and Frisk could just barely
see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he took in lethargic, steady
breaths. He was asleep.
 
…
 
Run.
 
…
 
W-what??… No!
 
Run now.
 
I can’t run from Sans. He’ll find me!
 
That’s right. He will always find you.
 
………
 
…
 
C-chara…
 
…
 
He will always find you. That is why you must kill him, Manumitter.
 
Chara… is that you!?
 
Frisk clasped her hands over her mouth and began to shake. She heard it. That
stern, controlling, stoic voice whispering deep inside the far reaches of her
innermost self. It was her own voice, but at the same time it wasn’t. It had a
conscious of its own. It was alive within her.
 
B-but how!? Sans… Sans had ripped Chara’s rot away from her soul… And h-her
soul wasn’t even in her body anymore! How… Was Chara nearby?… Or had Chara
infected not only her soul, but her mind as well?
 
Kill him.
 
Chara…
 
Kill him.
 
Chara why… why did you do this to me…
 
KILL HIM.
 
Please don’t do this…
 
KILL HIM!
 
STOP IT!
 
……
 
…
 
Chara?…
 
…
 
…C-chara?…………
 
…
 
The voice vanished. It abandoned her again. It had gone as quickly as it had
come and Frisk sat on her knees, staring wide-eyed back at Sans. Her shoulders
were trembling and she could barely keep the whimpers from seeping past her
lips. But there was a heat building within her mind.
 
A rage…
 
She could feel it. It was there. Like Chara’s ghostly words had planted a seed
deep inside her conscious.
 
He will always find you… You will never be free… Even if you escape this hell,
you will never truly be free of him… He raped you… He blinded you… He has taken
your soul… He has taken everything… He will never stop hunting you… And in the
end, he will kill you… Once you have completed his mission… Once you have
released the monstrosities of this world upon your own kind… Only after it’s
all over will he finally kill you.
 
Frisk clutched at both sides of her skull. She took in shallow, frantic
breaths. Her lone eye was wide and shivered in a delirious, distraught panic.
Her head hurt. Her thoughts were like violent monsoons that drowned out all
reason. And she slowly lifted her head and stared back at Sans across from her…
 
Sans…
 
Frisk released the grasp at her head. Her hands fell down to her sides as she
stared back at the skeleton… the monster. H-he was… asleep… He was asleep. That
seed of vehement hate embedded itself inside her racing thoughts. And although
she had no soul, she could still feel its ghostly fever spreading in her chest.
 
S-sans…
 
Frisk leaned up upon her hands and knees and she crawled closer to Sans, who
remained resting against the opposite side. Her movements were silent and slow
and she sat directly in front of him. Every logical part of her brain was
screaming at her, but the cognizant, scornful hatred urged her on.
 
Sans… You must die… Y-you must die… so that I can live…
 
This is insane!!!!
 
There’s no other choice…
 
Chara… Chara…
 
Frisk’s eye was trembling with a concoction of deep-seated loathing and
relentless terror. Her thoughts were so capricious and they all seemed to shout
at once within her mind. She stared back at the sleeping monster and slowly
lifted a hand out towards him.
 
He’s a cruel, vile, sadistic rapist. A murderer. A torturer. He deserves to
die! He deserves this after what he did to you!
 
This is crazy!!
 
You are stepping out of line!!!
 
Kill him…
 
Frisk’s quivering eye locked upon Sans’ front jacket pockets. His hands… they
lay still upon his thighs. She could… she could slip her hand very slow… very
quietly… within his pocket and find her knife. He had taken it… he must have it
hidden somewhere. Her box cutter. And after shes taken her blade… she will
steal back her soul…
 
And kill him.
 
Yes, she will kill him. She will kill him and free herself.
 
Frisk felt a surge of tainted determination grip around her frantically
pounding heart. Her fingers twitched and trembled as she lifted them closer to
his torso. Her fingertips lowered down towards Sans’ stomach and they brushed
against the edge of his open winter jacket at the side.
 
Slowly…… slowly…
 
She was leaning over him, hovering above his crossed legs, so close. Her eye
darted up to his tilted skull directly overhead. His sockets remained closed
and his steady breath continued. He was fast asleep.
 
Hurry…
 
Frisk let her fingers caress the edges of his jacket pocket at the left side.
She slipped her digits within the fabric alcove. Her heartbeat was a rapid
pounding in her head, like the violent clatter of a jack hammer. Her fingertips
grazed against something in his pocket. Yes… there was something there! It was
cold… and made of metal. Her heart almost leapt within her chest. W-was it her
knife!? Her sword!? But as her fingers traced along the rim of the object, she
could feel its curve. And it was hollow… and circular.
 
No… that’s the collar. That’s the collar, remember!?
 
Frisk clenched her teeth, trying to take slow and steady breaths. But each
movement she made sent her heart winding into itself with adrenaline. Her
sneaking hand wouldn’t stop trembling.
 
The other pocket… Try the other one…
 
She bit at the tip of her tongue and slowly pulled her hand back, avoiding the
opens edges of fabric and the placement of his arm. Her head ducked under his
tilted skull and she was so close to his chest, she could practically see the
faint blue glow underneath the front of his stained shirt… His soul.
 
Once you have your knife and your soul… you will pierce his chest… pierce it
with your dazzling blade… and be rid of this demon once and for all.
 
Frisk’s quivering wide eye darted back up to Sans’ face. His sockets were still
shut. His teeth were clenched in a dormant disposition. His browbones were
furrowed ever so slightly.
 
The other pocket…
 
Frisk pulled her sly hand back towards her chest. She took in a deep, silent
inhale before she reached her hand out again towards the opposite side, the
right side. This is so insane! She buried those frantic thoughts of reason down
immediately and curved her hand around to the pocket tucked under Sans’ arm.
Her fingers slipped inside and brushed against another object… It… it was also
cold… and also made of metal… and slender and long.
 
That is it!
 
Frisk’s heart soared and she couldn’t help but smile to herself. Her blade! Her
box cutter! Her marvelous, beautiful sword! She carefully wrapped her fingers
around the sheath. Just the feeling of the weapon in her hand felt like she was
being reunited with a distant, beloved relative. And Frisk held her anxious
breath deep in her lungs as she pulled the weapon from Sans’ pocket.
The metal just barely brushed against the fabric and she cringed, every single
muscle in her body tensing up as she pulled at the object. Her eye darted back
up to watch Sans’ face… He’s still asleep… he’s still asleep… keep going… She
continued to pull the blade from his jackets nook until it was halfway out.
Suddenly Sans’ breath shifted. Frisk froze and held a cry of dread back inside
her lungs.
 
Oh god oh god… Oh my god……
 
But… nothing happened. His sockets remained closed. And his slow, steady
breathing returned to normal. F-false alarm…
Frisk griped her fingertips against the edge and pulled the blade free from his
pocket. She immediately clenched the weapon against her chest. Her heart was
pounding so rapidly from fear and panic but in that moment she felt elation.
She was reunited with her beautiful blade once more. Her salvation. A symbol of
her power. Frisk stared down at the weapon in her hands and tears almost fell
from her lone eye as she smiled.
Now… your soul.
 
She inched her hand down and slipped the blade into her shorts pocket for
safekeeping. She rubbed the wet glaze from her eye and quickly glanced back up
at Sans again. He was still asleep… still asleep. She maneuvered herself
towards Sans' pants pocket at his side. She did not like this angle. It was
hard to watch his face from this direction and she could only see the profile
of his skull at a slant. But her gaze fell to his pants pocket once more and
she stared at the rounded shape buried within.
 
Your soul… your soul is in there. It’s so close. Just reach in and retrieve it!
 
Frisk lifted her hand and lowered it down to his pocket. The way he was
sitting… it would be difficult to retrieve it without her fingers brushing
against him. But perhaps, if she moved slowly and silently enough, then he
wouldn’t feel it. He was sound asleep anyways… he wouldn’t feel it… he couldn’t
possibly feel such minuscule movement.
And her quivering fingertips reached down and grazed against the rim of his
pocket. She slipped one finger inside the fabric niche. There was a heat
within. A heat radiating from her soul. It was warm and damp and her fingers
pressed against the soft, gelatinous crystal orb.
 
Your soul… your soul…
 
She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it. It was there, just barely within
her grasp. Frisk inched another finger, and then another into Sans’ pocket. Her
heart was galloping. It was difficult to breathe and her head felt hot and
fuzzy. But her fingers continued on and they brushed against the pliable
sphere.
Her entire hand buried within his pocket and each finger inched around the orb,
grabbing on. She could feel the sturdy thickness of Sans’ femur bone through
the fabric. It made her uneasy, but she couldn’t grip onto her soul any other
way. Her knuckles grazed against him. Frisk’s wrapped her hand around the
globule tightly and she felt its heat radiate in her palm. Her eye darted up to
Sans face. Still asleep. She glanced back down and watched as she slowly began
to pull her hand from his pocket.
She squeezed her soul tightly, so tight that she could almost feel a twinge of
pain in her chest. Inch by inch her wrist slipped from the pocket and the
cherry red glow spilled from the dark cloth cavity. Her soul. Her beautiful
soul. Frisk held a gasp of joy back in her lungs and she slithered the orb from
Sans' pocket.
It was glowing so brightly in her hand. It spilled gelatinous red lustrous
against her fingers and she almost cried with joy. So beautiful, like liquid
stardust. Her soul pulsed and the fluttering radiance shone so brightly that it
seemed to illuminated the entire space around her.
But…
 
It was almost too vibrant… unnaturally blazing and… and shivering… And the
flickering red illumination seemed to be cascading down upon her from above…
 
Wait…
 
No, no that red hue was coming from a different light source…
 
 
W-wait…
 
 
O-oh… Oh, no…
 
…
 
Dear, god… n-no…
 
Frisk’s heart skipped a beat and her blood ran cold and she slowly tilted her
head back.
 
Sans.
 
He was no longer asleep.
 
His deep concave eye sockets were wide and twitching. The rounded blood-red hue
pulsed rapidly like it had a heartbeat of its own and his pinpoint pupil
constricted into almost nothing. Those sharp canine teeth wove together like a
wall of knives and they were smirking wide and trembling with unstable furor.
That rage… that frenzied anger… it seeped from his expression and drove through
her heart. It was paralyzing.
 
No…… no…
 
And Sans wasted no time.
He swiftly lifted his hand and wrapped a skeletal claws around her wrist,
squeezing at her limb so tight that Frisk cried out and dropped her soul
against the floor. His other hand darted for the red, translucent orb and he
grasped at it and began to crush it so painfully between his fingers.
Frisk let out a scream as those sharp tips dug into her soul. O-oh god… No no
no!! The pain was agony. It coiled within her chest like poisonous serpents
entwining underneath her flesh, inside each limb. But the fear that surged
throughout her was almost worse than the pain.
Sans smirked wider, his eye locked onto Frisk like a missile, and he clasped
his claw around her soul again. She cried out and sunk down to the floor,
writhing in pain, clutching at her chest with both her hands, gasping for a
breath of oxygen. G-god!… No! H-help… please!
“… kid…” Sans spoke. His voice was a low murmur. That tone was even more
terrifying than his provoking growls. And it was trembling with uncontrollable
resentment. He grabbed at her hoodie’s cowl with his opposite hand and
violently yanked her around from his side to his feet upon the floor. He
pressed the bottom of one of his grimy sneakers down directly in the small of
her back, pinning Frisk painfully into the wooden planks below.
She cried out between panicked gasps. Her cheek pressed firmly against the
ground as she scratched frantically at the floor, struggling under his foot.
But Sans grasped at her soul once more. Another wave of crippling agony. G-god
it hurt… it hurt!! It felt like her bloodstream had been invaded with sewing
needles and they were tearing her apart from the inside out. Every nerve ending
was screaming and the inside of her chest felt like it had been set on fire.
She watched in horror as Sans pierced his sharp fingertips against her soul
over and over and over again in the same spot.
“S-sans! P-please!” She gasped and clenched her teeth hard, holding back
another scream, trembling so terribly, unable to fight against his pinning
weight. She could taste copper at the back of her throat… blood… and began to
cough it up against the floor.
“… you must be aching for another lesson, kiddo…” Sans whispered. His voice was
dry and deep and rubbed raw with pure rage. Those words sent her heart
plummeting into the pit of her stomach. O-oh god… she had stepped out of line…
she had stepped out of line! Tears swelled in Frisk single eye as she stared
back up at him from the ground. Her lone eye was trembling and her expression
were nothing but a visage of dread. But Sans’ deranged smirk widened as he
continued, “… otherwise why would you do something so stupid?”
He grasped upon her soul a third time and the agony sent Frisk spiraling. T-the
pain… she couldn’t even move from the pain. Sans’ opposite hand slipped into
his jacket pocket… and he pulled out the collar. He parted his massive canine
incisors and placed Frisk’s soul directly between his teeth. He bit down
against it, not hard enough to break it, but just enough to keep her writhing
in pain to free up both his hands temporarily.
And Sans' movements were instantaneous as he snapped the thick iron collar
around Frisk’s throat. Please, god… why… why did you have to do something SO
STUPID. Tears glazed over Frisk’s limited vision as she convulsed in pure agony
against the floor. Sans began to thread that familiar leather leash through the
small metal ring at the front of her collar. N-no… no…
He pressed his foot down harder against Frisk’s back and roughly yanked at the
leash, checking to see if the knot would hold, jerking her head painfully to
the side in the process. It was stable and he sneered and pried the dripping
soul from his teeth in one hand, the leash in the other.
Frisk’s head was spinning. She could barely breathe from the pain in her chest
and the collar clasped around her neck. She felt like she was suffocating under
its weight and she gasped and cried out and pulled back, struggling against the
leash that held her still.
“S-sans- Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I… I didn’t-… I didn’t mean to…” All she
could do was beg him, plead with him, beseech him for the smallest shred of
mercy. She could barely speak over frantic cries and quivering inhales. She
stared back up at Sans in horror as he leaned over her where he sat. He lifted
his foot from the middle of her back, but another sharp pain within her chest
sent her reeling and she still couldn’t move, she couldn’t fight. She couldn’t
do anything but squirm at his feet so pathetically.
But something shifted in his expression. That burning rage morphed slowly… into
that lusty sneer… into a daunting glare of building excitement. She knew that
look… she knew that look very well. And she immediately felt sick with dire
anguish. No… please…
Sans pried his fingertips from her supple dripping soul. His whole hand was
covered in the gelatinous essence like crimson honey. His thumb ran over the
orb, wiping away some of the fluids, and then it began to grind against the
side of the sphere in slow circles. He was not piercing her soul anymore,
instead his phalanges rolled around the hot, oozing marble and kneaded down
into it, toying with it.
The pain… The pain morphed into a deep, grinding tension. The terrible, mind-
bending torture melted away and all that remained was a building pressure that
pulsed deep within Frisk’s chest and spread down through her stomach. T-this…
feeling… Frisk gasped and pressed her hands against the floor, trying to push
herself up to her knees. But Sans simply rolled two fingers deep within the
orb, pressing them down, back and forth, and that pressure shot through Frisk’s
stomach and she stumbled back down to the ground on her elbows.
G-god… this… sensation… S-she had felt this before… Back in Gaster’s building……
Back in the snowy forest…
This whole time… it had been Sans toying with her soul! He had been stroking it
in his pocket as they journeyed, causing her these tremors… these disgraceful
attacks of… of… forced pleasure. God, she felt sick.
It did not hurt, but the feeling was overwhelming in a different way… a way
that was so much more shameful. And she preferred the pain over this… This was…
god, it almost felt good. Frisk continued to writhe as shallow waves of tainted
pleasure seeped down… down between her thighs. W-what the hell… was he doing!?
“you think you can fool me, kiddo?” Sans sneered with lidded sockets. He yanked
at her collar’s leash suddenly and pulled Frisk forward roughly, forcing her
between his legs and against his chest. Frisk gasped as he wrenched her in so
forcefully and she tried to push away from him, but the steady leash held her
firm and she could barely even move due to the tension that spread through her
whole body and made her tremble uncontrollably.
“…even without chara’s contamination… you’re a killer.”
 
N-no…
 
Frisk shook her head. She opened her mouth to plead with him, but another press
and stroke against her soul sent her words spiraling down and instead she just
gasped and released a trembling whimper. His opposite arm wrapped around her
waist, holding her small body tight against his chest while he held her soul
just out of reach, squeezing and kneading and pushing his knuckles inward
against it. It was glowing so brightly in his claw, the hue was trembling just
like her body, and it dripped all over his fingers turning them into a sticky
mess… and Frisk’s heart surged with horror as she felt a building pressure run
down her hip bones… down her lower stomach… down between her thighs… G-god… The
way he rubbed into her soul… it was making her… w-wet…
“you have always been a killer…” Sans smirked wide. The way she writhed against
his chest, the involuntary whimpers and cries that spilled from her lips, it
all began to drive his lust up the walls. He squeezed her soul again and she
desperately held back a relinquished moan and gripped at the front of his
jacket with both her hands. “heh… and if you think you can beg for forgiveness
and make everything alright again-…”
Frisk fought against the forced, ravishing arousement. She tilted her head up
and stared back at Sans, panting heavily. Her heart was racing so fast and her
body felt so weak from fighting the degrading fever. But she wouldn’t submit to
him… N-never…
“S-sans… you’re… wrong…” She actually managed she speak between gasps. Sans’
sockets narrowed down at her words, and his toying fingers stilled for a brief
moment against her soul. “Sans… I’m not…a-ah… I’m not the Manumitter… Please…
you are w-wrong about me… please…nh!”
She couldn’t stop her words as they spilled forth like a breached floodgate.
Tears swelled in her eye and she pounded a fist hard against Sans’ chest.
“I n-never wanted… to kill Papyrus… Sans- please… I’m begging you… I-i didn’t
want to! I never wanted… to kill anyone!… Please… Please… please believe me… I-
I just want… to go home-…” She was so overcome with emotion and terror and the
words just flowed forth on their own.
Sans stared down at her. His smirk wavered ever so slightly as he seemed to
listen to each word she uttered. His fingers had stopped their movements and he
was simply grasping soul lightly. And he hesitated for a moment but after a few
seconds his eye sockets narrowed once more and his smirk widened and he let out
a cold laugh that made Frisk’s heart turn to ice.
“ahah- that was a cute speech, kid. a fuckton of lies, but cute otherwise.”
 
W-what!? He… he didn’t believe her?!
 
Frisk eye widened as she stared back up at him in pure horror. She grit her
teeth and roughly shoved both her hands against Sans chest, pushing herself
away from his grasp during the brief freedom from forced tremors. But Sans was
swift and he simply rolled her soul between his fingers once more.
And then he brought the dripping, tender orb up to his smirking maw.
He spread his teeth apart, allowing his thick, azure blue tongue to loll out
past his canines…
And he rolled his hot, lavish tongue along the side of her soul.
 
D-dear god-…!!
 
An influx of convulsing pressure, wet and hot like a fever dream, gushed
through her entire body. The sensation wrapped around her thighs and pressed
against her tight, sore insides… g-god it felt vile… Like there was a ghostly
swelling pushing inside her tender heat. Her slick, clear nectar dripped from
her aching pussy, smearing against the insides her thighs. Her head was a
tornado of dread and burning shame and her face felt so hot and she wanted to
die.
This was so much worse… this was so much worse than the rape… he was forcing
her to enjoy it. I-it felt… it felt so g-good… it was dizzying and confusing…
Please s-stop!
Sans wrapped his tongue around the pulsing orb. His glossy blue saliva coated
her throbbing soul and dripped down his fingers and he watched her keenly with
a sideways glance. Frisk’s trembling hands clutched at the front of his shirt.
Her thighs quivered and spread apart from the toiling sensation that started to
pulse and move inside of her. She wanted to scream and shove him away and
struggle and fight… but the intense pleasure turned her body and mind into
mush.
“don’t fight it, kiddo.” An eager, lusty whisper purred out from his chest as
he wiped some of his saliva from her physical pneuma and continued to massage
three fingers into it now. Her soul turned hot and gelatinous in his teasing
hand. Each time his fingers dipped against it, it would shudder and spill its
fluids against his bones. It had become like warm clay, and it was so soft that
Sans could practically push his fingers inside it and there was no pain, just
wave after wave of unwanted stimulation.
Frisk buried her head down against the side of Sans’ winter jacket. S-she
didn’t want him to see… she didn’t want him to see her face… She was sick over
her own shameful actions, each noise she made, each shudder that vibrated
through her spine. Her panties and thighs were a sticky mess from the honey
that spilled from her quivering heat. And then she felt something firm and hot
press against her leg.
Frisk flinched and quickly lifted her head from Sans’ chest. She could see that
growing bulge underneath the front of his pants and immediately felt nauseous
at the sight, pulling her leg away from his crotch best she could. S-shit… he-…
he was getting… hard…… d-dear god, no no nonono!!
She whimpered and tried to push back again, but Sans simply yanked at the
collar’s rope leash and forced her down against his torso. His red eye was
pulsing so fast, so eager to hear her whimpers and moans, even if he had to
extract them by force. He rolled his knuckles against her soul, pushing them
deep down, practically pushing them inside the trembling orb.
His opposite hand released the grasp at Frisk’s collar leash and he wrapped
that arm around her waist and brought his claw to the hem of his pants, pushing
it down, letting his thick azure-dripping erection slip out from underneath the
fabric.
Frisk cried out at the sight of it but she couldn’t move. She was paralyzed,
squirming against his chest with his knee propped up against her side. Her face
burned with embarrassment. She didn’t want this!! She didn’t want this but… But
her body… it was betraying her! Her soul… it was literally putty in his hand…
Sans’ lidded sockets glanced down at her. He wrapped his fingers at the base of
his exposed erection and began to stroke upwards, rubbing his oozing extensive
cock against her trembling thigh. His other hand squeezed her soul and he
lowered it down… down… down… holding the sphere directly above his throbbing
erection.
 
N-no!!! Please, no! Not that!
 
Frisk cried out and shut her eye and dug her nails against Sans’ shirt as he
began to roll her dripping soul against the topside of his cock. The contact of
drastically different energy sparked against Sans’ hand. Her vermilion
secretion melded with his azure blue, turning the fluids a glossy transparent
lavender. It was grotesque and Frisk could barely breath from the sensation
that swept through her. He rolled her soul down along his cock, stroking his
thick length in his hand with her soul pressing flat underneath his palm
simultaneously. There was so much friction, so much heat, it felt like her
insides were melting.
“Nnh-… god… damn…” Sans groaned out through gritting canines. His spinal cord
shuddered from the pleasure. Her soul’s seeping essence was so hot and it
coated his entire erection and tingled and pulsed like a lewd sex toy vibrating
against his sensitive vigor. He tilted his skull and pressed his forehead down
against the top of her head while rapid, excited breaths cascaded against her
collared throat… But he spoke again, very softly, through his intense
arousement.
“you’ve already murdered 5 times…… and you’ll do it again, given the chance…
with or without chara’s help. … i won’t allow that.” His voice was a velvet
whisper that pricked her ears.
And even with those daunting words, Frisk could do nothing but release muffled
moans into his jacket and waver against him. Her needy hips rolled against
Sans’ waist as she trembled on her knees between his legs. His free arm simply
wrapped around her tighter. Corrupting her body was not enough, he had to
defile her soul as well. She hated him. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to
grab at the knife in her pocket and spear it directly through his chest.
Sans rolled her soul up and down along the length of his cock, letting her
dripping orb feel every pulse inside his thick muscle. And he rolled it up
further… further… up towards the oozing head of his member.
His hand cupped around her soul as he held it directly against his tapered
apex.
And he furled his grasp downward, forcing her trembling sphere to spread open
around the head of his cock.
“heh… fuck…”
 
Frisk cried out, pain and flushed pleasure stirring deep inside her chest and
coiling through her lower abdomen. I-it felt like he was slipping his cock
inside her. The sensation… it was so intense. And he hadn’t even touched her
there. The burning friction seemed to spread her open and it throb against her
tender insides, grinding into her sweet spot so deep inside. But it wasn’t
painful or ripping her apart, although the heat was almost too much for her to
handle. Sweat dripped down her spine under her hoodie and Frisk panted with her
tongue hanging past her lips, grinding her hips into him like a kitten in heat.
She felt faint.
 
S-stop… stop clinging to him… g-get… away from him!-
 
Sans’ wide smirk shivered from the thrill as he watched her needy, wanton
motions. He began to roll his hand down firmly, sliding her saturated burning
soul around his cock. He didn't even have to move his hips. His hand did all
the work. And he began to fuck her quivering soul, squeezing it down around the
sides of his erection. The gelatinous orb enveloped around him and his blue
luminescent precum spilled inside, turning her soul purple.
The feeling… it was so vulgar. She could almost feel his thick girth pumping
slowly inside her, stretching her open around him, thrusting deep and stuffing
the recesses of her silky, trembling insides over and over. And it felt… g-
good… and that feeling was sickening. And although there was no sharp pains or
physical agony, it was a mental torture. Just knowing that he could defile her
soul in such a way… turn her once beautiful, radiant source of power and
determination into nothing but an object for his obscene, carnal desires… She
felt tears swell up in her eye and buried her face back down within his chest.
 
I-I hate you…
 
Sans continued to drive deep inside her round vitality, stretching it open like
soft, ductile rubber. He kept his forehead pressed against Frisk’s head and his
red eye locked onto her soul in his hand, watching the way it squeezed around
him and vibrated tenderly in his grasp. Sans’ opposite claw slowly released
Frisk’s waist and he ran his fingers up her spine to her head, holding her down
into his chest.
“… if it feels good, then show me, sweetheart.” He purred out and rolled his
hips forward while simultaneously pulling her soul down, letting the malleable
gelatinous sphere stretch and encompass the entirety of his cock. “… i want to
hear your voice…” He was completely swept up in the ecstasy, overcome with
depraved desire. What he was doing was forbidden and shameful in more ways than
one, but that only excited him more.
Frisk, on the other hand, wanted to die. But she couldn’t stop her trembling
thighs as they spread wider and rolled her hips into the side of his pelvis
repeatedly. Her own actions sickened her. She had no control at all. Fervent
moans seeped from her parted lips. Sans began to fuck her soul harder,
squeezing it so tight in his grasp, sliding his pulsing erection in and out of
the soft sphere, forcing it to stretch around his expansive girth.
He wrapped his fingers at the side of her face and pulled her head away from
his chest. G-god, she didn’t want to look at him! She didn’t want him to see
her fevered demeanor! But he gave her no choice and Sans held the back of her
head firm and pressed his forehead to hers. His red eye flashed so rapidly,
only centimeters away from her face. His smirk was languid and dripping with
lust.
“don’t you dare step out of line again… frisk…”
 
He… he said her name.
 
Frisk’s lidded eye widened at his words. She stared back into that pulsing
radiance. Its luster was so bright that it was almost blinding. Frisk shut her
eye again and her fingers dug deep into the soft folds of Sans’ jacket. The
sensation was too intense and it wouldn’t stop, it wouldn’t give her a chance
to hold on. The feeling rolled along the edges of her soaked labia, pressing
against her sensitive round pearl and sent her body into a state of tremors.
She was so close… She was almost there.
Sans held his erratic breath as he pushed her tender soul all the way down
around his cock. He squeezed and stroked at the base of his erection in short
slow motions, the inside of her soul rubbing against his sensitive glands at
the head. He couldn’t hold back anymore, the heat was too much… his eager
desire was overflowing. And Sans took in a sharp inhale through smirking teeth
as released inside her soul.
Thick bursts of glossy blue flooded the orb, making it swell with foreign
sapphire viscous. It was no longer a glimmering red. No, now her soul was a
glossy semi-transparent purple as it expanded from Sans’ cum that continued to
spill inside.
The sudden surge of heat brought Frisk over the edge. Her entire body trembled,
pressed flush against Sans, and she gasped out and cried from the overwhelming
pleasure. It was too much… it was so depraved… she had never felt anything like
it before. Her slick, clear honey spilled from her fevered heat and smeared
against her shorts and thighs. Every muscle in her body clenched as she reached
her climax. And she continued to rub her hips into Sans, desperate for more,
desperate to actually feel him inside her, not just some teasing phantom
apparition.
 
D-dear god, stop it!!! What the hell are you thinking!? You don’t want that!!!
 
And Sans continued to fuck her soul through her climax while his cock swirled
and mixed both of their essences within the dripping abused orb.
Frisk collapsed against Sans' chest, still shivering. He released his hand from
her head and wrapped his arm back around her waist so tightly. God… I hate you…
Shame and humiliation immediately gripped around her mind, but the feeling of
Sans’ fluttering soul deep inside his rib cage distracted her bitter thoughts.
She could feel it… she could feel it pulsing through the front of his shirt.
She wondered what his soul looked like… And an all-encompassing surge of
lethargy weighed in her head.
 
I… hate you…
 
She was exhausted. Completely drained. She could barely keep her eye open. She
couldn’t pull away from Sans, even if she wanted to. He held her too tightly
and his hand rubbed against the small of her back in small circles, almost
comforting.
 
… I hate you…
 
Frisk shuddered and whimpered from a sudden heated tension as Sans finally
pried her violated soul from his cock, but still she could not move.
 
… I… hate… y-you…
 
He lifted his other hand, fingers coated in purple ooze, and he wrapped both
his arms around her small frame.
 
He held her tightly against his chest, his forehead pressing down upon the top
of her head.
 
 And Frisk's tear-filled, lidded eye slowly closed while the sound of his
coursing soul lulled her to sleep.
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: Hotland and the 6th gate.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Omfg Sans literally turned Frisk's soul into a Tenga Egg and I'm
     horrified lmao.
     AAaaah I’m sorry. I am aware that I am a terrible person. And I feel
     shitty as hell… which is where I am going… hell.
     In the next chapter we're getting back into the swing of things with
     some violence (nothing that really requires a warning though) more
     story, the 6th gate, Hotland and traveling 8D so get ready for that.
     Also, Alphys will make an appearance! O-hoho that should be
     interesting! Stay tuned.
     /////////////////////
***** XXIV *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 24: Alone, after all.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hey everyone!
     As always, thank you for your comments and kudos! It means so much to
     me, and I love interacting with everyone so don't be shy to leave a
     comment if you want to and never have before.
     First of all I wanna give a shout out to Marmitesi who drew some
     AMAZING fan art for the fic! It's a throwback to the good ‘ol days
     before Frisk was a suicidal ball of sadness :’D Ya'll gotta go take a
     look at it here. It's SOOOO good <3 and so is all the rest of their
     spectacular artwork. (I see those delicious HT!Sans >D) Thank you so
     much again!
     So, Chapter 24… Another long and intricate one. More story,
     interesting Sans/Frisk interactions and development, sadness,
     traveling, an amusing Flowey scene, pseudo-fluff, Sans being an
     asshole (what's new?), and the 6th gate! Also, there is an intro to
     Alphys at the end.
     There are no warnings required for this chapter (although there are
     some mild sensual content memories, sorta?) The smut is going to be
     at a minimum for the time being (That does not mean it is completely
     over. It will return in the future). And the gore/violence will also
     make a comeback very shortly, just not in this chapter.
     Anyways, enjoy!
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
 
…
 
…
 
………
 
 
…
 
……
 
’Be strong’
 
…
 
…
 
……
 
’Trust no one.’
 
…
 
…
 
……
 
’Fight.’
 
…
 
……
 
It was quiet.
 
Quiet and warm… and humid.
 
And those words…
 
Those distant words she had heard so long ago…
 
They skimmed along the surface of her debilitated thoughts.
 
Those phrases… like something once whispered to her in a life long past.
 
’Be strong. Trust no one. Fight.’
 
Toriel… Toriel had said those words to her.
 
Another lifetime ago.
 
……
 
…
 
Frisk opened her eye only to be met with a grey and dreary stretch of swamp.
Obsidian fog accumulated along the surface of the muddled water. The mist
stretched over the entire expanse and shivered like patches of thick smoke
billowing from a chimney. The ecosystem was no longer veiled in black shadows
and cerulean mist. Now every drooping weeping willow and cluster of mangroves
were visible in the drab light. But… everything was still… everything was
silent.
 
The swamp…
 
You are still in the swamp.
 
Waterfall’s swamp… Don’t you remember?
 
Frisk lay on her side facing the edge of the path. She stared out into the mire
before her with a lidded, vacant gaze. Her mind was a hazy snowstorm. Every
single memory was veiled behind a blanket of smog. Every recollection hung at
the edges of her conscious, just barely out of reach. Was she still jailed
within the Underground? No… that had all just been a terrible dream… she was
back home… back at the orphanage in her bed… She had to get up and get ready
for class… r-right?
 
You have died four times.
 
…
 
Frisk’s shoulders began to tremble. Her whole body quivered as a silent surge
of tears spilled from the corner of her left eye, streaming down her cheek,
dripping upon the wooden planks directly beneath her.
 
S-sans…
 
She slowly tore her blurred gaze from the extending bog and lifted her head
just barely. Frisk looked up at the path’s banister beside her, but the space
was desolate. No one sat leaning against the thin pillars. She glanced behind
her, and the opposite side of the path was empty as well. She looked down the
long reaching trail in front of her… it was vacant. And then she glanced down
the opposite stretch… also empty. Frisk lay in the center of the wooden-planked
route, completely and utterly alone.
 
Alone…
 
She was dripping with sweat from the humidity. The air was so heavy that it was
difficult to breathe and she coughed and rubbed a hand against her single,
uncovered eye. Her fingers slipped further down her cheek to her throat and her
neck was bare. No collar. Frisk slowly sat up and ran her fingers through her
bangs, wiping away the perspiration that decorated her forehead. But the moment
she came to a seat she could feel a deep stirring ache within the center of her
lower abdomen. The slowly healing soreness throbbed gently within. She rubbed
her pelvis slowly with one hand. The feeling was quickly accompanied by another
pain, buried against the left side of her face. She lifted her opposite hand to
her eye and her fingers feathered over the thick square of gauze.
 
This is real. This is not a dream. You were blinded. Assaulted. And now you are
alone.
 
Those factual thoughts cut through the haze within her mind. Frisk blinked and
stared blankly.
 
Sans.
 
Last night-
 
Her stomach lurched as the recollection of last night collided with her foggy
conscious. O-oh god… Sans… he had done grotesque things to her… to her s-soul…
a-and she… she just clung to him… She had watched his hand curl around her
tender essence over his-… h-his erection… She had rolled her hips against him
as if begging for him to take her.
Frisk groaned and winced and released the grasp at her head and stomach. She
glanced down at her band-aid covered thighs. Her fingers trailed along the
small rubber bandages that slipped inward and some of them felt… sticky. There
was no blue ooze, thank god, but she knew immediately that the residue was from
her own climax… that Sans had been solely responsible for…
 
Holy fucking god…
 
She wanted to throw up. She literally felt sick and crawled over towards the
side of the path, pressing her forehead down against the railing, breathing
hard. But her stomach was empty. There was nothing to retch up. So the nausea
stayed with her and churned in the pit of her gut like a dreadful foaming gush.
 
God dammit… The things he had done to her soul… H-he had actually penetrated
her soul… He had filled it up with his vulgar blue excretion and turned it
purple. Was it contaminated now? Polluted with Sans’ energy?
 
But…
But it had felt…
 
… so good…
 
Just the mere memory of the sensation made Frisk’s thighs begin to quiver and
she quickly latched onto her knees to steady them. F-fuck… This is-… don’t
think about this. Put it out of your mind, like the rape. It never happened. It
never happened! She sunk back down to a sit and let out a hopeless whimper,
staring into the desolate malaise landscape.
 
Sans is not here… you are alone.
 
Frisk grit her teeth at the sudden realization. She was indeed alone. Where was
Sans? Was he planning to ambush her again? Had he teleported away to check on
Papyrus or something? But as her thoughts cascaded over the daunting skeleton,
she couldn’t help but see his lusty fixed stare and that fevered, languid smirk
he wore as he gazed into her eye… while he penetrated her soul. The memory sent
a dreadful shiver up her spine and Frisk took in another slow, deep breath. D-
don’t think about it…
She lifted a hand to her pocket and let her fingers slip inside. Her blade! Her
box cutter was miraculously still there. Frisk’s heart leapt at the feeling of
the cold metal. Had Sans truly not realized that she had taken it? Had he even
bothered to check his own jacket pocket? Or did he simply not care? Frisk’s
opposite hand lifted to her chest and she pressed down. The space underneath
her sternum was still hollow… still cold. Her soul was still missing. Without
her soul, the box cutter was next to useless against Sans’ powers. It was just
an ordinary, feeble knife.
 
Perhaps… perhaps you should run…
 
Run where? Into Waterfall and encounter Undyne again? Run back into the sewers?
Run deep into the swamps and just plunge down underneath the water and try to
drown?
 
Perhaps… you may see… Chara.
 
Frisk’s eye widened.
 
C-chara…
 
And then the intricate details of last night began to rush her thoughts, the
details of what had lead up to Sans’ humiliating degradation of her soul. She
had heard that familiar, destructive voice in her head… her own voice laced
with Chara’s poison. And that voice convinced her to attempt to steal her soul
back from Sans… and then… to murder him.
Chara… Chara had urged her on. She had been enraptured with that torrid,
scorching hate and rage once more. It buried deep in her mind, cutting through
all sense and reason. It had taken control of every action and she had stepped
out of line. What a ridiculous, foolish, determined move that had been. What
the hell was she thinking!?
 
You weren't thinking. It was Chara’s will.
 
But… was it… really?…
 
Frisk’s mind was pulsing rapidly in rhythm with her own beating heart. She
lifted her hands up and stared at her palms, down at the small slivers of wood
embedded in her flesh from… from clawing at the floor… overcome with pleasure…
g-god… Frisk clenched her teeth and her cheeks felt flushed. She had to stop
thinking about that. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look at Sans anymore
without recoiling. All the things he had done to her, it was twisting her mind
and her emotions up into cancerous knots. She hated him.
Frisk idly picked at the splinters that littered her hands with her
fingernails. It was something repetitive and tedious that she could do to keep
her mind off everything. She stared back at the melancholy swamp, filled with
unease. She listened intently for the sound of rushing wind, Sans’ teleporting
abilities, but it was completely silent.
 
Chara…
 
 
Eventually, she stumbled up to her feet, clutching onto the edge of the path’s
railing. Her throat felt so dry, she was so thirsty, and she immediately began
to wish that she still had her backpack. She had left it back in the ruins
after the assault… She had been so desperate to just end it all, she didn’t
even care about food or water at that point.
Frisk ducked her head underneath the rail and squeezed in between the wide
wooden pillars. She jumped down into the bog and the muddled water immediately
rose to her knees. Her sneakers sunk into the condensed mud below and it made
her cringe with disgust. But she began to wade forward, taking slow steps a
couple feet away from the path into the marshland.
Being out here… alone… in the gloomy, somber swamps… she couldn’t help but
think back to the first time she met Chara. The first time.
 
…
 
“… Chara…”
Frisk whispered under her breath and clenched her hands into fists. She grit
her teeth hard and scowled. Chara. It was all Chara’s fault. She was the reason
for the rape. She was the reason for the murders. That fiend had turned her
into a monster… into a demon just like all the rest of them… if not worse.
“CHARA!” Frisk screamed out suddenly as resentment and rage burned deep within
her. “SHOW YOURSELF! I know you are out here!”
 
It was Chara’s fault. Chara’s fault! Y-yes… it was… wasn’t it?
 
’Wouldn’t it be wonderful to do it again?’
 
N-no! NO! Stop it!
 
But that power… that surge of determination you felt after each kill… don’t you
want to feel that again?
 
I-…
 
Don’t you want to kill him?
 
…
 
Frisk pressed her hands against her chest and hung her head, releasing a
trembling exhale. She closed her eye and each morbid memory swept over her,
weighing her down, tainting her spirit and vigor. The hopelessness was like a
poison that had been injected into her veins. This was all so pointless…
She was on her last life… there were no more resets now. No more second
chances.
Frisk opened her eye and peered through the dark, stirring shadows that wrapped
around her knees. She could see her own reflection painted along the surface of
the water. She started to tremble at the sight of the eyepatch. Actually seeing
it forced the realization of her partial blindness to finally sink in… Her
single, uncovered eye was so hollow… so lifeless… and a dark circle hung
underneath it. She had never seen herself look so dismal before… She wanted to
die.
 
Sans is gone… now free yourself.
 
…
 
Free yourself.
 
Frisk’s fingers twitched and inched closer towards her pocket. It felt like
déjà vu all over again, being out in these swamps, longing for death, lingering
so close to the end. She slipped a hand in her pocket and her fingertips traced
along the edge of her blade. It felt so cold, despite the muggy warmth that
hung in the air.
“C-chara…”
But Chara did not appear.
She was gone.
The voice was silent.
And Frisk was alone.
Entirely and utterly alone, like she had always been.
And her small frame trembled and she clenched her teeth and blinked the hot
tears from her lone, chestnut eye. Please end this. And her fingers wrapped
around the fatal weapon’s sheath in her pocket and she began to pull it
forward.
 
…
 
…
 
“…kid.”
 
Frisk jolted softly from the voice.
She hesitated and dropped the utility knife back in her pocket at the sudden
utterance. T-that was not Chara’s voice.
She recognized that deep, echoic timber immediately and slowly glanced back
over her shoulder with a departed gaze.
 
Sans…
 
Sans sat upon the topside of the railing directly behind her. He was leaning
forward, his hood was pulled up over his cracked skull and it created subtle
shadows along his features. His skeletal claws clutched at either side of the
wood. He was leering back at her with a furrowed brow and a dimly pulsing red
hue. But, his gaze was mellow. His usual taunting sneer was not delusive or
hateful. Instead, his pointed teeth interlocked in a pensive disposition. And
Frisk almost thought she saw a hint of concern hidden underneath that stoic
expression. No… Do not search for hope where there is none…
“come on… we’re halfway there.”
He spoke again and slowly lifted his hand, outstretching it towards her to
take.
Frisk stared back at him with her single wide eye. She wanted to cry. She
wanted to scream. She wanted to lunge towards him and pound her fists against
his chest and cause him pain… Pain and hurt and agony just like he had caused
her. She wanted him to drown in his guilt… But that wish was an impossible one.
He was just a monster, after all.
And Frisk took a slow, anguished step forward through the water, and she placed
her small hand in his.
 
 
 
 
 
The two of them walked in silence along the path. Frisk had forgotten just how
long and endless the swamps were. Last time she had walked along this route she
had been in a frenzy of rage, on that maniacal killing spree. But now she just
felt like some forlorn prisoner awaiting execution. She stared at the back of
Sans’ hooded skull as they traveled forward. He hadn’t said a word to her and
he wasn’t gripping at her wrist anymore. Frisk was relieved to have a bit of
freedom from him.
She walked slowly behind him, trying to create as much distance as possible.
But every now and then he would stop and glance back at her, flashing that
sullen smirk, as if to hint that she pick up the pace. Frisk would feel her
face go hot each time, and she’d quickly avert her gaze from him and step a
little faster. G-god… she hated him… But he never mentioned last night. He
didn’t have to. It was still swirling fresh in her mind, and perhaps in his as
well.
Frisk rubbed her throat as they continued on. She was so thirsty. She glanced
down at the glassy swamp surface and wondered if that water would be harmful to
drink. Even just a small sip would help. Anything. She was desperate at that
point, feeling so dehydrated from sweating all night in the oppressive,
stifling humidity. And from… well… her time with Sans.
She felt nauseous again and coughed, licking her lips over, panting softly as
she mindlessly followed behind the daunting skeleton. Maybe she would die from
dehydration. Her steps became sluggish and she coughed again and let out an
involuntary groan. Sans must have heard her discomfort because he came to an
abrupt stop and turned to face her. Frisk immediately skidded to a sharp halt
and took a step back. She shifted her sneakers uncomfortably and averted her
gaze once again. S-she couldn’t look at him… but… but why was he stopping?
Sans stared down at her with that languid, lazy trademark smirk. He picked up
on her unease in an instant and let out a chuckle. Oh god… was he going to try
something again? Frisk felt numb. Her heart started to pound frantically due to
the building anxiety. He stuffed one of his skeletal claws underneath the side
of his jacket. Please… not the collar…
But he did not pull out the metal restraint.
No, instead he pulled out…
 
What-…
 
Sans pulled out a bottle of water from underneath his coat. A bottle of water…
One of the bottles she had in her backpack! She recognized the brand
immediately. Frisk stared back at the bottle in his hand as he held it up over
her head. She was bewildered. How long had he had that stowed away in his
jacket? What else did he have? Her eye widened, fixed upon the clear container.
And Sans tilted his wrist while he stirred up the water within before her
desperate gaze.
“P-please-…” She whispered and stepped forward, reaching a hand up towards the
bottle above her. But Sans immediately wrapped his opposite claw around her
wrist and yanked her towards him and he held the water high, just out of reach.
But even as he pulled her close into his chest, Frisk’s destitute gaze never
wavered from his hand.
“first you will answer some questions, sweetheart.”
 
Questions?…
 
Frisk pulled her gaze down and stared back at Sans, mystified by his words. She
blinked once and the monster’s lidded sockets locked upon her startled
expression and his grip tightened around her wrist. What the hell was this!?…
But Sans did not wait for her answer. He simply smirked and spoke again.
“tell me, have you seen Chara?” Sans’ voice was dry and curt. His rough
phalanges uncoiled from her wrist. But that hand immediately swooped in to the
back of her neck. He caressed his open palm against her nape. W-why did he
always have to touch her? This constant torture… But his question had been so
unexpected that Frisk barely flinched, and she stared up at him wide-eyed.
“W-what?” She stuttered and in an instant her mind started reeling.
“answer the question.” Sans’ fingers grazed against the back of her neck,
lightly pressing into her spine. His claws ran up underneath her thick hair,
along the back of her scalp. And all the while he continued to stir the water
bottle in the air overhead. Tempting her, persuading her, bribing her.
Frisk was shocked by his words. S-should she lie?… Would anything good come
from lying about this? Maybe he would finally take pity on her if she told the
truth. He would finally understand that the murders were not her fault, but
Charas… What information was he really after?…
Frisk hesitated and bit her lower lip but she finally came clean.
“Yes… I’ve-… I’ve seen her…” Frisk spoke softly in return, trying to keep her
gentle timbre as steady as possible. Sans’ sockets narrowed at her words. His
flashing red hue began to pulse faster, but besides that his expression
remained unchanged.
“and you have heard her voice inside your head?”
She tried to pull away from him but Sans kept his hold still and steady and he
simply pulled her in closer. She was only inches away from pressing flush
against his chest. She didn’t want to touch him… her knees were quivering and
her hands shook and she glanced back up at the water bottle again as her mouth
began to salivate in desperation.
“I-…” But her voice wavered.
“have you?” Sans leered and ran his sharp fingertips along the side of her
skull, lightly scratch behind one ear.
“I… did.” Frisk answered. Sans slipped his fingers forward and looped a lock of
her warm, auburn hair behind her ear. She immediately shut her single eye. She
didn’t want to see his face… that haunting crimson pulse…and his open palm
caressed the side of her cheek while his thumb ran over the thick eyepatch.
“and have you heard this voice recently?”
Frisk felt her heart sink at his words. Why… why was he asking these
questions?… She immediately remembered some more of the fine details from the
night before. While Sans’ had been toying with her soul, he had mentioned Chara
a few times.
‘…even without chara’s contamination… you’re a killer.’
He had removed Chara’s poison from her soul in Hotland. But even after that…
she had still heard that determined, stern vigor in her mind. She had heard it
last night, clear as day. And it had persuaded her to act out.
 
It is unwise to tell him the truth.
 
Frisk’s dour voice of reason droned within her innermost self. If she told him
now that she had heard Chara even without her soul… what would he do? What did
that mean? What was… what was Sans' connection to Chara? They clearly had some
sort of history… And what was Chara’s role in this hell?
“I-…” She hesitated and slowly opened her eye yet she kept her timid gaze
averted down to the floor, “…no… no it’s gone…” What a lie.
Sans stared at her expressions keenly. His thumb continues to glide over the
padded eyepatch. She was immediately reminded of when he had first gouged her
eye… with that same thumb… and she used every bit of strength she had to not
jolt away from his grasp. She was so thirsty…
Sans’ red hue pulsed softly in his concave socket. His teeth were clenched in a
forced grin as he listened carefully to each word she uttered. His dangerous,
caressing hand left her cheek and slid down to the front of her throat, barely
grasping it. And eventually he brought the water bottle down towards her. He
flicked off the plastic cap with his finger and held the container's spout to
her lips and Frisk felt an overwhelming wave of relief. She lifted her hands
and wrapped them both around the middle of the bottle, tilting it and downing
as much as she could so eagerly. But Sans kept a tight hold at the bottom of
the container, keeping it steady in her grip. His crimson eye started to flash
rapidly as he watched her drink in such a desperate way… and his smirk widened.
But he pulled the bottle from her lips before she could finish and capped it.
“that’s enough, kiddo.” Sans snickered and stuffed the bottle back underneath
the front flap of his jacket. Frisk whimpered as the water dripped down her
chin. She was still so thirsty… And he wiped the stray drops of water from her
lips. Then he looped his claw around her shoulder and continued on down the
path, holding her close against his side.
 
 
 
 
They journeyed on and Frisk felt somewhat better physically, but mentally her
mind was melting with dismay. Now Sans was grasping at her, forcing her to walk
directly beside him. Her heart was beating so fast and her shoulders shivered
uncontrollably under his touch. She was sure he could feel it, he probably
enjoyed it as he always seemed to take pleasure in her terror, but Frisk was
too fearful to glance up at his expression to check.
As they walked, Frisk began to wonder about MK… and Undyne… and what would
happen when they reached Waterfall’s caves. Had Sans ‘taken care’ of both of
them as well? He seemed to always do most of his work when she was asleep. How
many actions had he taken behind her back? She didn’t want to think about it.
But then her mind returned to Chara and Frisk parted her lips to speak.
“Sans… “ She began, her voice as delicate as a seedling swept up in a raging
wind, “Is Chara… human?”
 
'I'm you.' … Chara’s words… so long ago…
 
Sans fingers shifted against her shoulder but he did not hesitate, and he
responded.
“chara is an abomination.”
 
… W-what did that mean? Was she a monster then? A monster with the appearance
of a human? A shapeshifter of some kind?
 
Frisk’s thoughts curved towards a more pressing question.
“Chara… She can only infect the soul… r-right?” Not the mind? Frisk wanted to
ask those final words but instead she kept her question vague. For some reason
she did not want Sans to know that she continued to hear those voices, even
without her soul. For some reason… what ever simmered between him and that
dark-haired demon seemed poisonous and lethal and she had already been caught
in the middle of it once before.
Sans’ eye flashed a bit faster. He stared down at her as they walked, “the
extent of her abilities are… unknown.” He spoke under his breath while his hand
glided up along the top of Frisk’s shoulder, his fingers dipping down against
her collarbone through the fabric.
Frisk’s unease swelled from his words, from his touch. And she hung her head
and chewed on her lower lip. She heard Sans chuckle again and he squeezed her
shoulder and… it almost felt comforting… No. It is NOT comforting. He’s an
atrocious rapist!
“chara’s not here kiddo, it’s only you now.” Sans spoke again. Frisk felt a
sudden deep tension in the center of her chest and she almost stumbled. T-that
feeling again… She lifted her head and threw a sideways glance towards Sans’
opposite arm. His hand was buried in his pants pocket… where her soul was
stowed away.
 
I-if this bastard starts toying with your soul again, then I swear to god-…
 
But the feeling was fleeting and it vanished and did not return. And they
continued on until they finally came upon the abrupt break in the path: The
dead end that led to a stretch of swamp and the entrance to Waterfall.
 
 
 
 
The waterlogged tread through the rest of the swamps felt brief. Frisk had been
so distracted mulling over Sans' questions and the memory of Chara’s words that
their journey seemed to move quicker. It was like trying to put together a
jigsaw puzzle.
They eventually reached the massive cave entrance way and trekked fourth. Soon
the dismal slate-grey light of the swamp was gone and they were surrounded by
dark shadows and that azure rising mist. Never in a million years would Frisk
had thought that she’d be in these spectral caves once more with Sans at her
side. She stared down at the clear water that rose up to her waist. She could
see Sans’ sneakers underneath the surface… and the way the heavy underswell
pushed back against his leg as he walked, exposing the outline of his tibia and
femur underneath his pants. It was curious.
His grip never once left her shoulder. Soon Frisk could see the multiple
archways that lined the walls of the darkened cave. They came upon the familiar
passage, the white streak of paint, and Sans knew immediately that that was
their route. He lead Frisk over towards the wall and down the shadowy, narrow
hallway.
They stepped into the arena. This dreadful arena. Frisk tilted her head back
and stared up at the stone balconies overhead. Her eye darted from one to the
next… searching for… a glimpse of Undyne. But the room was silent and empty.
Only the sound of water rippling against the surface around their ankles could
be heard. Undyne was gone. And Sans glanced down at Frisk and grinned. He
seemed to know exactly what her concern was, and his hand stroked down the side
of her upper arm.
“i already took care of her.” He said and directed Frisk over towards one of
the multitude of doors… the familiar engraving… the 5th gate.
Frisk stared at the wooden door before them. The memory of first opening this
gate swept through her cognizant. She had been so scared, so frantic and
desperate. And it had all been in the middle of a heart-stopping battle with
Undyne. But the second time… the second time she had opened this gate… Her
hands had been covered in blood. Her gaze had been stoic and deranged and she
laughed as the door swung open underneath her pulsing power.
Frisk’s shoulders began to tremble at the thought, but Sans quickly grasped
upon both of them from behind and he leaned over the top of her head, moving
her inward towards the door. He released one hand and dug his claw into his
pocket and pulled out her soul. And Sans held the orb over her shoulder before
her vision.
Oh god… It… it was still purple! Although the violet hue was not nearly as
vibrant as it had been last night, she could plainly see that tint of lavender
and the slightly-cloudy sheening fluids swirling around inside the crystal
sphere. Its ooze dripped against Sans’ fingers like always and she recoiled
back into his chest at the sight of it. Why was it still that shade!?… She
didn’t want that inside her… N-no… it was contaminated, tarnished, corrupted by
Sans’ harrowing perversion!
“nice color, eh?” He chuckled as if he had read her mind. It sent Frisk’s heart
spiraling with disgust.
And Sans brought her soul back and slipped his arm around her waist from
behind, sliding it up underneath the front of her hoodie. His opposite hand
latched on tight to her hip and Frisk flinched and squirmed in his grasp. He
was sliding the orb up over her navel at the middle of her torso. She could
feel the residue smearing against her flesh, leaving trails of wet purple
sullied essence upon her. It made her shudder and whimper and she hated him. S-
so… disgusting… He was going to force that desecrated soul back inside her…
god, she hated him.
Sans hand stilled once it reached the center of her chest. He coiled his
fingers around her soul, rubbing into it lightly, before pressing it down. Each
one of Frisk’s muscles constricted and she grit her teeth hard, preparing
herself for the pain that would always follow. But while Sans drove her soul
back inside her, his fingers kneaded against the orb, and the sensual touch
drowned out the pain. He restricted her agony again. Her knees buckled and she
started to breathe hard and fast and Frisk pressed the back of her head firm
against Sans chest. She clutched at his arm as her dripping soul sunk slowly
back inside her. And a rushing surge of power tingled within her rib cage.
Deep burning heat ruptured fourth. Her essence, her spirit, it felt different.
It was overwhelming, almost painful, like there was a heavy agitated weight
burrowing within her sternum. S-sans power… it was Sans’ spirit. And she felt
so powerful and that dexterity surged through her limbs and made her whimper
and shake in his grasp.
So much… power… It made her rageful. It was similar to Chara’s poison, but in a
different way. While Chara had made her soul vindictive and deceitful, Sans’
reproach had more of an unequivocal anger to it. An inflamed wrath… accompanied
by ambition and desire… and Frisk’s soul surged with a determination she had
never felt before.
Sans simply watched her from above. He smirked to himself as his fingertips
explored the subtle curves along her even chest. “feels good, doesn't it?” He
whispered through his canines against her ear and leaned into her spine,
pressing her forward before the door.
Frisk stared at the gate with an enraptured lidded gaze. She slowly lifted both
hands and guided them upon the symbol, her fingers splayed wide, her palms
pressed flat. She began to summon her corrupted soul’s power. Her chest burned,
it hurt, as the energy coiled within her and spread down her shivering arms.
She felt something wet drip from her nose, a nosebleed?… but was distracted by
a bright burst of light that blinded her and she shut her eye, crying out. The
shivering energy danced along her arms, her limbs felt numb as the broiling
power encompassed her hands and spread along the front of the gate. Frisk
slowly opened her eye and saw… purple. Her newfound energy… It was no longer
dazzling red. It was a semi-transparent glow of lavender… just like the color
of her soul. She stared back at the radiance, horrified, but the door began to
waver under her touch and it swung open before them.
The purple glow faded from her arms and the deafening sound of rushing water
pierced through the silence. Frisk stared down at the dark river just below the
threshold. This gate… it was worse than the last one, but Sans gave her no time
to contemplate. He immediately began to pull her soul back from her chest.
Frisk gasped and cried out as she struggled against the pain that always
accompanied a soul removal. She weakly clutched onto his claw at her waist. She
could see Sans’ eager gaze out of the corner of her eye, drinking in her
agonizing expressions. But in time her soul was back in his hand and he
pocketed it again.
Sans lifted his claw to the side of her face and wiped away the blood that
spilled from her nose against her lips. “too much for you, kiddo?” He sneered.
Frisk just panted hard against him, staring blankly into the void of darkness.
And Sans pushed her forward through the doorway but she flinched back into him
again.
“don’t worry, i’ll catch you.”
Frisk almost scoffed. Why did that sound like complete bullshit coming from
Sans? But… he had caught her at the previous gate. He did not want her dead.
She knew he would do everything in his power to keep her alive, at least until
she saved at a new candle. Frisk hesitated and stared at the misty shadows, but
Sans acted swiftly and shoved her forward into the water.
 
T-that-… monster!
 
She staggered into the sweeping river and was immediately submerged underneath
the surface. The water was deep and freezing and it coiled around her, pulling
downward, clashing against her skin. Frisk cried out and struggled to the
surface and gasped for a breath before the tide wrenched her back down. And
then, in an instant, she was falling down the length of the waterfall.
Frisk knew how tall this waterfall was, but she moved fast. She barely had a
chance to brace for the impact. W-would Sans catch her!? Would he?!
 
No.
 
She collided with the raging river surface below, like sharp knives digging
through her flesh, knocking the wind from her lungs. It was so painful and she
could not even gasp for air as the barrage of waves pulled her down. She tried
to inhale a breath, only to take in a mouthful of frigid water. She was going
to drown! She was much too weak to grab onto one of the many rocks that crashed
into her side.
But just as Frisk started to force her muscles to relax and let the inevitable
take her, she was yanked from the water by her hoodie’s cowl. And those steady
arms wrapped around her soaking form and lifted her up into his chest.
 
He would not let her die…
 
Sans stood on top of one of the boulders in the center of the rushing channel.
He plucked her from the raging surface and instantly leapt over the water to
the stony riverbank. He held her tight. Frisk turned her head and coughed and
clutched at her chest, gasping for oxygen. She could see his red hue pulsing in
the darkness, and the wet particles of mist hovered around the faint crimson
illumination. It was so dark… all she could see was his skull above.
“Y-you… didn’t c-catch me…” Frisk whimpered between strained gasps for air.
 
Of course he didn’t. He wants you to suffer, after all. You were hopeful…
because he caught you last time. But that is part of his ploy. To extract your
hope, your determination, and then crush it.
 
Frisk shivered in his arms and hung her head. But despite his cruel intentions
Sans’ gently pushed her wet hair back with one hand.
“i don’t always meet my mark, sweetheart…” There was an arcane timbre to his
words and Sans continued to stroke her soaked locks out of her face. He
crouched down and lowered Frisk to the floor, sitting her down in front of him
upon her knees. Then he slipped a claw under his jacket and pulled out
something small and white and… square.
… Gauze?…
Sans leaned in close towards her, his smirking expression was not nearly as
cruel as it often was, but it was still wicked despite the softness. He lifted
a free hand and held the side of her face, and then with his fingertips he
began to peel back the thin strips of tape that fastened the bandage over her
blinded eye.
Frisk flinched and cried out and pulled away from him but his grasp tightened.
He forced her head still, and he began to remove the soaked square of gauze
from her gouged socket. He was going to replace the bandage with a fresh one,
she knew that, but it was so painful. The tape tugged at her sensitive skin and
the bandage pulled at her torn flesh. She was thankful she couldn’t see the
wound. She simply stared back up at Sans with her lone eye, trying to fight
back the tears, feeling so cold and defeated.
Sans pulled the wet, bloodied bandage from her eye and quickly replaced it with
the fresh one. He worked slowly, his eye pulsed in a steady rhythm, and she
hated him. She hated him so much… but… but his tender touches… the way he
gently reapplied the gauze……
 
Tender!? He GAVE you those wounds!
 
She knew that… but still…
 
Stop it!
 
He was being… affectionate… The only one who had ever shown her any kind of
warmth…
 
This is NOT affection. This is NOT love! This is a MIND GAME!
 
Sans pulled out small strips of tape and he cut them with his sharp fingertips
to make them smaller. He placed each one at the corners of the bandage, locking
it in place. He let out a chuckle through his teeth and caressed her dripping
jawline with his claw, taking notice of her vexed gaze.
 
This is a trick. A ruse. He just wants you to open the gates. That is all he
wants. Then you will be useless to him.
 
Sans stood back up to his feet and Frisk lifted a hand to her eye, pressing her
fingertips along the dry, clean bandage. He reached down and clutch at her
wrist, pulling her up, and his arm wrapped around her shoulder once more. His
clothes were dry, unlike hers, and they were… warm. And Sans began to step
forward, holding her tight against his side underneath his arm, and they
journeyed down the dark cavern with only the sound of the rushing river echoing
around them.
 
 
 
 
Frisk stumbled alongside Sans as they continued on. The river’s tide had gone
from a violent surge to a slow, subtle flow. That familiar red sheen began to
emerge along the surface of the water, and the cave grew warmer and brighter,
illuminated by an eerie red. They were approaching the lava chambers. The faint
scent of sulfur hung thick in the air.
As they walked, Frisk noticed that small, familiar open nook embedded within
the side of the cave and she saw the candle flickering inside. Her thoughts
twisted in her head. Right there… that was… that was the last time she had seen
Chara… But Sans ignored the alcove and urged her along beside him. His tightly
grasping hand never once left its spot upon her shoulder. He stared ahead with
a determined gaze.
Frisk wanted to speak to him. She wanted to ask him more questions about Chara.
She wanted to ask him more questions about the Underground, and the famine, and
the prophecy… and why… why he had to be so cruel. But she couldn’t bring
herself to speak. And in a way, the silence was more comfortable. Perhaps it
was better not to know the truth. Perhaps ignorance truly was bliss sometimes.
And soon the cave opened up into a wide, vast multitude of interlocking
chambers. The river turned to shallow streams of bubbling red. Thin stems of
lava decorated the ground in intricate weaving patterns. White towering ruins
of an ancient city long past crumbled along the periphery surrounding them. The
oxygen was hot and stifling and Sans tightened his grasp and lead her towards
the cavern’s edge, away from the lava, and they continued forward.
 
 
 
 
It was so hot. Frisk was sweating, but at least the dampness of her clothes
kept her somewhat cool. She panted softly against the smothering atmosphere.
She wanted to rest again, but she was too afraid to ask, so instead she simply
leaned into Sans’ side and listened to their footsteps and the bubbling lava.
But suddenly… a new sound… a new sound began to stir around them. The sound of
shifting rocks. And Frisk jolted in the skeleton’s grasp and swiveled her head
around, searching for the source in a panic.
Sans came to an abrupt stop. She glanced up at him and he almost appeared
burdened by the sudden noise. Had… had it startled him as well?… Wait… oh, god…
Frisk immediately remembered the type of creature that lurked in these dreadful
caverns.
 
That flower…
 
And she saw something moving towards them, burrowing deep underneath the
Earth’s dry crust. It traveled under the surface of the ground at an alarming
rate, making a straight beeline for them until it was only a few feet away. The
sight of the shifting mound made Frisk’s stomach churn. A wave of dreadful
memories plucked at her mind and she struggled against Sans’ arm. She wanted to
run. She wanted to dash back into the cooler, dark caverns and just hide there
until she passed away from starvation. But Sans held her firm against his side
and his sockets narrowed down at the emerging monster, his red eye was a rapid
pulsing flash of anticipation, and his teeth grit together in a cynical smirk.
Flowey burst out from his hiding spot underneath the rocky soil. His coiling
serpentine body twisted in the air, ascending upwards directly before them. The
red hazy light reflected off of each thick crimson-tipped thorn that decorated
his tendril body. The monster blinked his single cyclops eye back at them, a
foul blood-red with a constricting bright green pupil. And he smirked wide at
the sight, exposing every single one of those obsidian incisors that dripped
with black glossy saliva.
“Heya,” He spoke and Frisk wanted to cry out at the sound of his sharp,
scratching voice. It burrowed inside her head and brought back the memory of
such a dreadful death he had caused. She shivered under Sans’ grasp, but the
skeleton’s claw tightened against her shoulder.
“… I haven't seen anyone down here in ages." Flowey spoke again. His word were
familiar, the malicious glint in his eye was dangerous and daunting, and the
coiling plant monster’s sharp gaze moved from Frisk, to Sans, then back to
Frisk… where it settled.
Sans was staring at the flower with a narrowed glare and he pulled Frisk back
just barely, moving her behind him to force Flowey’s gaze to sever. The plant
monster leered back at Sans and coiled his body ever so slightly to get another
look at Frisk… He was hungry, and she looked simply delicious.
“heh… still scrounging around down here on remains, i see.” Sans spoke, much to
Frisk’s surprise. He spoke to the flower and forced out a chuckle, but Frisk
instantly picked up on the loathing in Sans’ deep voice. And his words… h-his
words… of recognition… like he knew this dreadful creature.
Flowey finally tore his gaze from Frisk and stared back directly at Sans. His
taunting thin grin wavered and he narrowed his single cyclops eye, lost in
thought. But then Flowey’s eye widened, like his dusty memories had all come
rushing back, and he leered at Sans.
“I remember you…” Flowey’s voice was like sly, streams of oil that spewed
between his teeth. And as he spoke that dangerous grin returned along his
simple features. “How’s that little brother of ‘yers?” He let out a sharp laugh
and rose further from the ground, that single eye now locked upon Sans.
Frisk stared back at the callous creature before she tilted her head up towards
Sans. Her small quivering hands clutched tight onto the side of his winter
jacket. He looked enraged, she could see the multiple layers of burning
resentment hidden underneath his contrived smirk, and his red eye flashed so
quickly like a freshly lit flame. But Sans did not respond, he simply glared
down at the alien creature. So Flowey spoke again.
“What do you have there?” Flowey’s gaze immediately returned to Frisk and she
felt faint and averted her gaze. S-sans wouldn’t let this creature have her…
would he? No… no way. Sans was… he was protecting her. Only for his own selfish
reasons, of course… but he was protecting her nonetheless.
Sans ignored the flowers words and he took a step forward. Frisk clenched her
teeth as he pulled her alongside him, and they began to step past Flowey. But
the coiling plant creature’s smirk immediately faded at the rejection. And the
monster lurched around in front of them to block their path, only a handful of
inches away, rising further in the air while his tendril body curved and bent
like a cobra. Flowey rose directly in front of Sans. He leered back at him,
provoking him.
“I’m surprised you’d bother to ever show your face again, skeleton.”
W-what was Flowey talking about? There was clearly some history here that Frisk
knew nothing about and her mind was churning with curiosity.
Frisk could feel Sans’ sharp phalanges dig against her shoulder and she almost
cried out from the pain. She glanced back up at him. His daunting smirk was
just barely quivering with deep-seated rage. This flower… what ever this flower
was referring to, it was making Sans furious… Frisk almost half expected Sans
to summon his ax and cut the creature down, but instead he parted his sharp
canine teeth and spoke again.
“why don’t you go search for some more corpses to pick at,” Sans leered as his
eye flashed bright within the concave socket, and he stepped around the flower
once more, ignoring his taunts, disregarding his threats, “rotting flesh always
was your preference… heh…” And Sans’ grasp was a vice upon Frisk’s shoulder as
he lead her past the flower, walking forward without looking back. Frisk did
glance back, however. She watched the coiling flower turn sharply and grit his
teeth in a dreadful sneer.
 
… Would he follow them?
 
But he didn’t.
Flowey watched them for a while, twisting in the air as if he was throwing a
silent tantrum. Then he plunged back down underneath the dry soil and burrowed
towards the white ruins beside the cavern wall. He did not follow after them…
Sans had kept the dreadful carnivore at bay… somehow.
Frisk glanced back up at Sans as they walked. His grasp at her shoulder
remained tight and shivering slightly with resentment, his teeth clenched in
anger, his sockets leered in a direct gaze ahead.
 
 
“Sans…” Frisk whispered softly, but Sans did not respond. He did not even
glance down at her. He simply continued on along the edge of the adjoined
caverns with that determined stare. And soon they reached a familiar open
grotto… and Frisk stared back at the ruins on the opposite side of the cave…
those white towering ancient remains… and perched atop it all was the small
flickering candle like a beacon of despair.
That was it. The new save point. The next candle. If she touched that candle…
then she would have four more lives. Four more lives to waste. She would no
longer be mortal. Her wish for death would be hindered. This perverse, sullied
timeline would continue on.
 
N-no…
 
Sans began to lead her towards the ruins, towards the candle. Frisk
automatically dug the heels of her sneakers into the sweltering gravel and
stumbled and fought against his guidance. She did not want to save. She did not
want to continue on… She wanted to die. This timeline was debased. She had been
raped… She was missing an eye… and her soul was defiled. She wanted to start
over, go back to the very beginning and start fresh. But Sans’ wouldn’t have
it. He ignored her protests. He growled and shoved her forward, pushing her
through the archway amongst the rubble where he had once murdered her, directly
at the base of the ruin’s stairs.
“S-sans… please…” Frisk began to beg him and she tried to furl away from his
grasp but Sans simply clutched tight upon her shoulders and pushed her up the
steps, one by one, slow ascending to the roosting candle. “Please!… I-I… I
don’t want to continue… I want to die!” She cried out and felt hot tears prick
the corner of her lone eye.
But Sans did not respond. And as she fought against him he grew more and more
impatient until he simply grabbed her by the arm and practically dragged her up
the crumbled steps, and soon they reached the mezzanine. Sans shoved her down
to a seat directly before the candle and he crouched behind her. His arms
wrapped around her small trembling shoulders and those rough, cold claws
grasped at both her wrists and began to lift her hands.
Frisk sobbed and glanced back at him with a tear-filled, defeated gaze. Please…
please don’t make me… Sans would not look at her, he was staring down at the
candle that erected right before her knees. His eye pulsed quickly and his
smirk was a steady mix of determination and… greed. But he slowly tore his gaze
from the candle and glanced down at Frisk’s pathetic expression, and his smirk
softened just barely.
“you must save, sweetheart.” He chuckled under his breath. His sockets lidded
gently and he tilted his skull down, pressing his forehead against the top of
her head. His red eye flashed. She could feel his beating soul pounding so
quickly within his chest, pressed flush against her spine. He lifted her hands
and guided them forward, inching them closer… closer… closer to the wax-coated
candlestick. Please…
And Frisk let out another sob and hung her head and gave in to the monster’s
fortitude. He controlled her every move and pressed her trembling fingertips
along the clear shimmering candle.
 
She felt it.
 
That sudden surge of energy. She hadn’t felt it in so long. Her limited vision
was blinded temporarily and she saw stars against the back of her eye. Her
whole body felt like it had been electrocuted and Frisk cried out and recoiled
away from the candle, but Sans held her steady. The flow of power ran through
her instantly, like a deluge of pins and needles pricking every inch of skin.
The sensation was so familiar and she knew… she knew that her resets had been
restored. And her vision returned and each muscle softened and Frisk leaned
back into Sans’ chest with clenched teeth, feeling so demoralized.
 
So that’s it, huh?…
 
He made you save…
 
How pathetic…
 
She could see Sans’ wide smirk spread along his skull out of the corner of her
good eye. Sans wrapped his claws around her hands and laced his rough, cold
phalanges between her fingers, holding her close against him. H-he… was so…
sadistic… Why did he always have to touch her in this way?…
“good job, kid.” His voice was a coursing, parlous whisper. Frisk could
practically feel Sans trembling with excitement. He had gotten what he wanted…
everything was going according to his plan. His plan to free the Underground.
Frisk went limp in his grasp and stared back at the meager hovering ember of
light that floated directly over the candlestick. Her gaze was lifeless…
detached… she was simply a husk of her old self. Just a slave to this monster’s
will, with no freedom or privilege at all. He was like a cancer that spread
throughout her entire body. Sans… he was her tormentor… her salvager… and in
the end, he would be her executioner. But what was she to him? Just a martyr?
She remembered that brief hint of penance she had seen in his gaze back within
the sewers… Or had she just imagined that?… Was she just so desperate for
affection that she had simply imagined that look?
Sans grasped his large, skeletal hands tightly over hers and held her close to
his chest. And after a long moment of silence he finally shifted and stood up
to his feet, pulling her with him. And they continued on into the unfamiliar,
sweltering caverns. Into Hotland.
 
 
 
 
Frisk staggered beside him in a daze. The caverns were growing larger. The
thick streams of lava were starting to widen and take up more space within the
chambers. It was becoming so much more difficult to avoid them now. The vast
stretch of ruins that decorated the walls of the caves were growing more and
more dilapidated until they were nothing but piles of rubble. Every now and
then Sans would stop and give her another small sip of water, and brush her
sweaty bangs back and flash her a haunting look of depraved desire. He could
make a meal of her now and she’d simply return to the previous candle. Nothing
was stopping him. And that fact was terrifying. But he didn't attack her. He
kept his hunger in check and continued to guide her through the caverns.
Frisk weakly glanced around as they journeyed. This entire stretch of cave was
unfamiliar to her now. She had never gotten this far within the Underground
before. Were they going to reach a gate sometime soon? Was the rest of this
hell just tunnels of sweltering lava? That would be rather fitting, actually…
And Frisk stumbled again and breathed heavily, gasping for a breath, feeling
faint from the heat. She felt as if she was going to collapse and she clutched
upon Sans’ jacket sleeve, closing her eye for a moment to fight back the
vertigo headrush.
But as she slowly opened her eye and stared ahead, she saw something. There was
something different, way down at the furthest stretch of the caverns. It was
difficult to see it though the shivering mirages that rose from the lava and
coiled and danced in the air, but she could just barely get a glimpse of it
between the fumes.
 
It was… a building.
 
Some type of large structure. It was embedded within the cave wall, massive,
jutting out from the stone, and spanning up towards the very top of the
ceiling. The building appeared to be made out of… steel. There were no windows,
no signs, just expansive iron with a large door at the center. The door was
steel as well and it… it had… A symbol.
 
The 6th gate.
 
That was it. The 6th gate. They had finally reached it. It felt like they had
been journeying for so long, and now they had finally come across the next
stage of this dreadful adventure. Frisk’s eye widened as she stared at the
building. They were approaching it rapidly. Her mind started to race like a
galloping steed. Oh god… that was the next gate… What was in there? What was in
that building? What horrors awaited her within that dreadful, bleak structure
and beyond?
 
… And how many gates were still left to go?………
 
She tried to push down those harrowing thoughts. She did not want to think
about the end of this journey… Not yet. And before she knew it, they had
reached the wide iron wall and stood directly before the door.
Frisk stared back at the symbol within the center of the gate. It had been
etched against the metal crudely, but she could recognize that symbol anywhere.
Sans stood beside her and cast a sideways glance, his red hue reflecting off
the glossy surface of the alloy. Frisk could practically feel his restlessness
emitting off his form, and Sans pressed a hand to the center of her back,
edging her forward.
He slipped the opposite claw in his pocket and slowly pulled out her soul.
Frisk looked down at the small orb in his hand and her heart started to pound
frantically with joy at the sight. T-the purple… that lavender tint that had
debased her vigor, it was fading! The red was returning. And Frisk almost
smiled to herself. Although she was still disgusted, it was a relief to know
that Sans’ contamination was not a permanent fixture. The violet hue was just
barely visible within the transparent, swirling stardust and it radiated a soft
maroon.
Sans stared down at the orb and stepped behind Frisk like he often did,
slipping his hand under her hoodie, trailing it up to her bare chest. His
movements were swifter than usual, as if he was eager for her to open the gate
and see what was inside. But… these gates did not hinder Sans… so it was likely
that he already knew what awaited them… right?
Sans pressed his claw flat against the center of her chest and the orb slowly
sunk underneath the surface. Frisk gasped from the sensation. It burned her
skin and waves of agony surged up and down her body, coiling painfully in her
head. But she was starting to grow accustom to this feeling. She trembled and
took in sharp inhales. Sans leaned his skull over the side of her shoulder. She
could feel each one of his lukewarm breaths torrent against her neck.
“go on…” He purred beside her ear.
Frisk shivered, but she obeyed. She lifted her hands and pressed them flat
against the door. The metal surface was hot and it made her flinch, but she
kept herself steady. And she closed her eye and began to summon her energy. She
felt her soul pulse deep within. There was a slight trace of malignant stamina,
most likely the small remnants of Sans’ essence, but besides that it felt like
her old self again. There was no animosity within her, just a strong, scorching
outpour of energy… of determination. It was so warm and comforting and the heat
spilled from her chest as glistening red ran down her arms and wrapped around
both hands.
Frisk opened her eye and watched the metal door start to shiver underneath her
fingertips, and Sans’ watched from over her shoulder with a keen interest. The
door creaked, followed by a deafening piercing screech of metal scraping
against metal. Frisk grit her teeth and tried to bare the turbulent bellow. But
it did not last long, and soon the door swung open outward into the building,
into the darkness.
It was pitch black inside the open doorway. It reminded Frisk of the time she
first entered Gaster’s building. She could feel a faint breeze coming from the
entrance and surprisingly enough it was somewhat room temperature, not
sweltering hot like rest of Hotland. Although the scent of sulfur was still
overpowering. Like most districts within the Underground, it was not without
its flaws. For some reason an overwhelming sense of terror speared through
Frisks heart. And it was peculiar since there was just darkness inside, like
all the other buildings, but her fear was completely engulfing. Her dread was
palpable.
“S-sans…” Frisk whimpered and lowered her hands. She turned and tried to move
away from the open door, but Sans held her tight with one claw at the back of
her neck. He smirked down at her.
“don’t worry, kiddo. i’ll be right here.”
His words and that roguish grin were not comforting in the slightly, but he
left Frisk no choice. And she braced for the painful removal of her soul, but…
it never came.
Sans simply slipped his hand out from underneath her clothing. He… he had left
her soul inside her.
He did not remove it.
 
…… He did not remove it………
 
W-what?…
 
But… why?…
 
Frisk stared back at him wide-eyed. Sans simply chuckled under his breath and
shoved her forward with one hand, pushing her into the darkness. Frisk
whimpered and walked slowly while Sans placed a claw upon her shoulder as he
guided her forward.
 
 
Their sneakers clattered upon the floor and Frisk could tell that the ground
inside the building was also made of steel. Sans’ red eye flashed brightly and
illuminated the space as it always did. The walls… They were metal as well, and
reflective like mirrors, and Frisk saw her own reflection and winced at the
sight. It honestly looked like a nightmare standing next to Sans. He towered
over her and his white shirt was stained in dry blood and she stared back at
the open jagged cavity at the side of his skull.
Sans glanced at her though the reflection and simply pushed her forward, past
the foyer, down a single hallway before them. They turned a corner and soon the
entrance way behind them was gone. And they ventured through the metallic
corridor until it opened up into another room, and then another hall, and then
another room followed by yet another hall.
And that horrid sense of dread never once subsided as they walked. Each time
they entered a new corridor, Frisk would turn her head and stare into the
polished walls. She half expected to see some ghostly monstrosity lingering
above or behind him. S-she hated this place… she hated these metallic walls…
And it was so dark, only the red from Sans’ eye lit the way.
They soon entered a room with three hallways and Frisk stopped, staring at each
one. Though Sans pushed her towards the center path without hesitation, like he
knew exactly where he was going… like this place was familiar to him.
Eventually Sans released his grasp upon her shoulders but he continued behind
her. He never said a word, and neither did she. And Frisk felt terrified and
wanted to run back to Hotland. She actually wanted to return to the lava rooms,
but her soul was pulsing faintly… and she felt a subtle hint of determination
within. She never thought she would feel her determination again, not after
everything she had been through.
They continued on and on, entering more rooms with various hallways. It was
like a labyrinth, and it was so much more intricate than Gaster’s building.
They reached another room that was much larger than the others. It now had 5
different hallways that lined the reflective walls. Frisk stepped out into the
chamber but Sans lingered behind her in the archway. He was staring at each
alcove. His sockets narrowed and his browbone furrowed. Frisk blinked back at
him before she turned and stared at each open entrance again. She rubbed at the
back of her head.
“Which one, Sans?”
 
Suddenly it was dark.
 
Pitch black.
 
Sans’ red hue disappeared in a second.
 
And Frisk was standing there in a void of obsidian.
 
“S-sans??…”
She felt numb as she stood in the darkness and swiveled around and stumbled
blindly forward to where Sans had just been. She outstretched her hands in
front of her frantically, feeling around for his form, but he was not there.
 
Vanished.
 
“Sans!” Frisk cried out again and her heart started to pound. Oh, god… oh, god…
no no no! W-where did he go!? Did he leave??? Did something happen!? Why would
he leave her alone in here! To torture her some more? P-please, no!
“Sans, where are you!!” Frisk yelled out, her trembling voice bouncing off the
walls of the iron room. Her legs were shaking and her pulse was thumping so
loudly in her ears that she thought it would burst an eardrum. Her breath stuck
in her lungs from fear and she felt dizzy and paralyzed and so sick.
 
Your blade… it is still in your pocket.
 
Use it!
 
That voice of reason piped up within her mind, making Frisk go rigid in the
dark. She had completely forgotten that she had stolen it from Sans' jacket
back in the swamps. She stuffed a trembling hand in her pocket and felt for the
box cutter. It was still there, her sword. And she pulled the knife out and
held it directly before her.
Frisk slowly pushed her finger along the lever at the side of the handle,
unsheathing its blade. She took in a slow, deep breath and tried to steady her
frenzied nerves, then she focused.
 
Focus.
 
Focus.
 
A surge of heat spilled from her chest. It ran down her arms and a bright,
blinding burst of red quickly illuminated the entire room. Her soul’s energy
danced high in the air and it wrapped around her hands and the utility knife,
forming the dazzling blade of liquid crystal crimson directly before her eyes.
She almost teared up at the sight. Her magnificent weapon. She never thought
she’d see it again. It had been too long.
Frisk smiled to herself and she gripped tightly onto her sword’s handle in one
hand. She swiped her sabre once in the air then brought it down to her side and
stared ahead at the reflective mirror-like wall in front of her.
But…
Frisk’s smile faded.
And her blood ran cold in an instant.
 
There was something…
 
There was something within the wall.
 
N-no… it was not inside the wall… The wall was reflective… it was behind her.
 
A creature.
 
Large. Reptilian.
 
Covered in yellow scales and draped in a blood-stained white coat. Its arms
dangled down low at its sides. It possessed massive claws adorned with sharp,
black talons that twitched in a grotesque fashion. Its head hung to one side
like its neck had been broken. Every single one of those shark-like teeth were
visible in rows along its crocodile-maw, and they were yellowing, cracked and
jagged. And the creature’s eyes… its eyes… they were simply two massive white
saucers. Like a pair of colossal glossy pearls, glazed over and ghostly and
lifeless.
And then creature began to lift both twitching arms at either side, holding up
their massively clawed paws directly behind her.
And then it grinned. Wide.
And it spoke…
 
“… Welcome.”
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: Ś̮͚͒ͬ͂͞m̵͈̹ȅ̝̲̄ͨ̐̚l̹͔̭͚͚̜̤̒̄͂̏ͮ̐l̵ͧ̅̍ͬ͛s͔͕͈͔̻̟ͥ̌͋͒ͩͅ
̗͇͓͚̺̅̐̿̓̉ͨ͟l̹̗̫̞ͯ̄͐̇ͦͫǐ̵̎̓̆k̲̱̐̐̕e͏̹̩͓̥̱̘
̤̝̀ͭ͌̈͒̑̋͜s̰͖͙̦ͯ͊̎ͦ͆ͥ̀w̠̟̤ͪ̐ͧ̓̄ė̖̘̔̈́͘e͖̼͈̺ͨ̏̉ͅt̩̙͋̂͛̅
̲̘͈ͮ̈̋l̹̜̭̼̪̻̇ͨ͛̀é̥̠̺̩m̪͚̭͓̌ͧ̃ͯ͜ồ̖̼̦̠̫͆ͬͩ͛͜n̞ͨ͗ș͔͈̻̮̟͌̿̈́ͥ.̦̝̜͉̠̲̩̎
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     ((ヾ(≧皿≦ﾒ)ﾉ)) Aaahh Alphys is scary! Sans! Why you do dis! Leaving the
     poor child alone in the damn dark!? Shame on you!
     Coming up we got some more Alphys and amalgamates :'D and I have a
     feeling we'll be seeing the dark-haired demon child again reeeeeal
     soon. Also, get ready for some backstory on Sans, Chara and the rest
     of this HT!Underground's past in upcoming chapters (finally!)
     Stay tuned!
     P.S. A dirty smut scene was omitted from this chapter because I felt
     it was too much, but I may post it on Tumblr for shits n' giggles. If
     I do, I will let ya'll know. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
     /////////////////////
***** XXV *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 25: Hotland laboratory
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hey all!
     Sorry it has taken longer than usual to get this next chapter up.
     This week has been a hectic one D:
     Anyways, the speed at which chapters are posted might start to slow
     down (not by much, only about 4-5 days in between) since chapters are
     getting longer and more intricate.
     I want to point out a few things about the fic. There are 10 doors
     total (including the very first door at the shed) So cliche, right?
     ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
     Also, another reader brought up some questions about Frisk’s internal
     dialogue. When Frisk hears those voices in her head, even when they
     are aggressive, it does not mean that it is necessarily Chara’s
     possession, but it also could be. It is my intention to blur these
     line between her own pessimistic thoughts and Chara’s voice. I want
     the reader to feel the same confusion and turmoil that Frisk feels.
     Although, I will say that when you see an inner voice speaking in all
     bold like this or if it's very stern and calling Frisk ‘Manumitter’
     then that is Chara. But that is not always the case. When Frisk was
     first contaminated at the beginning of Genocide, Chara's voice was
     still building and it was not bold. It had not come upon her in full
     force yet. Anyways, I hope that is confusing ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
     So Chapter 25… in this chapter we will meet Alphys and her
     amalgamates. It’s not a pretty sight. This chapter is mostly about
     suspense and horror, how Frisk handles herself being alone once more,
     internal struggles, and Chara. There is violence but it’s minimal and
     does not really warrant a warning. Also, Frisk is seriously backwards
     as fuck when it comes to Sans at the moment and it's upsetting *sigh*
     I suppose his mind games succeeded… for now.
     Anyways, enjoy!
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
 
…
 
It spoke.
 
…
 
The monstrosity spoke.
 
Its voice was a tremor of whispers. Vaporous and spectral, like a dozen phantom
murmurs sewn together with string. The creature’s massive hands rose up
directly behind Frisk and twitched continuously, each one about the size of her
head. Thick fingers curled inward into its palms like deformed twisting
centipedes, before violently springing back into place. The way the creature
shivered and jerked around so abruptly, it was as if it was possessed by some
involuntary force. It was atrocious and each jarring tick reminded Frisk of the
undead.
Almost like…
 
Almost like a zombie…
 
But Frisk couldn’t move. She was paralyzed. That suffocating dread that she
felt so strongly at the entrance of the building maximized to the fullest. Her
knees buckled and her hands shook. She could barely keep her sweaty grip on the
handle of her luminous blade. She stared wide-eyed into the reflective wall,
watching the bipedal tetrapod twitch and lift its arms behind her.
I-it was so close… It was so close in back of her, only a couple feet away, and
its arms were ascending towards her shoulders. Frisk could feel the monster’s
lukewarm breath descend against the back of her head, rustling her hair. It was
rancid and Frisk would have coughed from the stench had she not been so
completely overcome with terror.
 
D-dear, god… you- you need… to r-run-
 
Her inner sense of reason stammered loudly. The panic in her stomach was
swelling and she felt nauseous. She- she had to run. She had to move! But Frisk
simply trembled where she stood while her heart darted around, her single eye
wide and shivering, lower lip quivering in fear.
It was hard to tell, but the demented creature was almost grinning. And Frisk
could see rows of numerous serrated sepia-toned fangs as clear as day. But
those eyes were what really sent her anxiety into a tissy. Those haunting white
eyes, faintly glowing, like two shivering puddles of reflected moonlight.
The monster spoke again.
“… W-we-welcome-… h-human…”
And it reached its claws further and Frisk could feel the sharp tips of each
ebony talon graze the back of her hoodie.
 
P-please… please move… please…
 
Frisk’s immobile feet began to shifted against the metal flooring. Her
paralysis started to crumble. Her acute stress response took over in full force
and she stumbled forward suddenly, away from the monster, breathing hard. She
swerved around and stared back at the creature as her features contorted in
horror. But the monster did not remain in that spot. It began to take slow,
discordant steps forward and Frisk’s single eye darted towards the five open
entrance ways at the side of the room.
 
Pick one and run!
 
“H-h-hum-aaan…”
 
For the love of god HURRY! PICK ONE!
 
Frisk was too frightened to fight. Her determination was at an all time low due
to her time with Sans. She couldn’t lift her sword to protect herself. Hell,
she could barely even move. But the swelling dread in her stomach forced her to
act and she dove towards the side wall and darted down the center tunnel. She
couldn’t fight, so instead she would run.
She bound down the corridor, propelling herself away from the creature as fast
as she could. O-oh my god, oh g-god- Please!! Frisk held the blade out in front
and fiery crimson bounced off the metallic walls. She almost slipped against
the polished floor, breathing hard and frantic. Her convulsing heart sunk down
to her gut as she heard a sound… the sound of scampering footsteps behind her.
 
Shit!!
 
Frisk turned to look over her shoulder as she ran. The creature… it hadn’t
stayed in the room… it was clamoring after her, chasing her down the hall. Its
maw was open wide with thick stringy strands of saliva connected the top row of
fangs with the lower ones. It was grotesque. The monster was immense and its
sides pressed scraped against the walls of the narrow corridor, but it did not
stop the creature from coming. Each dissonant step it took resonated and sent a
shockwave through the floor. Frisk could barely breathe at the sight of the
demon so close behind.
She ripped her gaze from the atrocity and sprang forward, running as fast as
she possibly could against the sleek ground. P-please!! S-sans! Where are you!
Her thoughts were a jumble of incoherent hysteria. The tunnel that extended out
before her seemed neverending.
“SANS!!” Frisk finally found her voice and screamed out as she ran. The monster
was closing in behind her. The stampeding steps grew louder and she could
almost feel those hot rapid breaths against the back of her neck. “S-SANS!
PLEASE!!”
Frisk was crying out for him and her shouts trembled between each inhale. But
her eye widened as she saw the end of the hallway approaching fast, and she
recognized it to lead into yet another iron-plated room. She grit her teeth and
clenched her free hand into a fist and sprinted forward, faster… faster! She
ran out in front of the beast behind her, distancing herself from the monster
by a few yards.
She could see the room at the end of the hall. But her fear flourished as she
closed in on the open space.
The room had not one, not two, not ten, but dozens upon dozens of dark open
doorways all lining the walls. Oh, god!
 
Get in that room and run down a hall! Any hall! And sheath your blade, it’s too
bright!
 
Frisk burst forward into the room and scanned the open space as fast as she
could. The monster was still in the tunnel behind her but it was advancing
quickly, only seconds away. She barely had time to think, let alone act. She
lurched towards the side and ran down one of the more covert hallways at the
furthest corner of the room.
Frisk immediately pulled the lever of her blade down the hilt. The crimson
liquid sword vanished in an instant. She was in the dark again. She stumbled
down the hall in pitch black, moving away from the entrance as fast as humanly
possible, but she skidded to an abrupt stop to quiet her footsteps. The
creature… it had finally burst forth and she could hear it back within the room
of tunnels.
 
O-oh god… w-would it check each passageway? Would it find her? Could that thing
see in the dark?
 
Frisk held her breath in her throat. She pressed her back up against the wall.
Her hands trembled as she clutched the box cutter and held it against her
pulsing chest. She could hear each heavy footfall, as if the creature was
pacing around. The dozens of doorways seemed to have been enough of a
distraction… and they threw the monstrosity off her path. But then Frisk heard
its voice again.
“H-h-hhummaann… HHUMANN!”
It was screeching. The tone was no longer a wispy murmur. It was jarring and
pierced through Frisk’s ear drums so painfully. But she was too scared to move.
That creature would hear the echo of her footsteps the moment she made a sound.
So Frisk stood there in the dark hall, shivering violently.
Suddenly the heavy footsteps stilled. The creature… it stopped pacing. Frisk
bit at her lower lip in dread. She tilted her head to the side and stared back
at the opening where she had just burst through, but she couldn’t see a thing.
It was like a curtain of velvet had been draped over her only functioning eye.
It was as if she had become fully blind. Sans… where are you?…
And it was completely silent. There were no more footfalls or rapid heavy
breathing. All Frisk could hear was the overwrought pulsing of her own
heartbeat in her head. But suddenly… suddenly there was a sound that severed
the silence. That monster spoke again. Its cries had settled back down and its
voice was a velour whisper once more. But… but it almost sounded like the
creature was speaking to another.
 
P-please tell me there’s not more of those things within this winding metallic
labyrinth?
 
“Find… the… h-hu-human-”
 
Those words… That creature… It was as if it was speaking to another being… or
perhaps the monster was delusional and was simply speaking to itself? Frisk
could not be sure. She was not sure of anything anymore. But the building dread
in her gut churned and she felt so sick with fear. A terrible vertigo began to
ferment inside her skull.
There were more whispers. Soft and spectral, as if dozens of distant bells were
all chiming at once. She grit her teeth and trembled terribly where she
cowered. But then the whispers began to dissipate. They grew softer and softer
until the eidolic voices were replaced by the sound of footsteps once more. The
reptilian creature’s slow and steady footfalls eventually faded away, and it
was completely quiet.
 
The monster must have picked a hall to search…
 
It was… it was leaving.
 
Frisk felt a wave of relief as the sound of the monster's movements dissolved
into darkness. Somehow, she narrowly avoided that creature’s fatal clutches.
She had been able to shake that dreaded fiend off her tail… just barely. But
the consolation she felt melted back into a chimera of fear, dread, and
foreboding panic. Now she was stuck, lost, in this building… alone… in the
dark… and that monstrosity was still out there slinking around the halls,
searching for her.
And it was not alone. Could there really be more than one? She hadn’t heard
anymore footsteps… only voices. But anything was possible when it came to this
dreadful hell, so Frisk could not disregard it. She had to get out of this
dwelling. She had to leave this place as fast as she could. She would run back
to Hotland… and maybe… maybe Sans would be there? Sans…
“S-sans… please… h-help me… ” She whispered softly, almost inaudible, under her
trembling breath. Frisk lifted both hands to her face and clutched at either
side of her skull in the darkness. She was panicking and she felt so dizzy from
fear that she truly thought she would pass out. But then a disgusting
realization dawned over her. She was actually begging for Sans to appear,
begging for her rapist to help her. She had once wished death on him, and now
she was praying for his salvation. God, it was twisted. As least she could
recognize the askew mentality of it all, but that didn’t stop her from pleading
silently for him to return.
And she cowered in the darkness for what felt like ages. She had to move. She
had to act. That monster could return. It would most likely search every single
hallway. It was only a matter of time until it happened upon the one she
occupied. She had to keep going. Please… be strong.
Frisk silently slid up to her feet, leaning back against the wall for support.
It was so dark - a mind-numbing jet black abyss - but she was too fearful to
call forth her sword. It’s light was too radiant and it would draw unwanted
attention in an instant. God, how she wished she still had her phone’s dull
flashlight right now. Frisk stepped forward and lifted both hands, brushing her
fingertips against the walls on either side, although she kept her box cutter
tucked under her thumb. The tunnel was narrow enough to allow her arms to span
the entire distance. And she began to step forward down the corridor.
 
 
 
Frisk held her breath in her lungs as she tiptoed along. This was the first
time that she had ever been completely without light before. It made her feel
so susceptible. Each one of her muscles bunched painfully as she stepped
through the velveteen shadows. What would she do if she bumped into a figure in
the darkness? Pull out her blade and actually attempt to fight it? Run? One
after another, dreadful scenarios swirled in her mind but-… but through it all…
she prayed for Sans to return.
 
T-this was… part of his game… He wants you afraid… He wants you to rely on him…
And he wants you to want him… right?
 
Frisk hung her head as she continued. At least… if she died… she would return
to Hotland, if that was any consolation. She so desperately wished that she had
never saved. She should have fought off Sans. She should have tried something,
anything to prevent that save. And her regrets started to pile up. This life
was such a heavy burden…
 
There’s no use in thinking about it now. What’s done is done…
 
Her inner thoughts provided no comfort, but they were right. It was useless to
dwell on it. She had four more chances now. And perhaps she could use those
newfound lives to try and escape this nightmare. Perhaps, if she dug deep
enough, she could revive that lost fortitude… that surging courage she had once
felt so long ago, her determination to escape. And maybe, just maybe, she could
return home.
Frisk continued on in darkness as her contrasting thoughts surged against the
inside her of subconscious. But suddenly she saw something. She saw something.
Her feet stumbled to a sudden stop as she caught a glimpse of something down
the very end of the metallic corridor. T-there was a light up ahead… a light. A
faint white glow reflected off the surface of the iron wall at the very end of
the tunnel. She could make out the edge of a corner… an alcove into another
adjoining room.
Was it an exit? T-that light… it couldn’t be from the monster that had chased
her. That creature had provided no light during its ambush in the darkness. So
what was it? Whatever the illumination emitted from, it appeared to be
shivering ever so slightly. Perhaps another candle?
Her curiosity was too much. The possibility that it could be an exit from this
dreadful dungeon weighted on her mind. She took slow, trembling steps down the
hall as she clutched her concealed box cutter blade in one hand. She stepped up
to the very end of the tunnel and pressed her back flat against the side. Her
heart felt like a trembling fledgling, it was beating so quickly. She took in a
deep breath and very slowly turned her head, peeking around the corner into the
open space.
The room was small, iron-plated like all the others, without any open hallways.
It was a dead end, except the room was not vacant. And Frisk’s felt as if her
soul was going to melt into her stomach at the sight.
 
Another monster. A creature.
 
A ghost.
 
A massive spectral figure hovered directly within the center of the cramped
space. Its bulky, contorted body was a white transparent swelling of mist. It
had no lower limbs, almost like a serpent, but it did possess two thin, winding
arms. In a way the tendril-like limbs reminded Frisk of Napstablook, although
its arms were also translucent like its body. Though it did possess rows of
thick black nails upon its claws that were not made of vapor like the rest of
it. Frisk could just barely see the profile of the ghastly demon’s face. It was
large with two amber slits for eyes and a expansive, enormous maw that
exhibited rows upon rows of thick mustard-yellow fangs.
Frisk’s lone eye shivered wide as she stared back at the creature. Her clenched
teeth began to clatter in fear and her heavy, frantic breath caught in her
throat. And despite how terrifying the vision was, she could not look away. She
could not pull herself back. She was hypnotized by the gentle, illuminating
glow that seeped from the banshee’s form.
The creature moved in close to the far left wall. It stared back into the
reflective metal, hovering slowly above the sleek ground. But there was
something strange at the end of its thick, tapered serpent tail. A thin tether
of white vapor wrapped around the tip of the creature’s coiling abdomen, like
some type of fastening cord. And the ghostly binding sunk clear through the
floor.
 
T-that thing… that ghost… if that thing saw her-… w-would she… would she even
be able to kill it!? It was a phantom!
 
Frisk’s hand clutched tight upon her blade and she slowly began to shift her
sneakers, leaning away from the corner of the wall. But before she could pull
her head back entirely, the creature began to move. It was… it was sinking. It
was slowly cascading down towards the flooring… and its transparent body began
to disappear within the ground.
The haunting apparition was actually descending down into the floor, very
slowly. It was as if the creature was completely made up of a thick, cloudy
vapor and solid objects could not hinder it. Frisk watched the apparition
submerged itself and the glowing white light vanishing along with it. It was
gone. Frisk was in darkness once more.
She stood in the dark and grit her teeth together painfully. Her shoulders
started to tremble and she could feel the despair bubbling up against her rib
cage, moving upward along her throat accompanied by burning tears that began to
coat her single eye. She let out a soft sob, holding back her terrified wails
in her throat. She was so scared… so scared.
Chara was gone. Sans was gone. She was all alone. So completely alone, trapped
in a infinite nightmare. The darkness around her was so thick that she felt
like she was choking on it. Please… pull yourself together… y-you can do this…
there must be a way out of this place. There has to be!
Frisk took in slow, shivering inhales, attempting to steady her misery. She ran
her fingers along the hall’s corner edge and maneuvered herself in the
darkness. This room was a dead end, she had just witnessed it. She had to go
back… back to that chamber with dozens of doors. And she began to head back
down the hall in silence.
 
