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Chapter Text

The human's body dropped when the bones piercing their chest were dispelled.  Sans wasn't going to waste energy holding up their worthless body.

Red smears, splotches, and puddles in the snow surrounded the Ruins door, but they didn't go much farther.  The bridge where his brother's "barrier" of wooden bars was still yards away.  Sans didn't let the anomaly get any farther these past few hundred resets.

He might cut their route even shorter next time.  The Ruins door was left wide open for him to finally see what was on the other side.  Sans could surprise and end them in there after they RELOAD, which should be happening any moment now.  Maybe he'd narrow down the locations of their SAVEs if they decided to go for a RESET.  That was a task that hadn't been accomplished yet.  Something to do.  This was long past "getting boring"... But, it must be excruciatingly monotonous for the anomaly.

A corner of his mouth rose up at that.

"...Having fun? Are you sure that's something you can have right now...?"

Sans' smile fell immediately back into its blank state.

"Because boy would I sure like to have fun! But, I can't!"

Right...

"Sorry..."  He muttered.

His blue and red eyelight bore into the still bleeding corpse in front of him.  Anytime now.  Come on.  His hands trembled with anticipation at the thought of thrashing the anomaly around after they reloaded.  They pissed him off quite a bit this time around.

"Sorry!  Sorry he says!  You were pretty sorry when you started killing everyone!  When you killed ME!  But you still KEPT DOING IT--"

Sans stepped away from the ranting voice behind him.  He's not real.  He's not real.  Papyrus is dead.  Forcing his focus onto the human below him, he glared.

"What's the hold up?  Having another tantrum?"

The body remained motionless.  No RELOAD yet.

"Heh."

Guess that meant he had some time to kill. His gaze went to the trees lining the pathway.  Vines.  Thick and thorny, were anchored up along the trunks. Their long ends extended off the trees and hung down limp and mangled on the ground.  Away from all of the red at his feet.  Very much in the vicinity he had occupied during the battle.

It was pretty rude.  Sans almost always left that flower alone, so long as it stayed out of the way.  And it did not stay out of the way this reset.  One hell of a "thank you" for not killing it along with everyone else.  Granted, that was because it, Flowey, was more trouble than it was worth.  An ant would give more EXP.  Hell, even Jerry gave more.  A soulless being just didn't qualify for The Judge's System.  What a shame.

"What a wonderful excuse, brother! An excuse to show mercy to a fellow murderer over your own brother!"

Sans rubbed a hand over his face rougher than was necessary.  The grinding sound of bone on bone helped distort his brother's voice and distract him from it.

Anyway.

He'd deal with Flowey in a moment.  The Ruin's door remaining open was a careless mistake the anomaly never made before.  What a treat; it's been forever since he got to explore somewhere new.

***

A leaf lay up ahead, caught between a patch of snow and the base of a tree.  Several feet to the left of it was a hole not yet covered by fresh snow.

He's getting closer.  And his victim seems to think they're the hunter.  Flowey was never this easy to catch.  He could burrow indefinitely, so why would he leave a convenient trail of holes to follow?  The leaf he left was just patronizing.  A fabricated show of surprise and hasty retreat upon hearing Sans' unrelenting pursuit.

A sharp bone shot out from the air and obliterated the leaf as he walked by.  But Sans wasn't angry despite this action.  He didn't feel much of anything.  A fresh level of LV still echoed in his soul from his departure from the Ruins.  The Anomaly, despite its power, was hilariously limited in where they could reach.  Mostly southern areas evaded their detection, or were usually completely inaccessible to them for some strange reason he still hasn't figured out. The few surviving monsters mistook Sans for protection and practically walked into his sharpened attacks.

"And you enjoyed that... Didn't you? Or maybe not?  Were you disappointed that they didn't run? You FREAK! You didn't even have to kill them yet!"

"I never enjoy it, Paps... I've told you..." Sans shooed away the apparition that started to take form in his peripheral.  There was another hole in the snow coming into view.  "I needed to gauge their strength now rather than later when I'm pressed for time."

"Liar.  You've always been good at making excuses."

One step closer to the next hole and something under the snow didn't feel right.  Within a second, Sans teleported backwards a few yards; just as the vine that had been under him snapped up to constrict around nothing.  Then, from above in the canopy, two more vines shot down like spears towards him.  Two pointed bones raced to meet them, slicing up their middles and rendering them useless as they smashed into the ground beside Sans.  Clear sap oozed out and trickled through the disturbed snow.

"It's pretty convenient for me that you rely on water pressure to move these things.  I'd be pretty annoyed if this was a hydra situation.  But no.  You're just well hydra-ated."

Silence.

"Not gonna lie, though.  Kinda expected more of these things.  I even took a nap after checking out the ruins.  Plenty of time to grow more for a trap.  What, you scared?  Holding back?  Or did you tire yourself out earlier by being and utter pest with the human?"

The tree to his left let out a deafening CRACK that echoed around the forest.  Then came another from behind.  Forward. To the right--

Creaking and moaning of wood being bent against its will--

A sharp glance upwards revealed the tops of the trees converging inwards.  Towards a center point that happened to be right above Sans.

His head rang when the first of the trunks snapped under the strain.  Like dynamite going off right by his head and the soundwaves plowing through his body.  Then another, and another.  At different rates, trees fell towards him and all other directions as far as he could see.  It was hard to tell where it ended.  From the middle of hollowed out stumps, vines raced out to grab at Sans and hold him under the descending death from above.

He shortcut away.  Under a falling tree--

Shortcut.

A vine narrowly missed him, ripping a hole in the side of his shorts--

Shortcut.

Shortcut.

Shortcut--

This was getting annoying.

The last of the trees were making their descent, one of course heading right for Sans.  His left eye flared up with magic as the sound of blasters building up energy challenged the cacophony of deforestation around him.  The boom of the blasts following overtook everything, lasting long enough that when it stopped, everything was silent once again.

Chips of wood fell around and on top of Sans' hood and shoulders.  He surveyed the ruined landscape.  Logs piled on each other, creating shadows where certain small, annoying creatures could hide.  Clusters of pine needle branches obscured his vision.  Thin vines slowly crept out of the shadows like snakes, covering much of the surface area and branching out through the mess.

So fucking annoying.

Sans could still find the little shit.  Flowey just made a nice little arena for hide and seek.  The flower's not going to leave this place for a while.  It probably feels safe.  And if it does leave?  Well, Sans will find out pretty soon.

Catching his breath, he took out several cinnabuns and ate them.  Flowey managed to make him use up more magic than he would've liked with that little stunt.  Heh.  Wood've--

"FOCUS, you IMBECILE!"

Right...

Traversing the area with care, Sans avoided touching the small vines littering the ground and wood piles.  They were obvious signs that Flowey wasn't near here.  To aim at Sans, Flowey needed to be able to see or sense him touch one of those feelers.  Sans just had to wait until he stumbled into Flowey's view.  The flower wouldn't waste an opportunity to take a shot at him in a place like this.  He probably thinks he'll win this with the advantage he has right now.

Flowey had a habit of being naive like that.

***

A few hours in and lo and behold, an angry little flower writhed in the jaws of Sans' blaster.

"Trashbag!"  Flowey hissed, his face contorted into something horrific and goatlike as he struggled.  His stem was ripped from the ground and impaled on a fang.  Torn from his system of roots and vines, they were all deemed useless without the connection to their source.

Game over.

