#variantale

[wanderingtycho]

Variantale: Snowfall, Chapter 5

Hey everyone! Been doing a poor job adhering to my semi-weekly posting schedule, so I’ve decided to post a shorter chapter for Snowfall and start making serious progress on the final chapters moving forward. As you’ve probably surmised if you’re keeping up with this series, I get more excited for each new installment, especially when we’re getting into some delightful character progression. 

Anyways, hope you enjoy, be sure to check out the previous chapters if you haven't already. :) :3

First- -Prev

-Tycho

Sans lashed out with a series of explosive strikes, the initial impact against Chara’s jaw sent her reeling, barely able to keep her footing as Sans delivered critical blows to her joints. She lashed out wildly in an effort to fend off the attacks, but Sans simply grabbed her by the wrist and twisted sharply, Chara snarled in pain but her grip remained steadfast.

With a swift pirouette she broke the skeletons hold and dashed backwards, eyes widening as Sans closed the distance instantly without teleporting, moving with a physical agility Chara would never have believed him capable of. The skeleton lunged forward with a snap kick to her kneecap, as Chara’s leg buckled and she started to crumple, Sans swung upwards with a punch just below her sternum. The human gasped and staggered backwards, falling into the snow to stare up into the shadowy sky above her in a bizarrely serene moment, panic immediately flaring as she saw Sans leap into view. He had summoned a blue attack into his right hand, the bone shaped glow and his searing arcane eyes the only visible parts of his silhouette as he plummeted downwards, icy gaze aimed directly at Chara’s throat.

The human rolled to the left an instant before Sans landed, the impact sending gouts of snow upwards and showering back onto them, bone attacks digging deep into the ground where Chara’s chest had been. Chara steeled herself and retaliated, swiping outwards and cleaving the normal bone attack in two, causing Sans to snatch his hand away and surge to his feet. The human pressed her advance to keep him on the defensive, forcing the skeleton to dodge a whirlwind of chops and stabs, his expression flat and eyes pulsating as he moved. Sans kept up his avoidance routine patiently and observantly, ducking and sidestepping each wild slice whistling within inches of his bones, waiting for Chara’s movements to show evidence of frustration.

Sure enough, he caught the embers of anger and exasperation burn within those sanguine eyes, abruptly breaking her pattern of swings by feigning towards his right side before driving straight for his chest. Sans countered by promptly teleporting adjacent to her, holding out his blue attack at stomach level, and allowing her to simply stumble forward through the bone of crackling energy. Chara growled as she felt the sinisterly cold, almost electric magic rent through the core of her being, whipping herself around with a rage induced slash just as Sans warped out of reach. Before the human could mount a further attack, Sans decided to go back on the offensive, snapping his right hand outwards and splaying his fingers as his eye flared cobalt blue. A relatively small blaster materialized in front of his hand, instantly discharging a shaped short range explosion, flinging Chara backwards several yards to land bodily onto the frozen ground.  

Chara laid sprawled out on the harsh stretch of ice, one hand clutched tightly over the smoldering wound in her chest, feebly keeping the knife pressed against her arm as she heard Sans’ footfalls growing ominously closer. They stopped just as an emaciated shadow crossed over her, Chara shut her eyes tight and inhaled shudderingly, ignoring the searing pain eating into her as she consolidated all of the determination she could muster. As she heard Sans take a breath to speak, Chara launched herself upwards and brought her knife down with blistering force, eyes blazing solid red and mouth twisted into a beastial snarl. Within that split second she was unable to register Sans’ hand moving, but suddenly her devastating attack was forced to a dead stop, the jarring impact sending shudders down her arm and nearly dislocating her shoulder. The roaring, primeval energy within Chara was nullified as she felt cold skeletal fingers curl around her own, narrowed eyes drawn shakily to look at the knife clutched in her hand. Sans had indeed blocked her explosive assault...by driving his hand upwards as she’d brought the knife down, the blade pierced clean through his palm as he held Chara’s grip in his grasp.

A trickle of blood traced its way down his arm and began to drip steadily unto the ground, driven snow stained a dull red as metal wrenched within Sans’ grizzly wound, Chara and the skeleton locking gazes yet again as they stood toe to toe. Chara had seen Sans bleed more times than she could recall, but the strike had always been fatal, an injury that’d shattered his veneer of nonchalance and left him sobered in his final moment. Now, as she looked into Sans’ hollowed sockets, she could see the struggle to hold himself together while his smile remained chillingly unchanged. Sans cleared his throat with a labored, strangled noise, fingers tightening painfully around Chara’s as he spoke.

“F o r...t h e...r e c o r d...I was...just gonna make a joke...about your failed...ice skating career.” he said haltingly, each syllable punctuated with a pained, shallow intake of breath. Chara blinked, nonplussed, hardly able to believe Sans was still standing and able to maintain his humourous facade. Her eyes flicked rapidly between the knife grappled between them, Sans’ vacant eyes glaring into her, and his free hand clenched so tightly his ashen knuckles creaked audibly. She couldn’t release her grip on her weapon even if she wanted to, and moving her other hand away from the scorch wound over her soul would leave her in blinding agony, she could only hope to drag out the stalemate for a while longer.

“Hhhrr...hhee...h-how...how the hell...are you still alive?  It’s only supposed to take...one hit.” Chara asked, panting short gasps of air between words, each breath deepening the ache in her chest. Sans began to tremble slightly as he held Chara in place, feeling himself begin to slip as his soul writhed behind his ribcage, already flakes of dust were starting to peel off his bones and fall to the ground alongside the snow drifting hazily around them. He ground his jaw into a even toothier grin, fighting desperately against the creeping spread of death, his left eye sputtering a pale blue glow as he willed his essence to endure and persist.

“Heh...hrrh...haha...heh,‘tis but a...flesh wound! Heheh...didja really t-think...I’d bite it that easy...after all it t-took to...track you down? No...no dice, princess.” Sans growled in reply, words hitching in his throat as crippling pulses wracked him, slowly sinking lower into the snow as his stance began to falter. Chara picked up on his weakening state instantly, her grimace of pain insidiously shifting into an impossibly wide smirk, eyes twinkling red as she pushed her knife downwards with renewed vigor. Sans sharply inhaled through his teeth, pupils shrinking to pinpricks of distant light as the human forced him to the ground, pain slowly stripping him of strength as his knees folded beneath him. A harrowingly familiar sensation gripped him, he could feel the very particles of his being shiver and start to dissolve, the only thing binding his body together was the magic seeping rapidly from his soul. Chara let out a short, scathing chuckle, closer to how she might have actually laughed when she had been fully alive.

“Oh Sans, a comedian to the bitter end, it’d be inspiring if you weren’t leaving such a pathetic legacy. Ten years of hunting, ten years in exile away from all the monsters you could’ve helped, and for what? Just admit it to yourself already. You came out here to die, why else would you’ve picked a fight with Frisk in the first place? You could’ve killed them the moment you saw them, whipped up a fleet of Blasters and ZAP.  That’s all she wrote, but no, you chose to go through with the whole charade like you always did. Keeping Frisk alive knowing they couldn’t give you what you wanted, beating them down waiting for me  to take over...the only person capable of putting you out of your misery.”  Chara’s voice was coated in a ghastly approximation of gentleness, her grin flashing teeth as she watched Sans deteriorate before her eyes, the skeleton skittering on the edge of complete disintegration as he glared silently up at her. Chara carefully pulled her hand away from the charred wound in her chest, the tender smile she had fashioned slipping briefly, returning as she slowly extended her hand and rested it against Sans’ skull. The skeleton flinched and tried to pull away, but it was taking every ounce of his concentration just to stay conscious, he could only watch through shuddering vision as Chara traced a finger along the cracks beneath his eye. “You’re in pain, Sans, you’ve always been in pain. You might not believe it, but I understand that pain, to be caught in between life and death. It’s a waking hell, knowing you can never escape, never be...at peace again.” Chara sighed, for a fleeting moment there was something genuine in her voice, something empathetic and human. It vanished as she gazed deeply into Sans’ sockets, eyes burning bright red and sadistic smile spread ear to ear, twisting her blade to further gouge Sans’ wound. “It’s too late for me, but there is a way for you to end the pain, Sans. Just. Give. Up.”  She whispered, punctuating each word with an additional rotation of the knife, hands gripping tightly at Sans’ fingers and face, urging him to surrender.