 
 
Frisk’s fingers trailed along the sleek metal walls as she moved. She felt
another corner and stumbled backwards. I-it’s too dark… you can’t do this in
the shade. Her inner voice was right, she wouldn’t be able to proceed in this
darkness. It was next to impossible. So she took in a deep breath and held her
box cutter back out in front of her. She willed forth her soul’s energy the
moment she unsheathed the blade.
Burning heat pooled within her chest and spilled down her arms. It collided
with her knife. In a matter of seconds the sword appeared and it lit up the
large adjoining room. Her soul’s weapon turned the entire space an eerie deep
crimson. The chamber was empty except for dozens of clones of herself in the
walls. Frisk ignored her bleak reflection and stared back at the multiple
halls. Each one resembled a daunting black hole, but at least there were no
monsters lurking in the archways. It was completely desolate.
And she stepped forward into the room and her dread began to build once more.
 
Pick one.
 
She darted forward and ran down a different hallway opposite her. Every single
tunnel in this labyrinth looked exactly the same, but it didn’t take long for
her to reach the end of the corridor and she stumbled out into another small
room. Another dead end…
She almost cursed in frustration as she leered around the room, staring at
herself in the reflective walls like it was some twisted house of mirrors.
Frisk’s sneakers squeaked against the polished floor and she turned and ran
back down the hall into the initial enclosure.
 
Try another one.
 
She reached the large room with the multiple doorways again and ran down the
adjacent hall next to her. Perhaps this one would lead to something new. God,
this place was a maze. Would she ever find her way out of here? She tried not
to think about the monsters that lurked silently within the entanglement of
tunnels. And the fact that they could vanish through solid barriers held no
comfort. She was really out of her element here.
Frisk finally stumbled out from the foyer into another small room. Another dead
end. Damn it! She squeezed her hand tight around her sword’s handle and wanted
to scream. But instead she turned sharply and ran back to the beginning. Sans…
Where are you?!
She burst back out into the main chamber and ran through the room to the
opposite side. She would try a different section of tunnels. She was bound to
find the correct tunnel eventually. Frisk darted through another new corridor.
She glanced to the side and watched her own reflection as she ran. The wind
blew back her messy hair. She looked absolutely terrified. Her desperate
thoughts raced. This building truly was a labyrinth, like it had been built
solely to confuse its guests. Frisk remembered her fight with Undyne and the
multiple deceptive doors.An intentional puzzle. Perhaps this place was not
dissimilar in that regard.
 
She reached the room at the end of the hall. It was also small… and also empty.
Another dead end. Frisk couldn’t help the loud groan that erupted from her
throat and she swiped her blade through the air in frustration. God dammit! Her
patience was starting to wear thin. Along with her caution. Frisk grumbled and
abruptly turned back towards the hall to leave, but her eye locked upon
something rising slowly from the ground.
Something was rising… rising right in front of her… something glowing.
 
S-shit!
 
There was a ghastly phantom glow of white erupting from the surface of the
floor. It rose quickly, right in front of her only escape, blocking Frisk’s
path. She stared wide-eyed at the eerie illusion as it advanced.
 
It was another ghost, a different ghost.
 
It was massive and hulking like the previous one, but this creature… it had no
true appearance. It was simply a distortion of vapor, twisting and winding into
itself. It almost appeared to have a bulbous head embedded within its torso,
and a circular mouth with a ring of glossy black teeth. There were no eyes that
Frisk could see. The lower body was a distorted fume tethered to the floor by a
phantom leash. And despite its gnarled, anamorphic form, the poltergeist had
arms. Two thick shivering limbs adorned with black claws like the prior
apparition. And the arms rose towards Frisk, twitching and askew.
Frisk’s eye widened at the sight of the monster. She cried out from shock and
stumbled backwards, grasping at her sword with both hands in front of her. Her
heart turned to ice and plummeted to the floor. T-these ghosts… Were these the
creatures that the reptilian monster had been whispering to!? How many of them
were there??? But the ghostly monster did not utter a sound. And it silently
began to make its way towards Frisk, pulling at the strange fastened cord that
seemed to almost bind it to the ground.
Frisk staggered backwards until her back pressed into the wall. She held her
sword out in front of her, arms shaking, knees buckling.
“G-get back!!! Get away from m-me!” She cried but the monster kept coming. And
a dizzying head rush of panic fluctuate in her skull and she swiped her sword
at the oncoming creature.
The monster came to a stop. Her sword held it back. But its twining arms rose
overhead, each one of its clawed digits retracting and advancing in a frantic
tempo. The apparition had no face or voice… but Frisk knew… she knew that the
creature was resentful. She could feel the heavy choleric aura that churned
around it and flooded the room.
The ghastly specter lifted its limb over Frisk’s blade, high in the air. It
inched closer and closer, reaching out and downward for her. She stared up at
the monster in horror, watching the rapidly twisting talons swoop down before
face. She was cornered against the wall. There was nowhere to run. There was no
one to save her. She had to save herself.
And with a petrified surge of adrenaline, Frisk lifted her blade and swung it
in front of her, slicing the shivering red cutlass through the middle of the
ghost’s thin limb. It was a spirit, it did not have a physical form, she wasn’t
even sure if it would do anything. Frisk’s heart stammered in her chest and she
swung her blade a second time through the creature’s arm. And it recoiled.
The ghost faltered backwards.
It made no noise, but its movements were no longer slow slithers. It lurched
backwards and seemed to quaver violently in the air. Its damaged limb had not
detached from Frisk’s swipes, but the section upon its arm turned bright red,
like Frisk’s blade had contaminated it somehow. The red stroke looked painful.
Frisk stared back at the floundering creature, panting hard and fast as terror
cemented her back against the wall. The ghost shivered around like it was in
terrible pain. And it sunk down into the floor in an instant, leaving Frisk
alone in the room with nothing but the red illumination off her sword
reflecting off the walls.
She had fended off the ghost. She had protected herself from the creature. She
should be overjoyed, but instead she was terrified. Her mind began to surge and
the fear grew… She had not killed that creature… no. She had simply alerted it
to her presence… and to her soul’s power.
 
R-run… RUN! It will alert the others!
 
Frisk darted forward. She ran through the small room and down the hall as fast
as her legs could carry her. She reached the initial large chamber, lined with
multiple open entrance ways. She wanted to cry as she spiraled in the center of
the space. W-which one! Which one should she take!! She felt like she was
running out of time. She bound over towards the first hallway that she had
entered from and stared back at all the openings.
 
Sans had guided you through the middle halls, remember?… The centermost
passage.
 
Frisk bit her lower lip and her single eye locked onto the open archway
opposite her. It simply looked like all the others… but… as she began to
examine it in depth, she noticed one small difference. It was slightly taller,
only by a few centimeters, but it was enough of a change to set it apart from
the rest.
 
That’s it! That’s the exit! RUN!
 
She bound forward, sprinting down the middle hall. Her sneakers clattered
loudly. She held her blade out in front, lighting the way with red. She
struggled to take in sharp inhales, barely able to breathe through her fear.
The hall was long… it was longer than all the others. It felt endless. This
hall… it was different. Perhaps it really was the exit.
Frisk could see the end of the tunnel. She could see the dark narrow rectangle
of black… the corridor’s exit. She ran faster, biting at the tip of her tongue.
She felt like there was something chasing her but a quick glance over her
shoulder proved that to be untrue, just paranoia, but it did not stop her
frantic rushing feet. And she finally reached the end and burst out through the
hallway. She staggered into a massive space… a new room.
 
A huge, towering, colossal chamber.
 
 
 
Frisk stumbled to a stop and held her blade high overhead, illuminating the
space around while she gasped for a breath. The ample expanse was extensive.
Metal. Dark. Just like every other room in this building. But it was not
vacant. There was… furniture. Large stacks of what appeared to be disheveled
cots and boxes and iron tables and various piles of equipment had been
discarded along the sides of the territory. There was junk everywhere, it
almost looked like a tornado had rushed through the very center of the space,
knocking all the furniture to the walls.
Frisk stepped over towards the periphery and stared at all of the miscellaneous
collateral. She could see multiple iron cots and stretchers. They almost… they
almost looked like operating tables. There were sinks and tubes and large metal
chairs stacked up in unsteady towers. Frisk walked along slowly, examining the
mess. Had this place been some sort of hospital? A laboratory? W-what was this
horrifying dwelling?
Frisk stumbled over something as she walked. She almost tripped but caught
herself quickly, and she lowered the glowing sword to get a look at the
cumbersome object.
 
W-wait… that is…
 
…
 
…
 
A severed hand.
 
An amputated monster claw lay before her feet. Frisk almost cried out and she
staggered backwards in horror, eye locked on the detached body part. It was
old, almost mummified, but she could make out each curling digit and the
fractured bone that jutted from its torn wrist as clear as day.
 
D-dear god… this place… this place is a nightmare…
 
Frisk felt faint. Her heart was hammering. Her pulse was like boiling water in
her veins. She frantically stepped over the severed limb and darted forward.
And as she ran, she noticed more body parts. Fragments of remains lay entangled
in the clutter. A leg. An arm. A decrepit embalmed torso. Frisk cried out to
herself as she ran down the shadowy stretch of chamber. She tried to avert her
eye away from the debris and the carnage. S-she didn’t want to see anymore… she
didn’t want to see these horrors! But her vision returned to the disarray.
She caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a shattered glass tank filled with
nothing but a variety of burnt limbs. None of the parts were human, most of
them looked reptilian, but it was ghastly and grotesque and it make her feel
sick to her stomach. She blinked a tearing eye and began to run away from the
edge of the wall, moving in towards the center path of the room. She couldn’t
handle the horrors that lined this decaying laboratory. She had to escape this
place. S-sans… please… please help me!
Her feet clattered loudly against the floor as she ran. She was too overcome
with panic and dread to move slow and silently. She held her blade out in front
as she sprinted, just waiting for something new to erupt from the darkness.
And something did.
 
A wall.
 
She had finally reached the end of the massive chamber. Frisk stumbled to a
stop and stared up at the barrier before her. The room was so vast, she could
not even see the ceiling with the light her sword provided. Frisk squinted her
eye and spotted a tunnel entrance. It looked so small and meager compared to
the colossal wall, but it was there. An exit! She darted forward towards the
shadowy tunnel. That has to be the exit… There has to be the way out of this
place…
She held her blade out, only a few yards away from the tunnel. She felt a surge
of determination and hope erupt from her shivering soul. She was so close!
But… but something was moving…
 
Something was moving within the darkness…
 
… inside of the tunnel.
 
And it began to emerge from the shadows. And Frisk stopped dead in her tracks
before the opening and watched in horror as that monster, that reptilian blood-
stained creature, stepped out from corridor, blocking her only path.
“H-h-hum-ma-n…”
 
N-no… No, please.
 
It took slow strides forward. Massive arms hung at either side and its head
dangled upon its shoulder. Those wide, glossy alabaster eyes were unblinking
and they appeared to be fixed on her. The long surcoat it wore was tattered at
the bottom and stained in blood and other grotesque fluids… and the more Frisk
stared at it, the more it began to look like… like a lab coat.
T-this creature… Had this thing been responsible… for those severed limbs?
For those noxious, defiled corpses?
 
Her wild thoughts began to run amuck but she reined them in instantly. You
cannot think about that right now! You have to escape! And the pipedal creation
began to step closer, moving slowly and ominously. It lifted its arms at either
side like it had done earlier… but… something was glowing. Something was
glowing softly against the tips of each black talon, like some sort of gentle
radiating white thread, oozing from each nail. The ropes grew in size and
spilled from the beast's claws, entwining into a thick braid that fell down to
the floor. And large, bulbous apparitions began to appear at the ends of the
tethers like two disfigured nebulas.
 
The ghosts.
 
The pair of horrifying banshees began to form in mid-air, attached to the
strings that were bound to the monsters claws. This creature… it was summoning
them, like two appalling pets. The conjured ghosts twisted and turned in the
darkness, both of them displaying their own unique and equally ominous traits.
The one with yellow eyes and teeth snapped its massive maw and the opposite
apparition, the one with no face or features except a mouth, shuttered and
lifted its arms high overhead. Frisk could still see the thin red slivers
embedded in its wrists where her sword’s had sliced through… and it still
seemed enraged.
Both of the amalgamates rose in the air, bound to the reptilian creature’s
hands that controlled them like some ungodly puppeteer. The monster parted its
massive jutting maw and whispered,
“T-t-tha-that… soul… We n-ne-need that soul…”
Frisk’s spine shuddered at the sound of the reptile’s ominous tone. Her
trembling gaze was fixated upon the monstrosities directly before her - the
ghastly entity that blocked her only escape. She held her blade tight in both
hands and lifted the sword, staring back at the chimera through its
translucency.
And the central cognizant monster lifted its hands, and the tethered duel
ghosts spiraled forward.
 
RUN!!
 
Frisk darted to the side, just narrowly missing the collision of the two
wraiths, but they didn’t stop. She stumbled and ran back into the chamber. O-oh
god!!! P-please help! Someone! Anyone! She cried out as she ran, but both
haunts were right on her tail. They were side by side, practically melting into
one another to form and even larger phantom, and they surged forward without
any reluctance. Frisk skirted towards the opposite side as she ran in a zigzag
pattern. She was so desperate, so terrified.
“S-stop! I’m here to open the gates! I’m here to save you!” She cried out
between frantic gasps, but there was no reasoning with these monstrosities. The
Underground was poisoned and each creature she had come across was more
deranged than the last. This place… this place was an everlasting hell.
 
Use your sword! Cut the tethers!
 
Her inner thoughts pulsed with an idea. It seemed improbable, but she had to
try something! She couldn’t run forever!
The ghosts lurched forward at her again and Frisk rolled onto the floor, just
narrowly missing the thick black claws of the mawed apparition. She felt the
physical weight of its talons barely graze her shoulder. These ghosts… their
bodies may be vaporous… but those hooked nails were definitely not.
Frisk staggered up to her feet. Her mind was racing and her heart felt like it
was locked in an icey vice. She maneuvered behind the phantoms, closing in on
the two twining fetters that bound the ghosts to their host.
 
Do it now!!! HURRY!!!
 
Frisk’s inner voice was screaming in fear. She moved fast and brought her
weapon down and sliced through one of the restraints. The misty white cord
snapped underneath the sharpened edge and vanished in an instant, along with
the creature. The wide-mawed ghost was gone, as quickly as it had come, leaving
its partner alone. Frisk heard a bellowing screech from the deep darkness. It
was so loud… and it screamed out in blood-curdling agony.
 
She recognized that screech. It came from the reptile. The anchor.
 
T-their host… the reptilian monstrosity in the blood-stained lab coat…
 
By severing the ghostly parasite, had she somehow inflicted damage upon that
monster?
 
But there was no time to consider it as the second and single banshee spiraled
forward. It was so sudden. Frisk attempted to leap to the side but the ghost’s
embodiment collided with Frisk's shoulder. A-and it… it… hurt! The moment the
apparition’s vapor came into contact with Frisk’s body, her flesh tingled and
burned like it had been set on fire. The creature brushed through her shoulder
and Frisk screamed out. A wave of vibrating agony, like her shoulder had been
forced down upon a simmering stovetop. The pain was unbelievable. The flesh
under her clothes felt like it had been flayed with a clever then doused in
alcohol, and Frisk gasped and held back a scream. But she ran forward.
She ran from the creature, barely able to hold onto her sword with both hands.
Her injured arm trembled terribly. She glanced at her shoulder expecting the
worst, but… her hoodie’s sleeve was untorn. There was nothing to indicate any
type of physical pain in the slightest. W-what… the h-hell?! The creature was
still coming. It was right behind her, Frisk could see a white glow out of the
corner of her eye.
 
Come on!! You can do it again!! Cut the tether!
 
Frisk’s heart surged. The pain shot up and down her arm, making her fingers go
completely numb, but she sprinted. She could feel it… her determination. It was
there, just barely. Even after everything she had been through, her
determination flushed deep within her soul. And it gave her hope. Aspiration.
And Frisk bolted to the right side as the ghost spiraled forward again, missing
her once more. She lifted her blade in a swift sudden motion and brought it
down upon the tether behind the creature instantly.
It snapped under the weapon and the apparition erupted into a hazy cloud of
glowing white then vanished within the shadows. Y-you did it… you did it! But
her elation was short lived when she heard another silence-shattering scream.
The screeching collided with the metal walls of the chamber, even louder than
before.
She felt the ground shake.
And she could hear heavy trampling foot steps moving in her direction.
 
RUN NOW!
 
Frisk ran from the center of the room towards the cluttered wall. She
frantically darted over piles of debris and broken medical supplies and mangled
body parts. Corrupt screams bellowed all around her and she almost tripped to
the floor as the ground trembled under her feet. That reptilian beast was
searching for her, chasing after the red illumination of her blade. Frisk took
a quick sideways glance. She saw the dark figure closing in, headed straight
for her.
“H-HU-HUMA-N!”
The monster lunged with an outstretched claw. Frisk tried to dodge it by
ducking, but those multiple sharpened obsidian nails met their mark. They dug
into the side of Frisk’s throat, cutting into her flesh. Frisk screamed out,
yet she continued to dart forward and the monster faltered and missed her.
 
O-oh god… oh no!!
 
Frisk stumbled but the adrenaline kept her moving. She could feel hot liquid
spill from the wounds at her neck, dripping down to her collar bone, soaking
the shoulder of her hoodie. It hurt… it hurt worse than the ghost’s burns. But
she held back burning tears and galloped forward, making her way to the end of
the room, back to her escape.
The monster was not far behind her. Frisk reached the final wall and she
scampered into the corridor archway.
 
YOUR SHIELD! NOW!
 
She released one hand from her sword, holding it down to her side. She swiveled
around to face the room and watched in horror as the massive monstrosity
erupted from the shadows, only a couple yards away. Frisk shot up a trembling
hand and called forth her shield in an instant. The red dazzling barrier burst
from her open palm and created a wall of liquid glass that encompassed the
entirety of the doorway.
The monster collided with the shield and began to scratch and claw and bite at
the barrier. Frisk knees buckled. She watched the creature attack her soul’s
blockade. She could see each terrible jutting tooth and scratching talon
through the red translucence. W-would her shield be able to hold back this
frantic beast?!
 
Push your shield forward! Knock it back! Then RUN!
 
There were so many questions swirling in her head. She had no clue if this
tunnel even led to an exit! For all she knew, it simply led into another
decrepit hospital room. Or more tunnels. Or into a chamber with more ghosts!
She could not be sure of anything. But the deformed wyvern's nails were
beginning to pierce and rip at her barrier. The shield’s sheen started to
quiver and Frisk knew it would not hold the monster off for much longer.
Her determination burned her chest, her neck stung and she could smell the
aroma of blood… her own blood. She was lightheaded from the all-encompassing
panic and grit her teeth and summoned forth her energy, more energy, digging
deep into the depths of her soul to conjure it. A bright flash of garnet glare
burst outward and her shield shot forward briefly, colliding with the monster,
knocking it back. It was only a temporary move, one she had used once on Sans
so long ago in the snowy forest, but it was enough to push the terrible
creature away and stun it for a split second. And in that second Frisk swerved
around and clamored down the hall.
 
RUN! RUN! RUN! HURRY UP, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!
 
Her sneakers skidded and clattered loudly upon the slippery floor. She bound
forward, running down the tunnel that seemed to twist and turn unusually. The
three deep claw marks embedded in her throat bled and she could feel flecks of
blood splattering back against her cheek as she scampered. Her heart pounded as
quickly as her sprinting feet. Frisk could feel the floor start to tremble
again. N-no! It is chasing you! It’s behind you! She did not dare turn her
head, she simply held her beaming blade out, cutting through the shadows as she
raced forward.
She turned a sharp corner within the hall and continued but… but there was
something… There was a light! A LIGHT! Frisk could see a faint glowing hue at
the very end of a long tunnel. It could be an escape… or it could be a room
with even more monstrosities. All she could do was run and pray and her
gripping determination urged her on. She clamored, lurching forward, gasping
for a pained breath. She could hear the sound of heavy growls and panting
groans a ways behind her. That monster was closing in on her fast. The ground
was shaking and she could smell its rancid breath.
And as Frisk ran forward, the light grew. It was dim and tinted red. And she
could see a doorway through the shadows. An open doorway. A broken iron gate
hung from its hinges and the archway appeared to open out into… out into the
caves! It was an exit! It was an escape!
 
COME ON!! IT’S RIGHT BEHIND YOU!
 
Frisk’s heart leapt. She darted for the exit. It was only seconds away!
And she burst out into the cavern.
 
 
She was outside, back outside in the lava caves… however, there was barely any
lava.
She was on the other side… on the opposite side of the massive iron building.
She had made it through the nightmarish laboratory alive.
And she continued to run forward through the center of the cavern. But as she
sprinted, the ground ceased shaking. The putrid stench vanished. The growls and
screeches dissipated. Frisk turned her head over her shoulder as she ran. She
could see the daunting iron building behind her… the open doorway… and the
monster… the monster lingered in the archway.
It was not chasing her. It remained in the building, as if it was bound to that
dreadful place for some reason.
Its white saucer eyes stared back at Frisk. The sight sent shivers up her
spine. And she watched as the monstrosity slowly and reluctantly turned and
disappeared within the shadows, returning to its appalling lair, defeated.
 
 
 
 
 
Frisk stumbled to a slow tread as she watched the reptilian creature disappear
back within the structure. She stared at the building. She was not being chased
anymore, yet her adrenaline continued to surge, her heart continued to pound.
She was struck with disbelief and her knees buckled and she staggered to the
floor.
Frisk dropped her box cutter upon the rocky ground and the crimson blade
vanished in an instant. She lifted both her hands to her shoulders and clutched
them tightly, bending forward, panting hard and fast as she tried to catch a
breath. Hot tears stung her eye. S-she was alive… she was alive… She was out of
that place… She was out of the darkness…
She was in such a state of shock that she barely felt any pain during her
gallant escape. But the moment she was still, the pain started to take hold.
Her neck… her throat was wet. She lowered a hand to her neck and let her
fingers graze over the wounded side. She grit her teeth sharply at the sudden
surge of agony and touched the edges of the jagged open lesions. Three claws
marks embedded deep within her throat. Somehow they had missed her jugular
artery, but the crimson continued to seep and soak the front of her hoodie a
noxious red.
Frisk pressed her open palm against the wounds and cried out again from the
pain. She tried to stop the bleeding with her hand. But it wouldn’t stop. It
continued to flow.
“S-sans…”
Frisk cried softly, tilting her head back, staring up at the large cavern
ceiling.
 
Where was he?… Where did he go?…
 
He had… he had left her… to die…
 
She clenched her teeth and held back desperate sobs as a thick film of tears
glazed over her lone eye and turned everything fuzzy. She stared at the
towering iron building on her knees, overcome with disbelief and shock.
 
 
……
 
…
 
…
 
… What now?…
 
……
 
…
 
 
Frisk eventually rose to her feet. Her legs felt gelatinous. She could barely
walk, but she managed to stand. She clutched at the box cutter and turned,
facing the vast, shadowy caverns, and began to make her way down the center of
the cave. She had to keep going. Keep going forward.
 
 
 
 
Frisk stumbled forward in a haze. Her head was foggy from the bloodloss. One of
her ankles felt sprained and she was forced to limp. The caverns around her
were much like the previous ones, although this second section of Hotland was
different, and Frisk preferred it. The space was not nearly as hot. There were
no thick, bubbling streams of lava. Instead there were deep fissures embedded
within the rocky floor. The lava was buried deep inside the crags and it made
the red light a dull umbra. It was still quite humid, but it wasn’t sweltering.
But the dim red created eerie shivering shadows within the caverns and it was
unsettling.
White ruins lined the cave walls once more. They were not nearly as
dilapidated. Frisk could actually make out structures, small adobe huts,
columns and stairs and tall two-story buildings. It was daunting, the fact that
these homes were not disheveled. In a way it almost looked like a small
village. And soon the white buildings began to extend out from the wall and
actually take up space within the center of the caves.
These weren't just isolated buildings.
No… this was…
 
… a village.
 
An extending hamlet within the caverns.
 
And soon there was no more empty space. The number of buildings increased
dramatically and they spanned over the horizon.
 
Frisk came to a stop as she reached the extensive perimeter of this newfound
village. The white buildings were crumbling and clustered in close to one
another. There were multiple pathways that ran through the structures into a
district. She would have to walk through this town… past these buildings. There
was nowhere else to go.
Frisk grit her teeth. She clutched at her sticky bloodied throat with one hand
and her knife in the other. The white stone village had an unsettling aura to
it, but it was nothing like the sense of dread she had felt from the
laboratory. And in a way it was not as daunting as the Town of Snowdin either.
Perhaps… maybe… maybe there was food or water within this place… something of
sustenance. She was so dehydrated from the bloodloss. Her stomach churned with
nausea and her head was spinning and her hands felt clammy and cold.
She slowly took a step past the frontier houses, walking in between the cluster
of buildings. There was no path to follow. This village was rather
disorganized, like it had been created haphazardly without any guidance. It was
very different from Snowdin. There was no black decaying mold, or cobblestone
road, or rhyme or reason.
Frisk sneaked by the open doorways of each home, her eye darting around inside
the small spaces. They were empty. Devoid of any furniture. Some of the
buildings had piles of white stone and rubble inside, but there was nothing to
signify that any monster once occupied them.
But as Frisk walked on through the tightly-knit groups of buildings the light
began to fade. The deep lava-filled chasms within the ground were dwindling,
and in turn the vermilion glow began to diminish. These dim crimson hues
reminded Frisk of dusk in the desert, and the shadows that rose up along the
stone buildings grew more eerie, more intimidating. That soft pulsing red… like
Sans’ gaze.
She walked on, stumbling a few times over some stray bricks. She pulled her
blood-caked hand away from her throat and pressed it against the white adobe
walls, leaving heinous trails of blood beside her, but she barely noticed it.
Her vision was starting to fade… and it was not from the darkening caverns. The
gushing wound at her throat wouldn’t stop even when she pressed her hoodie
sleeve against it.
I-I don’t want to die here… I made it through the laboratory… I don’t want to
do t-that again.
Frisk almost fell forward. She jerked to the side and pressed her shoulder into
a wall. She stared blankly in a daze, blinking her single eye, breathing slow
and heavy. Every inhale she took was painful against her torn throat. Her
fingertips… they felt numb…
“Sans…” She whispered softly under her breath and closed her eye as she leaned
the side of her head into the stone. Determination was dwindling… Hope was
fading… The pain at her neck coursed through her whole body and she thought she
could taste blood in the back of her throat. “S-sans…”
 
 
“Sans, huh?”
 
……
 
A voice.
 
…
 
 
A soft whispering voice. Lilting and haunting and… nostalgic.
 
The voice caused a tremor of shivers to run through her spine.
 
And her soul began to surge in fear.
 
Frisk faltered and pulled herself away from the wall. Her sluggish pulse began
to race again. She stumbled into a slight makeshift pathway between the
buildings and quickly turned, staring back at the house before her vision. Her
eye locked upon a shadowy open doorway.
 
T-there was a figure…
 
A figure was emerging from the darkness.
 
A human figure, small and slender.
 
…
 
Chara.
 
Chara stepped forward from the thick veil of shadows. She looked no different
from the last time Frisk had seen her, draped in that black long-sleeved
sweater and a pair of knee-length trousers. Her short, uneven raven hair framed
her face and those stone-blue eyes reflected red from the dull light around
them. She was not smiling, she was not scowling. Her expression was apathetic
andcold, like it had been during every other previous encounter.
Frisk stared back at Chara. Her shivering eye grew wide. Her lower lip quivered
and she clutched onto her throat with one hand, the blood oozing through the
spaces between her fingers.
“C-chara?… Chara…” Frisk could barely speak so instead she just stammered as
her knees quivered underneath her, struggling to keep her upright. She felt so
light-headed… but a building anger pulsed within her soul at the sight of the
demon child.
“You used to rely on me for help.” Chara spoke again. Her voice was soft but
there was a sharp underlayer of acidity buried deep within those words. “… But
Sans?… tch… What did he ever do for you? Besides defile you, that is.”
 
The girl grinned.
 
Her expression was almost smug, and Frisk could barely see her pearly teeth
past that superficial smile. Frisk scowled and clutched hard at her throat. She
couldn’t even feel the pain, her soul was drowning in a pool of outrage…
outrage and sweltering hate for this manipulative monster.
But Chara’s cagey smile refused to waver, even at the sight of Frisk’s pained
glower, and she took a step out from the archway towards Frisk and lifted a
hand up. She was reaching for Frisk. Reaching for her chest. For her soul.
“It’s alright, Manumitter. I am here now. And together, we will destroy that
beast… ” She purred. Snake-slit pupils constricted into thin needles.
“Together, we will escape this place…”
 
N-no…
 
Frisk lurched away from the girl's outstretched fingers and she scowled back at
Chara. “C-chara… you…”
Chara smiled and continued to escalate, stepping in close towards Frisk,
lifting her hands only a few inches away from the center of her chest. No… NO!
Do not let her touch you!
Frisk glared and released a hand from her bleeding throat and shoved Chara back
forcefully at her upper arm, using every meager bit of strength she still had
left. Get away from me… G-get away from me!
“Don’t touch me!” Frisk screamed. She panted heavily, shoulders rising and
falling in a rapid, frantic flux. “I-it’s your fault! All of this is YOUR
FAULT! You tainted my soul! Y-you made me kill!-…" Tears pierced her eye but
she held them back. She would not appear weak in front of this girl. No… Do not
let their appearance fool you. It is not human. It is not you. They are a liar!
They are a monster!
Chara took a slightly step backward from Frisk’s abrupt shove, but she stood
firm. She held her ground and simply rolled her shoulders back, standing up
straight. Her icy snake eyes narrowed. Her smile faded back into that stoic
demeanor. And she spoke again, her voice as cold as permafrost.
“Manumitter… none of that was my intention. Things just… got a bit carried
away, is all.”
Her smile returned.
Frisk felt sick at the sight.
“I had to pay for YOUR SINS, Chara!” Frisk cried out. She couldn’t stop the
words from coming, and her somber emotions began to twist sharply in her head
and force her tears forward. “L-look what he did to me!” She grasped a bloodied
hand over the layered bandage at the side of her face… her fingers pressed
against the gauze, against her blinded eye, a physical symbol of Sans’ hate and
retribution… and the assault.
And Frisk fell down to her knees before Chara’s feet and trembled and choked on
a sob. I-I want to die… I just want to die…
 
Chara stood over her, glancing down with that bitter, narrowed stare. Her smile
faded once more and she hesitated. But then she sunk down to her feet directly
in front of Frisk. And she lifted her arms slowly, and began to wrap them
around Frisk’s quivering shoulders in an embrace.
“… It’s going to be alright now, Manumitter.” She whispered softly against her
ear, lifting one hand to gently stroke Frisk's disheveled auburn locks back.
Her gentle touch was almost comforting…
“We will have our revenge. We will kill them all. We will kill every last one
of them.”
 
 
No… no it was not comforting…
 
Those words…
 
That phrase…
 
She is a monster. Do not find repose in this creature.
 
She is a parasite.
 
She will trick you. And infest your soul once more.
 
Your determination… it will be hers for the taking.
 
 
Frisk’s tear filled eye widened. Her heart began to hammer rapidly. She could
feel Chara’s opposite hand trail down along her blood-stained shoulder, inching
in closer. Closer to her chest. To her soul. That was all she wants. She wants
your SOUL.
Frisk abruptly shoved Chara back again, and in an instant she held the box
cutter outward.
Her thumb flicked up against the lever, unsheathing the blade, and she called
forth her sword. Bright red illumination danced down her arm and wrapped around
her hand and her burning saber appeared before her like a fearless guardian.
And Frisk panted hard and held the blade in front, between herself and the
demon child.
Chara faltered back from the sudden shove. Her cold gaze locked onto the sword.
She slowly stood up to her feet. She stared down at the shivering cutlass, eyes
narrowed, smile fading into… into a slight scowl.
Frisk had never seen her look irritated before, but in that moment she did. And
she glared down at Frisk’s sword before slowly lifted her gaze upon Frisk’s
face and that bloodied eye bandage.
“Don’t be a fool, Manumitter. You need my help. You need my strength.” Her
words were like sharp, piercing icicles straight through Frisk’s heart. But
despite those words, Frisk found courage, and she yelled back.
“Get away from me Chara!” She screamed at the monster, the false human, and
held her blade out protectively in front. Frisk’s hand was trembling, her sword
was not nearly as bright as it had been before. Her strength… was fading, but
she would defend herself. She would fight this monster, the reason for all of
her suffering, if she had to. She would not let it take her soul. Not again.
She would not let it turn her into a puppet, into a MONSTER, like her.
Chara’s cold eyes seemed to twitch in the corners. Frisk could see a
flourishing hint of frustration… like a stubborn child who was not getting
their way. But another smile spread across Chara’s features, a forced smile, as
she attempted to mask that vexation.
And Chara let out a sharp, acute chuckle.
“Hah… In time you will learn…” She sneered down at Frisk. The cavern's dim red
light created haunting shadows along her human features. “When you are in your
darkest hour, abandoned by everyone, you will call for me…”
“… And I will be by your side, Manumitter."
Chara’s sneer faded back into that calming, serene gaze. Frisk stared up at the
dark-haired child. Her shivering shoulders stilled and her sobs melted away. In
that moment, Chara almost appeared serene… and trustworthy…
 
Are you really making the right choice here?…
 
Chara reached a hand over Frisk’s blade. But Frisk could not lift it. She
simply stared back at the girl’s oncoming fingers. But they did not lurch down
towards her chest. No, instead her fingertips ran through Frisk’s tangled hair.
She pushed her bangs back softly and caressed down the side of her injured face
for a lingering moment. Frisk stared back into the girl’s ghostly eyes. She was
hypnotized. She could not look away. She could not move her sword to fight off
the girl, she was completely captivated by that steely stare.
But Chara did not try to steal her soul. She simply caressed Frisk’s cheek
before she pulled her hand back from her jawline. And after a long moment she
offered Frisk another tranquil smile. And then Chara took a step back and she
turned, facing away from Frisk, spinning towards the shadowy alcove behind her.
And she stepped forward through the curtain of black shade.
She vanished.
 
Gone.
 
And Frisk was alone…
 
Alone once more.
 
 
 
 
Frisk stared blankly at the open doorway.
Chara was gone and she did not return.
It was utterly silent and all Frisk could hear was a static buzzing of blood
rushing to her head… and a very faint pulse in her ears. She sat there on her
knees, clutching at her glowing blade and her bleeding throat.
 
She’s gone… she’s gone…
 
Frisk slowly stumbled up to her feet after a long moment. She almost fell back
down to her knees but she speared her blade into the ground to steady herself.
S-she had no energy… she was fading… Chara had left her here to bleed out…
Frisk retracted her weapon. She had no strength to keep the sword summoned. She
stumbled and pushed the box cutter into her pocket and grasped upon the corner
of a wall, leaving heinous bloodied hand prints along the way. She stepped
forward through the village once more… but each step was slow and trembling.
Her vision was fading in and out…
 
N-no! No!! Keep going… K-keep going…
 
She bit at her lower lip and fought against the fatigue that tried to hold her
back.
 
 
 
 
 
Frisk stumbled through the village slowly. Every step she took was painful and
sent a surge of agony along her injured throat. The entire front of her hoodie
was soaked in red now. It looked ghastly and the sight made her feel sick.
Frisk’s hands and feet were numb. Her fingers were ashen white from bloodloss.
She stared forward with a blank gaze. There was nothing in front of her except
more clusters of adobe houses. And as she walked her thoughts returned to
Chara… and to Sans… and to her entire dismal life…
 
…
 
S-she was past the 6th gate now… The 7th gate… lay ahead… s-somewhere…
 
Sans… where are you? Are you watching me right now?… Were you watching Chara,
too? Lying in wait?… Ready to strike?…
 
The front of her sneaker caught on a jutting stone and she tumbled forward onto
her knees and elbows painfully. She cried out and fell down to her side and lay
against the dry ground. She lifted a dirty hand to clutch at her throat… It was
still bleeding…
Her lone hazel eye glazed over, blank and lifeless. Everything… was going dark.
She knew this sensation. The familiar sense of letting go…
Everything was cold and cloudy and silent. She couldn’t hear a thing, not even
the sound of her own heavy breathing.
 
B-but… there was something…
 
Something was moving… something was moving within a distant doorway…
 
W-was it Chara?
 
Had Chara come back to save her from death?
 
…
 
N-no… that was not Chara…
 
Frisk squinted, staring weakly at the feet of a figure emerging from one of the
multiple shadowy archways in her line of sight. The figure was small and draped
in all black. She couldn’t see their face… they had a hood up and… a mask on… A
dark mask of black cloth…
 
W-was this an illusion?
 
Perhaps it was the grim reaper, come to take her away.
 
Frisk's soul pulsed softly. The figure moved in closer.
 
She saw four sets of arms rise up from their sides…
 
Four arms… another monster…
 
Frisk almost released a delirious chuckle, trapped in a fatal daze. Of course
it was another monster…
 
And the creature swept in close, crouching down directly in front of her. Frisk
tried to look up at their face but obsidian shadows of death began to creep
across her vision, obscuring everything instantly.
 
And soon her limbs lay still.
 
And it all went dark.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: What is history but a fable agreed upon?
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Alphys is disturbing. And so are her ‘pets’. I hope we don’t see any
     of that again. Also, god dammit, Chara! Between Sans and Chara, will
     Frisk ever catch a break? The poor kid just wants to go home!
     And who could that four-armed friendo be? An ally? An enemy? I guess
     you'll find out in the next chapter, comin' soon.
     P.S. Chapter 26 will contain a lengthy history about Sans, Chara and
     the rest of the Underground’s past. Many questions will be answered
     here, so be ready for that mess! Nyeheheh~
     /////////////////////
***** XXVI *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 26: The Underground.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hey guys!
     Are ya'll ready for a dang history lesson!? Hah! ( ͡o ͜ʖ ͡o)
     First I wanna share some AMAZING fan art!!! AAAHHHH! Ammy drew some
     spectacular comics of Papy's death scene. It's so incredible, as
     always! And there are so many of them too ♥ Thank you thank you thank
     you Ammy! I love them to DEATH (pun intended *snickers*) Everyone go
     check them out on their Instagram here:
     X X X X X X X
     ALSO Dolly from Tumblr drew some awesome art that I am obsessed with!
     I love the design of Sans in this… it is very UNFS *melts* Go take a
     look at it on their Tumblr here. Thank you, Dolly! Your work is
     incredible and I am so grateful for all the love!
     So Chapter 26… Frisk finally gets a much needed break. Hopefully this
     chapter will clear up a lot of questions about a wide variety of
     character's pasts. Lot of stuff happening here. Muffet and a ton of
     new character mentions. I hope that it is not too difficult of a
     read, concept wise. No real warnings are required for this one except
     there is a violent flashback that contains domestic violence, death
     and suicide, so please be aware of that.
     I think that is all. Anyways, enjoy!
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
 
…
 
It was dark…
 
And… and warm.
 
And a softness wrapped around her shoulders and supported the side of her head.
 
…
 
Loud footsteps clattered up and down the hall…
 
That noise… those footfalls… it had woken her.
 
She was in bed.
 
In her own bed, back home.
 
There was fleece fabric wrapped tight around her shoulders. She lifted her
hands and slowly dug the tips of her fingers into the edge of the blanket,
pulling it up higher to her chin. And she opened her eyes.
It was dark, except for a small horizontal ray of yellow light that seeped
underneath the bedroom door. The light ran along the floor and extended outward
into the shadows towards her bedframe.
Frisk glanced at the nightstand tabletop right beside her, still half asleep.
The digital clock read ‘3:15 am’ in soft glowing red numbers. It was so late…
the middle of the night… She had school in the morning. And those heavy
footfalls again… scampering loudly down the hall, right outside her bedroom
door.
She could hear the sound of yelling. Mom and dad… they were yelling…
 
Mom… mom was screaming…
 
Dad was shouting…
 
There was a sound… a wet splatter… like something had been spilled.
 
A jabbing blow, over and over, like something was hitting against the tilted
kitchen floor repeatedly…
 
Frisk shut her eyes and scooped her hands underneath her pillow, pressing
either side of it hard against her ears to block out the sound. But the
silence-shattering shouting made its way through the thick downy. It was
muffled and frantic and she couldn’t make out the words…
It barely sounded like words at all… it was just… just screams.
 
…
 
W-why?…
 
…
 
Then there was a loud crash. Frisk’s eyes shot open and she stared back at the
bedroom door. Her small heart began to pound frantically and her shoulders
shook. Something was wrong. Mom and dad fought all the time, but usually it was
just yelling, not screams. And she could only hear the sound of her mother's
voice now. It sounded shrill and panicked and a weighing fear began to convulse
in the pit of Frisk’s stomach.
The sound of more heavy footsteps running down the hall sent her panic reeling
and Frisk quickly jolted upright in bed. She clutched at her blanket, pulling
it over her shoulders, staring at the light under the door. M-more footsteps…
w-was that dad? Would he come in here?? Her fear surged and she immediately
slipped down the side of the bed onto the ground. She quietly rolled underneath
the bedframe and settled in the small, cramped space between the mattress and
the floor. And she clutched her blanket tightly against her chest. Her eyes
locked onto the thin line of light… watching… waiting… The sound of her
mother's ghastly screams pierced her ears so painfully, but… but they were
growing weaker.
 
W-what was happening?!
 
She was so scared. She was shaking and it was hard to breathe and she saw the
bottom of her father's shoes underneath the doorway. She saw them over and over
again. He was pacing up and down the hall. She heard him shout out as if in a
rage. The sound of his voice made her skin crawl. She could still hear mom
crying out. And then she watched those large, black shoes stampede down the
hall for a final time, towards the back rooms, and they did not return. A door
swung open and slammed shut so vigorously that it shook the entire house.
 
And it was quiet…
… except for the fading blusters of sobs and groans.
Her mother’s voice… her mother was still crying out.
 
Frisk clutched at the hem of her blanket in two small fists. She trembled and
held the fleece blanket up over her mouth to quiet every inhale she took. And
she remained under the bed, cowering, terrified, listening the sounds of the
wails growing weaker. And after a few moments the cries faded into nothing.
It was silent.
No more screams, no more shouts. The only thing Frisk could hear was the sound
of her own pulse storming inside her head. She didn’t feel good. Her stomach
hurt and her hands felt clammy from concern and fear.
But it was so quiet now.
 
So quiet…
 
Frisk hesitated. She remained hidden under her bed for a while longer, eyes
locked upon the lateral ray of light. The entire household seemed to have come
to a standstill and very slowly Frisk wormed her way out from underneath the
bed. She pulled her blanket over her shoulders and stepped towards the bedroom
door. She pressed her ear against it, listening carefully for any sound,
anything at all, but it was still. Silent.
And she wrapped her hand around the metal knob and slowly pushed the door open.
All the lights in the hallway were turned on, but it provided little comfort.
Frisk tilted her head and stared down the hall towards the living room. The
lights in that room were not on and it was dreary and veiled in ominous
shadows. Frisk glanced over her shoulder back at the opposite stretch of hall.
Her father was nowhere to be seen… and her mother… Where was her mother?
She tiptoed down the hall towards the living room. Her fingers clutching
tightly around the fluffy quilt that cloaked her shoulders and wrapped around
the back of her neck. H-her heart… was racing for some reason. She stepped out
into the obscured space and automatically turned to face the open archway of
the kitchen right beside her.
 
But… her heart began to sink…
 
Someone was lying upon the floor, unmoving.
 
S-someone…
 
“Mom?…” Frisk whispered. Her voice cracked and trembled. I-it was mom… Her
mother lay on her side, facing away. All Frisk could see was the back of her
head and the dark collared shirt and jeans she wore. But she wasn’t moving. She
was still… completely still.
“M-mom?” Frisk whispered again, even softer, and she took slow steps forward.
She stepped around her mother to face her. It was dark in the kitchen, only the
pale distant light from the hallway illuminated the space.
 
But even through the shadows she could see…
 
She could see it…
 
And Frisk dropped her blanket and staggered backwards at the sight.
 
Blood.
 
Blood and one single deep open wound… through her throat.
 
Frisk cried out and clamped her small hands over her eyes. The shock and terror
clutched around her lungs and stomach. She felt sick, she couldn’t breath, and
uncontrollable sobs erupted from her throat. Her knees buckled and she almost
fell to the floor, but instead she stammered backwards into the sink.
Her mother lay limp, eyes lidded and glazed over and lifeless. Her throat was
slashed clean through, almost decapitating the head entirely. And the butcher
knife, the murder weapon, pierced directly at the center of the woman’s chest.
Dark, glossy crimson stained her shirt and pooled around the blade’s impact.
Ruby extract spilled from the massive laceration at her throat and began to
permeate along the kitchen tiles like gentle ripples upon the surface of a
pond.
“Mommy-…” Frisk sobbed out. Her chin quivered and tears began to spill from her
eyes. She parted her fingers and stared back at her mother's mutilated lifeless
corpse. She cried out, stuck in a spiral of disbelief and fear and shock. And
she shut her eyes but the vision of the blood and trauma had already been
engraved in her mind. Forever.
 
There was a noise. It shook her to the core. A loud, jarring bang against a
door in the distance. The sound came from the hallway. Frisk held her breath in
her throat, struggling against each heavy sob. The boisterous blow from the
hall made her muscles tense. And she scampered out of the kitchen, away from
the atrocious sight, as fast as she could. She ran through the shadowy living
room and turned sharply down the hall.
“DAD!!!! Dad!!!” She could barely breathe as she coughed against her own fierce
sobs. She sprinted down the corridor, past her room, to the opposite end of the
hall. Her parent's bedroom door was ajar and she quickly glanced inside, but it
was empty. “D-dad…”
Frisk whimpered out and stepped in the room. The space was a dreadful disarray
of turmoil. Furniture had been knocked over. Various trinkets had been smashed
to pieces. The vanity mirror had been shattered. Reflective bits of glass lay
scattered about the floor, as well as books, jewelry, various papers, the
flickering table lamp. It was as if… as i-if there had been some sort of
terrible fight… And Frisk tore her red, puffy gaze away from the chaos and
stared at the bathroom door upon the opposite wall.
The door was closed, but she could see a light seeping through the small space
at the bottom. Moving light. Frisk ran towards the door and started to pound
her fists against it, crying out, hyperventilating.
“D-daddy! Mommy needs help!! Dad!! A-are you- i-in there?!” She sobbed between
each word and wrapped her trembling hands around the doorknob. She had expected
it to be locked like usual, but… but the knob turned and the door opened just a
few inches… until it caught on something.
Frisk’s panicked pleads wrenched in her throat. She attempted to push the door
forward against whatever was blocking it. There was something hindering the
door.
“… D-dad?" The ‘something’ was heavy… Heavy and… h-hanging. Frisk used all her
strength and she drove the door open just enough to peer inside the cramped
lavatory.
 
And her eyes went wide.
 
Her pupils constricted in the light.
 
Dad…
 
He was suspended overhead…
 
Dangling from the rafters…
 
… by a belt…
 
Blood dripped from his limp hands.
 
His eyes were immense, bulging, blood-shot.
 
And he swung softly in small twining circles by the throat.
 
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
 
……
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
Frisk…
 
……
 
It's a cruel world…
 
…
 
An unfair life…
 
…
 
But……
 
………
 
…
 
… don't become who hurt you.
 
…
 
………
 
……
 
 
…
 
…
 
 
Frisk slowly opened her eye. Onyx haze shivered along her vision. Everything
was blurry, like peering through a pane of frosted glass.
 
…
 
A dream…
 
…
 
A distant memory…
 
…
 
Her shoulders shook as the details of her childhood sunk back down, submerging
underneath layers of protective blockades deep within her subconscious. Her
vision slowly came back into focus… slowly… slowly…
 
…
 
W-where… where was she?
 
Her throat had been slashed by three thick egregious claws. She had been…
bleeding…
 
She had been so close to death.
 
Had she died?…
 
S-shouldn’t she be back in Hotland right now? Back at the candle?
 
Frisk dared not move. She was so hungry… so thirsty… and she took in shallow
breaths as her lone, lidded eye slowly examined the space before her.
She was in a room.
It was small. The walls were white stone and splintered in various sections.
The floor was also made of the same rubbed ivory rock and Frisk immediately
recognized the building material. This was the inside of an adobe shack… yes,
one of those small meager homes that composed the disorganized village in
Hotland… S-she had been trekking through that village. She had come across
Chara…
 
But then… then Chara left her… She fought off Chara’s advances… and that demon
had left her to bleed to death.
 
Every detail slowly began to swell forth, flooding each crevice of her
thoughts. The lab, that terrible reptilian monster with those ghostly white
pearls for eyes and its horrifying apparitions like summoned puppets. S-she had
escaped… she had escaped somehow. Sans… Sans had abandoned her within that
nightmare… And then she had come across Chara… and then she saw another
monster… four arms… and… that was all she could remember.
Frisk attempted to lift a hand to rub at her eye, but her hand was buried under
soft layers of cloth. A thick blanket wrapped over her shoulders. She was
laying in a pile of fabric and quilts. W-what the hell…… Frisk feathered her
fingers around the blankets underneath, examining the strange makeshift bed
carefully. Her fingertips grazed against her own torso and she immediately
realized that she was missing her hoodie. A terrible sweeping sensation of
dread began to burrow in the pit of her stomach. O-oh, god… her hoodie…
 
She was not in Hotland. She had not reset. Somehow, she had not died. And she
was in some sort of bed in a strange house without her hoodie on.
 
Frisk’s thoughts rapidly spiraled to Sans and his assault. The building
distress pilled up and churned inside her stomach. D-did something happen!? Had
Sans brought her to this place??? Had he assaulted her again!? Why else would
she be missing her top!! Frisk quickly grazed her fingers upwards, but her
fingertips caught against the middle of her bra. At least she still had that
on… She pressed her hand down against her chest and could feel the pulsing
warmth deep inside. So she still had her soul as well. And her opposite hand
grazed down past her thigh and she felt over her shorts. They were still on
too, still buttoned.
Frisk lifted her hands up to the blanket and wrapped it even tighter around her
shoulders. It was a simple dark fabric, perhaps cotton, weaved together with
black thread. She held the edge of the material up to her nose and took in its
scent. It smelled like freshly tilled soil and in a way the aroma was almost
soothing. It reminded her of the forest back home… Warm summertime in the
woods.
She peered over the edge of the blanket back into the room that surrounded her.
Her gaze narrowed in on the only source of light. Directly before her, in the
center of the room, was a low wooden table and upon the table sat a candle-lit
lantern. Frisk leered keenly at the candle, but it was not a savepoint. Just an
ordinary candle with a wick and oozing opaque tan wax. There were no windows in
the room, and the only illumination came from that single lantern. The room was
pretty much desolate besides the bed she lay in, the table and lamp, and small
stack of wooden crates in one of the further corners.
Her eye traveled over towards the opposite side and she noticed what appeared
to be the top steps of some stairs. A staircase embedded within the floor… So
she must be residing on the second floor of a building. She remembered seeing
two-story structures scattered around the village. Had she ended up in one of
those enclosures?
 
And who the hell brought her here!?
 
A vision of that small, curious four-armed creature dressed all in black
floated across her mind’s eye.
 
T-that monster… Had that monster brought her to this room?
 
Frisk shifted against the blankets and attempted to sit up, but her movements
were immediately followed by a taut discomfort at the side of her throat. She
hesitated and swiftly lifted her fingertips against the side of her neck. There
was a thin layer of gauze there… right where she had been injured back in the
laboratory. Frisk inched her fingers slowly over the encompassing bandage and
she thought she could feel shallow ridges underneath it… small raised lines
running across her flesh… s-stitches?!
She pressed hard against what felt like sutured thread. It clasped her injuries
shut. It stung terribly, but she could make out each small pleated seam
underneath the gauze with her fingertips. Someone… had… sewn her injuries shut…
Someone had put a stop to the bleeding by stitching up each open lesion.
 
W-who!?
 
Frisk’s mind was racing. She grit her teeth and fought through the pain and
pushed herself up to a seat. She pulled the blanket over her shoulders to
conceal her barely clothed chest and quickly glanced around the room again,
mainly scanning the space for her hoodie. Her eye locked upon the top of the
stairs and the thought of making a run for it drilled through her cogitation.
She shifted up to her knees, her shivering single gaze aimed for the steps. And
she was moments away from standing, when…
 
Footsteps.
 
She heard footsteps. They were soft and echoed downstairs. Each footfall grew
louder as they began to ascend up the steps. Frisk went rigid with dread and
she immediately backed up into the wall behind her. S-should she pretend to be
asleep!? Pull out her box cutter and fight it?? Oh, god… oh, god!
But before she could act, she saw the head of a cloaked creature sprouting from
the hole embedded within the corner. They stepped up each stair and entered the
room in a slow, steady pace. And Frisk’s lone eye went wide at the sight.
 
T-the four-armed monster…
 
It was a monster, yes. But they were smaller than most of the creatures Frisk
had encountered. In a way they almost looked human, besides the multiple arms
that sprouted from either side, of course. It wore a long black cloak with the
hood pulled up, but the black face mask that Frisk had seen back in Hotland was
gone. Frisk could see their face clearly through the pale haze. The monster had
humanoid features, a heart-shaped profile and their skin was a shade of elegant
grey with a hint of lavender stirred in. Its eyes were two large black marbles
tapered at the ends. And it appeared to have a third eye directly within the
middle of its forehead like some glossy jet black gemstone. The monster's mouth
was thin and curled in the corners and Frisk could just barely see two small
jutting fangs that pointed down from its upper jaw. The more she stared at the
creature, the more she realized that this fiend was actually… actually female.
The monster stared back at Frisk and all three of her obsidian eyes went wide.
Frisk’s stomach churned at the sight, and her lone eye darted from the
monster’s face to her four hovering arms. She… she was holding Frisk’s hoodie
in one hand, and two bowls of something in the others. Her fourth and final
hand was empty and she used it to pull down her cloaks’ cowl, revealing
straight sable hair tied back in two knots.
“Oh, dearie! You are awake!”
 
S-she spoke… the monster… this strange, almost spider-like creature just spoke…
 
Did she-… did she just call her ‘dearie’?
 
Frisk couldn’t respond. She just stared back at the figure completely
dumbfounded and horrified. Her gaze darted from the creature’s features to the
hoodie in her hand. It… it wasn’t soaked in blood or grime anymore. It looked
relatively clean and it was folded in a neat and tidy square. Although Frisk
could still barely make out a faint stain of red along the fabric where the
blood just wouldn’t wash out.
The feminine creature stared back at Frisk and seemed to consider her terrified
expression. A gentle smile appeared along her features. It looked genuine, and
the spider lowered her multiple arms down to her sides to appear as
nonthreatening as possible.
“No need to be afraid. I promise I have no ill intentions,” Her voice was high,
feathery and echoed within her chest. The monster smiled again and Frisk caught
a glimpse of those thick pairs of fangs at either side like two sharpened
tusks. It sent a terrible wave of anxiety up and down Frisk’s spine, but
despite it all her soul did not sense a malicious aura from this monster. Frisk
had met a handful of beasts in the Underground, and she had not once ever
sensed an aura like this. It was soft… almost sympathetic… and completely
caught her off guard.
 
N-no… no way… this is a monster! The monsters… t-they all just want her dead!
 
Frisk could not shake the horror that was painted across her face as she stared
back at the creature on the other side of the room, completely paralyzed. But
the spider took a few slow steps forward until she reached the small wooden
table, and placed the two bowls upon the surface. Then she stepped around the
low furniture and moved in closer… and closer… and closer until she stood over
the blankets where Frisk nestled.
“You were in quite a bad place, dear. I didn’t think you would pull through,
heehee.”
 
Did she just giggle?
 
The spider creature crouched down directly before Frisk and lifted the folded
hoodie up in all four of her slender hands. And she spoke again.
“Sometimes, stains can become permanent… but that doesn't mean we should simply
throw it all away.”
 
……
 
The monster’s voice… it was gentle… fluid. Those polished obsidian eyes stared
back into Frisk’s shivering gaze. Frisk knew this creature was speaking about
her hoodie, but… but those words were laced with an esoteric notion of
understanding.
And an influx of sadness weighed deep within Frisk’s heart.
She took in a heavy inhale, fighting back a sob, and lowered her gaze away from
the creature’s triple orbs. She lifted her trembling hands and took the folded
clothing from the monster and pressed it against her chest. Frisk clenched her
teeth and her shoulders shook. But the spider said nothing in return, and Frisk
was thankful for the silence. And after a moment the monster rose back up and
stepped to the middle of the room, taking a seat on the floor behind the low
circular table.
Frisk watched the creature sit before she glanced down at her clothes. The
sadness stuck with her, a permanent fixture. She unfolded the hoodie against
her lap and studied it over. It had indeed been washed and the blood stains
were now faint rings of muted coral. The fabric was slightly damp. But Frisk
wasted no time in pulling the hoodie back over her head to conceal herself.
Although she remained within the blankets - they were warm and provided a
nostalgic comfort that Frisk had not felt in so, so long.
She pushed her messy hazel bangs out of her eyes, looping a lock behind her
ear, and stared back at the spider who was staring back at her. One hand rose
instinctively up to the side of her neck and Frisk grazed her digits over the
bandaged stitches.
“Ah… er-… I-” Frisk stammered, unsure of what to say. She wanted to thank this
creature, but the words wouldn’t come. The spider smiled again as the gentle
illumination from the dim lantern light outlined those eerie human-like
features.
“You may call me Muffet, dear.”
 
M-muffet?
 
“W-where… where are we?…” Frisk finally managed to ask in her frightened
wavering speech. Muffet lifted two of her four hands and adjusted the bowls in
front of her. Frisk couldn’t see what was in them from her current angle and
the curiosity was nagging. Her swelling hunger and thirst returned upon her in
full force.
“Oh, this is my house. It’s not much, but it is quite safe.” Muffet almost
giggled again as she spoke in such an aloof manner, “You lost a lot of blood,
honey. You should come eat. I promise you that it is nothing foul.” Frisk’s
heart started to race with dread at those words, but the aura that emitted from
Muffet remained genuine.
 
F-food? Actual food!?
 
Frisk honestly could not even remember the last time she had a decent meal. And
now she was in a strange monsters house, who had stitched up her injuries and
washed the blood from her clothes and was offering her dinner. It was almost
too good to be true, but Frisk couldn’t fight the taxing unease that churned in
her gut.
Muffet noticed Frisk’s hesitation and simply smiled, “Come take a look for
yourself.” She pushed both clay bowls to the opposite side of the table towards
Frisk.
And Frisk shifted in the blankets and leaned forward, slipping out from
underneath the thick pile of fabric, up to her feet. The moment she stood her
knees buckled and she almost toppled over. Frisk gripped at the stone wall
behind to catch herself. Her head was spinning.
“Oh, be careful, dear. You did lose a lot of blood.” Muffet sounded
authentically troubled as she watched Frisk struggle. There was no sarcasm or
hint of ire in her tone, but despite that Frisk could barely believe the
sincerity. And she forced her feet to steady and stepped over towards the
table. She sunk down to her knees and took a seat on the stone ground.
Frisk glanced at the two ceramic bowls before her. One of them contained
nothing but clear water. And the other contained…
 
…
 
Mushrooms?
 
Frisk blinked. Her thoughts were darting around in her head. What the heck… m-
mushrooms? Seriously? A stew of brown mushrooms. They were small, cooked and
steam rose from each one of them. Frisk caught the scent that wafted in the
air… and it actually smelled good.
Muffet watched Frisk carefully and lifted all four of her arms up, resting her
elbows against the tabletop. “These little morsels are a godsend, heehee. They
almost taste like meat. I’m sure if the rest of the Underground had access to
them then they would not have lost themselves so quickly. But it’s all
vegetarian, I assure you, dearie.”
Frisk listened and slowly glanced back up at Muffet. Was this a trick? A trap?
Was this food poisoned? W-why wasn’t this creature trying to eat her? Or steal
her soul? Or worse? T-this couldn’t possibly be… Was she dreaming? This had to
be a dream. Every creature in this place had been so evil and malicious… So
why? Why was this one helping her now? And Frisk sat there completely
dumbfounded, staring at the feminine monster opposite the table.
“Are you… going to e-eat me?…” Frisk asked rather bluntly. Normally she was so
much more cautious with her choice of words. But the fatigue and hunger had
temporarily torn down her filter and she just spoke her thoughts out loud.
And much to Frisk's surprise, Muffet giggled again.
“Oh, no no, dear! I have not gone astray like the others. I will always have my
manners.” Muffet said with a lighthearted tone and lifted a hand, brushing a
loose strand of slate-black hair back. She blinked all three of her eyes in
unison and reached an idle hand over the table, pushing the bowl of water
closer towards Frisk. “… You should probably drink first. You are dehydrated.”
If this was a trick, then Frisk would have to just accept it. Her thirst clawed
along the inside of her throat. She stared down at the bowl of water, clear and
shimmering in the faint light, and her mouth salivated. She couldn’t fight it,
she wouldn’t fight it, and Frisk scooped both her hands around the bowl and
lifted it to her lips and took a deep drink.
It tasted fine, just like ordinary water. Maybe a little sulfuric, perhaps from
Hotland’s atmosphere. Frisk downed the water instantly and gasped for a breath
once she had finished. She glanced down at the mushrooms and took in their
scent again. The aroma made her stomach growl… s-so hungry…She picked up one of
the mushrooms between her thumb and forefinger and popped it in her mouth.
It tasted good. Better than good actually. It was quite good. So much better
than all of those stale vending-machine snacks she had been munching on. And
Frisk quickly began to scarf down the stew with her hand.
“Don’t choke now, dear. There’s more if you are still hungry.” Muffet said with
a kind smile. She rested her chin in two open palms, watching Frisk. She almost
seemed flattered by Frisk’s eagerness. And after a long moment of watching the
girl devour the mushroom medley, she spoke again.
“Dear, how did you get those wounds, if I may ask?” She lifted one of her lower
limbs up and pointed across the table at Frisk’s throat. “They were quite
deep…”
Frisk tore her gaze away from the food and blinked back at Muffet. She chewed
and swallowed down the morsels in her mouth, rubbing at her lips with the back
of her hand. Her opposite fingers grazed over the bandage. Frisk saw no reason
to lie about it, so she responded in turn.
“I was in a large building… made out of metal. There was a creature in there…
It attacked me… “ Frisk tried to keep her story as vague as possible. Perhaps
Muffet knew of this building already, since they were not too far away from it.
And Frisk watched Muffet’s expression morph from an idle smile to a deep-seated
look of concern.
“Oh, my. So you were in the laboratory?” Muffet asked with a furrowed brow. The
round discordant eye upon her forehead blinked slowly.
 
So that structure really was some kind of laboratory, after all…
 
Frisk nodded and Muffet spoke again in a heavy whisper, as if she was speaking
moreso to herself than to Frisk, “I knew Alphys was still alive in there… “
 
That ghastly blood-stained reptile was named Alphys, then.
 
Frisk wanted to ask Muffet about the ghostly creatures that Alphys had
summoned, but instead she slouched forward and stared down at the remaining
mushrooms.
“And what of that wound, dear?” Muffet pointed to the thick patch of gauze over
her eye. Frisk hesitated and kept her gaze lowered. Her heart started to pound
quickly at the mere mention of her blinded vision and her hands began to
quiver. S-sans… Muffet watched Frisk’s reaction and frowned and lowered her
arm. She took note of the girl's reaction to her question and spoke softly.
“I suppose not every wound requires a story.” The spider’s words trailed off.
Frisk’s throat felt thick. She fought the tears that began to sting against the
back of her single eye, but Muffet spoke again abruptly and it cut through
Frisk’s building lament.
“I am aware you are a human, dear. But tell me, how did you get to this place?
It should not be possible…”
Frisk’s sadness was quickly replaced with anxiety. She lifted her glazed eye
from the ceramic bowl and stared up at Muffet opposite her. The candle-lit
lantern sat between them and illuminated the small space a gentle flickering
orange.
 
Is it safe to tell this creature the truth? That you are indeed the Manumitter?
The one who is destined to destroy them all?
 
Frisk chewed at the tip of her tongue. But… if this monster was going to kill
her, then she’d have done it by now. She had ample opportunity to do it many
times. so Frisk spoke. “I… I’m here to… open the gates…”
Muffet shifted in her seat. Her lustrous eyes widened for just a brief moment
at the girl's words, but the shock seemed to settle within her almost instantly
and the spider nodded her head. “Ah… I see. So you are the one. The
Manumitter.” She seemed to accept it with ease. Her initial surprise faded away
and Muffet simply tilted her head, watching Frisk curiously.
 
She won’t kill you. She is not cruel. Her aura… her soul… it is benevolent.
 
“Muffet…” Frisk began and she averted her gaze from the monster, staring down
at the lantern’s small dancing ember. “… I know that… the Manumitter is… is
seen as some sort of destructive killer… But I am not, I swear.” As Frisk spoke
she couldn’t help the pang of guilt she felt deep in her soul. She was a
killer. Well, she had been one… not on her own free will of course, but did
that really matter when it came to murder?… W-was she lying by saying these
words? No. No, she was not a killer. That was Chara. That was Chara.
Muffet smiled softly back at Frisk, much to her surprise. “I know, dearie.”
 
…
 
She knows?
 
Frisk blinked, taken aback by those words and the gentle look that painted
across the spiders uncanny features. “Every monster I have come across has
tried to-… to kill me… or eat me!… Some don’t even care that I am here to free
them- ” Frisk’s spilled forth. She had held these thoughts and emotions inside
her for so long, she couldn’t stop them as each word erupted from her lips. And
Muffet nodded back at her.
“Oh, they all longed for freedom once. But most of us down here have become
twisted and warped… with hunger. Now they simply want to survive.”
Frisk stared back at Muffet, stunned. There was so much that she did not know
about this world… this strange, terrible Underground… b-but was it always this
atrocious? The way Muffet spoke, it was as if this spider once knew of a
happier past. This whole time Frisk thought she was in a perpetual heinous
hell, but perhaps something made it this way. Perhaps it was not as black and
white as she thought.
“Muffet…” Frisk began again. She clutched into the edge of the round table with
both hands. “Has the Underground always been like this?” She didn’t have to
specify what she meant, Muffet knew exactly what she was referring to. The
contaminated rot… and evil… The acrimony that infected everyone and everything.
Muffet stared out towards the side of the room, “Not always, dear…” Her words
had become a soft murmur filled with a placid unrest.
“… What happened?” Frisk was not sure if it was appropriate to ask, but she had
a right to know. She had a right to know why every monster in this god forsaken
place wanted to kill her, or simply feast upon her. And why she had been
labeled a killer before she even stepped foot within this cursed purgatory.
Muffet lifted her gaze. Her brow furrowed and she blinked each eye slowly in
turn. They looked like small pools of ink in the shivering candlelight. “Well…
It is quite a tale, honey. But I suppose you should hear it… you are the true
Manumitter, after all.”
Frisk leaned forward, pressing her chest against the edge of the table. “Please
tell me… please… I must know…” Frisk quietly begged the monster and Muffet hung
her head. A pained smile returned to her lips, like she was digging deep inside
her soul, extracting a string of haunting memories.
Muffet rested all four of her arms upon the table top, and she began.
 
“The Underground… Well, you see dear, this place has not always been as
dreadful as it is now. That being said, this world has never been pleasant,
either… what with the cold, toxic mold and heat… and not every monster had
favorable intentions… but it was far superior to this. We had food, ample
amounts of food at one time. Almost everyone down here must feast upon meat to
survive, and we had plenty of that.”
Frisk’s curiosity bubbled in her head. She wanted to ask what meat it was
exactly that they feasted upon. But she thought better of it and listened in
silence.
 
"… And these multiple locked gates you have seen, these gates you are currently
opening one by one… they were not always in place. The Underground was not
always locked up in these fatal sections as it is now. Each village was
bustling. Everyone was allowed to roam freely.” Muffet smiled softly and
glanced down to her own hands, relishing in a distant memory of a more peaceful
time.
“However… the Underground has always been locked away from your world, dear.
Locked away from the Above, heehee. That is what we once called it. And that is
just how it is. The first gate and the final threshold, two limits that could
never be opened. We could not enter the human world, but oh how we wished that
we could.”
 
The gates… The Above?…
 
Frisk’s lone eye grew wide as she considered each word Muffet uttered. It was
hard to believe that at one time this desolate, forsaken abyss could have
actually contained active towns with bustling monsters going about their
everyday lives. It was hard to picture the decrepit villages as anything more
than abandoned destruction sites. The town of Snowdin… Had that place once been
operational and functioning? Filled with monster families? Frisk’s inquisitive
questions were grinding in her skull but Muffet’s gentle smile never wavered
and she continued.
“We had a King once, if you can believe that. He was a powerful, mighty ruler.
Firm but fair. And he guided the Underground with capable precedent. King
Asgore.”
 
A… King?…
 
“As the legend goes, King Asgore was visited in a dream one night. And in his
dream he received a prophecy. This prophecy stated that a savior would descend
upon us from the Above. A human would enter the Underground, and open that
final gate. And we would leave behind the bitter cold, the noxious decay and
the sweltering heat. We would be free.”
 
T-the prophecy…
 
“Asgore was quite keen on this prophecy, this hope. He spread the word to the
entire Underground. Everyone knew of it, and we all waited patiently for this
savior, for this Manumitter to appear.” Muffet’s steady smile dithered as she
spoke. She pressed all four of her palms flat against the tabletop and her
fingertips traced around each small crevice embedded within the wood.
“… And one day… she did.”
Frisk’s hands automatically clenched tight against the edge of the table. She
leaned in further, staring back at Muffet, captivated by the tale. But Frisk
could feel a concealed melancholy that tinted Muffet's aura.
“… A small human child with hair as dark as the night… and eyes as blue as the
frozen lakes of Snowdin forest.”
 
Frisk’s blood ran cold. Her arms began to shiver. The light hairs at the back
of her neck each stood on end.
 
That description… T-those eyes… Could it be… C-could it be-……
 
“When the girl first arrived in the Underground she was injured and sickly. She
was found wandering through the mold-infested forest outside Snowdin. And
Asgore took her in, watched over her, nursed her back to health, treated her
like family, she was the Manumitter after all.” Muffet’s head hung low. Her
dark bangs fell over the lone centermost eye at her forehead. All four of her
hands rolled up into steadfast fists.
“I remember seeing her once… that child. Asgore had come to Hotland. This was
back when I owned a little bakery, mind you. My minced Temmie pies were once
quite famous throughout the Underground, heehee.” That forced smiled again.
“Anyway, Asgore came to visit and he made a purchase from my store. The human
child was with him. I can still see those blue eyes to this day. Very unusual,
even for a human. Something about those eyes… filled me with… unease. I should
have known it back then, but we were all too desperate to see it. And the most
desperate of all… was Asgore. He wanted to free his citizens so terribly that
he had become blind to the manipulation.” Muffet recalled the memory, her
solemn gaze stuck upon the gleaming lantern.
Frisk ground her teeth together as her pulse raced. She couldn’t speak, she
simply stared back at Muffet while the spider's tale spun a net of fear and
dread deep within her soul.
“You see this human, as we all believed her to be, was no human at all. Her
appearance was her deception, and we all fell for it. But Asgore… he fell the
hardest.” Muffet let out a sigh and allowed her eyes to close. “This human was
a monster. A monster, just like all the rest of us. And this impostor… well…
she had little interest in freedom. No, this monster simply wanted power. Power
to rule this world, this Underground, and all of its inhabitants.”
Frisk’s trembling breath caught in her lungs and she muttered. “Chara…” She
couldn’t hold back the name… that cursed name. It seeped from her lips.
Muffet’s triple orbs immediately opened and she stared back at Frisk from
across the table with a surprised look of awe. “So you already know of Chara,
then? Yes, yes that was her name… Chara.”
Frisk’s eye locked upon the meager dancing ember within the lantern. She
watched the bright, reflective glow it created against the glass panels. Her
soul felt heavy… and her head felt hot. Muffet shifted in her seat and
continued.
“As the story goes, this false Manumitter ambushed our King while he slept upon
his throne. And after she murdered him she stole his soul and pushed it into
her chest, combining it with her own tainted essence, stealing his power. All
monster souls are different. Some are quite weak while others are very potent.
Asgore… he had a powerful soul. Chara recognized that and she wanted for
herself. And to obtain it, she did something forbidden. It is prohibited to
seize another’s soul and use it as your own, you see. It is a heinous act.
Corrupt, disgraceful, malicious. It is a step further than murder. It is…
taboo.”
Frisk did everything she could to keep her shoulders from trembling. Muffet’s
words… they were like daggers in her heart. Chara… w-why?… Something Sans had
once said rippled along the periphery of her recollection.
 
'chara is an abomination.'
 
……
 
…
 
Muffet watched Frisk’s reactions. She continued on.
“So, Chara then had two souls… two souls. It was unheard of. Her power… It was
unparalleled. And she made her way through the Underground, killing as she
went. She resurrected the walls with this power. She divided this world into
sections to control each village and city with ease. Eight gates, each one
sealed with her power. And as she began her genocide, she collected more souls.
She would harvest them from each kill. She would plunder their spirits for
herself, stealing their power no matter how frail or futile it was. It all
simply added to her tarnished strength.”
Muffet rolled her shoulders back and she lifted her head, staring up at the
ceiling.
“When Chara was at her peak… Those were bad days, dearie. I remember hearing
the rumors. And I remember hearing the screams when she arrived in Hotland. I
remember… hiding…” Muffet took in a soft inhale and lowered her gaze back
towards Frisk.
Frisk was in a state of shock. She stared blankly at the lantern, her eye
glazed over and hollow. S-she couldn’t believe it… she didn't want to believe
it… C-chara.
Muffet frowned and bent her elbows, resting her chin upon two open palms once
more. “But you see, dear, there were a select few in this world that possessed
very powerful souls.”
Muffet’s words melted away Frisk’s narcosis. She slowly lifted her gaze from
the gentle ember, staring back into the spider’s polished black marbles.
“… And that small handful of monsters had abilities and powers that were
unprecedented. As you see, they were not affected by Chara’s gates. Somehow,
they were able to move through the barriers.” Muffet’s smile did not return.
Her words were solemn, her gaze was sober, “There were ten of them… ten of
these monsters. Ten warriors. Ten defenders that fought back against Chara’s
brutality. This small coup plotted in secret and planned to overthrow Chara’s
cruel rule.”
Frisk’s heart started to pound frantically in her chest. Her pulse was racing
so fast that it was painful. The history of this world… She wanted to know it
all. And the questions began to build and pile up in her head. Ten monsters who
stood against Chara… They were unaffected by the gates… w-wait… hold on…
But Muffet did not give Frisk a chance to question it and she continued on.
“I was very close to one of these soldiers. He was a dear… friend. His fire
powers were quite extraordinary. If only you could have seen him in his heyday.
Grillby…” Frisk thought she saw inky black tears swell up in the monster’s
triple eyes. The glaze reflected against the pale candlelight, but the spider
quickly turned her head to the side and blinked away the glint.
Frisk couldn’t stop her questions. They rolled off the tip of her tongue. Her
voice trembled with a hint of anxious anticipation. “What happened? Did they
stop Chara??”
Muffet blinked a few times and glanced back at Frisk and her forced poised
smile returned, heavy with sorrow. “They did fight her, yes… one fateful day.
But Chara was not only powerful, she was manipulative. You see, that monster
was manipulative even before she got her hands on Asgore’s soul. She had always
possessed that ability, an ability that could control others, and turn them
against allies and friends. She could make you do terrible things, once she got
her hooks in you. And that is what she did. She fought back. And took hold of
one of them… one of those ten warriors… she possessed his soul and forced him
to kill his own companions.”
Frisk’s heart began to race even faster as visions of such an egregious
conflict swirled in her head. Chara…
“He managed to kill four of his fellow warriors under Chara’s bewitchment… My
Grillby being one of those four. And a fifth he injured terribly. I am not sure
what became of that one… I believe her name was… Toriel? I am certain she died
along with the others.” Muffet sighed out again. Frisk’s head felt numb.
“But while Chara was so busy controlling this single monster, forcing him to do
her bidding, the remaining four warriors were able to defeat her in a fatal
battle when her guard was down. They sacrificed themselves, combining their own
souls to create enough strength to pierce Asgore’s contaminated essence within
Chara’s chest. And in turn it drained her power. But it was too much. Those
remaining four warriors died, forgoing their own lives to put an end to Chara’s
cruel extermination.”
Muffet hesitated for a moment, reliving it all, struggling against the emerging
sadness that she had buried down so long ago.
“Chara was suppose to have died as well. Without Asgore’s soul she lost all of
her power. But she still retained her own original soul, her initial malevolent
spirit remained intact, so she continued to live… at least, those were the
rumors. She vanished, never to be seen or heard from again. But the damage was
already done. The gates remained sealed. Asgore was dead. That lone warrior
that Chara had possessed was the last warrior standing… and when Chara lost her
powers he was freed of her possession. But he would never be free of the
guilt…”
Frisk could barely breath, let alone speak. Her eye grew wide and shivered
violently. She tore her gaze from the lantern’s ember and stared over the haze
back at Muffet. And Frisk whispered very softly under her strained breath.
“S-sans…”
Muffet blinked back at Frisk. Her resting head shifted in her palm. “Oh, yes…
That was his name… yes… Sans… The last defender… labeled a traitor.”
The spider released another heavy sigh and reached a hand over towards the
lantern, lightly tapping against one of the glass panes while she watched the
little ember dance around inside.
“… After it was all over, Sans came to Hotland. He appeared upon my doorstep.
He… he admitted to me what happened… what he had done. How he murdered my
Grillby and the others. He was a different monster than the one I had known
before. Chara’s bewitchment changed him. I don’t think I could ever forget the
look on his face when he told me what had happened… He could not look me in the
eye… And his skull… it had been damaged.” Muffet curled her slender tapping
finger back into her palm and rested her hand upon the tabletop.
Frisk stared back at Muffet as if in a trance. Was she truly hearing these
words right now? Was this honestly correct? Chara had… had possessed Sans?
Forced him to kill long ago, just like Chara had done to her? N-no… NO! Sans
was… an evil, cruel, foul demon. A rapist. A sadist. She couldn’t believe these
things. He had once been some sort of defending warrior? N-no way. Frisk’s head
was a spinning cyclone of vertigo and nihilism, but a memory surfaced within
her thoughts… something Flowey had said to them before they had reached the 6th
gate.
’I’m surprised you’d bother to ever show your face again, skeleton.’
Frisk went rigid. Her fingernails dug into the table before her. Muffet
continued.
“It was only a matter of time before word got out about what Sans had done. He
was classified as a betrayer. He was banished from the villages, from the
towns. Although, I never understood why… he was the last of his kind, the only
one who could still travel through the locked gates, but in the eyes of the
masses that did not matter. He was simply a vile deceiver and a murderer. Just
as bad as Chara. And no one ever saw him again.”
Frisk stared back at the spider, entranced by the reflection of the flame in
her three inky eyes.
“To make matters worse, the rumor that Chara was not gone began to surface.
Although Chara was stripped of all her powers, there were whispers that she was
still alive, waiting. Just biding her time for the day when the true Manumitter
would appear. And she would take hold of the Manumitter’s soul, that power, and
continue her genocide through another being.”
Frisk felt sick at those words. Her stomach churned and she released her grasp
from the table and clutched at her lower abdomen, slumping over.
“The Underground was damaged, crippled. There could be no more trade between
villages. The supply of meat dwindled down. Communication between towns and
cities came to a complete halt. There was nothing anyone could do. And it did
not take long for the chaos to erupt. Anarchy broke out. The monsters began to
fight amongst themselves… civil wars within the villages and tribes… and soon
the monsters began to feast on their own friends and family in desperation… ”
Muffet grit her teeth as she spoke and Frisk could see her thick dual fangs
clearly. “It was… a very dangerous time. Almost as dangerous as Chara’s rule.
What you see before you now, dearie, is the aftermath of that chaos.”
Muffet stared back at Frisk. There was a hint of concern glistening in her
gaze.
“During all of this madness, the prophecy that Asgore once put all of his faith
into became warped and twisted. This savior, this Manumitter, who was once seen
as a deliverer of our people, had become a murderer. Chara’s legacy became
entwined with the vision of the Manumitter. You see many of the monsters once
believed that Chara actually was this savior in the first place. People were
confused, damaged. Nothing was certain. And so the prophecy became distorted.
It changed into something new and Asgore’s original prediction fell by the
wayside. This new prophecy stated that much like Chara, this Manumitter would
descend upon the Underground from the Above and kill us all, but unlike Chara,
they would have the ability to open the gates and the final threshold and free
us. That was one aspect of the prophecy that remained true.”
Frisk slowly lifted her arms and pressed her elbows against the table, burying
her face in her hands. This was… t-too much… She could barely grasp what Muffet
was telling her… the truths of this hell. She clasped her hands at either side
of her head and stared down at the tabletop as her entire body trembled against
her will.
“And so you see, this is where Undyne came in.” Muffet continued, despite
Frisk’s reactions. “Undyne was always a strong governor of Waterfall. She ruled
that tribe with an iron fist. I do believe that that is the only village still
standing. She was able to control the rage and hunger of her people. How she
did this, I do not know, but those were the rumors. So Undyne took on the role
of ruler in Asgore’s stead. And she created a way to communicate with the
villages and nearby tribes with the use of alarms and voice amplifiers. And
Undyne put into effect a new law. This law stated that if anyone ever saw a
human, they were to capture them and lead them through the Underground. Force
them to open each gate, and finally free us… and then kill them once that last
threshold was unlocked. Because the Manumitter is nothing but a killer, a
mirror image of Chara.”
Everything began to click into place in Frisk’s head, but despite it all she
could still barely believe it. Part of her wished that she had never heard all
of this… that she could remain ignorant to the history of this world. And Frisk
pulled her fevered face from her hands and glanced over her fingers back at
Muffet.
“M-muffet… how… how do you know all of this?” She could hear her own trembling
voice over the thumping pulse within her ears. Muffet’s downcast smile
returned, faint and soft like a cool autumn breeze.
“Before Grillby was murdered he would confide in me everything that was
happening throughout the Underground. He told me of all the destruction and the
pain and the horror that he witnessed firsthand. He was also the one who first
brought me these mushrooms…” Muffet forced a soft chuckle. She gazed down at
Frisk’s half-empty clay bowl of fungi stew. “That was before I started
cultivating them. He saw the food supply dwindling. The only way we were going
to survive is if we adapted. I do miss him… very much.”
For some reason Muffet’s transparent sorrow made Frisk feel an ache of guilt
which clutched tight around her heart.
“Muffet…” Frisk began, her hands still at either side of her head buried in
auburn locks. “What… what happened to Sans?”
The spider blinked back at Frisk’s question but she responded in turn, rubbing
at her chin with one of her four hands.
“Sans? Well, Sans was disgraced after what happened and no one ever saw him
again. But I believe… yes, I do recall that he had a brother.” Muffet giggled
softly, a genuine chuckle, as distant details of her memory returned. “Heehee…
Yes, I remember his brother. A bit eccentric, that one, but quite determined to
make it to the Above. I remember Sans speaking of Papyrus quite often. I could
tell that he cared for him very much. If Sans is still alive out there, then I
assume he is watching over his brother to this day… that is, if he hasn’t
completely lost himself like all the others. Sans was always… a dangerous
monster, even before Chara’s infection. I can only imagine what he is like
now.”
Frisk shifted where she sat as one of her fingers traced down along the
eyepatch. She released her grasping hands from either side of her face and
brought them down to her knees. Frisk kept her gaze averted. S-she didn’t want
Muffet to see… her shame. She knew exactly how Sans was now… and she remained
silent. But Muffet spoke again, cutting through the quiet after a few moments.
“Although… now that I think about it, I believe I saw him one last time before
he vanished completely. Yes, it was shortly after the civil wars broke out.
This village was falling into ruin. It was very dangerous to be outside. There
were gangs of monsters roaming Hotland, searching for strays to pick off and
feast upon.” Muffet’s echoic voice wavered slightly from the painful
recollection. “I was tossing some of my extra things away to move into a
smaller and more secure house, and I believe I saw Sans… Yes, I did see him. He
was rummaging through the piles of discarded things. I think I saw him lift an
old coat I had, but I cannot be sure.”
As Muffet spoke her brow furrowed in thought and Frisk was immediately reminded
of the jacket that Papyrus had given her… That dark coat… the one that had the
scent of burnt charcoal with four sleeves… that coat had belonged to Muffet.
Sans had taken it… Sans had probably taken all of the clutter that littered the
skeleton brothers’ house. H-had he collected all of those supplies to care for
Papyrus? To keep them both safe out in that isolated house hidden within the
frigid Snowdin forest?
Even with all of this new information, the questions continued to emerge in her
mind. Frisk’s thoughts returned to Chara once more.
“Muffet… if Chara is a monster, then why does she look human?”
The spider blinked all three eyes in unison.
“That is an interesting question and one I don’t think I can answer, dearie.
Grillby told me of a rumor that Chara was the corrupt offspring of a
relationship between a human and a monster, but I am not sure how that could
possibly be. That is most likely just an elaborate fabrication. Some said she
is a shapeshifter of sorts, and her true appearance was hidden. Others have
said that she was an experiment gone wrong… one of Alphys’ experiments gone
haywire and escaped. There are so many rumors surrounding Chara’s constitution,
it is hard to know which could be true. But I believe that she is just a
monster… just another monster like all the rest of us, but with a rotten soul.”
Frisk’s thoughts returned to the lab instantly. She questioned the spider in a
soft, subtle tone. “One of Alphys’ experiments? You mean… in that laboratory?”
Her voice shook gently as the visions of those ghostly monsters and Alphys’
alabaster eyes appeared within her mind. Muffet giggled again.
“Heehee, yes honey, the laboratory. The same one you somehow managed to escape
from. That building was used during the war against Chara as a makeshift
hospital and barracks. Alphys was a scientist and a doctor. She tended to
hundreds of wounded monsters there… but she also did some heinous things. In
her desperation to help the ten warriors defeat Chara, she began to extract the
souls of the dying. She performed experiments upon these souls. You see, her
goal was to create a very powerful synthetic soul, similar to the ones that
Sans and the other defenders possessed, to help with the war effort. But of
course this experiment went terribly wrong. Rumor has it that she tried to use
this synthetic soul on herself, and it turned her into something dreadful.
Something neither alive nor dead.”
Frisk thought back to her daring escape from that dreadful building. And how
Alphys wanted her soul. Perhaps to perform more experiments on.
“Much later, after Alphys became something heinous, the laboratory was
ransacked by monsters desperate for meat. I am not sure what happened to the
laboratory after that. Although, sometimes when I venture out of the village, I
can still hear screams coming from inside that terrible place. I never go near
it. And you say Alphys gave you the those wounds? It is horrible to hear that
she is still alive in there… forever cursed by her own hand.”
Frisk’s head ached from all this new knowledge. She wanted to lay down, curl
back up in those warm blankets and fade away… She wanted to go home… She didn’t
belong here. She didn’t want to be this Manumitter, this savior. But the
curiosity continued its relentless assault in her mind, and she asked Muffet
another pressing question.
“Are all the villages and cities desolate within the Underground?”
“I have lived alone in this village for a very long time now and you are the
first living being I have come across in ages.” The spider grinned and began to
idly twirl one of her forefingers around the loose strand of dark hair. “This
village, like many others I assume, is abandoned. Although that does not mean
it is not precarious. There are still monsters that roam. The ones who have
survived the longest are always the most dangerous. They have done heinous
things to stay alive. They have eaten their friends… and their families, I am
sure.”
Frisk’s thoughts skimmed over her memory of Flowey… an abominable scavenger
just trying to survive… And Gaster, who Frisk could only assume was responsible
for picking off the last of the citizens in Snowdin. How many more of them were
out there?
“Muffet, do you know anything about the candles scattered around the
Underground?” Frisk’s voice had become less timid as she allowed her questions
to continue.
“Candles? Hmm… Well, that is interesting. Grillby never mentioned any candles
to me, dearie. Although…” Muffet's gaze turned stern and stoic. “In the
original untarnished prophecy, Asgore had mentioned something about ‘resurgent
lights’ that were supposed to guide the true Manumitter to the final gate. That
is all I can tell you regarding that, I’m afraid.”
Frisk pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping both arms around her legs
tightly as she gazed back at Muffet. She hesitated for a moment and there was a
long silence between them, until Frisk finally broke it. “… Is there anything
else you can tell me… about… a-about Sans?”
Muffet stared back at Frisk. Her brow furrowed again. A deep look of concern.
“I do not know too much about that one, dearie. Even long before Chara’s rule,
he would often keep to himself. Him and Grillby were close though, I remember
hosting a few get-togethers back at my bakery, and Grillby would invite him.
Sometimes he would show up. Other than that, I know he was quite powerful when
it came to his attacks. His fighting style was the most decisive out of all ten
defending warriors.” Muffet tapped at her lower lip with a vagrant hand.
“However, he was a skeleton, his soul was easily accessible. Perhaps that was
the reason why Chara chose him. She targeted him out of all the others, merely
because of the accessibility to his soul. I suppose that is the downside to
being a skeleton, heehee. You never have to worry about the climate or disease
or being devoured for meat, but your soul is exposed for all the world to see.”
As Muffet spoke, Frisk felt a steady sorrow tug upon her heart. Now she
understood… She understood Sans’ connection to Chara. And she almost felt
sympathy.
 
Do not pity that monster. Remember what he DID to you! Do not ever forget his
heinous actions… don’t you dare.
 
Frisk’s innermost thoughts collided with her emotions and she lowered her head
and pressed her forehead against her kneecaps, feeling so conflicted… so weak…
so overwhelmed. Muffet said nothing, as if she waiting for Frisk to ask another
question. But Frisk remained silent this time. And the two of them sat in the
hush until Muffet finally spoke again after a long hesitant moment.
“Dear, you should rest. You are still recovering. And I know… I know that all
of this information must be hard to take in. So please try to sleep. Please
rest your mind.” Muffet smiled and reached over the table, lifting the two
bowls in her upper-limb hands.
Frisk glanced up at Muffet with a lidded gaze of fatigue and distress.
“I will be downstairs, dearie. If you need anything, do not hesitate to come
down.” Muffet nodded her head with gentle affirmation and slowly rose up to her
feet. She turned and headed down the stairs in the corner. “Rest well.” And the
spider flashed another kind smile before she disappeared, leaving Frisk alone
in the small candle-lit space.
 
 
 
Frisk sat at the table for a long while. She glanced down at her thighs and
stared at the dozens of small rubber band aids that decorated them. Sans…She
lifted a hand and traced her fingertips along the small square of gauze at her
blind eye. He had caused her so much pain… physical and mental anguish… He had
left so many stains upon her soul that she would never be able to remove. S-she
hated him… she hated him… she hated him…
 
She still hated him…
 
Or are you simply just trying to convince yourself of that?
 
…
 
No, I do hate him. I despise him… I do…
 
Frisk clenched her teeth tightly. Muffet’s tale continued to spin inside her
head like a perpetual gyroscope. In a way it was paralyzing, especially the
disturbing details of Chara’s past. It made Frisk sick with anger and fear. The
distress she felt over that demon child was overwhelming… and to think how
close she came to that monster’s possession once more.
 
'In time you will learn… And when you are in your darkest hour, abandoned by
everyone, you will call for me… And I will be by your side.'
 
Chara’s distant words coiled within Frisk soul. She fought against a growing
sob. Chara… it was all Chara’s fault… Everything had been Chara’s fault. Every
single action that led up to Frisk’s torment in this hell… So then why? Why did
Frisk feel such a strong connection towards that monster? A connection of… of
kinship… and it scared her.
Frisk tried to put it out of her mind. She lifted her head and slowly crawled
back into to the pile of blankets. She buried herself within the warm quilts
and folds, wrapping up in the nest. The stitches at her throat stung but her
drowsy fatigue was so much stronger, and it forced the pain to subside. And
even as she burrowed herself within the comfort, Frisk’s thoughts continued to
turn.
 
'…even without chara’s contamination… you’re a killer.'
 
Sans words… So he had disregarded the original prophecy like all the others. He
saw her as a murderer, a replica of Chara… and that fact weighed so heavy
within Frisk’s soul. She shut her eye and turned away from the center of the
room, facing the stone wall. The gentle warmth within the cozy space began to
dilute her senses. The lethargy congealed in her head and buried each troubled
thought and hint of pain. And Frisk relaxed within the blankets as sleep swept
over her like a dark ocean wave.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Multiple quilts and sheets of fabric stacked upon her in thick layers. It was
so hot underneath them… and the warmth that swelled within the small room
simply added to the fever. Frisk was sweating. Clear beads of perspiration
dripped down her forehead and neck while her damp chestnut bangs fell before
her face and clung to her skin. I-it was… so hot…
But there was a hand.
It was… cold.
It brushed back her hair softly. The tops of those chilled fingers rubbed
against her flushed cheeks, caressing her face. It cooled her off… and it felt…
it felt nice. Another hand stroked along the back of her sultry neck and it
brought her feverish temperature down. Those fingers… slender, cold, hard…
rough. Those claws… they were skeletal.
Frisk slowly opened one eye. She was still facing the wall. The room was dark.
The lantern’s candle had gone out. But… but the room was not completely
obscured in shadows. There was a dim glow, a soft crimson hue that flickered
faintly overhead. She knew that shade of red. The vermilion that haunted her
dreams and burrowed within the depths of her soul. Sans.
 
…
 
Sans was here…
 
Frisk closed her eye and she fidgeted, just barely pressing into the hand upon
her forehead. But the moment she moved, the fingers pulled away. The gentle
grasp at the back of her neck released its hold. Those firm, chilled phalanges
slipped from her fevered flesh. Frisk opened her eye again, only to be met with
a jet black darkness. The red was gone. The hue… had vanished.
She was in an obsidian void.
The flickering scarlet was no longer there.
Perhaps it was never there…
 
… A dream?…
 
Just a sensory illusion brought on by her fever… But it had felt so real.
 
No, no… it was a dream. Remember your dream in Waterfall? That had felt just as
real. But Sans was not there. He was never there.
 
Yes, a dream… it was a dream……
 
She was alone. All alone within the small, dark enclosure. Frisk closed her eye
again and lifted one hand from the blankets, pressing it upon the nape of her
neck. She could almost feel that lingering chilled sensation and the phantom
pressure of his fingers against her skin.
 
No……
 
She convinced herself that it was nothing but a delusion.
And she let her muscles relax back into the blankets.
And the absolute reign of sleep took hold once more.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: Journey to the 7th gate.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Whoa, that was a lot to process. How do you all feel about Sans NOW!?
     He's still a rapist, just keep telling yourself that. Remember if you
     want to leave any anon comments, they are always welcome on my Tumblr
     here. Stay tuned for some more wonderful, lovely Muffet, 7th gate,
     and MAD DUMMY (and maybe more, depends on the chap length >.>)
     Advance warning: The next chapter will contain graphic/detailed &
     explicit violence/gore/etc.
     /////////////////////
***** XXVII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 27: “I, too, remember that feeling. When you are caught
     between all that was and all that must be.” - Haruki Murakami, Hard-
     Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Howdy all!
     Thank you all for your comments, praise, kudos, constructive
     criticism, etc. I always appreciate the feedback and it’s honestly
     really helpful for me, whether positive or not. Thank you, thank you,
     thank you! (｡♥‿♥｡)
     So, Chapter 27… let’s see here. Frisk remains at Muffet’s house and
     appears to be safe for the time being (despite Sans’ continuous
     lurking). We’ve just learned a whole lot about what led up to the
     horrors of this underground hell. It’s a shit ton to process. In this
     chapter we will see some more Muffet, Frisk’s internal struggles and
     recuperation, the beginning journey to the 7th gate… And… *drum roll*
     MAD DUMMY.
     Keep in mind that there is no character concept for Mad Dummy in the
     HT AU, so I got to be creative with his design ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) His
     personality is not too different though, huehuehue.
     Warning: This chapter contains graphic and explicit violence/guro/
     gore/etc. Also, there will be hard vore in this one (Basically more
     cannibalism). Please keep that in mind.
     Also, if anyone wants some nice dark ambiance while they read, check
     out this_music. It’s good stuff.
     Enjoy.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
 
…
 
…
 
There was a soft noise.
 
A gentle, flickering percussion.
 
Like an insect tapping against the outside of a windowpane.
 
The noise stirred her senses, rustling her from a deep-rooted sleep.
 
And Frisk opened her eye.
 
…
 
…
 
She was buried deep within a nest of blankets in small stone room, facing the
wall. Muffet’s house. Her memories of the night before expanded inside her
mind. That story… the spider’s tale… The history of this world. And she felt…
numb.
…
 
Chara…
 
Sans…
 
She was no longer submerged in pitch black darkness. The room was gently
illuminated with an orange, trembling glow and it created intricate shadows
across the wall.
Frisk lifted a hand from the blankets and rubbed against her sweaty forehead.
She felt so feverish, perhaps from her injuries… Maybe they had become
infected. Her fingers trailed down to the side of her throat where the stitches
settled, hidden underneath a thin layer of gauze. She could feel each
protrusion and they continued to sting and pull at her taut skin under the
touch. She guided a hand behind to her neck, back to the nape, and her digits
grazed along the outline of her spinal ridge.
Sans… Had he been here last night? Had he secretly and silently teleported into
this room? Had he sat beside her while she slept?… And touched her?
 
W-why… why would he do that?
 
……
 
No. That was a dream, remember? Only a dream.
 
…
 
Frisk’s reminiscence was interrupted by a sound, that light noise that had
woken her. It was so gentle, barely audible. She rolled over to face the center
of the room.
Her solo eye locked upon the candle-lit lantern directly before her vision and
she watched as the small ember danced within the hexagonal cage of glass. It
was lightly tapping against the clear walls of its enclosure. That flame had
gone out in the middle of the night. Perhaps Muffet had re-lit it while she
slept.
Frisk watched the swaying cinder for a while. Her half-lidded eye stared
blankly at the lantern’s glow. It was so placid… and tranquil… and she felt
peace for the first time in a long time as she nested within the thick
blankets, feeling safe and sheltered. What would have happened if Muffet hadn’t
found her?… She didn’t want to think about it.
Her gaze gradually shifted from the lantern to the wooden tabletop. There were
two new clay bowls resting there. More water and food. Frisk shifted under the
blankets. She did not want to move, but her urging thirst and hunger forced her
to sit. She kept one of the blankets wrapped around her shoulders and slowly
crawled over to the table and sat in front of it upon her knees, staring down
at the nourishment. Frisk did not hesitate to drink up the water instantly. She
glanced at the bowl of food once she downed the water. More mushrooms… At least
they were tasty, but she couldn’t help but think how repetitive it must be for
Muffet to eat this day in and day out.
And as Frisk slouched over the table and stuffed a handful of cooked fungi into
her mouth, her thoughts began to circulate. Fabricated visions of Chara
standing over their King, this Asgore, weaved through her mind. She pictured
Asgore as some type of massive reptilian beast… and she imagined Chara hovering
over him while he slept, slitting his throat with a rogue knife… then ripping
his soul from his chest and taking it as her own. She envisioned Chara standing
before the throne as blood dripped from her hands and sweater, her icy orbs
wide and blazing with those newfound powers.
The visuals made Frisk feel sick. She dropped the rest of the mushrooms back
into the bowl, her appetite long gone. But the frantic thoughts wouldn’t stop.
And they fabricated another vision… Sans… Sans and those ten warriors, Toriel
being one of them. She wondered what Sans had looked like back then. Perhaps
they all wore armor, like medieval knights. Undyne had worn armor during their
encounter… maybe those warriors had been decked in similar garb. Although Frisk
couldn’t picture Sans wearing anything other than that grim fur-trimmed jacket.
And Chara… Chara somehow possessing Sans… contaminating his blue soul. It was a
morose visual and it made Frisk shiver. How had Chara done it? Had that demon
manipulated Sans just like Chara had done to her? Had Chara used her usual
tactics of ambushing him while he slept? Had she slipped her hands under his
shirt, through his rib bones, and spewed contaminated rot into his soul,
filling it with putrid blood-red sludge?
Something Sans’ had said to Frisk during his brutal assault immediately spilled
over her thoughts like wet paint.
 
'yes, she is manipulative. but physically, she is weak.'
 
Chara… Chara was weak. Perhaps that demon’s initial soul was much too poisonous
to be tenacious… so she had to take the souls of others instead… Asgore’s…
Sans’… H-her own… Chara was gunning for her. It was only a matter of time
before she turned up unannounced once again. And she often did it when Frisk
was at her most desperate. She preyed upon Frisk’s weaknesses, like some foul
scavenger. Like a vulture on the hunt for fresh roadkill. She truly was a
monster.
B-but-
Chara…
That heinous fiend…
She had made Frisk feel…
 
So powerful.
 
……
 
…
 
No. That power… that power was tainted and false. That was not your true vigor.
 
Your true power lies deep within your own soul.
 
And it is genuine. It is compassion.
 
…
 
Frisk stared blankly at the lantern. Her eye glazed over as she watched the
orange, shivering dollops of light reflect off each glass panel and creep along
the tabletop. She had been through… so much. Her time down in this world, it
felt like a thousand lifetimes. An eon of agony. But despite it all… despite
everything she had endured and the wish to just end this life… her hope, her
determination, clung to the edges of her soul.
 
She did not want to die here.
 
She wanted to escape this place.
 
And be free…
 
…
 
Frisk eventually pulled her vacant gaze away from the light and stared down at
the clay bowls. And she heard footsteps. Soft pattering footfalls emitted from
a lower room below. It must be Muffet. She shifted and pressed both palms
against the table, pushing herself up off the floor. Frisk dropped the blanket
back within the pile and slowly stepped towards the stairway niche in the
corner. Her legs felt like gelatin and she staggered and buckled her knees to
keep from falling. And after a moment, she made her way towards the stairs and
descended down the narrow stone steps to the first floor.
 