"Go ahead then!  Kill me!  I'll just come back!"

Again, Flowey's face morphed.  Sans narrowed his eyes at the display.

"I'll even make it more fun for you!" He cackled. "Brother...?  Why are you looking at me like that?  Do you hate me that much?  Why...? Why?!--"

"Wowie.  That is INSULTING!  My face is much more handsome than that!  And what a horrible impression. He's done so much better in the past! Plus... This isn't going to get to you, is it, brother?"

You lost the luxury to feel anything about me long ago.

Black eye sockets invaded Sans' vision as Papyrus' disembodied head floated into view.

"Well? Get on with it!"

Sans walked through the phantom, regaining sight of his target as he closed the distance.

"I know, I know.  I've got this, Papyrus."

Whatever Flowey had continued saying halted.  His face returned to its usual shape and he gave an annoyed look.

"What did you say, Trashbag?  Not so smiley right now, are ya?  We really pissed you off this run, huh?"

His cackles wore at Sans' already raw nerves.

"Not enough LV?  Poor you!  You're probably at what, seventeen?  Just enough to still feel something when I--"

Sans grabbed Flowey by the back of his head and shook him.

"Shut. Up."

Flowey glared into Sans' eyelights, feigning cooperation.  Sans didn't miss the thread of leftover root from Flowey's stem sneaking its way towards his sleeve.  That's fine.  This wasn't going to take much longer.

"Yeah, that was a pretty stupid thing you did.  I thought you were smart enough to stay out of this."

"Oohhh~ I finally got you to say more than two words-?"

"I told you a joke earlier--"

"Those don't fucking count!"  Flowey hissed.  A cruel grin made its way back onto his face.  "At least I left you your brother to kill-- agk!"

Sans let his grip tighten, beginning to crush the head of the flower.  Two of his petals dropped off and floated down to the snow.

"If you had killed him then this conversation would be very different."

Flowey scoffed and rolled his eyes.  "I'm bored Trashbag!  You two just keep doing the same thing over and over!  When will you just give up?!"

"When they do.  Isn't that obvious?"

"They never will!"

"Then I guess I won't either."

Silence reclaimed the conversation.  Just long enough that Sans decided his point was made.

"Anyways, stay out of my way in the next-"

"Do you really think you're better than Chara?  Than me?  Face it, Smiley, you enjoy this just as much as they do. Maybe more."

Sans gave him the look that that comment deserved.

"I don't torture people when I kill them.  I don't obliterate timelines into nothingness for shits and giggles."  His grip grew tighter.  He ignored the hisses and enraged screams as his grip crushed closer to the core of Flowey's mangled head.  "I do this because there was no other option--"

"You messed up is what you mean!  You should never have slipped up and let them know you could remember-- ggk! Heh- hehehe- aghk!  For someone who claims they don't torture people, you sure are dragging this out--"

Red dripped from the crushed flower head and down through Sans' fingers.  He dispelled his blaster.  The cursed yellow body was dropped to the ground and left there as Sans turned, walked off, and took a shortcut to his house.  The washroom was empty and neat.  Just as his brother left it the night before. After he had gotten ready for bed.  Sans didn't let him wake up this morning.  It was easier that way.  Plus, what better place to leave his brother's dust than in his room with the things he loved?  Sans didn't go in there anymore.

"You still haven't added the 'No Sanses allowed' sign for me. I'd do it myself, but it's obvious why I can't!"

The sink was turned on and Sans washed the remnants of flower and determination from his hands.  Then he rolled up his jacket's sleeve and ripped away the root that had crawled up his arm while Flowey tried to stall him.  Turns out he made it to a rib.  Perv.

"Why should I do that when it's going to be reset away?  You know I won't go in there unless I have to."

"For the same reason you need to make your bed everyday!"

Sans grinned at Papyrus's floating head in the mirror.

"I don't make my bed."

Papyrus threw his hands up in the air and gave the ceiling a withering glare while Sans snickered.

"Heh... I miss you, bro."

The phantom gave him a glowering side eye.

"Well... I don't miss you."

With that his brother faded away.  Leaving Sans frowning at the empty space in the mirror.

"Yeah..."  His eyes trailed down to their reflection.  Red with madness and cold, distant blue.  Everything he's become laid clear in front of him.

"That's fair."

Chapter Text

Glass clanged against the wooden floorboards of the bar.

Sans' head shot up and his soul pulsed magic to his hands- the stool he sat on tipped dangerously backwards- clawed phalanges flung outward. He clumsily scraped against the top of the bar until a grip was made and pulled himself forward, righting the seat.

With a shaky sigh, his hand came up to hold his pounding head.

That sucked.

Magic suppressing alcohol and adrenaline don't mix.

Hand now allowed to fall gracelessly to clunk against the bar, Sans' skull lolled onto his left shoulder so his eyes could do the rest of the work. He side-eyed the empty bottle of hard liquor rolling in circles on the floor. It came to a stop, almost like it had a sense of self preservation.

.
.
.

Shards exploded across the floor, their origin point tracing back to a bone bullet lodged in what was the bottle's place.

The empty nothingness Sans had drank himself into was glaringly absent now; the startle had overridden most of the alcohol's depressant on his magic. His soul, his feelings, they were all simmering now. Churning, winding him up all over again.

Confusion.

None of the bottles around had anything in them. Just great.

Sadness.

How pathetic he is. He doesn't even want to lean forward to check the lower shelf of the backbar.

Revulsion...

Alphys, crumbling to dust as she stared at the person who, at one time, was her only friend. A friend who had rooted for her when she doubted her place as an intern, and then again, as Royal Scientist.  

Resigned, betrayed.

She didn't even look surprised; Sans had proved her inner turmoil correct:

"I never really had anyone who cared about me, did I...?"

He knew Alphys would come to this conclusion. She always did when he failed to make a clean kill in his haste. More bones had already been impaled into her soul to correct it, but monsters always die slower when they have the chance to raise their defences.

"That's not what this is, Alph..." He muttered, but time was ticking and he had to make a quick exit with a shortcut.

Her head had already crumbled in on itself.

Sans felt a greater than usual rise in EXP as he searched for the next monsters.

Anger.

"You...  Fucking bastard!"

Undyne leaned her full weight on the spear clenched in her fist, refusing to fall and kneel. The magic in her body fought to stay formed and not scatter to the wind despite the inevitability. "Acting like everything's all fun and games... That you're weak and harmless... Barely even doing your damn job-- Pretending you're our friend! Papyrus doesn't deserve to be related to a soulless creature like you! You're scum!"

Soulless, huh? She doesn't know the horrors an actual soulless creature had done to her and everyone they cared about.

Blue magic enveloped Undyne's soul and sent her crashing down into a plume of dust.

Sans is certain he knows her exact moment of weakness for the next run. This will be the last time he'll be dealing with Undyne the Undying.

Doubt.

His hand quivered as he raised it against the back of his brother's sleeping form.  

No- this was too much- he can't do this without at least some LV-

"Do it."

He swore he could feel the chill and prickle of a hand on his shoulder.

"If you're too much of a coward to face me, then at least hurry it up! There's more work to be done!"

That cold hand moves to clench down on his throat, digs its claws into his spine, and spreads its chill down to his very soul.