Sans barely registered the knife shifting and grating against his bones, barely felt the human’s fingers pressing against his fractures, all sensation had blurred into a dull pulse that matched his feathering soul. Some small, tired part of his mind, a part that bore the weight of his tragically long life agreed with what Chara was saying. He was in pain, more pain than he could ever hope to quantify, and he did want it to stop. Sans’ eyelids began to sink, or perhaps his skull itself was melting under the intense magical pressure, either way his vision was narrowing to darkness. As his perceptions started to fade, a faint glimmer of light caught Sans’ attention, a vibrantly crimson glow emanating from underneath Chara’s burnt wound.

It piqued his curiosity, but any effort to move seemed futile, his struggle was becoming pointless. Sans exhaled shakily, his skull tilting forward to hang against his chest, that rapid pulse slowing as his soul entered free fall. Then, strangely, he felt...hands placed on his shoulders. He could still feel Chara’s fingers pressed against his faltering body, and the grip on his shoulder blades was...comforting. They seemed bizarrely familiar, the feelings of loss and lonesomeness that plagued him were dispelled, and as Sans’ descent was brought to a standstill...he heard a voice echo through his soul.

“SANS...YOU CAN’T GIVE UP NOW...YOU’VE COME SO FAR. YOU HAVE THE POWER TO OVERCOME THIS...TO TAKE AWAY WHAT SUSTAINS THEM. PLEASE, I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT...I BELIEVE IN YOU...BROTHER.”  

Sans’ eyes opened wide as energy bolstered his soul, magic erupting and spilling over his crumbling bones, the sound of Papyrus’ voice ringing clear within his skull. To hear his brother speak again, whether it really was from beyond the grave or if he’d finally gone insane, Sans couldn’t care less. A few joyous, copious tears fell from his sockets, a true smile stretching back across his face. Sans dug his heels into the frost and forced himself to his feet, raising his skull to see Chara’s shocked and enraged expression, turning his focus to the sanguine aura radiating from the center of her chest. Frisk’s soul, visibly glowing under possession by Chara, Sans abruptly realized his attack had almost completely scorched away the layers of flesh and muscle that’d kept it obscured. He could feel the energy leaking out into the frigid air, the abscess of determination keeping Chara in control, sustaining her indomitable will...a sinister smirk slowly crept along the skeletons non-existence lips.

[wanderingtycho]

Variantale: Snowfall, Chapter 3

Hey everyone! Here we are with chapter three of Snowfall, in which we finally get some action going on! I realize the first two stories were a great deal of set up and slow building, and I hope people didn't find that boring, because the scenario I've created really starts picking up from this point on. Any pleasantries between Sans and Frisk are officially over, and even after ten years they're right back to the same old fight. Or, so one of them thinks...

Chapter four will be posted probably next week, so stay tuned for more! Thank you for reading. :)

First-Prev. -Next:

-Tycho

Sans snapped his right fingers, conjuring a wave of bones and launching them at Frisk, leaving trails of faint blue light as they speed towards their target. Frisk ducked down well in advance, jumping back up after the bones whistled harmlessly overhead, their expression grim as they awaited Sans’ follow up attack. Instead, Sans simply flicked his fingers towards his own chest, no new assault materializing behind him.

Frisk blinked in confusion, a half second before they were struck in the back by three bone projectiles, the impact driving them to their knees as they let out a yelp of pain. Sans chuckled cruelly as the remaining bones of his first attack returned and swirled around him like vultures above carrion, slowly forming together into a tight cluster, dozens of bones of varying lengths aimed straight at the human as they shakily climbed to their feet. Frisk could feel the sinister magic Sans employed spread like a searing affliction over their skin, a chilling burn that slowly sapped at their vitality, even a glancing blow would take a deceptive toll. Sans smirked as he watched Frisk grit their teeth against the injury, lowering his bundle of bones down to head height, imparting a latent spell upon the core that gradually built in intensity. “Shoulda warned ya ‘bout that, kid, my bad. Bone magic has a certain...affinity, for me. Seems no matter how hard I toss em’ out, they always come crawlin’ back.” he said, spreading his hands in an apologetic gesture, his leering grin dripping with insincerity. Frisk glared at him impassibly, settling into a defensive stance, they wouldn’t be caught off guard like that again. Or, so they thought.

With an almost casual wave of his hand, Sans sent the cluster of bones lurching towards Frisk, not nearly matching the speed of his initial attack. Frisk was leary, confident they could easily sidestep the mass, but suspicious of Sans implementing another trick. This paranoia proved well founded as the cluster of bones drifted lazily to an almost complete halt a few feet in front  of them, a shrieking instinct warning Frisk to take cover just as the cluster exploded in a deafening burst of magic, flinging out bones in every direction. Frisk rolled deftly to the side as bone shrapnel hurtled towards them, zipping dangerously close to their exposed skin as they huddled into a smaller target, listening for the rain of fragments to come to a stop. After a moment, they raised their head to see Sans staring them down gloatingly, arms crossed and snickering at the sight of Frisk clutching to the snow coated ground for safety. “Oh yeah, probably should’ve told ya ‘bout the whole bone-bomb thing too. What can I say, kid? I’m just bursting with new tricks.” Sans said, chuckling and shining his nonexistent fingernails, shifting his stance as Frisk rose and began moving forward to challenge his position.

Sans squared his shoulders and cracked his knuckles, the flame of his left eye flaring bright, his soul pulsing blue with a familial magic. He reached a hand out and directed the spell towards Frisk’s soul, the human stumbling to a stop and nearly collapsing under a sudden, oppressive weight. They clutched a hand to their chest arduously, immediate panic setting in as they recognized the familiar grip of blue magic, their eyes widening in terror as Sans lifted them clear off their feet to hang in mid air. The skeleton cackled darkly as Frisk struggled in the grip of his spell, every twitch of his fingers causing their body to rotate slightly, he left them completely inverted and glared into their frightened eyes. “This is more like it, eh sport? A nice, classic blue attack, really brings back memories don’t it? Just like ol’ times…” he said, his voice wistful as it was malicious, slamming Frisk against the ground and summoning forth a bed of bones with one smooth motion.

Frisk barely had enough time recover and avoid the full brunt of the attack, bones shooting upwards through the snow and grazing past their legs, the brief second of contact sending agonizing magic shooting through their limbs. Sans wasted no time in following up, as Frisk dove towards him to avoid the searing bones, he stood aside and flung out his hand in the direction of the treeline. The constricting blue magic sent Frisk skittering and stumbling over the ice, hard pressed to stay upright as they rapidly dodged clusters of bones, occasionally clipped by attacks that formed askew. By the time Sans relented and allowed them to skid to a stop, Frisk was left battered and shuddering from various scrapes and abrasions, still clutching their knife like some sort of protective charm. They looked over their shoulder at Sans, still sporting his maniacal grin as he casually shoved his hands back into their pockets, cocking his skull to the side as he appraised Frisk’s condition. “Geez kid, you’re rustier than I woulda thought. I was barely trying with those, and I’ve seen you dodge bones like Grillby dodges small talk.” he said dryly, taking a few steps forward and giving Frisk an amiable smirk, pale eye’s drawn magnetically to the gleam of their knife. “Tell ya what, seein’ as I came into this little scrap with a bit of an...edge, I’ll give ya one free move. Go ahead, kid, gimme your best shot. I’ll just...stand here and take it, scouts honor.” he continued, raising his right hand to his chest in some sort of strange oath, standing perfectly still and daring Frisk with a glowering wink.

Frisk slowly turned to face the skeleton, their breathing steadily growing shallower as Sans’ arcane poison leached away their strength and resolve, their knife suddenly felt heavy and unwieldy. An insidious, sobering thought crept through their mind, the realization that they truly were hopelessly out of practice. It had been so long since they’d actually used their knife against anything more dangerous than tree branches, their instincts had dulled, their level of violence unused and abandoned. Sans though...Frisk felt their heart sink just looking at their jovial adversary, he had spent every minute of the past decade readying himself for this moment, up to this point he’d just been toying with them. If Sans was giving them a free move...Frisk cast a furtive glance towards the treeline, the dense thicket obscuring anything only a few yards away. Maybe they could lose him in the forest.