 
Frisk traced her hand along the wall as she cascaded down each stair. The
second lower room was also illuminated in a similar orange glow. It was equally
as small as the upstairs room. Muffet was there. She sat upon a small couch
within the corner, flipping through a book on her lap.
Muffet titled her head up towards Frisk and smiled. “Oh, there you are, dear. I
thought you would never wake.” She giggled and adjusted herself in her seat.
Frisk stood at the bottom of the staircase, slowly glancing around the room,
examining each piece of furniture.
Two lanterns hung from nails on a wall at either side of the front door
opposite her. At least it appeared to be a front door… There were a few windows
embedded in the walls, but each one was boarded up hastily. This room had a
more expansive collection of furniture. There was the small couch in the corner
where Muffet resided, a large clay basin filled with water right beside it, and
multiple bookshelves which displayed a variety of objects like ceramic bowls
and books and little knickknacks. There was a wooden trunk tucked away in
another corner and it contained piles of fabric. And yet, the walls were not
completely bare. Besides the hanging lanterns and boarded windows, there were
three paintings. Each one was carefully displayed over the couch like a
collection of grandios preserved relics.
“How long was I asleep?” Frisk asked softly. The inside of her throat burned
the moment she spoke. It felt so sore and she rubbed at her neck with one hand
while she stepped into the middle of the enclosure.
Muffet watched her with that serene gentle smile. “Oh, it’s been a while,
dearie. A full day, perhaps? Maybe longer than that. I was starting to grow
concerned.”
Frisk felt her muscles stiffen.
 
She had been sleeping for that long!?
 
Well… she certainly needed it. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since she
had arrived in the Underground.
Frisk stepped past one of the bookshelves. She glanced down at the spines of
the collection of novels and they all appeared to be cookbooks, most of them
involved recipies using ‘Temmies’, whatever that was.
“I checked on you a few times while you were sleeping, dear. You had quite a
fever. But it seems to have gone down now.” Muffet watched Frisk idly study the
room over.
Frisk stepped closer towards the couch and stared up at the paintings. Those
three paintings… one of them was very large while the other two were
significantly smaller, displayed at either side. The larger painting… it was a
painting of Muffet. A portrait of the spider standing proudly in front of a
bakery, her bakery. She looked… so happy.
Muffet stood up next to Frisk and turned, glancing back at the painting before
them. The spider released another chuckle, much more forced and sedated, and
she folded her top tier arms at her chest while her lower limbs placed upon her
hips.
“Ah, yes. Grillby enjoyed painting. These were the only three pieces of his
that I was able to save.” Muffet said.
Frisk examined the portrait in silence. She glanced at one of the smaller
pieces. It was a landscape painting of Hotland. The interior of a cave with red
running lava rivers. Frisk felt uneasy as she considered the landscape. She
only had dismal memories of the Hotland caverns… She pulled her view away and
glanced at the other small painting on the opposite side.
That painting… It was… it was a composition of a group of figures… a group of
monsters.
Muffet stepped closer towards Frisk, right beside her. The spider was only a
tad taller and she leaned in close towards the painting. “Grillby was proud of
this piece. The ten warriors…” Muffets words trailed off and Frisk’s eye went
wide. “This was done before Chara’s rule, when the defenders were busy trying
to open the last gate to free us all.”
 
T-that was a painting of the ten warriors!?
 
Frisk leaned in even closer, almost kneeling upon the couch, as she peered at
the canvas. Each monster in the crowd was quite different. They appeared to be
standing amongst buildings. It almost looked like Snowdin, but without the
decay. And each monster… was smiling. Frisk scanned over the figures. Toriel
was there! Toriel stood in back of the group. She wore that dark mantel, but it
did not look tattered. She stood next to an even larger monster that Frisk
could not recognize. And Muffet lifted a hand and pointed to that figure.
“King Asgore…” Muffet said, tapping her slender finger upon the portrayal of
that monster. “He wanted to be included in this painting, standing proudly
amongst his intrepid warriors, heehee.” So that was King Asgore… He looked
nothing like Frisk had pictured. He was not reptilian at all. He almost looked
similar to Toriel, in a way. Long white ears with wolf-like features and two
imposing black horns atop his head. He was hulking, towering over all the
others, and he wore an impressive silver breastplate and a fur stole wrapped
around his shoulders.
Frisk continued to scan the painting with interest. Her eye skimmed along the
displayed group and she… she spotted… Sans. He stood off to the side of the
troop, towards the front. He sported that typical languid smirk, his hands in
his pockets, dressed in the same black winter coat that he always wore.
Although… his shirt was not blood-stained… and there was no crack embedded in
his skull… and his lone illuminated eye socket… it was blue in color. I-it was…
blue… like his soul.
 
…
 
There was a long silence.
But then Muffet broke it.
 
“Be strong. Trust no one. Fight.” The monster whispered under her breath, her
tone stained with an austere rigidity.
…
 
Those words…
 
That phrase…
 
Frisk’s heart began to pound. Her hands felt clammy and damp. She slowly stared
up at Muffet with a wide-eye. But Muffet simply closed her triple orbs in
thought. “Grillby used to say those words to me. It was their motto. The ten
warriors’ slogan, in a sense.” She opened her eyes and smiled down at Frisk,
her calm, serene demeanor returning instantly, “… But I always thought the
‘Trust no one.’ bit was somewhat excessive. What a lonely life that would be…”
Frisk’s head felt numb… detached. She didn’t know what to say. So she simply
stood there, dumbfounded and silent.
The slender spider placed one of her multiple hands upon Frisk shoulder and
changed the subject.
“Dear, you should rinse off. It will make you feel better,” Muffet spoke in her
usual compassionate tone. “And I can wash the rest of your clothing. I am sure
that will make you feel better.”
A hot bath sounded amazing, but it still sent an anxious wave of unease through
Frisk’s stomach. Frisk fought against that building distress, she could trust
Muffet, and she nodded up at the kind monster.
“Come, dear. I will show you.” Muffet released her grasp upon Frisk shoulder
and stepped towards one of the corners of the room, the intersection that
housed the large trunk of fabrics. Muffet gripped all four of her hands upon
the edge of the box and began to pull the trunk to the side. Frisk watched
curiously. Hidden underneath the trunk was another stairway, embedded within
the floor. A secret passage concealing a third room. A basement.
Muffet grabbed a dark towel from the trunk before she began to descend down the
steps and Frisk automatically followed behind.
 
 
The third room was dark, almost completely obscured in shadows. Only a single
meager torch upon the wall illuminated the space. And the room was cramped. A
large raised bed of dirt erected within the center of the expanse. And
sprouting from every inch of the pallet were… mushrooms. A mushroom farm. This
was where Muffet cultivated them.
Frisk stared at the small, curious white clouds. There were so many of them.
They smelled good. Like earthy musk. Muffet led Frisk around the scaffold
against the wall. There was a small door on the opposite side. They reached it
and Muffet pushed the door open, revealing an even smaller alcove. Inside was a
large stone tub filled to the brim with water, another lantern suspended from
the ceiling and a small patina glazed mirror that hung from the wall. A
makeshift washroom.
“Here you are.” Muffet said as she held the door open for Frisk to step inside.
The room was so cramped and narrow, the tub took up most of the space. “Leave
your clothes outside, dear.” The spider said with a benevolent smile and placed
the folded towel against the edge of the tub before she closed the door,
leaving Frisk alone in the confined recess.
It was somewhat awkward and unnerving, but Frisk couldn’t help but feel
grateful at the same time. She pulled the box cutter out of her pocket and
placed it upon the floor before she quickly tugged off all her clothes and
shoved them outside the door. Then she immediately stepped into the tub behind
her. The water… it was warm and it felt so nice, and it rose up to her chin as
she curled up inside the container with her thighs pinned to her chest.
Frisk leaned back against the side of the stone vessel. She watched the gentle
shivering steam rise from the surface of the water with a lethargic gaze. The
warmth made her head feel dizzy. She still felt so exhausted even after the
long sleep… But the all-encompassing heat soothed her aching muscles. She
hadn’t been able to clean off since… since she had been in Sans and Paprus’
house… God, that felt like decades ago. How long had it been, really? It was
hard to keep track of time due to all the resets… And technically… technically
it had never even happened… since Sans had sent her back to the very beginning.
A vile realization dawned over her and she glanced down at her bandaged thighs
through the clear dilution. She had not been able to clean off after… Sans had
attacked her… It made her feel disgusting. She grit her teeth in somber
revulsion. And no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t shake the memory
of the assault. It was a permanent fissure cleaved deep through her heart…
through her spirit…
 
But that reverie vision of Chara possessing Sans, poisoning his soul and
shattering his skull and turning his eye crimson, surfaced in her mind’s eye.
 
…
 
No…
 
Feel no sympathy.
 
He is a monster. The worst one of them all. He wants to defile you. Use you to
free these monstrosities. Eat you. Kill you. Do not forget his objective. Never
forget that.
 
……
 
Frisk began to peel back each rubber bandage with her fingernails. There were
so many of them and they littered both thighs. She pulled them off, one by one,
staring down at each healing bitemark ingrained in her flesh. There were also
bruises that she had not noticed before. Deep bruises all along her thighs and
hips. Heinous black and blue stripes… Sans’ grasping claws. She tore her gaze
away from them. She didn’t want to see it… She didn’t want to remember.
 
 
 
Frisk sat in the tub for what felt like hours. It was peaceful. Muffet was
right, it did make her feel much better. She dunked her hair under the water to
rinse it off. She even found a bar of what looked like soap tucked away next to
the tub, and used it to scrub every inch of dirt and dried blood from her skin,
although it didn’t smell like anything. She pulled back the gauze at her throat
and rinsed off the stitches. It stung terribly once they came into contact with
the water, but the pain did not linger. Muffet had done an exceptional job
closing the wounds.
And Frisk eventually sat up on the edge of the tub and examined her stitches in
the cloudy, tarnished mirror upon the wall. But as she checked the stitches,
she couldn’t help but stare back at her own reflection. She still retained
those dark circles under her eyes… she looked so tired. But at least… at least
she was clean now. Frisk rubbed at the bandage upon her blinded eye.
 
Dare she take a peek at the damage?…
 
Frisk’s heart began to stammer and her clutching hand trembled against the
gauze. The wound did not hurt so much anymore. Every now and then she would
feel a sharp ache of pain at the right side of her face, but it was mostly
dulled now. And she began to peal at the bottom bits of tape that held the
gauze in place.
 
Don’t.
 
…
 
Don’t look at it.
 
B-but… I have to.
 
No, you don’t. Please… it’s just affirming the fact.
 
I need to see…
 
She leaned in close towards the small mirror and lifted the gauze slowly…
slowly… slowly upwards just a few centimeters. Her single, functioning eye
locked upon the barely exposed wound. She could see… dark red… torn scarlet
flesh… sickly tarnished pulp… the lower half of a concave of carnage. Frisk
took in a sharp inhale as her heart pounded frantically like a trembling
vortex. She felt so nauseous at the sight and she couldn’t look anymore. She
pushed the bandage down, refastened it, and sunk back within the warm depths of
the tub.
Perhaps if she had found herself in this situation not too long ago she would
have tried to slit her wrists in this water. But for some reason that ambition
was not nearly as strong. The desire to kill herself in that moment had waned.
The determination to free herself from these horrors coiled softly inside her
soul. It was faint, but it was there. And Frisk stared down at the variety of
self-inflicted scars upon her arms. Imprints of a naive, frivolous past.
 
A past long gone.
 
There was a sudden knock at the door and it caused Frisk to flinch in the
water.
“Your clothes are clean now, dear. I will leave them outside.”
Muffet’s voice… followed by the soft patter of footsteps heading back up the
stairs. Frisk slowly lifted herself to her feet and stepped out of the tub. Her
fingertips had become prunes from such a long soak. She quickly dried herself
off with the idle towel that the spider left behind, and reached out past
bathroom door for her clothes. Each article was clean, slightly damp, but
clean. Although Frisk could still make out the faint blood stains that dyed the
fabric. Those would never go away. She finished drying and pulled on her
clothes, stuffed her utility knife back within her pocket, and headed upstairs.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Frisk remained at Muffets house for what felt like days. She never once left
the small building. Most of her time was spent sleeping, curled deep within the
pile of thick blankets in that warm upstairs room. Her constant fatigue began
to subside the more she slept. It was as if her body was desperately trying to
catch up with weeks and weeks of lost sleep.
Eventually her lethargy decreased, and Frisk spent more of her time down in the
basement with Muffet, watching the spider tend to the mushroom farm. It was a
tedious task that consisted of constant pruning and monitoring. But the monster
seemed to be an expert at it. She taught Frisk how to dampen the fungi without
overwatering and how to adjust the temperature without killing any spores.
Muffet was extremely cautious when it came to the harvesting process, she had
to be.
Muffet also tended to Frisk’s stitches, keeping a close eye on the wounds to
make sure that they would not become infected. She had a small concoction of
numbing salve and it helped with the pain. Muffet began to oversee Frisk’s
blinded eye as well. She said it looked… bad. Frisk did not want to ask what
that meant, but she was horrified when the spider said that it should be sewn
shut. Frisk refused, and the monster eventually gave in to Frisk’s wishes and
simply tended to it with more gauze and healing ointments.
But the longer Frisk stayed at the gentle monster’s house, the more anxious she
became. Frisk began to have a countless string of nightmares in which Chara
would show up in the middle of the night and brutally murder Muffet before
stealing Frisk’s soul. The dreams were always slightly different, but they were
consistent and terrifying and they felt so realistic. Frisk also had dreams of
Sans… dreams in which he would teleport inside the upstairs room while she
slept and assault her all over again. Each night she would wake up in a cold
sweat and summon her shield out in front of her in a panic, only to realize
that she was completely alone in the obscured darkness, and that it was merely
a nightmare.
Muffet began to ask Frisk questions as well. Some nights she would ask about
the rest of the Underground, and what the other cities were like, and if Frisk
had run into any monsters, and how Frisk had survived and made it all the way
to Hotland. It was overwhelming to even think about. Simply evaluating the
spider’s inquiries made Frisk’s chest feel heavy and hot. She always kept her
answers brief, simply telling the monster that the situation… was bleak… and
that there were no more monsters left. Frisk was conflicted on whether she
should admit to Muffet about her meetings with Chara… and her connection to
Sans… and the genocide she had caused… and the murders she had committed and
her resets and every other little detail in between… but in the end she decided
against it.
And Frisk felt so incredibly guilty. This benevolent monster had helped her so
much, had told her so much, but Frisk simply kept her mouth shut when it came
to her own anecdote. But… M-Muffet didn’t need to know all of that… it would
only bring her more pain. In a way Frisk felt as if she was shielding Muffet
from the true horrors of this world.
 
 
 
 
 
Frisk and Muffet sat upstairs around the low wooden table one night. They both
munched on mushroom stew while the spider chatted idly about the days before
Chara’s reign, about how she had acquired her bakery and how she would travel
from town to town selling her wares every so often.
“… Grillby never liked it when I would travel, but he was constantly traveling
as well. We would often meet up in Core City when we were both busy with our
own endeavours, heehee.” Muffet took a sip from her water bowl.
Frisk had been staring down at the lantern light and slowly lifted her gaze
towards the monster. “Core City?” The name was unfamiliar to her.
“Ah… yes, it is the nearby adjoining city, dear. It is right beyond Hotland.
Beyond the locked gate.” Muffet’s carefree smile faded as she spoke. “Core
City… Well, back in the day it was not like the towns or the villages. It was
massive, with towering buildings made of steel and stone. It was also the most
populated area within the Underground… and after Chara’s rule, it became the
most dangerous…”
Frisk carefully examined Muffet’s shifting expressions, as if the monster was
trying to suppress a surge of painful memories. Muffet shifted in her seat and
continued.
“It is still dangerous… I do not venture out of this village often, but the few
times I have tread towards that particular side of Hotland at the edge of the
town, I have heard the screams… and muffled pleading cries. There was a rumor
that gangs of cannibals roamed that city, desperate to survive.” A dismal frown
spread across Muffet's simple features. She gazed back at Frisk with all three
of her eyes, lidded shivering inky droplets in the dim glow. “If you continue
your journey to the final gate, dear, you must pass through Core City… Asgore’s
castle is beyond that dreadful metropolitan. And within the castle you will
find the final threshold.”
Frisk’s thoughts began to spin wildly inside her head. Core City… She imagined
what this terrible place might look like… like some urban post-apocalyptic
wasteland filled with roaming beasts and blood-stained predators.
“… Why was Chara so desperate for power?… Why did she want to rule the
Underground?” Frisk changed the subject in a meek whisper.
“I cannot answer that, dear. Why do most savage spirits want power? Perhaps it
is different for each individual. I do not believe we will ever learn the
answer to that question.” Muffet responded in turn as she rested her chin upon
an open palm. The spider stared back at Frisk with a building frown, a growing
demeanor of deep concern. “However, dear, I must warn you… If the rumors are
true and you do happen to come across Chara… please, exercise caution. Her
manipulation is exceptional. She may try to possess you, or even steal your
soul for her own.”
Frisk lowered her gaze immediately. The monster's words splintering through the
extent of her spirit. Don’t tell her… Frisk felt her shoulders start to shiver,
but Muffet spoke again.
“Your soul, the true Manumitter’s soul, is a thing of beauty… Of great
determination and unique fortitude… and mercy. Even if you do not yet know it,
dear.” And Muffet’s gentle smile returned.
Frisk glanced up at the monster. She felt hot tears swell against the back of
her eye and she tried to blink them away. S-she was so tired… she did not want
to continue. She just wanted to stay within Muffet’s little house forever, safe
and protected from the terrors of this hell.
Frisk began to shake her head. “I-I… I don’t… w-want to leave…” She dropped her
chin to her chest and took in a trembling sob as her hair fell before her face.
But Muffet’s melancholy smile remained steady and she lifted an idle limb and
rested her hand upon Frisk’s quivering shoulder.
“I came to terms with my fate a long time ago, dear. But that does not mean you
have to.” The spider’s words were soft, compassionate, laced with a thread of
sorrow and understanding. “There is a strength inside your soul that will never
wane.”
Frisk clenched her teeth. The inevitable steady stream of tears spilled from
her eye. She choked on a whimper and pressed her face into her own hands,
overcome with emotion… and the grief she had struggled with for so long. And
Muffet’s hand slid down from her shoulder and gently rubbed at the side of her
upper arm. The monster’s touch was maternal and nurturing.
Muffet said no more. And Frisk surrendered to her own heartache.
 
 
 
 
That night Frisk couldn’t sleep.
Muffet’s genuine words seemed to resound on repeat, twisting inside her head
like a multitude of serpents. Core City… Asgore’s Castle… The final gate… The
10th door… Was she really that close to the end? There were four more doors to
go, then… Only four more.
Frisk stared back at the dimly flickering lantern light, rolled up in blankets.
Her sorrow was deep… but… but it was not crippling. Muffet’s words had
rekindled something inside her. A hope she once felt, so long ago.
 
Be strong.
 
Her heart began to pound quickly like dragonfly wings. Her soul was shivering
with an incipient fervor. She could feel that blossoming hope dust along the
surface of her spirit. Her determination.
 
You can do this.
 
Frisk sat up from the blankets. She stared down at her open palms, curling them
into fists. She hesitated and eventually pulled on her sneakers one by one, and
then slipped up to her feet. She stood over the small table and took a sip from
an idle clay bowl of water that rested there.
 
…
 
You are the Manumitter.
 
……
 
Frisk placed the empty bowl back down and tiptoed to the opposite side of the
room, down the stairs to the first floor. Muffet slept soundly upon the couch.
Her head rested on a small burlap pillow.
 
Search for your strength.
 
Frisk stared back at Muffet for a long time, an angel disguised as a beast.
Defeated, yet untarnished. Fallen, yet kind. And she couldn’t help but… b-but
see her mother. Her mother… who was now just a distant tranquil smokescreen of
comfort she once had so long ago. A tragic figure of acceptance.
Frisk slowly stepped into the center of the dim room and glanced past the couch
at the wall, at the painting. The painting of the 10 warriors. Her eye locked
upon the depiction of her executioner… her tormentor… her obsession… Sans…
 
Search for that strength deep within your soul.
 
…
 
Frisk ripped her gaze from the painting and stepped through the shadows to the
front door. She pressed her hands against it and pushed, and much to her
surprise the door slowly opened. Inch by inch, the door swayed outward,
revealing the desolate and dreary village of Hotland before her vision.
 
Freedom… a chance to return home…
 
Frisk stood within the doorway for a long while. Her breath felt short and her
heart was pounding. She slowly turned back to look at Muffet, who remained
sleeping soundly upon the couch. And Frisk bowed her head and she whispered
softly.
“Thank you…”
 
I cannot stay. I must continue on. My journey… it is not yet complete.
 
… Thank you, dear friend…
 
And perhaps we'll meet again… in another life.
 
Frisk lifted her head. Her eye glazed over and a sadness poured inside her
heart, but the determination urged her fourth. And Frisk thought she could see
a gentle smile spread along the spider’s face through the shadows as she
stepped through the archway and closed the door behind her.
She patted at her shorts pocket to check for her weapon.
And then she took in a deep breath of musky, thermal oxygen.
And she stepped forward into the village, making her way towards the 7th gate.
 
 
 
 
 
 
The village was dark.
So much more dark than she had remembered it.
And so ominous.
The buildings huddled together in close clusters and Frisk’s anxiety began to
stack up in layers upon her determination. There were so many shadowy open
doorways and windows. Anyone, anything, could be lurking. But the abandoned
homes were silent. There was no sound at all, no breeze, no bubbling lava. The
only noise came from Frisk’s own shallow breath and softly padding footsteps.
There was barely any light. Meager rays of illumination rose from deep chasms
that ran along the edges of the vast cavern and it emitted a soft orange-red
glow upon the rocky walls like some dismal light show. Frisk wrapped her arms
around herself as she walked. She was already beginning to miss the comfort and
safety of Muffet’s hovel. W-was she making a huge mistake right now? Would she
live to regret this decision?… If she lived at all? But she inevitably fought
back the anguish and continued forward.
And as she walked, she began to wonder where Sans could possibly be right now…
Watching her in secret? He had promised to stay by her side… what a liar. And
what of Chara? Was she lurking in the shadows as well? Frisk felt like she was
being stalked by two malignant assassins, and each one had a drastically
different endgame in store. It was exhausting to think about, so she pushed it
out of her mind. And she tried not to think of anything at all. Except her own
endgame.
 
Freedom.
 
If she made it to the final gate in one piece, what then? Would she open the
gate and immediately close it behind her to trap the monsters within this hell?
To prevent them from spewing out into her world? And what about Sans?… He could
teleport through the gates… Frisk was not sure if Chara harbored that ability,
although if that demon could create them than certainly she could go through
them, but Frisk could not be positive. However, Sans certainly possessed that
power. He could teleport past Chara’s gates and the final threshold. She would
never be free from his clutches… In the end, something would have to give.
 
Don’t think about this. Right now you need to focus on getting to the 7th gate.
You need to focus on the current obstacle in front of you.
 
Frisk released a heavy sigh and walked through a particularly narrow alleyway
between two stone buildings. She stepped out from the cluster and continued on.
And as she journeyed, she noticed that the congested assemblage of architecture
had begun to thin. That claustrophobic feeling was subsiding and the number of
houses were dwindling down. She glanced to the side and could actually see the
stone walls of the cave without buildings obstructing her view. Was she getting
close to the 7th gate? What awaited her at that next roadblock?
 
It grew darker. Silence buzzed in her head and she could hear her own pulse
thumping within her ears. Frisk reached an idle hand up to the stitches at her
throat. They were no longer concealed behind gauze and they were healing quite
nicely. She lifted her hand further over her cheek to her blinded eye. That
wound would never heal…
And as Frisk walked along in a daze, something shivered out of the corner of
her intact eye.
 
A light.
 
T-there was a light!
 
Frisk turned her head and stared back at the soft flickering glow. A small
adobe house settled a ways away from her. It looked like every other house in
the solemn village, but it contained a glow that seeped out from each open
window and hollow doorway. The small structure was only one-story and it was
isolated, pushed up against the side of the cavern wall away from all the other
buildings.
Frisk felt her heart lurch in her chest. She stumbled forward and made a
compulsive sprint towards the house. She immediately disregarded any dangers
that could be lurking. Her soul was pulsing within her, it felt hot with
determination. She knew that light. She knew that glow. That familiar,
shivering gentle yellow radiance.
 
A candle.
 
Frisk scampered up towards the small building and stood in the archway,
catching her breath. A small gleaming candle sat upon the floor in the corner
of the room. That translucent wax, that hovering ember. There was no mistaking
it. This was a savepoint. A new resurgent light. And Frisk’s heart soared with
an ecstatic gratitude. Yes!
If she were to die up ahead, then she would return to this very spot. She would
not have to worry about being sent back to the lava caves, before the
laboratory. The horrors within that building would finally become a thing of
the past. And if, for whatever reason, the savages that awaited her were too
much, then she could always return to Muffet… That was always an option with
this candle.
Frisk stepped inside the meager space and knelt down before the torch. She
peered through its glossy translucent wax. It dripped down all sides and formed
an adjoining puddle of translucent varnish underneath. She reached out a hand,
slowly inching her fingers forward. And Frisk braced herself like she always
did before she touched a savepoint.
Her fingers ran along the candlestick and she felt that shockwave. That rush of
flowing energy.
Her vision went white. The surge was so strong, it forced her voice forward and
she cried out as electric torrents spread throughout her form and tangled deep
within the pit of her soul. It was so powerful. So jarring and unwieldy. But
the sensation was fleeting. And slowly her sight returned and the rapture
subsided and she knew… she knew that she had saved.
 
Thank god.
 
Frisk stared back at the gentle light as her vision finally settled. She forced
herself up to her feet and leaned against the wall, staring around the small
house. It was empty and so much smaller than Muffet’s abode. There was nothing
here, so Frisk turned and walked back outside into the obscured shadows, and
she continued on down the unfamiliar stretch of caverns as her determination
blazed deep inside her. A fresh fire of ambition.
 
 
 
 
 
She walked on. The light was fading fast. Dark, darker, and darker still. The
open lava chasms embedded within the edges of the ground begun to close up and
soon Frisk found herself in a veil of velvet black. She came to a stop and
clenched her teeth. Her heart began to tremor within her chest. This darkness…
It left her no choice…
Frisk reached a hand in her pocket and pulled out her blade, her box cutter,
her sword. She wrapped both her hands around the handle and pushed her thumb
along the side, unsheathing the knife. Then she closed her solo eye and dug
deep within herself and focused.
That familiar surge of heat churned in her chest and it only took a brief
second for the red fiery glow to burst forward. The translucent licking embers
danced in the air around her and ran down both arms and wrapped around her
blade. Her soul formed her weapon, and it was quite the spectacle as always.
The luminous, crystalline liquid crimson wrapped around her utility knife and
created the cutlass which extended outwards. Frisk opened her eye and smiled
softly down at her power. She could feel the virtue spiraling about her hands.
And her soul… her blade… it felt… stronger.
Red illuminated the space and Frisk could see the walls of the cave clearly.
They were narrowed and had begun to close in around her, although the ceiling
rose high overhead, and that fact made her feel a tad uneasy. Anything could be
lurking up above her in the shadows, crawling along the walls… But she
continued forward, holding the blade out in front like a torch.
 
 
 
Frisk finally reached the edge of the village and soon there were no more
buildings. She continued on with only the restricting walls of the caves
surrounding her. The space soon became a daunting constricted cavern. And there
was nothing. Nothing but that long, endless stretch of tunnel before her. The
temperature began to drop. That sweltering, stuffy heat back within Hotland was
no more.
Was she getting closer to the 7th gate?… C-closer to Core City?…
It had to appear eventually.
Frisk stared down at the elixir stardust that swirled within the translucency
of her sword. Its color had always been a comforting sight, but her mind
continued to drift and envision what horrors may be waiting for her just at the
end of the corridor. Terrible, blood-thirsty creatures… carnivorous predators…
Monsters worse than Sans.
S-she could still turn back… She could still run…
There was still time…
 
No. Do not submit to your fear. Keep going.
 
And Frisk continued.
And she stared through the red hazy shadows that bounced off her sword, down
the obscured mineshaft.
 
But…
 
But there was something…
 
There was something up ahead.
 
Something… strange.
 
A dead-end. A rock wall. It rose skyward, high overhead towards the towering
ceiling of the narrow cavernous ravine. But as Frisk squinted her eye and
examined the barrier in depth, she could see something. There was actually a
small, dark archway embedded within the wall… an open doorway. And… and there
was something else. Something odd… some sort of object hanging directly above
the passage.
 
What the hell… What was that?
 
It almost looked like a massive black burlap sack bound to the wall. Frisk took
slow steps forward, holding her sword high over her head to brighten the space.
She tread closer and closer, her heart and her soul pounding quickly in unison,
which in turn made her blade’s sheen quiver. Her eye locked upon that object… a
peculiar mass that erected out from the stone like a tumor. And as she paced
even closer the vesicle became visible in clear view.
 
…
 
That was not an object…
 
…
 
That was not some burlap sack…
 
…
 
That was a monster.
 
 
 
Frisk stopped dead in her tracks. Her single eye widened in a panic.
I-it was a monster. And it was suspended directly above the doorway.
The creature was massive, daunting, and almost as dark as the rock walls behind
it. Its body was elliptical and there was an imposing maw right smackdab in the
center of its torso. Frisk could see dual rows of interlocked jutting teeth,
like thick pearly cleavers, protruding from its stomach craw. But… that
tremendous, frightening mouth at the center of its abdomen was not the only one
the creature possessed. It had a head atop its form. Its facial features almost
looked reptilian, but they were much more ambiguous.
Its head was tilted downward, yet Frisk could see the outline of two eyes. They
were closed. Its snout was tapered and there were more smaller, sharper teeth
protruding from its upper jaw in an overbite. The creature had no limbs other
than a thick, lengthy tail that dangled low and hung directly in front of the
doorway, blocking the only path forward. Its flesh looked rough and fibrous, as
if it were not flesh at all but some type of charred woven textile. And oddly
enough the creature was bound to the stone with a variety of ropes and wires
and hooks digging deep inside its body.
 
I-it was… terrifying… Like some sort of living cancerous growth protruding from
the wall.
 
But… the monster appeared to be… asleep.
Frisk watched its shoulders rise and fall steadily. The maw at its stomach was
closed and the teeth were clenched. Its tail swayed slowly, side to side, like
some intimidating curtain that blocked her only pathway. The hollow space
behind it seemed to lead into nothing but shadows.
 
Did it lead to the 7th gate? To Core City?
 
She would have to get past this treacherous creature somehow… It was the only
route she could take. There was nowhere else to go.
 
Frisk felt her stomach churn as she stared up at the bound creature. It
appeared to be tied to the wall against its will… the hooks that dug deep into
its body looked quite painful, but there was no blood. There was no gore or
bleeding lesions… Was this thing even even alive? Or was it some sort of
sentient, cursed object?
But it had a mouth… it had two mouths… With dozens of sharp teeth. Frisk came
to the conclusion that it was most likely dangerous. And carnivorous. And she
stared back at the nightmare through her red glow.
 
Its tail is swaying…You could… you could sneak past it.
 
That is suicide…
 
It is bound to the wall. It has no limbs. It’s not like it could chase you.
 
But what if it has some unknown ability? Maybe it can sprout limbs. Maybe it
was not actually bound, but this was just an elaborate trap.
 
Frisk’s mind raced. Her heart shivered so terribly. Her legs felt like jelly
and she tensed every single one of her muscles which in turn pulled at her
neck’s stitches and caused the wounds to ache. But the monster remained asleep.
It was completely silent.
She was left with very little options. Go forward or go back. She began to
wonder if Muffet had ever come across this creature, although if she had then
she surely would have warned her, right?
But through Frisk’s upsurge of fear, she could still feel her determination…
pulsing faintly.
 
You can do this. You are strong. You have already been through so much.
 
Frisk began to step forward. Her gaze locked upon the creature’s unusual
features, mainly the appalling belly maw. She lowered her sword down to the
floor, trying to hide the crimson glistening glow from the monster. It remained
asleep. It was silent and still, except for that swaying tail. And Frisk
stepped closer… closer… closer… until she was only a few feet away from the
beast.
It really was so much larger up close. Frisk shifted her sword in one hand and
leaned forward just a tad, staring past the swinging tail into the dark alcove.
She could see that it was a narrow tunnel. The walls were smooth stone and it
reached out into darkness. It was too obscured in shadows to see further, but…
but it MUST lead to the 7th gate. It had to!
Frisk tilted her head and stared up at the creature. She could see its form
rise and fall as if it were breathing gently in a deep slumber. Frisk stepped
towards the side of the wall and she stared at its tail. She carefully examined
its movements, its patterns. But the swaying motions seemed to have no rhyme or
reason to them. She would have to be quick. She would have to dart past as soon
as the chance presented itself.
Frisk was trembling. She clutched tight upon her sword’s hilt and held the
liquid blade down towards the floor. She stepped up directly in front of the
open archway, linger by the edge of the alcove. The monsters tail swung to the
right side, revealing enough room for her to dash past it.
But… she hesitated.
She missed her chance.
 
Just bide your time… just wait for it…
 
She rolled her shoulders back and watched the monster’s broad, hulking tail
coil and lurch side to side before it swung towards the right once more,
revealing another large opening for Frisk to slip past inside the alcove. But
her heart jerked in her chest and her feet refused to act for a second time.
S-she couldn’t move.
 
She had missed another chance…
 
Dammit!
 
C-c’mon! You can do this! Don’t miss another shot!
 
Frisk grit her teeth and squeezed at her sword’s handle in a clammy palm. She
leaned forward, only inches away from the beast’s swinging appendage, staring
back into the shadowy niche. The tail swung back and forth in short bursts.
Slowly. Slowly.
Then it shivered.
And it swung to the right once more.
 
GO! NOW!
 
Frisk lunged forward. Her heart was pounding so fast that it made her rib cage
sore. She staggered and attempted to sprint past the dangling tail into the
darkness.
But… her fear and panic… it caused her to dither halfway through the open arch.
And that tail, that massive attachment, swung back much faster than she had
expected and collided into her painfully and knocked her to the side.
Frisk let out a sharp cry as she fell to her knees beside the open tunnel.
And she heard a sound.
A deafening, abrupt, startled bellow overhead…
 
The monster…
 
It was waking.
 
……
 
Oh, god… Oh, NO!!!
 
F-fuck!!! GET UP!!! RUN!!
 
She scrambled and hopped up to her feet, her sword still in one hand, and Frisk
darted for the doorway again. But the tail lurched forward and hit her
backwards again, directly in the center of her chest. It knocked the wind from
her lungs and she choked on gasping inhales and fell painfully upon the stone
ground a second time, skinning her knees against the rocks.
“Who's THERE!?!”
 
A voice.
 
The voice… it was deep, frenzied, agitated and echoed with a thundering
velocity against the narrow stone walls. Frisk pushed herself backwards as fast
as she could and stumbled up to her feet, moving away from the monster’s
reaching tail. And she stared up at the mound in horror.
The creature’s eyes were no longer closed. They were opened wide, two bright
flashing irises, as red as blood, that housed dilated obsidian pupils within
both centers. The monster’s teeth within both its mouths were grinding together
as if in a rage. Its tail swung rapidly back and forth, and its body jerked
around against the binds that struggled to hold it still.
Its eyes narrowed and leered down, directly upon Frisk.
 
Oh, god… C-crap… Holy hell-…
 
Frisk wanted to run. She wanted to turn and sprint back to safety… t-to
Muffet’s house. But her legs wouldn’t move and she simply stared up at the
constrained creature in pure, unabated dread.
“Who are YOU?!” It spoke again. No, it wasn’t simply speaking. It was yelling.
The creatures bellowing voice pierced through Frisk’s ears like small scalpels.
It wrenched violently against the tethers.
 
This monster… It was enraged… unstable… There had to be a reason why it was
bound to this wall, and Frisk did not want to find out what that reason was.
 
But through Frisk’s fear, she managed to speak, clutching onto her crimson
sword in both hands.
“I-I… I’m-… I’m here to open… open t-the gates…!!” Her mind immediately coiled
within her head and she spoke again without thinking about the consequences.
“I’m the t-true Manumitter! I’m not Chara!” She quickly added. Perhaps this
monster was not completely crazed like the others. But a terrible feeling in
the pit of Frisk’s stomach told her otherwise…
And the creature’s large red eyes narrowed down at her. Each massive
interlocking incisor that protruded from his stomach’s maw grit together as he
spoke. His words spilled from the smaller mouth above, as if the gullet within
his stomach was its own individual being.
“The gates, huh?!?” Those screeches softened just barely, but his voice
retained that resonating ire, a deranged, frantic timbre… And it made Frisk’s
blood run cold.
Frisk nodded her head quickly at his remark. She took another slight step
backwards. She did not want to be anywhere near that tail…
“Y-yes… I’m the true Manumitter… I-I’m not here to kill-!” Her voice trembled.
Her whole body quivered uncontrollably. Her head spun with a terrible fear-
induced vertigo and her breath became short and limited. But she tried to stand
straight, she attempted to bury her fear.
 
Y-you are the Manumitter! Be strong!
 
The monster studied her carefully. He continued to jerk and struggle against
his binds, the deep metal hooks digging into his amorphic body.
“The MANUMITTER, huh?? Well… I’ve never HEARD of such a thing!”
Frisk’s heart sunk to the floor at the monster’s words. He had not heard of the
Manumitter!? But he continued to shout back at her in a resentful resonance.
“HOWEVER… I will let you pass, pitiful one, if you… untie me.”
 
…
 
And a terrifying smirk spread across both his maws.
 
…
 
……
 
Do not untie this thing. Do NOT.
 
Frisk’s inner voice of reason was frantic and spiraled inside her mind like a
top. The bound monster continued to grin wide, his expressions exuding a
corrupt hostility that was almost tangible, and he struggle with even more
force against his binds. The ropes stretched around his large bulbous form, but
they held.
This creature… There is no way he was telling the truth. Untying this thing
meant death… He was lying… This was a trick… H-he… he knew nothing of the
Manumitter… Was he really that far gone?
“COME ON! UNTIE ME!” He shouted back at Frisk again, shaking her from her
thoughts, and he lifted his tail and began to pat it violently against the side
of the wall. Frisk’s eye settled upon the open doorway directly before her. It
had become completely unobscured.
 
P-perhaps you could make a run for it…
 
No… No! Was he baiting her? This was a ploy…
 
If you are quick enough-
 
She felt sick and took another step back, her mind churning with conflict and
anxiety and fear. And the warped, fibrous creature continued to thrash about in
his ropes and slap his tail against the side of the rocks so forcefully that
some stones and debris fell from the ceiling. But despite the horrible vision
before Frisk’s eye and her swelling fear, her determination continued to sear
and set her soul afire.
 
Come on… Y-you can do this. Run! Run now!
 
Frisk grit her teeth. Sweat ran down her forehead and spine.
 
Quickly!!
 
She leered at the narrow, unimpeded entrance into the hallway.
 
Go now!!
 
She scraped the tip of her scarlet dripping liquid-glass blade along the stone,
lifting it up to her side.
 
GO!
 
And she lunged forward in an adrenaline-induced compulsion.
 
The monster’s red eyes widened. Sis smirk faded as he watched Frisk dart for
the open door right below him, so unexpected.
And he brought his tail down directly beside her.
Frisk lifted her blade in an attempt to parry the appendage, but the tail swept
underneath her risen sword and it aimed to knock her off her feet. It collided
with her ankles and Frisk was swept out from under her. She fell painfully upon
the floor with a sharp cry.
It happened in a matter of seconds.
The monster’s cumbersome tail coiled around her waist like some a gargantuan
constrictor. It squeezed her sides painfully and it lifted her up off the
ground.
 
N-no!!! NO NO!!! NO!!!!
…
 
S-she… she had failed…
 
Frisk screamed out. Her hands were sweaty and shaking but she kept her grip
upon her soul’s sword, somehow. The monster lifted her high. It held her
directly in front of his daunting face. Her legs dangled underneath the coiled
tail directly before his abdomen’s maw and she could feel hot, humid breath
cascading along her bare knees.
“Trying to RUN, are we? Trying to FOOL me, EH??!?”
 
T-this thing… this thing was deranged… Insane!
 
Frisk clutched at the monster’s squeezing tail with her free hand and she cried
out again. G-god- It was squeezing her! It hurt!!! It was c-crushing her! The
pain was tremendous as the monster’s massive tail coiled and constricted around
her waist. She could barely breathe, it was crushing her insides! She kicked
her legs frantically below. S-she could feel its stomach’s teeth grazing
against her shins.
 
N-no!!! No!! Please!! S-sans… please, help me!-
 
Frisk gasped out and screamed and fought back the fear and the tears and she
lifted her opposite hand, holding her sword out in front of her. The crimson
hue flashed brightly before both their eyes. She leered back at the monster as
her expression contorted into one of pain and angst and rage. And she held the
shivering crimson sword high overhead.
Then she brought the blade down, spearing the liquid maroon light directly
through the creature’s shoulder.
 
Y-yes!!! Kill him!! F-free yourself!
 
She twisted her hand to the side, forcing the blade in even deeper, her teeth
clenched tight from a deep-seated enmity. She began to stab the monster’s upper
body over and over, cutting into his thick textile flesh, searching for that
round rooted orb within him. His lifeforce, his soul.
 
Surely, this would kill the monster! She would slay this beast!
 
But…
But the tail’s secure grip upon her body… simply tightened.
And the monster… he grinned wider. And released a blood-curdling laugh.
“Ahaha! How futile, Futile, FUTILE!!”
 
The blade… it did nothing… Not one trace of blood or gore spilled from the
sections where her saber pierced through. The monster had not even flinched
from the impact. And she thought she could see a thick dark material inside the
open lesions… but it was not organic. It looked like dark wet cotton.
 
What the hell was this thing!?
 
Frisk’s sword hand started to shake. Her eye went wide as the realization hit
her like a collapsing wall. S-she couldn’t kill it. W-where was his soul?
Hidden away? And her anger morphed into panic and she started to plead
frantically.
“P-please!!! Please d-don’t do this!! I’m here t-to-… nnh!!… I’m here to free
y-you!” Frisk begged between trembling gasps for air. The mutant tumor simply
laughed, sending wave after wave of dread down Frisk’s spine. He did not seem
much for conversation. He was maniacal.
And the monster simply squeezed her tighter. Frisk gasped and cried out and her
body began to quiver from pain. She felt like she was being crushed inside a
massive clasp. The agony was so severe that it caused her to drop her soul
sword to the floor. The red illumination vanished the moment she released the
weapon and it transformed back into that simple box cutter instantly, landing
upon the stone with a loud clatter.
It was dark again.
So dark. But not completely pitch black.
The monster’s red eyes glowed faintly, just enough for the crimson to
illuminate his facial features and each one of those wide, grinning
interlocking teeth embedded within his primary upper maw.
Then Frisk felt something… something wet…
It was substantial. Hot and slithering around her bare legs.
 
W-was that-… was that a tongue!?
 
Frisk couldn’t see it, the thick tail that curled around her blocked the view,
but she could feel it. The monster’s midsection mouth had parted its jaws wide
open and a thick, black dripping tongue lolled out past those jutting canines.
The tongue was almost as broad as the beast’s girth and almost as long as his
tail. It dangled directly before Frisk’s shivering knees and began to wrap
around one of her legs like some repugnant slimy palpus.
The saliva was thick and sticky like glue. It coated Frisk’s shin and oozed
down into her sneaker. G-god!!! It was revolting. The muscle coiled around her
ankle, moving upwards… up along her limb to her kneecap, up even further to her
bruised thigh. Frisk could feel each sharpened crown of the monster's teeth
graze against her leg and a surge of hot panic erupted up from the center of
her gut. She began to scream. And all the while his steady squeezing tail held
her still directly before that venter mouth.
Tears rolled down Frisk’s left cheek from the pain and the fear. She
automatically kicked at the monster’s coiling tongue with her opposite leg. She
scratched and clawed at his tail with her fingernails. She gasped and cried and
begged for mercy. But nothing worked. Nothing would subdue the insidious
creature. He was too twisted, too hungry.
 
S-she was going to die. She was going to be… devoured alive… again.
 
And Frisk’s voice spilled forward against her will.
“S-SANS!!! SANS! HELP ME!!! P-PLEASE!!!” She began to cry while her voice
cracked from pain. If Frisk hadn’t been in such a state of shock and horror,
she would have found the situation almost ironic… pleading for deliverance from
a monster who had already consumed her alive multiple times in the past.
But the double-mouthed creature did not respond to her wails. He simply lurched
her lower and forward, down towards the abdomen maw. And that dripping
apparatus began to wrap around both her legs.
 
T-there was nothing… nothing she could do to save herself… nothing.
 
PLEASE! Someone h-help me! Sans!!… Chara!…
 
The creature was starting to jerk her forward inside that yawning lower mouth.
Sharp teeth encircled both her shins, rubbing into her flesh, cutting her skin
just enough to make her bleed. Her hot viscous blood mixed with the monster’s
syrupy saliva. Frisk almost cried for Chara. She was seconds away from calling
for that demon. But her voice became stuck inside her throat before she could
utter another word.
And the monster… He began to bite.
 
Frisk screamed again, gasping, sobbing.
The pain was overwhelming.
 
Excruciating.
 
Thick teeth began to sink deep inside her flesh, directly above her knees,
while the monster’s tongue simultaneously slipped up between her thighs and
tasted her all over. It was s-so vulgar. But she couldn’t even think about the
debased perversion. All she could focus on was the pain.
And those teeth sunk further inside her tender tissue, through her muscle, her
tendons, until they hit bone.
Frisk heard a sickening crack, like the sound of compact tree branches bending
and breaking. The creature’s jaws were so powerful. His canines punctured
through her femurs with ease, splitting the thick cartilage, ripping her legs
apart.
 
A flash of blinding white cloaked her limited vision.
 
N-no-
 
Pain reeled up from her lower body and wrapped around her entire form.
 
God, no-!!!
 
Her pulse hammered inside her damaged legs. And the crippling agony was so
egregious that it turned every one of her thoughts into sludge.
 
No!!! NO NO!!! NO!!! PLEASE, NO!!!
 
A roiling wave of nausea spilled through her, gushing inside her stomach,
followed by an outpour of endorphins that numbed the pain for just a moment.
But it did not last, and the immediate overflow of mind-shattering agony
returned. Frisk could barely scream, her throat had been rubbed raw from
crying. She trembled violently in the grasping tail that held her firm. She
could barely see a thing… but those dim ruddied eyes leered down at her from
above, piercing through the ebony atmosphere.
And the monster did not say a word. But… Frisk could hear those fevered,
heaving panting breaths spill from his upper mouth. The deplorable creature
began to relish in the hot, delicious flavor of her flesh as he fed his belly
maw. Frisk felt a pull at her mangled legs followed by the sound of wet,
obscene crunching.
She felt… s-so cold, despite the hot saliva that coated her lower half. She
couldn’t move… She couldn’t move her legs inside his mouth anymore… She had no
legs anymore. And that tail coiled tight around her and she felt paralyzed from
the waist down.
The monster jerked her body back and she felt a sensation like a snapping
fetter upon both lower limbs. Another wave of agony, even more tremendous than
the first. She was screaming again despite her swollen throat. Her legs… they
had both been severed directly above her knees and the heinous creature began
to chew them down as blood and flesh and gruesome shards of bone oozed from the
slight spaces between his teeth.
But Frisk still couldn’t see the damage. She could only feel it, and the
tightening grip around her waist began to numb anything from the hips down. Her
organs were being crushed by tail and both her legs had been torn so brutally,
bisected from her body. She was bleeding out fast. Hot, pulpy crimson vicious
spilled from the open wounds into the monster’s maw. He drank it all down after
devouring her legs.
He was destitute and needy. So starved for fresh meat.
 
S-sans…
 
Frisk stared forward blankly with a lifeless gaze. Her eye glazed over and her
vision… it had begun to fade in and out in that familiar fluctuating waver. Her
muscles had gone limp in the monsters tight grasp and her head fell to one side
against the top of his tail. But the vile beast… he did not stop. He was still
hungry. Starving. And he began to shove her even lower, pushing more of her
abdomen into her mouth.
 
Sans… Why… w-why won't you come?… Why won't you help me?…
 
The monster’s secreting tongue slipped between her thighs again. Her shorts
were dripping wet with inky translucent saliva and his tendril slid up further.
It wrapped around her abdomen. Frisk could feel the backs of her thighs press
flush against the top of that tongue. He had positioned her halfway inside his
gaping maw.
Sharp blood-caked teeth grazed along her exposed midriff. His tongue slipped
her hoodie up to her ribs. The beast’s steady tail shifted and continued to
hold her firm around the chest now. Her pulse had begun to slow. She could
barely feel her heartbeat anymore. And that red hue overhead began to fade…
fade into nothing…
Rows of teeth from top and bottom punched through her soft abdomen and her
blood leaked from each incisor impact. They tore through her midsection. Her
hot, messy viscera extruded from the open lacerations, spilling inside the
monster’s massive maw like liquid nectar.
 
P-please…
 
But… the pain had already begun to fade. Every one of Frisk’s senses had become
diluted. And those knives that dug deep inside her stomach and ripped her in
two simply felt like a warm, wet pressure… a muddled weight against her lower
intestines. Her body was shutting down. Her nervous system was already dead.
It was so cold…
So dark…
 
You… failed.
 
And the monster’s jaws shut around her midsection.
And it severed her in half.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: Core City.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Oooouuuch… God dammit, Frisk. Thank goodness for savepoints, amirite?
     Aaaaand we're almost to the Core! We're starting to get closer to the
     end here, folks ( ◕︵◕) At least Frisk is finally beginning to show a
     little more backbone and it’s all her own, even though it backfired
     horribly. But perhaps with the reset she’ll get it right next time.
     In the next chapter we will see round 2 with Mad Dummy, the 7th gate,
     Core City, and meet some more new demons- err… characters. *chuckles
     weakly*
     Advanced warning: The next chapter will contain graphic and explicit
     violence/guro/gore/more cannibalism & a generally disturbing and
     distressing scene. *cough* Bratty&Catty *cough* Lookin’ forward to
     it!
     Also, I want to point out again that these remaining chapters will
     require more time to publish. It takes a while to write the long
     ones, and I don’t want to damage the quality by forcing them out too
     quickly. Just a little side note (This means probably 1 week in
     between chapters max).
     Stay tuned!
     /////////////////////
***** XXVIII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 28: You are compassion. You are mercy.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Heyo!
     Suppity sup’ all! Time to buckle down and get ready for some Core
     City *buckles* So let’s see… Chapter 28. Frisk is back on her own
     once more, making her way through the Underground. We’re so close to
     that final gate, I can almost taste it! And it doesn't taste good.
     We got lots of angst in this chapter, round 2 with Mad Dummy, more
     angst, some new locations, even more angst, and the intro to Bratty,
     Catty and Burgerpants.
     I know my advance warning from the previous chapter stated that this
     one would have gore and guts and all that good stuff, but I actually
     wasn’t able to fit that scene in. The chapter was too long. So that
     will be included right off the bat (heh) in the next chapter.
     As for this one, no warning is required. There is some violence but
     it’s mostly mild(ish?) I know you guys are all itching to see Sans
     again (it’s just torture waiting for him, isn't it? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ *kills
     everyone with anticipation*) He will be back sooner than you know.
     Anyways, enjoy!
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
 
…
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
You died…
 
…
 
Again.
 
…
 
…
 
 
How sad.
 
 
…
 
S-shut up…
 
…
 
 
Maybe next time you’ll learn.
 
 
…
 
 
Maybe next time you’ll call for me instead.
 
 
…
 
No…
 
Manumitter…
 
…
 
 
…
 
Shut up.
 
 
SHUT UP!
 
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
 
 
Frisk opened her eye.
A familiar, fluctuating yellow hue shivered before her blurry vision.
A light she had seen so many times prior.
A light that only meant one thing…
 
Resurrection.
 
Frisk lay against her shoulder on her side. She was panting heavily, gasping
for a breath as if she had just run a marathon. Her thoughts coiled in her
mind, but each one was distant and muddled like a cloud of black smog. W-what…
what happened?… She had died… She had died again, huh?She ran her fingers
across the stone ground underneath, trying so desperately to remember, try to
grasp at her wavering recollections that simply slipped through her
metaphorical fingers.
 
You were at Muffet’s house. And you were… determined. But you left. And then
you were… murdered.
 
Frisk’s lone eye widened as her thoughts finally began to solidify. She
remembered… she remembered that cancerous beast upon the wall. And she began to
whimper in her throat and clutched at her stomach with both hands. Her fingers
automatically slipped underneath her hoodie and grasped at her bare navel. Of
course, it was untorn. There were no open lesions or teeth marks or blood. She
was no longer paralyzed from the waist down. Frisk pulled her knees inward and
shifted her feet with ease. Her legs were still intact.
But despite her untarnished form, she couldn’t help the mental anguish. And the
heartache began to simmer in her throat and she let out a sob, choking back
against hot tears. S-She had failed… she tried so hard, but still she failed.
Her effort and determination… it had not been enough. It was nothing.
 
…
 
God damnit!!
 
“Damnit!!” Frisk couldn’t keep her voice down. She was filled with so much
anguish and anger. And she began to curse out in a rage. But the hate she felt
was unlike the time Chara had possessed her soul. There was no broiling heat
within her chest. If anything, her soul almost felt cold. This rage, this
grief, it was all her own. And it was profound and rooted deep within her.
Sullen helplessness clashed with her determination, and in that moment it won,
and it took hold of her crimson pneuma and she cried hard against the floor.
 
D-damn you, Sans… you liar…
 
“Sans!! Are you watching t-this right now!?” Frisk screamed out at the top of
her lungs, her trembling voice cut through the silence like a wave of arrows.
“Are you enjoying this!? Getting off to my pain and suffering?! Y-you want
these damn doors open so bad, don’t you??? Then why won’t you help me! ”
Her heavy sobs cleaved through each word. She could barely breathe over pained
gasps.
“I hate you!!”
And the tears continued to stream down her cheek and she buried her face down
against her sweater’s sleeves, shielding herself from the world.
“I… I hate y-you…”
Frisk curled up into herself upon the floor, clutching at her face in both
hands. She tried not to think about the brutal and heinous murder that that
monster had just inflicted upon her. She tried to push all of those painful
thoughts deep down inside her mind, locking them away beside every other
nefarious memory of this hell. And she slowly lowered her shivering hands and
rested her cheek down against the floor, feeling so defeated.
She stared into the candle’s ember. The light was blurry from her tear-glazed
vision.
She was so alone…
…
… Why won’t he come?… Come back…
 
'Maybe next time you’ll learn.'
…
’Maybe next time you’ll call for me instead.’
 
Those aggressive words shot through Frisk’s recollection like a bullet. T-that
voice… her own voice, though laced with loathing and resentment and intentions
all of its own. Like a second consciousness that had melded with hers. A
sentient mental demon born from her anger and fear. No… that was not her voice.
That was… Chara.
Frisk shook her head in frantic desperation. She clutched at both sides of her
scalp and began to claw at her skull. C-chara… get away from me. Go AWAY!
 
……
 
…
 
 
You don’t need Chara. And you don’t need Sans.
 
You will free yourself from this hell with your own abilities.
 
You are strong. Even if you do not yet know it.
 
…
 
Frisk’s frenzied, beating pulse and hyperventilating breath began to settle as
that inner voice of reason smoothed over her thoughts. She slowly released her
grasping hands from her head and relaxed upon the ground. She watched the
candle directly in front of her. Its little ember hovered like a perfect orange
crystal above the wax-coated candlestick. These candles… these save points…
they were salvation and destruction. Wicked beacons of light that kept her
tethered to this world.
Frisk idly lifted one of her hands and reached for the candle. Her fingers
pressed through the supple, translucent wax. She trailed her fingertips along
the erected pier as her muscles automatically bunched, just waiting for that
thunderbolt to surge through her. But it never came. This candle… it had been
depleted. This savepoint was no longer a shackle, not until she found the next
resurgent light, at least.
She understood very well how the candles worked now. She could cut her wrists
over and over and go back to the beginning, go back to the very first candle
once more, the final checkpoint. But she knew what would await her if she
attempted such an endeavor… Sans. He would be there. He would stop her. He
would not allow her a permanent death… not yet. Though the thought of returning
to the beginning ruffled the feathers of her mind.
If she did that… then it would certainly get his attention…
 
You don’t need that monster. He’s not here to help you. Now is your chance to
escape. To free yourself. Be strong.
 
…
 
And Frisk considered returning to Muffet’s house. Perhaps that would be best…
Just to make her way back through these dark caverns, back into the village.
Sneak back inside Muffets home and head upstairs and bury herself in the
blankets and pretend she never left. She could stay there with that
compassionate monster, safe and protected for the rest of time.
But… was that not just surrendering to her fear? Would she truly be secure
within that abode?…
 
You know the answer to that question. You know what you must do.
 
…
 
You must continue forward. You cannot stay still. You cannot live in the past
like Muffet does.
 
…
 
That is not your fate.
 
Frisk took in a deep breath. She closed her eye. She wanted to rest. She wanted
to breathe quietly again. She wanted to be free. Her heart began to beat fast.
The cold that had nestled inside her soul melted into a comforting warmth. She
felt an influx of determination, and it was like a gentle embrace. Her hope.
And she slowly pushed herself up off the floor and stumbled to her feet.
She had come so far… She knew… she knew what she had to do. Frisk inhaled
through her nose and slowly released the breath. She ran her fingers against
her messy chestnut locks her fingertips grazed along the folded square of gauze
at the right side of her face.
 
That’s right. I don’t need him. I will free myself.
 
And she opened her single eye and turned, staring through the doorway, gazing
back into the inky shadows of the cavern, into the unknown.
She attempted to drive that hazy vision of Sans from her mind… His red
shivering hue, those interlocking teeth, mementos of her misery embroidered
upon the walls of her soul… No. No more. And she clenched her hands into fists
and pulled the box cutter from her pocket. It was the first time in a long time
that she had felt such determination.
 
You have been damaged, yes. But every soul becomes fractured in time. It is up
to each one of us to search deep within ourselves… and to fight… to hold on.
Because even the stars are not immortal… And we all must burn in the end.
 
So keep fighting.
 
Keep striving.
 
And burn bright.
 
Frisk lifted her weapon out in front of her. Her soul blazed with hope, and
that comforting warmth wrapped around her chest and arms and it summoned her
sword instantly - beautiful liquid crimson, a symbol of her strength born from
weakness - and she stepped through the open archway into velvet black.
 
 
 
 
 
It was dark, but her scorching saber lit the way.
Frisk stepped slowly through the shadows. The small adobe houses began to fade
into nothing and only tender darkness remained. She walked through the void
with her soul on fire as ambition sheltered her from sorrow. The walls narrowed
in around her and the ceiling rose high overhead, but she felt no fear in that
moment. She knew what lay up ahead, at least for the time being. Her footsteps
were slow and steady and they echoed against the floor. The temperature had
begun to drop again and she knew she was getting close. But this time she was
armed with the ability of foresight.
 
A second chance.
 
Frisk tightened her grip upon the sword’s handle and she held the blade high
before her like a glittering scarlet torch. The corridor grew more cramped with
each step. And while she walked, as her soul burned with new courage, she gazed
through the strong translucent sheen onto the other side.
And she saw it.
 
The wall.
The open tunnel.
The malignant tumor.
 
It was still bound to the stone above the doorway. Still sleeping. Everything
was exactly how it was before her death, and Frisk came to a stop and she
watched the creature’s steady amorphic shoulders rise and fall in a deep
slumber. His eyes were closed, his head tilted down upon his chest, both of his
daunting teeth-gridded maws clamped shut. And from this distance he did not
seem quite as daunting as before, but she knew the insanity this monster
harbored.
Frisk’s eye traveled down to the fastened mouth at his stomach, and even lower
to that thick tail, swinging back and forth like a massive tree vine. It
blocked her path, just like before. She glanced up at the multiple ropes and
hooks and tethers that kept the monster in place. She wondered just how long it
had been here… Since after Chara’s rule? This monster was not made up of flesh
and meat… Perhaps that was the only reason why he was still alive. No one could
eat him.
Frisk took in a deep breath, trying to steady her pulsing heart. Her arms shook
with a hint of fear, but it did not diminish the determination she felt in her
soul. She wrapped both her hands tight around her blade’s handle and began to
step forward towards the sentient growth in silence.
Each step brought her closer. The sound of his slow, consistent breaths cut
through the quiet. Frisk’s eye locked upon the exposed mesh of thick canine
fangs that formed an even row directly at the center of his abdomen. Inside
that mouth was… thick, gloopy black saliva… a coiling tongue of velour ink… hot
cascading exhales… and hunger… and destruction.
She could not die again. She could not go back to Hotland, back to the
sweltering lava and the savepoint before Alphys’ sinister laboratory. N-no…
Frisk tred closer until she was only a stone’s throw away from the beast, just
out of reach of that daunting tail. She peered past the swaying appendage into
the tunnel. It was dark, small, narrow… like a mineshaft. And the red
illumination of her sword made it appear all the more troublesome.
Frisk rolled her shoulders back and she cemented her feet to the floor. She
ripped her gaze from the tunnel, from freedom, and she leered up at the fatal
monster. Still sleeping… She lifted her arms high over her head and shifted her
stance, inching forward. She would strike him. Yes, cut him down while he
slept. Sever his tail from his body and run past. S-she wouldn’t give him the
chance to devour her again.
Frisk stepped closer, her teeth clenched, her heart stammering so violently.
 
Yes. Cut him down.
 
…
 
And find his soul. And PIERCE IT!
 
…
 
Remember what he did.
 
…
 
And what he WILL do.
 
…
 
KILL HIM!
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
No.
 
No. Do not attack while he sleeps. Although he is cruel and deranged, you will
not ambush him.
 
You will defeat him, but you will not do it like a snake. You will face him
head on. You are not deceptive malice. You are not Chara.
 
…
 
Frisk hesitated.
Her lone eye widened, her rage-filled expression softened, and her mind surged
with a turmoil inside her head that painfully scraped against the inside of her
skull. C-chara… I am not Chara. I am not hatred. I am my own person.
Frisk’s shoulders trembled and she took a step back. She breathed in deep, slow
inhales as she tried to steady the building vehemence that clung to her heart.
 
Rage. Despair. And hope.
 
A kaleidoscope of three conflicting emotions, constantly at war within her head
and her soul.
 
You are compassion. You are mercy.
 
…
 
But that does not mean you are weak.
 
Frisk anger subsided. Her determination surfaced. She took a step back, moving
away from the monster, and she lowered her sword down to the side in one
gripping hand. She stared up at the creature with a rigid gaze.
And she spoke.
“Monster.” Frisk whispered and held the tremors within her voice at bay. Her
heart was a pounding turbulence inside her chest and fear boiled the blood in
her veins. But she pushed back the doubt and her determination soared.
 
Do not be afraid… You can do this. You can do this.
 
“Monster! Let me pass!” Frisk spoke again. Her voice was no longer a timid
whisper. She shouted back at the bound creature and lifted her sword. Scarlet
brilliance encompassed the entirety of the cramped alcove. The strength of her
weapon shone so brightly, like a supernova cutting through velvet space, and it
illuminated both of them radiant crimson.
The monster heard her, and he began to shift against the ropes and slowly open
both eyes. His red orbs met her vermilion light and each black pupil dilated
into thin pinpricks. The creature shifted automatically, violently, stirred by
such an abrupt disruption from his eternal slumber. Frisk could hear a chorus
of growls deep within his textile form, and she could see that familiar
maniacal rage start to contort his serpentine facial features.
“Who are YOU?!” He bellowed down at her.
His words were pure déja vu. That voice… jarring and frenzied, like a
uncontrollable typhoon of fury, and it stormed through Frisk’s soul and shook
her determination at its roots, but she held on.
“Let me pass, monster!” Frisk called back to him without hesitation. She swiped
her blade in the air, holding it across her chest in a defensive barrier. The
bound demon’s glare ripped from her face and locked upon her sword. And Frisk
spoke again, her voice wavering ever so slightly. “I am the Manumitter. And you
will let m-me pass.”
The monster grit his sharp, narrow teeth at his upper maw, while the second
lower mouth parted its jaws. That sickly sludge-dripping tongue lolled out past
the canines and dangled before her vision like a taunting threat. And he
laughed.
“Haha!- The Manumitter? What’s that??” There was a hint of sarcasm within the
remark and the dummy’s clenched teeth formed a scornful smirk.
“You know who I am.” Frisk replied in a harsh whisper. She leered back at the
monster, holding her ground. Her limbs shook with fear but her soul ached with
fortitude.
And the monster’s eyes narrowed at her words. He glared back at her and the
corners of his smirk flinched. His tongue dangled from the open maw at his
belly and licked over his chops, that poisoned ambrosia saliva dripping to the
floor.
“I will let you pass, human…” His voice softened. He had called her human. He
knew… he knew all along. “… that is, if you untie me.” And his venomous smirk
spread brazen across both maws.
 
No…
 
Frisk shook her head.
“I cannot do that.” She whispered under anxious breath and shifted her stance.
Her soul grew more troubled, more agitated, with each passing moment. She had
to act soon.
And that smug ire melted from the creature’s smirk in an instant.
“UNTIE ME, HUMAN!!” He began to shout and thrash and struggle so violently
against the stone. Frisk’s heart lurched in her chest. She watched the iron
hooks dig inside his body, tearing at the textile fibers. She could see his
insides just barely… Black globs of liquid synthetic tissue. Ink stained cotton
sludge.
“N-no… “ Fear began to take hold around her heart. NO! Do not let fear control
you! She shook and wrapped her free hand around the sword’s hilt to join the
other. She watched in horror as the monstrosity thrashed and contorted upon the
wall he was bound to, fighting against the ropes, overcome with a surge of
deranged malice from her denial. So much hate. This whole world was infected.
Poisoned with resentment.
“UNTIE ME! FREE ME!” He was screaming. His words were like daggers, piercing
through her heart over and over. But she pulled the knives from her
determination, her soul bloodied yet strong, and Frisk’s lone eye locked upon
the thrashing tail like a lethal pendulum. She peered past his tail, past the
anger, into the advancing tunnel, her escape.
Determination urged her forth. The rubber soles of her sneakers veered against
the stone.
Frisk held the blade out in front of her and lunged forward.
She could hear the monster’s deafening shouts, each one cut through the
thumping pulse in her ears.
Her soul was numb with determination, her heart was struck with adrenaline, but
her head… her head was clear.
 
And she bound for his tail in a matter of seconds.
 
She was fast. This time around, she was victorious.
 
Frisk swiped the blade in front of her the moment she reached his thrashing
tail. She did not give him a chance to act. She knew what his tactics were. His
tail lurched underneath her blade like it had done before, but she twisted her
arms downward and cut through the middle of his appendage, severing the bottom
half with ease. Her soul burned so bright, it cut through his limb like a hot
knife, and Frisk watched the lower half of his tail splattered upon the ground.
Even detached, it continued to twist and coil like a sentient tendril on the
floor.
The monster began to scream overhead. Not from anger, but from pain. And the
bisected tail spewed with a black inky substance, thick and clotted like muddy
tar. Warm molasses seeped from the open wound at his cleaved limb overhead and
it dripped upon Frisk’s shoulders and coated her sword black.
 
Go!!! GO GO GO-!!!
 
Frisk’s breath caught in her lungs. She stared up at the tumor in pure horror
over what she had done. But the remaining mangled tail, still attached to his
form, would not stop thrashing. And he brought it down a second time, aiming to
knock Frisk directly at her chest. She parried it and sliced through the upper
half, cutting the entire limb from his amorphous body. The thicker section
plummeted to the ground with a sickening, wet thud. The monster had no tail
now… and he was convulsing in agony against his binds. Screaming. Gasping.
Pleading.
Vile black insides spilled down upon Frisk from above, but she did not stay
still. She bound forward before he could try to grab her with his tongue. She
ran through the small narrow tunnel entrance. Her legs shook with each frantic
step she took and the adrenaline forced her into the shadows. She held the ink-
stained sword out in front of her and ran down the narrow mineshaft to her
escape. To the 7th gate. To Core City. To the end.
And as she ran, she could hear the monster’s hateful screams resound against
the stone walls around her.
And they followed her into the darkness.
Into the abyss.
 
 
 
 
 
Frisk ran on. She sprinted through suffocating shadows until she could not run
anymore. The screaming harsh bellows that echoed behind her for so long had
finally turned silence. She stumbled to her knees, gasping for oxygen in the
narrow tunnels.
S-she did it… She had escaped.
Frisk’s hands trembled, but she kept her grip upon the sword, and it shimmered
softly. She wanted to rest her soul, but she did not want to be without light.
The corridor was so narrow. The claustrophobic feeling that the shaft created
was overwhelming. It was probably the most confined tunnel that she had come
across during her time in the Underground. She could barely stand up straight
without the top of her head scraping against the ceiling or her shoulders
touching the walls. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped in this
restricted space in pure darkness.
So she kept her sword drawn and simply leaned to the side, resting her cheek
upon the wall. She took in harsh breaths. Her lungs felt so sore. And as Frisk
recovered from her getaway, she stared down at her hoodie and arms. She was
covered with that monster’s sludgy innards. In a way it almost reminded her of
Gaster’s black viscous… but it was not nearly as soupy. The material that
stained her clothes and skin was warm and clotted in small clusters of muddy
fibers. She wiped away some of the strange material from her hands. It almost
looked like clumps of black, wet wool.
It made her feel sick. Frisk attempted to wipe away the tar filaments from her
arms and legs and chest. She rolled up her sleeves and tucked them inward,
using the untainted inside fabric to rub her face clean. So much for a bath and
washed clothes… And she took in a heavy sigh and stared down at her sword. It
was also stained with black remains, but the red liquid glass had already begun
to dilute the tarnish.
Slowly, Frisk’s breath returned. Her legs ached from the frantic dash, but she
felt relief. She had made it past that monster. She was back on track now. On
track to the 7th gate. And her mind began to churn with questions… and
anticipation.
 
Core City.
 
Yes, it lay ahead somewhere. The final realm… Perhaps on the other side of this
tunnel? She knew it was somewhere past the 7th gate. So where was this
barricade then? How long would she have to walk in darkness until she reached
the light? Exactly how big was that metropoline? A-And Asgore’s castle… it
resided somewhere on the brink of freedom. She was so close.
Frisk lifted a free hand and rubbed her throat, wiping grime from her stitches.
God, she wished she had some water right now… if not to wash away this
contamination then just to drink. She was so thirsty. But her thirst made her
think of Sans and her shoulders began to shake like they often did when she
thought of him. S-sans…
 
Eventually she staggered back up to her feet and took slow, trembling steps
forward through the darkness. The walls and floor were constructed out of
smooth stone and they looked man-made, well… monster-made. It began to grow
cooler in the corridor. The dropping temperature told her that she had left
Hotland behind.
But as she walked, she could not shake her constant anxious thoughts. Thoughts
of Muffet… and Undyne and Papyrus and Flowey and every other miserable monster
she had encountered during her time in this hell… and the history of this
world… and those two persistent demons that haunted her dreams. Her memories
coursed and clutched at her soul and it weighed upon her vigor. But the
determination remained strong.
 
Sans…
 
Chara…
 
You won’t defeat me…
 
 
 
She continued on.
On and on, through the darkness. The tunnel stretched out before her in one
long unbending passageway. Perhaps she was traveling through the mountain… She
began to wonder what Core City would look like. If it would be another
abandoned community inside the caverns like Hotland, or perhaps it was outside
surrounded by trees like Snowdin. It had been so long since Frisk had seen the
sun. And for a split second she could picture the green grass that spanned
across the orphanage courtyard… and the full pine trees swaying softly in the
summer breeze… and warm rays of light beating down upon her skin from overhead.
Peace.
And freedom.
Her soul grew hot.
 
Frisk smiled softly to herself as she walked. The memory brought harmony. Will
I ever see those trees again? Smell the warm night air?… See the sun?… And the
stars?
She had been so distracted with her tranquil recollections that she did not
even noticed what lay up ahead in the narrow passage. She blinked away her
detracting thoughts and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight. Her eye
widened. Her heart hammered rapidly. T-that was… that was…
 
A door.
 
Frisk lunged forward, practically tripping over her sneakers. She darted for
the door some yards up ahead and skidded to a stop the moment she reached it.
A-a door! A gate!! This is it! The 7th gate!!!
The door was small, made entirely out of metal, and it was hardly a door at
all. It had no locks or knobs or anything to indicate that it was an entrance
way. If anything, it just looked like a steel barrier. But Frisk knew better.
Through the multitude of deep scratches and indentations and notches that
decorated the iron, she could see it. The symbol.
Frisk held her blade low and leaned forward. She used the light from her sword
to inspect that chiseled symbol upon the wall. It was almost completely
obscured under all of the notches, she could barely make it out. And the sight
of the scratches upon the barrier made Frisk’s heart start to tremble. I-it
almost looked like… like monsters had tried to break open this blockade. Some
of the slashes embedded in the iron resembled claw marks.
 
They had been trapped… And they all wished for freedom.
 
Frisk hung her head and felt a familiar upsurge of grief. But she
simultaneously lifted one free hand and pressed the open palm flat upon the
carved motif. Frisk lifted her head. Her messy bangs fell before her eye. The
red sheen from her lowered blade reflected within her gaze. She summoned her
power.
 
A flash of bright red.
Warmth coiling inside her chest.
Crimson liquid flames scattering outward upon the walls and ceiling.
Her determination burst forth instantly at her command. Once she barely had
control over her powers, but now she could regulate them without a second
thought. The succulent translucent scarlet danced down her arm, down to her
wrist, wrapping around each one of her fingers. It was so bright. It was
blinding. And Frisk squinted as she stared back at the tarnished metal wall.
The crimson reflected off the blockade’s dulled sheen, turning the iron red.
So hot…
So much… power.
Her heart fluttered in her chest at the intense feeling. Her soul had become
encompassed in a sweltering heat. It almost hurt. But it felt more like an
intense pressure than pain. Frisk’s knees buckled underneath her and she grit
her teeth together as she withstood the burning weight that crashed against the
inside of her soul.
Her hand trembled and her fingers flinched. Her head was spinning. She felt
faint. S-she couldn’t keep this up for much longer… And just as Frisk was about
to pull her hand from the barrier, it shifted.
The narrowed blockade began to shiver under her touch. And in a split second
the barrier fell backwards with a loud and deafening clash of steel against
stone. She dropped her sword to the floor and the red surge of energy vanished
from both her arm and blade. It was pitch black and Frisk cried out from the
thunderous bellow. It was deafening, especially due to the echo in the cramped
hall. She automatically staggered backwards and crouched down to the floor,
making herself small and wrapping her arms up over her head. She felt fear. The
crash had created a permeating cloud of dust that caused her to cough and gasp
for a breath.
I-it was so dark…
Her ears were ringing.
Frisk whimpered and buried her face against her knees. She did not feel brave.
She was terrified.
And as the resonating throbs within her ears slowly subsided, she noticed
another sound. She could hear something else…
 
Wind.
 
Her heart began to stammer. Gor a moment she braced herself for the appearance
of Sans. O-oh, no… She knew his teleporting abilities were often accompanied by
the sound of rushing wind… but he never came. She was alone in the darkness.
The breeze she heard… it was not a short bursting cyclone. No, these gusts were
distant and continuous and they seemed to howl from the newly opened mine shaft
before her.
Slowly the veil of soot settled upon the ground. She could breathe again. Frisk
opened her eye only to see velvet black. She felt a gentle gust brush her hair
back from her face. It was not freezing cold, but the air was still rather
chilled… and it reeked of burnt rubber and rot and it made her stomach churn.
Oh, god… what was that smell?… It was awful.
She rubbed at her lone itchy eye with one hand while she patted the opposite
around on the floor, searching for her box cutter. Her fingers touched the
handle and she immediately lifted the blade and re-summoned her sword. Bright
red burst forth and illuminated the entire expanse around her and she could
finally see… she could see the corridor that lay ahead.
 
The initial design of the tunnel was identical to its predecessor. Narrow
ceiling, smooth stone walls and floor, claustrophobic and pitch black. But… but
this new tunnel… it was… filthy.
The floor was caked in grime and dust and trash. Every section of the ground
was littered with old rusty cans, paper, wrappers, scrap metal, discarded
computer hardware, tattered clothing and stone rubble, shards of glass and
pieces of tire and so much more. It looked like someone had emptied an entire
dumpster inside the corridor and the stream of garbage stretched out into the
darkness. It was horrifying, and the smell was atrocious, and Frisk lifted her
free hand over her nose in disgust.
W-what the hell… Was this… the path to Core City?
Frisk pushed herself up to her feet and examined the mounds of refuse before
her. She slowly stepped forward, walking over the fallen barrier, onto the
other side. Bits of wire and rubbish scraped against the sides of her sneakers
and she almost tripped. Her heart began to pound in her chest, her soul felt
like a caged fledgling as it shivered so terribly. She felt fear and dread at
the sight of the tunnel.
She was scared.
But despite the deep-seated anxiety, she took steps forward, the saber
lightning the way.
 
 
 
 
 
Frisk walked on through the new channel.
Gentle gusts of rushing air, tainted with the foul smell of charred rubber and
trash, collided continuously against her. Frisk coughed and wrinkled her nose.
She felt ill, but continued forth. She had to be extra careful where she
stepped now. Her eye locked upon the ground. There was so much litter
everywhere, but also dangerous shards of jutting glass and sharp steal. She
almost stepped directly upon dozens of standing nails more than once. At least
her sneaker's rubber soles were thick.
She had been through hell. She wasn’t going to let a little garbage stop her
now. Not when she was so close to the end. And she tried to ignore the rancid
odor and took in slow and steady breaths. Inhale… exhale… and continued down
the shaft.
Frisk glanced at the walls around her as she walked. They were covered in
graffiti but none of it was legible. Most of the defacement had been done in
red and white paint and they almost looked like cave paintings. Strange runic
symbols, not unlike the one that adorned the gates. And… and drawings of… dogs?
It was hard to make out because so much of the vandalism had been smeared or
concealed with more paint. But Frisk only felt bad vibes from the graffiti.
Her mind began to churn with ideas of what could have possibly taken place
within these tunnels. Perhaps at one point it had been a refuge for the
monsters in Core City… after the fall of Chara… after the food ran out and
tensions rose. Had the monsters run through this corridor for safety? Had they
hidden among the darkness, pounding and struggling to open the 7th gate? Had…
had they been devoured in here by their own kind?
 
'There was a rumor that gangs of cannibals roamed that city, desperate to
survive.'
 
Muffet’s distant words rang in her head like an alarming euphony. She tried to
wipe the slate of her thoughts clean. They were too harrowing, and they only
made her want to turn back. S-she had to keep going… she had to keep moving
forward… Only three more gates now. Just three more to go.
 
The time rolled along at a snail’s pace. Frisk felt like she had been walking
for so long… Her legs ached. She was so thirsty. Every now and then the piles
of garbage would thin out, only to reappear in clusters that lined the walls.
And the smell… it began to grow stronger. The slow gusting breeze was nonstop,
and although it was not frigid it still made her shiver.
But as Frisk tread along so slowly, feeling so exhausted, she noticed something
piercing through the obsidian darkness up ahead. She came to a stop and
squinted her eye… A light?… Y-yes! There was a light! A dim hue, just barely
visible. Though it was hardly a light, simply a grey muddled rectangular glow,
but it was something other than pitch black shadows. The exit. That was it.
That was… Core City.
Frisk felt a sudden surge of fear pierce through her heart. Her soul’s blade
began to shiver from latent concern. She held a whimper down in her parched
throat.
 
C’mon… Y-you can do this…
 
That strong, merciful inner voice urged her on. She pushed through a thick
screen of apprehension and continued forward so slowly… slowly…
 
Frisk approached the grey light with trembling legs. She heard something… the
sound of… flapping? Fluttering cloth? And finally she could make out exactly
what it was.
It was…
 
… A draped tapestry?
 
A gray curtain of fabric hung over the exit archway. It concealed whatever was
on the other side. It gently fluttered in the breeze. Gloomy light from the
city seeped through the fabric and created that grey glow. Another bitter gust
of wind and the tapestry shuttered like a ghostly phantom.
Frisk stepped closer. An all-powerful bolt of curiosity struck through her
heart. She slowly approached the tapestry until she was only an arm’s length
away. But as she examined the fabric, she could see that it was not just any
ordinary cloth. It almost looked like a flag. A peculiar flag with a majestic-
looking coat and arms crest at the very center. And it was tattered and torn at
the bottom, littered in tiny holes, splatters of paint, charred burns and
weatherworn scars.
 
 
Frisk lowered her blade to the side and pushed her thumb down against the box
cutter’s lever to retract the blade, in turn pulling back her energy back and
sheathing the sword. Having the soul weapon drawn for such a long time drained
her energy… and she would need that if she was going to survive this next
phase. The red illumination shivered and vanished instantly, but Frisk kept her
weapon in her hand. Who knows what awaited her on the other side of this
curtain?… She would be ready for it.
And Frisk slowly lifted her free hand up. Her heart trembled. Her pulse
pounded. She grit her teeth and held her breath deep within her lungs. Come on…
She was scared… She was shaking. You are the Manumitter. Her fingers dug within
the folds of the fabric and she slowly began to push the torn flag to the side…
and reveal what lay beyond.
 
Bright gray light.
A strong gust of rushing wind.
An odor… rancid and overpowering and foul.
 
Frisk was blinded for just a moment.
And her eye slowly adjusted to the glare.
And then… she saw it.
 
Decay. Destruction. Corrosion.
 
Miles and miles of an apocalyptic metropolis.
 
…
 
Core City…
 
…
 
Her blood ran cold. Frisk’s eye went wide and she staggered against the open
archway to her side. She leaned into the stone and stared at what lay before
her, barely able to take it all in. It truly was… hell. And this whole time she
thought the villages that lay behind here were egregious… They were nothing
compared to this. Nothing. She tilted her head back and stared up at the
ziggurats.
Core City was massive. A cluttered grid of towering skyscrapers and buildings.
Each structure was made of metal and stone and the architecture was composed of
a sophisticated futuristic minimalism. But it was difficult to appreciate the
engineering of the structures, as each one was more dilapidated than the next.
The high-rises were crumbling and collapsing into themselves. Some had already
fallen and were simply colossal mounds of metal beams and concrete. There were
no trees. No green at all. And the decaying city seemed to span the entire
horizon before her.
Frisk was no longer within the mountain. She was back outside and the sky
overhead was a slate of grey. No clouds. No sun. No moon or stars. Just a solid
silver slab. Although the sky did create light, somehow, it was neither day nor
night. The light reminded Frisk of the sky in the snowy Snowdin forest.
Frisk ripped her gaze away from the sky and the towering buildings and she
stared directly ahead to get a grasp of her surroundings. The atmosphere hung
heavy with fog. Before her was a flight of wide-reaching steps. The tunnel she
had just exited from led out into a sunken recess of sorts. The walls at either
side were caked in similar graffiti, and Frisk slowly walked past the hanging
curtain and made her way up the concrete steps in a daze.
She reached the top stair and glanced around. Miles of black paved roads,
draped in smog and devoid of any life… or light. Decay stained the entire
cityspace and piles of garbage stacked along the pavement. Streetlamps lay on
their sides in the center of the lanes like dismal speed bumps. Massive mounds
of trash and rubble spewed out from open doorways that lined buildings. And it
was so silent, except for the gentle breeze that swept past and tousled Frisk’s
chestnut locks.
She was… in a state of shock.
Frisk had never been to a city before, even back in her world. She had only
ever lived in her small suburban town, and then moved to the orphanage five
years ago. She had always wanted to visit New York… but she never pictured it
like this. She felt like the last living creature standing within a vast
expanse of concrete decay.
The 8th gate… How would she ever find it in this chaos?
…
 
Y-you can do this…
 
Please stay strong.
 
Frisk brushed her disheveled bangs from her face and stepped forward into the
discord.
 
 
 
 
 
The decaying city was the embodiment of turmoil.
Everywhere Frisk looked had been stained with sinister anarchy.
She tread along at a slow and steady pace, down the middle of the road. The
edge of the black cement path was much too littered with trash, so she was
forced to travel through the center of the street which only made her anxiety
spiral. She felt so exposed… and every few minutes she would glance up at the
numerous shattered windows overhead. But each one remained empty and dark. And
she hated this place… s-she hated it, truly. The only redeeming quality it
possessed was that the gloomy sky illuminated the entire city and she did not
have to keep her soul sword drawn.
Frisk stared ahead as she walked. Skyscrapers surrounded her. The path she
followed was unobstructed, although it seemed to lead out into nothing but a
foggy void. She had to do something… She had to use her wits and logic…
Otherwise she would be wandering this city searching for the 8th gate forever.
And it was so daunting to think that the next gate could either be as small and
obscured as a trap door, or as large as a towering fortress wall. There was no
rhyme or reason to Chara’s gates… like they had been created erratically on
purpose.
Frisk tried to steady her shivering limbs. She clutched tightly at the box
cutter, ready to draw her blade if need be, and walked past a particularly wide
open doorway embedded within one of the buildings.
Frisk came to a stop and stared inside the alcove. It was dark in there… dark
and dirty. She could see what almost looked like shambled remains of tents.
They lined the furthest wall of the room. Frisk’s curiosity gnawed at her and
she stepped over a large pile of rubble and poked her head through the doorway
to get a better look.
The space was veiled with velvet shadows. The floor had been littered with
glass, paper and trash. There was more graffiti… more markings and crude
drawings that covered every inch of wall. Frisk glanced up at the caved-in
ceiling overhead. It almost looked like water damage and she could see the
tiers of floors that rose up and up and up… Had this been some kind of…
apartment building? Offices? Her mind churned with questions.
Frisk ripped her gaze from the ruined ceiling and continued to scan the initial
entryway. A flight of stairs nestled within the corner seemed to lead up to the
next floor. The stairs were also stone and crumbling and they looked unstable,
but… but a sudden idea sliced through Frisk’s anxious thoughts. If she could
somehow climb up… way up high to the top floor… then perhaps she would be able
to get a better grasp of the city’s layout. And maybe she would be able to spot
the gate… that is, if it was a large one.
Frisk took a step inside the dreary, disheveled bottom floor of the building.
The atmosphere was damp from the pervading mist. She could hear the breeze rush
past the opening outside. She also heard dripping water. The room was so bleak…
Frisk’s sneakers crunched against broken shards of glass as she walked along
the edge of the lobby, making her way towards the staircase in the corner.
 
Was this wise?…
 
Was it foolish to enter this cryptic, ransacked building?
 
She bit at her lower lip and began to ascend up the stairs slowly, one by one.
Cracked stones shivered under her sneakers and pieces crumbled under her feet,
but she fought through the fear and continued upward.
Frisk reached the second floor. It was hardly a floor at all, as the center
contained the massive collapsed crater that led into the bottom tier. But the
stairs continue up, and she followed them. Soon she entered a stairwell. The
shaft was narrow and aged. Open windows lined the walls and let in that damp,
chilled breeze. Frisk clutched onto the metal railing and journeyed up. And she
counted each flight of stairs. Ten… Twenty… Thirty… God, her legs were aching.
How many more to go?
She would rest every five flights, leaning back against the railing, staring
out through the windows down at the roads below, before she would reluctantly
continue. And soon there were no more steps. Just a narrow plateau platform
with a wooden door. The door hung ajar and rocked in the breeze. And she could
see… the sky’s grey light through the slight open space.
Frisk pushed the creaking door open outward.
 
……
 
The rooftop…
 
…
 
A harsh, rushing gust of wind blew Frisk’s hair back and she stepped out onto
the uncovered terrace. There was nothing… just a wide slab of concrete
surrounded by the atmosphere's chilly grey glow. Her hoodie’s cowl blew back
and fluttered in the breeze as she walked, inching closer towards the edge. She
peered over the side down at the street below.
It was so far down…
S-so far…
Her spine shivered and she felt her toes and fingers go numb. Blood rushed to
her head and made her dizzy as she examined the height, and she automatically
crouched down to become closer to the floor.
But…
High above the city… it almost felt peaceful.
Away from all the rubble and chaos. Away from the terrible stench of burnt
trash… and the fear… and the dread.
She stared out into the gloomy fog-blemished cityscape as her hollow gaze
hovered over each vacant rooftop. The breeze continued to blow her hair back
and chill her skin. Frisk quivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
And her mind… it wandered… back to Sans… like it so often did.
 
…
…
 
Sans… Where are you?…
 
…
 
Frisk lifted a hand and rubbed it against the back of her neck. Her fingertips
grazed down her slender spinal ridges and she immediately found herself
wondering what Sans’ bones felt like… His hands were always so cold and rough.
And his fingertips… they were sharp. Were the rest of his bones just as frigid?
Was his soul cold as well?…
 
It’s strange, isn’t it? How some souls can burn and burn… and suddenly turn to
ice.
 
Frisk pulled her gaze from the dilapidated skyscrapers and hung her head. Her
fingers feathered over the eyepatch, now sticky and stained with faint black
splotches.
 
Why do you think of him so often?… Just to cause yourself more pain? Are you
really that miserable? Are you that much of a slave to your own anguish?
 
Do you find comfort in your sadness? Is that why… you are so drawn to that
monster?…
 
Or maybe… it's because he harbors a familiar darkness inside his soul……
 
Frisk turned her head over her shoulder abruptly. She almost expected Sans to
be standing there behind her… with his red pulsing hue cutting through the fog…
but he was not there. She was alone. And she tried to destroy that feeling of
sympathy and longing that had somehow become tied to the thought of him. No… I
do not want to see him. I hate him. He is a monster. The worst one of them all…
H-he is…
Frisk glanced back out at the dismal city feeling so alone.
 
Abandoned by everyone.
 
……
 
…
 
But after a long while of idly watching the tops of the buildings, her heart
lurched in her chest. T-the fog… the fog had begun to dissipate, just barely.
And her eye widened and she leaned forward. There was something far away… and
it spanned along the entire edge of the horizon. She could almost see it though
the haze. Was that another mountain? A mountain that bordered the city? It was
massive, dark, and seemed to stretch across for miles.
Wait… that was no mountain.
That was a wall.
A colossal black-brick wall, almost identical to the one that she had come
across during her time with Papyrus. It rose out from in between the buildings
and towered over the skyscrapers like some impressive monolith. And Frisk’s
heart started to soar.
 
A wall like that… meant a gate.
 
Frisk couldn’t see the bottom of the barrier over all the buildings and fog,
but it was only logical to assume that the 8th gate was embedded somewhere
within that barricade. It had to be!
Frisk scrambled up to her feet. The fog had begun to clear. She saw something
else… something flickering. A faint yellow light, just barely visible,
shivering and seeping from an open apartment window in the distance. The light
permeated from the second floor of one of the many buildings. Frisk’s eye
widened and her heart sunk to the pit of her stomach. A light. Did that mean… a
candle? Or something else? A monster, maybe?
She leered back at the gentle glow. It was so faint, and the way it shivered
and the color of the hue… it really did remind her so much of one of the
resurgent candles. But she couldn’t see inside the window from this angle, it
was too far away.
Frisk bit at the tip of her tongue in thought. She needed a new candle… She had
already used up her previous save. If she were to die again, then she would go
all the way back to Hotland. It was a daunting realization and she felt a soft
whimper of desperation swell in her throat. She was so scared. She was so
alone. These constant challenges were too much… She was so tired.
 
That has to be a candle. Go to it. Then make your way to the wall.
 
Frisk released a shivering sigh before she took a deep inhale of cold, wet
oxygen into her lungs. She stared out at the light for a long time, memorizing
the roads and paths that led to it. She also stared at the dark wall, but the
fog had already begun to roll back through the city and obscure the barrier
once more.
 
Come on. The end is so close. You have come so far.
 
Frisk’s mind and heart were nothing but flooding torrents of fear. But her soul
pulsed with that warm determination… a rare tinge of courage. And after a long
moment she turned and made her way across the rooftop towards the stairwell.
 
 
 
 
 
The roads were just as gloomy as before. Clusters of trash surrounded Frisk on
all sides. She pulled her hood up over her head, holding her box cutter tight
in one hand. Frisk scanned the windows above as she walked and searched for
that light. She tried to follow the streets that she had seen from the rooftop
above, but the city looked so different from this perspective.
She felt lost… and so small among the rows and rows of ruined skyscrapers. She
listened carefully for any foreign sounds, but all she could hear were her own
footsteps and shallow breath and the steady chilled wind that refused to wane.
But then Frisk saw it. The light! She saw it through the haze overhead. It
flickered softly within the confines of an open window. There was a tattered
old curtain that fluttered along the top of the window’s frame. Although Frisk
could still not see inside the space from where she stood at the bottom of the
building and it made her nervous.
W-what if it was a monster?… Or a whole group of monsters? What if it was not a
candle at all?
She held her breath in her lungs and tried to listen for any sounds that may
indicate that there were living creatures in the lit room above, but it was
silent. Just… go take a look… Frisk stepped over the rubble towards the doorway
that led into the building.
The initial bottom room looked similar to previous ones. Shadowy, tarnished,
littered in garbage and graffiti. Frisk could have sworn she saw broken bones
among the rubble, but it was hard to tell as everything was so caked in grime.
There was, however, another staircase in the corner and she darted to it and
ran up the steps. The second floor. That light had come from a window on the
second floor.
She scampered up one flight, reaching the second tier, and exited the stairwell
through a small wooden door. It led out into an even darker, gloomier hallway
decorated with a dozen more doors along the walls. Frisk’s heart sunk at the
sight. An all encompassing surge of fear spiked through her soul and it
actually did diminish the determination she felt a little bit. She was so
scared, terrified, and her legs shook and trembled. Despite everything she had
withstood, she was still afraid. Yes, she had so much more courage now than
when she first entered the Underground. But when faced with the unknown, she
still felt doubt. She was only human, after all.
Frisk tiptoed along the dilapidated hallway. The flooring was made of
splintered wooden planks and the walls were concrete. She carefully examined
each door. They were all closed, thankfully. She reached the very end of the
hall and noticed the light.
T-the light.
Shivering yellow spilled from underneath the narrow space between the door and
the floor. Frisk stepped up in front of the entrance and pressed her ear
against it, listening for sounds inside the room. It was completely silent. She
sunk down to her knees and pressed the side of her face against the wood,
peering through the small open section into the chamber. All she could see was
more floor… and more trash… and something that looked like the bottoms of table
legs. But she saw no monster feet. The room appeared generally empty.
 
It is safe. There are no sounds. There are no monsters.
 
Frisk found comfort in her inner voice and forced herself to act. She slipped
back up to her feet and wrapped her hand around the doorknob. Every muscle in
her body bunched with anticipation. She gripped around the handle of her knife,
preparing herself for the worst. The knob turned in her palm and she pushed the
door open.
But her anxiety ceased the moment the door opened out in front. There were no
monsters… and there was indeed a light.
 
A candle.
 
The room was small. So small, that it almost looked like a closet. One
shattered window dawned the fluttering ripped curtain she had seen earlier.
There was no furniture at all, except for a meager table in the corner, and
perched atop the table rested the candle.
Frisk stepped inside the insufficient space. A wave of relief swept over her.
Despite how much she loathed the candles, they still equated safety in her
mind. She stepped over towards the table and watched the gentle ember hover
over its translucent pier.
These candles… She often came across one either directly before or after a
gate. It was as if they were linked to the 10 gates somehow. But she was
grateful, as there always seemed to be some atrocious monster waiting for her
at each gate. Papyrus. Gaster. Undyne. Flowey and Alphys. That grotesque duel-
mawed beast strapped to the wall… Each one of them had been a trial. A
tribulation. Each one had tested her limits.
 
But she was still alive. She was still determined.
 
Frisk gazed down at the candle and lifted her hand without hesitation. She
braced herself for that surge of energy. Her fingertips pressed against the
cloudy warm wax…
And then…
That jarring surge of power.
It shot through her limbs and turned her vision chalky. The upsurge was
painful, so much more painful than it had ever been before. It felt like her
blood had turned to shards of glass and they were ripping through her veins.
Frisk cried out from the agony, her knees buckled underneath and she fought
against the urge to pull her fingers away. But it was all over after a few
seconds. The pain subsided, her vision returned, and she knew that her soul had
been attuned to the candle. She knew that she had saved yet again.
 
Frisk pulled back from the candlestick and staggered against the wall behind
her, leaning into the stone, panting heavily. Her limbs would not stop
trembling from the tremendous advance of power. She closed her eye and tried to
catch a quivering breath.
 
Breathe in…
 
Breathe out…
 
You saved. No more worries now. This city is abandoned. All of the monsters…
they must have died out. Do not fear. The 8th gate is just up ahead. Then there
will be two more to go. Just two more. It's almost over.
 
There was solace in her comforting speculations. She clutched at her warm chest
with one hand, knife in the other, and her breathing turned soft once more.
 
The monsters are gone.
 
But just as her inner voice began to lessen the fear, she heard a sound.
A sharp, ear-splitting wail.
 
A scream.
 
…
 
Frisk’s eye shot open and her heart began to palpate. W-what the hell?… That
was a scream… That was a voice. She heard it again. The silence-shattering
panicked howl shook her at the foundation of her core.
Frisk ripped herself from the wall and darted towards the window. She peered
down at the street below and caught a glimpse of… three figures.
 
Oh, god… oh CRAP.
 
She had not been alone. The monsters had not died out! They still roamed this
city!
 
Frisk felt sick. She sunk down lower, hiding behind the windowpane best she
could while peering over the sill down at the figures. It was hard to make out
what type of monsters they were, especially through the heavy fog, but all
three of them looked almost humanoid. One of the figures appeared to be on the
ground… it was being dragged by the other two… by its legs…
Frisk’s pounding heart felt like it was going to burst. Her eye went wide and
her clammy hands shook like frail leaves swept up in a storm. S-she could
barely breathe… She could barely think… and she watched in all encompassing
horror as the two figures dragged the third behind them. She thought she could
hear voices, but they were muffled due to piercing screams. The monsters
strolled down the garbage-cluttered street until they vanished down an alleyway
to the side.
But those wails… they would not stop.
 
You need to get the hell OUT of here.
 
B-but…
 
You need to get to the 8th gate NOW!
 
Frisk staggered away from the window. She darted through the door, ran down the
narrow hall, down the stairs, into the initial lobby, back outside onto the
street. She jerked her head to the side, staring at the cluttered black-brick
road, and her eye scanning the foggy horizon. No figures. The street was devoid
of life. The monsters had left. But she continued to hear those wails.
And they… they were starting to sound more like pleads now.
 
“A-ah!! Please!!! Please stop!!”
Screaming cries. Begs for mercy. The voice was low and trembling and frantic.
And then she heard… laughter.
Two distinctly different voices, high-pitched and feminine and almost giddy.
The female laughter resonated against the side of the buildings and pierced
through Frisk’s terrified soul.
“C-c’mon guys-… P-please don’t do this! Gah!!” The lower voice again… It was
male… and quivered so violently. And the voice began to gasp and it screamed
out again in terrible agony.
Frisk forced her feet forward.
 
DO NOT.
 
She was terrified and her anxiety cloaked every corner of her mind, but an all-
powerful curiosity and shallow valor urged her fourth despite her voice of
reason’s wishes. She lurked along the sidewalk, carefully stepping over each
piece of trash in silence. The screams grew louder… and the laughter continued…
and she heard the female voices speak.
“A-ahah! Catty, like, look at him squirm!”
One voice…
“Oh my god, you’re gonna make him piss his pants, Bratty! That’s hilarious!”
Another voice…
 
They were high and laced with sarcasm and ridicule. The first voice was much
more echoic and flinty than the second, but they were both equally daunting.
And their laughter cut through the male’s constant screams.
“S-stop!!! A-ah!!!! Please!”
Frisk heard the sound of something soft being jabbed or punctured, followed by
a wet splatter and even more piercing cries. She could only image what those
two predators were doing to their prey. They were torturing him… They were
going to kill him.
M-maybe the monster they had in their clutches was not evil? Maybe he was
similar to Muffet? Just trying to survive… But somehow had gotten captured by
these two deranged savages. Frisk could barely think over his screams. The wet
splattering sound continued and it made her feel sick to her stomach.
 
And then…
 
The sudden urge of bold heroism gripped around her heart. She was the
Manumitter, after all… She was compassion. She was mercy. And she was tired of
running away. Frisk continued along the edge of the buildings, making her way
towards the open alley where the three figures hid.
 
ARE YOU INSANE!?!!!
 
Her inner voice was frantic.
 
NO! NO! THERE IS NO REASON!!! YOU JUST NEED TO GET TO THE GATE!!!
 
B-but what if he was just another lost soul like Muffet?… He needed help…
 
You CANNOT save him!! You cannot save ANY OF THEM!
 
An atrocious, vile sound of gurgling hit her ears. He was choking… perhaps on
his own blood. She had to do something. Frisk’s soul burned with fear but there
was an equally powerful surge of determination. It blossomed inside her chest
and influenced every one of her actions. She stepped up beside the corner of
the alley, back pressed firm against the wall.
Frisk lifted a quivering hand to her side and she pushed her thumb against her
knife’s lever, releasing the blade. She summoned her soul sword instantly with
clenched teeth. Red liquid vitality spilled from her soul and burned high in
the mist. The sword felt so powerful in her grasp. She felt bold and fearless
for a brief moment. And in that moment, she acted, and she stepped out into the
alleyway.
 