"The human won't be wasting time like this... And after everything you've broken in your pathetic life... You don't want it all to go in vain, do you?! You can't go back! No reset could erase what you've done to yourself! So... JUST. DO. IT--"

Papyrus-- the real one-- tossed himself onto his other side. He was always an aggressive sleeper, but the action cut through the thick tension in the air; it snapped back into Sans' face. There was no thought behind the reflex to send a bone bullet through his brother's soul, but there was also no hesitation in the intent behind his magic. Even after it came close enough to sense the life-long familiarity of his little brother, it still cut through. Sharp and ruthless.

The realization sent a flurry of guilt, shame, guilt, shame through Sans.  

That his magic speared through the one person that ever mattered-- without an ounce of LV to his name-- was maybe even worse than the first time he killed Papyrus. Back when he actually had to force himself to hurt him.

"Sa- ans..." Papyrus, still alive, but barely, looked to Sans. A body, still as stone with empty eyes stared back. "He- elp-" A dusty arm reached out. It was so sudden, so confusing for Papyrus. He was only able to register that he was dying through the pain and panic. He didn't have the mental capacity to deduce that he was trusting the culprit to help him. Sans was the reason his vision was going dark; the reason his own dust was being sucked down into his ribs with those last few gasps for air.

The blanket fell gently down onto the mattress, resting silent on the dust.

Sans came crashing down.

Not even the rush of EXP and LV could dampen the anguish.

"Sorry... M'sorry... M'so, so Sorry... sorry- sorry- sorrysorrysorry--"

Despair. Regret.

"S'rry, s'rry, m'srry--"

Sans startled when his mumbling broke free into words and shoved him back into the present. His eyes jumped around frantically, taking in the bar. He almost couldn't believe he was here. Away from that hell.

Well.

This was still hell.

Soul pounding and hands shaking, his body burned with volatile magic. Piles of dust surrounded him and memories like the previous still resurged briefly, trying to pull him back in--

Only one way to fix this. This hell had the option of booze and he's been hit with the sudden renewed motivation to get out of his head and stand the fuck up.

The hoard of bottles to his left were ignored, already established to be empty from the binge he's now looking to extend-

The anomaly's really taking their time.

They've taken longer than this, though. Not often, but it's happened before. In the meantime, he's never been one to reject a break.

Sans turns and slides off his favorite stool, taking the opportunity to glance at the backbar and note it's emptiness.

Time to go for the storage next to the kitchen, then.

Glass is once again tumbling around as slippered feet shuffle through the sharp remains without care. Phalanges occasionally shoot out towards anything within reach to stabilize his balance. He's still tipsy. Good. The faster he can get blackout drunk again, the better.

Passing through the darkened kitchen, Sans opens the door on the right wall into the storage room. There are four fridges, both hot and cold, lining the right wall. They're filled with food and raw magic yet to be formed into anything pleasantly edible. On the left there's spare kitchen equipment, and at the back is Sans' goal.

Or, it was his goal.

Crates of liquor were already cracked open and emptied. Clusters of bottles left by none other than himself as evidence of past actions he can't even remember. Until now that is.

He retracts his previous thought. The Anomaly is taking far too long.

Several days ago had marked yet another week into the longest they've ever gone silent. Seven months.  

Sans has always been very diligent in making the resources in Grillby's last. The Anomaly had only ever been gone for four months at most. He had gone through, at maximum, a third of the storage back here whenever it happened. Several days ago he was down two thirds. Now he fucking burned through the last bit. All because of the silly idea that maybe he had really done it and driven the Anomaly into quitting for good.

It had sent him into a rather surprising state of terror.

And it's happening all over again.

"Fuck... Okay..."

Sans turned and stumbled back out into the kitchen. There was no point in staying at Grillby's now. He swung the back door open to the frozen outside and trudged through the unshovelled pathway into the forest. Something as unimportant as a destination was given no thought.

He's alone, The Anomaly's gone, and the timelines won't be obliterated at the end of another genocide-

"AND EVERYONE'S DEAD ANYWAY!"

Sans flinched and caught himself on a tree before he lost his already abysmal balance.

That thing's back. The manifestation of his sins. His guilt, his punishment. Always at the back of his mind, ready to strike when he's already down. But that's all it is.

"You're not real.... Not real... Not real-"

"Really Sans, you're being quite rude!"

"Not real... Not real-"

"Anyways, as I was saying! What's the difference here?" Chill prickles Sans' shoulders in the likeness of heavy hands pressing down and the voice is suddenly right by his skull. "Everyone's gone anyway..."

Sans walks faster. Or tries to. It's a bit of a shit-show. The voice sounds as close as ever.

"I mean, how does betraying and murdering everyone save them from, well, MURDER? Are you sure you did the right thing, brother? Well, it's not like you can go back! Maybe you were just a freak after all and you finally had an excuse--!"

"I had to." Sans snaps. He leans against another tree so he can scan the area around him with a glare. No one. Though, a flutter of red in his peripheral catches his attention.  

It's gone when he looks.

"No you didn't!" The voice is on his other side now, mockingly cheerful as always, but when he looks there's nothing. "You just couldn't take it when you started remembering. Our friends could all be living in blissful ignorance if you had just been stronger--!"

"No. The machine..." For a moment, Sans looses track of what he was going to say. He stares off into the distance; seconds ticking by before finally he comes back. "Its readings... All timelines would've just stopped. There wouldn't be a... Blissful ignorance to live in... Just an empty void..."

Sans pushes off the tree and keeps going.

"It's better for them to live on as essence, than absolutely nothing at all," he says to himself. A familiar mantra he had used when this all first began. He's still not sure if he truly believes in it or just hopes it's true. Stars, he hopes it's true.

"You were jealous of them! They didn't remember all of the horrible things that happened! If you told them, they would never believe you! They made you fake a happy life so they could keep being toys! Look how well that worked out for them!"

A warped, demented version of a laugh that once brightened Sans's soul rang out. It didn't echo in the forested cavern like it should.

"That's not it, stop."

"You wanted to kill everyone yourself! To make them suffer like you in a timeline they'll finally never forget!"

The laughter grew louder and morphed into a horrible cackling.

"I needed the LV." Louder- "I did it quickly-" Louder- "It was better that I did it and not- not them-"

"Oh really?! Why don't you go ask our friends what they think?! Oh, wait!"  

The cackles grew shrill. Sans couldn't keep walking, it was too much. Hands flew to cover the sides of his skull but it did nothing to muffle the terrible noise. His guilt, his anger, the utter despair. A whirring of energy slowly grew higher in pitch to match the mocking-

A beam of magic exploded from a blaster above Sans. A bone bullet lodged itself into the side of its muzzle and the force of it sent the giant skull whirling around, the beam scorching the forest in all directions over and over. Bark was left charred, saplings and shrubs frail and blackened, and the ground muddied with slush.

The last of the alcohol's effects had been recklessly bulldozed through to get that massive burst of magic out. The aftermath left Sans out of breath with a skull-splitting migraine.

Unsteady, his balance fails and he tips backwards. He trips on his own feet in an attempt to catch himself and plunges into the snow.  

The cold seeping past his hood does his head a bit of good, at least...

He's dizzy.

But it's quiet now. Finally... Maybe he'll just... Lay here. What's it matter, anyway. He doesn't want to deal with this hangover or anything about himself right now.

Yeah...

He'll just... Sleep...

A fleeting hope that maybe he'll wake up in his room passes. That's ridiculous, though. This was what he had wanted when he took that cataclysmic step off the cliff. Why wish for a job undone?  He did it.  He stopped them.