Frisk slowly and deliberately settled into an attack stance, holding their knife with the spine pressed against their forearm, ready to dart forward and deliver a lightning quick slash. Sans watched them expectantly, seemingly eager for Frisk to finally retaliate, subtly shifting from one foot to the other in anticipation. Just as Frisk was poised to lunge forward, they spun on their heels and set into a sprint towards the treeline, thoughts only on putting as much distance between themselves and Sans as possible. At any moment, they expected bone attacks to come whipping past their head, clusters to burst forth from the ground with their every step. Instead, they ate up the distance without incident, forty feet...thirty...fifteen, Frisk resisted the urge to glance nervously over their shoulder. All that mattered was making it to the trees…

They were within ten feet before the first tremor almost knocked them to the ground, the earth sundered by an earsplitting crack as the edge of the field was torn apart, a wall of titanic bones rising and interlocking to block off the forest. Frisk turned round to see the massive fence spiral outwards to surround the entire clearing, the colossal bones looming over the human imposingly, their stomach dropping as warped shadows stretched over the ice at their feet. As the final bone settled into place, a deathly silence followed while Frisk surveyed the new arena, gaze settling reluctantly on Sans. The skeleton hadn’t moved an inch from the center of the field, hands enwreathed in crackling blue light, his eye sockets totally hollow as he stared back at Frisk. For the first time since their torrid encounter began, Sans’ smile had slipped, his face contorting into something akin to a grimace. He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers, a fleet of hundreds of bones manifesting into existence along the wall to his back, forming into a complex web of dizzying shapes and patterns. Sans’ mouth lifted curtly, launching the bones forward with a wave of his hand, shifting with momentary incorporeality as his own attack phased through his body.

“Wrong move, kid.”

Frisk fought down their panic and focused on the rapidly approaching matrix of bones, tracking the patterns of the interchanging shapes carefully, waiting until the last possible moment to dodge through a gap that had formed. They sailed in between two diamond formations, their feet clearing the attack microseconds before the bones crashed together again, recovering with a roll into a handspring. As they righted themselves, a small flair of exhilaration and satisfaction surged within their soul, immediately snuffed out by the chilling sound of the massive bone attack bouncing off of the wall only a few feet to their back. Without thinking, Frisk launched themselves into a backflip, soaring over a slicing whirlwind of shapes with barely an inch of clearance. They landed on their feet somewhat deftly, heart racing as they watched Sans’ attack dissipate and fade away, dread steadily being replaced by excitement. Frisk caught their breath as they settled back into a ready stance, trying to inhale and exhale evenly, a confidence of their far gone youth resurfacing in their mind. Their grip on the knife relaxed slightly, for the first time in years they felt capable and apt for a challenge, that maybe they stood a chance against Sans’ dedicated efforts to kill them. A small and shaky smile graced their stoic visage, their soul flickering with an ineffable drive, a long forgotten force they’d once called...determination.

Sans whistled and clapped his hands together slowly, beaming with overt sarcasm, a droll smirk spreading across his face. “What an outstanding display of athleticism. Bout’ time you grew a lil’ spine, kid.” he said pointedly, lacing his fingers together and popping his wrists, a brand new wave of bones called into existence just as the first attack fizzled into silvery powder. Frisk began scanning this latest attack for patterns, stuttering upon noticing that a number of the bones were fashioned from translucent blue energy, an augmentation of Sans’ signature magic that was all too familiar. The skeleton warped backwards and leaned a hand against the sheer wall of bone, lifting up his left foot and making a show of cleaning snow off of his sandals, shooting Frisk a glance loaded with a none-too-subtle challenge.

“I’m sure with your newfound confidence, dodgin’ these lame blue attacks a’ mine should be a breeze. Just stay totally still in the middle of your cute lil’ flips. No sweat, right?” Sans asked sarcastically, grinning sidelong at Frisk with a mocking tilt of his head, his left eye flashing bright blue as the waiting wave of bones surged forward. The web of cobalt magic shifted harmlessly through Sans’ body, racing across the ice towards their target with rapidly building speed, again Frisk waited until the last moment to execute their evasion. Diving forward into a crouch and staying completely still, the cluster of blue bones they’d anticipated to form warped past them, an eerie chill crossing over their soul. Frisk immediately pushed themselves off the ground into a sprint, eyes fixed resolutely on Sans as he stood some hundred feet away, only managing a few steps before they spun to dodge the attack as it bounced off the wall of bone.

Sans watched this incremental progress intently, a gleeful flicker in his eyes as the human began to adapt to his erratic attack patterns, dodging adeptly and holding motionless when appropriate. There was a barely perceivable shaking in his hands as he raised them, summoning a que of bone structures at his back, releasing them at random intervals and velocities as to disrupt Frisk’s careful method of evasion. Frisk entered into a state of absolute focus, forced to dodge constantly as they were enveloped in a web of reverberating attacks, each wave exhibiting its own unique pattern and creating a strange dissonant harmony. Had Frisk been merely an observer, they probably would’ve found the display of agility breathtaking, as it was they were rapidly becoming short of breath as the demands of their avoidance steadily ramped up. They continued making efforts to reach Sans as he rested against the wall of bone, partly out of sheer necessity as they made their wild dodges, partly from a grim desire to deliver a proper counter-attack. After a solid minute of maintaining and adapting their acrobatic routine, Frisk’s stamina began to falter, hissing in agony as an errant bone of blue energy singed their left leg. Catching sight of Sans at the edge of their vision as they took a brief moment to adjust, Frisk felt a surge of anger fused with desperation, the shadow within their soul urging them to take more drastic action. Frisk steeled themselves and watched the next matrix of bones race towards them, leaping straight up into a pirouette, spinning through a gap in the attack and flinging their knife towards Sans as they completed their mid-air rotation.

Sans’ eyes widened in genuine surprise as the glinting blade lanced towards him, able to warp out of the way just before the knife impacted, burying itself chillingly deep into the sheer wall of bone. The bone attacks fizzled out in unison, crumpling into the snow and dissipating, Frisk landed back on their feet just as Sans reappeared about a dozen steps to their right. The two opponents locked eyes, Frisk was surprised to see not anger in the skeletons expression as they’d expected, instead a disturbing shine of levity and what might have been...admiration. Sans cast a glance over at the knife handle lodged precisely where the center of his chest had been only moments ago, clapping his hands together and letting out a high pitched whistle, unconsciously running a finger down the length of his sternum. “Hehe..heh..hooo...damn, kid! That was hella close...whaddaya been doin’ all this time, inventing some crazy new sport outta ballet and knife throwin’?!” he asked somewhat shakily, spinning on his feet and gesturing towards the knife, grinning and posing with gusto.

Frisk stood still in their stance, muscles tense and posture conflicted, eyes flicking back and forth between Sans and their weapon. Their first instinct was to bolt and retrieve it, but the whispering spirit within their soul urged them to charge the skeleton instead, to rush him down before he could blink further away. This indecision was more evident than they believed, as Sans let out a brief chuckle before warping a few feet behind them, Frisk spun to see Sans rubbing his chin seemingly in deliberation. “No need to get flustered, kiddo, I can take a hint. No more bone attacks for a while, and just because I like ya, I’ll lay off the blue magic too. Hmmm...what to use then? What to u-ahah! Of course, how could I forget?!” the skeleton exclaimed, feigning a mystified expression as he smacked the side of his own skull, snapping the fingers of his left hand. Frisk immediately felt a great convergence of magic from just above their head, followed by a low, gut wrenchingly primeval growl.

A ghastly shadow enveloped them as they fearfully looked up to see...well, Frisk had never really known what they were. The massive, weathered skull of some primitive animal, the bone bleached dull white and covered in layers of marks and scratches. It’s jaws were lined with rows of chipped, viciously sharp teeth, bifurcated at the chin to allow both segments to separate and snap together at will. Sans’ swirling blue magic rolled over the surface of the bone, pooling at the base of its throat and the hollow eye sockets, occasionally the outline of phantom horns could be seen jutting from its brow. The skull seemed to move on its own accord, tilting itself to stare down at Frisk, a savage and pitiless fire burning within the pits of its ethereal eyes. It parted its jaws and let out a harrowing snarl, sending shivers of dread throughout Frisk’s body, even the shadow lurking in their soul stirred nervously. Sans snickered and shoved his hands back into his pockets, gazing up at the awaiting skull with a gleam of pride, cracking a grin at Frisk as they trembled underneath it.

“Awww, look at that, kid. I think ol’ Gilbert here missed ya, it’s been so long since my boys have had someone to play with aside from their lazybones of a master, and they were always so excited to see you. This’ll be great for the botha’ ya, I think, some nice exercise and a chance to reacquaint yourselves. Oh, and Gil? Remember what I taught you…” he said, addressing the looming skull as it nashed its jaws together menacingly, raising his left hand slowly and snapping his fingers. Instantly, the air above Sans’ skull was filled with a cohort of identical beasts, each one figuratively salivating as they glare silently down at Frisk in anticipation. Sans casually sat down in the snow and let out an exaggerated yawn, snuffing out the glow of his eyes and looking Frisk up and down, a cold joy flickering in his soul at the sight of the human petrified in terror.