 
 
 
 
Three figures stood before her vision at the end of the narrow lane.
Two of them had their backs to Frisk, while the third was bound to a tall
chainlink fence. The bound monster looked human… but he wasn’t. He was
anthropomorphic like Toriel, covered in brown fur with large pointed ears like
a lynx. His eyes were wide and twitching - two round yellow irises with dark
fur encircling them. The monster’s features… they were feline. And he was clad
in a tattered orange jumpsuit. He was bound to the fence… bound by barbed wire.
His arms were splayed high over his head and the wire wrapped around both limbs
down to his shoulders. Another thick coil of jagged wire looped around his
chest, and yet another around his exposed throat. Frisk could see dark blood
smearing along his neck from where the sharp prongs pierced his skin, and it
stained down the front of his tracksuit.
But the blood at his throat wasn’t the only crimson viscous that tarnished the
creature’s clothes. There was a small dagger pierced at the center of his gut,
and one of the other monsters held the blade’s handle firmly.
One of the females. She held the blade. She was also feline, and large with
dark ebony violet-sheened fur. She had short black hair and her pointed ears
were decorated in metal barbs. She wore tattered denim overalls with a thick
bloodied-fur stole wrapped around her shoulders. Her full fluffy tail swayed
side to side. The second monster was taller, slender, and stood right beside
her. But unlike the other two, she was reptilian. Black scales decorated her
entire body and the features that Frisk could see were daunting and crocodile-
like. Two narrowed red eyes, a tapered snout with parallel rows of exposed
pearly fangs. She also wore a black jumpsuit, similar to the other, but she
donned a dark-patterned poncho over her shoulders and it was covered in rips
and frays.
Both of them held weapons. The feline had a dagger, while the reptilian monster
clutched upon the handle of a wooden baseball bat.
And the moment Frisk stepped out from behind the corner, they both turned their
heads and leered at her.
Frisk’s blood ran cold.
“Oi! Like, who the hell are you!?” The reptile shouted back at Frisk, her red
gleaming eyes narrowed into thin slits.
 
T-this is foolish… This is idiotic!
 
Frisk’s pulse pounded painfully in her head. Every rational thought she had
turned to muddled soup. She was overcome with adrenaline. She could barely keep
her sword steady.
 
W-what the hell are you trying to prove here!?
 
Her wide lone eye shivered, locked onto the two terrifying monsters before her.
But Frisk found her voice, somehow, buried deep underneath a sheet of fear and
urgency
“G-get away from him!” Frisk shouted back at the two while she attempted to
stabilize her shivering shoulders. Her voice cracked, but it still sounded much
more tenacious than she actually felt. It was surprising to her own ears.
The two female monsters just stared at her…
There was a long, awkward pause. The wind swept past them through the ally,
rustling small mounds of garbage that adorned the floor. The bound brown-furred
monster glanced up at Frisk from his shackles, his eyes lidded and sluggish
from bloodloss. And both the feline and the crocodile stared back at Frisk in
confusion. They glanced at each other, then back at Frisk…
And then…
…
They started to laugh.
……
 
S-shit…
 
Frisk’s heart plummeted to her gut. The two malicious monsters burst out like
they had just seen something hysterically ludicrous. Their cruel cackles cut
through Frisk’s heroic determination like freshly-sharpened razor blades. T-
They were laughing at her…
“A-ahah! You hear that, Catty?” The reptile jeered through gasping snickers,
clutching at her sides.
“Oh, I totally heard it, Bratty!” Catty responded while she simply yanked her
blood-stained dagger from the bound monster’s stomach. He cried out and started
to cough up blood.
Frisk’s limbs shook with terror. She stared at the heinous display before her.
Now faced with the seriousness of the situation, her rational conscious
returned. T-these two… they were dangerous… deranged… savages… What was she
thinking, going against them? W-what the hell had she been thinking?!? But
Catty wiped the bloodied dagger against the front of her overalls and took a
step forward.
“I got this, girl.” The feline smirked back at her taller companion. And in a
split second she lunged. She did not hesitate to act. And for being so large
her movements were exceptionally swift. She made a beeline for Frisk, dagger
drawn and at the ready in her clenched paw.
 
Oh, no…
 
The broad monster was upon Frisk in an instant, but Frisk’s feet seemed to act
all on their own and she ducked backwards and lifted her burning soul’s blade
up in both her hands, blocking the descent of Catty’s blood-stained knife. A
burst of sparks erupted from the impact as Catty’s smaller blade clashed with
the glistening ruby cutlass. Frisk grit her teeth. Her soul’s energy flared out
and wrapped around both arms, flashing bright scarlet. The illumination from
her power was blinding. Catty staggered backwards, shielding her eyes with one
paw.
“W-what the hell!?” The feline cursed under her breath, and Frisk immediately
took advantage of the opportunity. She darted forward aiming for the monster’s
chest. Frisk’s head felt hot, her soul was burning with determination and
courage. It felt… unnatural… It felt like Chara’s power. T-this was wrong… She
knew this was wrong… But she couldn’t stop her advances.
Frisk brought her sword down, aiming for the feline. The monster lifted her
dagger and parried Frisk’s thrusting blade, but Frisk’s soul sword was long and
the tip began to dig into the feline’s shoulder. The monster cried out from the
pain and tried to jerk back. Frisk’s sword continued its slow decent into her
furry flesh, just barely held back by the defensive dagger.
Frisk was terrified but… her determination was overpowering and steadfast. It
had taken control of her movements. Her soul was ablaze and she could barely
see through the bright red that wrapped around her form. Catty was weakening
under her power. She would be victorious. Her heart leapt from the choppy ocean
of adrenaline.
 
She was the Manumitter. She was righteous. She would end this cruelty!
 
But… there was swift movement out of the corner of her single eye.
She had forgotten about… about the other monster.
 
Bratty.
 
The crocodile charged forward with her bat in both hands. She swung the thick
wooden rod from over her shoulder, aiming at the side of Frisk’s head.
Frisk couldn’t stop the blow.
It happened instantly.
The bat collided into the side of her skull. She heard a vile crack followed by
a deafening silence. Every sound had been sucked inside a vacuum and a sheet of
flashing stars blanketed her vision.
And Frisk’s eye went wide and she fell to her knees.
She dropped her sword to the floor.
Bright lights turned to darkness.
And she was out cold.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: Journey to the 8th gate.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Like, it's Bratty+Catty time, nyaah!
     Frisk! Don't play the hero!!! C'mon!!! Coming up get ready for some
     GORE. Also dogs, the 8th gate, and a fabulous calculator.
     Advanced warning: The next chapter actually will contain graphic and
     explicit violence/guro/gore & forced cannibalism. Emetophobes beware.
     /////////////////////
***** XXIX *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 29: Hold fast that ache for the rest of life.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hey everyone!
     Tytyty for all your comments and kudos. I always appreciate them and
     they encourage me to keep writing! I know I always say thank you, but
     I really do mean it ヾ(●ω●)ノ
     I also wanna apologize for the delay posting this chapter. The dang
     hurricane really cut into my writing time, bleh. Anyways… in this
     chapter we will see more Bratty, Catty and Burg, journey with Frisk
     through the rest of Core City, encounter some more terrifying
     individuals and make our way to the 8th gate. Enjoy!
     Warning: This chapter contains detailed & graphic violence/gore/
     cannibalism/vomit/general grossness, etc.
     Oh, also, I was pretty stoned while I wrote some of this chapter, so
     if there are any weird errors then that is why. I already scanned it
     over for mistakes, but I might have missed some. So, just a heads up.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
 
…
 
It hurts…
 
…
 
I-it hurts.
 
…
 
So much… pain…
 
……
 
…
 
Laughter… she could hear laughter.
 
…
 
It was distant and muffled… like an auditory illusion.
 
…
 
And the pain… it hammered into the side of her head.
 
 
Like a thousand nails had driven deep inside her skull and taken root there.
 
…
 
She couldn’t see. Her eye was open yet it was dark. The caustic pain was
excruciating. A headache like she had never felt before.
 
But… the darkness slowly began to fade… slowly… slowly… And she could see
light. Although it was not the comforting yellow glow of a candle. No, the
light was grey and hazy, tinted with shadows along the border of her fuzzy
vision. There was also a faint red hue - a crimson film that draped across her
eye like a gelatin screen. It was unnatural.
Two dark, towering figures stood over her. She could make out the shapes
through scarlet-tinged blurry haze. They looked like phantom apparitions…
Succubus fiends infused within her nightmare. And their separate high-pitched
giddy chuckles grew even louder.
“Oi! Wake up!”
 
…… A voice…
 
She heard a voice.
Followed by the swift sound of something solid scraping against a rough, sandy
texture… A match? One of the figures had lit a match. Frisk could see the
meager sphere of light appear within the darkness. The smell of astringent
smoke punctured through her weakened senses. C-cigarettes?
“Wake up, you little punk!”
That voice again. It was stoic, yet housed bitter ridicule. High-pitched,
flinty and brash. She recognized that voice. The taller figure crouched down
and leaned in, holding the flickering orange ember between the outline of two
sharp fingers. And Frisk’s vision slowly came back into focus.
Reality hit her like a surge of lightning on a metal rod.
 
S-she was still alive… She had not reset.
 
She was still in the alleyway.
 
N-no…
 
No!! No! Oh, god! No!!
 
W-why hadn’t she reset!?
 
Why hadn’t she died!?
 
Frisk cried out from an overwhelming influx of memories and horror and pain.
Her head ached. She could hear the laughter overhead again and it made her
stomach coil into tight knots.
“Good, you’re awake! You totally almost missed all the fun!” The crocodile…
Bratty…She crouched directly before Frisk’s gaze, only a handful of inches
away. Her eyes leered. They were two narrow scarlet slits, like a pair of
hellish radiating rifts at either side of her black-scaled reptile skull.
But Frisk was in a daze, perhaps from the impact of the bat. She could barely
grasp onto her thoughts let alone her current predicament. She felt something…
something wet drip down her forehead. It ran in her lone eye… it was red and
thick… Blood?…The impact of the baseball bat had fractured her skull. She was
bleeding somewhere upon her scalp and hot scarlet viscous ran down from
underneath her bangs. Frisk tried to blink away the blood while she attempted
to lift a hand and rub it from her eye… but her hands wouldn’t move.
They couldn’t move.
They were bound.
Her wrists had been tied firmly behind her back. Frisk whimpered in her throat
and tried to pull her forearms apart, but a spiraling bolt of agony ruptured
through her arms and followed each movement she made. Dozens of jagged nails
dug into her flesh at the slightest motion. She quickly stilled her limbs and
tried to jerk her head back, glancing down at her arms… barbed wire.
T-there was barbed wire around her wrists.
The seriousness of the situation began to dawn upon Frisk as each heinous
memory came creeping back in full detail. She was still in Core City. She had
tried to rescue… a monster. But she failed… She failed, despite her
determination. And now she sat upon the filthy floor within the alley. Her back
was pinned into the corner where the chainlink fence and the brick wall met.
Two female monsters surrounded her, Catty and Bratty, both decked in black,
wielding blood-stained weapons. Frisk’s arms were bound behind her with barbed
wire and the sharp, rusty prongs dug painfully into her flesh. Thin streams of
blood seeped from the wounds and trickled down her hands. She also bled from
her head where Bratty’s bat had struck. Her legs were unbound, but she could
not move. She could barely even whimper. And her tensed, bunching muscles shook
violently from the omnipresent pain.
Bratty sat directly in front of her. The creature’s crocodile maw clenched in a
foul smirk. She lifted the freshly lit cigarette in her claw and brought it to
her lips. She inhaled the smoke slowly before releasing it from a pair of
dueled nostrils at the end of a tapered snout. Smoke billowed forward in
Frisk’s face and Frisk coughed as the dark vapor stung her eye and burned her
lungs.
“Who the hell are you?…” Bratty growled out and began her interrogation. She
was sneering. The laughter in her voice had faded. If anything she sounded
annoyed. Frisk stared up at the reptilian demon in horror, her conscious a
slushy puddle of dread. S-she couldn’t think. She couldn’t move. But a sharp
cry from behind the crocodile rattled Frisk’s hectic mindset.
Frisk lifted her head, peering past Bratty’s shoulder, and her eye locked upon
the chain fence. That brown-furred feline beast was still tied to the
roadblock… Bound by his arms and chest and throat. Their prey, the male monster
that she had so desperately tried to rescue, he was still here. He was still
alive! But… just barely. He bled profusely from the barbs that sliced his skin
and penetrated fur-clad flesh at his neck.
But those meager wounds… they were nothing compared to the lesion at his
stomach.
Frisk stared down at his abdomen and felt sick… so sick at the sight of it.
 
… He had been… h-he had been cut open.
 
Catty stood in front of the constrained feline. She was much too busy with her
prey to pay Bratty and Frisk any mind. Her knife buried deep within the male
monster’s stomach and she had wrenched it to the side, splitting open his lower
abdomen through the tattered orange jumpsuit. Frisk could see the large
incision. She could see a mass of organs. The outline of his ribbed small
intestines soaked in blood, viscera and oozing dark red fluent and fat and
flesh and fur. Catty simply continued her depraved assault, sawing her dagger
through his gut, ripping him open, tearing him apart. And she smirked and
taunted the impaired monster while she eviscerated him. He was still alive.
Somehow he had not died. Not yet.
 
D-dear, god… This… T-this was a living nightmare… Would the cruelty of this
hell ever end?
 
S-sans… Please… Please help me… I’m begging you…
 
Frisk felt her blood-smudged eye start to prick with hot tears as she watched
the large feline beast rip open her prey and expose his innards so heinously.
The male began to scream again. His yellow eyes wide and hollow as he stared
out into nothing. He was completely enraptured in his agony and shook so hard
against his binds that the metal rattling was almost louder than his cries. He
coughed up waves of blood and bile and it spewed from his parted maw and
dripped down his chin upon the floor. And he thrashed violently against his
tight-binding barbed tethers, which simply caused the sharpened prongs to dig
even deeper.
But despite the sickening sight, Frisk could not look away. She stared at the
exhibit in pure horror. Her heart throbbed within her chest. It pounded so
quickly that the violent torrenting pulse hurt almost as much as the agony in
her head. And her soul… her soul plummeted deep inside a pool of panic and
fear.
 
T-this is… This is heinous… This world is twisted.
 
But Bratty’s sharp voice bellowed out at her again.
“Oi! I just asked you a question!” Bratty growled and immediately shook Frisk
from her thoughts. “Like, it’s totally rude to ignore someone when they are
talking to you! Who are you!?”
The crocodile leaned in close, blocking Frisk’s view of the carnage. Her voice
resonated deep in her chest and she took another puff from the rolled blunt.
She inhaled the smoke, the embers at the end of the cigarette butt burned
bright. The monster furled the blunt between her clawed digits and brought it
down… lower… allowing it to hover directly over Frisk’s thigh. I-it was hot!
Frisk felt the heat from the ember and she flinched, but the reptile moved
quickly. And with a sneer, the creature dipped her hand down and pressed the
end of the blunt into Frisk’s skin.
 
An eruption of pain.
 
Pure, inflamed anguish.
 
The agony conquered her mind, turning each one of her thoughts into sludge.
Frisk screamed out and tried to pull her leg back. She writhed against the
floor as the packed burning embers drove into her flesh and forged a charred,
cauterize ring within her tissue. It was bright red and bleeding and the putrid
stench of burning skin wafted with the smoke.
Frisk cried out and quickly clenched her teeth, but she couldn’t stop the flow
of pained whimpers from escaping. She thrashed against the floor and tried to
kick Bratty away from her. The monster simply gripped upon her knee with a
sharp claw. Her nails only caused Frisk even more pain, and the beast dug each
sharp talon into Frisk’s muscles and stilled her leg.
The cigarette burn left a nasty-looking mark behind. The pain that lingered was
numbing and dreadful. Bratty pulled the cigarette away idly. She took another
puff at her blunt and leered down at Frisk with a look of amusement. A look of
curiosity.
Frisk took in sharp inhales through clenched teeth. She couldn’t stop her body
from shaking. The sharp, tender ache reached the innermost depths of her body…
submerged deep inside her soul… S-she wanted to die… she wanted to reset… God,
she wanted this to end…
The larger feline monster, Catty, continued to linger around the fence and she
skewer her dagger through the male monster’s insides.
But… he wasn’t thrashing anymore… He wasn’t screaming.
Frisk could just barely see the bound creature past Bratty’s shoulder. He hung
limp from his binds. He was still breathing, his shoulders rose and fell in a
slow decline, but he was bleeding out everywhere. The entire lower half of his
trousers had been stained red. Clumps of what appeared to be torn intestines
spewed from the open laceration and spilled to his feet. His jaw hung agape and
his glazed eyes stared out into nothing, sunken and lifeless.
The lethargic movement in his shoulders slowed…
And then… they stilled… and he slumped back against the gate.
Frisk knew that he was gone.
…
 
H-he’s gone… you couldn’t save him…
 
And now you will have to pay the price.
 
…
 
Always paying for the misdeeds of others, huh? Sounds more like a martyr than a
Manumitter.
 
……
 
…
 
That bitter, caustic voice buried deep underneath her own pensive thoughts.
Frisk shook terribly and stared back at the disemboweled victim splayed upon
the fence. The smell of burned flesh and blood made her stomach froth. She felt
so nauseous. But Bratty’s red gaze never left Frisk’s face. The crocodile
monster leaned back and lifted her opposite hand. In her claw was… w-was the
box cutter.
Frisk stared at her weapon in the creature’s grasp. Her eye went wide. No… H-
her soul sword… Her only salvation… God, dammit!
Bratty chuckled, simultaneously puffing at her half blunt while she playfully
swiped at the air with Frisk’s drawn utility knife. It had no glow. It was
simply an ordinary segmented razor in the monster’s hand. T-this monster
couldn’t activate its powers, right?… Only Frisk’s soul energy could call forth
the sword… right?
“Catty, like, do you think I could take out all the dogs with this thing?”
Bratty said. She finally pulled her vermilion gaze from Frisk and stared at the
blade.
 
D-dogs?
 
“Oh yeah, girl, totally… NOT.” Catty responded with a wide grin. She pulled a
handful of viscera from the brown-furred feline corpse and dropped the entrails
to the floor with a wet thud.
And they both burst out laughing.
Frisk felt sick. She was so nauseous. This display… The way these two creatures
acted… They were completely comfortable with inflicting pain and torment, like
it was just some everyday activity. Like it was a game. There was no saving
these creatures. There was no helping these beasts. In a world where only the
cruel survived… there could be no redemption. And Frisk jerked her head to the
side and shut her eye. She could not look anymore. She just wanted to die.
But Bratty spoke again and the sound of her voice made Frisk’s skin crawl.
“So, how am I supposed to make it glow all red and wicked-awesome like it was
doing before? Spill it, brat.” The crocodile said. She took in another deep
inhale of cigarette smoke. These two… they knew nothing of her soul? They knew
nothing of the Manumitter?…
Frisk remained silent. She refused to even look at them. She simply shivered,
her back pinned to the stone behind her. Her head ached. Every now and then her
hearing would fade in and out, like the blow to her head had permanently
damaged her body’s auditory capabilities. She could hear Bratty speaking but
she could barely understand the words under a muffled buzz.
But slowly the speech became clear again.
“-if I wanted to get you to talk, then I could, like, totally just keep doing
this-”
Another surge of sharp, searing fire upon her thigh. Another cigarette burn,
directly beside the first. Frisk’s eye shot open and she screamed out from the
chronic pain. It stung so terribly, her thigh jerked to the side in an
automatic response. Bratty held the scalding flame there a bit longer than
before and eventually pulled it back with a laugh.
“Mee-YOW! That looks SOOO painful! Nyahaha!” Catty chimed in, staring down over
Bratty’s head to watch the torture, and she joined in her heinous companion’s
giddy laughter. “Well that’s what you get ‘fer, like, cutting my shoulder,
loser!”
 
G-god, dammit… This… this is not fair…
 
“So is it, like, just a little monster? Just some kid?” Catty caught her breath
and her giggles subsided. She began to wipe her blood-caked paws against the
front of her clothes.
Bratty glanced up at her colleague for a moment and shrugged. Then she leered
back at Frisk and leaned in even closer. Her sharpened rows of teeth
interlocked in a perfect grid, directly before Frisk’s lone quivering gaze.
“I know you can speak…” The crocodile whispered back at Frisk. Her taunting
timbre vanished again, turning her voice to ice in an instant, “You were
totally running your mouth earlier… before we tag-teamed you. Haha!-” And she
laughed out again. This monster… her reactions were jarring and dangerously
capricious. The reptilian monster’s moods seemed to switch drastically from
stoic to maniacal in the blink of an eye, while the feline remained
consistently giddy yet outright savage. They certainly formed a dangerous duo.
But Catty grew tired of playing with the brown-furred creature’s entrails and
she leaned over Bratty’s shoulder and slouched down to a seat right beside her.
The feline’s eyes studied Frisk up and down. They narrowed, needle-thin pupils
constricting in the dim light.
“Well it doesn't look like its got much meat, Bratty. Kinda a waste…” Catty
spoke with an irked furrowed brow.
“Girl, we just have to fatten it up first. Use your head!” The reptile said.
She took one last puff at her cigarette before she tossed it over her shoulder
and Catty grinned wide in response.
“Oh, shit! Like, that’s a good idea!”
Frisk’s heart was a spinning vortex of panic. F-fatten it up?! She stared back
at the two in unabated horror. The monsters spoke amongst themselves and she
could barely grip at the sentences. Her head continued to bleed and ooze into
her eye. S-she felt sick… and weak… and her thoughts were detached. The head
injury had not only impaired her hearing but her cognitive thinking as well.
But despite everything… they continued their cruelty. Maybe it was not cruelty
to them… Maybe this was just everyday life… Inhumane, atrocious sadism had
become a mundane activity for these two… and for most monsters in this cursed
purgatory.
And Frisk was filled with regret and hopelessness. Why had she ever tried to
save a monster?… W-what had she been thinking? What was the point of showing
mercy?… What was the point, if every shred of clemency she ever spared was
rewarded with malevolence?
 
It’s a cruel world.
 
Frisk stared blankly at the two creatures with a defeated gaze. She watched
them converse amongst themselves. Her hearing morphed back into that static
buzzing from the brain damage, and she tried to blink the clotted, seeping
blood from her lone eye. But the two creatures swiftly turned back towards
Frisk and they both grinned… wide. And suddenly Frisk’s audible sensors
temporarily repaired themselves and she could hear the crocodile speak.
“Yeah, it’s WAAAY too small to eat. So, like, let’s try this-” Bratty grinned
and she leaned back, gasping at the pile of hot viscera behind her. She
clutched at a handful of revolting torn flesh and a chunk of sliced intestines.
The monster lifted the grotesque mass up, directly before Frisk’s face. “Say
‘AAAH!’”
 
Oh, god… W-what the hell- N-no… no… no no nonono-
 
A look of dread spilled across Frisk’s features. She stared back at the mound
of carnage in the monsters class. Just the stench it produced made her stomach
churn. Frisk leaned back, but there was nowhere to go. She was trapped within
the corner. Her hands were bound. She could barely protest besides cries and
feeble kicks of her feet. She felt sick and the smell caused her to gag, and
Bratty lurched her hand closer.
Frisk clenched her teeth hard and jerked away from the pile of gore, the side
of her face pinned to the wall behind her. G-get away!!! Get away from me! D-
dear, god… Sans… please help me!!
 
Even after everything, she still silently begged for him…
For Sans…
She prayed for deliverance from that monstrosity. It had turned into an
automatic response after anything terrible happened.
And Frisk knew that it was wrong… She knew that it was misguided, like there
was something seriously flawed in her psyche, but she could not help herself.
 
“Oi! Open up!” The other monster piped up. Catty leaned in, her large body
blocking out the light, and she clamped a bloodied thumb and forefinger digit
upon Frisk’s nose… to obstruct her oxygen… W-where they honestly… going to
force her… t-to eat this!?
With her mouth clamped shut and her nose held firm, Frisk couldn’t breath. Her
head began to spin and the building dread only made her that much more
desperate for oxygen. The two monsters snickered and watched her, waiting for
her to gasp for a breathe. It was all just a game to them.
Frisk felt like her lungs were going to collapse into themselves. Her vision
turned overcast and hazy and her body acted all on its own. She couldn’t fight
it. Frisk parted her clenched teeth and she gasped for air. But the moment she
took in a breath, the crocodile brought the wad of gore forward and forced it
past Frisk’s parted lips, shoving it into her mouth.
G-god… it was warm and tasted like raw, dripping copper… So foul, so
disgusting. The moment the reptile forced the torn chunks of entrails into
Frisk’s mouth she immediately began to gag and choke against it. And she
couldn’t hold back the churning nausea and started to retch up a wave of bitter
bile. P-please… no more of this… please…
Bratty simply snickered, like she was casually watching an amusing show on
television. Sshe grabbed at another handful of hot viscera from the floor and
shoved it in Frisk’s face a second time.
“I don’t think it likes it, Bratty…” Catty said, still holding Frisk’s nose.
She watched Frisk tremble and vomit upon her own hoodie and choke against the
reeking carnage.
Bratty raised a brow as she forcefully shoved another clawful past Frisk’s
messy lips. She held her open palm flat against Frisk’s jaw, forcing her to
hold the raw innards in her mouth and not puke them up.
“What’s not to like?” Bratty growled, “Hey, you little loser, we’re sharing our
food with you so, like, be grateful!”
Frisk stared up at the two of them over the top of Bratty’s claw. Her solitary
chestnut eye was red and inanimate. She continued to choke against her own bile
and the gore that filled her mouth. She gagged and heaved again, but she
couldn’t stop from swallowing down some of the bloody mass. She couldn’t think.
She couldn’t move. All she could do was tremble in the tight barbed wire binds
and whimper in her chest and stare weakly up at her pair of tormentors. Her
mind was as scrambled as the heinous pile of viscera that she was being forced
to ingest.
But the two of them… they just laughed. They laughed at her pain. At her
suffering.
“Yeah! Be grateful! Or we’ll turn YOU into food, and stuff! Nyaha!” Catty
smirked wide, exposing rows of sharpened teeth framed by two thick cracking
incisors.
Bratty pulled her dripping claw from Frisk’s jawline and glanced back at her
companion with a playful sneer.
“Wait, I thought we were already gonna do that?” The reptile snickered.
“Oh, yeah!” And Catty responded with a laugh.
And the two of them joked around and forced at least five more handfuls of raw,
slimy viscera down Frisk’s throat.
 
 
 
 
 
 
It felt like hours had passed when the two monsters finally grew tired of the
torture. After a while they began to pick and feast upon the assortment of
organs for themselves. They devoured their prey, snacking upon the corpse’s
large and lower intestines and globs of dark crimson wads and stray chunks of
bloodied flesh. They laughed while they enjoyed their dinner of fresh meat,
talking among themselves, but they continued to jeer at Frisk while they ate.
Frisk sunk down to her shoulder. She lay on her side as she stared back at the
two with a blank, defeated gaze. Heinous red ran from her jaw and soaked the
front of her hoodie. The foul metallic taste of bile and blood burned in the
back of her throat. Her stomach ached from nausea and constant gagging… a-and
from the raw gore… that she had been forced to swallow down. The pain that
buried inside her skull never once subsided, as well as the inflamed wounds at
her wrists and the cigarette burns at her thigh. She looked at the dangling
open carcass behind them… and she envied him.
 
Please… let me die.
 
Please… make this stop…
 
But intuition told her that death was not far off… And Frisk closed her eye.
She shook as she tried to hold back her sobs and retched again upon the ground.
“Bratty…” The feline muttered while simultaneously chewing on a tendril-like
organ. Blood stained down the front of her furry chest, shawl and paws. She
clenched her teeth hard upon the end of the entrail and tugged it backwards in
her grasp until it snapped.
“‘sup, guuurl?” Bratty responded. She idly picked at a chunk of flesh from her
teeth.
“I’m super bored…” Catty said.
“Me too. Like, let’s go try out this super-duper sick new weapon.” Bratty
grinned and pushed herself up off the messy floor and stood over Frisk. She
held out the utility knife and retracted and sheathed the blade over and over
as if trying to force the sword to activate.
Catty glanced up at her reptilian companion, swallowing down another mouthful
of raw meat, and she nodded over towards Frisk. “Okay. But what do we do with
this thing?”
“Oh, yeah…” Bratty’s sharp scarlet hues darted down at Frisk. She placed her
opposite claw upon her hip as her large pleated tail swung back and forth while
she continued to toy with the box cutter. “… Let’s just take it for later.
Like, scrawny meat is better than no meat.”
Catty pushed herself up off the floor and stood beside her accomplice. “Good
idea!” The feline smirked wide. Her mouth was stained and dripping with
revolting vermilion. She leaned over for a moment to grab the baseball bat up
off the floor.
Frisk lay at their feet. She weakly glanced up at the two, but she did not
move. She simply gagged again and tried to keep from puking. She felt hollow
inside. She was a shell. S-she was so tired of the constant suffering… Her
determination was gone, long gone. It evaporated the moment she had been
knocked out cold. She welcomed death. She wanted to die… and reset…
And she prayed for a permanent death, but she knew that would not come.
 
Please kill me already…
 
Catty took a couple practice swings with the bat, swishing it through the air.
She stepped closer to Frisk and her perverse smirk widened. Frisk knew what lay
ahead, she longed for it, but her desire did not stop her heart from racing
with anxious anticipation.
“Bye bye, weirdo!” The feline giggled. She lifted the bat high overhead in both
paws. Bratty stood behind her, watching with passive interest. And the monster
brought the weapon down in an instant and the thick wood collided into the side
of Frisk’s skull.
There was a sickening crunch.
They both burst out laughing.
Their cruel mockery resonated off the alley walls like a sadistic chorus.
And Frisk’s vision went white… and then red… and finally… black.
 
……
 
…
 
…
 
 
…
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
It was quiet.
 
 
…
 
 
Entirely silent…
 
 
…
 
So silent…
 
Except for gentle, whistling wind.
Fabric flapping in the breeze.
 
…
 
…
 
 
Frisk kept her eye closed. And she… she felt cold…
Her body shivered upon the ground. She could feel firm wooden planks press into
her quivering shoulder and hip. But… but she thought she could feel another
pressure. Slender, distinct and chilled solid fingers grazing against the back
of her neck.
 
…
 
S-sans?…
 
Frisk’s heart fluttered. She slowly lifted a hand. She brought it to her nape
and her fingertips grazed down her spine. But there was nothing… No hand, no
skeletal claws, not even a mere scratch.
And slowly, Frisk opened her eye and took in her surroundings.
…
 
She was alone.
Alone in the cramped, confined room within the abandoned building.
 
She had been murdered.
 
Again.
 
She had died again.
 
She could just barely see the gleaming light from the candle cascade along the
table’s edge overhead.
Frisk lay underneath the wooden stand. She was alive once more. The grotesque
taste of blood and bitter stomach acid no longer lingered in the back of her
throat. She could see clearly… and she could think with ease. Her thoughts were
stable, no longer a jumbled wreck of chaos. The internal brain damage had never
come to fruition. She had gone back… back in time, like always.
Frisk weakly tilted her head and glanced down at her thighs. No cigarette
burns. She brought her hands forward and examined her wrists. They were free of
injuries and barbed wire tethers. She took in a deep breath of chilled oxygen
and simply lay there. She didn’t want to move. She just wanted to rest, just
for a little while. She did not want to think about the hell that those two
vile monsters had just inflicted upon her. She wished for freedom from these
revolting memories. Even though… technically… her memories were simply ghosts
of a future that had never come to term.
 
That’s right. Those memories, while horrible, never happened..
 
But… they had… they had happened… And each one would forever be engraved upon
the walls of her conscious…
 
No, they didn’t. They never happened.
 
Frisk lay upon the floor for a while. She took in slow, steady breaths, and she
tried to ignore the scent of trash that lingered in the room. This whole city
reeked of garbage. A vision of Sans surfaced within her mind’s eye. That red,
pulsing beacon of hellfire… She grazed her fingers across the eyepatch and
pulled her knees up into her chest. Please help me… But he would not appear. He
would not save her. She knew that he would not come. He was tormenting her with
his absence. His truancy simply added to her distorted desperation. And his
phantom touch continued to haunt her.
Was he even watching her anymore?… He must be. He had to be.
She could not extract him from her thoughts. His mind games had taken root. His
cunning guile had succeeded.
Somewhere along the line, the hate she felt so strongly for Sans had been
contorted into a toxic, spiteful obsession.
And she longed to see him, just one more time.
 
Please come back.
 
…
 
…
 
But suddenly, there was a sound.
A sharp, sudden scream that shook Frisk from her contemplation and she jolted
upright in shock.
 
A deep wail… A pleading cry.
 
S-she knew who those begs belonged to… It was happening all over again.
 
So those monsters had not been affected by the reset, like she expected. And
they were going to playout that repulsive, debased scene all over again. But
Frisk had learned her lesson this time around. She knew… she knew that there
were no helping these monsters. She could not save them, even the gentle ones
like Muffet and perhaps that brown-furred feline. This world… this debased
hell… it was too far gone. It was lost. And she could not allow them freedom.
She would not allow it.
And Frisk was forced to listen the resounding cries, but this time she would
not play the hero. This time she simply lay back upon the wooden floor as her
soul and her heart sunk into a grim, deep ocean of anguish. She closed her eye
and shivered, feeling so helpless.
 
You are close to the end.
 
Remember the 8th gate? It is just up ahead…
 
Do not give up now. Not when you have come so far.
 
…
 
…
 
 
Frisk listened to the wails and the cries and the pleads for a long while. The
voices of the three monsters were muffled, but she could still hear the jarring
cries that echoed off the building walls every now and then. She refused to
move. She refused to even get up and glance out the window. She merely lay
sprawled upon the ground, trying to block out every sound.
Frisk stared blankly at the wooden planks below. Her fingers traced over the
small crevices. It reminded her of… of the shallow cracks that decorated the
bathroom tiles back home… back in the orphanage.
Yes, she used to count those small fissures… w-when she would cut her arms…
God, what she would give to return to that time.
Frisk tore her gaze from the floor and stared at the ceiling as old memories
began to creep up and overthrow her thoughts. Memories of the orphanage,
memories of her mother… memories of a forgotten life… the one she possessed
before she entered this hell that was the Underground. Although even those
memories were not exactly cheerful.
Had she ever known joy?
 
Was it too late for her now?
 
Happiness… was that just some impossible dream?…
 
And she tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come.
 
 
 
 
 
Eventually the screams outside died down. The taunting feminine voices turned
to stifled whispers. The wind continued to guide chilled gusts through the open
window. Frisk listened to the gentle crackling candle perched upon the tabletop
above her. The dim light that flooded the room began to grow darker. The
daylight begun to fade and blossoming darkness strengthened the candle’s glow.
Its embers created shadows upon the ceiling and Frisk watched them with a
detached gaze.
Soon the shouting faded into the shadows. No more screams or cries… the mocking
voices turned to gentle whispers on the breeze. But then they started to grow
louder, very suddenly, and Frisk flinched and sat up on the floor. It sounded
like they were right below the window on the street. Oh, crap.Frisk’s heart
pounded. She staggered up to her feet and tiptoed towards the wall.
Frisk knelt down in front of the window and peered over the edge just enough to
see the trash-littered road below. It was dark outside. The sky that had once
been a solid slab of grey had melted into a dark hue of navy blue. And with the
candle’s glow she knew that anyone outside would be able to see her silhouette
if she was not careful. Frisk peeked over the windowsill just enough to see the
street.
She could see two figures, one short and wide and the other tall and lanky.
They emerged from the shadows of an ally and strolled along through the center
of the street. Two familiar demons… Bratty and Catty. They talked idly between
themselves as they walked. Frisk could make out what appeared to be an armful
of dripping viscera in Catty’s clutches, while Bratty dragged a large burlap
sack behind her. A heinous trail of red smeared along the floor from the sack…
and Frisk could only assume that it contained the dismembered remains of their
prey.
The two of them walked down the street, laughing and chatting, and they slowly
disappeared amongst the rubble at the opposite side of the far horizon. Frisk
listened over the sound of her own shivering pulse until she could no longer
hear their voices… and it was silent once more. They were gone. They had
finished their hunt for the night and ventured back into the depths of Core
City.
At least they had vanished in the opposite direction of Frisk's destination -
the black-brick wall. She found a sliver of solace in that fact.
 
She stumbled backwards, away from the window, and headed out the door. Frisk
took slow steps through the darkened hallway. Each wooden plank creaked under
her feet. She slipped down the stairwell, out into the initial open lobby. The
space was just as decrepit as she had remembered, but now a thick veil of
shadows draped across the entire expanse. Frisk had no idea how the passing of
time worked in the Underground, but there seemed to be a cycle of day and night
similar to the human world. Although there was no sun or moon or stars… the
only indication she could use was the drastic shift in light.
And now it appeared to be nighttime. She stepped through the trash that spanned
across the lobby floor and made way towards the open doorway. Frisk peered
outside into the street and glanced around from side to side. There was no one.
It was quiet, except for the wind, of course. There were no monsters. Bratty
and Catty were gone. But now it was dark. Every inch of the city had been
obscured in a hazy blanket of soot. And although it was not pitch black, it was
still difficult to see.
Frisk patted a hand against her shorts pocket and she felt for the outline of
her box cutter. She slipped a hand inside and pulled out the weapon. She held
it to her chest. Her soul… it pulsed gently deep inside her. It felt… it felt
warm. Her soul’s energy shivered like gentle butterfly wings. The sensation
brought her comfort. But Frisk did not call forth her sword. Its radiance was
much too bright, it was too risky. She clutched tightly upon the handle without
unsheathing the blade.
Frisk stepped into the road and quickly noticed the glistening fresh trail of
scarlet that created a perfect line in the concrete. She took a step away from
the blood and turned her head, staring down the path at the towering black-
brick wall that rose from behind the skyscrapers. It was foggy and the darkness
only added more of an unwanted obstruction, but she could still see it. She
could see the 8th gate, just above the cityscape’s horizon. And Frisk turned,
she rolled her shoulders back and took in a deep inhale of rancid, cold oxygen.
She began to walk along beside the bloodtrail in a steady pace, looking back
over her shoulder every couple of seconds.
She passed by the alleyway… the murder scene.Frisk came to an abrupt stop. She
stared into the narrow backstreet but she could not see inside. The alley was
completely obscured in shadows. She could not see the blood-stained iron
chainlink fence, only an ominous expanse of umbrage.
Frisk’s shoulders began to tremble. She could not have stopped them. Her
emotions coiled deep within her chest and spilled outward in the form of tears.
She released a heavy sob, rubbing at her red, sodden eye with one hand.
 
I’m… I’m sorry… I am so sorry…
 
I could not help you… I tried, truly I did… B-but I could not save you…
 
Please-… p-please forgive me.
 
Numbing sorrow dripped from the core of her soul and created a scarlet pool of
melancholy that weighed inside her heart. But despite it all… despite her
sadness… she could still feel it… Her determination.
It refused to subside. And it urged her legs forth.
And Frisk continued down the road into the depths of the city.
 
 
 
 
 
 
It was dark, but not entirely pitch black.
The sky’s ghostly illumination provided just enough light to see. It draped
everything in a curtain of steel-blue umbral. The fog continued to blanket the
entire city. It had grown even thicker than before. It billowed through the
streets, completely concealing Frisk’s sneakers as she walked along in silence.
The wind had died down, and now with its absence the metropolis felt even more
ominous.
It was… so quiet now…
So dark…
But Frisk refused to draw her weapon. She knew now that this city was not
abandoned. Like most of the other villages in the Underground, there were still
small numbers of monsters lurking about… hunting for food… just trying to
survive. The light from her sword would only draw blood-thirsty beasts to her.
And she could not afford to die again… Another death would send her all the way
back to Hotlands by Muffet’s house. She could NOT die.
She continued on, lurking along the side of the street. Frisk tried to walk as
slowly as possible with her head down and shoulders slumped forward. She stared
above the smog, out into the distance over the decrepit buildings. It was hard
to see through all the shade but she could just barely identify the towering
silhouette against the night sky. The wall…
Frisk came to an abrupt stop and stared back at the massive wall out in the
distance. It really did look like a mountain, and it ran down the expanse of
the city until the fog devoured it. How would she ever find the exit within
that barrier? Did it even contain the 8th gate? Maybe this was just another
elaborate ruse. Perhaps the 8th gate really was a small trap door hidden
somewhere within Core City, and that wall was simply a distraction.
A cold shudder ran down Frisk’s spine as she began to speculate. She tried to
reign in her thoughts and keep them in check, but it only made her anxiety
spiral. She pulled her hoodie’s cowl over her head and continued down the road
and her gaze never once left the towering blockade. It rose over the city like
an imposing monolith, growing larger with each step she took. The sight of it
filled her with unease… and fear… but also determination.
 
'There is a strength inside your soul that will never wane.'
 
… Those words…
Muffet’s words.
Had that been what Muffet meant by strength? A desire to keep going? A will to
survive, despite the horrors? At one point, all Frisk could think about was
death. She longed for it… and after entering the Underground that desire had
only grown stronger… However, now… that wish… i-it wasn’t as potent. Her grief
was still there, but it had been weighed down under a thick layer of fortitude.
A will to live. To fight. To win back… her freedom.
Frisk clenched her hands into tight fists as a vigor returned to her steps. She
felt a strong surge of tenacity and it spilled from her soul and turned her
chest hot. I will live. I will escape. And she took in a deep breath, followed
by a slow and steady exhale, and gripped tightly onto her box cutters blade and
kept going.
 
 
 
 
Frisk journeyed into the city. There was no way to tell how long she had been
walking. She had lost her cell phone ages ago. The sky remained that same drab
shade of blue-grey. But as Frisk ventured, the city around her began to change.
The trash that littered the floor had begun to grow taller. The litter became
so pronounced that she could barely see the black pavement of the street
anymore. It was as if the entire city had become a dumping ground. The smell
was atrocious and Frisk held her hoodie sleeve over her nose.
But stirred into the stench of rotting garbage was another smell… The stench of
blood. A fresh odor of potent copper lingered in the air. She knew that scent
all too well, and it was fresh. Frisk continued on. Her eyes darted around
towards each open doorway that lined the buildings along the edge of the road.
They were empty. She half expected to come across an open lobby filled with
corpses, but there was nothing like that. Although the anticipation continued
to weigh on her soul.
Where the hell was that smell coming from?… Were there bodies under all this
trash? Was this junkyard actually a… a cemetery?
Sans… Where are you?
 
Don’t lose sight of the big picture. Demolish those distracting thoughts. Keep
your eye on the wall. You are so close now.
 
Frisk shuddered. There was another smell…
Frisk came to a stop in the fog-skewed street, sniffing at the air overhead. T-
that was… that was firewood!…She was immediately reminded of Gaster’s library.
The scent was almost identical. There must be a fire nearby. The smell was so
strong and distinct. Frisk squinted her eye and leered through the fog,
searching for any light.
W-wait… there was something…
A faint glow through the gloomy smog up ahead, way down at the end of the
block.
Yes, a yellow, shivering illumination, spilling from the first floor doorway
and windows of a single building.
Could that be… another candle? No way. She had just come from a candle, and
they were never this close together in the past. And that smell… That had to be
a- a fire. That could only mean that there were monsters nearby… right up
ahead.
Suddenly, Frisk heard a sound. It cut through the silence so abruptly that she
quickly sunk down to the floor in an anticipating crouch. The jarring noise
shook her and she leaned into the pile of torn papers and books, holding her
arms up over her head. Her heart pounded violently. Frisk shut her eye and
shivered uncontrollably. She listened to the sound… that sound…
That sound…
The sound of discordant growls and barks… Dog?
Deep resonating husky growls, followed by a clamoring barking. Also… there were
whispers. Compared to the canine blusters, the whispers were as faint as the
non-existent breeze. But Frisk could hear them, and they were muffled and
completely hushed. She could not make out any words.
Frisk slowly lifted herself and tried to catch a trembling breath. Her heart
palpitations continued to pound inside her ribcage. She staggered over a mound
of rubbish and moved towards the narrow barrier of broken windows and doorways
and walls that the buildings formed on either side of her, and she continued
her way down the street.
 
Be careful. That light… that is no candle.
 
Her inner voice of reason sounded surprisingly calm, but it did not stop the
fear from rising in her gut like a bounding tsunami. Frisk’s lone eye locked
onto the flickering glow. She tiptoed over a rising garbage stream, making her
way towards the illumination. The barking turned quiet, but she could still
hear faint growls. And the whispers… they actually became louder, although
still inaudible. The scent of firewood and copper hung so thick in the air and
Frisk had to do everything she could to keep from coughing.
Certainly she was not delusional. She could not possibly still be suffering
from any brain damage, as she had already reset to a time before her encounter
with Bratty and Catty. The barking dogs… the light ahead… the whispers and the
scents… those were all authentic. Despite the dream-like atmosphere, Frisk knew
that it was all real. And that those were monsters… Another wave of monsters
lay in wait for her just up ahead.
Frisk stepped closer… and closer… and closer until she reached the end of the
block and the lit building. She pressed her back flat against the side of the
wall, listening to the sounds that came from the inside of the open lobby.
Multiple whispers… but they spoke in a strange language she did not know. And
more growls and barks as if from a wolf or some sort of canine… Could dogs
really exist in this place? There was also a resonating sound of a crackling
fire and something tapping against metal.
Frisk felt a terrible surge of fear. It was overpowering. Her knees buckled
underneath and she almost fell to the ground. But she quickly forced her
shoulders back and leaned into the wall behind her for support. D-don’t be
afraid… you are… the Manumitter… Frisk took in a deep breath of putrid oxygen
and she held the air in her lungs before slowly releasing it. She took in
another breath… and shifted to the side… and turned her head to peek past the
side of the open lobby doors into the expansive room right beside her.
 
…
 
It was… another lobby.
An expansive, grand open room that had been completely ramshacked and defaced.
Trash caked the floor and layers of graffiti adorned the walls. Although,
unlike every other lobby Frisk had come across, this one was illuminated. A
small fireplace sat within the corner of the room… and surrounding the fire was
a handful of figures. A whole gang of them… Monsters.
 
D-dear, god… S-shit…
 
Frisk’s eye grew wide. Her breath stopped short in her lungs. She took in the
sight and her heart began to convulse in her chest, but she could not look
away. Her eye locked upon the multiple figures. She studied each one. There had
to be around six or seven of them. They had their backs to Frisk, and the ones
that didn’t were too preoccupied by the fire to look up. Each figure was draped
in black clothing. Some were wrapped in cloaks while others wore black baggy
pants and shirts… but each one was also clad in dark fur. They all had pointed
ears atop their heads… sharp prominent muzzles with rows of exposed incisors…
bright yellow eyes that reflected with flames. Their features were like that of
a wolf… and they were all anthropomorphic, like many of the monsters Frisk had
come across. Daunting lycanthrope creatures dawned in black, with pelts as dark
as coal. And they were all enormous.
They sat around the fireplace on tattered mattresses and broken chairs. Some of
them had weapons laying beside them… Frisk could clearly see what looked to be
a stained hammer resting in one of the lycan’s lap. They were whispering
amongst themselves in a foreign language. Frisk noticed that some held large
bones in their clawed paws… bones that dripped with bloody flesh… that they had
been idly feasting upon.
Frisk clutched at the front of her hoodie with one hand. Her heart pounded so
fast that it caused a nauseating headrush of vertigo. She felt faint. She could
barely hear their whispers over the sound of her own frantic pulse. The sight
was morbid, blood dripped from one of the monster’s maw as it gnawed on the
thigh bone of a large animal. Frisk’s eye darted from the pack of monsters to
the opposite corners of the room. Piles of mutilated skeletal remains, broken
shards of cartilage, and old, rotten lumps of meat gathered in each corner. The
atrocious stench of firewood and carnage took over Frisk’s senses and made her
ill.
These monsters… they seemed perfectly at home in the grotesque hideout.
T-this was their den.
The Core City canine unit.
 
…
 
…
 
You need to leave. Right now!
 
Her innermost voice of reason began to wail in her head. Frisk’s hands
trembled. Her legs shook uncontrollably. She slowly and silently pulled back
from the doorway and leaned into the concrete wall. Frisk clenched her teeth to
keep from whimpering out in fear and listened to the whispers and crackling
fire and the gnawing of bones right beside her.
 
Cross the street and keep moving. NOW.
 
S-she was too scared… She was too frightened to move. W-what if they heard
her!? What if they saw her through the fog?!
 
They will not see you. Not if you are quick. The longer you stay here the more
dangerous it will become. Dogs have a keen sense of smell, after all…
 
O-oh, god… that was true. She had to move. She couldn’t stay here any longer.
But she could not force her legs to move. Frisk took in slow breaths as she
desperately tried to calm her nerves. Y-you can do this… She wiped a hand at
her sweaty forehead while clutching upon her box cutter’s handle in the
opposite palm.
And Frisk took a sidestep forward into the thick shadows, moving away from the
light. She crossed the street to the opposite side of buildings. She could
still see the open doorway through the haze, but the monsters within the corner
had become blurry dark silhouettes. She automatically ducked down and tiptoed
along the opposite perimeter.
 
T-they aren’t moving… You’re alright… They have not seen you… Y-you are fine…
 
Frisk’s shivering gaze never left the doorway. She was just waiting to see one
of the black figure’s pipe up and dart outside for her, but they remained
seated in their vile enclosure. Soon Frisk had crossed the span of the building
and she darted for the next block, away from the light, away from the rancid
stench, away from the low, muffled whispers like some foreboding mantra. And
the moment she had created some distance between herself and the dog den, she
galloped forward in a full-out sprint.
 
 
Frisk ran through the city streets. The scent of blood and charred wood faded
and the breeze returned. She roamed in silence and shadows. Her sneakers
clattered against the black-brick road, which had become visible again. The
trash had bung to thin out and Frisk stared up at the towering wall overhead
directly before her gaze. The barrier was massive. It almost completely
obscured the sky along the horizon. She knew she was getting closer now, but it
was difficult to see down the street due to the shrouding fog.
And as Frisk ran, she tried to keep her thoughts as clear as possible. She had
to stay focused, just in case she came upon another horde of monsters. A vision
of those revolting bipedal wolves flashed in her mind's eye and she shivered
and shook them away. But the dogs were almost immediately replaced with a
vision of Sans, of course… always lingering upon the surface of her thoughts.
Frisk stumbled over a glass bottle, but she continued on through the gloom. A
sudden barrage of questions bombarded her. If… if she actually did return home…
if she was somehow able to fight her way through these last gates and make it
back to the surface, back to the Above… then what? She would have to tell
someone about this place. S-she would have to warn them! Perhaps when she exits
the last gate, she would be able to close the door behind her and re-trap the
monsters within this hell. But… but what if that door could not be locked once
opened? What if, by freeing herself, she unintentionally frees all the horrors
of this world as well?
…
If that was the case… t-then…
When the time comes… would she be able to deny herself freedom for the sake of
humanity?
Sacrifice herself… to save the rest?
…
What if Chara had been right all along? What if Chara was the only sane
creature within this nightmare?
Murdering all these monsters… Was that a justified action?
This place was hell. Was it righteous to kill hell’s demons?
……
 
…
 
No… no you cannot think that. These monsters… they were not always this way.
…
It was Chara who turned them into these fiends, remember? Chara’s inexplicable
rage and thirst for power.
 
Except for, maybe, Sans…
 
…
 
'Sans was always a dangerous monster, even before Chara’s infection.'
 
What had Muffet meant by that? So he was not exactly ethical, even before Chara
came along… Frisk did not doubt that in the slightest. He is a rapist, a
villain, a despicable pervert, a blood-thirsty abuser… But… b-but-…… That
painting… He had looked so serene. He did not look wicked back then…
 
Stop.
 
Do not fall for Chara’s deception.
 
And do not give in to Sans’ resolve.
 
……
 
…
 
Frisk had been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she almost collided
headfirst into a dead-end. The abrupt blockade wiped her concerns and questions
clean. She staggered backwards and tilted her head back. A towering surface of
black brick rose above her. The wall… she had finally reached it. It was
covered in graffiti. Splotches of paint and stained with debris, smeared
pawprints of dried blood, plastered propaganda flyers and old, worn posters.
The wall was filthy, nothing like the snowy one she had seen in the Snowdin
forest. It was squalid and ominous.
And there were no gates.
 
No doors……
 
…
 
…
 
Oh, no…
 
Frisk stepped backwards and glanced down the right side of the wall. It reached
on for miles and miles into the fog… and she saw nothing to indicate a doorway.
She glanced down the opposite stretch and it looked identical. A horrible
realization began to sink deep within. S-she had feared this… this exact
scenario was one she has been dreading. Where was the 8th gate!? The wall
stretched on for only god knows how far… and on both sides at that. Perhaps she
just had to follow the barrier until she came upon the gate, but… if that was
the case, then… w-which way should she go?…
Which… way?…
 
…
 
Helplessness…
 
Fear…
 
She was so scared.
 
Frisk grit her teeth and clutched at her chest with both hands. She started to
breathe fast and hard, and she stumbled forward towards the wall and pressed
her forehead down against the grimy stone as she shook. She had come so far,
only to face this enormous, tarnished siege. Frisk held back a bitter sob but
her single eye glazed and burned with a hot coating of tears. And they spilled
silently down her cheek as she sunk down to her knees upon the ground.
 
Y-you can’t give up now.
 
… Why not?
 
Please…
 
What’s the point?…
 
Frisk dropped her box cutter to the floor. She slammed both open palms against
the stone. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry and shout and curse at the
top of her lungs. But she had no voice… and the silence was deafening. She took
in trembling inhales and allowed her eye to close. Her chest… her soul… it felt
cold. She felt so cold, weary and beaten down.
Surrounded by all of this smog and garbage… and chaos… and cruelty and death.
And Frisk sunk even lower to the ground until her shoulder lay upon the
littered street. She opened her eye and stared at the very base of the wall,
drowning in her own misery. She was suffocating underneath swelling waves of
anguish.
She pulled her knees up into her, tugging them underneath her hoodie, rolling
up into the smallest ball possible. And she pulled the cowl back over her head
and shut her eye again. Her quiet sniffles and hiccuping sobs subsided. All she
could hear was the steady breeze and the sound of papers blowing down the
street behind her.
Slowly, lethargy took hold. Her muscles began to relax. Her thoughts melted
away into a void of darkness.
And finally, the compassionate digression of sleep consumed her.
 
……
 
…
 
………
 
……
 
…
 
A lingering pressure against her forehead…
Like fingers… cold and rigid.
 
…
 
…
 
“come on…”
 
…
 
“… kid”
 
……
 
A voice… reaching out to her in the darkness.
That familiar, resounding husky tenor… Whispered and surprisingly calm.
 
…
 
“you cannot stay here.”
 
…
 
Sans…
 
…
 
“go left… sweetheart.”
 
…
 
S-sans… please… help me…
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
Please…
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
“Sans?……” Frisk slowly opened her eye. The base of the disheveled wall was
there to greet her. She stared back at it with a half-lidded, lethargic gaze.
That voice… a dream? She quickly lifted one hand and grasped at her forehead,
but there was nothing.
Frisk rolled over onto her back and she glanced around. She was alone, on the
floor, underneath the wall in the same spot from the night before. The sky was
no longer dark. Instead it had turned back to that solid sheet of pale gray
once more. The shadows had dispersed, although the fog remained. It was day.
She slowly sat up and rubbed at her aching shoulder. Her mind simmered. H-had
Sans been here? Or was that just a dream, like all the others? Frisk closed her
eye and pressed her face into her open palms. So often had she dreamt of Sans…
but never had she heard his voice in any of those dreams. What… what did he say
again?
 
…
 
’go left… sweetheart.’
 
…
 
Left…
 
…
 
Frisk lifted her head from her hands and glanced down the left side of the
wall’s edge. Go left… Left? Had she truly heard him say that? Was it just her
mind playing tricks on her?… How… how could she be certain of anything?
 
’you cannot stay here.’
 
Frisk shifted where she sat and snatched the box cutter off the floor. She
slowly lifted herself to her feet and leaned into the side of the wall. She
stared down the far-reaching left stretch of brick. She tilted her head and
glanced down the right side… There was a 50/50 chance. And even then, she still
could not be sure that the 8th gate was embedded in this wall. But that phantom
voice was correct about one thing: She couldn’t stay here. Frisk’s thoughts
returned to the gang of dogs and she shivered. She rolled her shoulders back
and pushed her hair from her eyes, then she faced left and began to make her
way down the periphery of the enclosure.
 
 
 
Frisk walked on for what felt like hours. She was still exhausted from a
restless night of sleep. Her eye locked upon the wall as she walked. The
graffiti was crude and spanned the entire distance and she tried to focus on
searching for the symbol. For all she knew, there was no door at all, and it
was just the runic engraving embedded into the stone. She had to be cautious
and study every inch of the barrier, and her fingertips traced along the wall
as she walked.
Every now and then she would take a break and sit back against the wall to rest
her sore legs, and then continue on after some minutes. Her anxiety had
subsided, now that the city was illuminated in pale light once more. Frisk
glanced up at the buildings that ran parallel to the wall. She stared back at
each dark open window above her. The sooner she got to the gate, the better.
And she walked on with a sigh.
 
Sans… I know you are watching me…
 
But there was a sound.
A familiar sound of fabric flapping in the breeze.
Frisk came to a weary stop and squinted her eye. She peered through the curtain
of fog. She could see something… something shuttering in the short bursting
gusts out in the distance… Cloth?… Another flag?… The sound came from a long
drape of fabric attached to the wall. It wavered in the currents of steady
wind. Frisk trotted forward until she reached it. She stopped short and lifted
the tapestry in her hands. It… it was another flag, she immediately recognized
the majestic coat and arms crest at the center. Just like the one she had seen
at the entrance to Core City.
Frisk’s heart began to palpitate in her chest and she slowly lifted the flag
upwards, revealing a door directly behind it. T-this is… The symbol… The etched
engraving… This is it. The 8th gate. Frisk’s heart leapt and her soul began to
burn beneath her sternum at the sight. She couldn’t help but smile softly to
herself and leaned into the door. It was small, made out of wood, covered in
splotches of paint. But Frisk could still see the gate’s symbol underneath
countless layers of vandalism.
This gate… It was nothing like the grand dual doors she had opened in Snowdin.
Frisk dropped the box cutter into her pocket and lifted both hands. She stared
down at her shivering fingers, gently tracing them along the spiraling symbol.
The wood was rough, covered in protruding splinters. Frisk inhaled and held a
baited breath in her lungs.
 
Focus.
 
…
 
Focus.
 
She splayed her fingers and pressed open palms flat upon the wood, slowly
releasing her breath. And she called forth her energy. Her soul’s absolute
power.
 
…
 
Warmth.
 
A simmering fever erupted from her chest like a violent riptide. Frisk almost
cried out from the surge of heat and pain. She grit her teeth tightly, holding
back a cry, and the energy burst outward and it wrapped around her arms, down
her wrists, coating her hands. Dazzling lucent red liquid embers danced high in
the air. They were unstable and burned so brightly - the crimson glare was
blinding.
T-this power… it was unusually tenacious… Her soul’s energy, the spirit of the
true Manumitter… it had developed into a vigorous force during her journey. It
was nothing like the lost, meager ember it had once been. And its power spilled
into her heart and she felt so strong.
 
So determined.
 
And unafraid.
 
Frisk stared back at the burning vermilion as it spread across the door like a
wall of melting fire. Red poured into the shallow symbol etching, lighting up
the rune underneath the graffiti. The door began to shake under her fingers.
Frisk released heavy breaths while she watched, stuck in a daze.
The door… it trembled… it began to open outward…
The 8th gate swung slowly out into the adjoining space…
New, undiscovered territory.
 
Two more… Only two more gates to go.
 
And Frisk peered through her soul’s burning vitality into the next adjacent
district… at what lay ahead.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: "Because in me too the fire of destruction flares blood hot." -
Sylvia Plath
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     8th gate! 8th gate!! Two more to go, guys! Only two more gates!…
     Also, AAHH I AM SORRY!!! I could not fit Mettaton in this chap! I
     know last chapter I said he would be in this one, but I was wrong. I
     really need to get a better gauge of how long my chapters run. Sorry!
     But fear not, in the next upcoming chapter there is a 100% chance of
     Mettaton action, demon-child… and everyone’s favorite skeleton
     RETURNS at last!!! (finally right!?) As we make our way… to the end
     (•﹏•)
     Also, the 200k+ word mark has been reached. Whoa.
     Advanced warning: The next chapter will contain graphic and explicit
     violence/horror/etc. Update: No, just mild violence.
     /////////////////////
***** XXX *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 30: MTT Resort
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hey y'all!
     Welcome to the shitshow!
     So… this is the longest chapter ever? Aaah… Damn, I seriously
     apologize for the length of this one. I promise the next remaining
     chapters won't be as long as this (or maybe they will be? *shrug*)
     Anyway, I'm going to keep these beginning notes brief. Here we have
     Chapter 30. In it we will see more of our poor, heroic Manumitter's
     struggles to return home. Get ready for some Mettaton! Oh, also, this
     HT!Mettaton is NOT his sassy, hilarious usual cannon self. He's more
     so just a deranged, murdering robot with a scrambled circuit board. 0
     humor. ZERO! Besides the homicidal calculator, get ready for the
     return of Chara. And another beloved(?), missed figure will reappear.
     As for warnings, none are really required in this chapter. I know I
     gave an advanced warning last chapter, but that is no more. There
     will be mild violence, but that's pretty much it besides just general
     horror, suspense, disturbing scenarios, etc.
     Enjoy guys!
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
 
The gate swung open.
 
Followed by a tremendous rush of wind.
 
Swift gusts brushed Frisk’s tangled hazelnut locks from her face. The air… it
did not reek of garbage or blood. Compared to what lay behind her, the scent
was practically ordinary.
Frisk’s vibrant, shivering wall of liquid flames evaporated within the mist the
moment her fingers left the door’s surface. That glossy crimson screen vanished
within seconds and she could clearly see what lay beyond the doorway,
unobscured.
 
…
 
More towering buildings… and concrete… and steel.
 
Another division of Core City.
 
A vast stretch of urban cityscape decorated the horizon before her gaze… but
the new looming metropolis was a stark contrast to its predecessor. There was
no more trash. Frisk could see the black brick street with ease. Not one speck
of garbage littered the floor. The buildings were free of graffiti and appeared
immaculate compared to the structures behind her, although they were still
deteriorating and weathered from time.
It was nothing like the squalid slum she had just endured. The entire expanse
looked like it had been abandoned ages ago.
…
 
Frisk blinked. She stared out at the advancing sector and slowly poked her head
through the doorway. Be careful. She checked both directions on either side but
there was nothing hiding behind the walls. Frisk squinted her eye and stared
down the single asphalt street… it was deserted, and completely silent. Well,
besides the wind, which seemed to have grown even more robust.
She cautiously stepped forward through the threshold and rubbed at her neck,
staring around for a good long while, examining every space she could see. The
light within the new division was brighter, although the sky remained as grey
as icy slate. The strange, celestial illumination seemed to materialize from
nothing and a heavy mist hung in the air, but it was not black smog. It was a
silvery tinted vapor that shimmered in the light.
Although this city was merged with Core City, it secreted a completely
different vibe. Frisk still felt uneasy but the ethereal atmosphere appeased
her anxiety. She took a couple steps forward and came to a stop then slowly
glanced over her shoulder back at the 8th open gateway.
It hung ajar. The tattered flag rippled in the breeze. Her eye locked on the
wooden door. She turned and stepped back towards it.
 
Perhaps… perhaps she could close this door?
 
Frisk never had the opportunity to close a gate behind her before. So many of
the gates had been convoluted with multiple hindrances. Either they were not
simply doors, but walls that crumbled and fell. Or she had been harnessed to a
damn skeleton brother and was unable to attempt it… Or the gate had been atop a
waterfall or embedded within a floor. This would be the first time that she
could test out her theory.
Frisk stood before the 8th gate and reached out a hand. She was only moments
away from touching it when the door abruptly fell forward. The silence-
splitting clash of wood scraping against metal pierced through her ears and
Frisk staggered backwards, startled by the sudden movement, heart racing.
 
W-what the hell?!
 
She almost called forth her shield in protection, but quickly recognized that
the door had only fallen and she was still alone. The gate hung from one upper
hinge, dangling from the joint by a thread. The hinges that had held the door
in place were completely rusted over. The corrosion had eaten clean through the
alloy.
 
D-damn it… Had her soul’s energy caused that?
 
Or perhaps it was already weak from disuse?
Regardless, Frisk cursed under her breath and gripped onto the edge of the
door. What terrible luck she had, truly. It was almost as if the door was not
meant to be re-fastened. She tried to ignore the swelling deluge of anxiety and
pushed the door back upright. It was so heavy. The wood was thick, and it was
so much more substantial than it appeared. Frisk tried to avoid the splinters
and she grit her teeth and pushed the door towards the threshold, but she still
could not close it. The slab of wood simply leaned against the wall and
obstructed the opening. It was hardly closed… anything could walk through
there… but… at least it was a better than nothing at all.
Frisk silently preyed that the final gate would not result in a similar failed
experiment. She was relying on resealing that 10th gate once she stepped
through it… and she clenched her teeth and felt a prickling sensation of
restless turmoil churn in her stomach.
 
Try not to dwell on it. Just focus on the current task ahead of you. There is
still a 9th gate to worry about.
 
She ripped her hesitant gaze from the gate and turned back towards the city.
And Frisk took a reluctant step forward through the pearly fog and continued
on.
 
 
 
 
 
The new section of the city really was quite different. Besides the lack of
garbage and gloom, the buildings appeared much more elegant. It was as if Frisk
had made her way into the affluent upper district. And unlike the previous
sector, there was only one single street here. One lone black brick road that
ran down the center of towering parallel high-rises. The road did not split
into alleyways or sidestreets like before, and the single avenue stretched out
into a curtain of fog.
Frisk shivered in the chilled breeze. She rubbed at her solo eye while the
opposite slowly pulled the utility knife from her pocket. Just because this
region did not feel ominous did not mean it was safe. She gripped at the
weapon’s handle and stepped forward, making her way down the orderly street…
down into the depths of the city.
 
She walked on.
And on.
And on… for what felt like hours.
Frisk tried to reign in her thoughts as she tread through the mist.
So often her mind would wander as she walked. It was a bad habit. She tried to
keep her psyche as clear as possible, she could not afford another death right
now. She already used her save at the previous candle, another death meant
Hotland… all the way back to the 7th gate with that grotesque wall monster. But
Frisk couldn’t halt her roaming thoughts as they returned to Sans.
She chewed at the tip of her tongue and lifted a free hand to the back of her
neck. Sans had… he had guided her here… Sans had whispered to her in a dream.
His voice had led her to the 8th gate.
So…
So what did that mean, then?…
And where the heck was he now?
He was always watching her. But was he watching her from a distance? Or did he
possess some kind of third eye psychic cognizance?
And if he truly was that desperate to have her open the gates, the why abandon
her? Frisk figured it had to be just another one of his torture tactics. But
maybe… maybe this was some kind of test. Perhaps he was simply watching to see
if… she’d step out of line again. Was he testing her morality? Testing to see
if she truly was the real Manumitter and not just a carbon copy of Chara? If
she could prove to him that she was not Chara in another form, then perhaps he
would allow her to live.
But who cares if she lived if it meant unleashing hell’s monsters upon her
world.
She never wanted this. All of this anguish and responsibility and guilt.
Why… why had she been chosen to open these gates?
 
If only she had arrived in this hell before Chara’s malice poisoned everything.
 
Then maybe they would have all had a chance…
 
…
 
It was too late now.
 
 
Frisk tried to take in a steady breath without trembling. She felt exhausted,
her legs ached and her chest hurt for some reason… and she found herself
missing the comfort and safety of Muffet’s house. She glanced down at her grimy
hoodie, stained black with sludge. She was thirsty… and hungry… and she rubbed
at the front of her sore throat.
Frisk squinted her single eye and stared back at the white smog as she
continued. The mist was so thick, like a sheet of milky wax. She tried to wave
away the vapor with her hands but it didn’t help much. And she continued down
the street staring directly ahead, but…
 
But there was something out there…
She could see it through the brume. A black, haunting, vast structure lay
before her, miles away. It was just barely visible in the ivory haze… jagged
and towering.W-wait…Those were mountains. Actual mountains, not some wall. They
had to be… they were much too organic-looking.
Frisk’s breath caught in her lungs. She sprinted forward towards the
mountainous form. The closer she stepped, the clearer it became.
It was a stretch of mountains, and it ran down the entire horizon.
 
It was similar to the black-brick gate, but it was so much taller than that
barrier. There was not one speck of green upon the cliffs either, just a rising
blockade of dark stone. No trees at all. It reminded Frisk of the mountains she
had exited from way back in Napstablook’s ruins at the beginning of her
journey. They were rather dismal.
Frisk came to a slow stop in the middle of the street. She stared up at the
towering mountains, then glanced back at all the handsome yet weatherworn
buildings around her. Was she going the right way? Did the 9th gate lay
somewhere within that cliff? The thought of entering another region of dark,
shadowy caverns filled her heart with a medley of dread and exhaustion. Perhaps
if she just sat here in the middle of the road than Sans would appear and guide
her again…
…
 
No… No, he would never appear that easily.
Wait… why the hell did she want Sans to appear?!
God dammit.
 
Stop thinking about him!
 
Frisk grit her teeth and rubbed at her eye. Whenever she caught herself
thinking about Sans, she always had to pull back those noxious contemplations
and reflect on the past… on what he had done.
 
He tortured you. Tormented you. Devoured you. Defiled you.
 
She knew that. She remembered every vile detail very clearly. S-she hated him…
but-
 
He wants to kill you.
 
But…
 
Stop making excuses. He WILL kill you.
 
…
 
He will murder you, Manumitter. That’s his plan.
 
……
 
…
 
That voice…
A nostalgic, unsettling whisper. It coiled and crept from the corners of her
mind like a serpent on the prowl. It had been buried deep underneath her own
voice of reason… a poisonous weed that refused to wither. She could still feel
its tainted reprisal. T-that was not her voice. That was not her own conscious…
No, that was Chara’s contamination. The demon-child’s rot and malice… It had
left a permanent stain upon her integrity. Her soul had been cleansed, but
remnants of venom remained.
 
But Chara’s voice vanished as quickly as it had come.
It was silently again.
And Frisk’s thoughts simmered for a moment.
 
Was… Sans still haunted by Chara’s contagion as well?
 
That deceitful monster had also taken hold of the skeleton’s soul so long ago…
Perhaps… Sans still heard Chara’s voice sometimes… just like she did.
 
Stop it. Sans was a miscreant way before Chara ever came alone. You know this.
 
Frisk let out another sigh and buried her face in her hands for a brief moment.
She pushed her bangs from her eye and looped the locks behind her ears. She
stared back up at the mountains, through the fog, and continued her journey
forward with a weary mind clouded by a slab of concerns.
 
 
 
 
 
She walked on through the mist. Finally her restless mind began to calm down.
The cool breeze continued to rush against her, chilling her bones, tousling her
hair. Yet the fog created a sticky condensation against her skin despite the
bitter wind. The atmosphere was quite unusual, but Frisk was thankful. It was
probably the most pleasant weather and temperature she had experienced in the
Underground.
The mountains slowly came into clear view. She could now see them easily
through the fog. And she noticed something else… a building…at the very bottom
of the cliffs. The structure was vast with a rounded dome roof. It had a raised
shelf of stairs that led to a front porch framed by two grand columns. The
building settled within the stone at the base of the mountain and the path
Frisk had been following escorted her directly to the structure.
 
So was that the 9th gate then? Or did it reside somewhere within that place?
 
The barrel-round roof make the entire building look antique and peculiar, like
some sort of ancient Roman pantheon. Its walls were composed of salt and pepper
polished granite. There were no windows, but Frisk could see open fractures
running through the round roof before it joined into the mountainside. Besides
the collapsing ceiling, the rest of the dwelling appeared in good condition. It
also reminded her of Gaster’s building in a way although it was not nearly as
ominous.
 
If this building really was similar to the one in the Town of Snowdin, then who
knows what horrors awaited her inside…
T-this section of the city has been abandoned… So did that mean… something…
someone… had devoured them all?
 
Do not be afraid. You have your shield. You have your sword. The 9th gate is
just ahead.
 
You have come so far. You have been through so much.
 
Stay strong.
 
Frisk’s internal determined conscious was comforting. She smiled softly to
herself for a fleeting moment. She stared back at the massive shrine and walked
on slowly. Her chest felt warm and there was no more pain. It felt like she was
so close. It felt like she was just on the fringe of freedom, like a barrier
was about to be broken.
 
Freedom, yes. Strive for it. Fight for it. And never give in.
 
Don’t you ever give up.
 
And she descended down the center of the path towards the mountains.
 
 
The fog began to clear. Frisk stepped up to the base of the marble steps. The
path had lead her away from the towering skyscrapers, away from the city, out
towards the amphitheater at the mountain’s edge. She turned her head and stared
down her left and right sides. There was nothing but a wall of mountains.
This building… it was her only entrance. It was the only way through.
There was no alternate route to take.
Frisk tiptoed up the flight of steps. They were slippery from the mist’s
condensation and she ascended carefully. She reached the top of the stairs and
stepped out onto the uncovered veranda. The marble that formed the slab of
floor was quite elegant. High-quality stone, like something found in a church.
Frisk’s eye locked upon a pair of wooden doors.
 
T-the 9th gate?? Could it be?
 
She bound for the doors and quickly examined them over… but there were no
symbols. In an instant Frisk’s enthusiasm morphed back into apprehension. She
frowned and slipped her box cutter back in her pocket, freeing up both hands,
and ran her fingers against the barrier of wood. There were no faint engraving,
not even claw marks… Damn. She felt let down and pushed at the doors, but they
wouldn’t budge. … Crap.
There were no locks or knobs. How was she suppose to open this if it was not a
gate?
 
As Frisk examined them in depth she noticed a small ray of light spilling from
the edge of the left door. It had not been closed all the way. The entrance
hung ajar, just barely, and Frisk slipped her fingers between the slight space
and used all her strength to wrench the door back.
I-it was so heavy, just like the 8th gate had been. The bottom caught on the
stone floor and scraped loudly, but Frisk was able to pull the door open just
enough to slip through. She poked her head past the doorway and glanced inside
the building’s lobby with baited breath.
 
…
 
It was… actually… quite grand.
 
The initial foyer was massive. Rows upon rows of circular stone columns ran
down the sides of the walls. A rounded ceiling towered overhead. There was
light. Broken open fissures in the ceiling let in luscious rays of
illumination, which speared through the shadows like beams from the heavens.
The walls and floor were made of dark polished marble slabs and the ground
reflected the ceiling. But Frisk could see a thick layer of dust blanketing the
floor.
This place… no one had been inside this building in quite some time. There were
no track marks within the dust. This building had been abandoned, probably a
long time ago.
She stepped through the small space and tilted her head back as she entered the
building, staring up at the grandiose dome above. The rays of light cascaded
around her like a gentle ethereal essence. It was as if she had entered a holy
sanctuary… with the glossy stone and lofty columns. She felt no fear here. Her
soul was warm. It shivered softly with anticipation underneath her breastbone.
This place… it did not feel like the terrible Underground she had been
venturing through for so long… It felt sacred. But despite her comforted soul
and the admiration she had for the marvelous architecture, there was still a
growing hint of fear in her heart.
She could not let her guard down.
She must stay vigilant.
 
 
Frisk began to walk through the lobby. Her sneakers patted against the stone
and echoed off the walls. She stared back at each column she passed . They were
large and they gave her a bad feeling, like something could be lurking behind
them in the shadows where the beams of light did not extent to. But she was
alone. She could not feel any auras around her and it softened her concerns.
Frisk stepped down the wide corridor. She lifted a hand and swiped it through
the rays of light. Small particles of dust dancing in the narrow beams and she
tried to catch the debris in her hands. The hall eventually opened out into a
second wide chamber but the new enclosure was not vacant like its predecessor.
 
There was a fountain.
 
A large fountain stood within the very center of the room. A simple rectangular
sculpture erected in the middle of the geyser. The fountain was extensive and
looked particularly ethereal as a thick ray of light spilled from a wide
crevasse in the ceiling and illuminated the space’s middle interior. The
fountain appeared to be glowing from the light, and Frisk slowly approached it,
her little sneakers squeaking against the marble. She stepped up to the rounded
structure and leaned over the edge. The fountain was not running. There was an
aged collection of water at the very bottom of the basin, like it had been
slowly draining for years. The water looked dusty and muddled and Frisk could
see silver coins inside.
How curious…
 
She bent forward, her stomach pressing against the edge, and reached a hand out
to scoop up one of the coins from the water. Frisk lifted the currency and
wiped away the grime with her fingers, examining it over. T-that face… She knew
that face. Wolf-like… drooping ears… majestic, royal horns. Within the center
of the silver piece was an intricate embossed bust of King Asgore. Around his
image were strange runic symbols, which Frisk could only assume noted the
amount that the coin was worth.
It was strange to see an old fountain filled with coins in this hell. It was
just like what humans did back in her world… Throw a coin in a fountain… and
make a wish. But she knew it would not work with a pilfered one, so instead
Frisk dropped the coin into her pocket.
 
She climbed up on the flat edge of the fountain and sat for a bit.
The bottom of her sneakers grazed against the low surface of the water inside
the reservoir. Frisk stared up at the large ceramic structure at the center of
the fountain. It was a rectangular monolith, chipped in the corners from
disrepair. It was strange to see just a simple, lone geometric shape like that
as the centerpiece.
A faraway memory surfaced within Frisk’s mind. A memory of visiting a mall…
with her mother, when she was very young. She remembered the fountain at that
indoor shopping center. There had been a large seahorse in the middle of the
round basin and the stream of water erupted from its snout. Frisk remembered
throwing pennies in that fountain. She remembered seeing her mother smile.
That had been a good day.
…
…
 
You need to keep moving…
 
Frisk hung her head and closed her eye. She tried to drain the deluge of
sadness from her soul. She had to focus on her determination. She could not let
grief beat her down, not when she was so close. She would need her valor intact
at the end of all this… And Frisk slowly lifted her head and stared up at the
distinctive rectangular formation again.
She noticed something. There was something within the ceramic… embossed letters
that had become faded and worn with age, barely legible. She blinked and leaned
forward and stared at the letters. Words… And they were not written in some
strange language. It was written in English.
Frisk spoke the words out loud.
“MTT Resort…”
 
MTT Resort?… A resort?……Like- like a hotel?
 
Actually the interior of the building did resemble an upscale resort, in a way.
Frisk almost smiled to herself as she pictured this place in its prime. Visions
of terrifying, grotesque monsters walking around through the fancy marble
halls, tossing coins in the fountain, just going about their daily routine… it
was an outlandish visual but also somewhat amusing.
And she wondered if Sans had ever visited this place… before it had been
ravaged by time.
 
Stop thinking about him.
 
……
 
…
 
Time inched along. Frisk sat upon the edge of the fountain for a while, idly
staring at her own reflection in the muddle water, watching dusty beams of
light cascade through the collapsed ceiling, lazily fiddling with her box
cutter. Her determination started to grow restless within her soul and it urged
her on. She procrastinated, but eventually swiveled her legs around and hopped
down to the floor. And Frisk tread around the side of the fountain and made her
way towards the next opposite stretch of hallway, leaving the room behind.
 
The next corridor was much like the first: Stone floors, stone walls, rays of
light from the ceiling and marble columns on both sides. However there was one
difference. In between the columns were doors. There were dozens of them, small
polished wooden doors, and they ran down the entire length of the hall. Each
one had an elegant silver knob at the front and Frisk attempted to open a few
of them, but they were all locked. Frisk would press her ear against the doors
and listen for any sounds inside the rooms, but they were silent. She even sunk
down to her hands and knees and attempted to peer through the space between the
door and the floor, but there was only darkness inside. They were abandoned,
just like the rest of the resort.
Perhaps they had been hotel rooms at some point?
And although the daunting doors lurked in the shadows and emitted chilling
auras, Frisk was almost disappointed that she could not open them. Despite it
all her curiosity had never subsided.
 
It was quiet. The cool, refreshing breeze spilled through the cracks in the
ceiling, however the rays of light were starting to thin. As Frisk walked down
the hall she noticed the darkness growing thicker. She glanced up at the
ceiling. The cracks had begun to narrow. The light was fading.
Frisk felt uneasy. She stared down the stretch of hall and it only became
darker as it went along. S-she would have to summon her sword at this rate,
something she did not want to do. The sword’s robust power always drained her
energy and the glow created the risk of drawing the attention of sneaking
fiends. But the compressed shadows only grew more substantial.
And soon… there was no more light.
And it was dark…
So dark.
 
Frisk held a whimper down in her throat. She idly rubbed at the stitches upon
her neck. She turned to glance behind her, back at the lit hallway. It tempted
her. She wanted to return to the light.
But… she could not go back… She had to keep moving forward. She could not stop…
She had to continue on. The safe, illuminated prior corridor beckoned to her.
The light was like a warm embrace just barely out of reach…
 
N-no!… You cannot stay in that comfort zone. You must journey on, even if you
are frightened, even if you are unsure.
 
Frisk shivered and stared at the meager rays of light that lay some distance
behind her. She lifted her box cutter in one hand and unsheathed the segmented
blade from the handle. She stared down at the razor, just barely visible in the
darkness. This blade… it once symbolized only pain and suffering… and a longing
to die. But now it resembled her strength. Her soul had grown so strong. She
took in a deep breath and closed her eye and extracted her spirit’s energy
instantly.
The warmth in her chest morphed into an oxidizing burn. Red lucid embers
spilled from her sternum and coated her arm. They wrapped around her limb,
coiling down to her wrist and hand and the enkindled crimson liquid cutlass
emerged around her knife. Her hand felt hot and sweaty, the surging power made
her legs tremble, and Frisk stared back at the sword and peered through its
translucency at the merge utility knife within.
Frisk shifted the sword in her grasp. She had no problem transferring her saber
from one hand to the other now. Her energy had certainly grown much more
balanced. She lowered the blade down to her side. The shivering scarlet glare
bounced off the stone around and turned the hallway a bright cardinal red.
And Frisk stepped forward and began to make her way down the hall, into the
uncharted omission of shadows.
 
 
 
 
The hallway was dark. The floor had been veiled in layers upon layers of dust.
No one had been through this place in ages… maybe even years. There were no
more doors embedded within the walls and the columns had long since faded. Only
black swirling marble surrounded her. Each step she took roiled the dust in the
air and made her nose run and eye itch. Frisk coughed and held a hand over her
mouth. She lifted the blade out in front of her and peered through the haze of
floating particles.
And through the thick obsidian shadows, she saw the end of the hallway.
And a door.
 
A d-door…
 
Frisk’s solo eye widened. The door was large, constructed out of polished wood
like all the others. There was a meager glow shivering underneath the barrier,
almost completely obscured by a sheet of dust. Frisk’s heart jolted in her
chest at the sight and she quickly darted forward towards the door frame. She
skidded to a halt before it and pressed her free hand upon the wood, but…
nothing happened. There was no symbol.
“Damn it…” Frisk cursed under baited breath.
God, she had so hoped that she could just find the 9th gate without any
complications or lurking demons.
But life could never be that easy.
 
She scanned the door over, holding her blade to the wood. There was a small
silver handle at one side and she wrapped her fingers around it and turned the
knob. I-it turned… it was unlocked… She could open it.
Frisk twisted the knob completely and heard a click, but she did not push the
door outward. Instead she stood there as a rush of dread breached her heart.
W-what if it was unsafe? What if there was a monstrous beast just waiting
behind this door?
 
That is what your sword and shield is for.
 
What if all of this had been for nothing?…
 
It was not for nothing…
 
What if she was suppose to die?…
S-she should have died, long ago. She should not be alive right now…
 
You will get through this.
 
S-she should have died back at the first gate…
 
You will free yourself. You will remain strong.
 
Strength…
And freedom.
She longed to be free.
To see the sun… and the stars.
 
Stay determined.
 
D-determination…
 
And burn bright.
 
…
 
Frisk took in a deep breath of chalky, stifled oxygen. She glanced down at her
beautiful sword and found peace in its crystal flames. She found resolve in the
warmth of her soul. And endurance in her vigorous internal intonation.
And Frisk held her breath as she slowly turned the knob once more… and pushed
the door open.
 
 
The door swung outward with a echoing creak.
An influx of light blinded her temporarily.
Frisk shielded her eye with one hand and squinted back into the newly
discovered territory. Her vision slowly adjusted to the glare and she stepped
through the threshold into a vast chamber.
 
A new massive enclosure.
 
The room was filled with familiar marble columns… dozens… maybe hundreds of
them. They all jutted out from the stone floor and towered up to the broken
dome ceiling at least twenty floors overhead. There were so many of them. It
was eerie… and for some reason it reminded Frisk of a spectral underground
catacomb and the columns were simply crypt graves.
Frisk’s heart started to race and she shifted her sneakers against the stone.
She examined the room, but she could not see any wall opposite her. T-this
room… it was so imposing. Light spilled from narrow fissures in the round
ceiling just like it had done in the foyer. A misty white fog coiled low in the
air and made everything blurry and appear distant.
And Frisk took a slow step forward into the chamber.
 
… Be careful.
 
Even her inner mind’s voice was hesitant of this place. That was not a good
sign.
The room had a strange aura… like a malicious presence was asleep deep within,
simply waiting to be stirred from its slumber. Beams of light were the only
sources of illumination. Dark shadows lingered behind each column. The light
was inconsistent and there were certain sections of the chamber that remained
completely shrouded in inky umbral shade.
Frisk paused. She glanced down at her shivering sword and pulled her thumb down
against its side lever, retracting the blade. It’s power was already starting
to make her feel weak. Besides she did not need the light anymore, at least not
for the time being. But she kept the knife in her hand ready to call forth her
sword should the need arise. She took a step forward through the haze, walking
among the succession of black marble pillars.
 
Frisk reached a hand out and let her fingers graze along the smooth stone of a
column closest to her. She made her way through the room, glancing back at the
open door behind her every now and again. The billowing mist started to grow
thick behind her and conceal the doorway… Would it be possible to get lost in a
room this large? The intricate multiplex of columns felt like a forest… like
she was trudging through some foggy alien woodland.
She glanced back over her shoulder again at the door. It was barely visible now
through a mixture of misty light beams and shadows.
 
Keep going.
 
Frisk tightened her grip on her utility knife - it was all she still had left
of a life back on the surface. She turned towards the forest of black circular
partitions and continued on through the grand auditorium.
 
She kept going.
Her heart was racing.
It was so silent.
She could hear the wind blowing faintly, high overhead through the spaces of
collapsing ceiling.
Frisk had a compulsive need to check behind her. She turned her head to see,
but the wall and the door she had entered from was now long gone. She was
surrounded by fog, columns, shadows and light beams.
 
Come on…
 
She clenched her teeth feeling even more anxious than before. She began to step
faster. Frisk walked on, weaving in and out of the pillars. She tried to avoid
the particularly shadowy ones, but sometimes it was impossible as the light
overhead thinned out in certain spots. She stared up at the ceiling as she
continued through the maze. She glanced around at each towering pillar, just
waiting to see some sort of movement out of the corner of her eye.
But there was nothing.
 
Sans…
…
 
Chara…
 
She was alone, but… but her heart hung with unease. Like she was just waiting
for something to burst out and ambush her. Frisk took a few more hesitant steps
through another thick sheet of pearly mist.
 
There was a vast clearing ahead.
 
A space without pillars.
 
And there was something else… there was a wall and… and a d-door! The wall was
barely visible. A raised stone platform settled upon the floor: A shallow
stage. The door rested directly within the center of the scaffold, embedded in
the wall behind it. Had this place been some sort of theatre?
But there was something else… Something odd.
A large sculpture sat at the very center of the stage. It was towering and
rectangular. It appeared to be made of metal, but it was difficult to determine
through the mist.
Frisk could not appease her apprehensive curiosity. She sensed no danger and
saw no creatures lurking. Go on… That could be the 9th gate… T-that could be
it. She darted forward, almost slipping against the glossy black stone, and
made a beeline through the fog towards the peculiar rising.
She stumbled to a stop the moment she reached the bottom steps; there were only
a few of them. Frisk became distracted by the sculpture above her. It was dark,
daunting, made of black steal like some tremendous mechanical monolith. It did
not look like any ordinary sculpture. It almost appeared… robotic.
Frisk ascended the steps slowly until she stood directly beneath the obelisk.
 
It had screens. Three rows of small square monitors lined its frontal side.
There were nine of them in total.
 
W-what the hell… What is this? Abstract art?… Some sort of old, broken
monitoring device?
 
Frisk was confused, yet intrigued. She leaned forward and tapped one of her
fingernails upon the furthest bottom corner screen. Nothing happened. The
screen remained dark. The machine, if it even was a machine, was inactive.
Frisk leaned in closer and tried to peer through the glass monitor, but there
was only darkness inside. Strange…
She leaned back, rubbing at the nape of her neck as questions piled in her
head. But a faint glow caught her eye. A rosy-pink illumination lingered just
barely visible behind the centermost screen in the middle of the monolith.
Frisk blinked and stared back at the hued light. She stood up on her tiptoes
and leaned towards it and tried to peer through the glass, but it was tinted
black. The glow was trapped behind the screen.
 
…What is that?……
 
Frisk tried to pry the screen away with her fingernails, but it wouldn’t budge.
She even used the sharp tip of her utility knife’s razor to try and pull the
monitor away, but it remained firmly fastened. The strange fuchsia glow was so
curious but it was securely sealed behind the barricade.
She leaned back on the heels of her sneakers with a sigh. The machine was old,
covered in dust. It seemed out of place and for some reason it sent a shiver up
Frisk’s spine. This was the first time she had seen any type of technological
device in this place… well, besides the old television in Sans and Papyrus’
house. It also resembled the statue at the center of the fountain.
Frisk circled the monolith a few times and noticed various bolts in its
corners. There were two circular sockets at either side of the rectangle, but
they were closed off with a spiraling grate of metal. She tried to push the
machine, but it would not dislodge from its spot on the stage. It probably
weighed a ton.
Eventually Frisk gave up. She crossed her arms at her chest, staring at the
apparatus with a furrowed brow. No use toiling over this ancient computer. She
had the 9th gate to worry about. The door… Yes, it was only a few yards away
embedded within the wall. Frisk turned and trotted up to the polished wooden
door. But she quickly realized that it had no runic symbol either and her
determination melted away.
 
Damn!
 
Where is the 9th gate!? This still was not the one?? God dammit!
 
She felt anger and impatience. It surged through her heart like a poisonous
toxin. She really thought this would be it… She was so certain that this would
be the second to last barrier.
She spotted a silver knob at the side and Frisk tried to turn it and push and
pull the door open, but it was locked. Fasted tight. It didn’t even shake. She
pressed one ear against the door and knocked. There was an echoing
reverberation on the other side, but the echo faded into nothing instantly.
Maybe this had been the wrong way. Maybe she was in the wrong place.
W-what if the 9th gate was somewhere else within the city? Or maybe it was
hidden in one of the resort’s many hotel rooms?
Frisk’s heart started to hammer in her chest with an uncertain turmoil.
 
Try your power…
 
She bit at her lower lip and pressed both her hands flat upon the wood. Frisk
closed her eye and summoned forth her red energy, but nothing happened. The
liquid embers spilled from her chest and ran down her arms before they coated
the door… but nothing changed. The door remained sealed. Frisk cursed silently
as pulled her power back inside.
She would have to start backtracking… Attempt to search every room… Inspect the
whole city up and down. God, it sounded exhausting just thinking about it.
Frisk stood there before the door, anxiously tapping her foot, when she heard
something… a sound.
T-there was a sound…
A noise…
A subtle buzzing.
…
 
And it was…
 
It was coming from behind her.
 
Frisk’s pulse started to race and churn like a riptide. She spiraled around. W-
what the heck!? What was that?!? She pressed her back flush against the door
and scanned the room over. There were no monsters. There was nothing out of the
ordinary. She was still alone… Yet the sound continued. The humming was soft
and mechanical… like the sound of a failing computer fan. It turned her blood
to ice.
 
S-she wasn’t alone…
 
Frisk’s eye locked upon the towering monolith.
The buzzing… it spilled out from the contraption. It was coming from inside the
machine.
…
 
Her eye grew wide. She gripped at her knife tightly and stepped up towards the
structure. The noise grew louder as she approached. Frisk paced around it, back
to the front side. Everything looked the same, except… the palpitating rosy
glow… it shone brighter. It was almost blinding, and the magenta-tinted
radiation spilled out from the small spaces around the edge of the center
screen and flashed wildly.
Perhaps this machine was not broken…
Perhaps… it was…
… alive.
 
Before Frisk even had a chance to react, the buzzing began to blare. The
humming morphed into a cacophony of deafening static turbulence. Frisk stumbled
backwards and almost fell down the stairs behind her and immediately clamped
her hands over both ears. G-god! It was so loud! It hurt! The machine created
such a commotion that it was almost painful and the discord echoed off every
stone surface.
Then the screens started to flash.
And all nine of them turned on.
Black and white snowy static surfaced along the monitors, shivering violently
like a collection of contained blizzards.
Frisk started to tremble. She stared at the screens and her legs buckled
underneath. Her thoughts turned to soup. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t move.
This machine… this robot… it was active. It had turned on automatically. She
felt that horrible abscess of dread spread within the pit of her stomach.
 
M-move… Move!!
 
Frisk couldn’t move. She could barely cry out. The blaring noise was
disorientating. The shivering static screens hypnotized her with fear. And in
an instant the static turned to black… and then images began to flash on each
separate screen…
Images of… Of… eyes.
Nine isolated, grotesque eyeballs.
 
W-what… what the… h-hell-!!
 
Each eye was a different shade of putrid red. They were blood-shot and veiny
with dilating black pupils, floating within the dark void of each monitor
screen. The eyes shivered frantically within their square confines. They spun
in small circles, darting around, acting on their own accord like they were
separate creatures with a distinct conscious.
 
Frisk felt sick at the sight of it all.
Her head turned hot and a dizzying vertigo took hold of her trembling form. She
felt a tingling sensation of panic spread through her toes and fingertips, up
through each limb. She parted her lips to cry out but her voice had vanished
along with her courage. She could barely breath as she watched the secluded
bloody eyes rotate around as if searching for something to fix onto. And the
blaring buzzing continued and churned her already potent fear into something so
much worse.
 
GET AWAY FROM IT!
 
Her internal voice shook her from the paralysis, s-she could move, and Frisk
shifted her feet and took slow, horrified steps backwards. But the moment she
moved, all nine eyes swiveled around automatically and locked upon her like a
wall of missiles honing in on their target. Frisk’s soul sunk to the pit of her
stomach.
 
…
 
“INTRUDER.”
 
……
 
…
 
I-it spoke…
 
Dear, god.
 
I-intruder!? Oh, fuck-
 
An eruption of scraping, jarring noise spilled from the monolith. It spoke… it
spoke!… W-what is this thing?! Its voice was like a serrated turbulence of
sharp wire drilling through a pane of glass… like dozens of nails spearing
repeatedly into a metal board. It was harsh and shrill and the additional
mechanical screeching never once subsided. Frisk felt nauseous as she watched
each cycloptic eye shiver, locked directly upon her.
The robot started to move. It began to vibrate and rise up off the ground.
Frisk’s horrified gaze averted down and she watched a thick, ridged metal
pillar appear from underneath and slowly lift the monolith up into the air. It
rose up… and up… and up… very steadily, inch by inch, clicking loudly. There
was a wheel at the base of the pillar… and the bottom squared section of the
machine’s body began to detach… and part downward. It opened up like a mouth,
exposing dozens of rusty narrow, steel teeth that dripped with vile brown
translucent motor oil. The mechanical jaws opened wide and a black cloud of
smoke spewed from its maw accompanied by the foul stench of gasoline.
Frisk stared back at each one of its synthetic incisors: squared-off razor-
sharp peaks, dripping with sludge.
But the robotic monster’s mouth did not move normally when it spoke. It simply
opened the heinous mechanical maw wider and a voice bellowed from its bulky
form again.
 
“INTRUDER DETECTED.”
 
Frisk couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t think.
But her legs continued to act on their own and she took slow steps backwards
down the stairs, trembling terribly. And in a frantic burst, her panicking
thoughts collided into her head. Move! G-get away from this thing!! H-holy
crap… W-what is it!? A monster?? A robot!? Oh god, what are those eyes!? It’s
on a wheel! It will attack you! It will EAT you! GET AWAY FROM IT NOW!!!
But she still could not run. Hell, she could barely force her legs to move.
Frisk reached the bottom step and continued to slink backwards. The robot
shivered and in an instant two thick tendril-like limbs sprouted from the
opening grates at either side.
 
Arms.
 
Its left arm was sharp and sentient and had a claw at the very end. Like a
hand. The clamp opened and closed repeatedly and it dripped with a similar
substance that spilled from the robot’s mechanize jaw. The opposite limb… well,
it was barely a limb at all. It was a weapon. It was an iron panel of
perpendicular serrated spears that ran along the entirety of its arm: A
chainsaw.
The mechanical saw of razors began to rev up. Acute chipper teeth roiled around
in violent circles attached to the chain. It was painfully loud, a horrific
sight, and the monster began to roll forward… roll down the steps with ease…
slowly… ominously.
 
“HUMAN DETECTED.”
 
RUN!
 
Frisk’s pupil constricted and turned into a narrowed pinpoint within her hazel
iris. She stared back at the advancing monstrosity in an all-encompassing
terror. She fought against the building nausea and vertigo: her hands clammy,
her legs shaking. She stumbled backwards and in an instant her pulsing soul
forced her to act and she swerved around and ran.
She ran back into the depths of the column forest, through the billowing wisps
of fog.
Frisk sprinted forward as fast as she possibly could. Her sneakers skidding
against the slippery stone floor. She could hear the jarring mechanical whirs
droning behind her. It was so loud… s-so loud that it practically sawed through
any scrap of courage she had left. Frisk weaved through the pillars
frantically, searching for the front door… the door she had entered from. W-
where was it!? Please! Someone!!
But the horrible droning buzz grew louder behind her and the stench of gasoline
burned with each inhale.
It was approaching… fast!
 
Frisk ran through the rays of light. She glanced back as she darted forward,
she still could not see the machine through the haze but she knew it was not
far behind.
She frantically lifted her box cutter up in her hand and pushed at the lever.
Her soul was so terrified… it was shivering in her chest… S-she was too scared.
Her trembling energy refused to appear. It wouldn’t listen!
 
F-focus!!!… FOCUS!!
 
Be prepared to FIGHT IT!
 
Frisk felt hot tears bite at the corners of her eye and she begged, she prayed,
and summoned every fragment of determination she still had to call forth the
sword.
 
It hesitated. Her soul’s energy was reluctant, but it finally obeyed.
There was a flash of crimson and her energy spilled down her arm and wrapped
around the knife and formed that dazzling crystal blade. Frisk lifted it as she
ran through a patch of shadows, then back out underneath another collection of
light beams. She ran through the massive chamber searching for the exit. W-
where was it?!?!! Please!! But suddenly - in an instant - the deafening buzzing
vanished.
And it was silent.
 
…
 
Frisk staggered. She came to an abrupt stop and spiraled around panting
heavily. Her quavering shoulders rose and fell with each desperate breath.
 
…
 
W-where… did it go?…
 
She leered through the fog… waiting… watching. Her heart felt like it was
seconds away from bursting. Anticipation and dread coiled in her chest, dousing
her determination in a sticky concoction of fear. She was so terrified… Her
sword shivered in her trembling grasp.
Her spirit… It was afraid.
 
But in an instant, the silence was severed.
And the deafening sound of wheels scraping against stone cleaved through the
quiet.
She saw it charge forward, a hulking black monument darted through the fog,
directly at her. Its multiple rows of red eyes rolled within each screen, its
squared jaw was wide and oozing brown translucent grease all over the ground,
and both its arms were lifted high overhead while the chainsaw whirled
violently and cut through the mist.
 
W-watch out!
 
Frisk barely had time to think. She planted her feet firmly against the stone
and held out the blade in front of her. She lifted her opposite hand and in an
instant her dazzling shield appeared directly before her palm.
Sword and shield drawn.
Red illumination seeped from both her blade and her defense so brightly, it was
blinding, but she could see through the translucency of her shield. She could
see the robot charging forward, just a few yards away. And its screeching noise
returned.
 
FIGHT IT! COME ON!! YOU CAN DO THIS!
 
Frisk grit her teeth. Her muscles tensed and she prepared herself for the
impact. There was nowhere to run. She had to defend herself. She had to fight.
And the robot charged her like a wild bull.
 
It was fast.
 
The monolith machine collided into Frisk’s shield and knocked her backwards.
Oh, g-god!! Oh, crap!! C-come on! She stumbled and cried out from the impact,
but her shield held strong.
A bright flash of red sparks erupted from the collision as the side of the
monolith continued to grind into her shield, pushing her backwards with its
weight. Frisk’s shield expanded and protected her entire front, the monster
could not touch her.
She stared through the barrier back at the wildly darting eyes within their
screens… and the monster's gnashing metal teeth. It wanted a taste. Even if it
was not an organic creature, even if it was not truly alive, the monster was
still hungry. Hungry for blood.
“TRESPASSER. TRESPASSER. Lay down your weapons… M.A.N.U.M.I.T.T.E.R.”
 