.
.
.

Who is he kidding.  

The Anomaly always comes back. There is no winning. It'll never stop. This whole fiasco is probably what they're aiming for. 

What they're aiming for...

What they're--!

Sans jolts up into sitting, nevermind the throb his head gives as a warning, he's got it!  

That's what this is.  

A sad, miserable attempt to break him down. Make him doubt himself. Left alone in isolation against what has always been his worst enemy. Himself.

Of course this would happen!

Laughter, trickles back into the air, but Sans doesn't care, it's his own and no one else's. It echoes.

He's insane. He knows it. The moment he killed that first monster, he knew it wouldn't hold up. But that loss isn't enough to keep him from his job- his one responsibility that he's determined not to fuck up.

"Nice try, brat... I dunno how long you're planning on dragging this out, but I'll wait. I'll wait... I'll wait..."

They always come back. And when they do, he can't wait to see their worthless face twisted in rage. He's going to meet them in the ruins and snuff them out over and over. Just like any other run. Just as resolute and, heh, determined as he's been since the start of this.

So he waits...

And waits...

And waits...

.
.
.

The body at the ruins door stays stiff and frozen.

Chapter Text

Something... didn't feel right...

Time had become an enigma. Just some foreign concept that wouldn't change a thing in this dark and quiet tomb. Hazy thoughts swirled nauseatingly at the edges of his mind. 

Sans' head pulled away from his knees. Stiff. Sore. Limbs took their sweet time getting him to his feet. The kitchen counter he had been hunkered down next to was a much needed anchor that helped him drag himself up.

Weak.

His body felt so weak. Like the whole of his soul weighed him down, withering away the will to move with every drag of his foot as he shuffled out of the kitchen.

Whoever's home he was in was pitch black and quiet. Only the lights from his eyes combined to highlight the obstacles in front of him with a dim red-purple. 

Outside the living room window, the street lights of New Home were dead. The electricity that had been humming through the walls was now absent.

"Fuckin' core again..." Sans mumbled, swaying and catching himself on the back of a couch.

And there was... something else... It was grating on the back of his mind. Apprehension itched at his soul.

But yet, nothing stirred.

Doors and drawers were left gaping into the rest of the house just as he remembered. Some newly opened today in his search for food and alcohol, others long ago by whoever's dust lay quiet at the front door. Their clothes still strewn across the floor. A half-full suitcase abandoned in the rush to get out. A child's toy--

There's nothing left in this section of New Home for him. Sans hobbles to the exit, stepping around the dust piles pile that continues to slowly integrate into the carpet. Gently closing the front door behind him, a sharpened bone materializes in his hand and he turns around to scrape it along the door in two long, vertical gashes parallel to each other. Empty.

Doors along the dark street share the same markings. Empty.

Mounds of dust were still piled high on the road, some under the occasional dried and rotting root. Despite the past year or two, the mostly stagnant cavern air of New Home did little to disperse the dust here. It looks nearly the same as it did at the beginning of this reload.

He doesn't know how long it's been, he's not keeping track anymore. It makes no difference how long he'll be waiting. Waiting... Waiting... Waiting--  

He leans against the doorframe, looking around with heavy eyes. Absently, he runs through the positions of the monsters here from memory. Heights, distance, weak points, the most timely order to pick them off--

"Fantasizing about murder, dear brother?"

Great.

"Quiet..." Sans mutters, casting a careful eye around the block. Corners and shadows throughout the street are sought out and scrutinized. 

Nothing. 

No hint of red fabric in his vision. And yet... He feels... 

He shifts his weight back and forth on his feet. Something's wrong.

Could...

...Heh, no. Now that would be crazy.

And yet still, magic buzzes with agitation in his joints and runs hot in his eye.

"I can see you looking for the kill... You know, you can even take your time with it! There's no one to stop you, no need to rush! You can..."

Sans scowls up at the ceiling of the cavern. Tuning out the Phantom is always a process.

He won't let himself get rusty. A reset will take his present mind with him. Whatever skills he's gained or lost go too. That's a possible mistake that the anomaly's going to be banking on, and it's not going to happen. He goes through mental rundowns of targets often. Screw the Phantom. He doesn't enjoy this. He can't.

"Liar," it hisses.

No faux stars glitter here like in Waterfall. Instead, his eyes trace the shadowed silhouettes of the stalactites above. A cluster of them is dripping condensation down onto some part of the city. Odd. Hotland doesn't really allow much moisture to pass through to New Home.

The mild interest fades, and his eyes travel away from the cluster as it sways ever so subtly.

...

Sways?

Backtracking his line of sight, it never lands on that cluster again. Like it was never there to begin with. Everything above remains still.

His soul is pounding, pouring his magic out to the rest of his body in violent waves. It's at the ready.

He's shaking.

A drop of condensed magic drips down his brow.

Black sockets invade his vision

Bones shoot up from the ground in front of him, sharp and deadly. Interlocking in a tight, inescapable pattern. He reaches out with his blue magic as added insurance. It grasps onto nothing.

"Asshole!"  Sans spits, his wild eyes lock in on The Phantom. It easily glides out of the attacks and scoffs in his face.

It's just trying to unnerve him like always-- no, it's not even real. His brother is dead. Dead--

He flips it off and rips through the void.

The Phantom cackles.

A dark dining room greets him with silence. Sans stands on the stage of the MTT Resort near the backstage curtains. His blank gaze aimlessly glides across the empty tables in front of him. No dust piles linger here. Everyone in the room had the time to get out and get dusted on some street or inside their hotel rooms. 

Shoving past the curtains, Sans flicks on a battery powered lamp. A ball of blankets atop a beaten up pillow lie in a corner. Wiring, tools, metal sheets and plates, and the track of a conveyor belt from the labs lay around the floor haphazardly alongside empty food containers, wrappers, and bottles. On his better days, automating the CORE's cooling systems for Snowdin has been keeping him busy.

"It would probably go faster if you did it sober for once!"

Ignoring that, Sans drags his feet towards his makeshift bed. His body still felt far too sluggish, but it couldn't be his magic levels... Those still feel charged and ready to snap.

Collapsing gracelessly ontop of the blanket ball, he blinks up at a bottle of vodka sitting nearby. He reaches out for it.

...Slightly too far.

Whatever...

"Wowie! Not even going to give it a second try? You're even more pathetic than usual today, brother! I'll have to mark this down as a new personal best!"

Sans grabs the hood covering his skull and pulls it over his face. A shaky breath leaves him as he drifts down....

Down...

.
.
.

.
.
.

The knife slashes through his chest. It's pain searing, melting its way through his bones and into his soul. Red is everywhere... Seeping into every crevice in the tiles. His clothes. His joints. And it paints everything... Black.

He can't bring himself to feel anything particular about it. It hurts.

It's wrong.
.
.
.

Sans' hand moves with a mind of its own. His magic is burning with hostility. A blaster rushes forward, its maw snapping shut and crushing down on Papyrus. Both the magic weapon and his brother crash to the ground in an explosion of snow. His brother doesn't do a thing. Doesn't utter a sound.

Sans wants Papyrus to fight back.

Sharp teeth pierce and splinter bone.

Sans mutters at him to do something.

The blaster is charging up, its bite tightening around a cracking, bleeding body.

Why won't Papyrus just kill him--

His brother looks past the blaster at Sans, expression blank and soulless. But something teal sparks in one of his dark eyes, and a hollow smile creeps in.