“...when there’s only one toy, you all have to share.”

The frigid air was immediately filled with the resonate humming of the blasters charging their attacks in unison, the combined thrum growing in pitch and intensity by the second, the very snow began to shiver gently as vibrations shook the field. Frisk would’ve stood frozen in place, a pathetic evolutionary fear paralyzing them as they awaited annihilation, were it not for the presence within their soul thrashing against their bonds and galvanizing them into action. The human shook themselves out of their stunned state, spinning on their heels and racing towards the wall of bone, eye’s focusing desperately on the puny wooden handle that seemed so far away. A few of the closer blasters were able to adjust their aim slightly before the entire pack fired simultaneously, the whole arena and surrounding forest seemed to shudder at the sound of so much energy discharging, a clangorous echo reverberating throughout the Underground.

Frisk was knocked forward by the focused detonation mere inches to their back, grunting in pain as their elbows barked against a sheer patch of ice, shrugging off the stumble and ignoring the ringing in their ears as best they could. Barely half a second after the last vestiges of the blasts faded, Frisk heard that ominous hum start up again, dread crawling up their spine as they felt the hollow eyes of the blasters piercing through their soul. They forced themselves to stay focused on the worn handle only meters away, straining their energy in a frantic bid to reach the wall of bone before the blasters could fire again, skidding to a dead halt as a trio of the grotesque skulls materialized directly in their path. The seething, ghostly aura of Sans’ magic radiated with growing intensity within their maws, a seismic growl heralding their impending attacks. Frisk spun rapidly in place in search of an escape route, their stomach twisting into a knot as they were encircled by the ghastly skulls, their elongated eye sockets glowing a harsh white as they unhinged their jaws to fire.

The human stood rooted in place and stared silently at the ring of blasters, a damning realization hitting them that they wouldn’t be able to dodge the matrix of lasers, they couldn’t move fast enough to break through the line. For the first time in years...Frisk felt death closing in around them, a familiar sensation of doom crawling across their skin. Time seemed to slow to almost a standstill as the blasters unleashed their magical barrage, Frisk shutting their eyes and exhaling deeply, terror melded with a detached sense of peace falling over them. As they anticipated the beams of searing heat to obliterate them, there was a sudden, inexorable shift of power within their soul. The soft, dull red glow warped into an almost dripping sanguine, their eyelids flying open as a crimson light flashed with their iris’. Frisk’s body lunged forward and dove over the onslaught of explosive energy, roughly landing atop the closest skull and digging their heels and fingers into the bone, launching themselves away from the hyper-focused devastation to land heavily in the snow. Frisk climbed shakily to their feet as the blasters faded behind them, blinking and rubbing their head in confusion, disoriented and reeling from the sudden loss of body control. Just as they were regaining movement in their limbs, Frisk heard a chillingly twisted voice echo inside of their mind, an ache of wrath and hunger pulsating from their soul at the words...

“...NOT...YET...”

[wanderingtycho]

Variantale: Snowfall, Chapter 4

Alright everyone, here it is, the next installment of my Undertale fan fiction series Variantale. We’re getting close to the end of the first act, and things are starting to look even more grim for Sans and his human adversary...

So yeah, sorry this bucks the trend of my weekly updates, had to completely replace the hard-drive in my computer, and didn’t spring for data recovery so we’re starting back at factory zero. Still didn't lose too much, and its mostly just getting used to all the new, weirdly unintuitive junk Microsoft sews into everything they touch.

Anyway, that all notwithstanding, hope you enjoy this chapter and stay tuned for future updates. :)

-Tycho

Prev.  First: Next-

Frisk’s heart seized in their chest as an almost entirely translucent, gaunt apparition materialized in the air before them, the body of a diminutive female child enshrouded in blood red magic. A once pristine green and yellow stripped shirt was coated in chalky white dust, long brown hair hanging down to obscure her face, Frisk began to tremble as the figure slowly raised her head to look down at them. Her eyes were a bright hazel with violently red pupils, set above rosy cheeks and a disturbingly wide smile, a grin that stretched inhumanly further as she stared into Frisks terrified gaze. The phantom slowly extended her hand towards Frisk’s chest, only to have them flinch away and cover their soul defensively, gritting their teeth and exerting a gesture of will that caused the ghost to flicker and almost dissipate completely.

Sans warped within inches of Frisk and the fading spirit, leaning forward on his toes and leering fiendishly, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Ahem, far be it from me to interrupt this...uh...identity crisis of yours, but I’d like to get our lil’ shindig back on track soooo...” Sans said merrily, letting his last syllable drag on and hang as he discreetly targeted Frisk’s tumultuous soul, his own soul glowing deep blue as he conjured the corresponding spell. Frisk’s eyes narrowed and flicked back and forth between the manic skeleton and the bloodied shade, finding both of their massive grins unnervingly similar, springing backwards in an effort to distance themselves from both threats. Before their feet could even alight back onto the snow, Sans whipped his left hand out towards the towering wall, sending Frisk sailing through the air to crash bodily against the unyielding bones.

Frisk gritted their teeth in pain as they bounced off the sheer surface, feeling their spine buckle under the impact, collapsing into the snow just as a squad of blasters materialized to bear down on them. Frisk scrabbled their hands against the bone to steady themselves, bracing a foot against the wall and diving out of the line of fire with barely a second to spare, their clothing singed by the residual heat from four concentrated blasts. As they landed atop another snow drift, Frisk gasped in agony as a burst of sharp pain spread from their backbone over their entire body, leaving them shivering and practically immobilized.

Sans and the disembodied entity watched the human wracked in pain with polarized reactions, a hollow approximation of concern crossing over the ghosts normally euphoric face, while Sans’ twisted grin and hollow eyes remained fixed in grim satisfaction. He slowly turned his skull to look at the hovering spirit, flashing her a taunting wink as he summoned a wave a bones and held them ready, casually adjusting his aim as Frisk lurched feebly away from the pile of snow.

“Five seconds.” he said offhandedly, tilting his skull and conjuring a second wave of bones as the enshrouded child blinked in momentary confusion, her blood red eyes widening in realization as she willed herself through the air towards Frisk’s trembling form.

“Four.”

The phantom drifted above Frisk and clenched her translucent hands worriedly, moving closer and trying to heal the fracture along their back, but the sanguine magic only seemed to agitate the injury. She grimaced and grasped Frisk’s shoulders, trying uselessly to shake them into getting up, to face the impending barrage of attacks.

“Three.”

Frisk laid almost totally motionless in the ravaged frost, barely able to squirm along the frozen dirt towards the wall of bone only feet away, eyes dully fixated on the buried handle of their weapon. They hardly noticed the presence of their incorporeal companion, until they felt her magic straining against their soul, that distorted voice ringing in their ears with an unusual level of...anxiety. “Frisk...please, you have to stay determined...”

“Two.”

Desperation welled up inside Frisk’s soul, desperation belonging to the ghostly child that had followed them for so many years, always urging them on and manipulating their actions. They didn’t have to look to know Sans was preparing a massive attack, magical energy charging the frigid air to a cobalt hue, even the puny puffs of steam from their breath had turned a deep blue. Frisk didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to face Sans yet again knowing they stood no chance of defeating him or escaping, the futile sense of defeat that overcame them was followed by a strange clarity. This must be what Sans had felt like, facing them so many lifetimes ago. No wonder he gave up, Frisk thought with an exhausted chuckle.

“One...”

As Frisk felt themselves beginning to slip, the sensation of falling down came over them as the grasp on their soul faltered...only to be seized by a sudden and starving strength. Frisk’s body contorted in agony as they felt the ghastly consciousness force herself through their form, it felt as though turgid hands were wresting their soul away from them, the ghost growing more corporeal as Frisk lost their tangelity. Without the will or endurance to resist, Frisk could only watch as they were excruciatingly peeled away from their own soul, hovering above their seizing body as a powerless shade. A virulent crimson aura enveloped the crippled human form, seeping into skin and burying itself into bone, usurping and dominating the weakened soul before it could break. The violent spasms stopped abruptly as the blood red energy fully absorbed into it’s new host, Frisk felt a chill ripple over their ghostly essence as they watched their lost body slowly climb to its feet to stand totally still, seemingly unfazed by the sickening displacement of their vertebrae.