It had called her Manumitter-
 
The monster was shrieking in a horrible mechanical bellow. Its words pierced
through Frisk’s eardrums like nails hammering inside her temples.
She cried out and the rubber soles of her sneakers skidded against the stone as
the towering apparatus continued to push her backwards into one of the columns,
pinning her against it. D-dear god, it was so powerful! She started to
hyperventilate. It was so heavy! I-it was going to crush her at this rate! Her
shield was strong, but not that strong!
The monster slammed into her shield over and over, trying to shatter it. Frisk
had been so terrified that she hadn’t even used her sword. Her limbs were
shaking and she could barely breathe. Her arms felt numb. She could hardly keep
the shield lifted and each collision send a wave of dread through her soul, it
hurt! She stared back at the monster as it attempted to crack her soul’s
barrier with its own bodyweight. Its eyes swiveled around and its teeth
continued to gnash heinously. Every time it collided into her, another violent
eruption of sparks would explode in the air overhead, followed by the horrible
sound of metal striking glass.
“M.A.N.U.M.I.T.T.E.R… T.R.A.I.T.O.R.”
The monster rolled backwards, only seconds away from battering into her shield
once again-
 
YOUR SWORD! STRIKE IT! DEFEND YOURSELF!
 
Frisk’s breath caught in her lungs. Her eye was wide and shivering and she
clenched her teeth hard and lifted her sword high overhead. She felt her
determination. She shifted the shield to the side just enough to make room for
her blade. The robot was seconds away from charging her again. Frisk brought
the sword down to its front, down to its nine shivering eyes.
But the monster was already three steps ahead.
It did not collide into her again. No, instead the monumental creature brought
its revving chainsaw limb down to deflect Frisk’s oncoming attack. It was so
swift. So fast! There was another blinding flash of sparks. It reeked of
gasoline. The loud motor clamor from the chainsaw was like a dozen car engines
revving up at once.
The robot brought his weapon down against hers.
And the revolving razorblades cut through the side of Frisk’s sword, slowly
chipping away at the glass.
W-what the hell!?
 
SHIT!
 
The chainsaw was powerful and the monster lifted its limb and brought it down
again, slashing and cutting and colliding the mechanized weapon into Frisk’s
sword over and over. Somehow she was able to haphazardly parry every blow, just
barely, with the help of her shield in her other hand. But the robot continued
to throw its weight into her with each offensive strike. Its fighting style was
so aggressive. It had no fear. It could feel no pain. It… it thought she was
Chara… It thought she was a betrayer!
The robot lifted its chainsaw for a brief moment and Frisk immediately darted
to the side, unlodging herself from in-between the column and the creature.
 
RUN!
 
She darted forward, running through the room, creating distance between her and
the heinous obelisk demon. Frisk panted and cried and pleaded out for help.
It was charging after her. It was right behind her!
 
“S-SANS!! HELP ME!!” Frisk screamed out at the top of her lungs as sprinted
through the towering columns that made up the chamber. Her eye locked upon her
sword as she ran. I-it was… it was fractured. The edge had been cut down by the
monster's relentless blows. The crimson liquid began to drip down her hand in a
slimy sludge, like the sword itself was alive and had been injured during the
incursion. Frisk took stock of her shield in the opposite hand. She could see
small fissures directly at the center where the robot had crashed into.
 
Sans!! For the love of god, help me PLEASE! Please… Please- pleasepleaseplease!
“Sans!! P-please!!”
Frisk screamed as she ran, crying out for her torturer’s salvation. For his
deliverance. But he wouldn’t show. H-he wouldn’t save her. And the monster was
directly behind her. She could see the dark looming figure out of the corner of
her eye. She could see that flashing pink hue from its center screen. The smell
of gasoline tainted every breath she took. The revving buzzing plowed through
each one of her frantic thoughts.
P-please… Somebody!… A-anybody!
 
Someone help me!!
…
 
Manumitter.
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
That voice
 
…
 
You know he won’t come. You know he won’t save you.
 
…
 
But I can save you, sweet Manumitter.
 
…
 
…
 
… Chara…
 
I can save you.
 
The utterance pivoted in Frisk’s mind, drowning out the painful screeches and
the sound of her own voice of reason. A gentle voice, yet terrifying… But there
was a hint of comfort in those words. Comfort laced with guile.
 
C-chara… It was Chara… No… No, she could not call out for Chara… No!
 
Frisk shook her head as she ran. She could not respond to the voice anyway,
there was no time! And the robot surged forward and slammed into Frisk from
behind.
 
N-NO!!
 
Its sharp teeth grazed against the back of her thighs. Its chainsaw sliced
through her hoodie and cut into the center of her back in one long, deep gash.
Frisk screamed out and dove to the floor before the chainsaw could sink into
her muscles. But the damage had already been done and she sobbed out from the
seething pain, roiling agony.
Frisk felt the blood seep from the long fleshy fresh gash. It ran down to the
waistband of her shorts and coated the back of her ripped hoodie a bright
crimson.
 
G-god, it hurt!!
 
The open wound was heinous and gushing, though luckily it was thin, as if she
had been whipped with a flogging strip of leather. Frisk rolled over on her
hind, facing the monster as it approached and towered above. Her shield had
vanished the moment she fell, and the robot lifted its chainsaw high, and it
brought the weapon down.
 
Despite the pain, her determination held strong.
 
Frisk acted on instinct and she lifted her hand and re-summoned her shield.
It burst forward in a split second and created a bright vermilion translucent
dome of light around her. Hundreds of rotating metal razors collided with the
shield violently. Slashing, slamming, grinding into her barrier. The monster
assaulted her shield with its chainsaw in a ruthless urgency.
I-it wasn’t going to hold!
The sharp pain at her back felt numbed from adrenaline but Frisk was drowning
in a sea of hopelessness. She stared back at the nightmare through her shield.
S-she was going to die here… She was going to die so heinously… Cut open by a
chainsaw… She was not strong enough…
 
Come now, Manumitter. Pierce one of those eyes.
 
I-its eyes!?
 
…
 
Frisk stared through her shield, which was beginning to splinter at its center
from the devastating blows, and she locked on to the robot’s many screens. The
monster was strong, it was relentless, but it did not possess a safeguard like
she did… It had no shield… and its tactics created multiple weak spots. And the
moment the creature lifted its chainsaw again, preparing another blow to her
barrier, Frisk acted.
She had one shot.
 
DO IT NOW!
 
Frisk swiftly called back her shield - it vanished in an instant - and she
drove her blade forward, piercing through the bottom-center screen. Her blade
drilled through the monitor, through one of the nine haunting eyeballs, and the
glass shattered.
A violent explosion of flames erupted at the impact.
Frisk cried out. Sparks burst forward, blinding her vision.
The monster began to screech even louder than before, if that were even
possible. It was as if… as if it was in pain. And it jolted backwards on its
single wheel, moving away from the embedded sword, jolting itself free from the
skewering weapon.
 
RUN NOW!! GO!!
 
Her voice of reason roared and Frisk scampered back up to her feet and darted
away from the monster, into the thick shadows towards her left side, away from
the rays of light.
Darkness wrapped around her in an instant.
 
H-hide!!
 
Frisk tried to hold back her cries as she felt the pain return and it
congregated in the middle of her back and ran up to her shoulder blades. She
could feel the hot, dripping viscous underneath her hoodie. T-there was so much
blood seeping from the wound… it was soaking her entire back. The terrible
screeching and buzzing continued behind her, but the monster wasn’t chasing
her. It was gyrating around where Frisk had left it, claw-like hand grasping at
the shattered bottom screen which had begun to smoke.
Frisk ran deep into the shadowy section of the room and sheathed her blade
simultaneously. She had to hide. She had to conceal herself in the darkness.
She skidded behind one of the wide, towering columns and sunk down to the
floor, hyperventilating. G-god… please… T-that was… too close… Sans… Why won’t
you help me!?
She trembled on her knees. Frisk curled up, becoming as small as possible, as
she cowered behind the pillar. Her whole body would not stop shaking. It was
almost pitch black in the shadowy obscured sector.
She could hear the robot moving again. It was wailing. The way its voice
thrashed and echoed so violently, it sounded infuriated. Frisk had damaged the
screen… its eye.
 
It was enraged now.
 
She wanted to cry. Helplessness and fear and… and the smallest hint of anger…
Anger at her own weakness. It all pooled in her chest. Her soul felt hot, like
something was gripping it… Like a hand was clasping around the pulsing orb. And
it would have hurt if she wasn’t already in so much pain from the bleeding open
lesion at her back.
 
Sans… Please!…
 
…
 
Manumitter.
 
Chara… C-chara’s voice again. No…
 
Chara…
 
Manumitter. He has abandoned you. Do not cry for him anymore.
…
But I am here. I have always been by your side, can’t you see that?
 
…
All you have to do is accept me.
 
C-chara…
 
This world is toxic. It is poisoned, and so are all of its inhabitants.
…
But me and you… together… we can purge the evil from this hell.
 
N-no… it was you who-
 
MANUMITTER. This world has always been septic. Long before my abolition.
 
…
…
 
Sweet Manumitter… We are one, you are I. It was written in the prophecy…
Together we will free these monsters… free them… from their nefarious lives.
 
I never wanted to kill… I just-… S-sans…
 
Sans is GONE. Look around. Where is he? He does not care about you. Remember
what he did to you. What he will continue to do to you.
 
…
…
 
Frisk could hear the robotic whirling growing louder. T-the monster… it was
weaving in and out of the columns, inching towards the darker section of the
chamber. It began to wail and scream and buzz, its noises like deafening
clashes of thunder. It was searching for her… hunting her.
 
You do not have much time, Manumitte.
 
…
 
Let me help you… Open your soul to me…
 
……
 
…
 
…
 
“C-chara…” Frisk whispered.
 
…
…
…
 
Manumitter.
…
 
I am here now.
 
…
 
Frisk felt fingers brush along the top of her head and she flinched. She jolted
to the side and quickly glanced up.
…
 
Chara.
 
Chara… was there…
 
She had appeared.
 
The demon child stood over her and stroked Frisk’s locks from her sweaty
forehead. She looked exactly the same as the last time Frisk had seen her, with
that short black hair and dark sweater. She was just barely visible within the
shadows. But Frisk could see those eyes clearly… ice blue spheres shining
bright through the gloom like a lucid nightmare… inhuman narrowed pupils at
each center, the eyes of a serpent. Yet the girl’s smile was serene. Her
stroking hand was warm. Her fingers lingered down and caressed the side of
Frisk’s jaw, and she sunk to her knees, facing Frisk directly.
“I’m here now, Manumitter.” Chara spoke… her words… soft… gentle… hypnotizing.
Frisk stared back into those eyes. They sent a raw shiver up her spine, but
Chara’s touch was like a wave of relief. And Frisk trembled against Chara’s
petting fingers. Frisk felt tears glaze over her eye and a hiccuping sob
spilled from her lips against her will.
“Shhh, Manumitter. It’s alright now. Didn’t I tell you that I would come?
Didn’t I say that I would be by your side in your darkest hour? All you had to
do was ask.” Chara said and she smiled again.
Frisk leaned into Chara’s hand just barely. She couldn’t help her actions… the
girl emitted such warmth… a powerful, all-encompassing glow of compassion… and
comfort… and determination. It was the complete opposite of the hopelessness in
Frisk's heart. And she felt like she was back in the swamps… back in Waterfall
at their first encounter. The heat that spilled from the child’s hands was
overwhelming. Frisk felt Chara's continuous surges of strength… and a hint… a
sliver of that familiar building deep-seated vengeful wrath. It had already
begun to settle back within in Frisk's soul.
But Frisk was too overcome with emotion to realize it. And Chara wrapped both
arms around Frisk’s shoulders and spoke again, very softly.
“I am here for you. Not that broken warrior.”
…
“Chara…” Frisk whimpered. She blinked away the burning tears. One of Chara’s
hands traveled up, pressing upon Frisk’s chest. It felt… hot… so hot, the heat
spilled into Frisk’s body, an erupting fever burning from the inside out.
“You are injured…” Chara’s smile faded. She lifted her opposite hand from
Frisk’s shoulder, caressing her face once more. The girl's blue eyes flashed in
the darkness. Her expression was stoic and detached, yet gentle. And she spoke
again… in a fervent whisper… her words dripping with impatience. “Lend me your
soul… Let me borrow your soul, Manumitter.”
Frisk’s lone eye went wide. “W-what?…”
The whirling metallic shrieks and the sound of a wheel screeching against stone
began to grow louder. The mechanical nightmare… I-it was close… it was
approaching her hiding spot… It had begun to search in the shadows. Chara
lifted her head and pulled her gaze away from Frisk’s features for just a
moment, looking past Frisk’s shoulder over the edge of the concealing pillar
towards the faint pink glow in the distance.
“You will die here. But I will not allow that. I will protect you from that
fiend.” Chara said. She glanced back to Frisk and her cerulean gaze shivered.
Her hand pushed firmly at the center of Frisk’s even chest… like she had done…
twice before… “That monster… he is deranged. He was once the guardian in this
place… but his programming has become scrambled with time. He is evil, sweet
Manumitter. I will put a stop to his cruelty.”
Frisk hesitated. Her lower lip quivered. Tears spilled from her eye and ran
down her dusty cheek.
"Let me borrow your soul. It is necessary for your survival." Chara added more
pressure. Frisk’s chest… it was starting to hurt… A deep, burrowing pain like
small needles piercing through her breastbone… She couldn’t fight her off… C-
chara…
And the blue-eyed child smiled wide. And she leaned in close, her lips grazing
against Frisk’s cheek, inching towards her ear.
“I promise I will return it.” Chara whispered. Her voice… sly… insidious.
The sensation from those breathy words sent another wave of chills down Frisk’s
spine. But the shivers were immediately replaced by pain. A sharp, nauseating
pain at the very center of Frisk’s chest. She cried out from the shock, arching
her back, shutting her eye, fighting against the agony as she trembled between
the pillar and Chara’s pinned open palm.
H-her soul… Chara… C-chara was…
 
Removing it.
 
…
 
No… NO!
 
Chara was withdrawing Frisk’s soul, directly through her hoodie.
But Frisk could not fight it. Chara’s deception had her in a state of hypnosis.
She simply continued to hyperventilate and tremble and gasp, quiet sobs
spilling from her lips as Chara pilfered the soul from her chest.
And after a brief moment of pure agony, the pain was severed, and Frisk gasped
for a breath and collapsed into the column behind her. She felt no more pain at
her chest… the space underneath her ribcage… it felt cold… hollow.
Frisk opened her eye slowly.
 
Chara crouched before her, head tilted down. There was a soft, red glow in her
hand. Frisk’s soul… It rested in Chara’s palm. It was bright, shimmering,
translucent, beautiful. Like a gentle star filled with a deluge of clear,
liquid crystals. Frisk slowly pulled her gaze from her own extracted soul and
glanced up at Chara through her tears.
 
Chara…
 
The dark-haired child was no longer stoic and smiling gently. No… now she was
grinning, smirking, and each one of her pearly teeth shone in the red
illumination.
Her demonic eyes locked upon the soul in her hand. She stared down at the
glassy liquid sphere like it was an extraordinary feast. Her smirk dripped with
resentment… malice… rage… deceit.
 
She barely looked human anymore.
 
……
 
…
 
She was never human…
 
…
 
What have you done?…
 
And Chara released her grasp from Frisk’s cheek and rose to her feet, cradling
the soul in both hands. She lifted the shimmering orb up in the shadows,
examining it as her words spilled forth like a tainted melody.
“Oh, what a magnificent soul…”
Frisk stared up at Chara in horror.
“So strong… so pure…” Chara smirked even wider. Her features contorted with a
frenzied impatience - unhinged and maniacal. Her eyes wide and shivering as she
soaked in the newfound vigor.
And Chara brought both hands to her own chest and began to press the orb
directly at the center of her sweater. She took in a deep inhale and narrowed
her serpentine eyes. Frisk watched in dismay as her pilfered soul began to sink
inside… inside the demon’s chest…
Chara let out a gasp as the soul submerged inside her.
Frisk felt a sudden strange sensation within, like a deluge of pins and needles
pricking against the inside of her torso.
C-chara… Chara had-… no…
 
SNAP OUT OF IT! CHARA HAS STOLEN YOUR SOUL! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS!?!
 
Frisk’s inner voice returned. It was panicking and frantic, pounding inside her
head like a war drum, but she could not move.
And her soul capsized underneath the girl’s dark sweater, sinking into Chara’s
chest like a desert sun plunging below the horizon. The red illumination
disappeared.
It was dark once more. A veil of shadows fell over them both. Frisk could still
make out Chara’s wide eyes. The girl was panting heavily, shivering slightly,
staring blankly and overcome with the sensation of new power that now churned
in her chest.
“Ahah-… This soul… So much more determined than Asgore’s ever was……”
 
Asgore… S-she had… she had killed him… She had killed him for his soul.
 
D-dear, god… She was laughing… Oh, no…
 
Chara took in deep breaths between chuckles. Her shoulders rose and fell
steadily as she relished in the newfound power. The Manumitter’s soul. The true
savior’s vigor. That spirit… it was so strong, so much power surged through
her. A power she had never felt before, not even during her first reign. And
Chara burst out laughing again and it cleaved through Frisk’s heart.
Frisk felt sick, but still she could not move.
She could barely take in a breath.
Chara crouched down for a moment to snatch Frisk’s box cutter up off the floor.
She held the blade out in her hand. Her wide grin fading back into a smug
smirk, tainted with ire. Frisk’s soul… it settled right beside Chara’s own
contaminated, grotesque pneuma. And she sapped Frisk’s determination and
strength and used it as her own. The vigor was so powerful, it surged down each
one of Chara’s limbs and made them shiver. Chara was ecstatic and she laughed
again and pushed her thumb against the knife’s lever to unsheathed the blade.
“C-chara… no… p-please…” Frisk whispered out as she stared up at the devil in
horror.
 
Chara ripped her gaze from the box cutter and grinned down at Frisk.
“Thank you, Manumitter.”
 
N-no…
 
And Chara took in a deep breath.
There was a flash of light. A dark, luminous crimson - deep red and abhorrent
like the hue of freshly contaminated blood. It was not the brilliant, glittery
translucent ember that Frisk had been so accustomed to. No… no, the power that
burst from Chara’s chest took on the form of thick carmine tendrils, dripping
with dirty sludge. It was heinous and Frisk cried out at the sight.
Chara watched her new powers burst forth with a lidded gaze. The wet scarlet
ringlets spewed down her arms and wrapped around her hands and the utility
knife. Chara was summoning the sword… b-but… it was not Frisk’s sword anymore.
 
It was Chara’s power now.
 
And the blade materialized in thin air.
It was long, a massive great sword, so much larger than Frisk’s had ever been.
It was dark red and sedimentary. The opaque crimson was made of a muddled,
vile, gory sludge which formed the blade. The scum was thick and dripped upon
the floor and soaked Chara’s hand. This new blade… impure, poisonous… A sword
made of tainted determination. A weapon created of rage and hate and spewing
with a desire for vengeance.
Chara grinned at her newly formed weapon. She swiped the blade in the air,
flinging a splatter of sludgy red molasses on the ground. Chara brought the
blade down to her side and stared ahead, past the column, towards the rose-glow
and the metallic shrieking that continued in the distance.
And Chara took a step around Frisk, past the pillar.
 
“C-chara! Wait!” Frisk cried out and lunged towards Chara, grabbing at her
shin. But the demon kicked her off.
Chara did not say a word. Her eyes were burning and staring ahead. The pilfered
soul power was raging high in the air in the form of thick serpents. She truly
looked like a monster now… her real form.
And Chara stepped past the column, past Frisk, and made her way into the
darkness.
 
F-FUCK!! SHE HAS YOUR SOUL! SHE HAS YOUR SWORD!
 
Frisk stumbled up to her weary feet, watching Chara step through the obsidian
veil.
 
YOU ARE POWERLESS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!? STOP HER!
 
Frisk’s pulse was hammering, her head was spinning. C-chara… Chara had…
deceived her… Again. And this time she could not fight it. This time she could
do nothing to stop it.
Frisk lunged towards her in the darkness, but Chara had already disappeared.
She was gone.
DAMN IT!!
Chara had vanished.
The mechanical screeching wails continued. They began to grow louder, some
distance away. Then Frisk heard a clash. A horrible sound of metal being
crushed, and glass shattering. W-what was that!?… Chara… Was Chara fighting the
robot!?
Frisk peered through the haze, searching for the pink hue or a ray of light,
something! She ran forward and weaved in and out of the stoney columns,
searching for the brighter center of the chamber.
There was a sound… a sound of… l-laughter. Chara’s laughter.
And that robotic voice screamed and echoed around the room like scraping
shards, but Frisk could not make out the words it was saying. They were too
distorted.
 
Frisk could barely feel the pain from the wound at her back anymore. Her
anxiety numbed the agony. She stumbled through another patch of haze, and
suddenly there was light.
Thin rays of white resplendence spilled overhead in narrow streams. Frisk ran
through them and stared down at the floor. There was a trail… of motor oil… The
trail grew thicker. Copious amounts of sludge mixed with red, gory mud… and
glass. And Frisk heard another piercing blare overhead like an alarm sounding.
And then it was quiet.
…
 
Silence.
 
But she continued to sprint forward.
Her resounding heartbeat and pattering footsteps replaced the silence around
her.
She could barely think. All Frisk could do was frantically follow the trail
back within the auditorium. Her heart raced and she felt nauseous with dread
and guilt. G-god… what had she done…
Chara’s will… Chara’s plans… They had succeeded…
Had this been her goal all along? To steal Frisk’s soul when she was at her
most desperate? To return to power and finish off the rest of the Underground?
 
Yes…
 
…
 
And Frisk could see them up ahead…
There was a figure. She could see them through the haze.
 
Frisk burst out from the thick sheet of milky fog and took in the sight before
her.
…
 
It was Chara.
The blue-eyed demon had not vanished. She was still here.
She was leaning forward, standing upon the robot. The robot was on its side,
lying horizontal on the ground. There was a growing puddle of murky brown oil
underneath it, seeping outward slowly as motor oil drained from all nine of its
broken screens. The eyes were gone… each monitor had been shattered… Its limbs
lay still upon the floor and the chainsaw was inactive. Its mechanical maw hung
ajar as the lone wheel continued to idly spin in the air. Sparks flashed and a
thick billow of smoke rose up from the carnage. It reeked of burning gasoline.
Chara stood on top of the monster, standing on the victim of her conquest. The
blood-constructed broadsword pierced through the very center of the robot’s
middle screen. It skewered through the monitor into the pink glow.
Frisk took a step back as she stared at the display before her, wide-eyed.
 
D-dear, god… She… Chara… She killed him… She destroyed the apparatus.
 
She demolished the robot.
 
So quickly.
 
Chara’s shoulders were quivering, but not from fear. They shook with
adrenaline. She was leering down at the vanquished prey under her feet, a wide
grin painted along her features. She chuckled softly under her breath and then
heinously jolted the claymore in her grasp, twisting the thick blade deeper
into the robot’s center, rooting it there.
“Chara!!” Frisk screamed out and stumbled forward. But Chara ignored her.
The dark-haired fiend bent forward and slipped a hand down inside the shattered
center monitor. Frisk came to a halt as she watched Chara lift her hand back
up… and within her grasp… a rose-hued glow… A pink, opaque orb. It was broken
and dripping rouge fluids mixed with oil all over her hand.
 
W-what?… Is that… is that the robot's soul?
 
Chara began to squeeze the orb in her grasp. Her fingernails punctured the
sphere so violently. Bioluminescence liquids soaked her hand and ran down her
wrist. It was already broken but she was crushing it, regardless. She was
destroying the monster soul.
“Chara! Stop it!” Frisk screamed but she was too afraid to lunge towards the
demon.
And the girl tightened her grip as each one of her nails skewered through the
orb. And it shattered completely in her palm. The pink glow spilled down on the
robot carcass and began to lose its color. The orb was damaged beyond repair
and its illumination faded away. It had turned into nothing but a grey broken
marble.
Chara dropped the mangle soul to the floor and it landed on the stone with a
loud, wet thud.
And Chara rolled her shoulders back and she took in a deep inhale. She stared
down at the fading pink essence upon her hand and lifted her fingers, licking
them clean like some vile monstrosity. G-god… Chara smiled to herself as she
licked off the fuschia fluids, tasting the machine’s remaining spirit, but it
did not interest her. She could have pushed that soul within her chest as well,
but she did not need the robot’s soul. All she needed with the ultimate
strength of the true Manumitter.
 
Frisk watched. Her heart sunk to her stomach as the horrible sensation of pure
panic spilled over her.
“C-chara…” Frisk whimpered. She tried to keep her voice as steady as possible
as she spoke and took a steady step forward towards the scene. “It is dead… The
machine… it is gone… I am safe now.” Please… return it… “We are safe… Return my
soul to me, p-please…”
Chara’s ears perked. She certainly heard Frisk that time. The girl cast a
sideways glance towards Frisk. Her wide, maniacal grin faded back into a calm
smile, but her eyes were burning.
“I have unfinished business, Manumitter.” Chara’s words were bitter. They sawed
through Frisk’s heart. She lifted her messy hand to join the other, wrapping
them both around the sword’s hilt, and she pried the long blade from the jagged
broken monitor screen.
Chara chuckled and jumped off the lifeless machine with sword in hand. Her dark
hair fell before her sky-blue eyes. Her muddled crimson tendrils continued to
whip in the air and coil around both her arms. The sword oozed with gory sludge
upon the floor, leaving a heinous puddle underneath her feet. She faced Frisk,
flashing the true Manumitter a cruel, victorious grin.
Then Chara turned.
And she walked around the pile of broken machinery.
And vanished in the fog.
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
N-no…
 
…
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
“CHARA!!!” Frisk screamed.
There was no reply. It was quiet. Completely silent.
“C-CHARA!! GIVE IT BACK!!”
 
She lied to you. She deceived you! S-she’s-… She is no longer weak…
 
“CHARA!!” Frisk cried out. Hopelessness churned in her heart. The sharp pain at
her injured back returned and she felt another strange sensation of pins and
needles drilling into the empty space within her chest… It hurt… It hurt to
have her soul inside the body of another. It felt like her skin was crawling
and she cried out as desperation and panic took hold of every thought.
She was alone. She had no soul. That fiend… had stolen it…
She had no weapon to protect herself. S-she could not open anymore gates now…
She was stuck… Trapped in this hell.
 
 
Sans… What have I done…
 
 
But, somehow, her feet acted. And she ran forward. Frisk darted past the
smoking, oozing lump of black metal. She was too afraid to inspect it. She ran
through the fog, following after Chara. She could see small footprints of oil
on the stone, Chara’s footprints. Frisk gasped for air as she sprinted forward…
faster… faster… C-chara… you… you liar!
And Frisk could see a wall through the haze ahead of her. And she could see the
shallow stairs of the stage and the door. She had made her way back to the
raised platform. It was vacant now, but the wooden door behind the podium was…
it was… cut open.
 
W-what the hell?…
 
The top half of the door hung from its hinges while the severed lower half lay
on its side on the ground, exposing an entrance to a dark narrow tunnel way.
The door had been sliced in two. The impact spot was dripping with bloody
sludge… The soul sword… C-chara… She had cut it open. She was just here!
Frisk stumbled up the stairs onto the stage. She stepped slowly before the
bisected door and examined it. A sudden flow of cold air ruptured from the open
section. Frisk ducked down and peered inside the tunnel.
It was… dark… narrow… cold. Constructed of stone, but not the smoothed,
polished marble that built up the rest of the resort. The rocky tunnel walls
were organic and jagged, like a small mineshaft. Frisk squinted her eye and
peered down the corridor. She could just barely see a faint grey glow in the
distance at the far end. But besides the hue, the cavern was empty. Chara was
gone.
And she was alone.
 
 
All alone…
 
Frisk trembled. Her chest felt so empty. She grit her teeth and clutched onto
the edge of the doorway, fighting against the pain in her back. She couldn’t
even get a look at the wound… but she felt the sticky clotting blood against
her skin under the ripped hoodie. Then another gust of bitter air collided with
her bare legs… It was… s-so cold.…
 
Are you going to give up now?
 
……
 
…
 
Give… up…
 
Frisk ducked her head underneath the halved door, careful to avoid the
splintering jagged edges. She stared at the long expanse of darkness before
her. Each rushing breeze cut through her flesh like microscopic razors. And she
took a step forward… and then another… and she made her way down the rocky
hallway.
 
 
 
Frisk tread through the cave slowly. Her thoughts were nothing but jumbled
piles of panic and dread. She could not think clearly. She was in a daze. She
felt like she had been drugged. The pain at her back refused to wane and she
shivered and released a dry sob with each step she took.
 
Soulless…
 
Deceived…
 
She felt… so helpless…
 
Distraught plunged into her heart. It filled up the empty space where her soul
had once been.
She was so alone. She had no one. No one and nothing, except for the bitter
chill and the dark shadows that surrounded her.
And her inner voice of reason had gone silent, like it was disgusted with her…
H-how could she have been so weak?
 
As Frisk walked on, the wind blew harder and whistled past her ears. She stared
ahead with a blank, lifeless gaze at the growing grey-blue illumination at the
end of the cavern. She could smell… soil. Outside air… She was leaving Core
City and entering a new realm.
 
Was this the final sector?… Would this lead to the 9th gate?…
 
And where was… Asgore’s castle?
 
Frisk stumbled forward as she approached the opening. The light was not
blinding, it was dusky and dulled… like the glow of a setting sun within a
cloudy, overcast sky. She peered through the shadows and stepped up to the exit
alcove.
And Frisk took in the sight… of… a field.
A vast, open stretch of… nothing.
……
 
Nothing…
 
…
 
There was nothing.
…
 
No trees. No buildings. No grass or walls or even mountains.
 
…
 
And the nothing stretched on for miles until the consistent, foggy haze
enveloped the expanse.
The ground was a rocky soil. The sky was a single sheet of slate blue-grey. A
heavy fog encompassed the entire horizon and it was… so gloomy… so dismal… Just
an open, outside void of malaise. A forsaken tundra on the outskirts of hell.
And it was completely quiet, except for the gentle wind that continued to gust
fourth and tousle her hair.
…
 
……
 
…
 
Was this the end?
 
…
 
Frisk shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She slowly glanced from
side to side. There were no monsters. No Chara. No one at all. The sludge
sword's blood-trail and muddled footprints had vanished and there was nothing
to follow now.
 
So… was this the end of the Underground, then?… Just an empty stretch of
desolate flatland?…
 
It was a fitting end, she supposed…
An appropriate conclusion to a sullen life.
A life of heartache… and sorrow…
 
And Frisk took a couple steps forward, but she did not get very far. The
overwhelming surge of despair clutched around her heart. She stumbled onto her
knees on the ground. Frisk dug her hands into the rocky dirt below, fighting
back a torrent of desperate sobs that could not be caged.
And she began to weep.
 
She couldn’t do it anymore.
She could not continue.
 
What a pointless life…
 
She had tried so hard. She had fought and strived for just one more glimpse of
her own world… her former life.
She had journeyed through hell to return to the past.
…
 
But there was no going back…
 
There never was.
 
That time… a life long gone. There could be no rebound, no matter how hard she
fought.
 
And now… At the end of it all… soulless and injured and defeated… There was
nothing left. She was entirely alone, abandoned, like she had been all her
life.
 
Frisk bent forward and pressed her forehead to the tops of her bruised thighs.
She sobbed and a hot deluge of tears spilled from her single eye. She was so
empty inside, yet the emotion was overwhelming. And her sobs echoed around in
the empty space and against the walls of the narrow tunnel behind her.
“C-chara…”
Chara was gone. Chara had stolen her soul, her determination, her power, her
most precious treasure. Chara had ripped away the very essence of her being.
That monster had left her hollow and defunct… And without her soul Frisk, felt
so weak. Diluted pains pierced through her core every now and then. The
sensation made her feel nauseous… Like… like Chara was currently using her soul
to do terrible things somewhere in the Underground, and there was absolutely
nothing Frisk could do about it.
Nothing.
…
 
She sobbed out again, fighting back her lament. And her thoughts turned towards
Sans.
Sans…
 
What of Sans?…
 
He had abandoned her, just like the blue-eyed demon. He had never cared… He was
just as evil as Chara, but in a different way… He… he…
…
 
“Sans…” Frisk whispered out under her trembling breath.
 
She wanted to die. She wanted this to finally be over with.
She was so, so tired.
 
…
 
But there was an abrupt sound.
A rush of wind.
It came from behind her.
Followed by… the sound of footsteps.
 
F-footsteps…
…
 
Frisk lifted her head from her knees, but she kept her gaze forward. She could
see a flickering red radiance from behind, out of the corner of her eye… softly
beating crimson… like a pulse. A scarlet illumination piercing the fog, like a
distant lighthouse spotlight calling out to her through the gloom.
That glow…
She felt a hand graze against the back of her head. It trailed forward,
caressing the side of her face from behind… It was cold but Frisk did not
flinch, she knew that frigid grasp… those firm, skeletal fingers. And she took
in a trembling inhale and closed her eye and let her head rest in his open
palm.
Sans…
He had returned…
At the pinnacle of her desperation…
At the end of it all, he was there.
 
“hey, kid.”
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: Journey to the 9th gate.
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Things. Are. Happening.
     We are getting so close now… I'm going to be sad when it's all over.
     Anyways stay tuned for an epic battle: Sans vs. Chara. It's gonna be
     something, believe me.
     Advanced warning: The next chapter will contain graphic and explicit
     violence/horror/etc (For real this time.)
     /////////////////////
***** XXXI *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 31: Chara.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hello everyone!
     As always, thank you for your kudos, praise and insightful comments.
     Love all my readers! ♥
     Now, you all ready for a bad time?! 'cause it's coming. And it is
     only just the beginning of bad times in these final remaining
     chapters.
     So… welcome to Chapter 31, and it's going to be a showdown. This
     chapter is chockfull of pseudo-fluff, internal struggles, damaged
     psyches and twisted interactions between the main characters in
     general. There will be a lot of Sans/Frisk now that he has finally
     returned, and the Sans/Frisk-ness will continue throughout the rest
     of the fic. Btw, nice timing Sans… you're a real standup guy ¬_¬…
     This chapter contains the dramatic battle between Sans and Chara. I’m
     gonna leave it at that, I’ve already said too much.
     Also, I want to officially announce that after Pneuma Rot is
     completed I will be publishing a side story/spinoff/sequel thing to
     PR. It will be a collection of lengthy shorts, all done through Sans’
     third-person limited PoV. It is titled Bloodsick Péntalog. This
     succession story is important because it will answer some questions
     in PR that I plan on leaving unexplained. I can’t really give anymore
     info away other than that without spoilers, but it will happen (and
     it will be VERY smutty), so don’t be too sad! If you really want to
     know more about the sequel, feel free to message me on my Tumblr.
     Enjoy!
     Warning: This chapter contains graphic and explicit violence. There
     will also be some sexual/suggestive content, but it’s mild.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
*****
 
 
 
…
 
…
 
Sans…
 
…
 
How dare you show your face…
 
…
 
How dare you come back now, of all times.
 
…
 
……
 
I hate you.
 
…
 
I hate you…
 
…
 
I-I hate you…
 
……
 
…
 
…
 
“S-sans…” Frisk whispered.
Her voice trembled between each shuddering inhale. She desperately tried to
fight back the dense sobs that shook her words, but there was no stopping them.
Frisk kept her eye shut tight to block out the tears. She leaned her head to
the side into his open palm, savoring his touch.
His bones were cold and rough, like coarse silica, but she was used to it by
now. She had grown accustomed to his asperous stroking.
She felt numb. And she cried into Sans’ hand.
And the only thought that raced through her mind was just how much she hated
him…
 
She hated him.
 
She despised him. But…
 
…
 
But…
 
…
 
Despite all of the resentment… she found solace in his caressing fingers.
 
… Like a melancholy memory.
 
…
 
W-why…
 
Why must you feel this way? Why do you prolong this misery?
 
…
 
…
 
Sans continued to stroke his phalanges along her cheekbone. He stood behind,
towering over her small form at his feet, and let out a soft chuckle. The sound
of his voice… deep, resonant, bestial… it burrowed inside the depths of Frisk’s
heart. But his timbre was not the one of contempt or rage that she knew so
well. No, it was almost temperate, with a hint of… pity.
And Sans did not utter a word.
He simply carried on his caress and his allowed his fingers to longer against
her soft skin. He guided them up to the side of her scalp and began to comb
through her messy locks.
“Why did you… l-leave me?…” Frisk finally whimpered out. Sorrow stained each
word that spilled from her lips, and she held back another sob. Sans… The
thought of him had been a constant weight in her mind… a poisonous knot in her
heart. She had ached to see him again for so long. But now, when he was finally
beside her, she barely had the words. That transparent, genuine question was
all she could muster.
Frisk slowly opened her eye and stared out into the fog-skewed abyss before
her.
Her gaze was cloudy, obscured by a substantial film of tears, but she could
make out his shivering crimson radiance overhead. The hue that secreted from
Sans’ single eye turned the damp atmosphere around them into an aura of
palpitating scarlet. Each minuscule droplet of condensation hovered in the air
like an assortment of tiny rubies.
Sans kept his claw fixed upon her head, but he began to step around. He walked
in front of her, his broad legs immediately blocking the view, and crouched
down directly before her gaze. Frisk’s lone eye went wide and she stared up at
him.
 
… S-she had forgotten how imposing he was…
 
Even when seated and slouching, he was still a couple feet taller than her.
Sans’ fur-lined jacket hood was pulled up over his head. It concealed the
jagged open crack in his skull. The cowl cast shadows along his daunting
features. His sunken eye sockets locked upon Frisk’s face in a languid-lidded
gaze… Those immense craters… like two deep, abysmal caverns… one as empty as
the desolate landscape around them, while the other housed that pulsing crimson
sphere. His lone eye. And Frisk watched as his pinpoint pupil began to dilate,
just barely, within the illuminating pool of red at the mere sight of her.
An arrogant smirk spread across his skull like usual, although it softened in
the corners. Frisk’s gaze lowered and settled upon his sharp, ivory incisors.
They interlocked together perfectly and formed a thick wall of intimidating
daggers - each one as lethal as a carving knife.
The sight of his flashing eye… those teeth… his caustic gaze… It all made her
heart race. And if she had still possessed her soul then it surely would have
been palpitating as well.
And she was… afraid.
But Sans did not chastise her - he did not appear angry in the slightest.
Instead he lowered his hand back down to her cheekbone and lifted the opposite,
cupping her face within both claws. He leaned down further… and pressed his
forehead to hers… and both his lidded sockets closed as he took in her scent,
her frightened quivers, her forlorn aura.
“S-sans-…”
He was silent.
…
 
Why… Why did he always do this?… Press his forehead to hers… and touch her in
this tender way? After all the pain he had caused… why show sympathy now?
 
Sans… What am I to you?
 
…
 
Why won't you respond?
 
…
 
That smirk… it was a mask. Always hiding his true resolve. But his actions
spoke louder than any detached expression or unspoken words ever could.
He was so close to her. She could feel each one of his lukewarm breaths descend
against her chilled skin as he exhaled through his nasal aperture and the
narrow spaces between his canines. Sans’ fingers gently stroked along both her
cheeks and Frisk’s singular gaze lowered downward… slowly… away from his
adjacent skull to his chest.
Familiar heinous streaks and splotches of dried blood decorated the front of
his shirt, but the fact that they did not look fresh was comforting. And under
the stains… beneath the fabric… his soul burned brightly. His brilliant,
flickering azure glow seeped through the cotton.
His soul… it was pulsing so quickly… just like her own heartbeat.
 
Such a beautiful shade of blue for such a cruel, sadistic monster.
 
…
 
How can I forgive you, after everything you’ve done?…
 
…
 
Is redemption ever possible for even the worst kind of monster?
 
…
 
…
 
Frisk pulled her hands from the dirt below clutched onto the front of his
shirt. Her fingers trembled as she curled them into the blood-stained folds.
She could almost feel his pulsing soul, she wanted to feel it, and she let her
knuckles press against the front of his ribs concealed underneath. She felt the
vibrations. Fluttering so fast… like dragonfly wings.
Sans said nothing. He was silent. His forehead pressed to hers. His shoulders
rose and fell with each slow, serene breath.
He wouldn’t release his grasp at her face. He held her there against him for
what felt like ages. Sans’ sockets remained closed and they blocked out the red
hue. After a while his cold fingers turned warm as they began to soak in her
body heat.
Frisk shook her hands at his shirt a couple times to try and rattle him for
this dazed reverie but he remained rigid, as if in deep meditation.
“Sans…” Frisk whispered.
 
The sound of her voice brought him back.
He opened his sockets and glanced down into her lone eye. His smirk wavered in
the corners and she knew that look… a look of remorse, just barely visible.
 
…
 
And finally, he spoke.
“c’mon, kid…”
 
Sans shifted and gradually released her from his hands while he forced himself
up to a stand. He slouched over and gripped both claws upon her shoulders and
began to pull Frisk to her feet as well.
But she flinched back immediately.
And her eye went wide as she stared up at him in dismay… and… and fury.
 
‘C’mon’?
 
That’s it?
 
After everything he had done to her… After everything he had put her through…
That’s all he had to say?? That’s all he cared about!? THE DAMN GATES!?!??!
 
…
 
Why would you think he'd care about anything else?
 
And her shoulders shook as the all-encompassing resentment rooted deep within
her heart spilled out in the form of words.
“Why did you leave!?!” Frisk cried. Her scream cut through the silence so
violently, it was jarring to hear her own voice polluted with such aggression,
and she shoved Sans’ hands off her shoulders with every bit of strength she had
left. Her words continued to stream out like a turbulent current tearing
through a fractured levee. “Why!?! Did you just want to watch me suffer!? Has
all of this just been some sick game to you!? S-sans… Why… why… why show up
now! Why now, when I’ve been calling out to you for so long!! Y-you said you
wouldn't leave me!”
Raw acrimony tarnished her words and rationality darted around in her head. Y-
you can’t speak to Sans this way!… Remember what he is capable of… H-he’ll
punish you!… But she pushed aside the logic and continued to cry out in a rage.
 
Sans’ smirk faded completely. He stared down at her with a strange muddled
expression of apathetic astoundment. The red glow of his eye darkened and he
removed his hands from her shoulders and allowed her to continue the outburst.
“i had to be sure…” Sans said. His voice resonated through her quivering sobs.
Frisk kicked away from his feet best she could and buried her face in her
sleeves. God, she hated him… she hated him… She cried, venom and hopelessness
gripping her heart, but she heard his words through the hiccuping sobs. She
rubbed her red, puffy eye against her shoulder and reluctantly glanced back up
at him.
“W-what?…” For a moment she was confused. But then, she understood.
It really had been a test, then. A test to see if she would kill again… A test
to see if she would give in to Chara’s steadfast, toxic will again. Had he been
watching her this whole time? From the moment he had vanished, back in the
Hotland Laboratory?
Had he watched her at Muffet’s house?… And when she had been devoured so
heinously by that wall monster?… And when Bratty and Catty knocked her
unconscious and forced her to feast upon raw intestines?… A-and when she had
faced that robot?… And when Chara had deceived her and stolen her soul?…
This entire time… was he simply watching?
 
…
 
How cruel…
 
…
 
“i had to be sure you were true, kiddo.”
Sans took a step forward and placed his hand upon her head. His claw caressed
down the right side of her face and his skeletal thumb glided along the thick,
dirty patch of gauze over her maimed eye.
Frisk stared up at him. It was strange to see him without that arrogant smirk.
And she took in heavy, trembling inhales as she tried to calm the continuous
bawls. Her throat felt thick and clogged from the breakdown. Her chest stung
and the wound at her back still hurt terribly.
But her heart ached most of all.
 
“C-chara… Chara took it… My soul…” Frisk admitted and lifted a hand to rub away
the tears. Sans continued to caress her eye patch, listening to each word. His
sockets narrowed as she spoke of Chara and he averted his gaze, glancing out
into the empty nothing.
“i know, kid.”
 
H-he knows? So he really did witness that, then…
 
Frisk stared up at Sans and her tears finally came to a standstill. His eye
began to pulse rapidly and shone bright once more. His teeth clenched in a
scowl. She could sense… rage. A frenzied loathing spilled from his aura. Was he
angry that Chara had taken her soul?
He must be…
Sans and Chara… they had a horrendous past. Frisk knew that now. She knew the
details of their relationship.
And the way Sans leered out into the fog, it was as if he was searching… and
sensing the demon-child’s presence. Perhaps she was nearby. Perhaps she was
simply biding her time, like she always did. Chara was a snake. She was hiding
in the hazy shadows, just waiting for the right moment to strike.
Would she attack Sans?
 
And would Chara… try to kill her now that she had what she needed?
 
No… no, the save points would prevent Frisk’s death, or Chara would lose the
stolen soul due to the reset… r-right?
 
While Frisk was stuck in a state of internal anxious dread and confusion over
the timeline, Sans turned back towards her. He leaned over and looped both his
hands up under her arms and lifted Frisk to her feet with ease.
“come on, we’re almost at the end.” He said, holding her close against his side
to prevent her wobbly legs from giving way.
 
The end…
 
Those words made Frisk’s heart shiver. A chimera of sadness… foreboding… fear…
it made her weak. She had no determination anymore, now that her soul was
missing. Any scrap of hope she still had was now long gone. And her conflicting
thoughts about Sans only caused more grief.
 
Sans had damaged her psyche beyond repair, so long ago. She would always hate
him for it.
 
But despite it all, she leaned into his steady form and found comfort there.
Frisk pressed her ear against the side of his chest as his arm wrapped around
her shoulders tightly. She listened to the sound of his soul pulsing. Sans
stepped forward and guided her into the dense fog… Into the desolate plateau…
Into oblivion.
 
 
 
 
 
The two of them walked on for a long while.
Sans did not say a word, he simply held her tight as they descended into the
vacant open plains. Every now and then he would lift his hand from her shoulder
and run his fingers through her messy locks to brush the bangs from her eye.
His steps were unhurried and leisurely. He was in no rush to get to the 9th
gate,wherever it may be, that much was clear to Frisk.
She couldn’t help but wonder if he was taking slow steps to accommodate her.
She was in pain. Each step she took made her shiver and the deep gash that ran
across her back continued to sting. At least it wasn’t bleeding anymore, but
the calcified blood was uncomfortable and itchy.
Frisk sighed out and leaned into him. She was exhausted, emotionally and
physically. She just wanted to lay down and go to sleep and hopefully never
wake up. Her anger and hateful thoughts towards Sans had dwindled into an
apathetic emptiness due to the lethargy.
She was… relieved to have him by her side again… and the fact that she felt
that way was sickening. But there was no use in battling true feelings.
 
The atmosphere grew colder. The wind blew with a bit more tenacity their way.
At least there was no snow, but she was still so cold. S-so cold… Was it always
this cold? Or was it just… in her head? Without the warmth of her soul, the
bitter atmosphere only felt ten times worse. Even tucked under Sans’ heavy,
jacket-padded arm, she still shivered.
But the temperature and the brash stinging at her back was not even the worst
of it. There was a strange pain in her chest. She had felt it ever since Chara
had stolen her spirit - a troublesome numbing pressure, like a deluge of pins
and needles piercing against the hollow insides of her rib cage. It gave her a
dreadful feeling… a poisonous aura.
 
What was Chara doing with her soul right now?
 
She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about anything at
all, but the continuous pain at her back throbbed and refused to let her
thoughts rest.
 
Sans felt each one of her shivers. He glanced down and came to an abrupt stop.
They had been treading along for such a long time that the jarring halt
startled her, and Frisk’s knees buckled and she staggered and almost fell to
the floor. But Sans caught her before she could falter.
He gently lowered Frisk down to the ground and came to a seat beside her on the
rocky floor.
 
Was he… going to let her rest now?…
 
He was acting strange… He wasn’t taunting her like he usually would. He was
allowing her to take a break and recover. And Frisk watched the skeleton
curiously as he lifted a hand and slipped it in his jacket pocket, pulling out…
water.
Her water bottle…
 
…
 
… What? … Really?
 
Sans popped off the cap and handed it to her with a complacent smirk. She
stared back at the plastic bottle in his claw and immediately snatched it up
and began to scarf the water down like she hadn’t had anything to drink in
weeks. She was so dehydrated. Sans chuckled, watching her keenly, his empty
socket closed while the opposite locked upon her, lidded and flashing.
And as she gulped down the water, Sans leaned to the side, moving behind her,
and he gripped the back of her torn hoodie and lifted it swiftly to get a look
at the wound. Frisk coughed against a mouthful of water. She let out a whine of
protest and automatically lurched away from him, but Sans yanked her back.
“always gettin’ hurt…” He said. His voice was a sly scoff. “how many times have
you died now, kid?… heh.”
 
Jeez…
 
Frisk pouted at his taunting words. Water dripped from her lips. What the hell
had she been thinking? He hadn’t changed one bit… And Sans continued to lift
the fabric up, exposing the deep, untreated lesion. Her blood had dried and
clotted against the fabric and it tore at her raw flesh as he revealed her bare
back. It hurt and Frisk whimpered and arched forward, wrapping her arms around
both knees.
Sans reached over her shoulder and plucked the water bottle from her hand.
“H-hey!” Frisk tilted her head back to get a glimpse of what the hell he was
doing. His sockets locked upon the wound. His eye was flashing faster now. His
grin shivered slightly and she could see droplets of blue saliva oozing from
the corners of his maw.
The way he stared at her injury… She did not like it one bit. The mere sight
and smell of her blood drove his sick desires to a peak. His expression made
her stomach churn and Frisk jolted and tried to stand again, but he seized her
by the arm and wrenched her down.
Sans lifted the clear container in his hand and began to pour the water down
her spine, washing the wound clean.
 
N-nnh!!! D-damn it!
 
Frisk’s eye went wide as the sharp, painful sensation of cold doused her flesh.
She whined from the shock and tried to wriggle away, only to be yanked
backwards yet a third time. The water rinsed the open wound of any dirt and
debris. The blood that had dried began to run again and crimson solvent seeped
down her spine to the curved small of her back.
Frisk shivered and held whimpers in her throat. She pulled her gaze away and
stared forward, out into the fog, as he tended to her wounds. She wasn’t sure
whether to be grateful or terrified. But Sans couldn’t keep his bloodlust in
check for long. And Frisk felt something wide… and wet… and lukewarm… and soft
strain against her backbone.
 
W-what the hell-… This pervert. He just couldn’t help himself, could he?
 
Sans began to drag his tongue up the bleeding incision. The scent had been too
much, and he could barely contain himself. His illuminated cobalt tongue lapped
up and down the gash, the tapered tip pushing inside the laceration just
barely. He wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her still, while his
opposite claw kept her lifted hoodie pressed to the back of her neck.
“Sans!” Frisk pulled at his grasping claw and tried to shove his skull away.
She struggled in his grasp to no avail, and her heart was already melting into
her stomach from smoldering fear.
 
He wasn’t going to eat her again, was he!? N-no… No way would he do that now-…
G-god, please… no no no! He couldn’t possibly-!
 
But the monster was very careful with his teeth. They barely grazed her skin -
he only allowed his tongue any contact - and he pushed her forward even further
and slowly ran the blue radiant muscle all the way down to the base of her
spine before dragging it back upwards. His soft extremity pushed against each
one of her ribbed spinal discs… that sweet copper aftertaste made his soul
palpitate, it had been far too long since he had a taste… there was no
repressing that craving. And Sans savored her flavor and growled softly in his
chest.
G-god… it stung. It felt… so depraved. So vulgar.
The stimulation made her squirm and gasp. Frisk quickly clenched her teeth to
keep from making any more humiliating noises. It didn’t necessarily hurt, but
the sensation was overwhelming. His tongue was so wide, it almost encompassed
the entire horizontal span of her back, and the thick glutinous saliva trickled
down her vertebrae to the waistband of her shorts. A violent influx of
memories, memories of his attack, ripped at her thoughts.
Sans was bloodsick. His hunger was a constant burden, but somehow he was able
to reign in his avidity after lapping up the last streak of smearing blood.
And he slowly lifted his head and let out a shivering groan before retracting
his tongue back inside. Sans nudged his skull into the nape of her neck and
poured the last of the water against Frisk’s damaged tissue, washing away the
blue, slimy saliva.
 
She felt a wave of relief after he pulled away, but her heart was still racing,
so quickly. Her thoughts were spinning and she felt flushed as the blood
hurried to her throbbing head. God… d-damn you, Sans… I hate you… He drained
the water bottle against her wound and then pulled out… more gauze… from his
pocket.
He began to rip the gauze into pieces. She turned her head to watch him work.
He had just lapped at her open wound like some monstrous demon… but now he was
going to patch her up?…It was almost similar to what he had done with her eye,
but at least this time he had not caused this wound. And Frisk winced as he
pressed the gauze firmly against the deepest section of the gash.
 
T-these are more sinister mind games… They have to be…
 
She watched him out of the corner of her eye, though his gaze was fixed upon
her spine. His eye flashed softly. Each one of his sharp phalanges brushed
against her bare flesh as he patched her up. Sans idly licked a stray smudge of
blood from his chops, and it made Frisk cringe. He would always house that
depraved carnality… a hunger for her living flesh and blood.
 
Though in spite of it all she did not want him to leave…
 
…
 
Come closer. Stay away.
 
…
 
Sans… your kindness was more cruel than your hurt.
 
……
 
After he finished patching up the wound, Sans tugged her hoodie back down and
slowly rose to his feet. He stretched his arms over his head as he stood. Frisk
could hear his stiff bones cracking as he rolled his shoulders back lazily.
That sound… it sound sent shivers through her whole body, but Sans hadn’t
noticed.
And he lifted Frisk up to her feet again and they continued their journey into
the hazy flatlands.
 
 
 
 
 
They walked on.
Sans was silent again, but he seemed to be much more at ease now after his
craving had been satiated. They walked in the dense fog. It grew thicker with
each step. Sans leered ahead and his pulsing red hue cut through the milky
vapor. His claw squeezed Frisk’s shoulder.
Even after that heinous display, she still leaned into him. She was disgusted
with herself and tried her hardest not to think about it.
And time inched along so slowly.
 
…
 
There was nothing but mist.
 
…
 
And rocky soil under their feet.
 
…
 
And a consistent steady breeze, heavy with the aroma of fresh loam and rain.
 
…
 
How long had they been walking now? An hour? Two?
 
As they walked, Sans would idly trail his fingertips along the back of Frisk’s
neck and cause her flesh to break out into goosebumps. He would play with her
hair, or rub into the soft spaces behind her ears… like he couldn’t touch her
enough.
Frisk grit her teeth and took in a breath of damp oxygen, and eventually she
managed to speak, somehow, in a light whisper.
“Sans…” Frisk began. “What… W-what is this place?” She glanced up at him as
they walked, but the skeleton kept his gaze fixed upon the horizon before them.
He had definitely heard her because he released a placid chuckle. For a moment
Frisk thought he wouldn’t answer the question and just continue on in silence,
but surprisingly he responded.
“we’re on the outskirts of asgore’s castle. the final threshold.”
 
So Asgore’s castle really was somewhere nearby, then?…
 
Frisk chewed at her lower lip. Had this place always been so desolate? If so,
then she could only imagine how dreary Asgore’s castle must be. All of the
Underground had a thick blanket of gloomy draped over it, but this region was
certainly the most dismal. A forsaken wasteland.
Frisk wanted to continue the conversation. For some reason she wanted Sans to
speak to her… but she wasn’t sure what to say. There were so many questions
that she had once wanted to ask him, but they just wouldn’t emerge.
Those words were lost.
And she was still… so afraid of what he might do. Afraid of the horrible things
he was capable of.
But despite her fear, Frisk simply leaned against his substantial form as he
guided her forward.
 
 
 
 
 
They continued on.
 
And on…
 
And on………
 
…
 
Every now and then Sans would stop when he felt Frisk dragging her feet from
exhaustion. He would allow her to her rest on the ground. And each time she
would settle back against his shins as he kept guard, staring out into the
pearly abyss.
He was on the lookout. It was as if he was waiting for something.
Or someone.
 
Waiting for Chara…
 
And after every short break, he’d tug her back up and urge her onward.
 
…
…
 
Frisk stared forward with a blank gaze as they traveled in silence. She was
exhausted, and Sans’ support and warm coat only added to her lethargy. Her
eyelids grew heavy and she almost nodded off a few times while she walked
alongside in a daze.
She flinched, jolting awake, and tried to shake away the drowsiness.
But she noticed something…
 
W-what?… There was something… there was something out there.
 
For a second Frisk thought she may have just been seeing things, a powerful
mirage brought on by the shivering fog and her sleep-burdened mind. She blinked
a few times and rubbed at her eye and squinted back at the dark contour on the
horizon.
No… there really was something out there…
Another wall?… or maybe… mountains?
 
…
 
W-wait, yes… they were mountains!
 
More mountains.
 
The mountains were towering. Frisk peered through the fog and the more she
examined them, the larger they became. She was not sure if it was due to the
mist, but the mountains were so large that their top peaks were completely
obscured overhead. The sense of dread she felt was palpable. The cliffs were so
far off. W-was that where Asgore’s castle resided? At this rate, it would take
them forever to get there.
Sans felt Frisk’s muscles bunch and he stared down at her with a sideways
glance.
“we’ll be there soon, kiddo.” His husky voice skimmed along the surface of her
weary thoughts, as if he had just read her mind. Yet, his words appeased her
anxiety, and Frisk let out a sigh and her muscles relaxed.
 
The ground began to slant upwards.
The flatlands morphed into a more diverse region: A hilly savanna comprised of
rocky ridges and lofty, ascending dunes. The knolls rose up. The cliffs grew
more substantial. The mountains were closing in around them upon the horizon…
and soon Frisk could no longer see a flat moorland before her gaze. No, the
landscape had turned into a mountainous champaign decorated with dangerous
high-rising ridges and rocky crags.
Frisk stumbled against the rough terrain. She gripped at the side of Sans’
jacket. The fabric was thick and warm between her frigid fingers. They began to
make their way up an advancing hillside. It was so steep that she almost fell
to her knees multiple times just trying to climb it, but Sans tightened his
grip and prevented her from slipping.
Now with the bitter wind… and the dense fog… and the rugged, rocky ground…
Frisk found herself hating this place. And to make matters worse the sky had
begun to grow darker. She could smell the aroma of rain lingering heavy in the
air. That was the last thing she needed right now.
Sans led her over the rugged sloping cliff and they finally reached the flat
topside. The horizon’s mountains were growing close, perhaps only a few more
miles away.
The surface of the hill extended outward into the mist… and there was something
out there… something new.
 
There was a path.
 
…
 
A path-!
 
Frisk’s eye went wide.
She could see the pathway, constructed out of dark obsidian gravel, only a
handful of yards away from them.
She could just barely make it out through the mist, but it was there.
 
A trail… a road to the castle… to the 9th gate!…
 
Frisk’s heart started to pound frantically. Her lethargy vanished in an instant
and she stood up straight and leaned forward. Her eye locked upon the pathway
up ahead and she could see Sans’ red hue flash frantically out of the corner of
her gaze.
He must be staring at the path too.
 
“Sans… are we… almost to Asgore’s castle?” Frisk glanced up at Sans and stared
back at his flickering eye. But he did not acknowledge her words. Curiously
enough, his sockets locked ahead of them in a fixed glare. And his eye began to
flash even faster.
Something had caught his attention.
His expression… Frisk could see cobalt beads of glassy perspiration surface
upon his forehead… His smirk skewed in the corners… He appeared apprehensive.
And his claw clenched so tight upon her shoulder that it was painful.
Frisk blinked.
“Sans?” She spoke again and lightly tugged at the side of his jacket with both
hands.
He did not respond.
 
 
And suddenly… there was a sound.
 
… She heard something.
 
It was not the wind.
It was a steady thump.
 
The soft sound of footsteps.
 
Frisk’s heart practically stilled inside her chest. She pivoted around towards
the sound, staring back at the pathway ahead of them, leaning into Sans firmly.
 
…
 
A figure.
 
A dark figure stood within the sheet of fog. It was small… slim… a human
figure.
 
…
 
N-no-…
 
…
 
Could it be?
 
…
 
…
 
And Frisk heard the that familiar voice, like a waking nightmare… the voice of
a demon. And it resonated before she could even see the figure clearly. The
dark silhouette spoke through the daunting mist and her words turned Frisk’s
blood to sleet.
“Manumitter… didn’t I tell you to stay away from this disgusting monster?”
 
…
 
Chara’s resentful words seeped through the thick fog, like hot inky tar
drizzling over fresh snow, and the merger figure continued to make her way
towards them. The vapor parted to the side. She stepped out from behind the
shroud and stood at the beginning of the path, blocking their way.
 
It was Chara.
 
…
 
Chara had returned.
 
…
 
Her smirk was wide, tranquil, and her pearly teeth reflected in the dim light.
A gust of wind tousled Chara’s raven-black hair from behind and fluttered her
bangs before that lidded pastel blue gaze. The grotesque bloody tendrils that
Frisk had watched sprout from Chara’s chest back at the MTT Resort were absent,
but Frisk knew they were not gone… They were buried deep inside the demon,
nestled inside Frisk’s pilfered, contaminated soul.
Chara stared back at the two of them, some yards away. Her hands rested idly at
her sides and she let out a chuckle.
“It’s been a long time, warrior…” The girl’s eyes flashed as they locked upon
Sans, and while she spoke her devious smirk spread even wider. Dripping with
hate. Maniacal. “Oh, wait… You’re no warrior, not anymore… You’re an exiled
disgrace.”
She was taunting him.
 
She was laughing.
 
Frisk heard the sound of Sans’ teeth grit against one another. She glanced up
at him to his find expression morph into one of pure resentment. H-he looked
terrifying… Frisk knew that demeanor. She had seen it back in Napstablook’s
tunnels… back when Sans had taken all of his uncontrollable fury out on Frisk.
His sockets were wide, yet his brow was furrowed. His teeth clenched in an
exceeding strain while the red hue flashed wildly like a savage inferno, that
narrow pupil dilating and constricting over and over. And Sans’ grasp tightened
against the end of Frisk’s shoulder painfully. She would have cried out had she
not been stunned with fear and transfixed by Chara’s sudden appearance.
“chara…” Sans hissed through a gridlock of teeth. His voice was an alarming
growl. The sharp tips of his phalanges dug into Frisk’s skin through the
fabric. He was enraged. He was trembling with rancor.
 
But Chara soaked in Sans’ expression like it was something absolutely divine.
His expression did not frighten her - she was ecstatic. She rolled her
shoulders back and let out a sharp scoff. Then she ripped her gaze from Sans’
and stared directly at Frisk.
 
O-oh, god-…
 
“Come here, Manumitter.” Chara whispered. She lifted her hand out as if waiting
for Frisk to step forward and accept it.
Frisk did not move.
She stared back at the false human in dismay. C-chara was evil… Chara had
stolen her soul… Was Chara honestly beckoning her?… No… no! This was another
deception!Frisk swallowed hard as her thoughts turned to stew. God, she felt so
sick… So terrified… At odds with everyone and everything.
 
Do not trust her. She has been the reason for all of your suffering. Do not
trust EITHER of them.
 
Frisk’s inner voice hurdled over each one of her conflicting rationales. She
did not move, and Sans began to soften his grasp on her shoulder, just barely.
Though even if she had wanted to step towards Chara, Sans would have surely put
a stop to it.
 
There was a sudden rush of wind. Followed by a painfully long silence between
all three of them.
It was cold…
Overcast…
The forlorn atmosphere provided a backdrop of cynicism that only added to the
tension - unease so thick that it could have been cut with a knife.
 
Another gust rustled Frisk’s auburn locks in her face and Sans’ fur-trimmed
hoodie blew back and settled against his broad shoulders.
Chara’s eyes narrowed, but her wide sneer remained a permanent fixture upon
those sly, stoic features. And she finally broke the silence with a stream of
infected words.
“I will return your soul, Frisk. Right after I finish with him.” The demon-
child nodded towards Sans with her gaze still fixed upon the Manumitter. “You
can trust me. Haven't I always been there for you?”
Sans’ claws were shivering. Frisk’s lone eye stared back, wide with fear. And
Chara continued, her words a seeping deluge of venomous molasses.
“You know he will kill you, sweet Manumitter.”
 
N-no…
 
“You know that once you open the final gate… you are dead.”
 
No… No! S-sans… He knew now that she was not the false Manumitter. He knew now
that she was not like Chara……… right?…
 
“What, you don’t believe me? Look at what he’s done to you so far!”
 
He wouldn’t… h-he wouldn’t…
 
“Do you really think he’ll allow you to live after all of this is over? After
that last gate is opened?”
 
… Sans
 
“Do you really think he can change? Your power is a threat to his will. It’s
not possible for monsters like him to be vindicated… so far gone… so twisted
and warped.”
 
…
 
Chara’s words… they were toxic sludge. They spilled inside Frisk’s mind…
poisoning her thoughts… chipping away at her spirit… a-and they sapped the
comfort she had felt nestled under Sans’ arm. Frisk shivered and leaned up off
Sans, but he quickly pulled her back into him again.
Though Sans remained silent.
His smirk had vanished. His teeth were barred in a rampant rage.
Frisk had never seen him look so resentful before… ever.
But Chara simply curled her outstretched fingers back into her palm and cast a
sharp gaze towards the skeleton.
“What a disgusting pervert, fucking a child.” Chara spat out her words like
they were acid. They made Sans flinch. Frisk could feel the vibration of his
soul pulsing faster through his palm at her shoulder. His soul… it began to
race at those words…
And Chara laughed again.
“What? You think I didn't know about that, Sansy?
Her flinty chuckles were like pikes of dry ice, gouging through Frisk’s empty
chest. The comment had rattled San. So much so that his illuminated eye
narrowed and turned a dark shade of maroon… Actually hearing those words spoken
out loud for the first time… Frisk felt nauseous. And she couldn’t help but
wonder what Sans was thinking.
But Chara’s taunts continued. She was relentless.
“You have a preference for little human girls, don't ya? I wonder if you would
have tried that perversion on me, back then… given the chance.” Chara snickered
and placed her hands on her hips. “I should have just finished you off ages
ago, warrior… But do not fret, I will help you atone for your sins. I will put
you out of your misery now.”
And Chara tilted her head to the side as that demoniac smirk flashed upon her
features. She rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chest, and clenched both
hands into fists.
She was provoking him.
Urging on his rage.
She wanted him to attack.
 
And Sans took a step forward.
 
Frisk’s heart jolted. She immediately latched onto his jacket sleeve. Her wide,
shivering lone eye locked onto him. She quickly shook her head and tugged Sans
back.
“S-sans… no!” Frisk whimpered under her breath.
She was conflicted but acted automatically, like a mechanize response. Even
after everything… after all the torment Chara had put her through… she did not
want Chara to die. Chara… that demon… that anti-savior… She had saved Frisk a
number of times. And although each rescue had been tainted with an underlayer
of selfish narcissism, in a way Frisk was grateful. Even without her soul…
Frisk still felt a connection to the malicious girl. Though it was twisted and
poisonous and eating her up inside. The rage that Chara had made her feel so
long ago, that passionate vengeance Chara had unlocked inside Frisk’s spirit,
it had ultimately added to her determination. It had built up Frisk’s power,
despite the fact that it was just a smokescreen at the time. But the mistakes
of the past had made Frisk’s vigor what it was today.
And she did not want to lose that.
… She did not want to lose her burning passion. Her ferocious valor.
She did not want lose Chara.
 
Who says Chara will die during this campaign? Perhaps it will be Sans.
 
Frisk’s hands tightened against Sans’ sleeve at the thought of losing him
instead.
 
She hated him.
 
She hated him…
 
She hated him, but… she could not be without him.
 
……
 
…
 
“Sans… p-please… please don’t do this…” Frisk began to beg him.
But the skeleton could barely hear her over the fury that raged inside his
soul. And the daunting monster lifted his opposite hand to the side and a
bright flash of cerulean vapor spirals erupted and entwined around his arm and
claw.
His ax materialized out of thin air.
“Sans!” Frisk cried louder. She yanked at his sleeve, but Sans’ movements were
swift. He pulled his arm from her grasp and lifted it behind her, latching at
the scruff of Frisk’s neck roughly before shoving her down to the floor. Frisk
cried out as she landed on the gravel with a pained yelp, and in a matter of
seconds another bright burst of blue wrapped around both her legs.
I-it was cold… Sans’ magic… He had summoned a cluster of phantom cords. They
coiled over her sneakers and shins and thighs. The apparitions tightened and
ultimately bound her legs to the floor.
He had used this kind of magic on her once before… on her wrists. Frisk’s eye
went wide and she tugged at the frigid, transparent ghostly ropes, but they
would not budge. She could not stand. They strapped her down firmly. S-sans…
his magic kept her restrained…
 
… so that she would not intervene.
 
“Sans! Stop it!” Frisk cried out. She could hear Chara’s grotesque snickers
through the fog before them. Sans slowly ripped his leering gaze from the
demon-child and stared down at Frisk. The look he gave her… he was so far gone,
Chara’s words had sent him into madness. His languid smirk had vanished. His
eye thrashed inside the shadowy alcove. And he spoke down to her in a low
snarl.
“this is not your fight, kid.”
 
Frisk felt tears prick her eye.
Sans turned back towards Chara and lifted the ax, holding it out in front of
him. He wrapped both skeletal claws around the wooden handle in an attack
stance.
And finally… his smirk… returned.
A wide grin, bathed in enmity and peppered with mania.
Frisk’s heart sunk to the floor.
 
No… n-no!
 
And in a split second, Sans darted forward.
 
He was fast. So fast… and he hadn’t even used a teleport.
 
Sans charged Chara without hesitation, his ax in both hands over his shoulder
at the ready. He darted through the fog, making a straight line for the small
raven-haired fiend. Chara smirked wide as she watched the oncoming attack. She
lifted both her hands in front of her and started to… laugh!
“Ahah! The Manumitter may show you mercy, Sans, but I certainly will not."
There was a blinding flash of sickly red. It detonated from Chara’s hands. S-
she… she was using Frisk’s soul!
 
Chara would not go down that easily.
 
The girl summoned forth the pilfered power. The tendrils… oozing gorey red,
thick and flailing… they burst from Chara’s chest and rose up in the air
overhead, whipping and thrashing around like grotesque larva. Maroon, opaque
vapor spilled down both the demons outstretched arms and another wave of sparks
erupted in the air.
 
T-the shield. She had summoned Frisk’s shield.
 
But it was not the shield Frisk knew. It was not transparent. It was not
beautiful and swirling with liquid stardust. It was a wall of dripping carnage,
and it was huge. The barrier was like a living thing. It exuded sludgy thick
blood which drizzled onto the floor, and the hurdle rose up over Chara’s head
and expanded around her entire frontside.
It appeared just in time.
Sans bound through the expanse, so quick and deft on his feet, and the sharp
head of his ax collided with Chara’s shield. The sound of metal clashing into a
thick sheet of glass ripped the silence in two. Like nails scraping against a
chalkboard, the cacophony of bellows ruptured over and over as Sans brought
down his ax repeatedly. This offensive strategy… Frisk knew it… He had used
this tactic on her once before.
The hatchet clashed into Chara’s shield continuously in the same spot. Sans
fury was like a corrosive riptide, an enraged gale. Each strike was precise and
relentless. And each one of his blows pushed Chara backwards. His eye was
thrashing, his smirk was shivering, and the bloody tar that coated the demon’s
barrier splattered back against his arms and chest as he cut into it so
violently.
Chara staggered backwards. Her feet dug into the dirt, striving to hold her
ground. She was struggling against Sans’ rage. Had she not expected Sans to be
a challenge? Her strained smirk wavered slightly, though she managed to keep
the shield steady before her hands.
Frisk watched the onslaught in horror. She cried out, desperately tugging at
the binds around her legs. T-this has to stop! God damnit! STOP IT!! But she
could do nothing but scream out to them and watch the strife unfold through the
fog.
 
Two malignant monsters… enemies… Coming head to head after so long.
 
Frisk wondered how long they had both dreamt of this moment.
Then, through the echoing clashes, she heard the sound of glass splintering.
Was it breaking!? Was the shield going to collapse?? Frisk couldn’t tell. The
barrier was so thick with bloody goop that she couldn’t even see the glass
underneath, but the sound was unmistakable.
The sound of glass fragments branching out along a surface.
And Sans smirked wide over the top of his hatchet, though he said nothing. He
just sneered and continued his assault.
 
Chara could not see him through the shield, but… but she did not look afraid.
She looked… sinister.
And Chara’s sentient tendrils began to grow. They erupted from her chest,
dozens of them, and roiled around the sides of the shield, around either side
of Sans, moving behind him. The tendril’s tips altered and transformed into
sharpened spear: they were living weapons that Chara could command and maneuver
at will. But the skeleton was so transfixed with breaking the shield down that
he hadn’t even noticed them out of the corner of his sockets. His burning gaze
locked upon the weakening barrier, completely mesmerized.
The poisoned tendrils curved behind Sans and rose up in the air, taking aim
directly at the middle of his spine… at his back. Chara was controlling them.
She was going to stab him from behind!
“SANS! BEHIND YOU!” Frisk screamed. Her warning shook Sans from his trance. He
flinched and immediately turned his head, finally recognizing the tendrils at
both sides. His smirk faded in an instant. His expression morphed into one of
alarmed trepidation, and he swiveled around just as the coiling tentacles dove
towards him.
He was fast. Faster than Chara’s infected pneuma.
Sans lunged to the side to avoid the mass, parrying the ones at the edges. He
swung his ax over his shoulder and sliced the thick wad of tendrils at their
tips. He cut through them violently, severing the sharp spearheads which
immediately melted into a gelatinous fluent and spilled onto the floor in a
bloody puddle.
There was a flash of blue.
And Sans was gone.
And he reappeared some yards away, panting heavily, his coat dripping with
sludge.
 
He teleported.
 
Frisk’s gaze darted back to Chara. The tentacles shivered and lurched in the
air. Chara was no longer smirking, her teeth grit in irritation and her arms
trembled. Perhaps she was in pain from Sans’ attack. Her spirit appendages
looked injured too, but much to Frisk’s dismay the spears began to form at the
tips again.
They were regenerating.
 
Chara… she was strong.
 
…
 
Oh, crap…
 
The tendrils recovered and returned to their master, slipping back inside
Chara’s chest except for a few remaining tentacles that rose up and waved in
the air over the girl's head. Chara shifted her feet against the gravel and
kept her shield out before her. But Sans gave her no leeway, he would not let
her recover from that attack.
In an instant the skeleton lifted his free hand up in the air. Waves of
transparent blue surged down his sleeved arm immediately, down to his ivory
skeletal wrist, wrapping around his sharp fingers. Wait… Frisk knew this
attack. He was going to summon those bone spears!
And sure enough dozens of sharpened hovering bones appeared around his hand.
They were blood-red in color with a glowing film of azure mist encompassing
each one. They shivered in the air and formed a perfect ring around Sans’ claw,
rotating quickly in a circle.
Sans narrowed his eyes and lifted his forefinger.
The agile bones obeyed. They spiraled forward.
They cut through the fog like a wave of arrows.
And each one shot through Chara’s contaminated shield with a loud clash, so
violent, like gunfire.
 
Frisk whimpered out from the sharp crash as the bone javelins pierced the
barrier. They embedded inside Chara’s wall, and Frisk could see from her angle
how the bones drilled halfway through, and they were still moving. The
cartilage daggers shivered, straining to cut through the shield completely,
honing in on their target.
Frisk could hear Sans chuckling underneath his breath out in the fog, but her
gaze was locked on Chara now.
 
Chara… She was staring back at the weapons caught in the blockade. Her eyes
were wide, her teeth clenched, though that contrived smirk refused to wane. And
the girl lifted the heavy barrier with all her strength and she threw the
shield to the floor.
There was a jarring burst of scarlet light and deafening sound of glass
exploding.
The barrier collided into the rocky ground and shattered and melted to mud.
Bones clashed into the floor with it, and lay in the puddle, coated and caked
with Chara’s essence, rendering them useless. Chara had sacrificed her
temporary soul’s shield to dismantle Sans’ spears.
The demon girl’s confident smirk returned. She leered back at her rival and
shouted out to him, taunting him yet again.
“Pathetic!” She laughed. She stomped down against an idle bone in the sludge
puddle, cracking it under her shoe. “You’ve lost your edge, Sans. I’ll end this
now!”
Chara swiftly dug one hand in her shorts pocket and she pulled out… the box
cutter.
 
The sword.
 
Frisk’s eye went wide and her heart began to clamor. The girl wrapped both her
hands around the sword’s hilt and summoned the blade in the blink of an eye.
Like the barrier, the sword was composed of blood-red dripping gore. The liquid
formed the shape of the blade, a long melting broadsword soaked in maroon
grout. Something out of a nightmare.
And Chara let out another sharp cackle and she swiveled the sword before her,
holding it out in a threatening, offensive stance.
 
Then Chara sprinted.
 
She finally acted. She dove forward, this time charging Sans head-on.
But Sans was ready for her.
 
He quickly gripped upon his blood-stained hatchet handle and lunged.
Another violent burst of blue and red. There was a sickening splatter as Sans’
axehead came into contact with the claymore, and their weapons clashed
violently into one another.
Frisk was shivering. She wanted to cry but no sound came out. She stared back
at both of her tormentors, overwhelmed by the brutal onslaught… A battle of
life and death… A crusade of hate and vengeance. She desperately pulled at the
binds around her legs, kicking at them, struggling against them. S-she had to
stop this!
And while she fought Sans’ magical tethers, she watched the collision of two
souls, two lost spirits, clashing into each other so violently, so furiously. A
thick aura of rage coiled around them both. Sans’ fixed smirk shivered as he
allowed malevolence and revenge to overtake him. His vermilion eye flashed
brightly, his movements unexpected and decisive, as he hacked into her sword
over and over. But Chara was his equal when it came to fortitude. Chara’s
maniacal grin dripped with pure venom. Her glossy sky-blue eyes locked upon
Sans’ skull. She darted side to side, parrying each one of Sans’ blows only to
slash into his weapon in short, swift bursts. Her weapon was so much larger
than his, it was difficult to block.
Chara swiveled her blade downward and attempted to cut into the ax’s wooden
handle, but Sans could read into each one of her strategies and he swung his ax
down, rebuking the demon’s mischievous gambits. Chara fought dirty. She was sly
and attempted to take advantage of every single one of Sans’ weak spots. But
Sans was too fast and could see three steps ahead of her movements.
The surreal sprouting extremities at Chara’s chest began to shiver. They had
recovered from Sans’ earlier attack. They grew and spewed from their host’s
torso. They rose up in the air during the clash of sword and cleaver, dripping
bloody slime everywhere, and they darted down. Down towards Sans.
“S-sans!” Frisk whimpered.
But Sans needed no warning. He saw them this time.
He quickly sliced at three tendrils before parrying another one of Chara’s
sword strikes. He was now warding off both the broadsword and the lurching
limbs at the same time. And somehow, miraculously, the skeleton was able to
block each blow. But he was on defense now. Chara lurched forward, slashing
into his weapon with a burning resolve. Her malignant tendrils darted forward
in an unpredictable fashion, aiming for Sans’ chest each time.
And while Chara slashed into Sans’ parrying ax, over and over, she snickered…
and she spoke between stringent inhales.
“Sans… it’s OVER!” Chara screamed and brought her sword down harshly, cutting
into the flank of the hatchet. “There’s no one left to save! What are you
trying to prove?! Ahah-! It does not matter what you do. Every monster in this
hell… they are all condemned! Destined to die down here! And they will never
forget what you are. A TRAITOR! And a FAILURE! And a MURDERER!”
Chara was screaming. Her berating words were almost as harsh as the blows of
her blade. Her eyes flashed brightly each time sparks erupted from the
collision and reflected off her pale gaze.
Sans said nothing in response to the taunts and continued to cut through
Chara’s artillery of sentient limbs. He was struggling… Frisk could see it. His
forehead dripped in sweat, his arms trembled with every downward clash. He was
being pushed backwards by his opponent. Chara was knocking him back.
“You were an embarrassment to the Underground’s battalion! To Asgore's Army!
Your soul is WEAK! TAINTED! IMMORAL!” With each jarring insult, Chara’s
tendrils drove into Sans’ weapon. Chara… S-she was winning. She was beating him
down with each one of her cancerous words paired with the onslaught. “This time
I’ll crush your skull entirely!”
Sans’ took a hasty sidestep to avoid another swift jab of her long blade, but
the assault of Chara’s soul was overbearing and the coiling tendrils curved
beside him simultaneously. They quickly wrapped around Sans' wrists. Another
tentacle lurched forward and twined itself around Sans’ throat. Like bloodied
liquid tethers, Chara’s coils pulled him forward and bound his wrists. Sans
could barely protect himself from the demon’s sword. His movements were
restricted, yet he was still able to parry another one of Chara’s blows.
A thick, daunting tendril spilled from Chara and lunged forward, aiming
directly at Sans’ chest.
 
N-no… She was after his soul!
 
Sans’ sockets went wide as he watched the oncoming appendage make an attempt
for his soul.
Chara grinned, her face contorted with rampant fury. She was a monster.
“Sans… Your soul will be mine once more!”
 
But there was a blinding torrent of azure luminosity as Sans summoned his
innermost powers, and a controlled cobalt vapor wrapped around the lurching
tendril and slowed its movements. Chara’s grin snapped into a scowl. And in the
split second of control, Sans ripped his bound hands from the coils and sliced
through them with his ax.
Another flash and he was gone.
And reappeared yet again, a ways away.
 
His shoulders rose and fell as he struggled for a breath. Chara glowered back
at him. Her wounded soul spirits shriveled around her, once again severed at
the ends. But they regenerated like before and danced high in the air.
Sans… He had to stay away from her. H-he couldn’t risk Chara infecting his
soul. If she touched him… if those tendrils found a way to pierce his chest…
then she could push her manipulation inside his vigor and he would be her
puppet, just like before. God, dammit. Frisk whimpered and continued to pull at
the binds. She cried out for Sans and shouted back at the two of them, begging
for them to stop.
But Sans had already realized that to win this fight he would need to take
advantage of his ranged weapons. He would have to fight dirty, just like his
foe. And he swiftly lifted his free hand once more and summoned yet another
wave of sharp bone daggers. They spiraled towards Chara, who darted to the
side, just barely missing them. He summoned another wave, and Chara dodged it.
Then another, and another… and another.
And while Chara ran from the barrage of bones, Sans’ followed after her. The
girl cursed loudly and swiped her blade at the sinuous volley, cutting the
cartilage in midair. She furled her soul sword into one hand and resummoned her
shield in the other, using it to capture another forceful influx of bones. And
immediately there was a cobalt burst and Sans vanished.
And he reappeared directly behind Chara.
His eye flashed like a hammering heartbeat. He brought down his ax into Chara’s
shoulder and cut into her flesh while she had been distracted by the bone
arrows.
 
A heinous scream erupted from Chara’s throat and Frisk felt sick at the sound.
Sans’ ax sliced into her shoulder blade, cutting through muscle, and glossy
dark blood sprayed from the impact spot and coated the head of his hatchet. But
before Sans could completely sever her arm, the girl’s soul tentacles responded
and they charged for Sans and he was forced to teleport away once more.
He reappeared some yards back. His weapon dripped with his opponent's blood and
his sharp canines clenched in a wide smirk, ecstatic from the execution of his
sneak attack. Chara, on the other hand, was screaming out in pain. Her shield
vanished immediately as she grasped at her damaged shoulder. She coughed and
panted heavily, slouching forward. But Sans simply summoned more bones during
her weakness and commanded them forward in thick waves. Even while injured,
Chara still managed to dodge each barrage. She ran from them in a circle,
leering through her sweaty bangs back at Sans, shielded by the fog.
But Chara’s smirk returned as she sprinted.
And she let out a weak, breathy chuckle.
“Tch… Teleporting during combat… You always were a cheating bastard!” She
shouted and evaded yet another crossfire of bone daggers. She was injured from
his ax. Some of the tentacles coiled around her shoulder, underneath her arm,
and they squeezed tightly to stop the bleeding and hold her arm in place.
Chara skidded to a stop while blocking another volley of bones with her sword
and she ripped her gaze from the skeleton.
And her flashing eyes settled upon Frisk.
 
W-what?!
 
Frisk could still see Chara in the distance. She saw the demon’s gaze. Her
heart sunk to her gut. She immediately stilled her struggling hands at the
cords on her legs. Chara’s gaze locked on her like a missile. The dark-haired
child darted forward, but not towards Sans… this time she was sprinting towards
Frisk. She avoided each one of Sans’ firing bones, completely fixed on Frisk
now. And she curled both her hands around the sword’s hilt, ready to strike.
 
She’s injured. She’s failing! She’s going to kill you to try and reset the
timeline!
 
Frisk felt numb. And she couldn’t even run, thanks to Sans. Her wide-eyed stare
trembled as she watched the demon make a last-ditch desperate effort to reset
this fight. And Chara was only a handful of yards away before Sans teleported
directly in front of Frisk, blocking Chara’s blitz. His ax collided with the
blade in a violent eruption of heat and bursting scarlet and cobalt flames.
Frisk ducked down under her arms, trying to shield her face from the collision
of raging souls. S-she was so close now, they were fighting right beside her!
 
Sans… He had protected her.
 
And he struck into Chara’s sword violently, knocking her backwards, warding her
away from Frisk with each invading blow.
The skeleton clashed his ax into Chara forcefully, enough to cause her to jump
back. They were both panting, both of them dripping with blood and tainted soul
essence from Chara’s tendrils. Chara’s shoulder was no longer bleeding as her
tendrils wrapped tight around the wound, but her injured arm shook and Frisk
could tell that it was badly damaged. She could see pain in Chara’s eyes… A
look she had never seen before.
The child winced. Her forced grin strained and twitched in the corners. She was
panting heavily and her knees quivered. Though she kept both her hands latched
upon the sword and lifted it out in front and leered over the edge at Sans.
Sans scowled. Chara’s constant ambushes and dirty tactics were causing his rage
to peak. He quickly freed up a hand and lifted his claw and suddenly the ground
underneath began to shake. H-his bone cage… He was summoning it!
The rocky soil churned as a thick barrier of bones erupted from the floor. They
moved so quickly, Chara could not act in time. The bones burst from underneath
the crust, spearing skyward and trapping Chara in a limited circular enclosure.
The cage’s bars were thick cartilage, tinted a vile vermilion with narrow
splinters running down the sides allowing thick bone marrow to spill out.
Chara was trapped.
And Sans grinned.
His eye flashed and he chuckled.
And he began to summon another wave of daggers, aiming for the caged girl
directly before him. This was it. He’s got her. She’s trapped. She can’t dodge
those bones.
“C-chara…” Frisk whimpered under her breath, staring back at the abhorrent
spectacle.
But… Chara… She did not appear afraid. If anything, her smirk widened. And
before Sans could command the barrage of bones to spiral towards her, Chara
lifted her broadsword in both hands. Her tendrils shivered overhead in a rage,
like dozens of vibrating oozing centipedes, and Chara swiped the sword across,
cutting into the bone bars, slicing them in two. She severed them. She broke
them!
Sans took in a sharp inhale. The bones he had been summoning immediately
vanished. Sans’ sockets went wide. He staggered back and clutched at his chest.
Chara… she had injured him… by cutting those cage bones, she had damaged his
soul.
Sans coughed up a wad of blood upon the floor, grasping at his ribs through his
shirt while Chara continued to hack at the bones until they crumbled and fell.
Each time she cut through them, bone marrow and blood would splatter against
her arms and chest, causing Sans to groan out in pain. She leapt out from the
cage after finally freeing herself.
Those bones… they were living things. They were a part of Sans’ soul. If they
were fractured, then they harmed him as well.
 
S-sans… please…
 
Chara kicked at the fractured cluster of bones on the floor, each one a sharp,
broken shard of cartilage. She took slow steps forward. She was laughing again.
She was soaked in blood and tilted her head back and licked at a splatter of
hot, maroon viscous from the corner of her lips.
“You’re done, skeleton. You are no match for the Manumitter.” Chara hissed.
Blue eyes flashed through the red smears that coated her face. She truly looked
like something from hell… soaked in blood… sword in hand… her sentient, slender
invertebrate tendrils faltering high in the air overhead. “Lay down your
weapon. Surrender your soul. It is mine now.”
Sans lifted his skull. Frisk could see blood seeping down the side of his maw
and the sight made her heart race. S-she had never seen Sans injured like this
before… She had never seen him bleed. Frisk’s gaze locked onto the blue,
palpitating glow that shivered under his shirt. His… soul.
 
Was he afraid?
 
Was this the end?
 
But Sans remained silent, like he had been during the entire duel. Chara
shifted her feet against the blood-stained gravel underneath. She rolled her
shoulders back, lifting her blade high over head, and she charged him. Chara
sprinted forward.
Her eyes were flashing.
Her grin was wide, dangerous, malicious.
She let out a blood-curdling laugh that tainted the atmosphere around her with
poisonous miasma.
She would destroy him. Destroy them ALL.
She would finally eradicate all the monsters from this hell.
She was so powerful now.
She’d kill him.
She’d KILL HIM.
 
And Chara’s sword burned red hot as she launched towards Sans and brought down
her blade with all her strength. Sans lifted his ax and blocked the blow, but
he could barely keep her slashing weapon at bay. His arms shook. Chara was so
fast, she was cutting into his weapon, aggressive, savage, completely unhinged
and stricken with madness.
Sans’ stumbled backwards. He was hurt. His strength was weakening.
Chara’s tendrils began to wrap around his arms once more. There were so many of
them now… they were coiling around his throat, making their way towards his
chest… One of the creeping limbs slithered around his skull and began to plunge
into his empty eye socket. T-they were going to contaminant him… possess him!
No…
N-no!
 
P-please… NO NO NO!!
 
SANS!
 
Frisk cried out at the atrocious sight, but she could barely even hear her own
voice over the sound of their melee weapons crashing into one another and
Chara’s wicked laughter.
Sans let out a sharp groan… from pain.The tendrils were choking him, ripping
inside his skull, delaying his movements. But with his innermost reserves of
strength, Sans furled his ax into one claw. And while he parried each one of
Chara’s fatal blows, he lifted his opposite hand upwards, fighting against the
tendrils wrapped around his wrist. There was a burst of blue around his claw…
and… and another flash of sapphire from behind.
The shards of bones that had once formed his cage… they began to shiver on the
floor. The broken fragments rose from the ground and hovered in the air. They
spiraled and clustered together, and they shot forward… directly towards Chara,
from behind.
 
Frisk’s eye went wide as she watched.
Her heart was racing, her hands were trembling.
But… she did not cry out.
 
She did not shout a warning for the demon-child.
 
And the poised bone remnants - each one as sharp as a shard of glass - cut
through the fog like a shower of bullets.
 
Chara did not notice them.
She was too overcome with a false guise of victory.
 
She did not dodge them this time.
 
And dozens of shards pierced through her stomach from behind.
 
…
 
…
 
There was a deafening scream.
 
…
 
…
 
Chara… was screaming.
 
…
 
…
 
Her soul’s tendrils ripped away from Sans and she hastily staggered backwards.
She continued to scream out in terrible pain and weakly clutched at her sword’s
handle in one hand as the other grasped at the ends of the shards that
punctured her stomach. The bones… they had pierced clean through. Frisk could
see at least ten of them jutting out from her dark sweater. She had been
skewered and almost immediately blood began to run from each rupture down her
legs.
Chara lurched around in agony. Her hands were trembling and she finally dropped
the sword to the floor. The blade vanished the moment it hit the ground and
Frisk’s ordinary box cutter lay in a puddle of blood at her feet. Chara began
to pull at the bone slivers with both hands, trying to rip them from her gut.
The sight made Frisk feel so sick.
 
S-sans… What did you… do…
 
Sans simply watched from where he stood. He was still breathing heavily. He was
still shivering in pain. But his sockets narrowed as he watched the demon
writhe in agony. He was not smirking, his teeth clenched in a downward scowl,
though his red sphere flashed rapidly like… it was possessed by frenzied
trepidation.
Chara’s tendrils began to droop. They slowly slipped back inside her chest. She
was too weak to keep them summoned, bleeding out from the fatal injury. She
continued to scream and cough up a thick wave of glossy black blood down her
chin.
But despite the horror… Sans charged her again.
 
He… he was going to finish her. His eye and his soul… they were burning.
 
Sans darted through the fog with his ax in both claws. Chara slowly lifted her
head, staring back at him with wide, bloodshot eyes, and she quickly pulled her
blood-soaked hands from the jutting bones and summoned her shield again.
The barrier burst forward, though it was not nearly as large as it had once
been. It shivered, it was weak, and Sans’ ax collided into it without one shred
of mercy.
He cut into the barrier.
The violent blows pierced through her shield as he brought down his hatchet
over and over. Chara grit her teeth, using up the final reserves of her energy
and poisoned determination to keep her shield steady in one last, desperate
attempt. But the blood continued to spill from her perforate abdomen. She
gagged up another flood of frothy crimson, choking against the clotting stomach
bile that ruptured from her stomach up into her throat.
 
The shield was shattering.
 
Chara could not stop him. Not this time.
 
And Sans finally sliced his weapon clean through the barrier.
It severed into two thick pieces and fell to the floor, immediately contorting
to that opaque ruby liquid. Chara stumbled backwards. She coughed and cried out
in agony. She brought her hands down to the puncturing bones and pushed at them
with quivering fingers. Sans darted for her again. She attempted to summon
another shield, but she had no strength left. Sans was too fast. He furled his
free hand at the front of her bloody sweater and threw the girl down to the
floor.
“SANS!” Frisk found her voice. It shook terribly, laced with dread, but she
screamed out as loud as she could as she watched the skeleton tower over the
defeated demon-child. “Sans! STOP!”
He would not stop.
He ignored every one of Frisk’s words.
Sans was raging.
 
He stood over Chara and stomped one of his heavy sneakers down upon her hand.
Her fingers snapped under his weight like brittle seashells and she let out
another egregious scream. He brought his foot down again with even more force
in the same spot, shattering every bone in her hand, followed by the sound of
snapping cartilage and wet, choking cries.
Chara lifted her opposite arm as she tried to resummon the shield, but Sans
swiftly brought his ax down and cut her hand clean off.
 
Oh, god…
 
This… heinous display… it was… familiar…
 
…
 
'You know he will kill you.'
 
……
 
'Do you really think he can change?'
 
…
 
'Your power is a threat to his will.'
 
…
 
'So far gone… so twisted and warped.'
 
……
 
…
 
Chara’s words… They rung in Frisk’s head.
 
Chara’s warning…
 
…
 
Frisk watched, stunned and horrified, as Sans’ finally withdrew his ax back
into his soul to free up both claws. The weapon radiated bright azure before it
vanished into thin air. He fell to his knees upon Chara underneath him. The
girl twisted and convulsed against the ground under his form, her body mangled,
blood seeping from each one of her wounds. Both her hands were destroyed, and…
she could not summon the soul’s tendrils. She was too damaged… too weak.
 
It was over for her…
 
“SANS!!! STOP IT!! STOP IT!” Frisk begged and cried out as tears spilled from
her lone eye.
The cries did not reach him.
Sans shivered with trepidation and surging power. He rolled his shoulders back
as one of his hands wrapped around Chara’s throat, squeezing hard. His opposite
hand began to glow cobalt and he summoned something… but it was not his ax.
It was one, single sharpened bone.
A red dagger.
He rolled the maroon weapon between his skeletal phalanges.
Its tip was as sharp as a scalpel and it glowed with a faint sapphire hue.
 
Sans’ eye flash so quickly, faster than Frisk had ever seen. His scowl morphed
back into his trademark languid smirk. His lidded sockets locked upon Chara’s
face, soaking in her pain… her fear. He shivered as he crouched over her,
relishing in each one of his foe’s screams, each one of her trembles and gasps
for air.
“heh… ”
And Sans furled the bone dagger in his grasp.
He lifted his hand overhead.
And he brought down the weapon, directly into Chara’s right eye.
 
It speared through her socket instantly, piercing directly into her blue gaze,
digging in deeper… deeper… embedding directly through her skull.
 
Frisk shut her eye.
 
She could not watch this. B-but she could not block out the screams.
 
Chara screamed out louder than before. Her voice raw and harsh and tainted with
suffocating gags. Sans ripped the bone from her gouged socket and brought it
back down, over and over, cutting into her snake eye so violently. And he
ripped the dagger from the carnage and brought the weapon to her opposite eye.
Those eyes… He was haunted by those orbs… Like Frisk was haunted by his.
He ripped through both of them, blinding Chara instantly, stabbing his dagger
clean through her skull all the way down to the hilt, skewering her brain deep
inside. Gore and carnage and bloody flesh-toned clumps of brain matter
splattered fourth each time Sans ripped the dagger from her gaping sockets.
 
Chara… She was not screaming anymore…
 
All Frisk could hear was the soft sound of a pike plunging into wet, torn
flesh… and Sans’ depraved growls of rage and revenge.
 
…
 
…
 
Frisk sobbed into her hands.
She slowly parted her fingers and peered through the spaces.
The fog settled low to the ground… but she could see it all.
Chara…
 
Chara was gone.
 
Sans leaned over the corpse, one hand still latched upon her throat, while the
other pierced the bone through her eye socket one last time. He was completely
coated in blood. It ran down his skull, staining every article of clothing he
wore. The way his eye flashed and his deranged smirk shivered… He looked like
something from a nightmare.
 
Chara is dead…
 
Frisk held back her cries, but tears continued to flow. Her legs had gone numb
and ached from Sans’ binds, though she barely even felt it. She had been so
overcome with anxiety watching the fight unfold. And now… now it was over…
 
Sans murdered her… He killed her.
 
Sans lifted his head slowly. He took in a deep inhale and stared up at the
blanket of grey overhead. His shoulders continued to quiver as he sat there…
silent… relishing in the kill. The monster that had turned him into a traitor…
The evil that had ruined his life… She was dead.
Dead at last.
 
And Sans finally shifted and glanced back down at the mangled body underneath.
He brought the sharp bone dagger down to Chara’s chest and began to rip through
her sweater, through her flesh, cutting open her abdomen, splitting her rib
cage in two. He dropped the murder weapon to the side and plunged his claw
inside her open chest and began to rip something… small and glowing… from the
bloodied, pulpy chasm at the center of the cadaver.
Sans yanked his hand back sharply.
There was a loud snap, like the sound of a splitting rubber cord.
And slowly, after a long moment, the skeleton rose to his feet. He towered over
the corpse. He stared down at the excavated eye sockets that were now nothing
but two hollow alcoves overflowing with torn, lurid bloodied flesh and the
recesses of a skull.
 
Chara… is… d-dead…
 
Sans’ gaze settled down… down to his claw… and his pulsing eye locked upon the
orbs in his hand.
There were two of them.
Chara’s soul.
And…
Frisk’s.
 
They were connected with a stringy membrane of blood-red tissue, like a net of
slick, webby tendons. Sans pried the two souls apart and examined each one
carefully.
But ultimately his gaze settled upon Chara’s soul. Chara’s soul… It almost
resembled an internal organ. Blood-red in color, dripping with sludge,
poisonous, grotesque, toxic. It glowed just barely and coated Sans’ fingers in
gore.
Sans lifted the malignant orb in his hand. His sharpened fingertips began to
pierce it at all sides.
He crushed the orb in his grasp with ease.
It shattered. There was a bright burst of muddled red illumination, followed by
the strong stench of copper that pervaded throughout the entire atmosphere
around them. The glow faded… and the soul… it became nothing but an empty,
fractured sphere.
The essence drained from the orb and spilled down on Chara’s body.
And just like that, it turned black.
And lifeless…
Like its host.
 
Chara was gone. Forever.
 
…
 
My rage… My hate… My vengeance…
 
…
 
…
 
C-chara…
 
…
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
Sans staggered backwards and he turned.
Frisk dropped her hands from her face. She stared at Sans through the fog, her
eye wide, stained with a deluge of hot tears.
Her head was numb.
Her heart felt… vacant.
The skeleton’s lidded gaze locked upon her. He dropped Chara’s empty husk of a
soul to the floor and it rolled in the puddle of gore and rested beside the
fallen box cutter. Sans lifted Frisk’s soul in both his hands and cradled it
close to his chest. His grin faded into an apathetic grimace. His eye was no
longer a flashing beacon of seething fire. His demeanor… almost melancholy.
And he stepped forward towards Frisk.
 
No… N-no…
 
Get away from me…
 
Frisk began to cry. She gasped for a breath as the overwhelming surge of horror
overtook her entirely. She was hyperventilating against the floor, kicking and
fighting at the binds around her legs. Sans stepped forward and sunk down to
his knees directly beside her.
He wrapped his blood-soaked around around her waist, pulling her close into his
chest.
 
S-sans…
 
The blood… it was still hot. The smell of bittersweet copper clung to his
clothes. It was so overpowering. Frisk coughed against the aroma. Sans tugged
her form into him and she cried out and shoved both her hands against his ribs,
trying to push him away. G-get away!!! YOU MONSTER! But he tightened his
embrace.
She could feel his soul.
She could feel it vibrating against his bones, through the fabric.
Beating so fast… fluttering like fragile wings…
 
And he said nothing.
Frisk sobbed hard in his bloody grasp. Her hands clenched at the front of his
shirt. She could just barely see his red hue shivering overhead as he stared
out into the emptiness with a blank gaze.
 
It’s over.
 
…
 
It’s all over…
 
Sans held her against his chest for a long while.
The wind rustled Frisk’s hair, but she could barely feel the cold. She was
entirely numb from the inside out, immobilized in Sans’ arms. Her soul… it
rested in his hand. She could see it, caked in grime and blood, but it burned
brightly. It was no longer infected with Chara’s contaminated spirit. It was
beautiful, like it had always been.
That deluge of pins and needles she had felt inside her chest had vanished, now
that her soul was no longer trapped inside a fiend. The space below her
breastbone still felt hollow… but… the pain had gone.
And Sans’ fingers began to softly massage against the walls of her soul.
It felt… comforting.
And warm.
Though she was so afraid.
Frisk was terrified.
 