Before the blaster fires, the world falls.

There's no floor, vertigo dominates his senses. He wants to throw up.

Then, gravity is back with a vengeance. Crushing him, keeping him nailed down on his knees as shadows dance in his vision. From the shadows, eyes of fear, hatred, and judgement bore into him at all angles.

His sins are crawling on his back.

He can't breathe.

He needs to get out.

He needs to escape.

Light breaks through, the backstage of MTT Resort snaps into view. Sans shoves himself up and away from the bedding beneath him, heaving in rasping breaths just like his brother did when he was crumbling to dust--

The vodka bottle is snatched up by its neck. Trembling hands shoving it to his mouth as he throws his head back to drown everything.

...

It's empty.

Empty...

It clanks to the ground.

Phalanges scramble to claw and grab at Sans' skull. He can still hear the screaming. His friends. His brother. He needs it all to stop. He's not there-He's not there-it's done-it's done--

The groaning of wood dragging across tile stills him.

...It came from the dining room.

There is someone here.

They know he's behind these curtains. They have to. The lamp is still on, bleeding what little light it gives through the cracks of the curtains. The dropped bottle, not loud enough to cut through the din of his mind's terrors, but enough to give away his position.

His soul gives a dangerous lurch, a flash flood of dust and blood from his dreams trying to take hold again. Sans has to stop himself from gagging. 

Focus... Focus...

There's someone out there... How?

The longer he stares at the closed curtains, the thin barrier between him and the unknown, the more dread crystalizes in his soul. His body won't stop trembling, he's cemented to the ground like in his nightmares. Those same eyes of hatred and judgement lay just beyond that veil.

If he had those last few levels of LV, this wouldn't be so hard to ignore. Fucking Flowey and his goddamn meddling--

"I guess you can't even kill everyone properly! Why am I not surprised! Better fix that quickly so you're not a hypocrite! Can't be telling people they're bad at being evil if even you can't get it right!"

...Kill them?

"Come on, brother, don't be lazy!"

Right... 

He... has a job to do. He'll take note of who he missed and make sure this doesn't happen again. His correction will be quick--

"Oh please," the Phantom groans. "At least make it a little entertaining!"

No. It has to be quick. Hopefully it'll be enough to get a boost in LV--

"--You could ensure some extra EXP by making them hurt a little longer. Do something fun!"

Sans concentrates, letting his magic slowly bleed into the void as he finds his footing. It seeks out the darkest corner of the dining room, near one of those potted plants. Compared to his previous shortcut-akin to kicking down a rusty steel door-this one is silent. Controlled. Like an owl's wings in the dead of night. His target expects him to come out from the backstage. This will be simple.

He scans the room.

A chair in the front row has been pulled out. It seats... No one.

And yet the room does not feel empty.

His frantic soulbeat hounds his hearing.

The air shifts on his left.

In a breath, he's on the other side of the dining room, near the exit. His blue soul magic races out to pin down the target-

-His magic fails. Again. It finds nothing to latch onto.

But... there wasn't nothing.

The shadow in the corner of the room is staring right at him. It's hovering right where Sans had stood.

In the dark, it's impossible to make out an exact silhouette. But the glowing teal eye was all he needed as a target. A cluster of his sharpened bones whistle through the air. 

The eye glides to the side out of harms way in one fluid motion. Like an oil bubble on the surface of dark water. It doesn't retaliate, so Sans doesn't waste time. He follows up with another wave of attacks. 

Miss.

Another.

Miss.

The eye sits at the incenter of Sans' attacks. The intensity of its leer striking right through Sans' soul. An icy shiver creeps in through his bones.

His instincts began to scream in warning. Trap. This was a trap. Why wasn't the monster doing anything? Crying. Running. Bargaining. Fighting. By now it should've chosen one of those options.

Cursing at his shaky hand, Sans calls on several blasters.

The beams of magic light up the room, and his soul stutters to a stop.

A mass of writhing darkness defies the light. Shadowy tendrils snake around the room, claiming every inch of it. Surrounding him. Converging around that teal center point, untouched by his attacks. It remains locked in on Sans. Its target. And then, darkness engulfs them once more. Only near the dim lamp light from the stage could his peripheral make out the movement of those things at the edge of the shadows.

Thoughts fly by, too fast for Sans to catch. For the first time in years, he can't sort through his own mind during combat. His eyes flick in all directions, distracted by every little movement. Hopelessly seeking out every hidden tendril in the blackness.

Another chill in the air creeps in behind him. There's no need to look back to know he was blocked in. That something was reaching for him.

In a blink, Sans was out of there.

Purple bricks. Illuminated by sconces. Their lights perpetuated by the ambient magic that still lingered here. Independent from the core, its magic innovation from a time long passed. The ruins.

The first breath Sans takes makes him realize he hadn't been breathing. His bones clack as they continue to tremble. His soul racing like it's trying to flee the Underground.

What the hell is wrong with him?

What was that thing? No monster in his memory looked like that. No monster ever terrified him with a single gaze-

"Confused?"

Sans jolts.

It's behind him.

He spins around. 

The thing was standing a dozen meters away. No attacks incoming. Yet.

"Quick decision making, decent reflexes. Your firepower was quite pathetic... However, I am feeling generous today. I will sum it up to a minor fluke considering your... current state of being."

Now in proper lighting, Sans could make out the body that belonged to the eye.

It was... Himself. Himself? Covered in obsidian tar that obscured the right side of its face. Similarly tarry tendrils were attached at its back. The appendages swayed around in manners that tricked the eye, blending into each other, merging, splitting, switching directions. Their movements were unnatural and hard to predict. A nasty smirk was plastered across its face.

"After all..." The voice continued, sounding all too pleased with itself. "It's not everyday you meet face to face with the very embodiment of your guilt and fears." 

It... Didn't quite sound like him. It's voice was much, much deeper, it had a subtle echo that wasn't from bouncing off the walls. More like it echoed from the bottomless depths of this thing's very being.

...

He was staring... At himself.

The reality of that observation came crashing down.

And despite the dread weighing in more and more heavily, a giggle bubbled up into Sans' throat from who-god-knows-where. His shoulders shook.

His blue magic didn't work on it. He can't get rid of it. It's following him everywhere.

"Embodiment of my guilt and fears... Heh-heh, bit on the nose, isn't it?" Sans' voice cracks.

His doppelganger's brow rises in inquiry.

"That's- heh-heh- That's fine, though. Since we both don't have any." Sans wheezes, gesturing vaguely to his own face.

An unimpressed look stamps onto Not-Him's face, which just stirs up more hysterics. Sans starts to pace, throwing a hand up to grab at the side of his hooded head with a rather forceful collision that scatters his already buzzing thoughts.

"Now this- this is fucking new. I'm really losing it now- heh- heh-heh-"

"Cease with your idiotic jests." Not-Him demands. "I've come with a business proposition you will listen to."

The laughter eventually trickles to a stop. Sans finds himself still and staring blankly at this bizarre new figment of his imagination. The hand grabbing at his hood slowly slides off to fall at his side.

"...What?" He says, intelligently.

"I've been in need of more staff." Not-Him continues. "Your combat abilities are useful to me, so I offer you this: A liberation from this useless existence you've placed yourself in. In exchange for doing what I command of you."

Sans blinks slowly, a frown creeping down his face.