Frisk turned their new intangible form with great difficulty, bleak eyes widening as they saw the overwhelming scope of Sans’ attack, thousands of bones hung suspended in midair pointed directly at the motionless human figure. Sans stood with his left hand raised in preparation, the other shoved in the pocket of his jacket, both of his eye sockets ablaze with haunting blue light. A single bead of sweat rolled down his skull as he caught sight of Frisk, immediately recognizing them as a disembodied spirit, the skeletons already grotesque smile growing to consume almost his entire face. With a deliberate flourish and a tilt of his skull, Sans whipped his arm downwards and unleashed the armada of bones, a veritable hail of attacks plummeting downwards and racing across the snow covered ground towards the awaiting humanoid silhouette. 

“Zero.”

A torrential deluge of bones descended upon Frisk’s body, fluctuating through the snow drifts in spiking waves, an onslaught no one could hope to avoid. Instead, the possessed human shell lunged forward and wrapped its hands around the knife handle, ripping the blade effortlessly from the wall of bone and whipping around to slice clean through the first line of projectiles. The attacks fizzled out of existence, only to be followed by an identical wave, supplemented by the racing ground attacks. The human’s hands became a blur, knife flashing and whirling in a frightening display of dexterity, cleaving down dozens of bones as hundreds more were deflected into the wall to it’s back. Sans stood and watched the human fervently as they held their ground against his seemingly endless stream of attacks, noting every twist of their wrist and flick of their arm, their posture and movements starkly contrasted to Frisk’s. After a few minutes of studying their defenses, Sans exhaled slowly and dispelled the magical assault, the waves of bones slumping as their momentum turned to inert powder.

The two opponents stared at each other evenly in the aftermath, Sans grinning and slouched in his deliberate effort to appear relaxed, the human twitching and matching the skeletons gruesome smile. Half the field was embedded with bones that missed or had been knocked away, turning the once quaint winter landscape gaunt and desolate, silence settling over all three figures as anticipation mounted. Frisk’s ghostly shade could only watch helplessly as Sans faced down their former body, conflicting emotions agitating their fleeting form, torn between which equally galling adversary they would rather see triumph. Sans decided to break the vacuum by clapping his hands together slowly, the sarcastic, dry echo of bone against bone carrying easily across the battleground. He started to walk forward at a leisurely pace, sandals crunching through the snow and crushing fallen attacks, flashing a patronizing grin at the ghastly human as they quietly awaited his approach.

“Wow. I mean, just...wow. Seriously kid, I’m impressed you held out against that lil’ bonestorm, I was dangerously close to ten percent effort there.” he said, chuckling hollowly and coming to a stop some twenty feet away from the human, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning forward on his toes. Sans looked the silent human up and down, tilting his skull slightly as he feigned examination, his pupils flashing briefly at the sight of the impossibly cartoonish grin stretched between their ears. “Ya know, there’s somethin’...different about ya kid...you’re looking a lot more up to this whole thing. ‘Few minutes ago, you were practically climbing into your own coffin. I wonder...” the skeleton adopted an exaggeratedly contemplative expression, pupils momentarily zipping over to glance at the translucent shape of Frisk floating meters away, his smile ticking wider as his gaze flicked back to the animate human body.

“Ah, so that’s it, huh? Lemme guess...you must be...Chara, right? Ol’ King Floppy Ears’ lil’ girl?” he asked with a facsimile of innocent speculation, a flair of satisfaction in his soul as the human’s sadistic grin faded marginally, what might have been surprise sparking deep within their blood red eyes. Sans smirked and decided to press his advantage, leaning back and shrugging nonchalantly, absently watching a snowflake as it was batted by a wisp of wind. “You’d think that old goat woulda learned his lesson, ya know, with the whole humans slaughtering monsters and forcing them to live in a glorified hole in the ground thing. Not exactly the best credentials for an adopted royal brat, in my humble opinion.” he continued casually, able to sense the fury sharply mounting within Chara’s corrupted soul, unable to suppress a snicker of amusement as he watched her once unnerving smile shrink further. The skeleton took a half step forward and extended his right hand genially, treating her to the warmest grin he could manage, coming off as colder than the ice beneath their feet. “But hey, where are my manners? I don’t believe we’ve ever been...properly introduced. The name’s Sans. Sans the Skele-WOAH!”

Sans reared backwards and snatched his hand away as Chara lunged towards him, her eyes blazing crimson in rage as she dashed across the ice between them, slashing at the skeletons throat as he barely managed to teleport out of harm’s way. Chara growled in annoyance and slashed again at Sans’ chest, anticipating his maneuver to blink directly behind her, pivoting with lighting speed and ramming the hilt of her knife into the skeletons face. Sans’ skull was wrenched backwards by the impact, sending him stumbling to collapse into a snowdrift, his left hand snapping upwards reflexively to summon a ring of blue bones around Chara. The human skidded to a halt, her face inches from the glowing perimeter of attacks, expression twisting into a grimace of irritation. She watched Sans slowly climb to his feet, one hand clutching his eye socket, the other clenched into a trembling fist at his side. “Huh...guess I struck a bit of a nerve there, eh?” Sans asked quietly, his voice a pained whisper underneath his breath, fingers gripping tightly at his ocular injury.

Chara, despite her predicament, allowed her signature absurd grin to return as she let out a sadistic giggle. “Nah, I was just getting sick of hearing you drone on, you were always better at actually being trash than trash talking Sans.” She replied sharply, tapping the tip of her knife against the nearest stalwart attack arrhythmically, a dissonant sound that helped her stay relaxed. To her surprise, Sans let out a genuine laugh at her insult, dropping his hand and lifting his skull to hold her malevolent glare. The skeletons face was marred by a series of spiderweb cracks below his left eye socket, deep fractures stretching to just above his cheekbone, accenting his hideously labored smile.

“Ha...hahaha...yeah, ya got me there, sweetheart. Back in the day...I was a champion of feeling sorry for myself, wasn’t I? A master in the art of bemoaning my own fate, an aficionado of embodying miserable garbage.” Sans said, his voice filled with mirth and casual good humor, as if he was sharing an in joke with a close friend. Chara stopped her tapping and beheld the skeletons attitude warily, the attempt at self-deprecation had to be a ploy, a tactic to put her off guard. Maybe Frisk would’ve fallen for a ruse like that, but Chara had no intention of being manipulated. Especially not by Sans.

“Oh boo hoo, expecting sympathy for pointing out the obvious? Give me a break. You’re a born loser Sans, always have been, always will be. Drop these bones and I’ll prove it.” Chara challenged with a deliberate flip of her knife, the buzzing cobalt light of the attacks flashing briefly along the length of her blade, hauntingly illuminating her demonic grin. Sans stood still and silent, his expression unreadable and his eye sockets empty, displaying a fathomless dark within the skeletons skull. With a shrug, Sans snapped his fingers and the circle of bones dissipated, somewhat to Charas surprise. Furthering her confusion, Sans pulled his arms from his sleeves and started to remove his jacket, something the human had never seen him do in all the uncountable times they’d fought. Chara refused to show show any degree of unease however, letting out a harsh peel of laughter, the sound comparable to mutilated violin strings. “Oooooo, the jacket’s coming off, guess we’re getting serious now hmmm? Please, if this is your attempt to be intimidating, I feel even sorrier for you than I already did. What do you plan on throwing at me, Sans? Bones? Blue attacks? Those dinky little Blasters? I’ve seen everything you’ve got, remember? There’s nothing I can’t handle...nothing I can’t cut my way through.” Chara declared mockingly, crossing the edge of her knife over her own chest, a deliberate pantomime of Sans’ historical killing blow.

The skeleton didn’t respond, simply pulling the jacket free of his skull, carefully folding the garment and laying it aside atop a convenient pile of snow. Underneath his trademark attire, Sans was clad in a vibrantly red t-shirt, the neon yellow lettering emblazoned on the front reading: “EAT @ GRILLBY’S!” Set below the commercial slogan was the crudely drawn image of a fire monster dressed as a bartender, it’s arm extended out in a thumbs up, beaming proudly behind a small set of eyeglasses. It was a strangely comical contrast to Sans’ imposing visage, yet somehow did very little to lessen the skeletons menacing nature. His arms were bare, evidence of old fractures visible down the length of the ulna and radius, his palms and knuckles beaten and mildly scorched from years of magic use. Sans gripped the sides of his skull and cracked the vertebrae of his neck one by one, the sound of each pop causing Chara’s smile to tighten, her cruel bravado weakening slightly at the sight of the skeletons calm demeanor. Sans squared his shoulders and rolled his skull, summoning a single bone into his left hand, looking at Chara with a smile of chilling stoicism.

