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   Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!