“Sans…” She whispered, just barely audible over the sound of his rapidly
pulsing soul. Frisk finally lifted her head and stared up at the monster with a
lifeless gaze. Sans glanced back down at her. He was silent. Blood streaked
down his skull and ran into his alcoved eye sockets and down his canines. He
slowly lifted Frisk’s soul and slipped it into his pocket, keeping it for
himself, and he lowered one hand down to the blue tethers at her legs and waved
them away.
The binds shivered and evaporated within the fog, finally freeing Frisk from
the floor. She quickly shifted her legs and pulled her knees into her chest. It
hurt, the binds had practically cut off all circulation, but she did not make a
run for it. No… she leaned into her tormentor… her hell.
 
The wasteland surrounded them.
It was so quiet.
So cold.
The smell of rain cut through the stench of death.
And the sky opened up.
 
… and it began to pour.
 
It rained hard down upon them. Cold little slivers of ice piercing her flesh.
The rain washed away the blood from Sans’ skull and clothes. Red, tacky viscous
spilled down his bones into a muddled puddle on the rocky ground.
Sans kept his arm wrapped around Frisk’s waist while his opposite claw pressed
against the back of her head and held her into his chest. His sharp fingertips
dug through her wet locks. He caressed her scalp, feeling her beating pulse
against the softness at her temples.
The monster’s azure soul shivered from the feeling of the girl’s warmth.
Her skin… fevered and soft… despite the chilled rain.
 
And after some time, Sans finally pushed himself up to his feet. He reached
down and pulled Frisk up with him, holding her trembling body against his side
like before.
Frisk’s knees buckled under her and she almost fell - her legs were still numb
- but Sans would not allow that to happen. He simply tightened his grasp and
tucked her under his winter jacket to shield her from the rain. Though she was
now soaked. Thick drops ran in her face and melded with her tears. Frisk’s hazy
gaze locked upon Chara… the lone corpse… the small child… laying a ways away
from them in the mud.
 
Chara was gone.
 
Chara…
 
…
 
C-chara-… I have to let you go. I have to forgive.
 
…
 
Sans glanced down at Frisk, watching her expressions contort into one of pure
anguish as she examined Chara’s mangled corpse from afar. He stroked her locks
back behind her ears gently. Then he took a step forward, leading Frisk with
him.
They slowly walked past the deceased demon-child’s body. Sans attempted to
block Frisk from the corpse, but she tilted her head past his form to see it.
She had to see it.
And she felt her stomach churn and lurch against the base of her throat as they
walked past.
 
Sans… He truly is a monster.
 
Look at what he did to Chara…
 
…
 
Can’t you see what he is capable of? Or do you simply not want to see it?
 
You are only half blind… So, surely, you can see the callous hate that burrows
inside this monster’s soul.
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
… Forget it. It does not matter.
 
 
It will all be over soon.
 
…
 
There is no hope for him.
 
…
 
There is no hope for you.
 
…
 
…
 
Hope… It was gone.
Frisk’s determination… It had died with Chara.
She was empty inside.
 
Hollow.
 
And she buried her face back against Sans’ thick, damp jacket as he led her
towards the gravel road.
And they began their way down the pathway, through the fog, against the rain.
 
…
 
And in the distance…
 
… there was a castle.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: Sans.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Goodbye, Chara.
     Perhaps you are the lucky one… May you finally find peace in death.
     ADVANCED WARNING: The next chapter will contain graphic and explicit
     sexual content (non-con + soul-sex). Please proceed cautiously!!!
     /////////////////////
***** XXXII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 32: “Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and
     deep desires.” - Macbeth
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hey everybody!
     Thanks for all of the wonderful comments and feedback! I’m so glad
     everyone enjoyed the last chapter. Fight scenes are always a
     challenge to write, but a FUN challenge :’)
     Anyways, Chapter 32… the third-to-last chap…Long chapter. LOOONGG
     chapter. It’s really much too long and it should have been split into
     two, but I couldn’t do that to you guys.
     In this chap we reach the 9th gate, explore Asgore’s castle and
     journey to the 10th and final barrier. This chapter is bleak… this
     chapter is upsetting… this chapter is basically just bad/sad vibes
     overall. A LOT of distressing, internal dialogue and mental anguish
     on Frisk’s part. Sans is a cryptic bastard, as always, but we may see
     another side to his psyche? Or maybe not.
     Also, & what everyone has probably been waiting for lol, this chapter
     contains a lengthy and explicit NSFW non-con/soul-sex scene. (Note:
     This scene does not have the same level of violence as seen in
     Chapter 21. It is troublesome in a different way.)
     Skippers, please proceed to the bottom_notes for a brief summary.
     Readers, please see the warning below. I hope you like it!
     WARNING WARNING WARNING: This chapter contains a very detailed and
     explicit non-con sexual/soul-sex scene that is emotionally
     distressing. Please proceed cautiously.
     P.S. To make your reading experience more immersive, I recommend
     listening to this nice atmospheric rain on Youtube here. And while I
     worked on this chapter, I combined that rain with the sad_song from
     The Revenant on repeat. So… if you wanna do that too… knock yourself
     out. *chuckles weakly then dies*
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
 
*****
 
 
…
 
The rain fell in sheets.
 
…
 
It was… so loud. A deafening downpour of glassy, grey quartz.
 
…
 
And the steady rainfall only added to the haze.
 
…
 
Thick curtains of mist stretched out before them in all directions.
 
…
 
But through the fog… through the storm… there was a castle.
 
…
 
A charcoal-stained fossil perched upon the horizon.
 
…
 
Frisk could see it. She could see the building, far off in the distance.
A castle lost in time. It nestled against the monstrous wall of mountains. It
was miles away. From where Frisk stood it simply looked like a black pebble
surrounded by towering hoards of obsidian rock. It was difficult to make out
the architectural details. She was too tired to even try. She simply leaned
into the skeleton’s sturdy form, tucked under the side of his jacket, weakly
clutching at his shirt.
Sans' arm wrapped around her shoulders as he led her through the rain. It was
heavy and added to Frisk’s exhaustion, but she did not protest. She did not
fight him anymore. She simply walked alongside him.
Her determination was gone.
Her spirit was hollow and lifeless.
The desire for freedom… that was just a bittersweet memory now. Like the memory
of her previous life, long past.
Her mother… The orphanage… Izzy…
All of it was just the melancholy daydream of a departed mind.
And Frisk was numb, inside and out. Every step she took felt hindered, like she
was struggling against a riptide along the bottom of an ocean floor.
Her head was spinning. Each thought was a cloudy obscurity. She was in shock…
still in shock from… f-from…
 
…
 
Chara…
 
…
 
Chara is gone.
 
…
 
Chara is dead.
 
…
 
Frisk clenched her teeth harshly and shut her eye. She buried her face against
Sans’ side. S-she hated him… she still hated him… Her fingers grazed along the
tiered indentations of his ribs and she could feel his soul. Its soft vibrating
tremors. She listened to the subtle clicking of his joints as he took one slow
step after another… and she took in the scent of his shirt. The smell of musky
rainwater… and… blood.
Though Frisk’s head was locked in a twilight daze. No matter how hard she
tried, she could not shake the vision from her mind… the vision of Chara’s
corpse… laying in the mud… And Chara’s eyes… h-her eyes… Nothing but two
craters of oozing carnage, a token of Sans’ ultimate revenge.
 
That sight… A familiar vision.
 
Sans and Chara… They had been enemies for so long.
So… shouldn’t he be overjoyed by such a gruesome victory?
Shouldn’t he be ecstatic right now?
 
He certainly was not expressing it.
 
Frisk gripped his shirt tighter and gradually lifted her head, peering up at
him. Sans stared forward in a fixed gaze. His eye was a dim maroon and it
pulsed slowly. His teeth locked together in an impassive disposition. The rain
had washed away all the blood from his skull and he did not look nearly as
ominous as before. If anything, he almost looked troubled. But how could that
be, when everything was going according to his plan?
 
He defeated Chara and he had the key to the final gate under his control.
 
Frisk studied his features while her frigid fingers nudged inward against his
wet shirt. She traced the outline of one of his rib bones and the feeling was
peculiar. It was thick… and cold… and it curved inward and around towards the
front of his torso. I-it felt… strange… eerie… his bones… they were alive… and
easily accessible… and so unnatural. Frisk blinked down at the fabric and idly
pushed at the shallow space between the oblique cartilage with a little more
force. The sensation at her fingertips sent shivers down her spine.
Sans tensed and strained his bones almost immediately. He felt each one of her
curious touches: Small fingers exploring his ribs through the saturated fabric.
And finally, he glanced down at her.
Frisk quickly pulled her hands from Sans’ shirt, but he had already felt it,
and he let out a husky, placid chuckle.
His eye began to flash quickly and that intimidating smirk returned. Frisk was
certain he would say something… something debased and troubling… about Chara…
or about the way she just touched his ribs. But much to her surprise, he
remained silent. And after a long moment he tore his gaze from her and stared
out ahead once more.
His smirk faded back into that perplexing glower. He readjusted his arm at her
shoulders, squeezing much too tight.
 
I-I hate you…
 
 
 
 
 
They walked along for some time.
The rain refused to subside.
Frisk was drenched from head to toe, despite Sans’ shelter. Her damaged psyche
continued to pull that gruesome vision of the demon-child to the forefront of
her mind. Overwhelming sorrow had already rooted deep inside her. It was a
distinct type of anguish. One she had never felt before. It was all-
encompassing. The helplessness that had taken control of her heart and her
spirit made her feel so weak… so cold…
But for the first time in a long time, Frisk did not want to die. She had lost
her determination, but still she wanted to live. She wanted to live. Yet, this
desire only added to the heartache. Perhaps it was the reason for her sorrow, a
sorrow stronger than it had ever been, stronger than when she had wished for
death to take her… way back at the beginning of her journey.
Because misery is so much worse when it’s tainted with broken dreams.
It's easier to accept death when it is what you desire.
But not when you’ve fought so hard, only to find every one of your efforts
shattered at your feet.
She did not want to die. S-she did not want to die anymore.
 
And Chara’s final foreboding words lumbered through the swamp that was her
mind.
 
…
 
'You know he will kill you.'
 
…
 
'Do you really think he can change?'
 
… I’m sorry…
 
'Your power is a threat to his will.'
 
I don't know what is right…
 
'So far gone…’
 
…
 
Did I… D-did I make a mistake?
 
’So twisted and warped.'
 
Was it wrong to choose forlorn tragedy over poisonous vengeance?
 
During their clash… During their raging violence… When she called out to Sans
and not Chara… she had not been thinking. Watching them fight… S-she had been
so afraid. And her warning had just been some deep-seated instinctual reflex.
An abrupt utterance. She did not have time to consider the consequences of her
words. But in that moment, she wanted Sans to live.
 
She wanted Sans to win.
 
Would she pay for that choice… in the end?…
 
 
 
 
 
They walked on.
Her legs ached.
They had been traveling for hours now.
And for some reason her stomach began to hurt.
Frisk wanted to feel her soul inside her chest one more time. She longed for
that gentle warmth. The sweeping rain cut into her exposed flesh like small
shards of glass. All she could hear was the sound of the harsh downpour, the
crunch of black gravel under their sneakers, and her pulse throbbing slowly
behind both ears.
The path they had been following for so long began to slant uphill. They were
climbing a cliffside, drawing closer to the towering wall of black mountains on
the skyline.
And the castle… Asgore’s castle… it grew larger.
Frisk could see it easily now.
And it was so much more massive than she had anticipated.
 
The castle erected from the mountainside. It had been built directly into the
stone. It reminded Frisk of MTT Resort in a way, although that building had
emitted an ethereal aura, like some forgotten church succumbed with age. But
this building… its presence was grim and frightful. It was nothing like MTT
Resort.
Crumbling black and grey bricks formed the walls of the castle. There were
dozens of sharp, rising towers that rose towards the sky like an ascending
barricade of jetblack teeth. Each tower had a pier at the very top, as well as
darkened, narrow windows that ran along all sides. There were dozens of columns
lining the outer walls in the courtyard and they adjoined at the front of the
building, framing the entranceway's covered veranda. There were also stairs… A
long, winding trail of stairs that reached up towards the central plaza. And at
the very center of the courtyard, flush against the frontal wall, was a single
massive door.
Frisk squinted through the rain. Her gaze settled upon the lone door. It
appeared to be made out of decorative steel. It must have been at least two
stories tall… and there was… t-there was… a symbol.
 
The 9th gate…
 
This was it.
 
She had finally made it to the 9th gate, after all this time.
 
Frisk’s pulse began to race. A surge of emotions spilled into her quelled
heart. She bit at her lip to keep from whimpering with fear. Her feet dragged
against the stones, slowing their movements even more, but Sans continued to
guide her along. He stared dead ahead at the castle’s front gate like it was a
rare gem. He was determined. He was so close to achieving his goal. His goal to
free them all. To free the Underground.
And Sans’ hand feathered over her shoulder blade. He began to rub into the
scruff of her neck, tracing Muffet’s scaring stitches, and comb through her
drenched locks. Frisk hung her head. His auspicious touch made her want to cry,
but she simply leaned into his caress.
 
Will you give in to him, then?…
 
…
 
What of your goals?
 
…
 
What of your determination?
 
…
 
They are gone.
 
…
 
What of freedom?
 
…
 
 
 
 
They continued on in the rain until the small stones underfoot began to
disperse.
And eventually, the path lead them to the verge of the castle’s far-reaching
stairway. Sans hesitated for a moment at the base of the stairs while Frisk
weakly lifted her gaze at the castle and mountain barricade above them. She
still could not see the tops of the mountains… W-were they really that tall? Or
was it the fog that obscured the peaks? Or perhaps… it was not simply a stretch
of mountains… but some type of wall itself.
 
The final threshold of the Underground that kept them all trapped inside.
 
Frisk rubbed the soggy gauze eyepatch at the right side of her face. The onyx
marble steps were so slick from the downpour. There were no railings or support
along the sides to hold on to. Sans began to ascend up the stairs regardless,
pulling her along. Frisk clutched at his shirt to keep from slipping, but he
made sure that would not happen. He looped his arm under hers and clutched at
her waist.
And as they continued their journey up the steps, he broke the silence.
Sans… He let out a chuckle.
It was soft - almost entirely inaudible through the storm’s clamor - but there
was no mistaking the sound of his gruff, reverberating voice.
Frisk gently lifted her head. His flickering gaze and soft, listless grin
caught her eye.
And he spoke.
 
 
“… the rain is nice.”
 
…
 
Sans…
 
…
 
Sans ran his fingers through her hair again, keeping his garnet eye averted.
It was the first time Frisk had heard him speak in a while. Sans lifted his
fixed gaze from the leading stairway and glanced at the sky above them. Glossy
drops of water streamed down the front of his skull and fell in his sockets.
His expression was languid and placid… and… for some reason… the way he stared
at the gloom overhead… it reminded Frisk of the first time she had seen him…
back home.
Her heart plunged further into a familiar pool of grief.
And she ripped her gaze from his pulsing scarlet and glanced down at her muddy
sneakers.
 
 
 
The castle towered before them like some ghostly apparition. The mist and rain
added to its bleak appearance. They grew closer to the building. Frisk could
finally make out the structure clearly. But the walls that she thought were a
marbling of white and black stone were actually solid ashen grey and the tint
of black amassed from thick layers of mold that encased the entire building.
Frisk’s eye went wide. It had been a while since she had seen the creeping rot.
She scanned over all of the decay and the sight of it made her spine shiver.
The structure… it looked… sick. Sick and decomposing. She had never seen so
much of the mold in one place. Frisk could feel its malignant aura before they
even reached the terrace at the top of the stairs.
But the diseased aura also felt old, like the poison that once infected this
place had already died off, long ago, and only an expired residue remained.
Chara… Chara had lived here once. And Asgore… And perhaps other monsters, as
well. The castle was so grand, it was hard to imagine only two monsters
residing within. Frisk tried to visualize what the castle might have looked
like before the fall. Perhaps the terrain around them had once been filled with
grass… and trees… and sunshine.
But her preposterous daydreams were quickly severed as Sans came to an abrupt
halt. Frisk jolted against his arm and lifted her gaze from her sneakers.
 
There were no more stairs.
They had reached the last step and a platform of marble spread before them. The
external foyer was surrounded by columns, and settled at the end of the
courtyard was the castle… and… the 9th gate. It was there to greet them, only a
handful of yards away under a portico. Frisk felt her legs begin to shake. She
tried to take a step back down the stairs but Sans quickly clenched at her
hoodie and pulled her in close.
He nudged her forward, forcing her to walk alongside. They stepped through the
rain across the raised terrace.
Frisk whimpered in her throat. She dragged the soles of her sneakers against
the rain-soaked stone, but she was no match for Sans’ strength. And soon they
stood directly before the gate underneath the stone awning overhead. It blocked
out the rain, but it could not shield them from the steady wind that continued
to batter at either side.
Frisk examined the massive gate. She tilted her head back to study its
entirety. One single door… made up of a thick, pearly iron. At one side of the
door was a rusted, broken piece of notched alloy… like there had once been a
handle connected to that spot, long ago. The door’s rising surface was covered
in blotches of fuzzy obsidian mold. The decay created strange patterns along
the metal and the spots underneath were tarnished and corroding. But beneath
all of the rot, she could see the symbol.
The runic engraving…
Three peaks… and one downward coiling spiral…
The emblem was small compared to the rest of the door, but it was hard to miss.
 
Sans stood beside Frisk, silent and impassive. He lifted his hand from her
shoulder and trailed his claw down the center of her back and nudge her
forward. He leaned over her from above while his blood-red pulse reflected off
the sullied metal before them.
She knew what he wanted. She knew what she had to do… And she surrendered to
his will without a second thought, she was hollow… defeated… Just a shell. Why
fight anymore? Why even bother?
Frisk lifted her hands. Her numb fingertips traced over the embedded symbol.
She stared at the motif with a half-lidded gaze of defeat… hopeless and
demoralized, in every regard.
Sans idly rubbed at the nape of her neck and his vermilion eye pulsed faster.
He stuffed one claw in his pocket, searching for the key. He gripped tightly at
the orb and pulled it out then looped his arm around her waist, lifting his
hand before her restricted gaze.
 
Her soul rested in his palm.
 
It was shivering softly… a flashing gentle scarlet in the mist… a radiant
sphere of rose-dusted liquid crystal. Translucent and beautiful and sheened
over with a lustrous ambrosia. It looked so small in the center of Sans’ hand.
His bony fingers wiped along its sides, smearing the stardust fluent against
his phalanges.
She felt a twinge in her chest. The feeling of his fingers upon her sensitive
soul stirred something inside her… But Sans did not toy with her soul like he
had done countless times before. Instead, he leaned his chest firmly into her
from behind and lowered the orb down to the bottom of her hoodie. He wrapped
his opposite arm around her waist and lifted the heavy, drenched fabric just
barely, sliding his claw underneath her top.
Frisk immediately grit her teeth and lurched backwards, only to press into his
chest further. He had done this many times before. She should be used to this
by now. But his fingers were cold and wet and his rough knuckles kneaded into
her trembling midriff, along her bare navel, up further over her slender rib
cage to the very center of her chest.
His soul began to flutter fast. She could feel its vibrations against her
spine. Sans unfurled his claws from around the orb and pressed the sphere
against her skin.
 
I-it was so warm…
 
It was nothing like his touch. The feeling of her soul upon her own flesh… it
made her heart tremble. But Sans did not let her soul linger there for long. He
leaned forward further and pressed his forehead to the top of Frisk’s skull.
And he began to push the orb back inside.
 
The gentle warmth was replaced by a sharp pain.
 
It began to hurt.
 
The pain grew.
 
It morphed into anguish.
 
Frisk cried out and gripped at the outline of his arm under her clothes. She
had forgotten about this pain. The terrible agony of having your soul forced
back inside you. G-god, it hurt! Like hundreds of sweltering razor-sharp prongs
ripping and tearing apart her chest. For a second Frisk thought she was
bleeding, but it was only the hot liquid spirit that oozed from her soul and
spilled down her abdomen. Sans pressed against the sphere with a bit more
tenacity, but he did not push her soul inside in one fell swoop. He slipped it
in as slowly as possible.
“S-sans- Nnh-! Please… p-please…” Frisk cried through strained breath. She shut
her eye and gasped and painted against the all-encompassing suffering. God… He
was still torturing her, even now. He was a sadist.
“heh… almost there, kiddo.” He whispered against her ear and finally the last
segment slipped through her skin, underneath her sternum, burrowing within its
hollow chamber deep inside her breast.
And the pain melted away.
And all she could feel was warmth.
 
A warmth so strong. Pure. Authentic.
 
…
 
It felt…
 
… wonderful.
 
Frisk’s breath caught in her lungs. The warmth seeped out from her soul and
spread down each one of her limbs into the very recesses of her body. The
warmth… was unique. It was so much different than what she felt before. There
was no more taint, not even a fragment of it. And she could think clearly for
the first time in a long time.
Poisonous remnants of Chara’s contamination… the fragments of the demon-child’s
rot that had never truly disappeared… was gone now.
The demonic, lingering voice in her head had been wiped clean.
Now that Chara was dead, her soul and her mind were finally clear.
So much warmth… so much power… and … and… just a hint of… determination.
She could feel it all. It was there, spilling outward, and her whole body
flushed with a fever in Sans’ grasp.
 
But suddenly, his voice shook her from the rapture.
 
“come now, manumitter…” He growled. He sounded slightly irked, but mostly just
impatient. He kept his open palm pressed firmly against her bare chest while
his fingertips raked along her skin.
The warmth was fleeting. Her deep-rooted sorrow won out in the end. The sound
of his voice resurrected the entrenched despair. And his touch was a thick
swell of mud, quickly dousing her burning hope that had only just reappeared.
And she… obeyed.
Frisk hung her head. The determination subsided as quickly as it had arrived.
She lifted both her hands slowly… and pressed them flat upon the gate’s
surface. Her fingers grazed over the engraving edges. She closed her lone eye
to block out the tears as she reluctantly called forth her power.
 
Focus…
 
Focus.
 
…
 
There was a surge of heat.
 
It was so hot and her chest burned from the inside out.
A jarring burst of red radiance began to spill from her sternum, but it was not
the terrible parasitic tendrils Chara had possessed. Her soul’s physical power
resembled high-rising embers created from transparent, scarlet crystal. The
true essence of her soul. The fire licked the air overhead. Another wave
wrapped around both arms and ran down to her wrists and fingers. The dazzling
glow encompassed her hands like a pair of thick gauntlets, and her spirit’s
light quickly spread out along the surface of the door.
Frisk opened her eye. She watched the flowing power spilled inside the etched
engraved and turned it a bright red. She could feel Sans’ soul beating even
faster now… so fast… as his ribcage pressed flush against her spine. Her soul’s
red glow reflected in her tear-glazed stare, turning her vision crimson.
And as the massive door began to tremble under her touch, Sans’ released his
arm from her waist. His free hand lingered along her shoulder. He caressed the
side of her neck. His fingers slipped up the side of her scalp and temple until
he held her head back against his chest.
 
…
 
Sans…
 
…
 
What am I to you?
 
…
 
Just some key?
 
…
 
Will I ever know the truth?
 
…
 
…
 
Some truths are better left buried.
 
……
 
…
 
Frisk blinked the tears from her eye. The door’s meager trembles soon turned to
violent shivers. It shook quickly underneath her palms. It was… I-it was
opening. The 9th gate began to open outward and Frisk squinted back at the
small strip of light that formed between door and the archway. She was not sure
what to expect inside the castle, though it was pointless to speculate. It did
not even matter anymore.
There was a sharp, silence-shattering screech as the metal door scraped against
the stone floor inside the foyer. The skeleton urged Frisk forward, forcing her
hands to push the gate open further. Her soul’s power raged in the misty
atmosphere.
It… i-it hurt… So much heat… So much… power…
 
Her head was spinning.
 
Her heart was pounding.
 
But before Frisk could relish in another wave of warmth, Sans pulled her back
roughly into his chest. Her hands broke contact with metal surface and the
burning embers vanished into thin air, along with the growing surge of vigor.
The hopelessness returned.
Followed by a sharp wave of pain.
 
No… D-damn it!…
 
Sans was removing her soul once more.
 
W-why… Why!
 
He would not allow her to keep it. Even after everything, he was still going to
remove it. He did not trust her. B-but… why? Was it due to his old warrior
ways?… ‘Be strong. Trust no one. Fight.'… Was he incapable of trusting in
another? Or perhaps he still saw her as a killer. But he had watched her
journey throughout the Underground and face so many trials alone. He had
observed her die over and over again… and she did not kill! She had completed
his test, hadn’t she? She proved herself to be the true Manumitter! So why… why
was he removing it!?
 
…
 
Was he… afraid?
 
…
 
But before Frisk could scrutinize over her chaotic thoughts any longer, a pain
burrowed even deeper inside and it turned her mind to slush. It was so intense,
it felt like Sans was piercing her sternum with one of his blood-red bone
spears. She cried out and automatically struggled against his grasp. She threw
her head back into his chest, panting hard. Each breath she took was agony.
Frisk’s weak gaze locked upon her tormentor’s features overhead. Sans leered
down at her… his eye pulsing rapidly… his teeth locked in a calculating smirk.
S-she hated him…
But just as the pain reached its peak, it vanished. A hollow chilled sensation,
like bitter winter wind, began to slowly permeate inside her and replace the
warmth and the hurt. Soulless, again…
Frisk’s knees buckled and she collapsed against his chest, panting frantically
and gasping for a breath of misty oxygen. Sans gripped upon her soul and rolled
it back down the front of her torso, slipping it out from underneath her wet
hoodie. He lifted it one more time and gazed at the sphere over her shoulder.
Frisk stared up at the orb as well.
It was… so bright. Brighter than before. It was completely blinding. Like a
circle of pure light.
Sans narrowed his sockets and glared. The sight of its illumination seemed to
cause him concern, but before Frisk could question the radiance he quickly
pocketed it.
His opposite hand gently combed the dripping bangs from her eye.
“good job, kiddo.” Sans purred into her ear. Frisk flinched and the skeleton
chuckled. He looped his arm around her waist once again and stepped to the
side.
The massive gate hung ajar before them. Frisk gazed through the open space. She
could see inside. She could see… rays of pale light among a thick blanket of
fog and mangled marble.
And Sans took a step forward, leading her with him.
 
They entered Asgore’s castle.
 
The last division.
 
The final boundary.
 
 
 
Inside the castle was cold and hazy.
Their footsteps echoed against marble tiles as they made their way through the
extensive lobby foyer. The ceiling towered overhead at least five stories up
and Frisk stared at the beams of light cascading around them. There were no
open crevices in the roof. Instead, the glowing streams spilled from narrow
windows that lined the second story walls. Frisk could see the second floor
from where they stood… the open architecture exposed the upstairs balcony
overhead, protected by an iron railing. But the seeping light was grey and
dreary, a mirror image of the rainy atmosphere outside, and it did very little
to light up the space around them.
Though unlike the second floor, the first floor was obscured in shadows. There
were no windows. Instead there were dozens of open archways that lead into
various rooms. Each chamber was vacant, devoid of any furniture… only more
ebony mold that caked the walls and stone underfoot.
 
She could hear the rain outside. It sounded distant and muffled. Frisk’s vision
began to adjust to the darkness. She could see something on the opposite side
of the entrance room… Something large. A grandiose staircase that lead up to
the second floor and beyond.
Frisk blinked and turned her head back and forth, examining the entire space.
It was so bleak… so empty. Had the king really lived here? Beams of slate-grey
light spilled into the shadows and just barely reached them. Frisk squinted and
tried to peer inside one of the archways beside them, into a smaller room, but
Sans immediately led her towards the staircase.
She dug her heels into the dilapidated marble. Her rubber soles squeaked
against the damp stone.
“Sans…” She couldn’t help but whimper his name. Despite the fact that the
castle’s malevolent aura was old and faded it still made her heart sink. But…
was it the castle’s aura that weighed on her? Or was it the inevitable fate,
looming ahead?…
Sans glanced down at her. His red cut through the shadows.
“it’s alright.” He said in a low timbre, “this place was abandoned long ago.”
And he continued forward, pulling her beside him.
 
 
 
 
 
They walked through the center of the lobby towards the decorative staircase.
Sans did not hesitate. He was familiar his surroundings. He pulled Frisk up the
dusty and cracked steps, which seemed highly dangerous. Each time Frisk’s heels
pressed against the edge of a step some marble would break off and crumble
underfoot. Though Sans did not seem concerned. He leered through the lingering
mist at the second floor.
They reached the next level and Frisk felt a small twinge of relief. At least
the second floor was not nearly as shadowy as the first. A wall with a number
of doors resurrected before them, but Frisk turned her head to the side and
glanced out at the rows of windows. She could see the rain… She could see the
outside field where they had just been. The window had no glass pane. It was
open, completely exposed to the elements, and she felt a gentle breeze flow
fourth from it.
But Sans was impatient.
“c’mon.” He muttered and tightened his grip at her shoulder, leading her
towards the wall. There were three slender wooden doors. None of the doors had
a symbol and that fact made Frisk sigh out in relief. Sans pressed his hand
upon the centermost door and it opened under his palm.
Behind it was a hallway.
Completely veiled in thick, jet black shadows.
It stretched out into a dark void, a shroud of umbral miasma, and displayed
upon either side of the corridor's interior were more doors… rows of them.
But something immediately caught Frisk’s eye. There was a light. A small stream
of light spilled from underneath one of the doors towards the far end.
The light… yellow… shivering… significant. She knew that light.
 
A candle.
 
…
 
T-that was the light of a savepoint.
 
Frisk’s eye went wide and Sans yanked her forward through the hall. The
rainfall’s refrain and the rays of light faded behind them as they entered the
depths of the castle. It was difficult to see through the shadows, but Frisk
could make out a number of varying doors, each one shut tight.
Sans led Frisk down the hallway in silence. The wooden floor creaked under
their sneakers. Frisk couldn't help but think back to the old ghost stories
about haunted manors that she used to read at the orphanage.
Sans stopped in his tracks once they reached the door. The gentle light stream
spilled out against the front of their feet. And the skeleton wrapped a claw
around the silver doorknob and pushed.
Each one of Frisk’s muscles bunched as the door inched open before them… only
to reveal a small room littered with shelves and wooden crates. It looked like
some sort of storage closet. The shelves were covered in junk… books… and
papers… and varying miscellaneous. Frisk even thought she saw some children’s
toys. But ultimately her gaze settled upon the candle… the resurgent light…
that erected from the floor within the far right corner.
 
Is this it? The last save point?…
 
Sans lightly nudged her inside the room, towards the candle. Frisk stepped
forward. She blinked down at the light and slowly turned her head, staring back
at the skeleton.
“go on.”
Sans finally released his hands from her shoulders. He crossed his arms at his
chest and leaned back into the doorframe, staring down at her with that usual
lazy smirk. He did not have to force her to save, he did not have to force her
to do anything. He already knew that her spirit had submitted to him.
Frisk’s heart shivered. She stared back at him with a lifeless gaze.
 
S-sans… I hate you…
 
But he did not say another word. He simply leered, his imposing inclination
almost palpable, and Frisk slowly turned and stepped towards the candle.
Rainwater dripped from her bangs and fell in her eye. It trickled against the
wooden planks below. She sunk to her knees, leaning over the small candle, and
lifted her hands before the ember.
It was so small. So ethereal. Its wax glistened with translucent sepia polish.
The meager yellow ember hovered over the top of the candlestick, curious and
gentle… like a poised firefly caught in slow motion. The candle’s crystalline
wax had always reminded Frisk of her own soul and she wondered if they were all
connected in some way. But her inquisitive thoughts sunk underneath the surge
of hopelessness and she inched her fingers closer.
They brushed against the waxy surface. It was warm and ductile… And they slowly
sunk inside followed by an overpowering surge of heat. It coiled around her
heart painfully and blinded her vision. Frisk cried out as the pain buried deep
within her empty chest, contaminating the space where her soul should be. Her
hands trembled and she tried to pull her fingers from the candle, but she could
not move them. She was paralyzed.
No… She wasn't simply paralyzed. Something-… Something held her wrists steady…
Hands…
She couldn’t see him, but she could feel cold bones holding her still. Another
jarring wave of agony and boiling heat shot through her like a blast of darts
and Frisk cried out again.
Sans held her wrists from behind, keeping them lifted, restricting her
movements. Frisk’s head began to spin as the electric currents ripped through
her blood vessels. White flashes of light shivered along her vision, turning
the shadows to pearly alabaster. And the pain was not brief, it lingered inside
her empty chest, clawing at her heart, burning inside her head.
 
T-the final candle… it was relentless.
 
But after a few long minutes, the pain began to subside. Frisk’s limited vision
returned and she could breathe again. She knew she had saved. Se could feel it
in the pit of her stomach… a tactile déjà vu.
Frisk collapsed back against Sans’ chest and her arms relaxed in his grasp. The
saves always took so much effort… they drained her each time, but this time was
the worst of them all. She took in deep shivering breaths of musky air and
simply rested against him. And for a moment… it felt nice. It felt nice to just
rest.
But Sans was impatient. He shifted behind her and began to lean up off the
ground, pulling her with him.
“Sans…” Frisk whimpered. She was swept up to her feet. Her legs were so weak,
she could barely stand.
He did not respond. His eye just flashed violently through the dim candlelight.
He pulled her back out the door and into the hall once more, leaving the
resurgent light behind them.
 
 
 
 
 
They headed down the corridor.
The hallway was cold.
A steady gust blew from both directions and clashed into them.
Frisk could still hear the sound of muffled rain through the walls… the soft
echoes of their footfalls… the gentle beating of her own pulse. Sans did not
clutch at her shoulder anymore, but the hallway was narrow enough so that her
arm brushed against his side. She in a daze while staring at the various doors
that lined the hall . So tired… His burgundy hue provided the only light.
But before she could ponder over the insides of the rooms they turned a corner,
and the hallway opened out into a larger space and there was light.
A new room… a gloomy chamber… but it was not barren. Dim rays spilled from four
small windows along the stone walls. There was a tattered oriental rug on the
floor and a single table in the center. The table was long, constructed out of
dark wood, caked in mold and dust. Dilapidated and broken chairs surrounded it.
This was… some sort of dining room.
 
A dining room…
 
Sans led her around the long table towards the opposite side of the space.
There were more doors… Three more, to be exact. But one of the doors was ajar.
Frisk could see inside. The light from the window beside her just barely
illuminated the open doorway.
And Frisk came to a stop and glanced within the space. She could see a small
bed, a desk, a little bookshelf. She could see… t-toys?
 
A child’s room. Chara’s room.
 
This was Chara’s room…
 
Sans pressed at her back, urging her towards the centermost door, away from the
open archway, but Frisk fought against his hand.
“W-wait…” She said and stepped towards Chara’s room. It had to be. Sans let out
a sigh, but he did not stop her. He simply stuffed his hands in his pockets,
his lone eye flashing slowly, and watched her step inside the bedroom as he
leaned into the doorframe.
 
Chara’s room… It was covered in dust. The mold that infected the walls had
begun to creep along the bed, staining the flowery quilt with inky splotches.
Frisk stepped inside to the center and stared around, examining each
furnishing. There was a desk settled within the corner. Upon it lay a
disorganized clutter of papers and pencils. Dozens of toys were scattered
haphazardly upon the floor… many of them were small wooden figures of monsters
that had been crudely carved out of rosewood. There were also some stuffed
toys. They all resembled dogs.
Frisk stepped up towards the bookshelf and she examined the spines of the
novels. None of it was in English. It was all written in those strange symbols,
some foreign monster language, like the one she had seen back in Gaster’s
library. Had Chara read all of these? There was a small picture frame upon the
top shelf, but it was empty.
Had Chara been a normal child at one time? She had a room… and a bed… and lots
of toys and books and things to keep her occupied. Or had it all just been some
elaborate deception to steal Asgore's soul?
Frisk stepped over towards the desk. She glanced down at all the papers. A lot
of them were blank, while others had writing scribbled across in illegible
words. One sheet in particular caught her eye. Frisk reached for the paper and
lifted it from the messy stack… It was covered in drawings of one specific
glyph. One symbol… familiar… three pikes and a downward spiral… The gate’s
symbol.
 
…
 
But… why?
 
Chara had drawn the gate’s symbol. It was strange. The sight of it gave Frisk a
foreboding feeling inside her heart. She dropped the sheet to the desk and took
a step back. There was a large armoire in the opposite corner, but Frisk was
too fearful to go and open it. Instead, her gaze settled upon an old mirror
hanging from the wall beside her.
Frisk turned and stared back at her reflection.
She looked… so tired. The sleepless circles that hung underneath her single eye
were as dark as the shadows that assembled behind her. The eyepatch and her
hoodie were stained in blood and dark splotches. She could see the stitches
against the side of her neck… Muffet’s stitches. Her bare legs were covered in
small cuts and bruises and various wounds from each heinous trial. And her
tousled, damp bangs hung in her face, dangling over a sunken gaze.
Her reflection was so solemn… so melancholy.
 
 
Perhaps you should have died a long time ago.
 
…
 
Perhaps you should have died… before you ever entered the Underground.
 
…
 
But despite it all… despite all your struggles… all your heartache…
 
…
 
Despite everything, it's still you.
 
…
 
…
 
Will you ultimately give in to that sweet relief of surrender?
 
…
 
Or will you burn bright?
 
…
 
Burn… bright…
 
 
The sound of feet shuffling shook the brief fragment of ambition from her
innermost thoughts, and sorrow returned. Frisk broke contact with her
reflection and glanced over one shoulder, back at the open door. Sans leaned
into the doorframe, watching her idly with a lidded gaze.
“let’s go, kiddo.” He said and lifted a claw, motioning towards her. “we can’t
hang around here all day…” And he chuckled and flashed her a bitter smirk.
The sound of his apathetic snicker cut through Frisk’s core like an icicle.
They were so close to the end. The unknown was just out of their reach. He had
only just murdered Chara, his fated enemy, so heinously… Yet, his mannerisms
were still callous and derisive. Was he making light of the situation? Was he
simply masking his genuine emotions?
Or was he truly that cold?… That cruel?
 
…
 
Was he… Was he going to kill her?
 
……
 
…
 
“c'mon.” He spoke again and waited, watching.
Frisk stared back into his intense leer for a moment, but ultimately she
surrendered to his resolve again and stepped to his side.
Sans closed the door behind them, locking the forgotten bedroom in darkness.
 
 
 
 
The door beside Chara’s room was larger. It did not possess the simple wooden
framework that all the others had. Its surrounding archway was an elaborate
design: Floral carvings embellished with silver paint. It looked aristocratic
and there was a decorative matching silver doorknob at the side.
Sans guided Frisk towards the door and wrapped his claw around the knob,
pushing it open.
 
…
 
More light.
 
A flood of gloomy grey radiance.
 
It spilled from the doorway and Frisk shielded her eye with one hand, squinting
through the mist. Sans’ claw lurched around her back and nudged her forward
into the new illuminated chamber.
 
The room was large and chilled, like all the others before it.
And there were dozens of windows upon the walls. Some had dusty, mold-covered
glass panes while others had been shattered. The pale, gloomy outside light
engulfed the interior completely. The ceiling towered overhead and the floor
was a uniform marble… and the room was empty.
Well, except for one, lone furnishing at the very center.
 
A throne.
 
And sitting upon the throne…
 
… w-was a corpse.
 
…
 
Asgore…
 
…
 
Asgore’s remains.
 
…
 
Frisk stared back at the decomposed relic. It… it was massive. Towering
skeletal remains of a wolf creature, draped in rusty armor and a mildew-adorned
fur cape. There was no blood or flesh or gore. The monster had clearly died a
long time ago. Its canine cranium tilted to the left, resting against its
clavicle. The cadaver’s arms lay at either end of the throne’s armrests. And a
tarnished silver crown resided upon its skull, slipping to one side.
The sight was a melancholy one, especially against the backdrop of pale light
and steady rain. Frisk’s rooted sorrow dug deeper inside her heart. Her hands
trembled as she brought them to her chest, staring back at the somber corpse of
a king.
He had never even woken up.
His throne had become his casket… right where Chara had murdered him.
He… he died… alone…
 
“Asgore…” Frisk found a voice, meek and shivering. She was unable to pull her
gaze from the throne.
“yes… “ Sans responded. He stood beside her, staring back at the remains, hands
in his pockets and cardinal hue flashing slowly. His smirk curved downward into
a frown at the sight and the tone of his voice was laced with subtle
tribulation.
 
Asgore… Sans must have known Asgore well, seeing that he was one of the ten
warriors that the king had appointed back then. Did that mean Sans knew Chara
too? Before she began her reign? When she was still innocent? Or at least
pretending to be.
 
Frisk’s head was churning with questions, but she kept them to herself. She
buried those weighty inquiries and took a slow step forward towards the throne.
Sans watched her keenly as she approached the massive corpse. It was so large.
A grandiose monster… decked in proud royal platemail and furs.
In Asgore’s skeletal features, she could see his pain… His suffering… The
betrayal he must have felt when Chara plunged her knife into his throat…
destroying a life simply for… for power. Frisk never knew the king, but she
knew his story. A familiar narrative of heartache… one not too unlike her own.
A dark tale that paved the way for this entire hell’s demise.
 
I’m sorry…
 
She lifted a shivering hand and slipped it inside her shorts pocket. For a
moment she almost expected to feel her box cutter, but it had been left behind
in the rain… in a puddle of Chara’s blood. Instead her fingers curled around
the small coin she had taken from the MTT Resort fountain.
Frisk pulled the coin from her pocket. She placed it carefully upon the
throne’s armrest, right beside Asgore’s decayed claw.
 
…
 
“was it too much to strive for freedom? for a better life?”
 
Sans spoke. His abrupt words shook Frisk from her daze.
He stepped up beside her and slowly pulled his gaze from Asgore’s corpse, down
to the coin, until his eye ultimately settled upon Frisk. She stared back at
him and her heart began to race.
Sans sighed again. His sockets closed. For brief moment he looked wistful,
without a shred of cynicism.
… He looked forlorn.
 
…
 
Freedom…
 
 
But his forced grin crept up once more, masking his grief, and he lifted a hand
and placed it upon her head. Sans tousled Frisk’s damp hair gently and opened
his sockets. Frisk thought he would speak again, but… he did not. He was
silent. And Sans rolled his shoulders back and took a step to the side, leading
her around the throne, leaving Asgore’s heartbreak and pain behind them.
Another door caught Frisk’s eye. A smaller door… directly behind the throne.
She had not noticed it before, but much to her relief it sported no symbol.
Sans urged her alongside him as they approached it. And he pushed the door open
outward.
It opened slowly.
Frisk tensed every muscle in her body, preparing herself for another grim
sight.
But there was nothing.
There was nothing but a long hallway of gloomy light… and cold… and the steady
sound of rain. The door led out into a new covered walkway. It was another
corridor, but it was not one of the wooden halls in the castle. It was an
external stone passage that extended from behind the castle outside. The rough
stone walls were covered with rows of systematic open windows at both sides.
Cold breeze spilled through the narrow apertures, along with the mist. It was
freezing. Frisk could see her breath billowing in the air before her gaze. The
damp atmosphere wrapped around her bare legs.
She peered down the outside covered walkway as Sans closed the door behind
them.
She saw yet another door… a larger door, at the very end of the passage. Her
heart began to flutter faster.
 
W-was that it, then?… Was that the final gate?
 
A surge of nausea began to claw at the walls of her stomach. She felt a sudden
urge to run. But Sans lifted his hand to her shoulder and guided her forward.
She squinted back at the impending doorway and… saw no symbol.
No symbol. That’s not it… T-that’s not it…
Her nausea subsided. There was a pang of relief. But her thoughts began to
spiral chaotically inside her head. This was torture. Walking beside her
ultimate hell… her executioner.Just waiting for that final 10th gate to reveal
itself.
Were they close now? Or did they still have a ways to go? That door was not the
final door. But… for some reason, it felt like they were so close to the end.
 
 
 
Cold, rainy gusts spilled in through the parallel arched windows at both sides.
Frisk’s legs shivered with every step. She turned her head and watched the
steady rainfall… and her gaze skimmed over the rocky terrain outside, just
below them.
 
And her heart… hurt.
 
But the tears wouldn’t come.
 
 
 
And suddenly Sans came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the corridor.
“… wait.”
Frisk blinked and looked up.
 
…
 
Sans?…
 
His voice smoothed the discord in her mind.
His grasp tightened at her shoulder. Frisk stared at him… but he was looking
ahead. His smirk had faded into an apathetic glower. Those expressions of his…
they were always difficult to read, but in that moment they were particularly
cryptic. He stared at the door, some yards away, and slowly tilted his skull
down and his eye locked upon hers.
Frisk could see it.
She could see the sorrow buried underneath his arcane gaze.
 
Sans…
 
But there was something else…
 
A plaintive longing.
 
…
 
…
 
 
And Sans shifted his sneakers and turned to face her.
He lifted his other claw and gripped at either side of her arms. He took a step
forward, then another, and he moved in and pushed her back into the wall
abruptly, pinning her to the stone between two open windows. Frisk almost cried
out from his sudden lurch. He restrained her tightly in his grasp.
His eye flashed faster, but he did not smirk. He did not chuckle.
 
And Frisk grit her teeth as a terrible current of anguish and fear washed over
her features.
 
Sans… Why did I let you live?… Why did I chose you?…
 
She trembled in his grasp. The wet rocky surface behind her only added to the
cold. It scraped painfully against the fresh wounds beneath her tattered
hoodie. Frisk’s hazel eye locked upon Sans’ skull overhead. She could not stop
shaking… and her heart trembled so quickly, like delicate cicada wings.
She was scared.
Yet, docile.
And she slowly averted her gaze to the floor.
 
Sans tilted his skull. He pressed his forehead to hers. He was so close… so
close… His vibrating crimson illumination caught within her vision, she could
not block it out. His lukewarm breath spilled down the front of her bare neck
and she could feel the stark contrasting differences in their body temperatures
as his frigid bone brow pressed flush against her fevered forehead.
 
“the end is upon us… sweetheart…”
 
…
 
Veiled words laced with heartsore.
 
Sans lifted a hand combed his phalanges through her hair, looping strands
behind her ears carefully.
“S-sans…” She whimpered. She could barely breathe.
He slowly pulled his claw from her scalp and gripped at both her shoulders once
more, and he began to push her down… down to the floor… down to his feet on the
wet stone. But he did not linger over her for long. Sans sunk down and joined
her on the ground. The monster leaned over her small form and hands never once
left Frisk’s quivering shoulders.
 
The rain echoed in her head…
 
The sound of the storm, just outside…
 
Frisk could feel small, stray raindrops make their way through the open windows
with each bitter gust all around them.
 
The aroma of… wet soil.
 
Her heart shivered terribly, spilling over with grief.
 
“Sans…” Frisk’s trembling voice split in two. She began to cry. She leaned
forward, burying her face against the front of his stained shirt. She whimpered
muffled words between hiccuping sobs, “S-sans… I… d-don’t want to… d-die-… I
don’t want-… t-to die…”
The skeleton’s cold grasp grazed up to the side of her neck while his opposite
hand trailed down her shoulder, down to her forearm… to her wrist. He lifted
her arm and tugged back the hoodie sleeve, peeling the fabric to her elbow,
revealing the faded scars… her self-infliction… her permanent misery.
“you longed for death once…” He whispered. His sockets narrowed wistfully at
the the disfigurements. A single bony thumb traced over an old cut at the
center of her forearm.
His words… they made Frisk’s heart skip a beat. Her sobs subsided for a moment
and she quickly lifted her head from his chest, staring up at him with a wide,
lone glassy eye.
 
He… He… H-he knew… He knew about… t-that?…
 
Frisk pulled her arms away from his lingering touch. She had no words. She
simply stared at him in dismay while shock and sorrow clung to the inside of
her chest.
 
Sans…
 
…
 
The skeleton blinked and he lifted his head. He stared past her shoulder, out
at the rain.
 
I can see your atonement. Your gaze… full of terrible confessions.
 
And he remained silent for a long while.
 
…
 
…
 
After some long minutes of stark silence his gazed returned to her. And he
lifted his hands and lowered them… and wrapped them both around Frisk’s waist.
And his claws began to slide down… down to her hips… And he pushed them up
underneath her hoodie. But she had no soul inside for him to steal. He had
already pilfered it. Frisk’s heart hammered inside her chest so fast. W-what
was he…Why was he d-doing this n-now?-… Why?…
 
His claws… they clenched around her slender, bare midriff.
His fingers dug within warm flesh. Those bones were so rough, so cold. He
kneaded them upwards, exploring the edges of her protruding ribcage. And he
leaned forward even closer, so close, only inches away from her face.
He was not smirking. His thick incisors clenched in a passive frown. But the
look in his eye…
Frisk knew that gaze…
Grievous desire… Tainted with… a hunger.
How could she ever forget it?
 
Though despite the depraved lust that painted across his features, she could
see misery beneath his stoic demeanor. And he spoke.
“do this for me, frisk… one last time.”
Waves of shivers ran up her spine. Sans… Why… are you so cruel… So selfish… A
monster to the very end…Frisk leaned her head back into the stone. She shut her
eye and grit her teeth firmly, desperately fighting back a heavy sob. And the
monsters hands continued to scratch and grope around her waist down to her hip
bones.
Her arms were not bound. She could fight him. She could attempt to fight him.
She could kick at his skull and pull at his wrists and scream at the top of her
lungs… and try to run…
 
But she didn’t.
 
She did not try any of that.
 
…
 
Sans…
 
She… s-she still hated him.
 
How could he do this now? When they were just on the brink of the end?…
 
Was he going to kill her once that last gate was opened?
 
Would her save points even work on the outside?
 
Would he ultimately destroy her?
 
…
 
No… No, he had already done that. Sans had already destroyed her.
 
Her spirit.
 
A long time ago.
 
And Frisk flinched and her eye shut tighter. His claws groped either side of
her waist, kneading into her flesh with more force. Perhaps he wanted to feel
her internal organs again. He wanted to slip his hands inside her stomach and
rip at her intestines like he had done back in Hotland. But his actions turned
softer and those claws slowly soaked in her body heat and became warm. He began
to tug up her hoodie, swiftly lifting it over Frisk’s head, revealing her bare
chest before she could protest.
Frisk’s eye shot open.
She whimpered and tried to tug her hoodie back down, but her weak efforts were
practically non-existent compared to his depraved compulsions. Sans furled her
hoodie in his grasp and dropped it over his shoulder. She didn’t want to do
this… s-she didn’t want this… but she still would not fight him off.
Frisk quickly crossed her arms at her chest, attempting to conceal herself. Her
face went red hot. She turned away from the monster in protest, pressing her
shoulder to the wall and pulling her knees to her stomach. She did not want to
look at him.S-she did not want to look at his face… But there was nothing she
could do to block the pulsing crimson out of the corner of her eye.
“come here, manumitter. i won’t hurt you this time.” Sans’ gruff timbre. For a
brief moment he sounded sincere… but Frisk knew that was not possible for a
monster as far gone as him. Yet still, she obeyed. And she slowly pulled her
ashamed gaze from the floor and glanced up at his skull.
Beads of glossy blue perspiration formed at his temples. He stared down at her
with lusty, lidded sockets. His red eye shivered while his specked pupil began
to dilate in its blood-red dwelling. The corners of his massive clenched maw
quivered in a subtle smirk. A forced smirk. It was false.
 
He was fragmented.
 
Lost in his own head… in his loathsome actions.
 
Sans said nothing else, and neither did she.
He pulled at her hips and yanked the small human into his lap, forcing her legs
apart around his waist. Frisk’s bare shoulder blades pressed into the wall
behind her. She whimpered as those lukewarm skeletal claws pried her crossed
arms from her torso and began to grope at her sides. He stared down at her
slender torso, concealed beneath the small white bra, before he glanced up at
her anguished expression.
 
S-sans…
 
He trailed his hand along her torso and his rough palms pushed at the underside
of her modest chest. His fingers looped under the front of her bralette and he
tugged the fabric down, pulling it underneath her breasts, exposing them to the
cold… and to his perverted gaze.
“S-sans-” Frisk finally spoke. She whimpered and automatically gripped at his
wrists, pulling weakly at his hands, trying to push him away. D-damn it… She
was so cold, her nipples flushed and stiffened from the chill the moment he had
exposed them. But she immediately felt the fraudulent warmth from Sans’ palms
as he rolled both hands over her supple tissue, groping her, feeling her all
over.
Rough bones dug into her pubescent flesh. His thumbs curved over her tender
areolas, making them puffy and swollen… kneading into them almost painfully.
Though despite the coarse texture of his fingers, his touch was relatively
gentle. At least… as gentle as he could manage. He tugged her bralette down
further so that it barely caught underneath and pushed her small, budding peaks
up into his claws.
Frisk held her breath. Her head felt hot. Burning. Blood rushed to her cheeks
and it burned. For a moment all she could hear was a static swelling in her
ears, but the deluge of rain followed, and then the sound of Sans’ steady
breathing.
She couldn’t help but whimper. She pulled at his hands and her petite fingers
fumbled against his larger digits.
But Sans could not get enough of her soft flesh and he raked his phalanges
along them. Her pliant, tender chest was such a rarity. He had been craving
another touch since the ruins.
 
Did he know how wrong this was?… Did he even care?…
 
And suddenly, a memory. The sound of Chara’s voice pierced through her mind.
 
…
 
'What a disgusting pervert, fucking a child.'
 
He… he had seemed distressed by those words, at the time… but perhaps… he just
couldn’t help himself. He was going to kill her anyways… So why should he even
bother to restrict his depraved desires anymore? Frisk felt the sudden urge to
fight him off, but her limbs refused to act.
Sans’ constant touches left her perky chest flushed pink. Each time his sharp
fingertips clawed along her sensitive spots she would release a whimper, but he
did not tease her there for long. His fingers coiled around, snapping at the
elastic sides of her bra, and he trailed them back down to her quivering
midriff.
And his claws slipped even lower… lower… until they dug underneath her shorts
waistband.
He… he couldn’t just fondle her… that was not enough… He had to defile her as
well…
 
Damn it. Why??? Why won’t you fight him!? Why won’t you stop this!?
 
Frisk’s head was pounding, but the voice of reason was cut in two as Sans
slipped his fingers beneath either side of her shorts. And he began to pull her
shorts down, down to the tops of her thighs… exposing her white panties, which
he thankfully left untouched… But that was just a pipedream. His hand slipped
between her plush thighs in an instant and he splayed his phalanges over her
pubic mound and along the outline of her soft labia, concealed under thin
fabric.
“S-sans… wait… w-wait…” Frisk couldn’t help but beg.
She fought against a swell of tears and stared up at his features. His
expression dripped with desire. His strained smirk shivered. His eye flashed
slowly and turned a deep maroon. And he leaned his skull down and pressed his
forehead to hers like before as he stared back with concave, lidded sockets.
But ultimately he ignored her trembling pleads. He could not stop such a strong
avidity, a depraved appetite to feel her from the inside out, just one more
time.
He griped at one thigh while his opposite hand felt over every inch of her
sensitive, smooth skin through the cloth. Three of Sans’ segmented fingers
slipped underneath the top of her panties and his coarse bones cupped against
her most sensitive flesh for the first time.
Frisk gripped his jacket sleeve. She rolled her knees up, clamping her thighs
around his hand, trying to restrict his movements. H-his fingers were like
sandpaper, and it… it hurt! She did not want him touching there.
 
No… Please don’t touch me there… not there.
 
“P-please…” Frisk released a hushed sob. She stared up into his gaze, silently
begging him to stop this.
Sans simply released his opposite claw from its hold at her thigh and he
brought it up, cupping her face. His hand began to grope her naked sensitive
tissue, feeling over the small mound despite her squeezing thighs. Two digits
slipped between her tender slit and they just barely lingered against her
quivering entrance.
 
N-no… please…
 
But he did not force his fingers inside her. Perhaps even he knew that those
sharp claws would rip her up if he were to attempt such a feat. And Frisk’s
fear could not stop the slick, translucent honey from dripping and smearing
against his bones. Sans felt it… He could feel her body responding to his
touch. He growled softly and rolled his fingers up between her pussy lips,
slipping them against either side of her swollen pearl.
There was a fleeting, tense hint of buzzing pleasure through the pain.
Frisk gasped and weakly pulled at his arm, but he would not stop. His eye
flashed faster as he watched her features contort and strain. Sans rolled his
fingers around her clitoris, pushing back its delicate hood, milking the
sensitive bead between his bones, making it puffy and rose-red.
Pain and pleasure entwined into one terrible beast. Frisk’s thighs trembled,
caught between the constricting shorts at her knees. She could barely struggle.
She was stuck against Sans’ lap and the wall behind her. Her head… was
spinning. No one had ever touched her in that spot before… and she had only
touched herself there just a few times prior… back at the orphanage… in the
shower. But she had always gotten too scared and stopped when she neared a
climax.
Though Sans knew what he was doing far more than she ever had. And he was so
cruel for doing it. And his continuous, enduring touches made her writhe in his
lap. He caressed the side of her face in his palm, watching her expressions
stress and soften with desire while his phalanges simultaneously rolled her
swelling pearl in small circles, pushing down against it, tugging it forward,
teasing it in every way possible.
T-there was so much friction, so much heat. Pulsing pleasure began to mask the
rough texture of his bones and more of Frisk’s clear nectar oozed out from her
slit and coated his fingers, which in turn simply acted as a lubricant and
allowed his phalanges to rub her swollen clit even faster.
“S-sans! Nnhh! A-ah… No… no m-more-!” The moment she cried out, Sans’ opposite
hand grasped her chin tight. His thumb traced her mouth and her quivering
parted lips. She could feel his hands shivering. A shudder ran down his spinal
cord from the thrill of listening to her try to suppress those frail moans.
He grinned.
For a moment his masked grief vanished and he looked frightening. He looked
almost vicious. But… he reigned it in. He pulled back that hunger quickly and
the bloodlust in his gaze subsided.
And finally his mind-numbing, teasing fingers came to a standstill and he
slipped his hand out from her underwear. Frisk gasped as the intense sensation
dwindled. Her panties were dripping wet and clung to her pussy, barely
concealing it.
She could feel… his desire… Firm and pulsing and growing underneath her.
Straining against her tailbone where she sat in his lap.
 
G-god… he was… getting… hard…
 
Sans pulled his hand from her face. He peeled off her damp panties, pulling
them down to her thighs, tugging both the shorts and underwear to her knees, to
her ankles, before he finally removed them completely and roughly yanked her
back into his lap.
“Sans… p-please… don’t-…” Frisk was begging, but she could not fight him. All
she could do was struggle weakly, which in turn only acted as fuel to his
burning excitement. Her spirit was so beaten down. He had destroyed any shred
of hope she had left.
This was his plan, all along. To wear her down. To eradicate her determination…
her desire for freedom. To make her obedient. The sexual exploitation was just
a bonus.
 
I hate you…
 
Sans growled in his chest. His hands clamped upon her hips like a vice. He
pulled her down into his growing bulge, rolling his thick pelvic bone up
between her spread thighs. Frisk’s sneakers skidded against the floor behind
him while her legs dangled around his waist and she pulled at his hands, but
she could barely resist that powerful grasp. And she could feel each pulse from
the concealed swelling at his crotch. It expanded… It was moving… and straining
against her parted pussy through his pants.
“c’mon, kid… don’t be like that…” Those velour words spilled out from his chest
in a breathless whisper. Sans wrapped one arm around her waist, allowing Frisk
to lean up off his bulge ever so slightly, while his opposite claw slipped
between their hips and began to push at the front of his tattered pants.
And Frisk could not help but look.
She saw… blue… a flashing azure radiance at his thick pelvis bone.
Sans tugged the front of his pants down further, allowing his spectral cobalt
cock to slip out. He wrapped his fingers around its base stroked it along the
inside of Frisk’s bruised thigh. She shuddered and whimpered and pushed at his
arm. G-god… it was… wet… oozing with a sticky, viscous syrup. It pulsed like a
sentient tendril and it was so thick. So thick that his own claw couldn’t even
wrap around the full girth.
Frisk was horrified but she could not look away. When he had attacked her back
in the ruins, she couldn’t get a good look it. When she had seen it back in the
Waterfall swamps, her mind had been so hazy with exhaustion that it was all a
blur. But now, she could see him clearly. And she watched as his hand slowly
stroked up and down the extent of his throbbing cock, rubbing the underside
against her taut skin. It was translucent. Twitching. And so lavish, completely
saturated in glossy sapphire precum.
“heh. “ Sans snickered, watching her with a languid gaze, noting each one of
her cute alarmed stares.
He unfurled his grasp. His spectral muscle pressed against her inner thigh on
its own. She flinched and squirmed. S-she didn’t want to touch it… but his
cock’s palpitating underside fluctuated against her. It was burning hot. Sans
ran his hand up her navel, smearing blue fluent against her abdomen, and he
wrapped both claws around her hips again. He began to lift her, and pull her in
towards his chest, and he slowly lowered her back down… down a-against… against
the pulsing apex of his length.
Her velvet-soft pussy lips parted around the tapered head and Frisk immediately
went rigid in his grasp. A thick coating of fear dripped inside her head,
turning her every thought into numbing sludge. She shoved her hands at his
chest roughly, pushing back against him, struggling and crying out over the
sound of the rain.
But the moment Sans felt her fevered heat against his glans, there was no
stopping him. And he began to pull her down slowly, forcing her thighs apart,
his cockhead slipping deeper inside past her constricting, silky tightness.
 
G-god… It… hurts! S-stop it, Sans… p-please… please…
 
Frisk’s knees scraped against the floor. She fought against his strength. She
tried to push herself up off him, but he held her body firmly … H-he was too
strong! She felt dizzy and a familiar pain ruptured within her abdomen as he
forced her down further, impaling her supple, tender insides slowly… inch by
inch…
It was too much. She had forgotten just how painful it was to feel him inside.
Frisk’s muscles clamped around his cock, but it did little to slow his
movements. He was dripping wet. His substantial girth was so slippery within
her. Sans yanked her downward in a swift furl and slipped halfway inside.
Pain shot through her stomach like a shotgun bullet. Frisk cried out and leaned
back into the wall. She tugged weakly at his hands and wrists until she gave up
and simply pulled her hands back into her naked chest. She didn’t want to touch
him… s-so cruel… so malicious.
But Sans could barely hear her cries over the all-encompassing lewd desire that
had taken control of his every action.
“fuck-… k-kid…” He groaned, slowly exhaling through clenched, smirking teeth.
His eye flashed violently within the alcove from such an intense pleasure. God,
she was so tight… dripping wet… sweltering hot around him. Her trembling,
stuffed entrance squeezed against his vigor as he began to roll his hips
upwards, grinding in another inch while simultaneously pulling her down,
forcing her to ride him. Frisk’s satin insides gripped around his cock like a
padded vice, without mercy, inhibiting his movements. But it did not stop Sans
from yanking her down again and again, impaling his erection deeper inside
until he reached her limit and his glans pressed flush against her tight
cervix. And his soul pulsed frantically underneath his ribs as a tingling fever
spread throughout each one of his sensitive pelvic bones.
Heated thrills sent rapid shudders up his spine and to the back of his skull.
Sans’ fingertips clawed at her hips, lifting her up just barely before pulling
her down again, struggling to slide in deeper… straining against her womb’s
little entrance. T-too tight… smooth, raw insides… He could not get enough, it
felt so deliriously amazing that he groaned out again and began to drive his
hips up, causing her whole body to jolt in his lap. His cobalt soul fluttered
bright underneath the center of his shirt.
But Frisk was too enraptured in her own pain and suffering to take notice of
his blue spirit. And although the two were so close, entangled and joined
together, she felt miles away from him. She shut her eye and turned her head,
pressing it against the wall behind her. Frisk tucked her arms in close to
herself. She would not touch him. She refused. Her abdomen felt like it was
being punctured repeatedly with a thick, sweltering awl… Like he was ripping
her apart.
Hot tears pricked at both corners of her shut eye. She could not stop the gasps
and cries that spilled from her lips every time Sans thrusted upward and pulled
her down and battered her internally. His cock buried so deep inside that it
made her stomach bulge just barely. Slick, iridescent cerulean spilled down her
thighs, dripping from her stuffed pussy and down against his pants.
 
It hurt it hurt it hurt… S-sans… Please… s-stop…
 
“P-please… no more-” She was finally able to speak through a breathless sob.
Her words shook Sans from his trance.
His eye honed in on her pained expression.
He continued to grind up inside, but his movements slowed. His lusty smirk
fluctuated in the corners.
“i can make you feel good too, sweetheart.” He purred out before releasing
another groan. Sans immediately halted his upward thrusts.
 
W-what?…
 
Frisk slowly opened her eye. She stared up at him in shock and pain and fear.
But Sans abruptly yanked her trembling body down. Frisk screamed out from the
pain. Sans pulled her all the way down upon his cock, piercing it inside as
deep as it could go, just a little more than halfway until he jammed painfully
into her cervix barrier. His grasp softened suddenly and he allowed Frisk’s own
weak body weight to keep her lowered and impaled upon his erection.
 
W-what the fuck was he saying!? This was hell. This was torture. Feel good!? T-
that was not possible. He was cruel and sadistic and unabated evil!
 
And Frisk cried hard as her swollen, stretched muscles spasmed around his
vigor. She could feel her hypersensitive tissues tearing. The heat of his
precum paint the walls of her insides cyan and it felt so abhorrent. But at
least he wasn't moving anymore. And Sans released one hand from her hips and he
dug his claw in his pocket and pulled out…
 
Her soul.
 
H-her soul…
Sans lifted it before them. Frisk’s lower lip trembled as she tried her hardest
to ignore the splintering pain and pulsing thickness inside. She stared back at
her softly shivering pneuma, her eye enameled with a thick membrane of tears.
Sans massaged her soul gently before he summoned some power at his fingertips.
A wave of blue vapor spilled from his digits and wrapped around the crimson
orb. The magic encased her soul and allowed it to hover in midair between them.
And he flashed a depraved, fevered smirk and pulled his hand back… back to his
own chest… and he gripped upon the front of his shirt and began to lift it.
He was… pulling up his shirt…
 
W-what?…
 
Frisk’s eye went wide. She stared past her floating soul, back at the tiers of
rib bones as he pushed the blood-stained fabric up further… further… up towards
his clavicle. She had been so curious about his body for a while now… He…
really was a skeleton underneath all that clothing, huh? His broad ribcage was
wide, built up of twelve layers of thick, ivory ribs. They looked coarse,
similar to his phalanges, and Frisk could see a vibrant blue sphere deep inside
his chest cavity.
 
That was… his soul.
 
Sans’ soul.
 
Frisk had longed to see it.
 
It was… alluring…
 
Ethereal.
 
A small sphere, just slightly larger than her own. Pure blue and hovering
within the very center of his chest. It was just barely see-thru. An opaque
coiling mist swirled around inside the orb. Unlike Frisk’s soul that dripped
with a crystalline fluent, his seeped a thick pearly vapor. Steam pulsed around
his soul, glistening in the damp atmosphere, a radiant, glowing azure fog.
Frisk’s gaze was transfixed upon it and for just a moment she was completely
distracted from the burrowed pain deep inside her recesses.
Sans slipped his hand up underneath and inside his open cavity. His digits
feathered along the front of his spinal cord as he reached up and grasped
around his soul, pulling it out slowly.
His soul… S-she wanted to touch it… She wanted to feel it…
Sans lifted the cobalt circle directly before her gaze and grinned.
He nudged it against her soul, slipping his orb inside the blue hovering vapor.
He curled his claw around Frisk’s soul at the same time and pushed the two orbs
together firmly in his hand. There was an eruption of purple sparks the moment
they came into contact with one another. A sharp deluge of pain and pressure
cut through Frisk’s chest and she went stiff and squeezed around his shaft and
whimpered loudly. It… hurt!
Sans groaned slightly and bucked his hips upwards in response to her clamping
muscles. His grin shivered with pleasure, but he continued to work his hand
around their spirits. He rolled their souls together, the slippery polished
surfaces rutting and grinding and erupting with gleaming sparks. Frisk’s
glistening red nectar oozed against the larger orb, while Sans’ thick cobalt
vapor began to wrap around and slowly seep inside hers, contaminating the
liquid.
His hand squeezed around them both and Frisk could see through the spaces of
his fingers… and she watched as her own soul began to push slowly and steadily…
push i-inside his.
 
G-good god… Her soul… slipping inside… h-his…
 
A sudden surge of fermenting pleasure squelched the pain. A vibrating ecstasy
so intense that it made her gasp and arch her back and immediately grasp
against Sans’ shirt collar.
“… nhh-… feels good?” He grinned wide, watching her squirm.
 
Liquid pleasure coiled deep inside her chest and trickled down to her abdomen.
Down to the deepest corners of her body. The pleasure tingled and pulsed and a
fevered friction tickled within her nethers, caressing her hips and thighs and
stomach, causing her whole body to shake and every muscle to constrict so tight
around Sans’ cock.
He must have felt the pleasure too, because he immediately began to move his
hips again. He plunged inside her rapidly, pounding into her sensitive sweet
spot without any regard. But Frisk felt no pain. Her soul made sure of that.
Every single one of Sans’ rigorous thrusts only added to the intense friction
within her core.
Sans released his hand from their souls, which were now connected at the edges
and pressed within each other halfway. The souls shivered and pulsed with magic
- red and blue marbles merging into a vibrant lavender - and they hovered
directly between their chests like two amethyst gemstones.
Frisk felt like she was melting from the inside out. Her body bounced against
Sans’ lap with each one of his movements. She couldn’t think or speak. All she
could hear was… the rain… muffled inside her congealed head. She could barely
hear the sound of her own moans that spilled from her lips every time he
impaled her ripe insides.
And soon her body began to move on its own.
She did not need his guidance anymore. Frisk lifted her hips, using the support
of her trembling spread thighs. She planted her knees firmly against the stone
and began to roll down into Sans’ upward motions. She gave in to the pleasure,
which only became more intense, stronger than anything she had ever felt
before. Sweat seeped down her spine and along her temples. Frisk pressed her
face into Sans’ chest, gasping and whimpering and moaning out into the fabric.
Sans did not grasp her hips again. Instead, he rolled his shoulders back and
began to tug off his thick winter jacket. He pulled off his coat, exposing his
ample radius and humerus arm bones for the first time, and swiftly shook the
jacket out and laid it upon the floor beside them, covering the cold wet stone.
He wrapped his arms around Frisks waist and acted immediately. Sans lurched to
the side, moving Frisk’s body with his, and lay her back flat against his open
jacket on the ground.
“S-sans… Sans… ah!-… Sans, p-please!-…” His name spilled from her lips.
Frisk wrapped her thighs around his hips and let her head rest back against his
thick padded coat. It was warm… soft… and felt so good against her naked fever-
chilled skin. It was so much better than the wall. Frisk released his shirt and
her hands gripped at both of his skeletal arms. Firm, exposed bones… vibrating
softly at her touch. Rough and stiff, yet somehow flexing. Living calcified
limbs.
Their souls continued to hover between them. Sans held Frisk’s thighs apart and
leaned over. He could move easily now in this position with their hips aligned,
and his thrusts turned rougher as he pounded into her swollen, supple insides
repeatedly, raw, wet flesh colliding, grinding into her cervix, pushing his
cockhead against her womb’s entrance. His blue, gelatinous precum fluent
spilled past her tight internal opening and he just barely began to spread it
around his tapered tip. Sans growled and groaned and thrust again, inching
inside her womb, desperate to enter her completely.
But what would have been pure agony for Frisk had now turned into a fever dream
of excessive tension. And the pleasure was so overwhelming… yet her mind was in
turmoil. Her clammy hands pulled away from his arms and they gripped at the
coat underneath.
And suddenly, tears began to spill from her blood-shot eye. She turned her head
and buried the side of her face against the jacket’s fur trim.
Her moans turned to sobs. Her heart was racing. Her soul trembled against his.
Sans saw her reaction. And immediately his movements slowed. He lifted his hips
and put a stop to his sick, cruel desire to enter her abused womb. Sans lifted
his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks in both claws. He leaned into her and
pressed his forehead to hers.
 
“sweetheart…”
 
…
 
"it's sad… isn't it?…"
 
…
 
“the end of it all…”
 
…
 
S-sans…
 
His fevered grin shivered and dripped with grief. Corrupt obsession stuck
within his gaze. He was a broken monster. He was her dejection. Her suffering.
She hated him more than anything. M-more than anything.
And Frisk stared up into his affixed sockets with a pained gaze. She released
his jacket and her hands inched up under his shirt. She felt his rib cage. Her
slender fingers laced between the slight spaces of his bones. Holding tight
against the wall of cartilage… caressing them… comforting and gentle.
 
I hate you.
 
…
 
I-I hate you…
 
…
 
But you were all I had…
 
…
 
You were my helplessness… My heartache… The sorrow that has always existed
inside me.
 
You simply gave it a physical form.
 
…
 
Sans… I hate you…
 
“I h-hate you…” Her thoughts turned to words.
 
…
 
And his gaze softened further. He hesitated, but responded in a whisper.
 
“… i know.”
 
Frisk sobbed and rubbed her tear-stained cheek against the side of his skull,
still pressed to her forehead. Her little fingers locked around his rib bones
beneath his shirt and she cried hard and gasped for a breath.
“S-sans… Please don’t… d-don’t leave me… ah-… P-please don’t kill me… I-… I
don’t w-want to die… I don’t want to-… Nhh!……”
The thread of words spilled from her sore throat. Sans’ movements were slow,
yet he still continued to roll his hips down, grinding inside. He released his
hands from her cheeks and wrapped both arms around her quivering body in a
tight embrace.
 
Was he doing this because… because he knew she was going to die?
 
Because he was planning to kill her once they were both free?
 
She did not know what he was thinking… what he was feeling…
 
How could she ever know? He was so detached. Disassociated.
 
Withdrawn.
 
Completely lost.
 
But it did not matter… because she had already given in to him… to his
manipulation, his desire. To his self destruction and his tragedy. And she was
just so tired. She just wanted to rest.
And the way he gazed into her eye… it felt like goodbye.
Like a melancholy farewell.
 
…
 
His expression… adorned with grief.
 
…
 
Remorse and sorrow clung to his features. But he remained silent. He did not
apologize.
 
…
 
Because those with shattered souls find it difficult to speak.
 
…
 
And despite it all, she showed him mercy.
 
Frisk reluctantly released one hand from his ribs. She lifted it… up between
them… and she brought her trembling palm to the side of his skull, cupping
against it. Her fingers caressed along his jawline, upon his cheek. His skull
was warm and smoother than those coarse fingers.
Sans almost flinched at her touch. His sockets widened. His clenched teeth
shivered and strained. He slowly lifted a claw to her hand and clasped it upon
hers, holding the caress against his skull so tight.
And his sockets… closed.
He tilted his head into her palm.
And his shoulders began to tremble.
 
…
 
Sans…
 
Perhaps it was the only kindness he had ever known…
 
The only shred of intimacy he had ever felt with another soul.
 
…
 
Sans… I’m sorry…
 
 
 
 
 
The rain continued to fall outside.
 
A bitter breeze blew through the open windows and tousled Frisk’s sweat-soaked
bangs.
 
Sans had stopped moving. His vigor still buried inside, yet he was motionless…
except for his slender fingers, which stroked and entwined against Frisk’s hand
at his skull. He took in heavy breaths through clenched teeth.
And slowly, he released his hand from hers, and he brought both claws between
them and clutched onto their souls, massaging them together, forcing them into
one another. Frisk’s trembling essence dripped and oozed against his. And her
softened orb slipped inside his soul slowly… slowly… until they became one.
Sorrow-woven pleasure began to thread inside her. Frisk gasped and dug her
knees against his firm ilium bones at his pelvic crest. H-he was moving again…
slipping the extent of his erection inside her. But his movements were slow and
affectionate and almost… accommodating.
Sans slowly opened his sockets. His hue flashed slowly now a dim scarlet glow.
His hands manipulated their souls together, squeezing and groping them like
warm, jelly spheres. The shimmering lavender ooze coated his hands and he
stroked the souls faster, groaning through interlocked canines.
Frisk gasped. She lurched both arms up and wrapped them around his neck,
clinging to him tightly. She could barely breathe despite the frantic inhales.
Her tongue slipped past parted lips and she panted and buried her face against
his shoulder. I-it was too much… the combination of his vigorous thrusts and
her soul wrapped up inside his… she couldn’t hold back. She just couldn’t hold
on any longer.
“A-ah! Sans!! S-sans!” She cried out into his neck.
Each muscle in her body began to restrict and shiver. Her crammed lower abdomen
pulsed with her heartbeat. Heat coiled inside her head and her muscles
tightened even more around his straining erection. She rocked her hips with
his, grinding against his cock, pushing it inside as deep as it could go,
rubbing her exposed, swollen clit against the inside of his wet sacrum bone.
And the climax came upon her in full force. Frisk arched her back, lifting her
bare chest to their souls and his hands. She cried out, followed by a multitude
of short, sharp gasps. She shut her eye and strained against the deluge of
heat. Slick, translucent honey coated Sans’ cock within and he continued to
fuck her through her orgasm, simply adding to the euphoric agony. He drew the
pleasure out from her as his thumbs dug into their souls.
But Sans had not reached his peak yet… not yet. He released their souls and
wrapped his arms around her waist once more. He pulled Frisk in tight and the
dripping, pulpous orbs flattened between their aligned chests. Sans pulled her
writhing body down into his forceful thrusts, using her slippery nectar as a
lubricant. Her insides were so sensitive and hot and dripping wet from her
climax, supple and pliable. Sans slipped inside her so deep, only to pull his
hips back almost entirely before thrusting inside her again.
Blue translucent precum dripped down Frisk’s rear each time he pulled back and
pounded inside her with even more force. He began to grind his cock back into
her womb’s entrance again, managing to slip the head inside. He fucked her
cervix like it was another pussy, ripping up her insides around him. He was
finally able to slide all the way inside her. Frisk’s lower abdomen bulged from
his ramming vigor. Her swollen vulva pressed flush against the center of his
pubis bone and wrapped tight around the base of his cock.
If she had not been so enraptured from the pleasure of their conjoined souls
and her recent orgasm then she would have surely been screaming in pain. He was
abusing her insides in a heinous way, and she could almost feel the pain under
layers of ecstasy, but it was buried too deep. Frisk felt another surge of
fevered tingling pleasure build inside her. H-he was bringing her over the edge
again…
Another one!? H-how could that be… God, her head was spinning. Frisk clawed at
his rigid spinal plates through his shirt. Her toes curled and her heart
fluttered wildly. She kept her face buried into his shoulder. She couldn’t see
his face, but she could hear the sound of his husky gasps and distorted growls
and she felt perspiration drip down the side of his skull along his neck. H-he
was close, as well…
Sans assaulted her raw insides, pushing all the way within her trembling, silky
cavity. It was like a velveteen peach adhering and gripping at his cock. He had
breached her womb and held himself there, relishing in the lustrous texture as
Frisk reached another pinnacle of pleasure and her muscles clamped and spasmed
around him again.
Sans took in a harsh inhale. His eye flashed overhead. Every one of his bones
shivered as he reached his climax at the same time as hers. Thick spurts of
translucent cobalt ejaculant erupted from his vigor. It spilled out within her
womb, overflowing and coating his pulsing cock. S-so much heat… too much!… His
essence was red hot despite its cool color. Frisk could feel the gelatinous
liquid gush internally throughout as he injected his cum directly inside her
womb. None spilled out, his cock held it all inside, and he began to rock his
hips again to swirl and agitate the secretion, forcing her to soak it all in.
 
…
 
…
 
Sans…
 
…
 
Frisk went limp in his grasp. Her body was depleted. She couldn’t even keep her
legs around his waist anymore and they slowly began droop down and slip at
either side. But Sans shifted his body weight firmly. He let her lay back into
the sweat-soaked jacket and his hands clasped at her thighs, holding her around
him.
The skeleton leaned down into her and he was… so heavy… squishing their souls
between them.
“… Sans…” Frisk mewled out weakly.
 
He was silent. And Frisk listened to the sound of her pounding pulse and
echoing whimpers… and the rain.
 
The rain…
 
It had provided a gentle ambiance to their taboo sins.
 
And the sound… was comforting… and sad.
 
…
 
 
After a long moment, Sans finally moved. He leaned up off her chest and pulled
his hips back. Frisk clenched her teeth, holding back a cry as he began to slip
his spent cock from her insides. He pulled out and a torrid trickling outpour
of blue translucency and… blood… followed.
H-he had made her bleed again… more blood than last time… but, she still could
not feel any pain. Her soul remained joined with his. The connection created a
thick layer of soft numbing bliss inside her body. She stared up at San and
watched as he pulled up his pants, readjusting himself, and the blue slowly
vanished. He looked concerned, but his expression was ambiguous, as always…
morose tribulation underneath a strained, masking smirk.
Sans sat back against the stone wall, towering over her. He reached his arms
down and wrapped Frisk up in his jacket to conceal her nakedness, and slowly
pulled her up to sit beside him. Their combined souls floated directly in front
of them in the air. Sans’ coat was so big, it hung just below her knees… but it
was warm… so warm… and it blocked out the chill.
He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and held her into his chest firmly,
rubbing at the back of her head, comforting her. Frisk cringed as she felt the
hot deluge spill down her thighs. And then she let out a heavy sob… followed by
another… and another… until she was crying hard against him and burying her
face against his chest completely inconsolable.
 
I hate you… I hate you… I h-hate you…
 
Why won’t you apologize to me… for everything you’ve done?
 
…
 
Sans stared back at their souls. He watched them shiver and contort and spin
around idly in the air as one, like a violet afterglow. He listened to the
sound of her heavy sobs, but he said nothing. He simply pet her hair and held
her to his chest.
 
……
 
…
 
Time drifted along.
And after a long while, Frisk’s sobs finally settled.
She rubbed her wet, redden eye against his shirt and listened to the sound of
his slow breaths… and the rain… and the wind.
Her body was numb from the chest down. So had no strength, she could barely
keep her eye open. So tired… she wanted to sleep…
 
Please, let me sleep…
 
But Sans began to lift his opposite arm and he reached out for their souls.
His movements shook Frisk from her lethargy. She blinked and watched as he
pulled the orb towards him and begin to pry apart their souls. W-wait… no… His
fingers dug inside the vapor… inside his own orb to pull out the smaller one.
A-ah! Wait!… wait-… It feels… w-weird! Frisk tensed up from the deviating
sensation in her chest. She whimpered and tried to grab at Sans’ hand, but he
held it out of her reach.
And he finally wrenched their souls apart after a bit of effort.
Frisk stared back at the two orbs in his palm. His was just a tad larger and
slightly tainted purple from her essence… but her soul, however, was a bright
magenta. It was radiant, glowing, shivering and oozing lavender liquid crystal.
It had been contaminated with his power directly from the source. It shone so
brightly the moment it was freed from Sans’ capsule that it was difficult to
look at. And Frisk’s chest felt tight and suddenly the pain that had been
masked began to creep up on her. Sharp aches in her abdomen, along her thighs,
inside her stomach… an agony buried deep within her midriff where Sans had
forced her apart and open around him.
Frisk held back a sharp cry, fighting back the pain, squirming in his arm. But
Sans was leering back at her soul, too distracted to notice. He looked…
concerned? Almost troubled by its bright light. His sockets narrowed and his
red eye began to flash. And he slowly slipped his own soul back underneath his
shirt inside his chest while he continued to study her burning spirit.
He stared at it for a long while until he shoved it back in his pocket.
And Sans let out a sigh, and he shifted and glanced down at her.
 
“it’s time, kiddo…”
 
…
 
It’s… time.
 
…
 
Sans leaned forward. He pushed himself up to his feet and Frisk could hear the
sound of his joints popping as he rolled his shoulders back idly. He reached
down for her but Frisk flinched back into the wall. She stared up at him, fear
and humiliation splayed across her features. But the monster said nothing, he
only furled a claw around her slender wrist and pulled her up beside him.
Frisk’s knees buckled underneath and sharp electric currents of pain coursed
through every limb. She stumbled into his side, whimpering out in pain. She
could hardly stand. But Sans caressed the side of her cheek, soothing her
gently. Sadism and comfort… he had distorted those two roles into one
frightening, manipulative bundle of corruption. She could barely tell them
apart anymore.
He held her shoulders firmly to make sure she could stand on her own, then he
began to slip his jacket from her body. Sans couldn’t help but smirk slightly
as his sockets did a quick skim of her naked form. He pulled the coat back over
his arms and tugged up to cowl to conceal his skull. But he did not leave her
naked for too long. He tugged her bra back up and re-dressed Frisk in her
discarded clothes, now soaked from laying on the cold, wet stone.
 
Cruel…
 
Sans brushed back her hair and tucked her under his arm, holding her tight to
his side. He turned and began to walk down the stone corridor… down the pathway
to the unfamiliar wooden door at the very end.
 
Frisk staggered and stumbled, barely able to walk. She was in so much pain. Her
heart sunk deep inside a pool of grief. He was still leading her along… out
from the castle to the final gate, somewhere. His sexual abuse had changed
nothing. The mercy she showed him had been fruitless.
 
Death would be a sweet release from this hell.
 
Her inner thoughts returned and stung at her weary mind.
Sans continued down the rainy corridor. They reached the door and he pushed one
hand against the surface. It slowly sung out in front of them… and Frisk could
see… the outside.
A small courtyard behind the castle.
 
 
 
There was no canopy or roof. The rain poured down in slabs, just like before,
and it was just as foggy and grim as the scenery around them. The patio was
raised and had thick iron railings at either edge. There were rows of stone
benches, like this space had once been used to entertain guests. Frisk stared
down at a multitude of decorative marble flowerbeds along the periphery. Each
one was filled with nothing but muddy water that overflowed upon the floor.
The balcony veranda overlooked the desolate landscape. But at the very far end
of the courtyard was… the mountain wall.
The mountains…
They had finally reached the mountains.
And within the side of the mountain…
 
… was a door.
 
…
 
A door.
 
…
 
Small.
 
Wooden.
 
Rather unimpressive.
 
…
 
There was nothing special about it. The door was covered in claw marks and
dents, like monsters had been trying to open it for centuries. It was very old.
The wooden planks that constructed the gate had been splintered and fractured,
but it remained closed shut.
It reminded Frisk of the first gate, the one at the shed… way back… back in her
forest.
And she saw it. Her eye locked upon it. Within the center of the unremarkable
door… was an engraved symbol.
 
Three peaks. One downward spiral.
 
…
 
The final barrier.
 
…
 
The 10th gate.
 
…
 
This is it.
 
…
 
This is the end.
 
…
 
It’s over… I-it’s over…
 
…
 
It is almost over.
 
 
 
 
 
Sans led her through the rain.
 
And they reached the door and stood before it.
It was strange. She had expected something different. Perhaps a grandiose,
golden archway with two massive doors… Or maybe some towering stone alcove that
housed a pair of fancy, barred gates… Frisk had honestly expected anything
other than this feeble aperture.
What an inadequate ending.
 
Sans stood behind her. He leaned over the top of her head, blocking some of the
rain, and stared back at the door with a lethargic gaze. His crimson eye
flashed slowly overhead, turning the raindrops to rubies around them.
And as he stared at the door he began to reach into in his pocket. He pulled
out her soul.
It was still purple… radiant lavender… flashing so brightly. Its coloration
conquered the red hue of his eye and shone through the mist. A divine jewel of
pure power. It was more beautiful than Frisk had ever seen it before.
 
To think Sans’ depraved corruption had done that.
 
Sans hesitated. He stared back at the orb for a while, until he slowly looped
his arm around her waist. His claw slipped under her soaked hoodie and pressed
the brilliant orb against her breastbone.
There was a sudden surge of pins and needles. A strange numbing convergence
tingled against her flesh the moment her soul came into contact with bare skin.
Sans added some pressure. He began to slide the orb within her sternum.
 
A sharp pain… an outbreak of conflicting pressure and agony.
 
I-it felt… different.
 
The pain was immense, but there was another sensation… Something new, yet
familiar. She had felt it once before. She could barely grasp it, but it was
there. Sans' power. His spirit. It had merged with her own and she could feel
his inflamed rage… his zeal and his aspiration and his… h-his determination.
But the sensation was subtle, buried under a blanket of sorrow that refused to
wilt.
Frisk’s heart shivered in her chest. Her altered soul writhed around in its
chamber. She clenched her teeth hard as Sans slowly pulled away his hand and
gently pushed her forward… closer to the door… right before them.
She knew what he wanted.
She knew what she had to do.
 
End all of this…
 
… and open the gate.
 
…
 
Will you open the final gate?
 
…
 
Frisk lifted her hands.
She stared down at her ashen-white fingers. They trembled and grazed over the
carving.
Sans stood behind her. He watched in silence with his claws in his pockets.
Rainwater dripped from the fur trim of his hood pulled over his skull. His
sockets were lidded and his teeth clenched in a hollow frown.
His expression was devoid of any feeling.
But his eye flashed rapidly in anticipation… so fast… so frantic… a red,
shivering sphere of wildfire.
 
He was waiting.
 
……
 
…
 
Frisk hesitated. She lifted her gaze from her hands and stared up at the door.
Helplessness and sorrow and grief gripped her heart.
A sadness she had felt all her life.
Her shoulder's trembled. Her chin quivered. The rainwater melded with a stream
of hot tears that spilled from her eye.
 
…
 
It’s okay.
 
…
 
It’s alright.
 
…
 
You fought so hard.
 
…
 
It’s time to rest now.
 
…
 
Not every war needs to be won.
 
…
 
You deserve some rest.
 
…
 
No one lives forever, you know.
 
…
 
And this was not the life you deserved.
 
…
 
Maybe the next life will be better…
 
…
 
…
 
Maybe it will be better.
 
……
 
…
 
Rest now.
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
No.
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
“No.”
 
…
 
Frisk lowered her hands. Her trembling voice cut through the rain.
 
She could not do it.
 
She would not do it.
 
She could not free them.
 
She could not free herself.
 
She would not open the gate.
 
And Frisk’s hands fell to her sides. And she slowly tilted her head back and
stared up at the rain. The downpour soaked her chilled flesh and for a brief
moment she felt alive.
And determined.
 
 
 
Sans chuckled.
A wide smirk spread across his skull and he spoke.
“open the gate, kid.” He sounded almost amused, but there was a dangerous
underlayer of impatience that Frisk could not ignore.
Frisk slowly turned from the door to face him. She lifted her dreary gaze,
staring up at him, and slowly shook her head.
 
Sans wide smirk began to shiver in both corners. His eye flashed faster.
There was rage…
 
Rage and hate.
 
It surfaced instantly.
She could see it in his gaze. She could see the distemper engulfing his
fractured spirit. A temper she had not seen since their fight in Hotlands…
since Napstablook’s ruins.
Sans took a step forward. He pulled his hands from his pockets and roughly spun
Frisk back around to face the gate. He pushed her up into the wall with so much
force, grabbing at her wrists, slamming her hands down upon the engraving.
Frisk’s cheek pressed painfully into the wood as he pinned her hard against the
door.
“open it…” Sans growled behind her. His voice was truly… terrifying. Frisk
shook her head again. She felt him flinch at her refusal. “OPEN IT!”
He screamed and gripped at her hair and slammed her cheek again, face first,
into the door with severe strength. A sharp pain roiled against her temple from
the impact. Frisk’s knees trembled and she held a cry in her throat. His rage
spilled out from his eye and tainted every one of his actions. He was livid.
 
But she would not do it.
She would not call forth her power.
The power to free them all.
No matter how many times he roughly manhandled her and slammed her into the
barrier and pulled at her hair and screamed out… She would not open it.
 
Sans began to breath hard. He released his hand from the back of her head and
wrist and he swiveled Frisk around, slamming her back into the wood firmly,
facing her. She could see his expression now. Dripping with fury… desperation…
fear.
His eye trembled violently inside his socket in a fit of mania. Blue drops of
perspiration dripped from his forehead as his teeth grit and clattered. He was…
unhinging… His disdain was unraveling into pure rage.
 
…
 
He never had control… He never had the power.
 
And she knew that he knew it, deep within his soul.
 
“OPEN THE FUCKING GATE!” Sans began to scream. His echoic voice fortified with
an insanity so terrifying that Frisk’s stomach lurched.
 
 
Be strong, Manumitter.
 
 
…
 
 
You are strong.
 
 
“No.” Frisk responded. She curled her hands into fists and stared back up him
at him with unyielding budding courage. Be strong. The sorrow she had felt, the
grief he had injected into her heart… it began to subside. It had been
replaced. Replaced by a bold fortitude so strong that it made her head hot.
Her determination rose from the ashes and soared in her chest.
 
She would not give in.
 
She would not give up.
 
No.
 
NO.
 
 
There is a strength inside my soul that will never wane.
 
The power to free them both, to free this world, it had been hers all along.
 
He had never destroyed her determination.
 
Despite all his manipulation… and his savagery and corruption… despite the way
he had made her feel so weak, she was still strong.
 
His cruelty had only made her stronger.
 
She was so strong.
 
The true Manumitter’s power.
 
 
 
Sans wrapped his claws around her throat.
His dagger incisors clenched together in an insane scowl, oozing with raging
hysteria. He looked like a demon. His red eye vanished into darkness until
there were only two empty obsidian sockets visible under the shadow of his
cowl.
And he began to squeeze.
Frisk gasped and fought for a breath. I-it hurt… his hands… tightened.
“S-sans… “ She whispered through struggling inhales and weakly pulled at his
claws with her fingers. She tried to swallow but it was hindered. She couldn’t
breathe. She coughed and whined, taking in sharp inhales that stopped short, no
oxygen reached her lungs. His claws snaked around her trembling throat like a
coiling constrictor, squeezing with every shred of nefarious strength he
possessed. “S-… S-sa-”
And then she couldn’t speak.
Frisk pressed her hands against his chest and she tried to summon her power…
she tried to push him back with her shield. But she was too weak. Her chest had
gone cold. Her head began to spin and she felt sick and she… s-she heard the
sound of straining bones splintering underneath his choking clasp.
 
G-god… I-it hurts! P-please!!
 
Frisk tried to scream but no sound came out. He was growling and slamming her
back into the door repeatedly as he crushed her throat in his clutches,
strangling her heinously, pinning her to the 10th gate. His strength was
obscene due to peaked rage.
Frisk’s head went numb… She felt sick but she couldn’t even gag. And her hands
fell from his wrists and went limp at her sides. Her feet gave way underneath,
but she did not fall to the floor; Sans’ clasping restraint upon her throat
kept her lifted.
The blood vessels in Frisk’s eye burst and the vision of Sans vanished and
turned to nothing but dark red.
She couldn’t see… or think… or breathe.
But she could hear Sans’ voice.
She heard him… l-laugh.
A deep, resounding chuckle that was demented, deranged.
 
And the sickening snap of bones echoed against the wood behind her.
 
For a brief moment she tasted blood.
 
But then her senses faded into nothing.
 
Her red vision morphed into velour ink.
 
And she asphyxiated in his grasp.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up:
R̴̛̤̜̯̯̰̺̯̙e̸̸̢͎̰̭̰̩̙͎̣̹s̢̥̝̰̪͇̩͍̼̹̱̲͈̠̫̹͈͘e̠̪̺̗͎̤͕̗̮͇̻̭̰̕͡ţ̡̛̺̪̩̩̗̣̰̼̻̞͡.̷̢̨̘̤͇͙͔̤͉̣̮̣̰̥̪͚͠
̶͏̡̙̗̯̥̥͖̳͇͕̗̱R̵͎͇͚̟̥͖͔͕̱͔̥͍̝̳̺̀ͅe҉̞̦̼͎̳̪͖͔̥̕͝p̶̤̝͍͔̝̯͖̦̟̱̯̦̖̣̩̹̳͟e҉̤͎̬͉̮̰̺͔͚̻̩̳̻̙a̧͢͏̳̣̪̼̩̜̬̰̪͇̖̟̠̫̮͖̺͘t̷̛̲̱̗̰̫͕͝.̶̢̳̬̻̯̠͉̦̪̪̳̱͜
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Oh… man…
     D-dang… *lays down on the floor for a whole day*
     Let the multiple resets commence.
      
     ADVANCED WARNING: Okay, guys… the next and second-to-last chapter is,
     in my opinion, comprised of some of the most brutal and disturbing
     sequences in this entire story. It will contain detailed, graphic &
     explicit violence/gore/guro/multiple deaths as well as one severe
     sexual violence scene. Please heed my cautions. Really. You have been
     warned.
     Also, because the next chapter will be so involved, it may take me a
     bit longer than a week to publish it. If you want updates on the
     chapter’s status then you can ask them on my Tumblr.
     ~~~
     Skipper summery: Sans and Frisk travel through the rain to Asgore’s
     castle: a large, mold-infested manor built into a wall of mountains.
     Frisk is struggling with her choice of ultimately picking Sans over
     Chara. The castle’s entrance is the 9th gate. Sans forces her to open
     it but he will not let her keep her soul. They finally enter the
     castle and come across a candle (the final save point). Frisk saves
     and they continue on. They come across a small child’s room (Chara’s
     old bedroom). There are drawings of the gates’ symbol all over a
     piece of paper on Chara’s desk. They continue and enter the throne
     room, where Asgore’s skeletal remains still reside. They finally exit
     the castle and travel down an outside covered hall. Sans forces
     himself on Frisk, but she does not fight back. She’s has lost all of
     her determination and any hope she had left. Depressing non-con stuff
     happens, also soul-sex is stirred into the mix. Frisk’s soul absorbs
     a lot of Sans’ essence in the process (turning it completely purple,
     soaking in his power). Afterwards they continue down the hall and
     exit outside into a courtyard. There is a small wooden door embedded
     within the mountains before them: The final gate. Sans slips her
     purple soul back inside and tells her to open it. But as Frisk stands
     before the gate, ready to just give in and let the monsters win, she
     feels her determination return. She refuses and in turn she
     sacrifices herself for the greater good. Sans tries to force her to
     open it, but she will not summon the power to open the gate. Sans
     strangles and kills her in a fit of rage (and Frisk resets).
     ~~~
     /////////////////////
***** XXXIII *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter 33: Reprise
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hey guys,
     Sorry it has taken me longer than usual to publish this chapter. The
     previous chap took a lot out of me emotionally and I found it
     difficult to keep writing at the pace I was going. Perhaps I should
     have just ended it there and had Frisk open the final gate… but that
     is a different story. A sadder story. That is not her destiny.
     And what with the horrible travesty of the election in America and
     all… well, let’s just say my sentiment has been drained dry these
     past couple of weeks. Hopefully all of this does not rub off
     negatively on the quality of my writing. But if it does, then I
     apologize.
     Anyways, this chapter is so very long. I was debating on whether I
     should split it into two, but in the end I decided not to. So there
     you have it, 100+ freakin’ pages ;u; *dies* I would advise against
     reading this entire chapter in one sitting unless you want your brain
     to explode. Seriously.
     In other news, I was recently informed by an anonymous message that
     my fic has been plagiarized and published on other fanfic sites. This
     is very disheartening, especially because this work is extremely
     personal to me and basically my own little therapy session to cope
     with my childhood abuse & trauma… so the fact that someone would
     steal my words, my past and heartache just to make a few bucks on
     donated tips is disgusting. Granted, I couldn’t find anything when I
     did my own research, and the anon never sent a link, so maybe it was
     just a troll… but either way I just wanted to throw it out there that
     if you do come across this fic anywhere else online, it is stolen.
     The only place I have published this story is here on AO3. So if you
     see it elsewhere, please let me know asap. Thank you! :’)
     That is the shitty news, but I also have GOOD news. I commissioned
     the amazing artist Leeffi on Tumblr for some artwork to use as a
     cover image for this fic, so hopefully I’ll be able to post that in
     the notes of the final chapter. I am super excited about it :D
     So now that all the news is out of the way… Chapter 33. I’ve already
     talked a lot so I’ll keep this brief. Chapter 33 is basically six
     layers of hell - AKA Sans doing anything and everything in his power
     to try and persuade Frisk to open that final gate… to force her to
     submit. There are multiple resets, a lot of violence, combat scenes,
     blood, gore, an explicit instance of sexual violence as well as
     angst, pain and suffering on both Sans & Frisk’s part. But as the
     chapter plays out, you’ll see Frisk’s determination grow stronger
     while Sans really begins to unravel mentally - almost reversing their
     roles, in a sense.
     I mentioned last chapter that this one would be the most brutal, and
     in my opinion it is, mainly because of the back-to-back cruelty, but
     my readers may beg to differ. You’ll just have to read it and decide
     for yourself. Skipper summary included in the bottom notes.
     Enjoy!
     WARNING WARNING WARNING: As stated above, this chapter contains
     graphic/explicit/distressing scenes of violence and a sequence of
     strong sexual violence. Please proceed cautiously.
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
 
*****
 
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
Light…
 
…
 
There was light.
 
…
 
Somehow.
 
A bright brilliance, enveloping her vision entirely.
And… a breeze…
 
…
 
Warm…
 
It was… so warm.
 
Gentle gusts rustled her hair.
And she could smell freshly cut grass. An aroma of crisp earth and soil. Thin
leaves grazed between her fingers. Her hands dug into bristly tufts beneath and
she pulled at a few of the blades, running her fingertips along the stalks. The
grass was wet, embellished with dew. Morning condensation.
There was a sound in the distance and it traveled along the wind. A barking
animal… a dog.Her dog.
And yet… her eyes were wide open, but she could not see. There was nothing.
Nothing but a bright, blinding light of canary yellow. She tilted her head down
to stare at her hands but they were not there. She was nothing and nowhere, yet
the cacophony of sensations were clear. The scent of fresh, outside early
morning air… the breeze caressing her skin… Schafer’s barks in the distance.
 
…
 
Was this death?…
 
Was this the afterlife?
 