"What... are you even saying? Heh- You're not making any sense. Liberation? Gonna tell me to off myself? Get in line, buddy, it's not happening." His magic begins to churn. Molten and painful and angry. He just wants a hard drink and a long nap. Now he has to deal with this guy along with The Phantom now? He doesn't even want to see himself in the mirror, let alone this.

"You're not real." Sans growls out with finality. The returning smug look on Not-Him falls to a dangerous scowl. "So fuck off-"

A blur of darkness.

Something crashes into his back.

He's seeing stars. They pop in and out of his dazed vision as he tries to blink them away. Pain registers like an electric shock from his spine and spreads to the rest of his body in hot, sharp sparks.

Sans chokes, struggling against the wall behind him, but something is wrapped around his neck and another is pinning his lower spine. Trapped. The pressure on his neck is constricting tightly, restricting magic flow. The buzzing energy at his hands sputters into nothing as his magic crashes painfully to a near complete halt. All he can manage to sustain is the miniscule magic in his eyes to lock onto his restraints.

Those tendrils... He failed to react in time. Nothing he's faced in the Underground has moved that fast. Still, he just barely saw it. He can adjust. If he gets a second chance... The contact point on his neck is scalding and acidic, like its trying to melt him into that same tarry substance. His hand comes up to claw at it, but his phalanges just sink uselessly into the sludge. He yanks them out, wincing at the burning tar clinging to them.

"I will not tolerate any lack of respect." Not-him says easily, but there's an edge to his voice. A thin line ready to snap. His footsteps approach slowly, taking their time.

Not-Him stops directly in front of Sans. Amusement, clearly at his victim's expense, growing at the corners of his widening grin.

"And I am very real."

As dim and hazy as his eyelights were, Sans challenges the beast's eye with a seething glare, the threat of it fully registered. Whatever the hell's happening, whatever this thing is, his soul pulses with the need to kill it. He wants it dead. The tendrils tighten unbearably in response, but even still, Sans gathers what little magic is trickling past his restraints to aim a CHECK at Not-Him.

His soul lurches with nausea. His head threatens to explode as if he was just bounced off the wall a second time.  The information cramming into his mind like a thousand people screaming at him in tongues.

His eyes squeeze shut, cutting off his view of the target in front of him and silencing the overload of senseless information.

An agonized groan grates past the tendril at his neck. He cracks his eyes open again, keeping the threat in view, but the edges of his vision start to darken. The thing in front of him lets out a slow chuckle.

The pressure on his spine loosens marginally. Just enough for a little more magic to rush up from his soul to fill in and keep him from slipping out of consciousness.

"Unfortunately for you, the judge's system is not useful on me. Do not try that again."

Sans' back throbs where it's shoved against the bricks behind him. The instinct to fight warring with the reality that he's trapped until this thing makes a mistake. His fault. A stupid assumption was made and lowered his guard. 

He won't make the same mistake twice.

He needs information.

The CHECK didn't work... Does that mean...

"You don't have a soul..?" Sans grits out.

The fucker doesn't respond. It just stares at Sans like he's a mildly interesting pattern in the brick texture. Soulless bastard.

"The hell... Are you?"

"That is no concern of yours at the moment. I only need your answer to my offer." 

"Your offer's... vague as hell." Sans hisses.

"Then let me put it in a way for your feeble mind to comprehend." The tendrils pull Sans from the wall only to slam his back into it once more. The fresh layer of pain drawing out sharp spasms in his limbs. "Pay attention. You will fight at my command against whoever I set you upon; alone, or with others under my employ. You will cause as much misery and suffering as possible to those around you. This world of yours will be left behind, and it will remain under my domain."

...this world?

"Your existence is even more miniscule than you think." Not-him answers the unspoken question. His eye flicks to every shift in expression on Sans' face as he continues. "I exist beyond your silly timelines. My power and influence stretches throughout universes. So think carefully on your answer."

Universes.

Leave his world...

"I already have a job to do..." Sans growls. "I won't leave it." 

He won't leave them.

Not-Him scoffs. "Save me your delusion of heroics. I know of your sins and the excuses you've convinced yourself to believe. Your answer is no, then?"

"I won't kill for you."

"You will. Should I order you to." The unrelenting pressure on his spine returns. The burning turns molten and seeps down into his marrow. Carving its way down to his soul. 

Suddenly he's back to 1 LV. His hands are covered in dust, the grit between his joints sending a violent shudder of repulsion through him. Who's dust is this..? He can't even remember, the faces of his targets blurring into one another. He can't help but laugh, and the sound disgusts him. He wants to hide from it, pull away, detach from that horrible sound coming from him. 

But the kid's back on the genocide and they're not going to stop. He can't escape from what he's become. He has to embrace it, despite the instinct to shrink away. A weapon pointed at the end of the world. The splinters of his broken mind becoming the new scaffolding holding him up. Strong, yet exposed to that invasive and prodding burning... 

It yanks at his soul, keeps clawing him open, digging deeper, dragging out his panic, his rage, no matter how far they try run. The emotions keep rising and boiling up to the surface, multiplying and excited by that horrible molten grip on his soul. The world will end. His brother and his friends will be nothing. Not even a spark of essence. A warm liquid trickles down Sans' cheek. Hopeless. Powerless. Enraged. Terrified. He can't... He can't keep going. It's too much. But he can't afford not to care anymore. He has to kill-- Make it stop. Make it-

"-Stop."

The tendrils slacken and Sans crumples off of the wall to his knees. That warm liquid on his cheek wasn't an imagination, and his shaking hands rush to scrub it away like it's going to burn him the same way that tar did.

"Killing is not my goal, however. And having you gain more LV would be such a waste..." The tendril at his neck pulls up, forcing Sans' glare up to that piercing eye. "You can recover from my influence quickly. Good."

The soulless being has grown in size. Its mass doubled, and every inch of it looms over Sans. Daring him to try to fight back.

The powers being used on him were foreign and confusing, but nonetheless... he was piecing them together.

"I want you to cause people pain." It repeats. "Make their ignorant, comfortable lives upheave into mayhem. But keep them alive."

Silence returns. That's all Not-Him's going to give him. No more questions. No more information. The next thing out of Sans' mouth has to be his answer.

The constraint on his neck flexes like it's going to tighten down again and Sans flinches. 

Still... he steels himself.

So what if this thing kills him. The anomaly's going to reset. They always do.

"I'm not your guy." His voice wobbles, despite his resolve. "Go look somewhere else."

"Still refusing to leave your pointless vigil. Unfortunate."

Sans' face is slammed into the floor. His magic flares up instinctively, but the tendril at his neck-still with that blistering connection to his soul- corrodes his will to defend himself. Flips it on its back and guts it, leaving it hollow with apathy. As much as he fights it, he can't bring himself to care. This thing's screwing with his mind and soul. It should piss him off. 

The fact that he's not dust means it has a terrifying grasp on its intent to harm. It's keeping him alive despite his answer... Why?

"Then, I will inform you of the consequences of your poor choice."

His phalanges scrap against the ground as he starts brute forcing his magic to cooperate. He has to care. He has to.

"I have a debt to repay an acquaintance of mine. He will be given the location of this timeline and I can assure you he will make sure it is reduced to nothing. Not even that human can fix it. And you will get to witness its end before I remove you from this place to endure the rest of your pitiful days somewhere else. Knowing with every breath you take, your efforts led to nothing."