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten, Chara. Every life you’ve taken, every time that knife ripped through my soul, every solitary reset. I remember it all...and ya know what? It’s made me realize something...I’ve been a coward my whole life. Sitting idly by, watching you two tear this world apart again and again, only stepping in when there was no one else left to do things for me. Even then, what did I do? Stand in one spot in the middle of a big open hallway, hurling wave after wave of attacks, dodging only when you swung. Amidst a battle for my own life and the fate of the entire world...I barely moved a couple a’ fucking inches.” he said, his words deceptively flat and clipped, the wounded undertone in his voice worming doubts into Chara’s mind. He let out a crazed, sorrowful laugh, the subdued cackling somehow far more disturbing than the humans shrieking giggles. Sans hefted the bone easily and twirled it around his fingers, both of his eye sockets aglow with a piercing blue aura, his ever present grin set with a grim resolution as the skeleton settled into an attack stance. “Well, not anymore, I’m putting my all into it this time. You’re about to see me at a’ hundred percent, darlin’.” Sans said, flexing his fingers and shifting his weight to stand lighter on his feet, magic curling down the length of his arms and lower legs. “Ya know, whether I live or die...doesn’t particularly matter to me at this point. Right now, the only thing that’s really important...” he continued, letting his sentence hang as a single gust of frigid wind blew its way between the two adversaries, silence reigning over the brutalized landscape. Without warning, Sans teleported within inches of Chara’s face, the human forced to stare directly into the Void that yawned endlessly behind the skeletons eye sockets. For that brief, shocking moment, she remembered the existential horror that grips one immediately before death.

“...i s t h a t y o u a r e n o t l e a v i n g t h i s f i e l d a l i v e.”

[wanderingtycho]

Variantale: Snowfall Chapter 2

Hello everyone! Been about a week since I posted the first part of my new Undertale AU story, Variantale. In this chapter, we get a nice long monologue from Sans, essentially a really tense one-sided conversation. I promise we get to a lot of action in chapter 3, for now its build up, cant just dive right into the most intense part. Not nearly talented enough for that.

Hope you enjoy reading, be sure to check out the previous chapter if you haven't already, stay tuned for future updates. 

-Tycho

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A resounding silence followed Sans revealing himself, the human freezing in place where they stood, trembling visibly as they turned around slowly to face him. At the sight of the grinning skeleton only inches away, the human stumbled backwards in panic, losing their balance and falling unto the pile of branches.

The lengths of wood splintered loudly beneath them, but the human seemed unfazed by their tumble, staring up at Sans with a horrified expression. The two held each other’s gaze wordlessly for timeless seconds, before Sans let out a small chuckle, peeling the whoopie cushion off of his hand and tossing it over his shoulder carelessly. “Not fallin’ for that one again, huh? Heh, guess I can’t be too surprised, you’ve grown up quite a bit since I pulled that gag. Haven’t ya...Frisk?”