……
 
…
 
The lively barking dissolved into silence. The light that veiled her vision
turned pale. A hint of periwinkle replaced the yellow and a new, all-
encompassing pastel blue hung over her eyesight like frosted glass. The breeze
relented, but it continued. The grass between her fingers turned soft and
fluffy like a fleece blanket. And she heard a voice…
Serene.
Nostalgic.
A delicate wind chime.
 
Her mother's voice.
 
…
 
She opened her mouth to respond to the voice, but no sound came out. Confusion
nestled in her head, yet she felt no fear. She felt safe. And she burrowed her
hands and feet into the padded wool texture beneath like some widespread quilt.
But as she listened to her mother's voice, she realized that it produced no
words, at least none that she could distinguish. The voice was a murmur. An
eidolic repose. The sound it yielded laced through the air and fell upon the
floor, until another warm gust swept it up like dandelion spores. The voice… a
vaporous metronome hovering along the edge of her latent mind.
 
W-why?…
 
…
 
Why could she not hear its words?
 
…
 
But the tone shivered and faded away. The periwinkle light melded into a
different color. An amber complexion. The color of a setting sun. There was
still nothing in her sight, just a slate of pigment. She heard a new voice.
Gentle laughter… Playful… Sprightly. I-Izzy?…
 
…
 
The laughter lingered for a moment before it subsided, along with the golden
glow. The color darkened. It altered and morphed again into a pastel indigo,
like the hue of an early evening sky. Dusky breeze swept and carried with it
the scent of pine… Night air. She heard crickets… and the gentle flapping of a
curtain rustling beside her. She could see nothing but lapis lazuli
iridescence.
Yet… there was a memory.
A memory of a warm summer night, long ago. She was tucked underneath a blanket.
The orphanage window beside her hung open and gentle currents spilled inside
the room. It brushed back her hair and rustled her pajama shirt sleeves and the
blanket over her knees.
She could barely visualize the memory, but she could feel it.
A tactile recollection.
 
…
 
And… there were…
 
…stars.
 
…
 
She saw stars… through the open window, glistening over the forest treetops.
Little gleaming lights, just out of reach.
 
…
 
Lost souls.
 
…
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
The stars shivered.
 
And then they turned dark.
 
…
 
A remote breadth of cornflower blue glazed over her vision, obscuring
everything, until it slowly grew darker and darker and melded into a vesper
shadow. The breeze became still. The crickets echoed and dwindled until there
was no sound at all. The scents muddled together, forming something foul…
A strange smell…
A moldy aroma…
It was unpleasant.
 
…
 
And Frisk opened her eye.
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
Her shoulder pressed firmly into frigid wooden planks below. Inky shadows
pooled around her, but she was not in total darkness. There was a light. A
shivering ember, meek and gentle, perched upon a candlestick in the corner of
the room.
 
A savepoint.
 
The final savepoint.
It was there… right before her hazy gaze.
 
…
 
…
 
What… happened?
 
…
 
Frisk’s memory was adrift inside her head. She stared blankly at the candle,
trying to grasp at her thoughts as they skimmed her mind’s surface. What
happened? Her dog’s barks… her mother's voice… Izzy… The orphanage. Had that
been… a dream? Or had she just been on the brink of a permanent death?
She had not died. She was alive. Tethered to this life. Unable to rest. Cursed.
A forsaken child.
The candle before her could only mean one thing. She had reset. But… h-how?
Frisk lifted both hands from the floor and began to rub at her lone eye with
one and the gauze eyepatch with the other. Her fingertips grazed over the bangs
that fell in her face and they were slightly damp… but they also felt
relatively dry. Hadn’t she just been out in the rain? She remembered… rain. And
she thought she could hear a gentle downpour through the walls. A vision
surfaced in her mind’s eye and she went rigid.
 
Asgore…
 
Frisk sat up. Her eye locked on the candle as she brushed her hair back in
dismay. Asgore’s corpse… upon the throne. T-the throne… The castle… She grasped
at a fringe of blurry memories and suddenly remembered the castle, the mold-
adorned forgotten manor jutting out from the mountains. That was where she was…
in the castle. Yes, she remembered! She was in that small closet at the final
resurgent light.
Frisk lifted her head and examined the shelves upon the wall above her. Each
one was filled with books and yellowing papers and various toys and trinkets.
She idly slipped a hand into her pocket and felt around. Her fingers grazed
over a cold, small circle and she plucked it from her pocket and blinked down
at the object. The coin.
She had reset. She still had the coin. It was never left upon the throne’s
armrest.
 
…
 
…
 
And the full scale of memories came rushing back, all at once. And Frisk’s lone
eye widened and shivered. She dropped the coin to the floor with a metallic
clatter and clamped both hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.
 
… Sans.
 
…
 
D-dear, god…
 
Sans… Sans had-
 
He had… he had-…
 
Sans had attacked her. AGAIN!
 
He had… f-forced himself inside her. But she had not fought him. Why hadn’t she
fought him!? Why didn’t she struggle! He had impaled her… so deep. Too deep.
God, it hurt! Every detail coated her mind like hot wax. Frisk felt abhorrent
surges of shivers creep up her spine and sink into the pit of her stomach. God
dammit… She had… she had actually moved against him on her own free will… She
felt sick.
Frisk clasped at her lower abdomen and squeezed her sides. She pressed down
against her navel through the hoodie, but… there was no pain. That horrible,
mind-numbing agony of taking his entire girth inside… was gone.
 
It had never happened.
 
She continued to press at her stomach in disbelief. She could not grapple with
the fact that she had not struggled against his advances… She could not
remember her reasoning. But… suddenly, she saw Sans’ gaze surface over her
thoughts. Softly pulsing crimson. She had… lifted a hand to the side of his
skull and caressed his cheek. And he stared down at her with such anguish in
his eye. His sockets closed… he grasped at her hand… his shoulders… they
trembled, like he was overcome with sorrow, yet unable to cry.
She suddenly knew why she had not fought him. And Frisk hung her head with
clenched teeth as tears began to sprout and sting her eye.
 
S-sans…
 
So deep… so painful. But there had also been pleasure. And ineffable sentiment.
Emotion beyond words.
She remembered Sans’ soul so clearly. Blue. Beautiful.
 
…
 
Then, another memory…
The door. The final threshold. The 10th gate.
And a budding surge of determination.
Frisk’s breath stuck in her lungs and she quickly lifted both hands, slipping
them up under her hoodie to her chest. She pressed her palms flat between her
breasts and felt her skin. There was warmth. A pulsing heat. Vigorous and
determined and so strong.
She could sense strength and a newfound courage within her. The heat beneath
her sternum shivered, like a sheltered bluejay hiding from a storm. Her soul
was anxious, but it was there. And it was burning with a desire to live and to
resist and to fight.
 
… But, wait…
 
How could she still retain her soul? How was that possible? When she had saved
at this candle prior, Sans had removed her soul. So… so s-shouldn't she be
without it right now, if she truly had reset? Shouldn’t Sans still have it in
his possession? Or perhaps her soul possessed the ability to return to her
chest after each reset, like a boomerang.
Frisk decided to test it. She blinked and lifted her hands out in front of her.
She wiggled her fingers before closing her only eye and took in a deep, slow
inhale. A soft exhale. Another inhale. Focus. Focus.
 
…
 
Focus.
 
…
 
Shivering violet radiance began to spill from her chest. It illuminated the
small space bright purple, and the essence traveled down both arms, to her
wrists, wrapping around her hands and coiling between her fingers. A small,
incipient shield began to develop before her palms. It was a wall of glistening
liquid lavender, translucent and filled with dripping stardust fluent. The
texture and opacity were just like her old shield, except it was no longer red.
This amethyst coloration… it had come from Sans’ soul.
Frisk stared back at the miniature shield, lost in thought. She had absorbed
some of his power… it stuck within her spirit like a vile corrosion, but it did
not infect her soul with poison. No, instead it made her stronger. His
corruption made her determined. Sans’ magic was so powerful, it almost hurt to
keep it summoned. Heat pounded inside her chest cavity like a hammering drum
and in turn it made her head ache.
When he had combined their souls together, somehow, he had transferred some of
his magic to her. Even after the reset, the magic remained. But how? Unlike
when Gaster had contaminated her soul so long ago, it had been completely
scrubbed clean after a reset. And Chara’s spirit… it had also been wiped when
Sans killed her back in Hotland… well… almost. But Sans’ magic was different.
Somehow it remained inside her soul, and the soul remained inside her chest.
Frisk raked her mind as she tried to decipher the reason why it was different
than the others. Was it because she had direct soul contact with Sans? Or maybe
it was because each time those previous resets occurred, Sans had ripped her
soul out before he murdered her. Was that why?… Or was it because… her and
Sans… were connected too deeply?
 
…
 
Frisk’s complicated thoughts collided into each other as another memory
surfaced. Another memory… Sans… wrapping his claws around her throat in the
rain.
 
…
 
He had murdered her.
 
…
 
She refused to open the final gate and Sans strangled her to death.
 
…
 
Frisk’s blood ran cold. She started to shake. Her eye shivered, locked on the
summoned shield. She had no idea how the candles or resets worked. She had no
clue why she retained Sans’ magic, but she could not think about that right
now. She… she had just been brutally murdered by that demon…
 
You need to escape.
 
…
 
You need to run.
 
…
 
Run NOW!
 
…
 
Then, there was a sound.
A sudden muffled clamor.
 
The sound of a door slamming shut somewhere in the castle.
 
The noise shook Frisk from her shrieking inner thoughts and she jolted in
surprise. She quickly reeled the shield back inside her soul. The amethyst
light flickered and vanished instantly. Her heart began to thrash inside her
chest like a violent tornado. Sweat beaded along her temples and she staggered
up to her feet. Sans… Sans… H-he was nearby… He was close! He must be!
Frisk wanted to cry, but her determined soul cut through the fear and replaced
it with adrenaline. She ripped her gaze from the candle and turned to face the
door. Slowly, Frisk lifted a hand and wrapped it around the doorknob, pushing
it open. The ebony shadows within the hallway spilled forward into the closet.
It was so dark… So dark…
 
Be brave! You can do this! Your soul… Use your determination. Use your power to
stay strong!
 
Frisk swallowed and shoved down the anxiety. She took a step forward through
the doorway and glanced to the left. It was dark, but there was a vertical line
of light at the very end of the hall. The pale stream seeped from a door that
hung ajar. She heard the rain erupt from that direction, followed by a gentle
breeze. The castle’s initial lobby… That was the grand space she and Sans had
entered from before… that was where the 9th gate resided.
Frisk took in a deep breath, desperately trying to cage her quivering heart.
She turned her head towards the opposite direction and stared down the other
stretch of obsidian.
The cryptic corridor was concealed in abundant black.
But…
There was… something…
 
Red.
 
…
 
What was that?
 
N-no…
 
RUN NOW!
 
Frisk’s eye widened as she stared back at a small sphere of pulsing scarlet at
the very end of the hallway. She could see nothing but the hovering orb,
beating violently, palpitating in the darkness. Nightmarish and terrifying.
 
RUN! RUN! GO!
 
Her inner voice was screaming. Frisk’s sneakers shifted against the wood. Her
breath caught in her lungs and her gaze grew as wide as a saucer as she stared
back at Sans’ eye inside the obsidian veil. Her legs were trembling terribly.
Her fingers and head felt numb with dread. S-she couldn’t move.
 
RUN TO THE LOBBY! RUN OUTSIDE!
 
Frisk’s fortitude finally surfaced and she swiveled around. She darted down the
hall, sprinting towards the sliver of light at the unshut door. Oh, god… D-
dear, god… No… n-no… no nonoNoNONONO!!! She almost tripped over her feet but
thankfully caught herself and reached the door in a matter of seconds. Frisk
pried it open, lunging past the archway, and shut it loudly behind her. She
slammed her back against the door and pressed every ounce of body weight she
had into it. Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath like some small,
terrified animal… An animal being hunted.
Thin rays of light were there to greet her, cascading before her vision,
spilling through the open windows that embellished the second story walls. The
rain was deafening and it echoed against every slab of marble. It was so cold,
drafty, and the stench of mildew made Frisk cough.
She stared down at the grand, descending staircase. Her gaze traveled into the
first story shadows towards the 9th gate, still opened.
But her raging inner thoughts swelled instantly.
 
W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! HE CAN TELEPORT! THAT DOOR WON’T HOLD HIM! RUN!!
 
Damn it!
 
Frisk sprung from the door towards the stairs and stumbled down each step. A
haphazardly devised plan began to develop inside her head. S-she had no weapon,
she had nothing to fight off Sans except a shield! If she could just make her
way outside… If she could somehow run back to Chara’s corpse in the wastelands…
then she could grab her box cutter. Her sword! It was out there, laying in a
heinous puddle of blood. If only she had a weapon, then she could try to fight
him.
Perhaps with sword and shield and newfound determination, she might stand a
chance.
Perhaps…
 
Frisk hurdled over the stairs in a frantic dash and landed on the bottom floor.
She quickly jerked her head back over her shoulder and narrowed in on the door
above. It remained shut. Sans was not there. W-where was he!? But she regarded
her internal thoughts and knew that no door would keep him at bay. No barrier
could stop that monster.
She swerved back around to face the foyer and sprinted forward.
The 9th gate was only a short stretch away, opened and nestled between a thick
veil of draping shadows. Frisk’s sneakers skidded against the mold-caked tiles
underfoot. She clenched her teeth hard and balled her hands into fists and ran
towards her escape.
 
… but there was a sound.
 
Directly behind her.
 
The noise cut through the resounding downpour. The sound of…
… r-rushing wind!
 
FUCK!
 
Frisk’s heart stilled in her chest and she immediately swerved around in pure
lurid panic. She lifted her arms out directly, ready to summon her shield to
knock him back. But… w-where was he?
There was no one there.
 
Where is he!?!
 
IT’S A TRICK!
 
The sound had originated from the stairs, but Sans teleported behind her,
blocking the door the moment she had turned. And before Frisk could even
attempt to pivot back around and evoke her shield, the towering skeleton had
already snatched her up. His claw furled around her hoodie and he hoisted her
off the floor.
 
NO!! S-SHIT!!
 
Frisk let out a scream. She clutched at his bony wrist. Her feet dangled and
kicked at his knees in a desperate attempt to free herself. He had deceived
her… with sound! That bastard! And Frisk’s shivering eye went wide as she
stared up at him in pure, unabated horror.
Sans towered over her, gripping at her clothing, keeping her lifted without one
shred of exerted effort. His cowl was up and it cloaked his skull. The dark
fur-trim framed his ominous features. His crimson bloodstone flashed rapidly in
its ample alcove: a bright contrast against the foggy shadows. His grin was
immense and shivering in each intersection. A smirk of maniac fury. That wide
maw displayed each one of those interwoven canines. And in his opposite hand,
Sans gripped his ax - his accursed cleaver - as sharp as a razor and coated in
rust-red stains.
“hey there, kiddo.” He hissed through clenched incisors.
The blood drained from Frisk’s face as he leaned in close, his skull only a
handful of inches away.
Frisk couldn’t speak. She opened her mouth to scream, but only panicked
whimpers came out. She thrashed about and clasped at his tight clutch, fighting
him off. Each one of her nerve endings stood on end as she felt heinous
lukewarm breaths bellowing out from his nasal apertures in heavy clouds.
Sans’ shoulders and claws were shivering with an impatient animosity. But as he
watched her struggle, his depraved smirk only widened. And he took a step
forward and roughly threw her back into the bottom stone steps.
 
F-FUCK!!
 
God, it HURT!!
 
Frisk’s spine and tailbone collided painfully with the jutting stairs behind
her. She let out a sharp cry as the quick rush of endorphins and agony rocketed
up her back and spiraled throughout every limb. So much pain. She could barely
breathe. It felt like her spine had just been fractured!
But her cries were like music to his ears. Sans took a swift step forward and
he furled the ax handle in both hands before lifting it high overhead. N-no-
…Frisk’s eye locked upon the risen weapon, her impending calamity, and she
immediately lifted her arms up over her face to conceal herself. She was so
scared, she hadn’t even thought to use her shield. Her mind was numb. Her head
was overflowing with dread.
 
N-no… P-please… Sans! Please, no!
 
She shut her eye tight and braced herself for the fatal blow.
 
And immediately a loud, deafening shatter of metal cutting through stone
ruptured both her eardrums.
 
But there was no mind-shattering pain…
 
She… she was still alive…
 
Sans brought the ax down, but not upon her. He sliced through the stone steps
only a few inches away from her head. The marble split in two underneath the
force. Shards of sharp polished stone erupted from the impact and cut into
Frisk’s hands and cheek, making her bleed. She was trembling so violently,
crying out, gasping for oxygen, hiding her face from his fury underneath her
forearms.
 
…
 
He had not killed her.
 
…
 
Sans snickered. He lifted his foot and slammed it roughly upon the blunted
shoulder of the hatchet head, now burrowed between split marble. He leaned in
over her with one elbow resting against his knee and his overbearing form
completely blocked out the light.
The soft growls in his chest began to morph into words, spilling out like a
thick poison.
“you acted quite recklessly back there, sweetheart…” Sans said. He reached out
and gripped roughly at one of Frisk’s wrists, yanking her hands from her face
to catch of glimpse of that captivating fear, which he drunk in like sweet
ambrosia. “but i may have acted a bit hastily myself. i will give you a second
chance. whaddya say?”
Frisk stared up at him. Fear and intimidation… those were the tools of his
trade. Frisk knew how dangerous he was, especially now… when everything was
riding on the line. Her teeth clattered and she tried to jerk her head to the
side to look away, but Sans immediately clasped his hand upon her jawline and
forced her face forward. His eye flashed and his smirk shivered as blue pearls
of perspiration formed at his brow.
But Frisk soul began to pulse.
It grew hot. It was burning bright.
 
She was strong.
 
The strength of the True Manumitter.
 
D-do not give in to him! Do not let him beat you down again!
 
“Get away from me Sans! G-get back!” Frisk cried. She pushed her words out
through the inflection of fear. Despite the quivering tone of her voice, her
words were firm. She struggled against his grasp and managed to pull her face
free from his hold. And Frisk leered back up at the monster with teeth clenched
Her eye was burning and her soul was aflame.
Its steadfast tenacity broke free from its cage and filled her with fortitude.
 
Sans’ smirk softened just barely at the corners. He looked surprised by her
rebellion, but her disobedience only added to his unhinged mania. His eye
flashed once, as bright as a sunbeam, and he let out an unstable growl and
gripped her face so forcefully that the tips of his claws dug into her cheeks.
Blood dripped down her cheeks at each impact spot. The pain conflicted with her
defiance and her grit morphed back into fear. She cried out again and pulled at
his clutching claw, panting and sobbing and whimpering in her tormentor’s cruel
grasp.
But Sans simply narrowed his sockets in a wicked scowl.
“are you going to open the gate, manumitter? or are we going to do this the
hard way?”
 
N-no! Do not let terror weaken your determination!
 
“… you don’t want to step out of line again, do you?”
 
You are strong! You are benevolence! You are mercy!
 
“what’ll it be, kid?”
 
Frisk could barely hear Sans’ words over the sound of her frantic mind. Her
unnerving struggles softened and she stared up at him, fear oozing from each
one of her pores. The monster’s smirk widened just barely at her reaction, her
docility. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he craved.
And Sans finally released his grasp. He lifted the claw to his mouth and let
his velveteen blue tongue loll out past his canines, heinously lapping up her
fresh blood from his fingers. He shifted and roughly yanked his ax from the
stone. He coiled his free hand around the handle and began to maneuver the
machete, inching it towards Frisk’s face.
Her heart skipped a beat. Frisk’s eye locked upon the axehead. Sans began to
lightly trail the sharp blade along her bleeding cheek, just barely nicking it
into her tender skin. God, he was savage.
“well?” He whispered, waiting for her response.
 
…
 
Her head and heart were roiling like loose cannons. Her hands trembled and each
breath felt like it was much too heavy for her lungs. Frisk stared back into
his vermilion sphere… the hue that had haunted her for god knows how long.
 
No longer.
 
She clenched her teeth.
Dismay turned to resentment.
And Frisk glared up at her predator before she screamed back at him like an
exploding grenade.
“GO TO HELL!”
 
…
 
…
 
There was long silence.
A palpable tension, as thick as rubber.
The rain followed behind the echos of her cry.
And Sans was silent and his wide smirk quivered. An obvious blanket of shock
crept up beneath his demeanor. Shock and perilous outrage. His shoulders shook.
The tips of his fingers pierced through the hatchet handle. His teeth began to
grind into each other in a tremulous, deranged sneer. And finally, he spoke.
“heh… i see…” Sans whispered and rolled his shoulders back and let out an
apathetic chuckle that made Frisk’s stomach sink to the floor. “that’s really a
shame.”
 
YOUR SHIELD! SUMMON YOUR POWER!
 
“well then, little dove…”
 
HURRY! CALL FORTH YOUR DETERMINATION!
 
“… let’s see how much you can take… “
 
DO IT NOW!
 
“… before you break.”
 
NOW!!!
 
Sans wrenched his ax skyward, adding leverage to the impending strike. Frisk
shot her hands out and began to summon her power, her shield! Lavender liquid
flames poured from her chest and spiraled down her arms, seconds away from
creating a barrier.
But Sans was so fast.
 
Too fast.
 
And he acted instantaneously with crystal clear precision.
Frisk’s power had only just reached her elbows when Sans brought down the ax in
the blink of an eye. S-she wasn’t fast enough- And the thick metal head sliced
through both her wrists like a taut wire cutting through clay.
 
N-no…
 
Frisk’s eye went wide. She watched the carnage play out in slow motion.
The spiraling amethyst ran back up her arms and dispersed immediately. She
pulled her gaze from the ax and stared down at her mutilated limbs. For half a
second she felt nothing, like every sensation in her hands had been
anesthetized, but immediately the agony roiled through both arms in turbulent
electric currents. Her severed hands fell to the floor with a wet thump and
Frisk’s screams cut the rain’s acoustics into a million pieces.
 
Oh, g-god… No… No! GOD!!
 
The pain… it had been some time since she felt pain like this. Frisk gagged
against her sobs. She pulled her arms into her chest, cradling the amputations
against each other as blood spilled from both bisected limbs and coated her
entire hoodie red.
 
He… cut off… her h-hands…
 
Frisk thrashed against the stairs. Raw screams of pure torment spilled from her
throat. Crimson fluent flowed from the torn ligaments, the splintered bone, the
raw exposed meat. Blood splattered against her thighs and seeped down the
stairs and painted the moldy marble a dark scarlet. A pain worse than any
before it. Her mind was a blank slate. Her whole body was convulsing in limpid
agony.
But she could hear his languid chuckles underneath her cries.
“let’s try again, kid.”
And Sans’ eye pulsed as fast as her beating heart. He lifted the blood-stained
blade one more time, and brought it back down, directly into her neck.
The hatchet cleaved into her throat.
The blow severed her neck clean through, down to her spinal cord.
Frisk’s screams turned to revolting gurgles and vanished in seconds.
And she was gone before his hatchet even reached the other side.
Decapitated instantly.
 
…
 
 
……
 
………
 
…
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
……
 
 
………
 
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
 
……
 
…
 
 
It reeked.
 
…
 
The stench of rotting garbage…
Charred rubber…
And death.
 
…
 
…
 
The smell burned the inside of her nose and lungs. Frisk succumb to a coughing
fit as she fought against frothing nausea. God, what was that smell!? She
automatically clutched at her face to block out the fetor.
And she opened her eye.
Bleak, grey ambiance spread across her vision. It was misty… deary… She could
see a gentle, flickering light overhead. Frisk blinked a few times until her
sight came into focus and her gaze settled upon the underside of a small wooden
table.
 
… W-what?…
 
Frisk sat up and took in a shallow breath of rancid oxygen. The atmosphere was
chilly and damp. The small room contained a thick, lingering fog. She glanced
around her surroundings in confusion and tried to grasp at each fuddled memory.
Her neck ached for some forgotten reason. Frisk lifted her fingers and trailed
them along the side of her throat. There was a thin sheet of gauze patched at
her neck, and underneath the gauze she felt a fresh pair of diagonal stitches.
Stitches… M-muffet’s stitches…
 
…
 
You need to run.
 
…
 
…
 
Her inner thoughts shivered with anxiety and urged her to move, but she could
not understand why. Frisk stared ahead idly. She glanced down at the wooden
floor underneath then back up at the small bedside table and took notice of the
flickering light for a second time. There was a candle upon the table.
Wait…
 
A candle.
 
Her eye widened. The dark pupil within her hazel iris constricted in terror.
And then, like a kick to the stomach, the memories returned. Every single
heinous recollection dripped over her thoughts - each one more revolting than
the next - like a living nightmare.
S-sans… Their souls connecting. The final gate. Her strangulation. Her
decapitation.
 
No-… No…
 
Frisk sprung up to her feet in seconds and staggered back into the wall,
clutching at either side of her head, panting heavily. Her lungs seemed to
tighten with each breath and her head felt like it had been gripped between a
pair of pliers. God DAMNIT!
S-sans…
He was after her.
 
He was hunting her.
 
’let’s try again, kid’
 
N-NO!
 
Frisk lifted her head and her eye locked upon the candle before her gaze
traveled to the open window beside it. She could see sullen skyscrapers and
towering graffiti-stained metal and stone. She was in Core City. She had gone
back. She had returned to the previous save point.
The last gate… Asgore’s castle… MTT Resort… It never happened. All of that was
just some terrible hallucination. None of it had come to fruition. None of it!
Wait…
 
Did that mean…
 
C-chara…
 
Was Chara still alive!?
 
YOU NEED TO RUN! YOU CANNOT THINK ABOUT THIS NOW!
 
Her inner voice was frantic and Frisk immediately swerved around, darting for
the door at the opposite side of the meager room.
 
HE COULD SHOW UP AT ANY MINUTE! DON’T YOU REALIZE THAT!?
 
D-dear, god… no… n-no…
 
Shit!-
 
Frisk pried open the door and sprinted down the hall. She had almost forgotten
how disgusting Core City was. The ebony lingering shade wrapped around her
limbs and the stench seemed to get worse the moment she exited the room. She
could hear the steady breeze outside, but there was no rain, and Frisk reached
a stairwell at the very end of the corridor and jumped down the steps in a
frantic dash. She felt like she was racing against the clock, running for her
life, from some phantom butcher.
The building’s first floor lobby was caked in trash and graffiti just as she
had remembered it. Frisk reached the bottom steps and staggered forward and she
came to a halt. She panted and took a slight step back as she surveyed the
garbage-skewed space. W-where is he?… Where is that bastard?… She saw no red
shivering hues… no blue bursts of energy… no movement at all. She was alone in
the building… and she could hear the caustic wind blowing outside, but it was
not the abrupt rush that Sans was capable of. It was a steady, constant gust.
She sprinted towards the open door and peered out into the street. Her eye
darted back and forth, leering through shadows, cautiously watching for the
slightest movement. Thick gray mist hung heavy over the pavement. There was
trash everywhere. It was even worse outside than it was within the building.
And the miserable sight almost made her miss the castle outskirts’ rainy
emptiness… almost.
Frisk lifted her hand and pressed it against her chest through her hoodie. She
felt the warmth. A surging outpour of determination and newfound energy. Was it
still… purple? Did it still contain Sans’ essence? She had no idea, but
regardless, it was there. Her soul was still inside her, but why wouldn’t it
be? At this point in the timeline she had still been in possession of her soul…
and also… her sword.
Her heart stammered and Frisk immediately dug a hand in her pocket. She felt
around, half expecting to find the coin, but instead her fingers fumbled over
thin, cold metal. A surge of emotion clung at the walls of her heart and she
almost sobbed out in pure joy. It was there… i-it was there! She pulled the
weapon from her pocket and lifted it up in the lackluster light.
Her box cutter.
Her soul sword.
The physical embodiment of her strength.
 
…
 
…
 
Listen. You need to be vigilant. You need to hide… and ambush him. You need to
think like Chara would. That is the only chance you have. He fights dirty. He
uses illusions and ploys. You need to make sure your back is not exposed. You
must discover his weakness.
 
W-weakness?! Sans has no weakness!
 
Go now!
 
Frisk listened to her hammering innermost self. She leapt through the doorway
and staggered out into the street. Noxious gusts of chilled air whipped her
hair against her face. She stared down either end of the road and clutched at
the box cutter’s handle in one trembling hand.
And suddenly, she remembered…
 
Sans was not the only monster in this metropolitan…
 
She had almost forgotten about those two demons.
 
Bratty and Catty.
 
That’s right. If the timeline remained the same, then they would show up at any
moment now, dragging that condemned orange-furred creature behind them. Were
they nearby? Frisk did not want to stick around to find out. She grit her teeth
and began to scamper down the street as panic and adrenaline took hold.
 
 
Rapid patter of sneakers echoed against black cement. Frisk weaved through
piles of litter and tall stacks of disintegrating tires. She squinted her eye
and stared dead ahead, dashing through the seething mist all around. She turned
a corner and ran down an unfamiliar stretch of road, making her way through the
narrow side streets. The garbage seemed to thin out, but the shadows grew
thicker as each tall building overhead blocked out the grey illumination.
The darkness… it made her pulse pound against the insides of her veins.
Frisk glanced at each open doorway she passed, searching for a suitable place
to take cover. But the rooms were either overflowing with filth, boarded up
with wooden planks, or too dark to consider. Each time she checked an archway
she half expected to see that red shivering orb glancing back at her.
 
W-where the hell was he!?
 
He’s playing with you. Toying with you. He’s making you sweat.
 
As Frisk ran, her thoughts began to pull from Sans and instead they settled on
Chara.
Was Chara still alive?… Was it possible?
Although Chara had never been affected by the resets. Every time Frisk had gone
back to a point in the timeline where Chara should have been, she was never
there. The resets unaffected that demon-child just like they did with Sans. So
if Chara’s timelines were not altered by resets… d-did that mean she truly was
dead?
Was she gone forever?…
Frisk felt none of Chara’s contamination in her soul. She could think clearly
without that hidden underlayer of hatred. And there was no more poisonous
desire for vengeance tucked away within the corners of her mind either.
Chara… Chara was gone… Chara was dead.
 
…
 
“C-chara-…” Frisk whispered to herself through wheezing inhales.
She had almost expected to hear a response… that distorted voice inside her
head… a voice that was her own, yet dissimilar. Chara’s cognizance.
… but there was no reply.
There was no malicious inner consciousness. Chara was gone. Her death… it had
been a permanent one. Chara and Sans… both of them, unaffected by resets. Did
that mean Sans’ death would be permanent as well?
 
…
 
Was that his weakness?
 
…
 
Was he unable to regenerate from injuries after a reset?
 
…
 
Could she… use that shortcoming to her advantage?
 
…
 
She wasn’t even sure if Sans’ resets worked like that. But if he was similar to
Chara in that respect, then it must be true. She would have to injure him
somehow to test the theory.
She knew what Sans was trying to do. Beat her down, wear her out, delete her
save points one by one. But each time she died, her enhanced soul burned
bright. Even brighter than the previous term. She would simply become stronger
and Sans would remain the same.
C-could she defeat him? Could she possibly beat such a vicious warrior?…
 
…
 
Frisk’s thoughts were adamant and roiled inside her mind. She continued down
the long alleyway and stumbled around a corner. The side street opened back out
into an unfamiliar wide road. She felt exposed in the open and ran down the
boundary of the street alongside the buildings, leaping over various piles of
rubbish. A surge of unease and panic coil in her heart. Her soul felt tight.
Her determination shivered and made each one of her limbs tremble.
But, she felt something strange…
She felt… an aura.
Cold. Merciless. Sadistic.
A ruthless spirit, as heavy as the fog.
 
Sans. He’s close.
 
Panic coiled within. Her breath shortened and a sudden burst of vertigo made
her head spin.
 
WATCH YOUR BACK! HIDE NOW!
 
Frisk ducked into the first open doorway she came across, another lobby, but it
was not nearly as dark as the others she encountered. There were open windows
along the walls. The ceiling had caved in through one of the corners, exposing
an expanse of sky above. There was a crumbling, wide stretch of stairs at the
far right wall and it led up into a veiled second floor. That wall by the
stairs was the only section of room that did not have windows, and Frisk
galloped through the space towards the corner.
She pressed her back flush against the grimy intersection where two walls met
and stared out into the room. Her back was covered now… there was no way he
could teleport behind her. The section she cowered in was shadowy and obscured,
compared to the rest of the space, and it did a decent job of concealing her.
She could see out the window beside her… out into the street.
She felt fear.
Numbing waves of anxiety.
Yet, her determination dulled the dread and injected just a bit of courage into
her heart.
 
Y-you can do this. Do not be afraid.
 
Frisk lifted the box cutter and pushed her thumb against the side lever,
unsheathing its segmented blade. The moment the shank was revealed, Frisk dug
deep within her soul and extracted her spirit to summon the sword. Burning
lavender solvent spiraled down her arms and encompassed her hands within
seconds. It was still purple… it was still tenacious.
Violet blaze wrapped around her knife and formed a long, glistening cutlass. It
was so much larger than her old weapon. The previous red saber was now a grand
amethyst longsword, thick at the handle and tapering off into a sharp,
hexagonal tip. It was translucent and dripping like thawing liquid glass, and
Frisk could still see her meager box cutter through the sheen.
Power surged from her soul down her arms. So strong. Painfully strong. Her
chest ached. She had grown accustomed to the slight pain that her former sword
used to generate, but this new blade… it was a completely different beast.
Frisk leaned the back of her head into the corner, staring down at the
augmented weapon. She thought she tasted copper at her throat and felt
something wet drip from her nose. It oozed down to her upper lip and she
quickly licked it. Blood. A nosebleed? T-this power. Sans’ power had given her
a nose bleed once before… way back when he had forced her to open the gate in
Waterfall.
Her heart shivered and she felt fearful of the new weapon. This unique magic…
Was it doing more harm than good? But before Frisk could dote on it any longer,
she heard a noise. A sound out in the street.
A deep, reverberating chuckle.
 
Sinister and subtle.
 
And it sounded so close, as if had originated right beside her.
 
…
 
Sans.
 
…
 
F-fuck-
 
Frisk lowered her blade to her feet and sunk towards the floor, slipping inside
the shadows. Her eye darted around the room but it was empty. She gazed up at
the window beside her and stared out into the street. There was… a f-flickering
red hue, right outside. She could not see him but she saw his radiance. It cut
through the vapor in a steady rhythm.
And suddenly, his voice ripped the silence in two.
“c’mon out, kid!” He was shouting. Sans’ taunting timbre echoed against the
buildings. He was on the other side of the wall, somewhere in the street.
“you can’t hide from me!”
 
D-don’t move. Hold your ground. Be ready for him!
 
I-i can’t do this…
I’m so scared-…
 
Be ready to fight!
 
Frisk could barely clutch her sword. Her palms were clammy and soaked in sweat
and her arms shivered like brittle autumn leaves. Her wide eye locked upon the
open window and she watched the crimson radiance flashed brighter, provoking
her, teasing her. But she still could not see him.
“heh…alright… i’ll bite… we can play a little game, if you want.” Sans chuckled
again. His voice seemed to grow louder, as if he was leaning up against the
opposite side of the wall right beside her.
 
N-no.
 
And panic possessed her instantly.
Frisk darted from the spot in the corner and she lunged towards the crumbling
staircase beside her. S-she had to move. She had to run! She couldn’t just wait
around here, like a sitting duck! He was right outside! She had to get away!
 
WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? GO BACK!
 
But the moment Frisk reached the bottom of the stairs, she knew she had made a
mistake leaving the safety of the shadows. There was an abrupt rush of wind and
a blinding flash of blue and Sans teleported directly at the top of the steps,
blocking her path.
O-oh, god… no nonono!!!
“S-sans!” She cried out in shock.
He began to descend down each step, rhythmic and unhurried, one hand in his
pocket and while the opposite raised out towards her. He was no longer wielding
his ax, but Frisk knew he could cause just as much damage without it. His bony
digits shivered and stretched out in her direction. His skull was completely
obscured in the falling shadows of the stairwell and his raised cowl. All Frisk
could see was a perfect circle of fire underneath the hood.
She staggered backwards and cried out again.
“Sans! Stop!…” She was panicking, hyperventilating.
The monster reached the middle of the stairs and stopped in his tracks. A thick
wall of teeth were just barely visible and his smirk advanced across his skull
like an arsenal of kitchen knives.
There was a sudden burst of cobalt. Bright illumination coated his hand and
began to conjugate at each fingertip. The blue was tinted with a faint hint of
lilac… that was HER essence. And suddenly, multiple bone daggers began to
develop in thin air at his command.
“heh.”
Cluster of hovering calcium swiveled in place for a second, and then each one
honed in on her like a missile.
And they torpedoed forward instantly.
 
RUN!
 
Churning adrenaline forced her to act.
Frisk darted to the side just as the bones ruptured through the fog and skirted
past her head. One had been so close that she actually felt the blunted end
graze her ear. But she did not falter. Frisk darted across the room and lurched
through the open door. She staggered back out into the street and sprinted down
the road, running for her life.
 
GOGOGO!!! RUN!
 
She cut through the fog with her blade. Her internal voice screamed inside her
head, but Frisk was too overcome with hysteria to make out the words. God, he
had almost impaled her with a wave of bones! Right through her face! W-was he
behind her!? She quickly glanced over her shoulder as she ran, but the
apocalyptic road was empty. There was no red eye… no bursting blue…
 
GET IN BUILDING! CONCEAL YOURSELF! YOUR BACK IS WIDE OPEN TO ANOTHER ATTACK!
 
B-but there were so many buildings! So many skyscrapers to choose from! And
each one was packed with litter and looked more gruesome than the next.
 
JUST PICK ONE!
 
Frisk came upon a doorway that was not nearly as cluttered as the others. She
veered to the side and ducked through the aperture into a new lobby. Its
interior was dark, embellished with massive piles of trash, with no windows at
all. A strong stench of decay lingered and she thought she recognized dry blood
splatters upon the graffiti-tinted walls, but she had no time to consider it.
Frisk did a quick, frantic scan to check for pulsing red. There was none. She
pressed her back flush against the wall right beside the open doorway.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Every breath was painful. Her heart raced
inside her chest in such turmoil that it made her nauseous. But when she began
to feel that paralyzing fear, her determination quickly cut it down. She held
the blade in both hands and tried her hardest to keep it steady.
Frisk’s eye locked upon the open doorway right beside her, just waiting for
that scarlet pulse to appear.
 
…
 
W-where are you… Show yourself… y-you monster…
 
Be ready for him. Be ready to cut down the first thing that walks through that
door. Be ready if he decides to teleport inside.
 
Y-you are the Manumitter. You are strong!
 
…
 
There were footsteps.
She could hear them.
They were growing… louder… louder.
G-god… he was right outside.
Frisk listened carefully for the rush of converging wind or a taunting chuckle.
But all she could hear was the durable breeze and the thrash of her own
stampeding pulse and those footsteps. She squeezed at the sword, keeping it
lowered, ready to lift it in a moment’s notice. Another trickle of blood
spilled from her nose and seeped down her lips but she ignored it. Her chest
burned and fluttered and seemed to radiate pure stamina, determination, as her
fixed sideways glance never once shifted from the open door.
She was waiting… watching… standing by for that ruby radiance to appear. She
was prepared to cut him down. She was ready to fight him.
 
C-c’mon, you bastard. Come and get me. I’m ready for you.
 
…
 
The footsteps continued to draw near.
Time seemed to fall to its knees.
A putrid breeze spilled through the open door and tousled her chestnut locks
and swept up loose shreds of paper at the floor.
 
Come on…
 
…
 
Enough of this torment… these mind games…
 
…
 
S-show yourself!
 
The sound of footsteps suddenly ceased, but a dim shadow cast along the floor
through the archway. It blocked out the pale light and grew wider and darker
with each passing second. There was definitely something, someone, approaching
the entrance.
And Frisk could make out a slight cobalt hue reflecting off the ground. His
magic.
 
Come on, Sans… Just a little closer…
 
The shadow breached the threshold of the archway.
He was right outside… he was right there.
 
DO IT!
 
Her determination skyrocketed through her soul.
 
DO IT NOW!
 
And Frisk lifted her blade and lurched to the side. An impulsive battle cry
spilled from her throat as she brought the sword down from over her shoulder,
directly through the doorway, slicing the substance that blocked the light in
two.
 
Y-YES!!! YOU GOT HIM!!! YOU GOT HIM!
 
Her blade cut through like butter and there was a bright burst of sapphire and
a deafening clatter against the floor, like pieces of bone falling. Frisk could
barely see through the eruption of soot and blue radiance. Her sword hit the
ground below after slashing through something thick and substantial…
But…
 
W-wait… that’s not-
 
The fog cleared and she could finally make out the object in the doorway.
 
She had not cut him down…
What fell to the floor were not remnants of Sans’ bones.
It was a hovering pile of trash, coiled tight into an intricate tangle. Bottles
and rubber and shards of plastic and cloth and every other nasty piece of
rubbish that contaminated this entire landscape, it all formed together in a
haphazard sphere… and it had been floating in midair directly before the
doorway, falling clumsily to the floor from her attack, still stuck in a
swirling cloud of cerulean.
 
It wasn’t Sans…
 
…
 
It was…
 
A DECOY! MOVE!
 
A thunderous clash of wind burst behind her. Frisk swerved around to face the
lobby interior, just in time to see Sans apparate within the center of the
room. His sneakers skidded along the stone and he lifted his head, sneering
back at Frisk. His teeth clenched in a look so sinister that it turned her
blood to ice. T-that bastard! He had tricked her! He had deceived her again!
“heh.“
H-he was too fast…
He was too powerful!
Sans swiftly lifted his hand and within seconds another ring of blood-red bones
appeared before it. They circled around his wrist for just a moment and
spiraled forward towards Frisk, ready to cut her down, ready to destroy her. H-
he had no weakness… he was a warrior… a demigod!
Frisk stared back at the bones, wide-eyed and trembling and paralyzed, unable
to act.
 
USE YOUR SWORD! BLOCK THEM NOW!
 
But her determination sprung back to life and she immediately lifted her
heliotrope blade in a defensive stance. The bones shot forward in a wave of
deadly arrows and they clashed into the thick side of her blade. But his spears
did not pierce the liquid glass… her soul’s weapon… it held strong. It
deflected the daggers and she quickly cut down the rest of them. Each one fell
to the floor in a loud clatter.
Sans’ smirk shivered and sockets narrowed, but there was not one hint of
concern under his bitter demeanor… not in the slightest. He summoned another
wave instantly.
 
T-there’s more of them!
 
SHIT!
 
“c’mon kid. let’s fight!”
Another influx of cartilage daggers darted for her in seconds. He gave her no
time to recover from the first bluster, he was out for blood. Frisk lunged to
the side, trying to cut through the surrounding wave of bones as she moved. She
blocked as many as she could while simultaneously scampering along the edge of
the room, but the bones were too fast to dodge this time around. They shot
behind her and in front of her and all around. She was limited by the small
space and piles of garbage. There was nowhere to hide.
 
R-RUN BACK TO THE DOOR! GET OUT OF HERE!!
 
And suddenly there was pain. She felt a horrible pain rupture from her left
hand. Frisk saw stars and screamed out. She desperately tried to clutch at her
sword’s handle but… b-but… i-it was slipping from her fingers. There was
another pain, this time through her right shin, and her acute scream echoed
even louder against the lobby walls.
He got her.
A bone skewered through the center of her hand… and there was another… jutting
through the middle of her calve. Frisk staggered back into the wall and cried
and gasped for air. Her perforate hand trembled violently as blood spilled down
each finger. She couldn’t grasp at her sword with her hand in such a state. She
dropped it to the ground and the violet blade vanished instantly.
 
Sans stood in the center of the room, hand raised, ready to summon another
barrage. But instead he clenched his hand into a fist and his sockets narrowed
further. His crimson eye leered down at the box cutter.
“if you think you can use my own power against me, then you got another thing
comin’, buddy.” He growled before ripping his gaze from the fallen sword to
glare back up at her. H-his own power!? What?!? Sans stepped forward. He moved
in towards Frisk slowly, tilting his head to the side like some nervous tick.
But Frisk could barely hear his threats. She cried out from the agony that
rooted inside her palm and leg. The puncture at her shin oozed and bled into
her sneaker while she desperately grasped the impaled bone in her palm with the
opposite hand, trying to pull it free. It was embedded too deep inside her
hand. It would not budge. The pain almost forced her to her knees, but
thankfully the wall kept her upright.
Sans stepped closer and closer, just a couple feet away. He reached the spot
where her weapon lay and brought his sneaker down upon the box cutter, crushing
it under his foot.
“surrender and i’ll make this quick.” He chuckled. “give up now, kiddo, and
i’ll reward you with a sweet release.” And Sans’ smirk expanded as his low
timbre oozed with a degenerate malice. His words were a double-edged sword,
cutting into her determination… and her dignity… in one fell swoop. F-fucking
pervert…
 
R-RUN! GET AWAY! DO WHATEVER YOU CAN!
 
Sans stood right before her, but Frisk darted to the side instantly. She could
barely run with her leg the way it was, but she managed to stumble through the
open doorway, limping back out into the street. Her mind was a cesspool of fear
and dread. Her determination had dwindled due to the pain - the agony
completely masked it. Frisk staggered out into the foggy road as she
frantically searched for another lobby to hide in.
But Sans was not far behind her.
And suddenly the pavement began to shake.
 
N-no- Please! This is not FAIR!
 
Thick maroon bones burst out from underneath the cement, piercing directly
through the earth. They hurdled towards the sky and encircled her within a
makeshift cage. They were so fast, she barely had time to react. Frisk lunged
forward and tried to squeeze through a slight space between the bars, but they
quickly tightened and prevented any escape.
She was trapped… trapped in the bone jail that Sans had created.
She could not even cut it down… her sword… it lay some feet away…
And she was bleeding. Her damaged hand shook and the nerves in her fingers
started to go numb from the devastating impact.
Frisk cried out and shoved her shoulder roughly into one of the scarlet bone
bars, but it held firm. There was no escape. And Sans slowly made his way out
from the lobby, into the street, closer… and closer… only a few yards away.
“gotcha.”
His eye flashed like a flickering light bulb. His grin shivered with depraved
desire and hunger. His shoulders rose and fell rapidly as if he was stuck in a
delirious state of pure adrenaline. And Sans began to lift his hand once more,
preparing the fatal volley.
“i win this round. give up yet, frisk?” He whispered. The sound of her name
rolling off his tongue made her shiver.
Sans’ voice shook just barely from the elevated thrill. He got off to the
bloodshed, to the warfare. The smell of her fresh, raw blood made his soul
pulse. The terror in her lone eye sent a depraved shudder along his fevered
bones. He was enthralled with a desire to possess her in every way possible, no
matter how vile.
 
She was his obsession.
 
And a third upsurge of bones began to materialize around his lifted claw.
Frisk stared back at him through the spaces between the enclosure. Her teeth
clattered violently. She held down pained cries in her lungs. She could barely
stand, but she refused to lean back into his cage’s bones for support. And she
clutched at her bleeding hand and staggered forward.
This monster… he would never stop hunting her… He would continue… until there
was nothing left of either of them…
 
You are the Manumitter.
 
…
 
You will not give in.
 
…
 
You will never give up.
 
…
 
’There is a strength inside your soul that will never wane.’
 
Determination…
 
It was burning.
 
…
 
Purple vigor churned inside her soul and its fortitude grew within her heart.
Frisk narrowed her eye. She clenched her teeth. And she screamed… she screamed
back at him, without a stutter.
“NEVER! I’LL NEVER GIVE IN! EVER AGAIN! I’LL DEFEAT YOU, SANS! I’LL BEAT YO-”
 
But the bones spiraled forward through the cage bars before she could speak
another word.
Dozens of them impaled through her stomach and chest, piercing her internal
organs, cutting her insides to shreds.
Frisk’s eye went wide. She staggered backwards from the force of his attack.
Blood pooled in the back of her throat and it erupted forward as she began to
cough and gag against it.
And as the burst of blue cleared. She could see his face… peering over a lifted
hand.
His eye flashed. His sockets narrowed. His smirk had morphed into a scowl of
rage.
 
Sneering mania… and resentment.
 
And just an inkling… of fear.
 
And Frisk fell to her knees and bled out immediately.
 
 
…
 
……
 
 
………
 
…
 
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
 
……
 
…
 
 
…
 
……
 
 
………
 
…
 
……
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
…
 
There was a small light.
The gentle golden glow, spreading out along the darkness.
She could see it through her closed eyelid.
But Frisk knew what it was before she even opened her eye.
 
A candle.
 
…
 
…
 
You died.
 
He got you.
 
Again.
 
“D-damn it…”
Frisk muttered under her breath. She lifted both hands and pressed her face
into her palms. The horrible stench of decay and garbage was gone. All she
could smell was a dank musk. There was no more rain or rushing wind. Only the
sound of the flickering ember beside her could be heard. And the atmosphere was
actually somewhat warm… but the stone ground felt chilly pressed against her
legs.
Frisk lay at her side upon the floor. She was still and silent. The memories
slowly began to creep up from the depths… Asgore’s castle… Core City… so much
death… so much pain… and Sans… S-sans.
But the recollections were obscured, like trying to peer through a sheet of
running water. Frisk groaned and rolled over onto her stomach and buried her
face into her arms.
 
You need to move…
 
I don’t want to move… I just want to lay here…
 
He is still after you…
 
So tired…
 
He could show up at any second.
 
I just want to sleep…
 
…
 
Frisk felt a familiar shivering pulse in her chest. The substantial warmth had
taken root deep inside her, underneath her breastbone. The way it pounded
against the inside of her ribs… it was as if her soul itself was alive and
bursting with contained vigor.
The blue essence… Was her soul still purple? Even after three resets? Could it
still contain Sans’ magic within?
Frisk rested her forehead against an arm and stared down at the floor. It was
an off-white chalky stone. She slowly tilted her head and finally gazed back at
the candle right beside her, then peered past it towards the wall of the small
enclosure.
She knew this place. She was back in the abandon Hotland village, inside one of
the small adobe houses. The candle she had saved at right before that heinous
wall monster… and…
 
…
 
Muffet…
 
…
 
Muffet was nearby.
Frisk lifted a hand and ran her fingers along her throat. She hissed out as her
graze trailed along the stitches, even fresher than they had been in Core City,
patched underneath a strip of gauze. Her hand slipped down to her chest and she
pressed firmly at the center. She could feel her heart beating, along with her
soul. It felt warm and comforting but at the same time she could not stop the
anguish from building.
And she let out a sigh and stared at the candle as her thoughts drifted along.
Perhaps… she should run back to Muffet. Maybe Muffet could help… Muffet knew
Sans, from way back when. M-muffet… could protect her… right?
Another quivering whimper seeped past her lips. She curled up into herself. She
could hear her internal cognizance urging her to get up and run, but she
ignored it. She was just so tired. Exhausted, physically and mentally.
Even with Sans’ power buried inside her soul, she could not stand a chance
against him. He had already cut off her hands… decapitated her… impaled her
with bones… brutally murdered her countless times.
Her plot to try and injure him was starting to seem impossible. Hell, she could
barely get near him without dying. B-but there has to be a way… there has to
be… Chara’s sneaky tactics… ambushing him… it might be the only chance she had,
despite how sick it made her feel. She did not want to be a copy of Chara. She
was not poisonous vengeance. She was mercy. And benevolence.
Frisk’s thoughts returned to something Sans had said.
 
…
 
‘if you think you can use my own power against me…’
 
… His powers…
 
… Sans’ powers.
 
What had he meant by that? Was he referring to her new lavender pneuma? Her
essence… combined with his. Had it granted her additional abilities besides
summoning a sword and a shield?… It had certainly boosted her determination to
fight, but was there more to it that she had yet to uncover?
 
…
 
Who cares…
 
I just want to sleep… I just want to rest.
 
No! You cannot give in! Please, do not give up! You have to move! You have to
fight!
 
Just stop it…
 
…
 
Frisk closed her eye and rolled over onto her other side, away from the light.
She was too tired to think. Fatigue slithered against the inside of her head
like a creeping vine. All she wanted to do was sleep… sleep… just for a little
while. But the fresh stitches at her neck stung and she lifted one hand and
clasped at the wound with a subtle whimper.
 
…
 
There was a sudden, abrupt sound.
She could hear it underneath her whines.
It echoed against the walls of the cramped room in response to her discomfort.
And Frisk went rigid.
 
…
 
A chuckle.
 
Deep… echoic… brutish… savage.
 
Sans.
 
…
 
O-oh, god…
 
Frisk’s eye shot open.
 
Sans was leaning against the door frame, blocking the only exit. H-he must have
teleported… and she hadn’t even heard him! God, how long had he been watching
her in here!?
One of his claws was lifted and bony fingers wrapped around the side of his
skull and sunk deep within the empty eye socket. His hood remained pulled up
over his head and it cast jagged shadows across his face. His lone crimson eye
flashed in a slow, steady pace and the pinprick pupil dilated to the size of a
marble within the sphere.
Frisk’s eye widened at the sight. She quickly pushed herself up as every muscle
in her body constricted in horror. S-shit… fucking hell- And she was only
moments away from staggering up to her feet, but Sans acted instantly. He
stepped forward and swiftly planted the bottom of his unkempt sneaker against
her chest, pinning her to the floor under his weight.
 
GOD DAMMIT!
 
H-he was so heavy! So heavy, pressing directly into her sternum. God, he was
crushing her! She could barely breathe. Frisk clutched at his thick bony ankle
through his pants with both her hands, fighting against the pinning force.
“you should know by now that you can’t hide from me, manumitter.” Sans’
lackluster words seeped out in a drawl, unhurried and daunting and fastened
with rancor. “… i’m always watching you.” As he spoke he pulled his phalanges
from the emptiness and tapped at the side of his vacant socket… as if alluding
to the fact that he could - somehow - watch her from afar with that devoid
crater.
Sans added more weight into his affixed sneaker which only made Frisk cry out.
She clawed at his leg and pulled at his shoe, using every bit of strength she
had to fight him. I-it hurt… her lungs felt like they were collapsing. She
gasped and whimpered loudly, arching her back, tossing her head against the
stone.
“S-sans… Please!… Stop it! Stop this!” It was so painful, like she was
suffocating underneath a crushing boulder.
But Sans shifted the heel of his sneaker against her and leaned down. He lifted
a claw and grasped at her chin, holding her head still.
“give up, sweetheart?” His smirk softened in the corners and for just a moment
he appeared sympathetic. He stared down at her with heavy-lidded sockets while
frigid fingers began to gently stroke along her trembling jawline. “all of this
can end. there will be no more pain. it’ll all be over… if you just… do as i
say.”
 
…
 
“just let go…”
 
…
 
“and open the gates…”
 
…
 
…
 
“open the gates.”
 
…
 
…
 
Frisk stopped struggling.
The moment she ceased fighting, his weight upon her chest lessened instantly.
Sans… He was using a different tactic now… False compassion. This was all just
another ploy. I-it had to be… wasn’t it?
His fingers feathered along her jaw. They cascaded up towards her cheekbone and
up further against her temple. He brushed her hair back like he so often did,
looping her locks behind one ear, tenderly brushing her bangs from her sweat-
sodden forehead. And Sans finally lifted his foot and sunk down beside her,
blocking out the candle’s light with his imposing form.
Frisk gasped for a breath of air the moment he released the pressure. She
panting heavily as the sudden surge of oxygen gave her a headrush. She stared
up at him with a weary gaze. Her lower lip quivered in fear. But Frisk’s
internal voice of reason was already contriving a plan and each thought clicked
together like clockwork.
 
U-use your wits… Think like Chara… Save yourself.
 
What would Chara do?
Chara…
Chara would…
 
Chara would use deception.
 
Chara would ambush him, once his guard was down.
 
Frisk took in a slow, deep breath through her nose, filling her lungs. She
closed her eye and forced herself to lean in to his caressing palm. She held
her breath for a moment, then released the exhale with a sigh… and she lifted
one hand up and brought it to his claw. Her fingers stroked along his bony
digits, tracing them underneath her fingertips.
And Frisk opened her eye.
And she stared back up into his gaze… and she nodded.
 
For a split second the skeleton’s smirk vanished. He blinked his wide sockets,
staring back at her as if completely taken aback by the sudden surrender. But
then his grin returned and it spread heinously across his skull. He lifted his
opposite hand and cupped both of Frisk’s cheeks in his palms. His eye flashed
rapidly… so violently bright… it was blinding… and Frisk could see the debased
depravity and excitement that lay dormant underneath his features. He was
excited… he was delighted, and so, so eager to have her under his control once
more. His soul began to fluctuate rapidly underneath his shirt. She could see
its cobalt hue flickering like a uncontrollable flame, denoting his shameless
triumph over her determination.
 
Sick bastard…
 
“that’s a good girl… see how easy that was?” Sans’ voice actually shivered with
deranged elation. “g-good girl…”
His words made her skin crawl, but Frisk controlled her emotions. She forced
another nod and closed her eye again, straining to keep her expression as
hollow as possible. She didn’t want to look at him…But she could not block out
the feeling of his cold forehead pressing against hers… And the sticky beaded
viscus of azure perspiration that exuded from his skull and smeared along her
fevered skin. She could see his red flashing glow through her eyelid, his skull
only a few inches away from her face.
But while Sans silently relished in his conquest, Frisk inched her free hand
down to her pocket. She slipped her fingers inside as slowly as possible and
she felt it, her box cutter. Tucked away, concealed deep within.
Her sword.
 
Her salvation.
 
Frisk wrapped her fingers around the utility knife’s handle slowly… slowly… so
slow and so careful. Her heart was ramming against the inside of her chest… her
determination was churning with a will to fight him… but she was still… afraid.
Although Sans was too distracted to feel her subtle movements. He continued to
nuzzle his forehead against her, stroking her cheeks and combing her hair back.
And suddenly she felt his tongue against her cheek and it made her whimper and
flinch into the floor. Frisk opened her eye only to see Sans’ sapphire
translucent tongue hanging out past his canines, dripping with saliva.
 
He really thinks he’s won this, huh?
 
The lukewarm syrup seeped down her jaw. Frisk held another horrified mewl in
her throat and Sans leaned forward again and dragged his tongue across her
tempting flesh a second time.
 
DO IT NOW!!
 
Sans…
 
YOU HAVE A WINDOW TO STRIKE HIM! HURRY!
 
I can’t… I can’t give in to you.
 
I won’t.
 
Blazing purple flames erupted from the center of her chest instantly. It burst
forward in blinding rays and ran down her arm and wrapped around her hand,
still buried in her pocket. Frisk immediately pulled the utility knife out and
she summoned her sword in seconds. The liquid glass saber stretched out in the
pale light and Frisk brought the sword down into Sans’ side, into his shoulder.
Sans saw the bright burst at her chest and rolled off Frisk to the side,
dodging the full brunt of the blow just in time, but he was not quickly enough
to evade the sneak attack entirely. The soul sword’s tip sawed through his
thick padded jacket sleeve, tearing the fabric and cutting into his upper arm,
leaving a deep laceration in his humerus bone. Frisk saw his bone through the
tear in his sleeve… and much to Frisk’ surprise, the bone began to bleed dark
red.
Sans stood and staggered away from her. He snarled loudly as he clutched at the
injury.
Every scrap of his elation and triumph vanished.
Frisk lurched up to her knees. She grasped at the sword in both hands, holding
out out in front of her, panting hard. Her eye locked on Sans as she watched
him stumble and cowered in the doorframe. His shoulders slumped forward and he
was breathing so quickly, grabbing at the fresh wound with one claw to stop the
bleeding.
Sans slowly lifted his head. His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed… his scowl
dripped with pure frenzy… and his eye shivered in its alcove. He was furious.
“y-you… little-” He spat out.
The tone of his voice was… frightening… authentic outrage. Frisk had only heard
him speak in such a way once before… back when she had murdered Papyrus. And it
made her stomach twist upside down, but she desperately tried to steady her
trembling hands and held the sword firmly before her.
She glared back at her tormentor through the translucency of her blade, ready
to cut him down should he lunge forward.
 
YES! YOU GOT HIM! HE’S BLEEDING! DO YOU SEE THAT!?
 
Although her voice of reason was rejoicing, Frisk could not help but tremble
with dread.
Sans’ soul began to burn underneath his shirt. His cobalt essence flashed and
his red eye became small and constricted into the size of a meager golf ball.
He lifted his uninjured arm swiftly and the floor began to quake with sharp
tremors beneath her.
 
S-SHIT! MOVE!
 
Frisk ripped her gaze from Sans and stared down at the rippling floor. O-oh,
crap… oh, shit… another cage!? She shifted on her knees and attempted to roll
onto her shoulder to the side, but two sharp bones had already shot up through
the floor.
Two bones… spearing directly through her kneeling shins and thighs, puncturing
both limbs, locking her in place against the ground.
 
O-oh… Dear, god… no-
 
Mind-shattering agony shot up through Frisk's legs. The pain burned white hot,
like her limbs had been doused with liquid molten iron. Torment so severe that
it did not even generate a quick relief of endorphins, only anguish. And Frisk
succumb to the crippling agony and she screamed at the top of her lungs. She
dropped her sword to the floor and stared down at both her skewered thighs. No…
God, it hurts!!! She lifted her trembling hands towards the bones, but she was
in too much pain to even attempt to pull them from her kneeling spiked limbs.
Sans watched her from where he stood in the doorway. He was still scowling. His
expressions oozed with malice. He took a step forward and began to move in
towards her. Sans kicked her fallen utility knife to the side of the room. He
ripped a bloodied claw from his fresh injury and quickly clutched at her hair,
yanking her head back to stare down into her pained expression.
“heh… don’t fret, kiddo.” He forced out a chuckle and tightened the painful
grasp. S-sick bastard… “i know you’ll come around… it’s only a matter of time.”
His painful hold at her hair was nothing. She writhed against the floor as her
punctured thighs bled out and created an expansive puddle of dark, glossy ruby
underneath them.
The pain was too much. She couldn’t stop screaming. Every thought she had
turned to slush and Frisk gagged and cried and fought against a pain-induced
nausea. W-what the hell had she been thinking… Chara couldn’t defeat Sans with
ambush tactics such as that… and neither could she. And Frisk slowly lifted her
shaking hands and clutched at his pantlegs, the only thing in reach to hold on
to.
Sans caressed the side of her face and his soul burst bright blue once more.
The floor began to quiver again and another bone spear erupted from the ground
directly behind her. It rocketed up like a bamboo shoot and curved inward and
the bone pierced directly through the middle of Frisk’s abdomen, cracking her
ribcage from the force.
 
G-god… damn…
 
He was ruthless…
His cruelty… nothing else could compare.
How could she have ever once thought that he was capable of change?…
 
He was a monster.
 
Frisk began to cough up thick globs of dark blood and stomach acid, retching
against his sneakers. Her legs had gone numb. The pain now moved up to her
abdomen where the third bone spear skewered through. But Sans crouched down
immediately and grabbed at her chin, roughly holding her head still. She weakly
stared back into his red flashing sphere.
Her eye had already begun to glaze over. She was fading fast… fading from the
bloodloss.
But she could still hear his voice… a shivering growl of mania… twining around
inside her clouded head.
“you’ve surrendered before… and you’ll do it again. you’ve stepped out of line
too many times now… no more. this is the last time. you hear me? the last one.”
Sans whispered.
And in a split second his scowl morphed into a sparse, dangerous sneer. And he
cupped his hands at either side of her ashen face and leaned his skull in
close. Frisk’s eye widened slightly as he parted his teeth and began to drag
his azure tongue back up along her jawline. He lapped up the blood that spilled
from her lips, desperate for a fresh taste, completely bloodsick.
“S-sans…” Frisk slurred out. Her body began to shut down. Her muscles gave way.
She slumped forward into his grasp, staring ahead blankly with a hollow gaze.
She could feel his tongue… sliding across her blood-soaked lips… slipping down
underneath her chin… to the front of her throat…
Her vision faded into black, but she could still feel him…
Every sharp apex of his teeth caressed her neck like little razor blades…
digging inside slowly…
H-he was… biting her throat… his teeth plunged deep within her pulsing flesh.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see. She was numb from the neck down. All
she could taste was blood and vomit and she felt another sharp pain against the
side of her throat. Her body yanked forward as he ripped a chunk of flesh from
her throat.
She could still feel his fingers…
Sans’ fingers… caressing her cheeks so softly while he began to masticate her
neck. His slender phalanges were hot and sticky with blood. They held her face
still.
He was ripping into her throat, devouring her muscles and tendons and tissue.
Until she finally felt nothing at all.
 
…
 
……
 
………
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
…
 
…
 
……
 
………
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
It was hot.
 
And so difficult to breathe… boiling… suffocating.
 
Sweat seeped down her temples and along the nape of her neck. Beads of
perspiration decorated her flesh, making her hoodie damp at the small of her
back.
 
G-god, it’s hot…
 
The stench of sulfur made her sick. It was almost worse than Core City.
And Frisk slowly opened her eye.
At first all she could see was red. Bright scarlet illumination ran across her
gaze, and for a moment she thought she was peering directly into Sans’ eye. Her
heart skipped a beat and she let out a whimper and immediately jolted backwards
into a cluster of rocks. But her vision slowly came back into focus and she
could see her surroundings.
The scarlet was not from Sans’ eye. Sans was nowhere in sight. The red came
from the lava that ran across the ground below in irregular, uneven rivers.
Thick crimson solvent spread out across the stone like tree roots and covered
the entire cavern floor below, turning the cave bright red.
 
It was Hotland.
She was back…
Back in Hotland.
 
N-no…
 
You’ve gone back, all the way to Hotland.
 
No… NO!!
 
He’s not going to stop. Not until you either open that gate… or he decides to
just end all of this…
 
God dammit!
 
Will you give in to him now?…
 
…
 
Is it really worth it?…
 
…
 
Frisk scampered up to her feet and stood over the candle. She had reset upon
the risen rock balcony that emerged out from the white ruins. Her mind was
racing and she grasped at the front of her hoodie and quickly scanned the area
below, examining each landmark.
Stairs… rocks… lava…
This place…
She often saw this section of Hotland in her nightmares.
Sans had killed her here once before. She could never forget those stairs… or
the cluster of ruins… or the terrible, sweltering heat as he cut off her arm
and snapped her opposite wrist into pieces.
Each recent memory began to swell inside her head like a tidal wave. They were
all coming back, much quicker than before, one by one. But through the
recollections of death and horror, Sans’ words stuck out the most.
 
'you’ve stepped out of line too many times now… no more. '
 
Oh, god. What was he planning?!
 
’this is the last time. you hear me? the last one.’
 
She had to move. She had to run!
 
…
 
You need to get out of here. Please get out of here.
 
…
 
Frisk’s heart and soul stammered simultaneously. She staggered forward towards
the top of the thin stony staircase and shoved her hand in her pocket, pulling
out her box cutter. Thank god she still had her sword. Thank god she had stolen
it from Sans, way back when he forced her to save at this candle.
She darted down the stairs without hesitation. She jumped to the bottom step
and swiftly flicked her thumb against the utility knife lever, extending the
blade from its sheath. For some reason she did not feel nearly as worn down.
She was still exhausted and terrified, but the determination she felt in her
soul was bursting.
Frisk closed her eye and took in a deep breath and she summoned her soul’s
power. Bright purple wildfire burst out from her chest and turned the entire
space lavender. The flames encompassed her arm until it reached her meager
weapon and transformed it into a brilliant, liquescent longsword of crystal
glass. Amethyst embers licked up from the blade and danced high.
The sword was… quite impressive. Frisk could barely look at it without
squinting. And it was so much brighter than it had been back in Core City… as
if the multitude of resets were only adding to its strength. Though despite its
beauty, the weapon made her chest ache. T-the pain… it hurt… it felt like… like
this new power she had acquired was too much for her soul to take. Like it was
trying to burst out from the small capsule… and it was causing the walls of her
pneuma to splinter and crack.
 
Don’t worry about that right now. You need to focus on getting out of here
alive!
 
Her inner voice was right. She could not dote on the pain. She had to prepare
herself for another attack. Sans would not go easy on her this time around. She
knew that he was raging and his resentment was at a peak, due to her failed
sneak attack… She had to be ready to fight.
Frisk took in a deep breath and began to walk through the crumbling cluster of
dilapidated walls and columns. She lifted her blade out and squinted through
its translucence at the other side. She held the sword in one hand and kept her
opposite arm lifted, ready to call forth her shield if need be.
It was so hot… stifling. She had forgotten just how horrible Hotland was. Frisk
took a step away from the stairs and headed towards the open archway to her
side. She stood some feet away from it, peering through the opening out into
the middle of the cavern. Her eye studied over each lava river. Scotched
shivering vapors created optical illusions in the air and ascended up towards
the cave’s towering ceiling.
She had no plan. None whatsoever. All she knew was… she desired freedom. She
had to break free from this horrible hell. She wanted to live.
But as Frisk peered through her sword’s sheen back at the lava, she felt a
prickle of fear collect within her soul.
Sans… Where was he? Was he watching her right now? He could be anywhere…
Anywhere at all.
 
…
 
“SANS!” Frisk screamed out at the top of her lungs. “I KNOW YOU ARE OUT THERE!”
She grit her teeth and tilted her head, listening to the sound of her voice
bounce off the stone. Then she listened for a response.
 
…
 
Nothing.
 
…
 
“SHOW YOURSELF!”
 
…
 
It was quiet.
 
…
 
Completely silent.
 
…
 
All she could hear was the subtle froth of bubbling molten lava.
And she let out a sigh.
“Dammit…” Frisk adjusted her grip on the sword’s hilt. She glared back at the
lava rivers and finally took a cautious step forward towards the archway. Maybe
he was still back at the last candle. Maybe her attack upon his arm injured him
too much to teleport. Wouldn’t that be wonderful… If Sans could not teleport,
she might actually stand a chance against him. That ability was unbeatable… it
was unfair. No wonder he was a warrior. With the combination of his strength
and drive and various skills, he certainly was dangerous.
Frisk stood before the archway. She shuffled her sneakers into the sizzling
black gravel, staring idly ahead. A brief vision of Sans flashed in her mind…
back in Asgore’s castle… before they had reached the last gate… when he had
gazed down at her with a look of pure distress and heartache… and sorrow. His
shoulders had trembled. He had looked so… so remorseful.
 
Did he… regret his actions? All the pain he had inflicted upon her?
 
…
 
“Sans…” She sighed out to herself and finally took a slow step forward through
the archway.
 
…
 
“heh.”
 
Her heart sunk to her stomach at the sound.
 
A chuckle.
 
Sans.
 
SHIT! HE’S RIGHT THERE!!
 
Frisk jumped backwards just in time to lift her sword and block his oncoming
attack.
Sans… he had been hiding right behind the wall on the other side of the
doorway, just waiting for her. This entire time, he was just w-waiting for her!
 
THAT BASTARD!
 
The monster took a swift sidestep forward and brought his ax down from over his
head, clashing the sharpened blade directly into the side of Frisks parrying
sword. His force was immense… so strong… too strong… and she quickly wrapped
both her hands around the handle and began to deflect each one of his severe
blows.
There was a violent eruption of purple sparks as he cleaved into her sword
again, and again, and again, so violently, knocking her backwards into the
enclosure of the ruins. He was brutal and savage and brought his weapon down
rapidly. Both his claws wrapped around the wooden handle, using all of his
upper body strength to cut into Frisk’s sword, attempting to slice her weapon
in two. And as he brought his hatchet down with more fortitude than the
previous incursion, he growled and his eye flashed and his sickening smirk
widened in a fever of fury.
“a-haha!- sharp intuition there, kiddo!”
G-god, he was laughing. He burst out in cruel amusement while he brought the
stained ax down with meticulous accuracy.
His strength knocked her back… back inside the ruins… up against the wall. The
familiar wall where he had murdered her once before.
But despite each one of his devastating strikes, her sword held strong. Every
time the cleaver collided into her saber, it would detonate with a burst of
lavender embers and simply glow brighter.
He couldn’t break it down. He couldn’t destroy it.
 
Her sword was impassable.
 
And Sans finally jumped backwards and brought his ax down in one hand. He took
in heavy breaths and his smirk began to quiver in the corners. His sockets
narrowed back at her. She could see the turbulent fury he kept concealed under
that sardonic grin. She knew he was enraged.
Frisk took a step away from the wall, panting and gasping for a breath. Every
single one of her limbs trembled ferociously. She furled her sword into one
hand and lifted the opposite, calling forth her shield in an instant. Bright
lavender liquid spiraled down her arm and formed a barrier at her open palm.
Sword and shield… like a medieval knight. Frisk held her brilliant
accouterments out before her in a defensive stance, ready to take him on.
Her lone hazel eye reflected purple sheen. She leered back at him through messy
bangs. Fresh blood trickled down across her lips from another mild nosebleed,
which she ignored.
Sans’ eye darted from her face to her weaponry. And for just a moment, his true
emotions shown through the veil. A look of anxious ire. She was using his
power. The power he had given her inadvertently. It remained within her soul
and he could not break it down.
Had he expected it to fade away, like it had done before? Had he expected this
purple essence of his to be gone by now?
He almost looked worried.
 
COME ON! STRIKE HIM!
 
But Frisk’s determination merged with her voice of will and she found the
courage to lunge from the wall and take the offence this time. She gripped onto
the blade’s hilt and brought it down as Sans sprinted forward and collided into
her weapon. She held her shield out, blocking a multitude of his blows while
simultaneously swiping at his chest and skull with the sword. He dodged each
one of her clumsy invasions, or rebuked them with his ax.
As Frisk fought him with everything she had, her eye caught a quick glimpse of
his arm… and she saw… a bandage. The spot where she had cut through his sleeve
was now wrapped up with a thick strip of blood-stained gauze.
Even after the reset his injury remained.
 
… it remained.
 
It remained!!!!
 
The sight caused her heart leap with a surge of hope and Frisk actually let out
a laugh. Her abrupt chuckle caused Sans to grind his canines into each other.
He violently cut into her shield over and over in multiple quick blows, to no
avail.
He jumped backwards again towards the archway, creating some distance between
them. He forced another grin and wiped blue perspiration off his forehead.
“don’t you think ‘yer gettin’ ahead of yourself there, kid?”
She was putting up a good fight. Whether it was from the heat of Hotland or her
onslaught, she was making him sweat. Her soul shivered so fast from adrenaline
that she could barely taste the copper fluent that had been collecting in the
back of her throat. Sans’ arm was still bleeding. The resets did not affect
him, just like Chara. She might have a chance. She might actually have a
chance!!
“I’ll NEVER give in to you, Sans! EVER AGAIN!” She screamed back at him. She
was moments away from lunging forward once more, but…
There was an abrupt bright burst.
A bright burst of blue.
 
Sans soul began to thrash underneath his shirt. It burned so bright, an azure
supernova, and suddenly a terrifying slew of transparent cobalt tendrils
erupted from behind him, coiling around in the air overhead like a hoard of
thick serpents.
 
W-what the hell-
 
Frisk’s eye went wide. She stared up at the flexing tendrils in horror. They
were similar to Chara’s, but they were blue and ethereal… and there were dozens
of them. Slithering around in the air, burning bright and translucent like
solidified vapor. S-she had seen this magic before… He had used a magic similar
to this when he bound her hands and legs… and when he covered her mouth so long
ago in his house before he first laid eyes upon her soul. But this time the
magic looked terrifying. She knew they weren't just fumes… those tendrils… they
were alive… a physical configuration of his soul… and dangerous.
 
And Sans vanished.
 
The blinding blue evaporated in thin air.
 
He was gone without a trace.
 
…
 
W-what…?
 
MOVE!!!
 
There was a rapid volley of rushing wind and Sans reappeared behind her.
 
T-THAT CHEATER!
 
“heh-”
He swung his ax forward, aiming at the center of her back. For being so large
he was particularly agile on his feet, swift and accurate, and he furled his
cleaver inches away from his mark.
But Frisk dove forward just in time, barely missing the fatal onrush to her
spine.
Her head was spinning. She felt sick from the exertion of power and melting
heat. Frisk took a hasty sidestep to spin around and face him, but something
wrapped around her arm, and it wasn’t a claw. It felt cold and soft and it
squeezed at her bicep so tightly that it cut off the flow of magic from her
soul to her hand, and in turn her shield vanished instantly.
 
FUCK!! CUT IT OFF! GET AWAY FROM HIM!
 
One of Sans’ skulking tendrils had shot forward and latched around her arm. It
began to yank her backwards into him. Oh god!!! NO NO NONO!! Frisk cried out
and she attempted to swerve and lunge to the side, bringing her sword down to
cut the tentacle in two, but another had already hooked onto her opposite arm.
It hitched her hand backwards and painfully pinned her wrist against her back.
 
Frisk screamed out, desperately trying to keep a hold on her sword. Just like
before, the ringlet cut off her magic surge and the purple cutlass flickered
and faded, morphing back into an ordinary knife before she dropped it to the
floor.
 
N-no… fucking hell! God fucking dammit!!!
 
The tendrils constricted around both her arms and yanked her backwards, pulling
Frisk into Sans’ chest within seconds.
 
This is… bad.
 
The chilled vapor serpents kept her hands pinned behind her. She could not
fight. She could do nothing but scream. And she could see… Sans’ red eye…
flashing vibrantly out of the corner of her gaze overhead. His magic kept her
bound and freed up both his claws. He lifted his ax over her shoulder and
roughly brought it up around the front of her, lurching the grimy wooden handle
painfully underneath her chin and into her neck.
 
D-dammit!
 
Sans held his hatchet’s shaft against her, blocking off her oxygen, making her
writhe and thrash and toss her head into his chest.
“C-chara was right! You are a CHEATER!” Frisk screamed through frantic gasps.
She felt his body flinch at her words. His low growls resonated in response and
she could see his expressions start to shift as he leaned his head over her
shoulder.
“shut your mouth…” Sans growled out into her ear. He added more pressure into
her throat to stifle her words… yet they continued to spill out regardless.
“Y-you’re a cheater! Nnhh- You’re a r-rapist! And a-… a MURDERER!” And as Frisk
screamed out as loud as she could, she began to cough up the blood that had
been building in her throat during the duration of their skirmish.
But much to her surprise, Sans roughly pulled the ax handle away from her neck.
His weapon vanished in a sudden swirl of cobalt vapor. He lifted both his claws
and clutched at either side of her head, holding her skull back against him
like a clasping wrench… and his words began to spill out like corrosive acid,
coating her determination in a gallon of sludge.
“you don’t know anything. you know NOTHING of this world!” He was raging. He
was screaming out against her ear and clawing at her scalp with sharpened
talons. “you know nothing of our struggle… you have no idea what chara did… and
you certainly do not know me!”
H-he was unraveling.
But Frisk clenched every muscle in her body. She thrashed against his binding
serpents and clutching grasp.
“I know what you are-” She hissed through her teeth and felt him jolt again.
 
Stop talking!!
 
His flickering hue vanished. She could no longer see it out of the corner of
her eye. The crimson orb dissolved into nothing and he leered down at her with
two wide empty sockets… terrifying and ghastly… twitching at the lower lids.
And before Frisk could utter another word, Sans shifted his stance, lurched
forward, and slammed her roughly into the wall.
 
T-this is… bad… This is bad-
 
Frisk cried out. He kept her chest pinned forcefully into the wall with all his
weight. He was so heavy… and she couldn’t even fight him off! She was being
squished between his body and the rocks. His tendrils had wrapped her limbs,
restricting any movement. They coiled around her biceps and forearms and down
to her exposed wrists. The cold, thick, vaporous substance made the faint hairs
at the back of her neck stand on end.
She knew Sans had the ability to control his magic in this way, but she had no
idea just how powerful and abundant it could be. And Frisk’s stomach began to
churn up in tight knots as she felt some of his magic ropes move down her body…
down to her thighs and ankles. S-shit… T-this… This bastard- The tentacles
coiled around the middles of her thighs, squeezing into her flesh. Another
strip of magic lurched up from behind towards her throat. Sans’ controlled
magic bound and constricted her like compact cables. He simply watched it all
unfold with a shivering smirk.
The skeleton ran his fingers through her hair tenderly. His forehead pressed
into the wall and he stared down at her, soaking in each one of her terrified
gasps. One tendril in particular began to wrap around her neck and squeeze
tight. She threw her head back into his chest again and met his overhead gaze.
Fear and dread and pure heart-wrenching panic dripping from her complexion. His
eyes were two voided craters… as dark as velvet night… chilling her to the
bone.
Sans released his winding digits from her locks and slipped his hands down her
shoulders… down her waist… finally locking them painfully around her hip bones.
 
Crap… fuck… g-god dammit! No-nonono!!! H-he gonna-
 
Frisk stopped struggling for a split second. H-his hands… they were groping
her. Frisk’s eye widened. Her teeth clenched. She held back a scream. The blue,
wispy binds that held her tight began to repress her trembles. Her heart was
beating so fast… so fast. She thought she might pass out at any second.
“… you’ll open that last gate… by any means necessary…”
Sans’ words. They were whispered and harsh, held under bated breath. His voice
shivered. It trembling with excitement… or wrath… she couldn’t even tell
anymore. He stared her down with those lifeless sockets. His deplorable smirk
spread wide across his visage like the most heinous demon from hell.
 
“i won’t fail again…”
 
Frisk began to hyperventilate.
She tore her gaze from the monster and pressed her cheek firmly into the warm
stone wall. A thick layer of tears welled up in here eye and spilled down her
cheek. Do s-something… Do anything! She began to dig deep into her chest,
searching for her magic, extracting it from her soul. The purple embers erupted
from her core and began to run down her arms, but… the moment they reached his
binding tendrils her determination shot back inside her soul.
 
F-FUCK!!!
 
She cried out and tried again… and again… and again… and her lavender ribbons
of light thrashed out from her breastbone only to project back inside, each
time more painful than the last. Her head started to go numb. She felt blood
dripping from both nostrils. She could taste a thick layer of copper against
her tongue.
“come on now, little dove… you’ll hurt yourself if you keep that up.” Sans
purred. The tendril that had been squeezing around her neck began to inch its
tapered tip along her chin and trail across her blood-stained lips.
Frisk coughed and jerked her head backwards away from it. God… She knew… deep
in the pit of her stomach… that he was planning something to top the rest. He
couldn’t keep killing her. That tactic was going nowhere. So would he torture
her instead?… Or… r-rape her again? W-would he honestly do such a thing? Of
course he would.
She felt sick and held back a dry heave and began to frantically shake her
head.
But Sans merely snickered. His sharp phalanges slipped underneath the bottom of
her hoodie and wrapped around her bare hips. His fingers lightly scratched her
skin and he pressed them into the soft fleshy area underneath the protruding
hipbone. And he whispered…
“… if you thought i was rough before… well, heh…”
 
Frisk’s heart stammered. Her breath caught in her throat.
 
Nononono-… T-there has to be something you can do-… ANYTHING!-
 
And then… she felt something… frigid… slithering… slipping underneath her
hoodie to join his hands. But they did not stop at her midriff. Four cold
tendrils began to inch up her bare navel. One wrapped around her waist while
three more climbed her torso and kneaded into her breasts, slipping underneath
her bra to press into her naked flesh.
D-dear god… they were cold… and wet. She could feel their pulsing movements,
like living vipers… Sans’ essence in the form of perverse serpents.
“will you open the gate?” Sans snarled through his teeth. He watched her writhe
as his tethers began to explore every inch of her. They pressed into her pink
areolas and slipped up underneath her underarms and wrapped around her budding
peaks.
Frisk’s mind was a blank slate of fear, but she still heard his words… clear as
day… piercing through her abandoned cognizance.
 
P-please… Think about what you are doing… Is this really worth it?!?
 
IS IT!?
 
Her inner voice had lost control of her courage and it was begging her to give
in. It was panicking. But… she had come so far. And she knew now… that she
could harm him… That there was a chance, just a fragment of hope. There was
still a chance… to free herself… and prevent the unleash of Sans’ hell upon her
world.
 
She couldn’t give in. She couldn’t give up.
 
Not yet… Not yet.
 
You won’t beat me, Sans…
 
“well?…" He asked again.
 
…
 
“No…” She hissed.
Sans’ smirk twitched, like he was completely aghast by her decision. But his
astonishment was fleeting and he closed both of his vacant sockets and his
claws clamped upon her waist.
 
…
 
…
 
There was a long moment of brutal silence.
His grasp tightened.
His smirk strained and tremored across his skull.
And after the lingering hesitation, he spoke in a cold snarl.
 
“… i believe this will change your mind… manumitter.”
 
…
 
Two thick tendrils began to creep up from her thighs. They slipped underneath
the bottom of her shorts and inched up towards her lower abdomen underneath the
fabric, like a pair of prowling parasites creeping beneath loose, rotting
flesh.
Frisk quickly jerked her head down and stared at the snaking bulges under her
clothing. S-shit-
“S-sans-!” She cried, but before she could even attempt to scream again, the
rope at her throat shot up and wrapped around her jaw, covering her mouth
underneath its substantial girth. Blue sheen blinded her vision and Frisk
simply tossed her head from side to side, taking in heavy frantic breaths
through her nose. But she couldn't speak… she couldn’t scream!
Sans’ spirits were unrelenting and seething with venom. He controlled their
every movements. The tendrils underneath her shorts began to inch inward…
between her trembling thighs… and one lurched up behind her and nudged in
between her rear’s taut cheeks through her underwear.
 
O-oh, god… oh, hell… Oh, no… No no nonono! D-do you know what he might do!?!?
STOP THIS!!! STOP IT BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE! JUST SURRENDER!
 
Frisk opened her mouth to beg, but the thick coil kept her words trapped
within. She could not scream or cry or speak, all she could do with release
muffled whimpers into the cobalt mouthgag.
And while his tentacles caressed every inch of her flesh underneath her
clothing, Sans shifted his claws down her abdomen. His fingertips slipped
underneath the waistband of her shorts and he leaned his skull forward further,
pressing the shivering wall of machete-sharp incisors flush against the back of
her head.
His claws traveled lower, joining the fondling tendrils. Sans’ bones inched
beneath the front of her clinging panties and began to graze across her soft
bare pubic mound. His touch was like corrosive acid, sharp… abrasive… Frisk
arched her back, but she could do nothing to stop him. Nothing. And as Sans
harrowed her silken skin, he began to speak.
“let me tell you a story, kiddo. way back when… before chara came along…”
 
H-he was speaking… but his hand wouldn't stop-
 
Bony talons slipped between her quivering thighs, tracing her labia. Each
muscle in Frisk’s body stiffened immediately. She could barely comprehend what
he was saying. His sharp digits began to rake across her sensitive flesh,
digging into her silky folds like iron nails. His touch did not extract honey…
no, instead it distilled terrible pain. Frisk let out a muffled scream into the
gag at her mouth. He was scraping her flesh, creating deep bleeding abrasions.
“back when i was a valiant warrior of the underground, the only thing i ever
thought about was my next day off…”
Sans purred out his words, cascading from above. His lower timber was placid…
unhurried… almost gentle - a sickeningly stark contrast to his obscene actions
- the torture that he was inflicting upon her. His nails raked across her mound
repeatedly, clawing at her silky vulva, digging into her flesh, cutting up her
tissue repeatedly.
“days off… or lunch breaks… or the weekends…”
He chuckled and continued his anecdote. His fingers curved deeper into her
flesh, making her bleed profusely. It was so painful, like sweltering knives
dragging across her most susceptible area. He clawed at her pussy and left
heinous bloody scratch marks all along her little mound and down her velvety
lips… and she could feel the hot, ruby viscous smearing across his fingers and
smudging between her groin and inner thighs.
Sexual torture. Cruel sadism. Humiliation.
 
H-He was a monster.
 
“you see, i could have cared less about opening that final gate…”
Three blood-soaked fingers slipped between her lacerated slit. They pressed
against her tight, quivering entrance. Frisk’s head was vacant. She was numb
from the neck up, but every inch of her body below ached in agony. She could
practically smell her own blood, sweet copper, but Sans just continued his
narrative and the torture.
“i mean, papyrus was safe… and i was already free. so why should i care about
the rest of ‘em?”
His middle digit began to push inward… pressing her open around it. It hurt… it
hurt! Pain roiled up through her abdomen. His fingers were like spikes of
untreated granite. The coarse texture rubbed against the walls of her buttery
soft heat. And he did not hesitate to add a second finger.
“… but while all of my associates were busy toiling over the door… or spending
sleepless nights researching a way to crack its seal… “
Sans slipped both his fingers inside her, pushing them deep within, up to the
middle of his knuckles. He forced them past her tight, quivering muscles as
Frisk began to sob. Her chest rose and fell in a frantic rhythm. Her stomach
frothed with colliding butterflies. Her heart and soul pulsed as fast as a
whirlpool. Sans raked his fingertips along the inside of her recesses. He
punctured her internally, grinding his sharpened fingertips so deep… too deep…
making her bleed from the inside out.
 
H-he had been so careful not to do this back in Asgore’s castle. It was as if
he was doing this on purpose… to taint that forlorn memory… to rub salt in her
open wounds…
 
“while my colleagues were all so diligent… well… i was simply lazing around in
snowdin… heh.”
He chuckled and glanced down at each one of her pained expressions with hollow
sockets. His bones began to heat up, soaking in her sweltering temperature. He
roughly shoved the two digits in deeper and scissored his fingers apart,
stretching her open around them only to slip within even further, puncturing
and mutilating her tender insides. And he added a third finger.
H-his bones… so thick… grinding inside all the way to the base of his knuckles.
Stretching her tight insides apart around him. He began to roll his digits in
deep and fast, fingerfucking her velveteen insides until she dripped ruby red
upon them, bleeding brutally.
“but it was only after i lost everything…”
His smirk faded in the corners. His low, echoic tone sunk even lower. He was
ripping at her sensitive walls, tearing up Frisk’s raw depths in a cruel
endeavor… a wicked effort to extract submission. She was bleeding internally.
It spilled down all three of his concealed bones like molten lead, down to the
palm of his hand… down her thighs, soaking her shorts and panties scarlet.
It was so excruciating, like he was impaling her with a red hot knife… or
fucking her with multiple scalpel heads. Frisk shut her eye and pressed her
forehead against the stone wall and sobbed from the pain, praying for the end.
But Sans simply wrapped his opposite arm around her waist. His tendrils
tightened upon her limbs. He held her back into chest so tight that she could
feel his shivering soul stammering against her spine.
“… only after i lost it all… did i realize-”
But his words trailed off into a painful silence, like he could barely come to
terms with the memory of his own failure. His cruel grin had gone by the
wayside. His teeth clenched together in a pained scowl…
Frisk weakly glanced up at him through a wall of tears.
She could see his misery emerging from beneath the caustic walls he had
created.
His torture stilled for a moment.
And Sans let out a heavy breath against the top of her head.
“but it’s not too late… “
 
…
 
“you are destined to open that final door.”
 
…
 
“fates cannot be changed, sweetheart.”
 
The red hellfire in his right socket finally began to return. Sans stared down
into her pained gaze and slowly his tendril around her jaw relinquished and
slithered back down to her neck. Frisk gasped and cried in pain the moment her
mouth was freed. She sobbed and bit at her lower lip to try and fight against
the agony. Turmoil spread out within her stomach to her lower abdomen. It hurt
so terribly, it burned… like her insides had been saturated with battery acid.
Sans lifted his free claw and grasped her jawline, forcing her to look back
into his lidded sockets.
“ready to give in now, frisk?”
She leaned the back of her head into his chest, staring up at him with a vacant
gaze. His tormenting fingers twisted around and extracted another cry, but his
movements turned slow. He was not jabbing his talons inside her devastate womb
anymore. He was simply waiting… waiting for a response.
His red eye returned to its normal proportion and it flashed brightly in
building anticipation. A cynical mind. An obsessive soul. His teeth grit and
clenched.
 
…
 
…
 
A suffocating silence buzzed in her ears.
He said nothing for a long while.
And Frisk finally whispered out between sniffs and trembling sobs.
 
…
 
“S-sans… “
 
“There is nothing you can do…”
 
His torture was inhumane… barbarous… but she knew this pain would pass.
 
“I’ve… a-already made up-… my mind…”
 
Her words quivered under rattled breath.
 
“There is n-nothing… nothing you can do now. It’s over.”
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
Sans ripped his fingers from her maimed insides. His crimson sphere began to
shiver within its alcove. He stared down at her, but he did not smirk. He was
done pretending. His teeth clenched together so tight that Frisk was certain
they would crack. And he roughly grabbed at both her shoulders and spiraled her
around to face him.
He slammed her hard into the dilapidated wall, so forcefully that the back of
her head hit the stone and she saw stars. Pain ran bone-deep and turned her
vision to a sheet of white. His fondling tentacles shivered and immediately
pull back from her body and Sans threw her hard into the gravel at his feet.
She hit the ground hard. Frisk cried out and curled up into herself. She
grasped at her abdomen with both hands the moment he freed her, clutching
between her thighs. T-there was so much blood… It soaked her fingers through
her shorts. Her insides had been ruptured and the blood continued to spill from
her abused heat, but her vision slowly returned, and she could see Sans pacing
in front of her.
The blue tendrils had vanished. He was clutching at his skull with both of his
blood-soaked claws. H-he was… cursing and scowling… unwinding into a pool of
his own building rage.
“y-you-… fucking KID. WHY won’t you OPEN IT! WHY! WHY! GOD DAMMIT! FUCKING-……
D-DAMMIT!”
Sans’ controlled gentle tone had cracked and he was screaming. There was a
pained look of pure torment upon his features. A concoction of misery… rage…
hopelessness… regret… Familiar emotions that Frisk knew all too well. His
frantic expletives were like a cancer that had already infected her from the
inside out.
“S-sans…” Frisk whimpered, watching him break down. She barely had the strength
to keep her head lifted and she slowly lowered it back to the ground, staring
at him with a blank gaze. Sans’ frenzied eye darted down at her. He examined
the pain he had inflicted upon her. Another wave of distraught and conflicting
remorse washed over his features.
Perhaps he was just too angry at her refusal to actually follow through and
rape her for a third time…
Or, perhaps he really was regretting what he had just done…
The look on his face… an expression she had seen surface in Gaster’s library
tunnels… and in Asgore’s castle…
A look of…
 
Discord.
 
Repentance.
 
But he still would not apologize.
 
…
 
And Sans quickly summoned his ax in one hand and stepped forward, lifting the
weapon above her instantly. She barely had time to brace for the impact. He
brought the machete down directly through her abdomen, severing her small form,
splitting her body underneath the blow.
And as he stared down at her glossy raw viscera and internal organs that
spilled out upon the ground, his shoulders trembled.
 
His teeth clattered… his eye shivered.
 
Frustration. Regret. Bewilderment. Fear.
 
Sans put her out of her misery quickly… but he was still stewing in his.
 
……
 
………
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
……
 
………
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
Wake up…
 
…
 
It’s not over yet…
 
…
 
There is still a ways to go…
 
…
 
… still a ways to go…
 
…
 
…
 
Wake up, Manumitter.
 
……
 
…
 
…
 
Frisk opened her eye.
 
Her voice… her determination… it ached inside her head. It was a driving force.
A dark chant that refused to let her rest.
She was so tired… s-she was so, so tired.
The heat had vanished. The atmosphere was somewhat chilly… wet… and lingering
with a strong aroma of musk and decay, like the inside of a drained well.
And it was dark.
But there was a small glow.
It shone through the darkness… a blurry, flickering sphere of starlight.
Another candle.
 
…
 
It erected from the stone floor only inches away from her face. Frisk lay upon
her side and stared back into the ember. She hated these candles… she hated
them. They were a curse. The bane of her miserable existence. Hexed shackles
that kept her tethered to this never-ending hell of a life.
Frisk blinked slowly and gazed into the mesmerizing ember for a long time. Her
eye was wet. Tears had been collecting in the corners before she even came to.
She lifted a hand and rubbed the drying streaks from her cheek.
There was a subtle flow of running water nearby… A river.
 
…
 
Waterfall.
 
…
 
She was in Waterfall.
 
And she remembered everything.
 
Everything.
 
…
 
This dark place… You’ve come and gone, and come again.
 
…
 
I’m so tired… I-i don’t want to do this anymore…
 
…
 
You cannot give up now. You cannot kneel to his injustice.
 
How can I go on like this?
 
You will keep fighting. You will burn bright.
 
…
 
Her soul shivered. She could feel its power. So strong. So vigorous.
Determined. A purple quartz crystal of pure persistence and resolve, still
stained with her tormentor’s vitality. The burrowing feeling of power made her
heart race, but despite it all she could not shake the vertigo that clung to
the inside of her head… and the sharp stinging pain in her chest… and the
strange, astringent sour-sweet taste that loitered in the back of her throat.
Something was wrong.
 
You cannot give in. Not now… Not now…
 
…
 
You will be free again. You will feel the clean, forest breeze against your
skin again. You will see the stars, flickering gently upon the velvet night sky
again…
 
…
 
You cannot let him win.
 
…
 
Frisk reluctantly pushed her health concerns down into the depths of her
psyche. She let out a sob and pulled her legs into her chest. She tried not to
think about the excruciating pain she had only just endured… bloodshed… vile
touches… scratching… clawing… thrusting… macabre carnage spilling down her
thighs… And that demon’s heinous words, spilling over her thoughts like erosive
alcohol, poisoning her hope and her will.
But…
He… he had also acted… strangely… towards the end…
She had just witnessed him crack under his own grief.
 
Sans…
 
Frisk kept her knees pinned tight against her chest. She wrapped her arms
around them, becoming as small as possible. Her inner voice of reason was
urging her to get up and move, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to move. She
was tired of running. Tired of fighting. She slowly closed her eye and listened
to the gentle sound of the stream right outside.
 
…
 
What she wouldn’t give to be erased.
 
…
 
To unlive.
 
…
 
How long had it been? How long had she been down here, in this place? It felt
like… like centuries. Had anyone ever come looking for her? Had anyone even
noticed that she had gone missing?…
 
…
 
Her heart ached and Frisk buried her face against her arms, blocking out the
light, weeping softly against her sleeves.
But she heard something behind her.
 
A sound.
 
An echo of feet shifting against stone.
She froze. Her blood turned to dry ice.
A low, gruff whispered voice spilled out from the shadows.
 
“… come on, kid… this is getting exhausting…”
 
Sans…
 
…
 
…
 
Frisk said nothing. Her heart coursed in her chest and she began to tremble,
but she could barely move. And after a long, painful silence, she slowly lifted
her head and glanced over her shoulder, back at him.
Sans was seated upon the floor. He leaned back against the rocky cave wall
behind her. His chin rested upon one of his bent knees and she noticed that he
was clutching his arm with a blood-stained claw. He was grasping at the
bandage… at the injury she had left upon him a few resets back. His eye
flickered so dim in his socket that she had not even noticed its crimson
radiance. Had he been sitting here the entire time?
He was not smirking anymore. His teeth grit together in a tight screen of
perfectly interlocking incisors, but the corners of his maw curved down. He was
frowning. His brow was furrowed. If anything he looked fatigued, yet there was
a tenuous underlayer of apathy and sorrow.
And suddenly, something snapped in Frisk… An overflow of rooted emotions. A hot
deluge of tears began to swell in her eye and spill over. She looked away from
him and curled back up into herself. She could not fight back her sobs. She
began to cry hard, gasping and sniffling and fighting for a breath between each
whimper. Her sobs echoed around them and she lifted both shivering hands to her
hoodie’s cowl and tugged it up over her head, hiding herself away from his
gaze… and from the world.
“G-go away… go-… go away…” Frisk whimpered through the pain that had taken
complete control. Her voice was a muffled murmur, barely audible, as she buried
her face back into both arms. “P-please… just leave me here alone…”
“i can’t do that, sweetheart…” Sans replied and for once his voice was without
a shred of ire. It was slow and monotonous. “… you need to open the gates.”
 
T-the fucking gates…
 
“you are the manumitter… you must open them… it was written in the prophecy…”
He said softly.
And he reached out towards her.
She felt the sudden weight of his claw upon her shoulder and she recoiled into
the stone. But Frisk said nothing, and she did not shy away from him again. She
just curled tighter into herself and prayed… prayed that the ground would open
up and swallow her whole.
 
Do not give in. Do not give up.
 
Do not allow his scathing pain to tear you down.
 
You are benevolence. You are justice. You are mercy.
 
…
 
There was a long silence.
Neither of them said a word. The lingering quiet rolled by.
She did not want to talk anymore, but he finally broke the silence.
“why?…” Sans whispered.
She could feel his hand starting to shake at her shoulder. He was shivering and
his grasp tightened upon her sleeve. “why won’t you do it?… why won’t you open
it?…”
 
…
 
Slowly, Frisk pulled her face away from her arms. She stared back into the
candle’s hovering ember as the tears continued to spill from her eye… And she
forced out each frail word.
“… It’s too late for them, Sans… I-it’s too late… for us…” She said.
Sans was quiet. Frisk half expected him to start cursing again, but he was
speechless. She could see his red radiance out of the corner of her eye, just
barely illuminating the dark shadows that coiled around them both. His hand
continued to shiver and his grasp constricted her sleeve.
He had only just destroyed her body so terribly, but she already felt miles
away from that fuzzy memory.
Everything he had done to her… the multiple murders… the violence… the torture…
the way he had plotted to destroy her… and how he ripped up her insides in such
a vile manner… Every single criminal act… they were all actions only the most
malignant of spirits could ever inflict upon another…
 
And her hatred for him burned.
 
But… despite it all, he was the embodiment of her everlasting heartache.
 
…
 
And there was sympathy in her heart for his wounded soul.
 