Sans glares at the ground in front of him, the foot of this asshole in his peripheral. His hands were still trembling. Out of fear or rage he couldn't tell. Fear that this thing likely wasn't bluffing. An anomaly could take the body of a literal child to reset and wipe a timeline from existence; why wouldn't there be another being capable of that? Of course there's something else capable of that. Not-Him spoke of universes. The alien magic it wielded backing up the implication that Not-Him's from elsewhere. 

Rage in that he's once again in a position where something with too much power is threatening to take everything away from him.

For once, he wishes The Phantom would say something to get his ass into gear. But it remains silent.

"Unless... You've now had a change of heart?"

Sans' teeth threaten to crack with how hard they were grinding together. Hundreds of thoughts played through his mind featuring impaling, blasting, and tearing this guy apart. But the weight at his neck made sure those thoughts remained thoughts. His head could be snapped off in a second if Sans made a wrong move.

Fuck.... Fuck!

If he could just calm down and think-

"Hm. Very well. I had high hopes you'd be the one to have some sense-"

"Wait."

He didn't have to look to know there was a knowing grin growing on the guy's face.

Is he really going to...? 

What... Choice does he really have?

No... 

He's not going through with this. 

Fuck this guy. But right now he's at an impasse. He has no concrete information on this new target and... He might not get a second chance at dusting this one should he fail.

But...

"If I go, and the anomaly-"

"I will know if it resets. Should it be so foolish, I have methods that can detain it."

"...It's my responsibility, I don't need your fucking help-"

Sans chokes as he's yanked back up to his knees. The thing's smile is gone. A livid sneer glowering down at him.

"You are trying my patience. Let me remind you that you are in no position to make demands. I have no reason to allow you to waste time fighting in this world. The deal is simply that you will be under my command, and in exchange, I will allow your pitiful and nigh useless universe to continue existing."

Its amused grin returns like a shark following the scent of blood.

"My, my. Though it does seem your situation has changed. The fate of your universe ceased being in the hands of that human the moment you gained my attention. So it appears it is your responsibility to align to my interests, no?"

Silence.

Sans is just delaying the inevitable, but his voice refuses to say what they both know will leave his mouth.

"Your time is almost up." It mocks him. The tendril slithers along his neck. "Your final answer?"

His body is battered. His soul raw with regret. His resolve teetering on the edge of the world's end once more.

Through grit teeth, Sans forces it out.

"...Fine."

The beast's eye lights up with delight so twisted it makes Sans want to vomit. He hates this. Hates it. He wants this guy d-e-a-d.

"Excellent. Then I shall make the preparations. You are useless alone here."

The slackening of his restraints finally lets Sans take in a full breath. Clarity seeps back in with his magic, bolstered by the added airflow. 

His decision rests heavily in him. 

Heh... 'Decision.'

There was no decision. Not really. This thing gave him no choice but to follow or die. That's no fucking choice. That's one of the reasons Sans never asked anyone to help against the anomaly. Because really, once they knew, there was no other choice for them except exactly that. Those that believed him would have to make that 'choice' every reset. Fight or die... Over, and over. It seems its locked into Sans' fate to never have a choice.

At least he spared his brother and his friends from that.

"But was that the right path to take, Brother?"

"The multiverse knows me as Nightmare." The voice draws Sans out of his mullings. "Though, as you work under me, I expect to be addressed properly."

As Nightmare steps back, neglecting to elaborate on proper addressing, Sans can't help the way his eyes track Nightmare's every move, searching... searching... Everything had a weakpoint. An opening. A lapse in guard. He just needs to wait. He'll find it. He always does. His intent to kill swirl bright and dizzily in his soul.

Nightmare lets out another chuckle, laced to the core with warning.

"Oh, that's right. Thank you for the reminder-"

-Sans' soul is yanked out with a force so unexpected and overwhelming he doesn't even have the time to think about fighting against it. His soul is exposed directly to the aura of the beast in front of him. Oppressive and painful and terrifying. A strangled snarl escapes him as his struggles turn to thrashing as more tendrils join to restrict his limbs.

"Hold still." 

A tendril hovers over his soul, a drop of its oily sludge forming at the end, a glint of teal reflecting off of it. It radiates a suffocating dread.

It falls. Hitting his soul like a bucket of ice, covering it in freezing blackness before it sinks deep down.

Sans jolts with a choked rasp as it settles into a place in him that it eats away at until its hollow and empty. The surface of his soul slowly returns to that bright white, hiding the dark depths that Sans can feel churning inside him.

His soul is released back to him, and he's discarded against the wall, clutching at his chest and heaving in shaky gasps.

"What the fuck did you just do?" Sans spits. His magic crackles wildly and threatens to lash out in haste. He might just let it.

"I've lent you a part of my power. You will be able to travel to universes I reveal to you. It will also allow me to know your location and... Status." Nightmare's eye flicks to the hand Sans is shields over his soul. "It will also be a key for you to stay unharmed inside the realm I am building."

"You put a fucking tracker on my soul-"

"-I advise you to accept your circumstances now. Or do not. Either way benefits and amuses me. Betray me, I will ensure you and everything you value will know no peace. You are replaceable, so do your best to not tempt me to go and seek out someone else."

A dark void opens up behind Nightmare. Darker, somehow, than even the place Sans slips through to take his shortcuts. It hums with a deep reverberating power and Nightmare turns his back on Sans.

"I will return for you later. In the meantime, do try to get along with him."

Sans' hand twitches, the back of his enemy exposed to him, but he holds himself back as Nightmare disappears into the portal and it closes on itself. 

Not yet...

The new pit of emptiness in his soul is glaring and hard to ignore.

Not yet...

He needs more information.

Because in same way this new hollowness churns and slithers inside him, feeling out every crack in his mind, every weakness... Sans is going to break this bastard down. Even if it takes him with it. 

By the end of this, no one is ever going to touch or threaten the place his brother's dust rests in again. He's done with it. Done with these megalomaniacs thinking they have the right to pull at the strings. Destroying the hopes and dreams of people who are just trying to live out their goddamn lives.

...

The adrenaline is fading, and Sans slumps against the wall. His magic slowly switches from offensive to repairing the damages. 

His passive healing's shit. Always has been, and the high LV just makes it near nonexistent. It's going to take a while, and his magic reserves are quickly depleting as they continue to try and mend the fractures on his back. The bleeding from the hairline cracks on his face slowly come to a stop. Dark bruises form around his wounds, every breath agitating them.

He's tired...

Too tired to shortcut, Sans grimaces as he tries to get more comfortable against the bricks, ready to just sleep away this fucking nightmare for as long as he's allowed--

There's a flash in his right peripheral. The glint of a knife--

His magic switches back to its offensive state immediately, sharpened bones manifest to line every surface of the hall in that direction. No space left for dodging. No mercy. For a brief moment, his mind sings that he knew the anomaly would be back. Finally--

An appraising whistle travels down the hall. Its source hidden from view behind the cage of death Sans conjured.

"Quick one, aren't ya?" A voice. Sans' voice, but not. It was too light. Too playful. It sounded like an idiot.

Now fucking what?

The parting words Nightmare left him with suddenly make sense as the subtle noise of someone else's shortcut-familiar yet foreign to Sans-blips in through the thick quiet. The other stands directly in front of where the sharpened attacks ended. Practically asking to be skewered.