The human’s eyes widened in shock as Sans spoke their true name aloud, gripped with sheer uncomprehending fear as Sans grinned down at them, the skeletons eye sockets void of any warmth. Sans shrugged nonchalantly, pushing his hands into their pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels slowly. “What’s the matter, kid? Figured you’d be happy to see a familiar face. It gets kinda...lonely out here, ya know? Nobody to talk to. Nobody to watch your back. I can’t imagine what it musta been like for ya...all these years…” Sans said, his voice laden with what might have been interpreted as sympathy, were it not for Frisk picking up on the undertone of virulent disdain in every word. They kept their eyes glued on the skeletons sleeves, splinters digging into their back and frost seeping into their clothes, terrified to shift their position even slightly lest it prompt an attack. Sans sighed wistfully and took a step closer, causing Frisk to flinch involuntarily, their heart pounding wildly as the skeleton began to walk in a wide circle around them. Sans shuffled slowly and leisurely through the snow, appearing totally relaxed as he lifted his skull to stare at the darkness that hung above their heads, his sockets drinking in the emptiness as his smile grew incrementally. “As for me? Eh, I’ve been stayin’ busy.” he said, glancing over at Frisk and chuckling, the hollow sound sending chills up their spine. “Hehehe...I know, shocking, right? Yeah, turns out, doin’ nothin’ gets kinda dull after awhile. Guess ya could say...” he continued, suddenly whipping out his left hand and snapping his fingers at Frisk, the human scrambling backwards in fright. “...I was bored outta my skull!” Sans paused mid-step and started cackling, shutting his eyes and clapping his hands together in amusement, Frisk could only stare silently at the laughing skeleton as his giggling further unnerved them. After a few moments Sans’ laughter came to an abrupt stop, the lights in his sockets sparking back to life as he opened them, looking at Frisk and rubbing his chin in faux confusion. “Hmmm...eh, ya probably heard that one before, right? Welp, I’ll haveta use some new material then.” he said, squaring his feet and cracking his knuckles, the sound of popping bones harsh and grating. He looked at Frisk and smiled genially, gesturing for them to stand up, his eyes staring them down unblinkingly. The human shakily climbed to their feet, posture hunched and face drawn anxiously, unable to stop themselves from looking to their fallen knife as it laid half buried in snow. If Sans noticed the subtle movement of Frisk’s eyes, he didn’t let on, instead he cleared his throat to draw their attention. “Alrighty, whaddya call a Froggit without legs?” he asked jollily, tilting his skull slightly at an angle, grinning wide as he looked at Frisk expectantly. The human blinked, nonplussed at Sans’ question, deeply confused and unsettled by the skeletons insistence on telling trivial jokes. Frisk made no visible effort to speak or offer any response, the silence between the two building to an uncomfortable length, until Sans unexpectedly shifted his stance and snapped both of his fingers. “Hoppin’ mad!” he exclaimed gleefully, pausing for a moment to allow his one person audience to laugh, the only audible sound he received was the distant moaning of wind. Frisk looked Sans up and down, forcing themselves to make eye contact despite their rapidly fraying nerves, trying to figure out what the skeleton was trying to do. At any moment, the human fully expected Sans to begin his assault, convinced that his oddly morbid puns were an attempt to put them off their guard. Frisk was loathe to admit it, but Sans’ approach was working, paranoia mounting as a cold sweat formed on the nape of their neck. The skeleton slowly lowered his hands to his sides, his grin shrinking fractionally, shutting his eyes and shaking his skull slightly. “Not even a smirk, huh? Oh well, ‘least I tried...” Sans said ruefully, raising his right hand and snapping his fingers, the sound piercingly louder than his comic signature. Within seconds, the already chilling temperature plummeted as snow began to fall rapidly, the tearing winds roaring into a roiling frenzy. Frisk gripped their shoulders tightly and huddled over in a futile attempt for warmth, shivering underneath their inadequate clothing, eyes slitted against the growing blizzard. Sans opened his eyes and stared through the torrent of sleet at the freezing human, his left eye socket glowing with a fiery blue light, crossing his arms and leaning into the wind as casually as he’d lean against a wall. “So, kid…” Sans said, his voice carrying easily to Frisk’s ears despite the howling wind between them, his words stinging at the human just as coldly. “...before we start, I wanted to ask ya a couple...questions. Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to answer. First off, when’d ya realize the resets were ruining this world?” he asked, smirking at the sight of Frisks expression, their jaw almost dropping in shock. The skeleton chuckled emptily and shrugged, idly kicking at tiny pieces of snow. “Don’t look so surprised, kiddo, I knew from the very beginning. All I could do was try and discourage ya, and, well...that plan didn’t exactly work out now, did it? After the first few hundred, I was getting pretty tired of going through our little stories...by the time we got to a thousand, I started picking up on a few things. Trees randomly disappearing, odd patches of ground wildly shifting colors, even Snowdin started to...change.” Sans said, running a hand slowly over his skull as memories of his previous lives tumbled through his mind, the magical flame of his eye flaring brighter as the cold magnified. Frisk’s teeth started to chatter, their shivering growing more severe as pallor spread over their skin, eyeing Sans’ line of sight carefully. Whenever the skeletons eyes were off them, they dared a hesitant half step forward, closer to their fallen weapon. “I guess...that’s what really broke me, ya know?” Sans mused, unclear whether or not he was addressing Frisk, as if his awareness of the situation was fading in and out. “It’s kinda sad to think...but I sorta...got used to getting killed. It didn’t bother me as much anymore, but...watching this world slowly decay with every reset...I couldn’t take it.” he continued, a terrible weariness evident in his voice, his gaze suddenly snapping up to glare at Frisk. The human jarred their incremental progress to a halt, petrified by the loathing, hauntingly blue light spilling forth from the skeletons sockets. “You though, bet ya didn’t even lose a step. So what if reality itself is crumbling, huh? As long as you got to keep...playing your game.” Sans spoke through gritted teeth, his last three words punctured with palpable disgust, Frisk shuddered as Sans’ malice translated to battering gusts of wind. With a desperate lunge, Frisk lurched forward and scrabbled through the snow, hand wrapping around the handle of the knife. They scrambled to their feet, clutching the gleaming blade defensively, confidence resurging as their fingers felt the familiar grain. The human turned their focus back to Sans...only to stare at vacant space where the skeleton had been standing. Frisk’s heart dropped to their stomach, spinning around in panic, desperately searching for their adversary. “Second question.” whispered a harsh, empty voice next to their ear, causing Frisk to leap away and slash at the sound reflexively. The knife whistled through swirling snow, leaving them panting as blood pumped through their system, eyes widened in fright. “Why come all the way out here?” the voice continued, emanating from a few feet behind Frisk, the human swallowed dryly and turned to face Sans. The skeleton stood next to an emaciated sapling, running a finger over the ice coated branches absently, eye sockets still smoldering with excess energy. “I’m not egotistical enough to assume you were only hiding from yours truly, though ya must’ve thought somebody was after you, covering your tracks as well as ya did.” he said, flashing a menacing grin at Frisk, satisfied at they involuntarily gripped their knife tighter. By this point, a proper blizzard had built around the opposing figures, Sans coat billowing behind him as iceey flakes bounced harmlessly off his bones. In contrast, Frisk was well aware of the disadvantage the storm presented, having to constantly flex their fingers and shift their stance just to avoid frostbite. Their hair was streaked with frost as it was batted about by errant gusts, cold leaching into their body through their flimsy clothing, they could only glare at the skeleton as he continued his monologue undaunted. “Undyne maybe, didn’t even have the patience to fight her this run, did ya? Nah, shoving her off a bridge after that poor kid was much faster, saved ya a whole five minutes. Speaking of time, never seen ya tear through the Underground so fast, kid.” Sans said, chuckling and brushing the ice off his shoulders, the snow evaporating violently as his magic contacted it. Frisk maintained their expressionless demeanor, but internally the humans thought were a maelstrom. Caught between contemplating Sans’ uncanny knowledge of their actions and feverishly preparing a defense strategy for the skeletons inevitable attack. Sans, for his part, projected an air of utter control. Every subtle twitch of his fingers sent wind lashing at Frisk, the temperature dropping so quickly their sweat had started to freeze, beginning to lose sensation in their extremities. “Makes me wonder, why the rush? You were always so...methodical, before that day.” Sans continued, directing his attention away from the sapling and facing Frisk directly, his smile fixed and static as he took a deliberate step towards them. The human stiffened, but did not retreat, digging their heels into the snow in anticipation for his approach. The skeleton seemed pleased by their display of resolution, lacing his fingers together behind his back, starting to stalk as opposed to his usual stroll. “Somethin’ musta spooked you bad, kid. Bad enough to make ya sloppy, leaving survivors is never a smart move. Especially with this lot, monsters are...pretty good at rebuilding, ya know?” he asked, his tone deceptively light-hearted, somewhat betrayed by his looming silhouette. Frisk raised their knife, half as an attempt at an intimidating gesture, half as a security reflex. With every step the skeleton took, the tension between them mounted, while the ice laden winds raged on. Sans stopped a mere ten feet away, Frisk meeting his luminous gaze evenly, the opponents squaring off for a long minute before Sans made a move. He slowly raised his hand, fingers primed to snap, Frisk tensing in preparation to dodge whatever was coming. To their surprise, upon Sans snapping his fingers, the frigid tempest surrounding them died out in an instant. The clearing was left in an almost unnatural silence, Frisk became aware only of their own breathing, the racing of their heart as anxiety mounted further. Sans lowered his hand and raised his skull to look up past Frisk, seemingly infatuated with some distant object above their head, a fleeting thing that only the skeleton could see. “One last question, kid. This one, I expect you to answer, so drop the whole mute act just for a minute.” Sans said, his voice strangely soft and calm, no trace of antagonism on his face. He looked Frisk dead in the eye, and somehow, the human briefly believed that Sans might’ve had no ill intent after all. Then the skeleton spoke, and any doubt was dispelled, the question they had been dreading finally delivered point blank. “Why’d ya kill him, Frisk? Why did you kill Papyrus?” It seemed the whole forest fell quiet at Sans’ words, nature itself holding an anxious breath, Frisk felt as though all the eyes left in this fractured world were staring straight through them. At this point, they had gotten used to Sans’ one sided soliloquy, but now the skeleton looked them down wordlessly as he waited for a response. The silence between them stretched on for a few minutes, then a dozen, almost half an hour passed without Frisk making any effort to speak. For an eerily familiar moment, they felt themselves standing back in the Judgement Hall of Dreemurr Castle, exhausted yet primed to strike as they watched Sans slowly drift off to sleep after his final attack. No hope of that happening again this time, Sans was wired and animate, eyes pulsing with magic he could barely constrain. After another few moments dragged on, Sans clenched his hands into fists as his frustration grew, taking a deep breath and exhaling to keep his voice steady. “I’m not talking about all the other times you...murdered him. I’m talking about that day, ten years ago, when the resets stopped.” he said, keeping his tone deliberately flat and neutral, though Frisk had started to pick up on the notes of desperation. “Ya know, I didn’t start tracking you right away, hell it took me a few months just to crawl out of bed. I figured, what was the point? Even if I found you, you’d just hit the button, and this whole...fucking nightmare would start up anew like always.” Sans continued, his efforts to keep his voice under control faltering, cracking as years of pent up anguish flared wildly in his soul. Frisk could only stare at the skeleton as he started to tremble in place, his jaw clenched shut as an emotional fit gripped him, magic spilling down his sleeves and gathering at his feet. “Then I thought, why hadn’t it happened already? It dawned on me...you can’t do it anymore, can you? The power you held over this world, over the innocents you’ve tortured, somehow you lost it. That’s why you panicked, why you ran at a dead sprint towards the castle, towards the Barrier. It was your only chance, your only way out. You didn’t stop for anything...except...except to kill him.” he uttered through gritted teeth, his eye sockets bursting a seething blue fire, an aura of magic scorching the earth surrounding him. Frisk opened their mouth, perhaps in an attempt to placate Sans’ rant or simply hanging open in shock, but it didn’t matter. Sans was beyond interrupting, gripping the sides of his skull as his powers pounded against his bones, eager to escape and wreak havoc. “It...doesn’t make any sense. You were trying to reach the end as fast as possible...not lay waste to everything. Just...the ones you couldn’t avoid killing, right?! But Paps...kid, he...he would’ve carried you to the damn castle if you’d asked him! You’ve ignored...so much...disregarded all the damage you’ve done. Why...why couldn’t you have done the same for him?!” Sans was near hysterical at this point, stricken with grief and rage, dark blue tears dripping down over his teeth. Frisk watched in mixed horror and fascination as minute cracks began to spread along Sans’ knuckles and jawline, radiant magic enveloping his body in a ghastly shroud, his form barely recognizable as arcane energy flowed like a living armor over his bones. Sans’ skull suddenly snapped up to glare at Frisk, his gaze filled with unfathomable hatred, the human feeling a true urge to flee for the first time. “Well?! What was it, you evil little bastard?! Why couldn’t you have just left him alone?! ANSWER ME!!” Sans’ voice echoed as his shouting grew louder, resonating with the vestiges of harrowing magic, nearby snow drifts collapsing and icicles shattering at his words. Frisk felt crippling fear shoot through them, doubts welling in their mind as they trembled before the skeleton, desperately trying to think of something to say that would save them. Before they could formulate any such solution, something stirred within the depths of their soul...a presence that had kept dormant for years. It wrested control away from Frisk for only a brief moment, long enough to flash Sans a taunting sneer, throwing up their hands and giving an exaggeratedly apathetic shrug. Within seconds, Sans’ magic died out, leaving the skeleton seemingly in a daze. His arms hung limp at his sides, sandals sinking into the snow beneath his feet, eyes shut as if enraptured by the quiet around him. “Heh..hehehe…” he chuckled, a sound without any trace of humor, ringing with a profound exhaustion. When he opened his eyes again, Frisk was left staring into two empty pits...only they weren’t empty. A pitch black, abyssal substance churned and shifted within Sans’ skull, his sockets a glimpse into the depthless Void. Sans flicked his left wrist in an offhand motion, Frisk felt the ground begin to tremble violently beneath their feet, dodging away a half second before a cluster of ethereal bones burst upwards and speared clean through the earth. They climbed shakily to their feet, eyes wide and stance caged, a cold dread settling over them as Sans’ serene face was split by a fearsomely crazed grin. “Alright, let’s go.”