…
 
“S-sans… I can’t allow them on the surface… They are too far gone… I c-can’t… I
can’t… I’m… I’m sorry…”
She felt his secondary claw join the first and they both clutched at her arm.
He was kneeling over her small form, grasping at her hoodie, head tilted down,
shoulders trembling. Was he… angry? Would he kill her again? Would he torture
her again?
“It’s too late, Sans…”
 
What was going on inside that broken mind?
 
“I-it’s too late…”
 
Frisk slowly tilted her head and gazed into his face, into his expression of…
pure suffering.
There was no more seething rage in his eye. All she saw was the panicked and
fearful gaze of a damaged monster… a broken warrior. Sans abruptly released his
grasp at her hoodie and he brought his hands up to her cheeks, grasping her
face in his bony palms.
“frisk… n-no one ever loved you in the Above… so why do you care what happens
to them now?” His shivering hands clutched her jawline so tight. His pained
words cut through her heart like shards of glass. “… why?!”
Frisk’s eye widened and she stared back into his crimson sphere.
 
Was this just another manipulative tactic? Another ploy to wear her down… to
crush her spirit… to force her to open that gate?…
 
“sweetheart… open the gate… and i will not kill you… i will not kill you… i
promise. i will keep you with me. you will be safe… i will never hurt you.”
 
…
 
It’s too late Sans.
It’s over now…
We are simply going back in time.
But even if we go back to the very beginning, it will not change a thing.
How can you reset the past, when the memories have already left our mind’s
poisoned… our hearts ripped in two… and our souls disfigured and blemished
beyond repair?
 
…
 
…
 
Frisk slowly shook her head and she closed her eye to block out his face.
Sans stared down at her with a vacant gaze. She could hear his teeth clenching
and she felt each tremor in his grasp, hands still clasped at either side of
her cheeks. He tilted his head down and took in deep, heavy breaths… like he
was trying to calm the deep rooted agony and hate that coursed through his
living bones.
His fingers lingered across her face.
His touch was surreal.
He pressed his forehead to hers, so softly. She could feel his aura spilling
from his skull, colliding with her spirit. Their third-eyes connected, yet
their hearts… so imbalanced.
And he slowly pulled one hand away from her face and Frisk could see the
shivering azure hue of his summoning magic through her closed eyelid. She felt
his arm reach over her side and maneuver inward towards her chest. And she felt
a pain… lenient at first but it grew into agony. It grew right at the center of
her breastbone, against her heart.
 
I-it hurt… it hurt it hurt it hurt-
 
Frisk whimpered and opened her eye. She automatically faltered away from his
hand, but his opposite claw kept her steady.
There was a weapon in his hand. A sharp blood-red bone dagger. He was driving
it through her heart. She cried out as the skewer puncture through her hoodie
and chest in one swift movement. He… h-he was killing her again… again…
 
How many times do you have to die until you finally understand?
 
She grasped at his wrists and attempted to pull his claw away, but he was too
powerful. The pain drowned out all thought and reason. She didn’t even think to
try and summon her shield or reach for her sword. She was too weary. She ached
too much. Searing torture… piercing directly through her soft tissue and muscle
and tendons and bone, until it reached her beating heart and probed through it
swiftly.
“S-sans…” Her words seeped out slow, secured in his pain.
And it only took a matter of seconds for that familiar shade to creep across
the corners of her vision. A blurry sheet of ink smeared her sight. She was
fading quickly. She tasted blood. She felt a sticky moisture emerge and pool at
the front of her hoodie.
“… this isn't over…” He whispered, but there was such sorrow in his voice that
it was almost palpable.
 
Was he broken over his terrible actions? Or was he simply mourning the loss of
redemption?
 
She gazed up at him one last time before the reset came upon them. She expected
to see snarling hate in his eye. But… his sockets were closed. His teeth
clenched together in pure pained anguish. His phalanges trembled as he tried to
keep his hold upon the impaling dagger, now dripping with blood.
He did not speak.
 
Perhaps… he just could not find the words.
 
And he tried so desperately to repress his emotions, but he could not hold them
back for much longer…
 
…
 
After a moment, he parted his maw… and Frisk saw him speak. He was speaking. He
was saying something. But she could not hear his words. There was only silence.
Her head was stuffed with cotton. Her vision turned jet black.
And she faded away in his arms.
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
……
 
 
…
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
…
 
……
 
 
…
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
There was a strong aroma.
 
Firewood.
 
The temperature was warm and stifling.
And Frisk quickly opened her eye without hesitation.
Like many of the previous resets behind her, it was dark. Yet there was a
candle perched right beside her, and its stunted ember waved in the air. Frisk
sat propped up against the wall. She stared down at the resurgent light. It was
silent. She was alone. And her thoughts started to churn.
She knew where she was. She knew this place quite well. She had been in this
building… three times now? Four? It was hard to keep track, but she knew
exactly where she had reset to.
 
Gaster’s library… Snowdin.
 
And all of her memories rushed back within seconds. At the beginning of her
resets, the memories returned slowly, but not anymore. No… now they were
abrasive and contained meticulous detail of every single death.
She had been strangled… decapitated… impaled… tortured… eviscerated… stabbed…
 
This could not continue much longer.
 
And Frisk’s heart began to race and her soul began to course.
Her soul… She felt its power.
I-its power… overwhelmingly strong. Painful.
But for some reason she felt energized as well. Frisk staggered up to her feet
and leaned back against the wall. There was a lingering ache deep in her
mutilated eye and within her abdomen and she suddenly remembered that
technically… when she past this candle last, it was right after that demon had
violently attacked her in Napstablook’s tunnels… Those wounds were still fresh…
But Sans was nowhere in sight this time.
She shoved a hand in her pocket, searching for her knife… but it was not there.
Dammit! She had also forgotten that Sans still possessed her sword at this
point in the timeline. He had taken it from her after the assault… and he had
also taken her soul, but that aspect of the timeline had been altered… somehow.
She still had her soul. She could feel it vibrating inside. Frisk lifted her
hands out and she held them steady and closed her eye as she focused.
Focus.
 
Focus…
 
Focus.
 
Focus.
 
Tremendous heat boiled in her chest and erupted forth in the form of amethyst
flames. Frisk quickly opened her eye to watch as the combustion of liquid fire
burst from her breastbone and spiral down both her arms. It was so bright… so
vivid! And it hurt, but she grit her teeth and took the pain. This pain was
nothing. The glassy, glutinous spirit reached her hands and the shield formed
before her palms midair.
 
A wall of crystalline violet. It was transparent and as beautiful as always,
swirling with glittering moondust.
 
Her altered spirit.
 
She could feel Sans' debased tenacity clinging to her essence, but it simply
boosted her strength. It did not wear her down. It made her powerful. And she
ignored the copper taste in her mouth and peered through the shield’s
translucency, staring at the open doorway on the opposite side of the room.
The corridor was dark, but she knew which way to go.
 
Fight.
 
Survive.
 
Burn bright.
 
And Frisk darted forward. She ran out of the small room, leaving the candle
behind her. She swerved down the corridor into the darkness. She could not
stop. She could not stay still. She had to continue on. Her shield lit the way
and turned the black brick walls at her sides deep lilac.
 
Sans… He was probably watching her right now.
Watching and waiting.
And although she had no weapon, she was still determined.
Determined to fight him. Determined to overcome his cruelty and deluded
infatuation - an obsession with possessing her, killing her… eating her.
 
You will not lose.
 
And there was only one more reset left until the last. J-just one more… She had
to defeat him. She HAD to. If she ever wanted to reach freedom again, despite
how bleak it looked, she had to win.
 
Soon the hallway opened out into the building’s initial entrance hall. The
chamber expanded around her. Ominous shadows hung heavy, draping shade where
her shield’s light could not reach, but she continued forward. She sprinted
down the center of the room, lowering her hands to peer over the top of her
shield. She honed in on the front double doors just ahead. And the moment she
reached them she lifted a foot and kicked them open.
The doors breached outward and there was a sharp rush of wind followed by the
musky stench of decay.
Bright grey light.
And ash… raining down upon the broken streets and collapsing buildings in heavy
layers.
 
Snowdin.
 
Frisk stared ahead into the town. For a moment she thought she was stuck in a
dream. Seeing the dreary, dilapidated village again was strange… The cold was
so bitter. It rushed in her direction and drilled through her bare legs and
hands. She stepped out onto the covered porch and eyed the soot-stained
cobblestone path at the base of the stairs below.
 
Be cautious…
 
Her inner voice piped up. She was unsure of what lay ahead… and anxious.
Sans… She had watched his state of mind slowly morph and crumble into itself
throughout each reset… Transforming from confidence to anger and finally, to
despair. But some core instinct deep within Frisk’s heart told her that even in
hopelessness, he was dangerous. He was a wildfire of grief - capricious and
unstable - and utterly consumed with selfish penance.
 
She lingered upon the building’s veranda for a short while, and then Frisk took
in a deep breath of noxious air and finally stepped forward. She walked down
the dusty stairs, reaching the stony path, and set out into the village. She
made her way along the cobblestones with the shield lifted before her gaze. She
shifted her head from side to side, examining each small disintegrating
structure she passed.
But of course they were all empty.
As she walked on in silence her thoughts latched on to a nefarious memory… one
she would rather forget. The recollection of… the hate and anger and revenge
that had once gripped her soul… And her surprise attack on Papyrus. Out of all
the monsters she had murdered under Chara’s charm, her incursion against
Papyrus was one she had regret the most. Being in this village again stirred up
those emotions. Despite the fact that it was only a memory now, it still
plagued her conscious.
 
Don’t think about that…
 
She continued on. The soot fell all around her. The radiance of her shield
turned each ashen debris into small, pretty globules of purple. Frisk followed
a squalid narrow alley until it opened out into the main path. She hesitated
for a moment, staring up into the slab of grey sky overhead. She took in a slow
breath and continued down the road.
 
It was getting harder to breathe. Raining charcoal collided into her shield.
The air was harsh and each breath she took made her fight back a cough. It was
so difficult to see. The path ahead was obscured in shade. Her chest ached from
the power she kept summoned at her fingertips.
And it was so cold… so bitter.
 
But as she traveled down the central abandoned path, she noticed something up
ahead through the curtain of soot.
 
…
 
…
 
A figure.
 
…
 
Someone was leaning back against one of the buildings.
 
And Frisk came to a sudden stop.
 
…
 
She knew who it was.
 
…
 
Of course, it could only be him.
 
 
Sans leaned back into the crumbling stone. His arms were crossed at his chest.
His hood was pulled up over his ruptured skull. He glanced down at his sneakers
idly, completely still. The only movement came from his flashing fixed stare,
yet his sockets were lidded and gaze stoic. He was not grinning anymore. In
fact, she had not seen him smirk since Hotland.
His shoulders slumped forward, like he was carrying the weight of every single
one of his unspeakable actions upon them, and he tilted his head to the side
and stared back at her through the torrent of soot sediment.
He lifted his head and his eye locked upon her. Frisk took a slight step back.
She held her arms out with the protective barrier expanding before her entire
form. She watched Sans push himself up off the wall and take a step forward,
slowly moving closer… closer. Both claws were in his pockets. His eye sparked…
an erratic, dim pulse… he walked towards her in a patient stride.
Sans came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road, only a few yards away.
 
…
 
It was silent…
 
…
 
The wind whistled between them, stirring up the cinder at their feet.
 
…
 
“frisk…”
He finally spoke. His voice was a murmur along the wafting current.
She said nothing in response, she simply stared back at him cautiously. Her
soul pulsed so fast at the sight of him. Her heart was pounding like a drum and
it made her ribcage vibrate. S-she felt… determined… and strong… yet afraid.
 
…
 
“sweetheart… if you won’t open the last gate, then you leave me no choice…” He
spoke again, this time with a little more vigor in his voice.
Frisk's stomach coil into itself at his words.
 
‘No choice’ …
 
W-was he giving up on the gates?
 
She took a swift step back, but Sans had already pulled his claws from his coat
pockets. He lifted his hands and bright blue burst from his palms in an
instant. His ax appeared in one hand. The weapon was soaked in blood, even more
than usual… her blood. It had not reset. And much like its wielder, it was
caked with countless stains of the past.
Frisk’s frenzied gaze shifted from his cleaver to his opposite hand, and a
dozen bone daggers appeared in a gyrating circle at his wrist.
Both Sans’ weapons displayed before him. His teeth were clenched and curved
down, sockets narrowed. It was a look of confliction and pain, like he was
struggling with a driving force that compelled him to act, despite how alarming
and cruel those actions were. He was going to fight her again. He was going to
kill her again. And she had no sword… only a shield.
 
One single defense.
 
It was so unfair, going up against a tyrant who could move through time and
space in the blink of an eye - with nothing but a shield- all because he could
not let go of his past.
 
He had lost everything. He was free to do anything.
 
And the bones spiraled forward.
 
Frisk’s eye went wide. She took another frantic step backwards and lifted both
her hands out in front, bracing for the impact. The bones collided with her
shield instantly. There was a deafening burst as calcium daggers crashed
forward. Yet they did not pierce her barrier. It held strong… so powerful… it
burned so bright… blinding. And the bones shivered in place for a moment,
trying to drive through her crystal wall until they eventually fell to her
feet. They could not pierce it anymore.
Every one of her limbs trembled. She felt an urge to run, but she knew now that
was a misguided impulse, and her inner voice raged in her head.
 
Come on! You can do this! YOU CAN FIGHT HIM! Defend yourself! Do not let him
trap you again! Do not get close to him!
 
Frisk took in overwrought inhales, glaring through the amethyst luster, but
Sans had already summoned another wave. The barraging bones bolted forward and
collided with her shield again and she cried out. It hurt! Her chest was
aching. Frisk clenched her teeth and pushed against her shield, fighting back
the propelling bones that tried to knock her backwards. Her soul palpitated and
there was another burst of energy and she shoved the barrier forward, knocking
the bones away. And each one fell to the floor, joining the others.
 
He can’t break it! S-stay determined!
 
“Sans!” She screamed back at him.
She could barely see him through the violet flashing, but she felt another
impact… then another… and another… S-shit… he was summoning wave after wave! He
was desperate to tear down her shield. He was desperate to put an end to her.
 
God dammit!
 
She could hear something. The faint splintering of glass beneath each volatile
crash. Sans was summoning a torrent of bones, and every time they collided into
her shield the cracking noise only grew louder. She could barely see the shield
through violet flares but she knew that it was starting to shatter. No matter
how determined her soul was, it couldn’t withstand this kind of influx of
hostile magic.
“Sans!! STOP IT!! STOP!” She cried out in an automatic reflex. There was a
sudden bright burst at the center of her shield. Her eye grew wide and shivered
and she watched in dismay… small cracks forming… spreading across the entire
expanse of her defense like veins.
 
N-no!!! GOD! NO!! NONONO!!
 
A deafening cacophony of fractured glass.
Her shield shattered.
Her ears were ringing.
It erupted at her hands and crumbled to the ground in thick pellucid chunks.
The shield immediately melted into an opaque syrupy liquid and pooled across
the cobblestones at her feet. A few dozen of Sans’ bones lay discarded in the
violet puddle.
 
N-no… please-
 
Her gaze shot back at Sans. He was leering at her with a clenched scowl, his ax
lowered at his side with his opposite hand lifted, ready to call forth another
wave.
 
No…
 
There was another burst of blue at his palm. Bones apparated in thin air. They
shivered in place and locked upon her, and Sans directed them forward without
hesitation.
 
NO!!! C-CALL ANOTHER SHIELD! DODGE THEM! DO SOMETHING!
 
“S-sans…” Frisk whispered out as she watched her impending downfall advance.
Her raised hands trembled. Her head was spinning. S-she could feel her soul
pulsing so violently like it was trying to break free from her body.
 
Focus!
 
FOCUS!
 
…
 
She dug deep within her soul.
And searched for another shield.
But… she could not find one.
Her disharmonized spirited could not create another wall of protection so soon.
 
Instead, her soul acted on its own accord.
 
…
 
Something else happened…
 
S-something… something new.
 
…
 
The wave of bones darted for her, only seconds away from colliding, but Frisk’s
chest and hands burst into purple flames. There was an outpour of energy and
within an instant a cloud of violaceous embers materialized out of thin air and
wrapped around Sans’ shooting bones.
T-the bones… they stopped.
They stopped moving.
Her power encased each dagger in an enclosure of iris viscus. And the blood-red
daggers hovered in the air, only a few feet away from her outstretched hands,
completely still and silent.
 
She had stopped them. This power… She had never experienced anything like it.
Her soul felt like it was aflame inside her. The pain was excruciating. The
taste of blood began to build in her throat and she felt another nosebleed come
upon her in full force, but her new ability had held back Sans’ malice
regardless.
 
This ability… it was familiar.
 
T-this was-…
 
This is Sans’ magic!
 
Fear pierced through her gut and forced her to falter. Frisk whimpered and
quickly pulled her hands into her chest. The moment she curled her hands into
fists, the purple enclosure vanished and the bones fell to the ground.
Blood spilled from her nose down her lips. She lifted a trembling hand and
wiped at the crimson, smearing it across her jaw as she stared back at Sans
with utter terror painted across her features. She had used one of Sans’
powers… A skill that she had witnessed him evoke multiple times. He had used it
on her soul once, to push it out of her reach. He had used it on Chara’s
tendrils to stop them in mid-attack. And now she possessed it. She had his
magic buried within her soul. And her heart raced and she almost felt a buzz of
elation.
Sans, however, was scowling. He leered back at her over his lifted phalanges.
He looked pissed. He glared with s building rage in his eye… and he lifted his
ax.
 
S-SHIT!! HE’S GONNA ATTACK!! MELEE COMBAT! BE READY!
 
Oh, crap-
 
He darted forward, ax furled in both claws, the bloodstone gem within his skull
scorching hot. He was coming for her.
 
MOVE NOW!
 
Frisk immediately stretched her hands out and used every scrap of power she had
to somehow manage another shield. It quivered at her palms, not nearly as
bright as before, but it stretched out across her form and protected her from
the onslaught.
He was upon her in seconds.
He cut through the dusty fog with his cleaver and knocked her back forcefully,
smashing the ax head into the shield with everything he had. And he brought
down the weapon over and over in the same spot, each one of his blows more
exact and vicious than the last. He pushed her back along the cobblestones, s-
she could barely keep him at bay.
Her shield held against his blitz but she was fading fast. Her power was
weakening. She could barely hold on. Blood dripped down her nose in thick
streams. It spilled down her chin and splattered to the floor. Sans glared back
at her through the translucency as he maimed her shield with every scrap of
determination he clung on to.
 
“S-sans!! PLEASE!” Frisk cried out to no avail. He wouldn’t stop. He was
relentless.
And suddenly the skeleton leapt backwards and he vanished in a subtle flash of
cobalt.
 
SHIT! HE TELEPORTED!
 
F-fuck-
 
BEHIND YOU!
 
She heard the sudden rush of wind directly behind her, but she was quick to act
this time. Frisk lunged to the side and swiftly turned on the balls of her
feet, holding her shield out before her. She blocked his swinging sneak attack
just in the nick of time.
 
C’MON! PUSH HIM BACK!
 
Frisk clenched her molars in a grimace, tasting the blood that smeared down her
front teeth. She took a quick step forward. Her shield pulsed and flashed in an
abrupt burst of energy and her magic knocked Sans back.
 
YES! COME ON!
 
She lunged at him and summoned her potent magic again, crashing the front of
her barrier into his weapon, knocking him backwards towards the opposite side
of the road. Even without her sword, she was still strong. Frisk spit a wad of
congealed blood to the side and sprinted forward, blocking another one of his
blows. Sans lurched his ax and struck at the front of her defense and held it
there. The cleaver clattered against her burning glass. He was breathing
heavily, just as she was. His soul was flashing underneath his bloodied shirt.
“k-kid…” He growled back at her, but Frisk ignored his words. She reached into
the depths of her soul and summoned forth another rush of tainted magic. Her
shield erupted into flames and it knocked Sans back painfully into the side of
one of the buildings.
 
YES!!! YES!
 
Her inner voice was cheering, but Frisk’s anxiety peaked. She felt something
painful splinter through her chest, like something had snapped deep within her.
She staggered backwards clumsily and began to retch up a wave of bloody bile
upon her sneakers. S-shit… what is… this?… Something is… not right…
Sans leaned back against the wall, panting hard, holding his ax at his feet. He
examined her carefully with a blank, leering glare. Something was wrong with
her soul and she knew it… and she knew he knew as well. He took advantage of
her momentary weakness and vanished again.
 
SHIT! HE TELEPORTED AGAIN!?
 
There was a flash of blue behind her.
 
M-MOVE!
 
Frisk veered around, but her head was so heavy and her stomach was churning. S-
she felt… feverish… sick. it impaired her movements. She was not fast enough
the second time around.
She watched as he brought his ax down directly behind her out of the corner of
her single eye. She couldn’t stop it, he was too fast. And in seconds she felt
an outpour of terrible pain at the center of her spine.
 
No… NO NO NO!!!
 
H-his vulgar hatchet…
It collided in the middle of her back, cutting through her hoodie, through her
flesh, digging directly through the center of her spinal cord. It was
unbearable. Frisk screamed out in unabated agony. She pulled her hands into
herself and the shield vanished instantly. She staggered forwards, falling to
her knees.
But Sans caught her.
He wrenched his ax from the impact spot and dropped it to the floor. And he
quickly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his chest before
she dropped to the ground. He swiveled her around and held her chest to his.
Frisk's legs felt numb, she couldn’t stand. She was paralyzed from the hips
down but the pain did not relent, it simply ran up her spine instead and shot
through her skull like electric currents of severe, raw torment.
 
I-it hurt… It HURT!!!
 
God-… please… just finish me off… please end this-
 
Frisk’s hands trembled. Blood oozed from her nose and dripped against Sans’
shirt. Both his arms wrapped around her chest and waist and he held her limp
body weight. She weighed nothing to him, but he still held her so tight… as if
she would vanish any second.
 
W-why…
 
Frisk coughed up another mouthful of blood. It splattered against his shirt. He
tilted his skull down and pressed his forehead to the top of her head. His
arms… were quivering… She could feel his shoulders shaking and his soul
pulsing… so fast… too fast… a caged azure firefly, desperately trying to
escape.
“fuckin’ hell, kid…”
He spoke. His voice quivered.
The timbre dripped with deep-seated internal distraught.
His eye flashed until it became almost non-existent… What a miserable monster.
Despite the fact the he had murdered her, over and over and over and over, he
was still so forlorn. So far gone in his own indeterminable void of dejection…
Regret battling with redemption.
 
…
 
This has to end.
 
This has to stop.
 
She was drawn to that tortured darkness inside him, but she knew this could not
continue any longer.
Besides… there was only one reset left…
One more…
 
“d-dammit…” He continued to curse. Each word was a breathless murmur.
 
But Frisk’s thoughts had already begun to slow, along with her breath. She held
back another gag of bile and reluctantly let her head drop to the front of his
stained shirt. A sensation of pins and needles began to spread down both her
arms, followed by a shivering numbness. She could feel the blood spilling from
the heinous open wound at her spine. Glossy scarlet and shards of fractured
bone and clotting tissue spilled down to the backs of her thighs to the floor.
She was thankful that she could not see her wound… and was glad when the pain
started to dwindle.
Frisk slowly lifted her hands and dug her weak fingers into the folds of his
sleeves.
The wind felt cold… colder than before.
Frisk rested the side her head against him and stared out into the decaying
village.
Dismal light reflected off the falling soot… dancing around them like… like
snowflakes.
It looked pretty…
A snowfall of rot.
 
…
 
Sans… the moments I spend with you seem like a lifetime.
 
…
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
And I wanted you to feel the same pain I did.
 
…
 
 
…
 
The same pain you had inflicted upon me.
 
…
 
 
…
 
A pain worse than death.
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
But you were already gone.
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
Long before I came along.
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
And Frisk slowly closed her eyes.
She did not open them again.
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
 
……
 
 
 
…
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
The finale is near.
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
But it’s not over yet.
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
You didn’t think this was the end, did you?
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
No… No, you cannot rest yet.
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
You have come so far.
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
And you will see the stars again.
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
You will feel the fresh, gentle breeze again.
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
Be strong. Trust no one…
 
…
 
……
 
Fight.
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
And slowly, Frisk opened her eyes.
 
Both of them.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
Coming up: The Manumitter
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////
     Stay tuned for the final battle, Sans vs. Frisk… and the end.
     Advanced warning: The next and final chapter will contain emotionally
     distressing and violent scenes.
     ~~~
     Skipper summery: Sans murders Frisk all the way back to the very
     first candle, the very beginning in Napstablook's tunnel. With each
     murder, he uses a different tactic to make her submit to him in hopes
     that she will ultimately open the gates. Frisk fights on, and in the
     process her determination grows and her desire for freedom peaks. She
     discovers a new ability that she sapped from Sans: the power to stop
     moving objects in a cloud of tainted magic. But during each reset, we
     see an influx of damage that the power is exerting on her body
     (nosebleeds, headaches, chest pains, blood in her lungs). Sans is
     also unraveling mentally with each jump back. At the end, Frisk wakes
     up at the last candle with no more resets left and one final fight
     ahead of her.
     ~~~
     /////////////////////
***** XXXIV *****
Chapter Summary

                                        

                                    Finale


      
     Chapter 34: And while the world burned to ashes, I found solace in
     the stars.
Chapter Notes
     /////////////////////
     Hello everyone,
     Well, here we are. The end.
     First I want to say that it has been an amazing experience to write
     for all of you. I have enjoyed reading every single one of your
     comments. All of your observations and insight has been so fun to
     respond to, and I appreciate the praise and kind words that each one
     of my readers has shared with me. You have all made this journey an
     unforgettable one. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.
     Also, I really wanted to post this final chapter with the cover art
     that I commissioned, but unfortunately it seems it will take longer
     than I wanted to wait. So that being said, I plan on adding a little
     epilogue to the end of this fic. In this postscript I will discuss my
     writing process, inspiration, some key themes in the story, maybe
     I'll answer some questions and I’ll go into depth about the premise
     of this fic's sequel, Bloodsick Péntalog, that I plan on starting at
     the end of December after I take a little break from writing. I also
     plan on re-reading this entire fic and editing each chapter slowly,
     bit by bit, so that is going to take a little while. I’ll add this
     epilogue (chapter 35) when the art is finally done so you all can see
     it :D
     Anyways… I’m not going to say anything about this chapter. It is the
     last chapter in this story. No warnings are really required. There is
     violence of course, but it’s nothing gruesome. Please remember that
     this story is a tragedy. And I apologize for the heavy hearts. Also,
     if you want to make your reading experience even more somber, have a
     listen to this_OST while you read. It’s what I listened to on repeat
     while I wrote this chapter.
     So… I think I’ve said everything that I wanted to say here. Thank you
     all again, for everything. I'll never stop writing. I’ll stay
     determined, because of you! :')
     And feel free to reach out to me on my Tumblr at any time, for any
     reason.
     Thank you again, and enjoy the last chapter!
     /////////////////////
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
 
 
*****
 
 
 
…
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
Dark.
 
 
……
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
Cold.
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
A mundane realm of haunted dire.
 
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
 
This place…
 
 
 
…
 
 
This feeling…
 
 
…
 
 
Familiar, somehow…
 
 
…
 
 
Sinister omens of the past.
 
 
A past turned present.
 
 
A dream turned absolute and convalescent.
 
 
…
 
 
Authentic nightmares that were never only hallucinations.
 
 
…
 
 
They were real.
 
 
It was all real.
 
 
That past is genuine.
 
 
And there’s no going back now.
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
……
 
 
 
…
 
 
There’s no going back.
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
Frisk flinched against the frosty stone wall behind her. The frigid temperature
wrapped around each limb and soaked through her clothes and pierced the center
of every bone.
It was silent. Even her own heartbeat had turned to a slow and steady thumping,
just barely audible. The faint breeze that echoed in the hallway behind her was
simply static. But there was a sound… a soft, subtle crackling… a living ember…
and it called out to her through the darkness and extracted her from the void.
 
 
…
 
 
Open your eyes.
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
’Open your eyes, Manumitter.’
 
 
…
 
 
Frisk slowly opened her eyes.
There was only darkness. But the draping veils of shadow framed a pale,
flickering glow within her blurry gaze. She stared into the gloom. Her mind was
an empty slate. There was nothing in her head… nothing. Her thoughts had been
replaced by a barren wasteland. She felt no pain. She felt no fear. And for the
first time in a long time, the only concern that raked her thoughts was how
chilly the temperature was. How numb it made her fingers and toes.
 
…
 
Where… W-where was she?…
 
What is this?…
 
What is happening?
 
Frisk lifted both hands and turned them upwards to glance at her open palms.
She could see self-inflicted scars peeking out from underneath the cusp of her
hoodie’s sleeves at either wrist. They looked fresh. Fresher than before. Her
eyes traveled from her hands down to her bare legs and thighs. There were no
bites or cuts or bruises. No band-aids. Not even a scar.
And… for some reason… it was easy to see, despite the darkness. It was easy to
look.
The constant hovering shadow that had plagued the right side of her vision was
no longer there. It was no longer there. She could see her own hands and feet
with ease. She could see out of the corners of both eyes. Her periphery vision
had been repaired. She did not even have to turn her head. And Frisk slowly
began to realize that both her eyes were open. T-they were both open…
Her hands started to shake. Frisk brought them up to her face and buried
herself against her quivering, clammy palms.
 
…
 
That’s right. You’ve been reborn.
 
This is a new life. A fresh start.
 
 
…
 
All of the horrible things… never happened. They never happened.
 
 
…
 
 
The horrible things…
 
 
Sans.
 
…
 
The memories returned.
 
Each one came back to her in the form of a piercing dagger, stabbing through
her head, sawing at the empty spaces of her mind, making her cry out and shake
in fear.
Frisk grasped at either side of her scalp and took in frantic, gasping breaths.
She could barely breathe. She could barely keep herself from collapsing to the
floor. The mental knots unraveled one by one. Death. Pain. Rape. Trials and
regret and abhorrent malice. The terror she had been forced to face every
waking moment inside of this hell.
Frisk’s fingers nudged against her right eye. She felt over every inch of it,
searching for that gauze patch or torn flesh or warm carnage, but it was
intact. Her fingertips grazed along the sticky underside of her lower lid as
she stared forward with a blanketed empty gaze, lost in her own thoughts,
clutching at reality.
She had never lost her eye. Sans had never attacked her. Chara had never
possessed her. She had never killed anyone… She had never left these tunnels.
She was at the beginning. Back at the start… back in Napstablook’s ruins. N-
none of it… none of it… ever happened… But there was a warmth buried deep in
her chest and Frisk lowered her opposite hand and clutched at the front of her
hoodie. The burning heat burrowed within her breastbone. A surge of power…
contaminated emanation. It felt warm and comforting, yet equally grievous.
Like… like there was something not quite right… Like there was something wrong
inside her soul.
Frisk rubbed at both her eyes and finally relaxed back against the wall. And
she finally absorbed the surroundings for the first time. She was indeed back
at the beginning, back in the ruins in Napstablook’s tunnels. The very first
resurgent light sat beside her in the corner. It flickered softly and created a
dim, shivering yellow glow against her skin. This room… this cursed chamber…
Frisk could never forget it. The place where Sans had first splintered her
soul, so long ago. She could still feel his claws and teeth all over her. A
tactile memory that had never come to term. But it felt so real.
Because it was real…
Frisk whimpered and wrapped her arms around herself. She clutched at her
shoulders and pulled her knees up into her chest. Her gaze averted from the
shadows and towards the flickering candle. She did not want to look at that
corner… She did not want to remember.
 
He brought you back to the beginning, don’t you see? You have no more lives
left.
 
There are no more resets now.
 
You are mortal.
 
She took in a slow, deep breath and shifted to her side to face the candle.
Frisk idly lifted a hand and let her fingers skim over the hovering flame. It
was warm, but it did not burn. It merely adorned her skin with a mild tingling
sensation. She trailed her fingertips down the candlestick and pushed them
against the translucent wax, but nothing happened.
This save point was no longer a tether. It was merely an eidolic candle and
nothing more.
 
…
 
 
Mortal…
 
 
…
 
You are mortal, once again…
 
If you die now, then there will be no more candles to return to. It will be
permanent. Do you understand?
 
Frisk stared down at the dancing flame for a long while, simultaneously trying
to return to that empty headspace. The room was vacant. She was alone. Where
was Sans? Was he still out there? Was he waiting for her out in the tunnels?
Would he ambush her, like he had done countless times before? Was he watching
her?…
What was she thinking, of course he was watching her.
 
 
Visions of Sans and his heinous actions began to replay in her head. Every
single disgusting murder… the pain she had endured… the pain he had caused. But
a vision of his skull painted with fear and desperation surfaced in her mind.
She could not scrub her thoughts clean of that look.
He was a broken monster.
He was… too far gone.
There was no saving him now.
 
…
 
 
'sweetheart… if you won’t open the last gate, then you leave me no choice…'
 
 
…
 
 
No choice…
 
So he had abandoned the gates.
 
He had abandoned the idea of freedom…
 
What was left for him now?…
 
Retribution?
 
Revenge against the True Manumitter?
 
The one who denied him? The one who fought back?
 
 
…
 
 
Sans…
 
 
…
 
 
Is that what you desire now?
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
Frisk stared at the candle, completely silent and unmoving. It was cold, but
the warmth in her chest added some heat to her skin and kept her limbs from
trembling. The candlelight reflected off her lidded eyes and glazed over her
tear-stained vision, turning her sight into a hazy pallid afterglow. She pushed
down each memory and strained to keep her mind blank, but her thoughts kept
returning to Sans and his pained expressions and his flashing red radiance.
And after a long while, Frisk’s idle gaze shifted from the candle and it
settled upon her backpack… Her backpack had never left her side and it was
propped up against the wall next to her. She slipped a hand into her shorts
pocket. Her fingers grazed over her box cutter, her sword’s handle, but there
was also something else beside it. Something small and firm and rectangular.
Her cell phone.
Frisk’s heart jolted in her chest and she quickly pulled out the small flip
phone. She snapped it open and stared down at the cracked screen. The square
glow caught in her eyes and made her squint and she examined the battery life.
It was at 75% and the digital clock read ‘3:50 am’.
So she really had gone back.
She knew she had, but seeing her long lost cellphone and backpack reaffirmed it
all.
Frisk leaned back into the wall as she began to flip through the old photos
saved on her phone. Photos of Izzy… A playful selfie of the two of them during
winter break, building snowmen in the orphanage courtyard. Photos of colorful
birds she used to watch out her window. Old photos of her mother. And blurry
snapshot of Schafer running through a wide, open field on a brisk fall day…
 
 
…
 
 
Your hopes…
 
Your dreams…
 
They are not compatible with this life.
 
…
 
Frisk shut her eyes to keep the tears from spilling. She squeezed at the
cellphone in her hand and clenched her teeth, holding back a slew of heavy
sobs. And slowly, she lowered her hand and placed the phone on the floor.
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
W-what now?…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
Her sobs turned into gentle sniffles.
The cold melded with her tears and made her cheekbones numb.
She sat before the candle, just waiting for an abrupt rush of wind to form
behind her… or a red glow to flicker out of the corner of her eye… or a burst
of blue.
But there was none of that. She remained alone, in the cold quiet.
 
Sans would not appear.
 
He would wait for her to come to him.
 
…
 
That is what hunters do, is it not?
 
…
 
Eventually, Frisk shifted in her seat and stared down at her hands again. Her
eyes locked upon the scars at her wrists. She rolled up her hoodie sleeves to
her elbows, revealing her bare forearms to the chill. There were so many old
scars… dozens of them. Some deeper than others. Some almost entirely faded
away. And she idly picked at a few of the flesh-toned band-aids that she had
not even remembered putting on.
These scars… they were just another layer of her past. They were a symbol of
her vulnerability, so long ago. But it was not like that anymore. She was a
different person now. She wanted to live. She wanted to fight. She was filled
with burning determination. A desire to keep going. An unyielding ambition to
grasp freedom, if only for a brief moment.
 
You will be free. You will be free again.
 
It will be different this time. Once you get out of this place, you will never
look back.
 
You will keep moving forward, with your head held high.
 
You will live.
 
…
 
 
Frisk traced her fingernails along a thin, long vertical scab. She took in a
slow breath and pushed herself up to her feet. She felt no pain in her abdomen
or eye. She was free of any shred of lethargy. All of her energy had been
restored after the last reset, and it was as if she had never set foot in the
snowy Snowdin forest. She had never left these tunnels.
 
A new life. One final chance.
 
She stuffed a hand back in her pocket and pulled out the box cutter. Frisk
glanced down at the small weapon. How many times had she fought with this
meager little blade? How many times had she killed with it? How many times had
she used it for protection?… T-this weapon… no… this tool… it was her soul’s
strength. Once so fearful and timid, now something of unparalleled vitality.
 
And Frisk ran her thumb along the side of the handle and pushed the lever,
unsheathing its sharpened segmented blade. The small knife erected from the
case and she began to summon her power. Her chest sweltered and lavender liquid
glass burst out from the center of her torso. It spiraled down her arm like a
helix coil. It was so bright, t-the amethyst glare was blinding. Her soul’s
power spilled down her limb, wrapping around her exposed forearm to her wrist
and finally it encompassed her hand like an extraordinary chainmail gauntlet.
Austere purple shot up her dagger’s handle until it reached the blade, and in
an instant the broad longsword appeared before her gaze.
 
S-so bright… so much… heat.
Her chest was burning. Her head felt like it had been stuffed with damp cloth.
Frisk staggered backwards and leaned into the wall, holding the blade out in
front of her. The bright coloration was as intense as ever and so much more
impressive than every other previous time she had evoked it. Her liquid crystal
saber glistened in the darkness, like some ethereal heavenly weapon sent down
to Earth to vanquish evil. She was the wielder… she was the defender.
But despite the overpowering surge of strength and vitality that churned in her
chest, her soul was shivering. And that familiar deep-rooted pain began to form
the moment she called forth the sword. It… hurt… Like dozens of small iron
needles were burrowing inside her breastbone. The ache was abnormal. And Frisk
felt something wet spill against her lips…
 
Blood.
 
She licked at her upper lip and tasted the familiar hot copper. Another
nosebleed? Worse than the previous… Frisk quickly smeared the blood against her
lips with the opposite hand and rubbed off the rest against her shoulder. She
could not dote on the nosebleeds right now. S-she did not have the time to
think about it. She knew that it had something to do with Sans’ powers melding
with her own. And she remembered what Muffet had said to her back in Hotland…
that it was a heinous taboo to take the soul of another and use it for
yourself. Perhaps, melding two souls together was just as atrocious. Maybe the
pain and the nosebleeds and the blood in her throat were side effects of a
similar prohibited act.
But… without Sans’ powers… she would not stand a chance. Despite how poisonous
it was, it made her feel so strong. Sans’ determination colliding with her own…
It was such a powerful concoction. She had to use it. She must use his efficacy
against him. There was no going back now.
 
 
Frisk kept her nose pressed to her shoulder until the bleeding finally stopped.
She swallowed the blood in the back of her throat and took in steady breaths.
And with her sword in one hand, Frisk lifted the opposite arm outward and began
to summon her shield. Her power responded instantly and the barrier formed
before her outstretched palm. It was small, yet she could command her shield’s
size at will now without any complications. It was tinted purple, just like her
sword… A glossy liquid wall of translucent starwater.
Now with both weapons drawn, the room flooded with lavender light. It
overpowered the candle’s dim glow and Frisk stared back at the opposite wall…
at the small archway entrance across from her. A dark tunnel stretched out into
shadows until her light no longer cut through the guise. That hallway… t-that
corridor led back to the beginning… to the entrance.
It led to the shed door. To the first gate.
 
You could cut down that door with these new weapons. Perhaps you don’t even
need to open the final gate to escape this place.
 
Frisk’s heart began to race at the thought of freedom.
She closed her eyes… and in her mind’s eye, she saw the tall pine trees of her
forest back home. The trees rustled all around her. The sun shown down and beat
against her skin through the treetops, reassuring and gentle. She could almost
smell the warm, woodland air. And for a moment, she thought she could feel a
gentle breeze brushing back her tousled locks.
 
You have come full circle. The entrance may just be your escape. The beginning
will be your end.
 
And she took in a shallow breath. Her shoulders shook. Her gleaming lilac arms
quivered.
 
There is still one more trial. One more fight.
 
…
 
 
He is waiting for you.
 
 
…
 
 
He is waiting.
 
 
…
 
 
Frisk opened her eyes.
A small hint of fear clawed at the efflux of her determination. She took a step
forward, away from the wall, and stood in the center of the chamber. She tilted
her head to the side and glanced at the opposite corner… and stared at the
spot.
That spot… that exact spot.
The stone was unstained. There was no blood or scratch marks. The area was
completely wiped clean of any hint of malevolence. But why wouldn’t it be? It
had never happened, after all. She had never been raped. She had never been
blinded.
She stared at the shadowy corner as violet light danced in her eyes. Her heart
began to gallop in her chest… faster… faster… Her determination spilled from
her pneuma and entered every branch of her being. And as Frisk relished in the
surging strength, her internal voice of reason smoothed over each worry.
 
How many times have you died now?
 
 
…
 
 
Who else could die over and over, only to keep on fighting?
 
 
…
 
 
Perhaps that is what determination is…
 
Carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders… Yet retaining the strength
to keep going.
 
 
…
 
 
You are so strong.
 
You are so much stronger than him.
 
Look at everything you’ve been through.
 
Any everything you have achieved.
 
 
…
 
 
Freedom.
 
…
 
Yes, freedom.
 
…
 
 
You will be free again.
 
…
 
Now go… and see with clear vision.
 
 
…
 
 
And burn bright.
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
Frisk hesitated.
She pulled her gaze from the corner of the room and slowly turned on her heels
to face the open doorway. Those memories could not control her anymore.
Sans had no more power.
This was it. This was the end.
And she would be victorious. She would defeat him.
 
Burn bright.
 
The lavender radiance was warm. It glazed over her glassy eyes and filled her
soul with clout, and she was no longer afraid.
She lay the troubles of her past to rest.
With sword and shield dawned, and determination at its peak, Frisk took a step
forward. She made her way through the open passage and stepped down the
confined stone tunnel, leaving the room behind her.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The hallway narrowed in at both sides and darkness turned to brilliant
amethyst. The heat in her chest masked the cold and her head felt light and
cloudy, like this was all simply a waking dream. She could feel the adrenaline
tingling at every fingertip, and it took only a few minutes until she noticed
the open doorway at the far end of the corridor.
Frisk stepped up to the opening and lingered in the archway. She peered into
the vast darkness. The large chamber was just as she had remembered it, so long
ago, when she first found herself trapped within the Underground. Frisk tilted
her head and stared up at the flanking wall to her right side. A single
solitary open window remained embedded within the stone at least five stories
above. That window… she remembered that window. A thin stream of pale moonlight
spilled from the lunette and created a ray of contrasting light against the
obsidian. The beam stretched through the darkness and reached the ground. It
cast a spotlight upon the floor at the very center of the room.
Frisk stared at the cascading beam, the only intriguing entity in the entire
space. She slowly made her way through the open door into the great hall. A
steady, subtle breeze from the corridor rustled her locks from behind, and
Frisk listened to her gentle footsteps as she paced to the center.
This room… The very beginning…
She had come full circle, truly.
 
But such is life.
 
She glanced up at the peculiar lone window as she walked. Part of her wished
she could see what it led to… if it was a window to the Underground… or a
window to her forest. A window stuck between two worlds, unreachable, doubtful
and tenebrous.
But it was impossible to see. It was much too high.
 
 
Frisk heard a sound.
 
…
 
You are not alone.
 
 
…
 
 
Substantial footsteps. Heavy rubber grating against the stone.
 
Footsteps that were not her own.
 
Frisk came to a sudden halt, but the footfalls continued ahead of her in the
dark. A crystal ruby of gleaming hellfire began to emerge from the shade,
followed by his large, daunting figure.
She could him. His inferno sphere and the pale stream of light illuminated the
outline of his frame. That fur-trimmed hood lay back upon his shoulders like a
mantle. The open, jagged aperture at the side of his skull looked particularly
gruesome in the lackluster twilight. His hands were stuffed in both jacket
pockets. His skull was lowered, yet his sockets locked upon her, unblinking.
And his teeth splayed in a neutral sneer, neither smirking nor glowering.
If anything he looked… apathetic.
A corrupt demon.
A malicious monster.
 
A reflection of her sins and her sorrow…
 
Sans.
 
 
…
 
Sans came to a halt directly before the cascading beam of light. He stared back
at her in silence and the corners of his maw shivered as he forced a grin to
spread across his dismal features. The skeleton pulled one hand from his pocket
and he lifted his claw out into the ray of light. His phalanges stirred the
minuscule dust particles that wavered in the sallow glow and his digits curled
inward, as if beckoning her to come forward.
Frisk’s eyes went wide. She recoiled and took a hasty step back, like a swift
reflex, and stared directly at him. Her tormentor… Her curse…
Sans let out a bitter chuckle.
His gaze skimmed over both her drawn weapons. His brow furrowed. And he spoke.
 
“hey kiddo…”
 
…
 
“i guess i should’ve known it would end this way…”
 
…
 
“i should’ve known… when i first set my sights upon your soul…”
 
…
 
“… heh.”
 
Sans’ voice was a wisp, yet the echo rammed against the far-reaching stone
walls. He let out a slow exhale and his sockets closed. His bony digits flexed
in the light and a burst of cobalt blue erupted at the center of his palm.
Radiant vapors hovered there for a moment until the color began to twist and
turn and take the the shape of his weapon. The ax appeared out of thin air in a
matter of seconds and Sans wrapped his slender fingers around the handle
tightly.
The blue vanished. Sans furled the weapon to his side. The ray of light
reflected off the edge of his razor-sharp axhead.
And slowly, Sans lifted the weapon and let it rest against his shoulder. And he
opened both his sockets once more and glanced back at Frisk with a half-lidded
gaze.
Although he appeared weary… and almost tried, she knew that he was ready for
her. Ready for one last fight. There were no more resets, for either of them.
This was it… The final battle… The final crusade. It was life or death.
 
This is the end, Sans… for one of us.
 
“Sans-” Frisk whispered. Her voice did not tremble. But Sans spoke again and
cut her off before she could utter another word.
“… it’s funny…” He tore his crimson gaze away from her and cast a sideways
glance at his hatchet. “… we had nothing to lose and we lost it all anyway…
ya’know?”
 
…
 
 
Sans…
 
T-that’s not true…
 
… we lost everything.
 
…
 
Frisk’s chest felt tight. A chimera of emotions… fear and sorrow and heartache…
they all began to churn in her soul and dampen her determination. N-no… Stay
strong… Please stay strong! Her inner voice kept her together and the shivering
purple vibrance of her soul fluctuate in the darkness.
“S-sans…I-” Frisk whimpered and held back a sob, but he cut her off again.
“i won’t cheat this time. i’ll fight fair and square… like a warrior…” He said.
And Sans slowly pulled his gaze from the bloodied cleaver and he stared back at
her from across the room.
Frisk’s shoulders trembled. She lowered both her weapons to her sides, peering
back at him through a sheet of building tears.
“S-sans… I’m-… I’m sorry… I’m s-sorry…” Her words were so soft. A delicate
emission that could barely reach him.
 
But he heard her.
 
And his forced grin shivered at the corners. His furrowed brow strained. He
clung on to the facade that he had built up for so long to conceal his true
self. But the pain emerge, deep within the crux of his soul. And Sans swung his
ax from over his shoulder and held it steadily to one side at the ready.
“let’s end this… sweetheart.”
He chuckled again, his deep voice laced with anguish, and there was another
burst of sapphire resplendence. Dozens of thick far-reaching vaporous tendrils
sprang up from behind him. Each one danced and coiled high in the air like a
collection of living vipers. The tentacle’s blue brilliance created a screen of
bright illumination all around, almost as bright as Frisk’s purple glow, and it
melted the dark shadows into navy blue.
Sapphire and amethyst light filled the chamber.
Their souls… burning bright. Burning together.
Similar, yet so divergent.
 
…
 
It’s time to end this.
 
…
 
It’s time to free yourself.
 
…
 
Do not hold back. Because you know he won’t.
 
Do not give in to the relief of his destruction.
 
…
 
Be strong. Fight. And burn bright.
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
Neither of them said another word.
 
It was quiet. The wind whistled softly through the void. The colored concoction
of tinted light shivered all around them.
 
…
 
Frisk shifted her sneakers against the stone.
 
Sans’ smirk widened and he lifted his hatchet in front of his chest.
 
And she sprinted forward.
 
 
 
 
She squeezed at the handle of her blazing sword and lunged for him. Frisk’s
sneakers squeaked against the stone as she darted through the coagulating
shadows down the center of the room. Her eyes locked on him. Her soul was
raging within her. She lifted her shield and sword, peering through the
weapon’s translucent lavender forms. Sans’ sockets narrowed and he shifted his
stance and lifted his ax high, readying himself for the first blow.
And Frisk was upon him in seconds.
 
C’MON! YOU CAN DO THIS!
 
Frisk swiveled her sword in one steady hand and lurched for the monster’s
chest, swiping at his torso, but he had already blocked her strike. Sans’
bloodied hatchet collided with the edge of her blade and sparks erupted in the
air. The embers were so violently bright, they practically blinded her, but
Frisk would not give him a chance to take the offensive. She careened her sword
back only to pierce it forward again. And again. And again. So fast, without
one pause. And much to her surprise, her movements were sharp and substantial.
H-her soul was pulsing rapidly, it seemed to control her every movement. The
violet flames that wrapped around her arms steadied her limbs. It felt as if
the altered determination she contained had possessed her, but it was nothing
like the time Chara had manipulated her actions. Frisk still had control, and
she slashed her sword down into the skeleton’s hatchet repeatedly,
relentlessly, without mercy.
Each one of her strikes contained so much fury. She could feel her strength
spilling outward in the form of an acute onslaught.
But Sans put up a good fight. He parried each one of her blows. And every time
Frisk snapped her weapon back, his sentient blue vespers would charge forward
and collide into her protective shield. He would not allow her one second to
recover. His ax slashed into her weapon rapidly, matching her speed, and Frisk
could barely see his movements through the constant burst of sparks that lit up
the darkness around them.
Tendrils lunged forward between each incursion, slamming into her barrier,
attempting to rip it apart.
Despite her soul’s power, he was physically stronger than her. His attacks were
so much more invasive. Frisk stumbled backwards and immediately lifted her
shield out to block him. The shield expanded around her just as Sans brought
his ax against it, slashing at the barrier in the same spot over and over. S-so
fast! She had seen this tactic of his before… countless times. He was trying to
break it down! He was attempting to splinter her shield!
But it held strong.
It remained resilient against his attack.
 
MOVE! TRY NOT TO GET TOO CLOSE!
 
Frisk panted heavily, holding her shield out in front of her, leering back at
Sans through its sheen. His vermilion shivering gaze flickered in a blitz and
stuck out like a sore thumb through bursts of liquid purple and blue. Frisk
could see his rows of thick canines, interlocked and grated. He was sneering
back at her like a beast.
Sans lurched his ax back after a multitude of cruel blows to her shield, but
Frisk saw an opportunity to steal back the offensive. Determination urged her
on and she acted quickly, jerking her shield to the side to make way for her
sword. She immediately lunged at his chest and aimed at the center of his
torso. She had to pierce him! She had to stab his soul! He must be stopped!
 
WATCH OUT!
 
Sans sprung backwards just as Frisk leapt forward, but there was a burst of
blue overhead and Frisk’s eyes darted up just in time to see dozens of his
rising tentacles make a beeline for her from above. SHIT! The tip of each
serpent had morphed into a sharp spear. She lifted her shield and called forth
another surge of power. Her barrier expanded around her entire form again like
a fortress, blocking out the diving tendrils that hurtled downward every which
way.
Each vaporous hydra collided with her surrounding shield. It was so loud. Frisk
cried out from the deafening clash. She shut her eyes and staggered backwards,
ducking her head down, half expecting to feel his serpents skewer through her
flesh. But her shield retained its shape. Her soul blocked his malice. She felt
no pain, besides that aggravating deep-rooted tension in her chest. Her shield
burned and it kept his magic at bay, somehow.
His physical vipers did not relent. They jabbed and slashed into her shield so
rapidly, like waves of tethered azure arrows, a shower of leashed bullets from
overhead.
Frisk couldn’t help but whimper as she withstood the brutal bombardment. She
took slow, tense steps backwards while shielded. Her head ducked down, forearms
lifted to conceal her face. She attempted to stagger away from the multitude of
convoluting spears, but her legs felt numb with fear and she could barely
maneuver herself.
 
M-MOVE, DAMMIT! If he keeps this up, he really WILL shatter the shield!
 
I-i… I… c-can’t-
 
YES, YOU CAN! GET AWAY FROM HIM! YOU ARE STRONGER THAN HIM!
 
I… I can’t lose…
 
YOU WON’T LOSE!
 
And finally the tingling numbness subsided from her legs, and Frisk turned and
ran.
She pulled herself away from his assault in the blink of an eye and dove into
the shadows before his tendrils could wrap around her arms and pull her back.
Each breath caught in her lungs and her all-encompassing circular barrier faded
back into a single flat shield the moment she broke contact with her focused
energy.
The chamber was massive, and so dark, and Frisk ran towards the right side of
the room, moving as far away from him as possible. S-she could not fight him
with melee weapons. She had to think of a different tactic to take him on!
Otherwise… otherwise this was all for nothing! It would be hopeless! She
staggered at the sight of the stone wall in front of her, a dead end, but Sans
was not far behind.
 
FUCK! TURN AROUND!
 
His red hue approached rapidly from behind. Sans took advantage of her abrupt
lapse and sprinted after her. He lifted his ax in one hand and charged for the
back of her head, but Frisk swiveled around and blocked his blow with her
shield. But now… n-now she had her back to the wall. She was cornered. And Sans
was slamming his hatchet into her barrier without one shred of clemency. He was
out for blood.
 
“S-sans!” Frisk cried out, unable to keep her voice down. She let out a
terrified shriek each time his hatchet collided with her shield. S-she felt
sick… she felt weak and light-headed…
 
This was not real. Just some horrible fever dream. A never-ending nightmare.
 
STOP IT! DON’T YOU DARE GIVE IN NOW!
 
THIS IS REAL AND YOU ARE FIGHTING FOR YOUR LIFE!
 
Sans slammed his weapon into her shield and held it there, digging the blade
into the dripping lilac solvent. He grit his incisors together, flashing a
threatening wall of glossy machetes. He wrapped both his claws around the
handle of his weapon to add more leverage to his blows and continued to hack
into her shield. He sliced at different sections, searching for a weak spot,
but his actions never once subsided in speed.
Frisk cried out and her shield-wielding arm trembled with every rapid strike.
Her opposite hand clutched at her sword, but she was too afraid to use it. And
she began to hear the sickening sound of glass starting to splinter. N-no!!!
NO!!! PLEASE NO!
 
FUCK! IT’S BREAKING! GET AWAY FROM THE DAMN WALL AND SUMMON A NEW SHIELD!
 
Her inner self was panicking.
Frisk began to hyperventilate. Her eyes grew wide and they locked onto the
fracturing ribbons of glass. The cracks spread out from the center of her
shield like tree roots. She heard his voice, a taunting chuckle, as he watched
his own aggressive attack weaken her shield and break down her barrier.
S-shit! Her shield was collapsing. Her soul’s barrier was about to crumble!
 
MOVE!
 
And Sans brought down his weapon directly into the center, and the bloodied
blade finally cleaved through the barricade. Crystalline violet shattered
around the weapon like a pane of glass. Her shield fell to the floor in liquid
chunks before they turned fluent and melted into the stone. There was a sharp
pain in Frisk’s chest the moment her shield broke. Her defenses had become part
of her being, and its destruction caused her soul to writhe and ache. She
barely had time to think, let alone act. And Sans swung his ax directly for her
chest, but Frisk dropped to the floor just in time, barely missing the blade.
The hatchet plowed into the wall only a few inches above Frisk’s head. She
rolled to her side and stumbled back up to her feet and sprinted forward as
fast as she could, running along the outer limit of the chamber. S-she had to
move! She had to summon another shield! Frisk clutched at the sword’s handle
but its glow flickering faintly like it had been weakened… like her soul had
taken a serious hit from the destruction of her shield. She lifted the opposite
hand out in front of her and attempted to convene a new barrier. Focus! F-
FOCUS!
She could taste blood in her throat.
Her chest burned.
But… b-but no shield came.
 
Why… WHY!
 
Something was wrong.
 
And she heard heavy, rapid footsteps hurtling from behind.
 
DAMN IT!
 
Sans darted for her. He was only a few yards away. His cruel chuckles echoed
off the stone and he adjusted the ax into one hand while he lifted the opposite
claw, locking his index finger directly upon her. Frisk saw the burst of blue
out of the corner of her eye as she sprinted. She heard his whistling bones
skim through the air and chase after her, only moments away from colliding into
her back.
 
DO SOMETHING!
 
Frisk dropped down to her knees again. The bone daggers whizzed over her head
and missed her by a hair. They surged forward and disappeared into the
darkness.
She quickly rolled around and tried to stand, but her legs felt like hot,
melting clay. S-she couldn’t stand. She clambered back against her hind upon
the floor, digging her sword into the stone to try and add leverage and push
herself up to her feet, but she felt paralyzed as Sans’ red and blue light cut
through the shadows.
He stepped out from the veil, surrounded by dozens of his thick, wavering
tendrils. His red eye pulsed so fast… so frantic. He did not charge her again,
despite the fact that she was immobilized and on her knees. Instead, Sans
lifted his hand. There was another burst of sapphire as a second wave of bones
apparated around his wrist.
The bones coiled in a slow, steady circle. They hovered in mid-air, just
waiting for his command. Sans tilted his head to the side. His smirk shivered.
He rolled his shoulders back. But he did not say a word. He did not even
chuckle. And the look he gave her… it made Frisk’s stomach fall to the floor… A
look of… of victory.
 
HE HAS NOT WON THIS! NOT YET!
 
Dozens of bones darted forward towards her. Frisk shut her eyes. She lifted her
idle hand out and begged for a shield to come… she prayed for her defense… for
her salvation.
There was a sudden burst of violet. She could see it through her eyelids. Frisk
quickly shot her eyes open, expecting to see a new shield there… but there was
no shield…
There was no barrier…
No, there was something else…
A substantial cloud of liquid lavender. The liquid vapor wrapped around her
hand, while even more of the magic collected some yards away from her and
encompassed each one of Sans’ bones. The weapons had become stuck in the
pilfered, regulated essence. The daggers hovered in the air, unable to move,
unable to attack.
She had stopped them. She had blocked his incursion with her third ability.
 
YES! THIS IS HIS MAGIC, REMEMBER!?
 
Frisk’s eyes flashed.
 
IT’S YOURS NOW! IT’S YOURS!
 
She stared back at the violet solvent. Crystalline illumination emitted from
her hovering magic and lit up the darkness between them. Frisk leered back at
Sans past the bones. He was still smirking… but she could see ire in that
forced gaze. Sans scoffed and shifted his sneakers, ready to pounce on her and
try another melee attack. But before he could even move, the hovering bones
began to shiver.
Frisk felt a sudden surge of power overflow from her chest. It… it hurt… it
was… painful! So painful, like needles injecting ice water directly into her
heart. It felt like something was splintering within her. The alien
contamination was cracking the walls of her soul. Frisk cried out from pain and
adrenaline. Her determination spilled from her limbs and it sent the daggers
back at him.
“w-what…” Sans whispered under his breath. His voice cracked, tainted with
shock and awe. He took in a sharp inhale through his teeth.
His own bones had broken from his command, and instead they obeyed Frisk. He
had no control over them. And each one swerved around, locking onto their
master, and they shot forward like a wall of fatal poison-tipped arrows.
But Sans acted immediately. He lunged to the side, just barely missing the
bones as a few of them grazed against his jacket sleeve and cut the fabric to
shreds. Sans hissed and swiftly jerked his head back forward, glaring Frisk
down. She could see his blue soul pulsing frantically underneath his stained
shirt. His red eye narrowed inward in a rage. But his smirk did not vanish, it
grew wider… forced and deranged.
 
“heh…” He let out a chuckle, “good one, kid…”
 
He could have teleported…
 
He could have vanished, and reappeared behind her in that moment.
 
But he kept his word.
 
Frisk stumbled back up to her feet. She felt blood spilling from both nostrils
and drip down her chin. The pain in her chest began to thrash about, like her
soul had been infused with wriggling worms and each one was struggling to break
free from its cage. She couldn’t hold back a heinous cough and began to hack up
splatters of blood upon the floor. Fear struck through her head at the sight
and she almost cried out, but she bit her tongue to keep from sobbing. And she
slowly lifted her head, peering at her enemy through sweat-soaked bangs.
Sans watched her fight back the pain and expel the pollution. His sockets
narrowed and his smirk curved downward in both corners, but he still would not
let her rest. He lifted his arm out before him once more. W-would he call forth
another wave!? Frisk couldn’t handle another barrage of bones. She felt so
weak. And there was another burst of azure, but no more bones appeared.
Instead, the floor began to shake.
 
SHIT!
 
He was summoning a cage. She knew each one of his attacks like the back of her
hand. She knew he would try to entrap her, like he had done back in Core City.
If she was trapped, that would be the end of her. She had to run!
The stony floor rumbled underneath her feet. Frisk turned and ran as fast as
she could. She lunged through the darkness, staring down at the floor in horror
as the rocks began to splinter apart. The ground rose upward and thick bones
began to shoot into the air from beneath the floor. They struck the sky, one
after another, like a wave of cognizant spires. They were massive and clung to
the heels of Frisk sneakers, chasing after her in the dark.
Frisk dodged each one. She clambered forward along the periphery of the room as
the jutting bones followed her into the shadows. Sans was no longer visible, he
was back in the room commanding his attack, watching her with his empty socket.
Frisk took in sharp, frantic breaths and her heart felt as if it was going to
melt from pure adrenaline, but she did not stop running. She followed the edge
of the wall in a frantic dash. One of the shooting bones roiled up and grazed
against the back of her thigh and she screamed in fear, but it did not pierce
her. She just barely missed a fatal blow. She continued along the side of the
wall until the far-reaching corner of the room emerged through the darkness.
She couldn’t just keep running from him. She couldn’t keep this up for much
longer. Her chest felt like it was on fire and she must have swallowed down at
least three more mouthfuls of blood. But the moment her movements slowed, the
bones caught up to her and the floor rattled directly underfoot.
 
COME ON!!!
 
Frisk pointed her free hand down and she willed her power fourth, stoking the
flames of her determination, evoking a new safeguard with every shred of
resolve she had. She managed to summon a new shield at her feet just as the
spear-tipped bones pierced through the ground. Her shield blocked his rising
attack at the floor. Her safeguard pushed back his power. The cage bars ends
jabbed into the barrier, but her magic kept them from ascending around her.
Instead, the bones became stuck directly below her feet in the ground, grinding
into her liquid shield. And Frisk was able to keep his bones contained just
long enough to dart away from the building cage.
 
YES! K-KEEP MOVING! DON’T STOP NOW!
 
Frisk launched forward through the middle of the room, moving away from the
walls, leaving the bones behind her. She squinted through the pitch black as
she ran, her flickering shield and sword providing the only illumination. Their
fluorescence shuddered like trembling lilac candlelight. Her weapons began to
flash so brightly and her heart and soul raced and matched the speed of the
blaze and her frantic dash forward. The potent taste of copper made her gag and
she spit another thick wad of clotted blood to the side. Her nose had not
stopped bleeding… and it was getting everywhere. Blood splattered against her
arms and hoodie from each sudden movement.
And as Frisk ran, another outpour of vertigo collected in her mind. For a split
second she saw a bright wall of red drape over vision and her heart stilled in
her chest. O-oh god, was that Sans’ glow!? No… no, the red she saw was not a
bright light… it was a film of murky opacity… like something had become stuck
in her eyes. She lifted her sword-hand and rubbed her eyes against her sleeve
and stared down at the blood that smeared into the fabric.
 
S-shit…
 
That was… blood…
She was bleeding from her eyes.
 
This is not good.
 
Frisk let out a terrified whine at the disturbing sight and quickly blinked
away the crimson. She sprinted through the dark until she saw a familiar thin
stream of light up ahead. The light from the window… She had made it back to
the center of the room. She almost felt a wave of relief as the light ray came
back into vision, but it was immediately followed by a feeling of nausea.
Sans was waiting for her.
He stood off to the side in the darkness. Shadows concealed his form, but they
could not hide his eye. His crimson glare flickered in a dim palpitation so
softly that it was barely noticeable. His blue tendrils had vanished and he
clutched at his ax in one hand.
Frisk came to a sudden stop. She stared back at him, panting heavily, gasping
and coughing for a breath.
“S-sans…” She whimpered out, but he had already darted for her.
Sans lunged through the dark and clashed with her again. Frisk lifted her sword
just in time to block the frantic blow. She cried out and shut her eyes. She
could barely fight back anymore, her determination had abandoned her. All she
could do was haphazardly block his furious strikes, one right after the other,
screaming out each time his ax sliced into her blade’s verge.
She cried out his name over the sound of their weapons colliding with such
force. The sparks ruptured in the shadows, lighting up his features each time.
Sans grit his teeth, sockets narrowed. His eye had turned to a small pinpoint
of red in the lone alcove. He was not smirking. He was persistent and focused
and tenacious.
A victorious warrior.
The monster quickly joined his free claw with the other, wrapping them both
around the middle of his hatchet, and he swung his weapon forward with such
forceful vitality that it knocked Frisk’s sword from her hand.
 
F-FUCK!!! NO NO NO!!!! NO!!!
 
The purple cutlass flickered and vanished the instant she lost physical contact
with the blade. The weapon morphed back into a feeble box cutter. It clattered
down to the floor and skidded a couple feet away from them in the darkness.
 
D-dear god, no-…
 
Without her sword she was almost powerless, but she still had her shield. And
Frisk immediately lifted up the small barrier and pressed both her palms behind
it, using all of her power to force it to expand in size and keep it summoned
and steady.
Sans hacked his cruel ax into her shield repeatedly, rapidly. He was determined
to cut it down. Determined to end her. He longed to redeem himself, but proving
his honor to this diseased world was no longer an option. Internal atonement
was all he had left to cling to. And in his twisted conscience, her destruction
would end his suffering. Murdering the heretic would end his pain. His regret
would melt away as soon as he freed himself from his obsession. And with his
determination… he would conquer her will. He would win.
The unhinged monster sneered. His soul flashed beneath his shirt. He brought
down the ax against her shield in a throng of ruthless, harsh blows. He was
knocking her back once more, slamming his weapon into her protection. Each time
he lurched the ax back he would ram his shoulder against the barrier to add
even more of a hindrance, only to clash the hatchet into the liquid violet a
fourth, a fifth, a sixth time.
And just like before, small splinters started to form at the center of Frisk's
blockade.
And dread pooled into her psyche at the sight.
 
H-he’s going to win this… He’s going to defeat you!
 
Even her inner voice had turned frantic and panic began to set in. Frisk fell
victim to a fit of anxiety and she struggled to breathe through the trepidation
and hysteria that had taken hold. She shut her bloodied eyes and clenched her
teeth tight, pushing the cracking shield back into Sans’ attacks, but to little
avail. And soon, fragments of shield began to break off, and the fissures
widened and spread across her entire shield like an intricate spiderweb.
The barrier burst and crumbled to her feet.
Frisk stumbled backwards, staring at Sans only a couple of yards away. Her
hands were both raised, but no shield came. She trembled so terribly, using
every scrap of strength she still had to keep from falling to her knees. S-she
had no shield. She had no sword. Her determination had abandoned her. The inner
voice of reason had gone silent. She had nothing. S-she had nothing.
 
 
Sans’ eye twitched. He took a steady step forward. His shoulders rose and fell
rapidly with each restless breath. He lifted his ax and the weapon vanished in
a flash of cobalt, freeing up both his claws once more. There was another flare
of blue vapor and more bones appeared before his hand. He readied another
ranged attack, directing his digits upon the weary, exhausted girl before him.
“it’s over, kid…” Sans whispered and the bones rocketed forward.
Frisk screamed out and lifted her hands in front of her. She felt a sharp
piercing pain in her soul. There was a burst of amethyst at her arms and she
stopped his bones in mid-air. They hovered directly between the two of them and
quickly fell down to the floor, stripped of their power.
Sans grit his teeth and summoned a new wave, and Frisk stopped it again. He
evoked yet a third barrage of bones, and Frisk stilled them in the air once
more. And the bones began to pile up on the ground with each countered attack.
 
He attempted a few more ranged incurious. But Frisk stopped them every time.
And finally Sans lowered his hand.
 
“kid…” Sans growled back at her, but Frisk could barely hear him.
She staggered backwards in a delirious haze, and slowly fell down to her knees.
Frisk leaned forward and hurled up a thick wave of tacky dark blood, coating
her thighs and hands with the tar-like scarlet vicious. Tears melded with blood
and spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She lifted both her
trembling hands to her face, wiping the blood from her mouth and rubbing away
the tainted tear stains, sobbing hard at the hopelessness of it all.
I-it was pointless… even with Sans’ powers… she could not beat him. His magic
was rupturing her internally… it was poisonous. The more she used it, the
weaker she became. S-she had to let go of him, but her body and her mind would
not allow it. Her soul had melded with his and it forced her to rely on his
magic… and it was destroying her.
And Frisk could not hold down her sobs and she cried hard in the darkness.
She leaned forward and patted her hands upon the stained stone, struggling to
push herself back up to her feet, but her fingertips grazed over something cold
and slender. H-her box cutter… She felt the handle of her discarded blade in
the darkness. Frisk wrapped her fingers around her fallen weapon. She lifted it
in her trembling hands and dug deep into her chest and attempted to summon
another sword, but nothing happened. Nothing h-happened… Instead she vomited up
another wave of blood and coughed and gagged for a breath of chilled air.
She felt like she was suffocating…
Her lungs were filling with fluid…
Her organs were shutting down… and her heart kept skipping beats. Her soul
blistered the inside of her chest. Her pulse was starting to slow.
 
No… P-please-…
 
She could not summon a sword any longer.
Had her soul finally shattered?
Was she powerless against him?
W-was this… the end?
 
It’s over…
 
Her magic was lifeless. She was bleeding internally and it would not stop.
Frisk clutched weakly at her little utility knife with both hands, but her
limbs went limp and her hands fell to the tops of her bloodied thighs.
Frisk kneeled upon the ground, shoulders slumped forward, chin at her chest.
She had no strength to lift her head, but she could hear slow footsteps making
their way towards her. H-he was approaching… Sans… he was only a few feet away.
 
She had lost.
 
T-this was not the way it was suppose to end.
 
This was not her fate.
 
This was all wrong.
 
She still had some fight left in her, but her body was broken.
 
Despite the determination, her soul would not obey.
 
And soon his grimy sneakers and sturdy legs came into focus.
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
 
Sans stood over her for a brief moment, then he sunk down to his knees before
her. Frisk kept her head lowered. She cried hard and his flickering red
radiance caught in her tear-stained vision. And soon she felt both his claws
rest upon her shoulders.
They were… heavy… cold… shivering ever so slightly.
She listened to his slow exhales and his breath tousled her damp locks. S-so
close… he was so close. His claws traveled up to either side of her throat, up
further to her jawline, and he locked his fingers against both sides of her
face and forced her head back to face him.
“P-please… please…” Frisk whimpered under shaking breath. She could not fight
against his hands, and stared back up into his skull.
His expression was hard to read. A brew of misery and doubt, hidden beneath a
forced sneer. Sans’ teeth grit together. The lone orb in his socket grew wide
and the dollop pupil dilated within the center. Frisk stared deep into his
gaze, searching for a hint of mercy. Her hands trembled, still clutching at the
useless knife.
Sans pulled her in even closer to his form, pressing her chest to his. Her
small blade pushed into his sturdy rib cage, but it did nothing. She had no
power… and she could feel his pulsing soul thrash so frantically beneath his
bones, vibrating against her hands and arms.
Sans lowered his head downward. And he pressed his forehead to hers… one last
time… soaking in her energy… relishing in the sensation of her will and
benevolent aura.
“S-s-sans-…” Frisk sobbed.
“i know, sweetheart…” He whispered back, his phalanges caressing her bloodied
cheeks so gently.
Her head was spinning.
All she could see was the palpitation of his crimson glare.
And she could feel each one of his cold digits… travel down from her cheeks
slowly… and make their way to her throat.
 
Sans wrapped his claws around her neck so delicately, so tender. His frigid
fingers took in the warmth of her flesh. He felt her heartbeat racing in her
jugular vein and her pulse vibrated against his bones. And he began to squeeze,
soft at first, growing stronger…
And as he strangled her, Sans stared deeply into her glazed hazel eyes with his
forehead pinned to hers.
 
…
 
Frisk took in shallow breaths.
 
He squeezed harder.
 
Harder…
 
Until she couldn’t breath anymore.
 
And… h-her view of his skull turned blurry…
 
It was getting darker.
 
She could barely see his scarlet eye…
 
 
…
 
 
N-no… This cannot be the end…
 
 
…
 
Sans…
 
…
 
S-sans…
 
…
 
You don’t exist to me anymore.
 
You are a figment of my imagination.
 
My hallucination…
 
A flickering image from a dream that I cannot let go.
 
…
 
You aren’t real to me.
 
Your soul… your spirit… it is a sorrow and darkness that has always lived
inside my heart…
 
…
 
B-but no more.
 
…
 
You never broke me, Sans…
 
…
 
You never destroyed me.
 
…
 
…
 
A-and…
 
…
 
…
 
And I forgive you…
 
…
 
…
 
I forgive you.
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
 
His squeezing claws clamped tight around her throat.
 
Frisk shut her eyes and she finally relaxed in his grasp.
 
And her soul… it burned bright. One last time.
 
Her arms turned to silent, brilliant lavender light. The color spiraled down
each limb to her lifted hands… and it wrapped around her box cutter, and her
sword grew in the darkness and it pierced through the center of Sans’ chest,
out onto the other side.
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
 
Frisk’s soul broadsword erupted from the box cutter and skewered through his
shirt… cracking his rib bones… penetrating his chest cavity in a burst of
violet.
And Sans’ hands stopped squeezing. She could breathe again… and soon she could
see again. She heard him take in a sharp inhale and finally her vision came
back into focus. Sans was still staring down at her. But… his sockets were now
wide and twitching and a surge of astonishment dripped from his features.
And he released his claws from her throat and they trembled between them. He
pulled his forehead away from hers and leaned backwards to stare down at her
sword, still embedded through the center of his torso.
Blue vicious began to spread across the front of his chest at the impact spot.
Sans coughed and slowly leaned back further until he fell to the floor. But
Frisk would not allow the blade to break free from his chest. She moved inward
and climbed up upon his frame, holding the blade against his ribs, deep inside
him.
 
…
 
…
 
Her hands trembled, barely able to hold onto the handle.
 
…
 
It was… so quiet.
 
Frisk’s breath turned gentle, as did his.
 
And another serene breeze brushed Frisk’s locks back and stirred the fur at his
winter jacket’s cowl.
 
…
 
She stared down at her monster with wide eyes. Frisk watched as his pierced
soul’s vapor turned fluent and spilled out in the form of liquid cerulean,
stained with hints of ruby. It sullied his clothes and her quivering blade.
Sans sockets lidded and he began to… t-to cough up cobalt… and blood.
“k-kid…”
He struggled to speak. Blood dripped his maw. He couldn’t move. His soul had
been pierced.
 
…
 
She…
 
…
 
S-she had defeated him.
 
…
 
You are victorious.
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
And hot tears spilled from her eyes. Frisk sobbed hard over his form. She
leaned forward, clutching at her sword’s handle to keep from collapsing. She
couldn’t breathe. She could barely speak. She gasped for trembling breaths and
muttered out in sharp intervals, her voice nothing but trembling turmoil.
 
“S-sans… I’m-… I’m sorry… I’m s-sorry… please… i’m so s-sorry-”
 
She felt his hand upon her cheek.
Frisk flinched at his softened touch and he began to wipe away her tears.
Frisk’s sword flickered and finally it vanished, turning back to a mere utility
knife, and it fell from her hands upon the floor.
She cried hard and clasped her hands upon his caressing claw, holding him there
against her.
She stared down at his weakening features.
And Sans closed his sockets, and he took in a sharp inhale, holding back
another cough.
And soft, whispered words spilled from his chest.
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
“i’m s-sorry…”
 
…
 
“frisk… i am sorry.”
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
 
H-he…
 
…
 
 
He apologized.
 
…
 
…
 
Sans’ words draped over her broken soul. Frisk clutched at his hand tighter.
She leaned into his palm and whispered back at him.
 
“Sans…”
 
…
 
“I forgive you.”
 
…
 
She forgave him for his cruelty. She absolved him of his sins. And at the end
of it all, she held him tight.
She was compassion. She was mercy.
 
The true Manumitter.
 
The one destined to free them all.
 
And Sans’ clenched teeth began to shiver and clatter together at the sound of
her words. He opened his sockets and stared back at her.
Blue tears began to accumulate around his lone, red eye… and they spilled down
the side of his cheek and collected in the single alcove. The color turned his
scarlet eye purple.
 
…
 
He could not understand…
 
…
 
He could never truly discern her empathy.
 
…
 
Because how could she forgive him, after everything he had done?
 
…
 
H-how could she show him kindness?…
 
But she did.
She freed him of his sins and all of the malice that he had ever acted on.
And Frisk leaned down into his chest and pressed her forehead to his, one last
time.
 
…
 
“sweetheart…”
 
…
 
His fingers feathered over her cheek. He turned his head and coughed up another
wave of blood and blue before slowly turning back to face her. His body
trembled beneath her and the blue tears dripped from his socket and stained her
grasping hands and smeared along her sleeves.
A subtle, melancholy smile flickered across his features, but it only lingered
for a brief moment until it subsided. And Sans took in one last breath. He held
it deep within and slowly exhaled.
His eye turned dim, and then it faded into nothing.
Empty sockets stared ahead, lifeless and barren.
 
And his breathing stopped.
 
…
 
Sans…
 
…
 
Sans?…
 
…
 
H-he-…
 
…
 
He is gone.
 
…
 
His splintered soul had been laid to rest.
And what remained was just a shell.
 
 
…
 
Frisk flinched and stared down at him. She bit at her lower lip, holding down a
sob. Her heart frantically collided against the inside of her chest. She
grasped at either side of his still skull and shook him a bit.
 
“… S-sans?…”
 
He’s gone.
 
“Sans?!”
 
You are victorious.
 
“S-SANS!!!!”
 
You won.
 
“N-NO!!! NO!!!!”
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
…
 
 
“P-please… S-sans… I’m sorry…”
 
Frisk cried harder than she ever had.
 
“Please come back to me…”
 
She cried for him… for his life and his heartache and all of his suffering.
 
“Please… d-don’t… don’t leave m-me here…”
 
She cried for herself… and for the entirety of her own life… and all of her
misery
 
“Please… d-d-don’t go-…”
 
But most of all, she cried for their failures.
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
…
 
 
As she cried, her vision faded in and out.
 
…
 
Frisk rolled her shoulders back and sobbed, staring weakly at the thin ray of
light that reached out a few feet away from them.
 
…
 
She began to cough up another wave of blood upon his chest. She pressed her
messy cheek against his ribs, listening for the sound of his fluttering soul…
but it was quiet.
There was no more life within him.
 
…
 
 
…
 
Sans, I will be yours.
 
In the soul, without words, until death.
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
……
 
 
 
…
 
Time inched by.
 
…
 
Her sobs slowly subsided.
 
…
 
Her tears melted away.
 
…
 
Frisk lay upon his chest in the dark silence for what felt like hours.
 
Her vision had subsided into nothing but a hazy cloud. Each one of her limbs
had gone numb and every now and then she would cough up another upsurge of
fresh blood tainted with chunks of gore.
 
…
 
She knew this was the end. She was slowly bleeding out internally and she felt…
so weak… so c-cold…
 
…
 
But she remained atop his lifeless form. Her fingers idly inched along his
chest… digging into the folds of his jacket. It still felt warm. She caressed
his skull and traced her fingertips along the edges of his empty sockets and
the jagged crack at the topside of his scalp.
And she would gaze down at his claws every couple of minutes, expecting to see
his fingers twitch and grab at the nape of her neck.
But he did not move.
 
…
 
And after a long moment, Frisk willed her quivering arms back towards his
chest. She slipped her hands across Sans’ still rib cage. Her fingers traced
along the tired bones. They felt colder than ever… they did not vibrate
anymore. She scratched at the open tear at the center of his shirt - the impact
spot.
Frisk reached her hand through the rip. She slipped her slender wrist between
his cracked ribs and felt around for his soul. Her fingers grazed over a small
orb deep inside. It was not hovering anymore. It lay inanimate, resting against
the back of his spinal cord. She wrapped her hand around it and pulled the
sphere out from his cavity.
His soul… it was no longer a flashing crystal filled with sapphire steam. It
was grey in color and cracked open, just like the deep fracture in his skull.
There was a faint muddled blue fluent at the very bottom of the orb and it
dripped out against Frisk’s fingers. But it was just hints of lifeless essence.
His soul was still. It was deceased.
 
…
 
…
 
Frisk stared at the broken orb for a long time.
She caressed it in her hands softly, rubbing it between her palms, trying to
warm up the sides.
 
…
 
…
 
…
 
And after a while, she slowly forced herself up and staggered to her feet.
She stood over his corpse and held his broken soul to her chest. She could not
even feel her own movements as she stumbled backwards and stared down at his
remains.
 
There was nothing left.
 
It was him… but he was not there.
 
Sans was gone.
 
And so was she.
 
…
 
And Frisk slowly turned on her heels and she staggered into the darkness,
leaving the beam of light behind her.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
She wavered through the shadowy hallway. She made her way to the first gate… to
the entrance. Every now and then she would stop to hurl up thick globs of
blood. Crimson fluent spilled from her nose and it caught in her eyes, but she
had not gone blind just yet. She squinted and her movements slowed as she saw a
pale light ahead of her at the very end of the hall.
 
Ahead of her lay the first gate.
 
The entrance.
 
The shed door.
 
It was there, just as she had remembered. She could feel a faint breeze of air.
It was warm.
Frisk stepped forward, drawing closer and closer to the planks of wood that
formed the door. She watched as pale streams of light spilled out from between
each slat.
And she finally reached the door and fell to her knees before it.
 
…
 
Frisk collapsed onto the ground and pressed her forehead against the wood.
The delicate scent of outside air caressed her senses. Warm, summer oxygen
filled her feeble lungs. The aroma of soil and grass and the fragrance of fresh
lingering rain.
 
…
 
Warmth.
 
…
 
Comfort.
 
…
 
It was home.
 
…
 
I-it was freedom…
 
…
 
She had made it.
 
…
 
And she listened to the faint breeze… the sound of sound of buzzing cicadas and
crickets and rustling pines.
 
…
 
Her world… it was right outside. It lay before her, yet she could not reach it.
 
…
 
Frisk clutched at Sans’ soul in one hand. She brought her opposite palm up to
her chest. She pressed her hand flat upon her heart, and slowly began to remove
her own soul like Sans had done countless times.
But there was no pain. It did not hurt like it had in the past. Frisk felt
almost nothing. Her entire body was numb. And her tender little soul formed at
the center of her trembling palm.
Frisk lifted her hand and blinked down at her soul. I-it was fractured… caked
in splintering cracks… breaking… bleeding. Its purple coloration had all but
faded and the draining fluent had turned opaque and muddled. It spilled all
over her fingers.
 
…
 
…
 
It’s over now…
 
B-but… you can still free yourself.
 
And him, as well.
 
…
 
…
 
She stared down at both fractured spheres in either hand for a long time.
And slowly, Frisk lowered her hands, and she rolled the two small orbs
underneath the small space below the shed door onto the outside.
 
…
 
She watched both spheres curve out into the forest darkness.
They ran along the grass together and rolled some inches away until they came
to a stop.
The soul’s faint glows meddled together in a fading hue of violet…
 
…
 
Two broken stars… laying side by side.
 
…
 
…
 
Frisk smiled softly.
She released a gentle exhale and lifted her weak gaze up towards the sky.
It was still night, but there was a hint of light across the expanse above the
treetops.
 
Early evening twilight.
 
Stars shone overhead.
 
And the starlight reflected within her eyes, a glossy frost of shivering
fireflies caught beneath each iris.
 
The sound of the breeze and pine trees and bugs faded into a white noise until
it was entirely silent in her head.
 
…
 
Frisk closed her eyes before her vision faded completely.
 
And her muscles relaxed against the door…
 
At peace at last.
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
Life is enduring.
 
Surviving and striving.
 
Though eventually…
 
Eventually everything ends.
 
…
 
And in one moment, we move on to another phase.
 
And everything before that will turn to nothing but a memory.
 
…
 
A flickering image from a dream you cannot forget.
 
It is the past.
 
…
 
But there are some memories…
 
Some memories…
 
They never really go away.
 
…
 
They'll turn to stains… forgotten blemishes rubbed raw upon your heart.
 
…
 
They will contour your spirit.
 
…
 
They will shadow your soul.
 
…
 
And in time, they will set you free.
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
 
…
 
 
…
 
 
Sans…
 
…
 
It’s over now.
 
…
 
I forgive you.
 
…
 
And now…
 
…
 
… now we can be free.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   "We are each on our own journey. Each of us is on our very own adventure,
  encountering all kinds of challenges. And the choices we make on that quest
will shape us as we go. Those choices will stretch us, and test us and push us
to our limit. And our journey will make us stronger than we ever knew we could
                              be." - Aamnah Akram
 
 
 
 
 
*****
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     /////////////////////

                                   The end.
     …
     It’s over, folks… It’s done.
      
     I hope all of my readers enjoyed this story. I know the ending is
     hard to swallow… but it had to be this way. I actually had multiple
     endings outlined for this story. The ending I chose to use is
     probably the most difficult one to accept out of all the others. This
     ending also leaves a multitude of questions open: We never really
     discovered who Chara was or what truly became of her. What were Sans’
     true feelings towards Frisk? Did Frisk permanently die? What will
     ultimately become of the Underground and all of its inhabitants? etc.
     Despite these loose ends, I felt it was an ending that is effective
     and final, and the only conclusion acceptable for two such forlorn,
     tragic characters - two characters that were so akin yet
     disharmonized, both so hopeful yet troubled, stuck in an infinite
     loop of damaging each other physically and mentally. There could be
     no happy outcome. It had to end this way.
     I could talk a lot about this final chapter and the symbolism that
     was displayed, however I think I will leave that ranting for the
     epilogue. This was a tale of free will and loss… revenge and
     forgiveness… but ultimately it is a story about the personal
     struggles you will face in your life… and finding your strength to
     never give in… to never give up. A tale that depicts the many ways in
     which indifference and cruelty will always repeat itself unless we
     fight.
     So I will leave you with this, my dear readers: Keep fighting. Keep
     striving. And burn bright.
     /////////////////////
***** Epilogue *****
Chapter Summary
     Epilogue: Cover art, writing process & inspiration, key themes,
     character symbolism & representation, trivia, and Bloodsick
     Péntalog's premise.
 
Hey everyone!!!!!
It’s been a little while since I’ve written anything. I hope all of my readers
have had a wonderful Christmas/Hanukkah/New Years/Holiday!!! I have done
absolutely nothing this past month besides work and spend time with family. It
was nice to relax for a little bit. Writing Pneuma Rot was a highly exhausting
feat, and although I do miss it and miss hearing from all my lovely readers, it
was a relaxing relief to not have to write for a bit.
But now I’m back! ლ(ಠ_ಠ ლ)
So this final Chapter 35 has nothing to do with the story. I am going to write
this in a pretty informal manner. This is just an epilogue where I figured I’d
discuss a few various themes, trivia, inspiration, etc. regarding the fic. If
you were here simply for story, feel free to just skip this entire chapter.
Although I will lay out the premise of my next upcoming series, Bloodsick
Péntalog, towards the end of this chapter, so you might wanna stick around for
that.
Also, this is completely unrelated to anything, but I recently stopped biting
my nails and typing feels super weird with long nails. I’m not sure if it will
affect my writing or not haha.
 
Firstly I want to show everyone the cover art I commissioned for Pneuma Rot. I
am SOOO ECSTATIC about this art!!! Pleeease please please click the link below
to view it o(≧▽≦)o
                                Cover_Art_Here
This art was done by the amazing and lovely artist Leeffi. Working with Leeffi
on this piece was a great experience. She was very professional the entire time
and it came out exactly how I envisioned. I don’t mean to sound like an
advertising spokesperson for Leeffi, but if anyone is considering having
Undertale fanart done for their fic then I highly recommend her! Thank you
again Leeffi for the amazing work you did! It was worth every penny ♡(。-ω-)
I have been REALLY lazy and busy so I still have not had a chance to completely
re-read this entire fic and make edits (I have done edits for a few chapters,
but not the earlier ones which was the main goal. EDITS COMPLETED 3/22/2018.) I
will do it eventually, just when I’m not feeling like such a lazybones.
 
PROCESS & TRIVIA
There have been a number of people asking me about my writing process and
inspiration for Pneuma Rot. I’d like to talk about my writing process first. I
began working on PR when my computer crashed one day. I had always wanted to
start on a fanfiction, especially one with a Horrortale theme, but in that
moment when I had no computer or video games to distract me I figured it was an
opportunity to jot down my ideas. I began with a lengthy and plothole-riddled
outline. The story was much longer, there were other Undertale characters
involved, but it was basically what I ended up writing for the fic.
It took about three days for me to work out all the kinks in the outline and
tighten up the story. Even after the outline was completed and I actually began
writing, things shifted and continued to change. But having an outline helps a
LOT, especially when there is something to follow while you work on each
chapter. It is easy to get distracted or exasperated when writing something so
long and involved, but not when there is a framework of the story already
sketched out.
 
Regardless, I still got a bit creative with some scenes and steered away from
the original draft, so I wasn’t too rigid. For example, Gaster was originally
suppose to be Grillby. At the last minute I changed his character and swapped
it with Gaster. The sole reason for this was because I wanted to make it a more
frightening scene, and Gaster has always emitted a very ominous vibe to me. I
also wanted Grillz to be one of the warriors that had perished during Chara’s
reign. That was the original reason as to why Gaster’s building smelled so
strong of firewood… because it was suppose to be Grillby's scent :P But I
enjoyed that little detail about the building. It was also something
significant to allude to the fact that Frisk was back in the Town of Snowdin
every time she reset there, so I kept the firewood scent.
I received a comment in an earlier chapter, mainly asking about the
relationship between Sans and Gaster: If Gaster was still considered Sans and
Paps father in PR. I am not gonna give you all a definitive answer to that
question, however their relationship will become a bit clearer and more
apparent in the sequel (=｀ω´=)
 
Papyrus was originally suppose to travel with Frisk a bit longer, and appear
more frequently throughout the story. I chopped down most of Paps appearances
because they did not add much to the main plotline, which is solely about Frisk
and Sans (and partly Chara). I do want to create more of a relationship between
Frisk and Paps though, which is something I will also dabble in in the sequel.
The original backstory for PR was far more complicated and included Asriel,
surprisingly enough. It consisted of a long, drawn-out story whereas Asriel
(prince and son to Asgore and next in-line as king) was the monster who brought
Chara into the Underground in the first place to deceive his father and take
over the throne. Chara was originally suppose to be another “true” Manumitter,
just like Frisk, but in the end when she would have gone to open the last gate
at the castle, Asriel would have murdered her out of jealousy over her powers,
and… yeah… it's confusing and it was just way more complicated than it had be.
So in the end I scrapped that ending and completely edited out Asriel's role
and made the backstory solely about Chara.
I kind of regret not including Asriel in the story in one way or another,
because I really like his character in the original Undertale game. Asriel and
Flowey would have been two completely separate identities had I included
Asriel. I really like Flowey as his own separate character. This is simply my
personal preference, so I decided to use it in the fic. I also really wanted to
include Omega Flowey somewhere but there was just no appropriate area for him,
and I think it would have added too much to Flowey’s character and taken away
from Frisk and Sans’ story.
Another outline revision I made was Chara’s gender. Chara was originally
suppose to be depicted as a non-binary character using they/them pronouns.
However, when I started writing the scenes with Chara, I found that using those
pronouns became too difficult for me to work in fluidly. It became confusing as
to which character was speaking to who (even writing with both female pronouns
was a bit of a challenge.) I am not sure how other Undertale fanfiction authors
have approached this. I have not read enough other fics to see how others
handle it. But anyways, that is the reason why Chara was depicted as female as
opposed to their more widely-accepted non-binary gender.
I also enjoyed the stronger bond that was created between the two, almost a
kinship-like connection between Frisk and Chara. Chara being female made her
more similar to Frisk, which was a goal of mine. “I am you.” - A line Chara
spoke to Frisk in their first encounter back in the Waterfall swamps.
In the original outline Sans had at least four more appearances where he
ambushed Frisk throughout her journey. Not all of them were sexual encounters.
In fact, three out of the four ambushes were actually just the two of them
conversing (basically Sans weakening Frisk's determination with more mindgames
and emotional extortion.) I cut these interactions out of the fic because in
the end they did not add much, and I enjoyed Sans’ long absences. His truancy
created a sense of longing for Frisk (and the reader) which I think helped
create suspense and avidity for the fic as a whole. However, Frans_Week is
coming up next month (Feb 7th - 14th) and I am going to try and participate.
There are a few writing prompts that I am interested in, and I might recycle
some omitted scenes for these prompts… so you may get to read some of these
excluded PR Sans/Frisk encounters.
That brings me to the final chapter and the ending scene. In the first outline,
after their final battle and after Frisk pierced through Sans’ soul with her
rouge, power-diseased blade, Frisk would have looked down at her stomach only
to see that one of Sans’ stray bone daggers had actually got her… sort of
Natalie Portman in Black Swan-eqsue. But in the end I decided against it. I
wanted the ironic twist to be that Sans did not kill her outright in the final
battle. He had killed her so many times prior, but in the end, when it mattered
most, he failed. He failed just like before… On purpose this time? Who knows.
 
A question I keep seeing pop up again and again is if Sans ever really did care
for Frisk, despite all the horror he inflicted on her. I like to keep this idea
vague and up to the reader's interpretation. He was a broken soul in more ways
than one. Is it even possible for him to love another? I will say this though,
you do see small bits and pieces of his genuine affection displayed towards
Frisk… In my opinion, yes he did love her. But it was so tainted, so damaged,
it could never be real. It was a figment of his imagination, a hallucination.
But fear not, I plan on divulging into Sans’ concept of ‘love’ in the sequel.
 
INSPIRATION
Most of my inspiration was pulled from personal experiences. I won't go into
detail, there is no reason to, but this fic provided as a creative and
therapeutic outlet for me. I have mentioned this a couple times in passing
comments and such throughout the fic, and I know it seems pretty insane for me
to write something like this, especially with how graphic some of the scenes
were, but it was a remedying experience if you can believe that… in a ‘facing
your demons’ sort of way.
I also pulled a lot of inspiration from any type of story about the ‘hero’s
journey’, mainly Ancient Greek tragedies by Sophocles and Euripides like Ajax,
Oedipus Rex, Hecuba, etc. Also, Shakespearean tragedies such as Hamlet,
Macbeth, Coriolanus, etc. influence my writing very much and I recommend them
to anyone who is interested in historic tragedies who can also deal with the
Elizabethan dialogue.
Osamu Tezuka's rendition of Metropolis has always been a big inspiration to me
as well, mainly due to the tragic ending. Also, ya know, just a wide variety of
horror films (too many to list) and dark, apocalyptic music helped urge me one
while writing. I listened to a LOT of Cryo_Chamber… too much… waaaay too much.
My atmospheric inspiration was pulled from a variety of video games, mainly
horror games like Silent Hill (I listened to a lot of the Silent Hill
soundtrack while writing as well.)
Another game that proved as a huge atmospheric inspiration to me is the indie-
horror game The_Path by Tale of Tales. I recommend this game to anyone who
enjoyed this fic. This game is a take on the classic fairytale Little Red
Riding Hood. It is mainly a game about growing up and encountering your 'wolf'.
Please check it out! The music is amazing as well (score by the incredible Kris
Force in collaboration with Jarboe. Good stuff!)
Whenever I write I feel myself drawing aesthetic inspiration from the Cormac
McCarthy novel "The_Road". It is one of my favorite books. It is not terribly
long either, so I recommend it!
And another atmospheric inspiration for this fic was actually an auditory
inspiration. Serial Experiments Lain is one of my most favorite animes in
existence, and the bootleg soundtrack provided a lovely backdrop to write to.
Check it out!
 
KEY THEMES/CHARACTER SYMBOLISM & REPRESENTATION
As I am sure most readers were able to piece this together, but every character
in this fic represented a very distinct, universal symbol. I made a little
chart when I was writing to refer to, just to keep these main motifs as a
constant idea in the back of my mind.
 
Frisk: Mercy/Compassion/Forgiveness
Sans: Hopelessness/Agony/Misery
Chara: Hate/Anger/Vengeance
The gates/candles: Life struggles/Trials
Muffet: Hope/Faith/Acceptance
Soul shield: Courage/Will
Soul sword: Strength (born from weakness)
Monsters encountered throughout Underground (Gaster, Undyne, Mad Dummy, Bratty
& Catty, Mettaton, etc.): Fear/Apprehension/Conflict
 
Each one of these symbols has a large part to play in a person’s life. Rage and
sorrow… these things sneak up on you (Rage= Chara with her ambushes) (Sorrow=
Sans with his teleportation and lurking). But you must hold strong to your
mercy and your compassion. You cannot be swallowed up by hate and hopelessness.
It was my goal to write Pneuma Rot as a hero’s journey, Frisk’s journey.
Wikipedia says: "In narratology, the monomyth, or the hero's journey, is the
common template of a broad category of tales that involve a hero who goes on an
adventure, and in a decisive crisis wins a victory, and then comes home changed
or transformed.”
Hero’s journeys often come full circle, which is why I had Frisk return to the
very beginning in the final scene. If you want to learn more about this classic
narrative, take a look at the full Wiki article here.
There were many themes in this story. Some of the main key themes displayed
would have to be forgiveness, revenge, mental illness, resurrection and rebirth
(presented figuratively through a literal depiction), 'The Road of Trials,'
atonement and aging. I am sure there are countless more that even I didn’t
fully embrace, but I’d love to hear any of your thoughts on the themes and
symbolism in the comments!
 
SEQUEL PREMISE
This brings us to the premise of Bloodsick Péntalog.
There will be five chapters in total (hence the word Péntalog). I know that
seems short, but these chapters will be long and there is a chance that a few
of them may be cut into two parts.
Alright… so… the sequel. Like I've mentioned before, it is basically an excuse
for me to write more PR smut (; •﹏•) The premise of Bloodsick Péntalog is an
alternate ending, in a sense. It is what would have happened if Frisk actually
did comply with Sans and open the 10th gate and free the Underground and
everyone in it. So basically it is the ending that I bypassed: Sans decides to
keep Frisk with him in the Underground while the rest of the monstrosities
spill out into the human world.
These five shorts are consecutive stories about what happens immediately after
the final gate is opened. Each one will be violent/bloody in one way or another
(alluded by the title word 'Bloodsick'.) The sequel will take place in the
domestic setting of Sans & Papyrus' house in Snowdin forest. But these shorts
will not be simply smut, they are also a glimpse into Sans’ internal dialogue,
anguish and twisted mental state and his past. Yes, the sequel will be written
in third-person Sans PoV.
I already foresee that writing in Sans' PoV will prove as a challenge for me… I
am not used to writing through the eyes of the villain. I am hoping that it
will turn out alright though, in the end. I'm gonna have to summon a super-
duper destructive mentality to write for Sans *chuckles weakly*
When I was working on Pneuma Rot I had a few different endings scenarios
envisioned for the fic. Ultimately I settled on the ending used because I felt
that it was the only appropriate outcome for two such tragic characters.
However, I dabbled with 3 other alternate endings. So, these shorts would have
probably preceded the ending I devised if Frisk had opened the final gate and
everyone lived happily (NOPE) ever after.
Also, some loose ends from PR will be answered in this fic (I.E. Why Sans went
missing at times, a closer look at Chara & Sans’ relationship, a more in-depth
view of the Underground, the candles/savepoints, etc.) We will also revisit
some characters from PR. The characters we will be seeing again will be
Napstablook, Toriel (brief), Chara (flashbacks only), Undyne, Gaster, Papyrus
and of course Sans and Frisk. We will also see some new characters such as the
Temmies ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)…
Please note that the sequel will be highly explicit and contain way more smut
than was displayed in PR. Also, I plan on writing Bloodsick Péntalog at a more
leisurely pace. When it came to PR, I rushed some chapters and wrote every
single day. It was wonderful yet draining. For the sequel, it will most likely
be one chapter posted every month. I know this sounds like a LONG wait, but I
plan on these chapters being quite lengthy, so hopefully that will appease my
readers long enough until the next chapter is released.
I don’t really want to give away any more about the sequel because I will just
start spoiling it, but I think you all get the gist. If you guys have any
questions, any at all, please feel free to ask them here in the comments below.
I know this Epilogue was not that long; it was basically an excuse to post the
commissioned fan art! I hope you guys all stick around for the sequel, but if
not then I don’t blame you.
 
My inbox on my Tumblr is always open. Also, my Frans one-off prompts will
probably be posted on my Tumblr only during Frans week in February, however I
may publish them on AO3 too… not sure yet. Also I might add more to this
epilogue if I can think of anything else I want to include.
Thank you again, as always, my lovely supporters and readers. The first chapter
of the sequel will most likely be up sometime towards the end of this month.
You can always ask me for updates on Tumblr or in the comments below. Love ya
all, thanks for reading, and take care! ヾ(●ω●)ノ
 
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