Empty black sockets meet Sans' eyelights. Sans has to double take at the whirling red at the center of the other's chest. It hovers in front of them, giving Sans way too much information and yet none at all as the violent intent bleeding from this guy is already blatantly evident without the red billboard on his chest advertising it. Is that even a soul? What the hell's up with it?

The knife being idly drilled into the tip of the other's index finger quickly takes up the majority of Sans' attention. Reflexes branded into his soul itching to react to every twitch of that fucking piece of metal.

Magic invades and gives a prodding nudge at Sans' soul.

Asshole.

Sans returns the favor.

LV 20. Maxed out.

"Heh." The other him huffs out. His head tilts in an inquisitive gesture. Sans can't see his eyelights, but he knows what the other's looking for. He's taking account of their openings too.

"Nice to meet you, partner." The knife flicks away from his finger and spins around in his hand. Loose but methodical.

Sans can't help but tense at the quick movements. This bastard can close the distance in a millisecond.

The other snickers. "Oh, this?" He grips the knife in a way that is far too familiar and points the tip at Sans. "Reminding you of something? Want me to put it away?"

Sans drags his eyes from the knife and levels its wielder-the main threat, he reminds himself-with a withering glare. Resets upon resets really leave someone with plenty of time to get acquainted with being prodded for a reaction.

The other him shrugs and uses his knife hand to gesture up and down Sans' hunkered down form.

"Boss really put you through it, huh?" The other him tsks, leering at what Sans has to guess is the damage visible on his face and the way his breaths remain short and careful.

"Even still, that was him going easy on you." His grin is sharp. "This whole situation's gotta be pretty hilarious for you, right? The tone in his voice is dripping with sadistic mockery and he definitely means the opposite of his latter statement.

"It is for me, anyway. Took a look around while you were talking with the Boss. Been having lots of fun here, huh?"

The other takes a step towards him and Sans' magic crackles as a warning.

"Fuck. Off." He growls.

The knife stills in his hand, handle gripped and ready. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

"Touchy bastard, aren't you? Guess that's what happens when you're stuck at 17 LV. Must be why the Boss likes you so much--"

"Can you shut up?"

"Nope." Every word or gesture from Sans just seems to keep fueling this guy's annoying chatter. "So, what should I call you, partner?"

"You know my name."

"Yeah, dumbass, its the same as mine. Not confusing at all, right?"

His face stings as he brings up a hand to pinch at his brow, a frustrated sigh blowing out through his teeth. Why the hell did Nightmare leave this guy behind?

"C'mon, it's not that hard. Something you like, something you're good at. Mine's both. It's Killer by the way."

Of course it is.

"Hey, not my fault every time I step into some universe people start screaming and calling me a killer-"

"-It actually is."

"...Heh, yeah."

Sans lets his hand hand drop to his lap and Killer just snickers, returning to fiddling with that fucking knife.

He's not leaving.

So he wants Sans to do this right now.

Too bad. He's not in the mood for this multiversal bullshit. 

A draft funnels in, and Sans holds his breath.

Killer doesn't, and he's rewarded for it as he tries to stifle a coughing fit.

"Damn, it's fucking dusty in here."

"Idiot."

Despite said idiocy, Killer seems content to stay well away from him. Not that Sans trusts him to keep doing so, but he takes the moments peace of Killer trying not to choke to go through his inventory and pull out a bag of chisps.

"Oh! Can I have some?" 

Alas, the quiet wouldn't last.

"You gonna pay for them?"

"Heh, what? No."

"Then no."

"Eh, fine. Probably gonna be covered in dust anyway. Like you are, by the way."

"No shit." The chisps quickly disappear, restoring magic that's put to use in filling his HP.

Killer leans forward, pushing the boundary of how close he can get to Sans before he's in stabbing territory. "Geez, dude. It's really clinging to you. Maybe tone down on the magic? Stuff acts like static for monster dust."

Yeah, and might as well tell him to stop bleeding from the fractures in his back, too. He barely stops a cringe in time as he shifts in his seat and feels the dampness of marrow on his shirt. His magic's there and at the ready to defend. It buzzes angrily, anxious for the next target to enter his sights. He doesn't even remember what it was like to be relaxed enough to take a cozy nap at one of his sentry stations--

Sans crumples the empty chisp bag in his hands and shoves it back in his inventory to throw away later.

Killer throws his head back in what Sans thinks is an eyeroll. He'd find the useless gesture funny if his disdain for Nightmare wasn't bleeding into his ire of this other version of him.

What part does Killer play in all of this? In this whole situation, where Sans had to forfeit his soul to that demon. Is he working willingly with Nightmare, or is he also trapped in his service?

Could Killer be an ally, or is he just another shackle he needs to break.

"Murderous stares aside, how about Dust?"

"No."

"Aww, but I think it'll really stick."

A pun. Toriel was the last person to say a pun to him. On one of those last resets before he accepted what he had to do. Where he came to the ruins door for some escape, some illusion of comfort. Knowing she had less than a day before she finds the kid that will turn her to dust.

"Figured you'd stay on brand and say something like Murderer or Stabber."

Killer taps the knife to his chin. Sans wasn't being serious, but the dumbass is actually considering it.

"Murder... That could work. You like it?"

Sans gives a half-shrug, refraining from moving his shoulder blades too much. Whatever will get Killer to shut up and leave him alone.

"Murder. Yeah, okay. Whatever you like, Dusty."

His eye threatens to twitch, but no. The less interesting a button is, the less Killer is going to hammer on it. The guy's too predictable.

"So, Dusty..."

That subtle sound of a shortcut has Sans' magic snap violently.

Sharp and quick, the tip of Killer's knife hovers in front of Sans' left eye.

"I think we'll have plenty of fun working together. If you can keep up~"

"...I'm keeping up plenty. Are you?"

Killer's grin twitches up higher, his head tilts down to gaze at the sharpened bone hovering a centimeter away from the red target at his chest.

"Beaten to less than an eighth of your HP and still got plenty of bite. I like you."

"That makes one of us. Back off."

Killer shrugs and stands up, the knife in his hand finally disappears as it blips away into his inventory.

"Anyway, I'm gonna go look for some grub. I'll be around that resort of yours if ya wanna come with. Might find some more of that vodka."

And with a wink and another shortcut, Sans was finally alone.

"What the fuck." He sighs. To whom, he doesn't know. The multiverse, maybe, because that's an actual thing now. And it's not his friend, evidently.

He takes another food item from his inventory. A hotcat. His face itches as the magic it fuels him with stitches those hairline fractures back together. 

"Pathetic as always, brother. But I guess being a murderer is what you're destined for."

"...Where the hell were you?"

The Phantom ignores him.

"You just can't help that selfishness of yours. You sold us to that demon."

"I haven't. I'll find a way out of it. I always do."

"Will you?"

Doubt churns uneasily in Sans. His magic stills and the dust around him settles as another draft finishes passing by.

"It's you, brother. You, who can't stand the idea of us being gone. Essence or not, we're no more. You just couldn't handle the idea of being gone, too. And look where it's gotten you now, Murder."

Killer's probably going to fuck something up. As much as he hates the guy and finally just got rid of him, he should really keep an eye on the asshole.

"Keep running, brother. You might think you're getting away, but where you're going, you'll just be catching up to us. To the ones you'll be leaving behind for this deal you've made in their dust."

Sans gathers his magic. Despite its resistance to divert from its mission to heal his body, he musters up enough energy to shortcut away. Once again leaving behind that cackling in the halls of the ruins.

It doesn't echo like it should.