[wanderingtycho]

Variantale: Snowfall Chapter 1

Hello everyone! This is the first installment of an Undertale fan fiction story I've been working on for a few months now, it started out as a simple little prompt and quickly spiraled into something far more complex and involved than intended. I have the first three chapters already written, and am working on chapter 2 now, so I've decided to start posting them in an effort to gauge peoples interests.

Please enjoy and thank you for reading, let me now what you thought and if you'd like to see the story continue. :) <3

Next

-Tycho 

“How does it even snow down here, anyway?” Sans wondered aloud to himself, staring up into the bank of shadow that hung over the snow capped trees, watching as fleeting snowflakes tumbled downward unto the frosted earth.

The forest stretched on for miles before the skeleton, towering pines that creaked and muttered in their perpetual sleep, their dreams of the warm sun harshened by chilling winds. Those same winds swirled and lashed at Sans as he stood rooted in place, sandals sinking steadily into the permafrost, his dull blue jacket still stark against the all encompassing white glare. Silence prevailed over the winter landscape, the scene still and calm yet undercut with tension, as if in anxious anticipation. It was all so...serene, Sans thought wistfully, such a marked contrast to that fateful day. His left eye socket began to glower with a cobalt light as he remembered back, to when the entire order of things had changed, when the human made their mad rush to the castle.

He lifted his skeletal hands from their pockets, rasping the digits together slowly, the dry grating sound a soft echo across the vast expanse of snow. His skull lowered to stare directly into the treeline, piercing white eyes glaring past ice laden needles, hunting for any sign of movement. Years of searching for the slightest hint of activity had rendered Sans hyper vigilant, countless days spent sleeplessly combing the Underground for...for anything. Anything that would lead him to the human. It’s what drove the skeleton forward, his bones had grown numb to the ache of exhaustion that he had known so well in his youth. Now it was more akin to a dulled exhilaration, a subdued sort of excitement that characterized his decade long hunt. Sans was suddenly struck by a dark thought as he stood taut in his stance, a twisted contemplation that caused the skeleton to let out a harrowing laugh. He clasped his kneecaps tightly and hunched forward, his permanent grin stretched wider as the cackling shook his entire body. The laugh of a man pushed over the edge, forced to climb back up to the top...only to be shoved off again and again. “Ha..haha...heh...this...this must be what they felt like.” he muttered to himself, wiping a tear from his boney cheek, gripping his coat collar tightly as he came down from his fit.

Sans recalled his days of apathy and laziness, sitting idly by as the human carried out their depraved routine over and over again, even as everyone he cared for was murdered and terrorized. He raised a trembling hand and ran it slowly over his skull, his left eye smoldering as energy leaked out and seared the frigid air, the memories of death and destruction replaying with painful clarity. He had tried...he knew he must’ve tried, at least a few times to stop the human. After awhile, he realized defeating them was an exercise in futility, he could never combat their true power. Their ability to reset time itself, restore the entire world back to its original state, and start all over. For centuries it went on, countless timelines stripped of life and meaning by the human, and Sans was expected to fight his pointless fight unending. Eventually, he simply gave up, succumbing to his failures and hopelessness. It got to the point where he wouldn’t even bother watching it anymore, he’d just lay in bed and listen to the sounds of panic and dismay outside his window, only to be followed by those soft footfalls marching through the snow. It all started to seem like some sort of dream, a surreal nightmare that looped ceaselessly, and Sans knew that he would never wake up.

A bizarre hissing sound broke Sans’ disturbed reminiscing, a gout of blue flame had started to pour from his left eye and spill across the ground, the thick snow vaporized by the ethereal fire. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to dispel the searing magic, lashing a hand outwards to his side in order to drive it away. Sans opened his eyes and blinked, regarding the charred patch of earth beneath his feet, nursing a flicker of doubt deep in his mind. Remembering back to those days always seemed to trigger his abilities, regardless of whether or not he wanted to use them. Focusing on the more...unpleasant moments intensified his powers, but there was always a small worry that he might lose his concentration, leaving him trapped in his memories while the magic ran amok. It was part of why he left Snowdin in the first place, that and...monsters didn’t really seem to find Sans’ jokes funny anymore. He chuckled coldly to himself, taking a step forward and crunching over the singed dirt, making his way steadily towards the treeline. “Their loss.” he muttered under his breath, his march through the snow barely audible, moving amongst the towering trees along an aimless questing path. Sans had read about forests on the surface, poetic descriptions of birdsong and the chittering of small creatures, but in the Underground the forests were empty. Save for a nomadic band of monsters that had run away from their homes before the massacres...and, of course, his human quarry.

Sans trudged forward slowly, each seemingly innocuous step actually deliberate, carving a path that would be quite confusing to follow into the drifts of ice. He kept his head lowered slightly, appearing to focus only on the ground directly in front of him, while his eyes darted wildly and erratically. Scanning for the faintest impression that he wasn’t alone, the barest shred of evidence that he was on the trail of his target, the human couldn’t stay on the run without leaving a trace. Sans suspected that if he actually had a heart, it would be racing right now, hunting for a human like this was so much more intense than simply standing in front of the doors to the Ruins. Then again, this method didn’t involve re-calibrating any puzzles, he thought with a brief snicker. “Heheh...we woulda been much better off just ambushin’ ‘em. Me an’ Paps coulda…coulda………”

Sans stopped walking and stood dead in his tracks, his hands involuntarily falling from his pockets and hanging loosely at his sides, posture slouching as the desire to move was stomped out. He could feel tears welling in his sockets, and after a moment’s resistance, let them fall. Bright blue liquid ran down his jawline and dripped onto the snow, staining the flakes with an unnatural glow, a skeletons only way to express mourning. With a start, Sans realized just how long it had been since he last thought about...him. Papyrus. Just thinking the name flooded his mind with memories and clashing emotions, they were the only pleasant thoughts he had left, yet all they did was remind him of how much he had lost. Paps had been right by his side when they first showed up in Snowdin, completely oblivious to the suspicious and confused looks they were greeted with, overwhelmingly confident that he would win their adoration. Sans would never forget the day they both met Undyne…_____________________________________________________________ “COME ALONG, BROTHER! THE NICE MONSTERS COWERING BEHIND THAT WEIRD TREE COVERED IN TINSEL SAID THIS ‘CAPTAIN UNDYNE’ FELLOW WOULD BE MEETING US HERE!” Papyrus declared excitedly, beaming with exhilaration as he strutted towards the outskirts of Snowdin, clad in a bright orange shawl that contrasted his brothers dreary blue jacket. His legs and feet were left unadorned, skeletal toes leaving strange staggered tracks in the snow, but Papyrus had taken part of his cloak to wrap around his hands as makeshift gloves. Apparently, it had something to do with making properly shaped snowballs. Sans followed along a few feet behind, hands shoved deep into his pockets, in no particular hurry to match Papyrus’ energy.

“eh...actually bro...they said undyne would be showing up to kick our a-…” Sans started to say, cutting himself off abruptly just before forming an expletive, Papyrus turned around to look at his brother with a curious expression.

“WHAT WAS THAT, SANS? KICK OUR…” he asked, letting the sentence hang as he stared at Sans expectantly, the shorter skeleton chagrined and rubbing the back of his skull.

“uh...just...kick us outta town, paps...yeah.” Sans replied weakly, desperately hoping Papyrus wouldn’t inquire further into his choice of language, luckily for him Papyrus was distracted by the prospect his brother had just proposed.

“KICK US OUT? NONSENSE! I’M SURE ONCE WE EXPLAIN WHO WE ARE AND WHAT WE’RE DOING HERE, UNDYNE AND THE REST OF THE MONSTERS WILL TREAT US AS HONORED GUESTS!” he said confidently, bounding a few more steps forward before he suddenly stopped, setting his jaw in deep contemplation. He looked back at Sans, appearing confused as he rubbed his left arm slowly, as if trying to remember something vague and murky. “SPEAKING OF...UMMM...I’VE BEEN MEANING TO ASK...SANS...HAVE YOU HAD ANY LUCK REMEMBERING WHY WE’RE HERE?” Papyrus asked, looking at his brother sheepishly, while Sans kept his expression deliberately neutral.

He couldn’t recall much of what happened before they came to Snowdin, only that he and Papyrus had been wandering the wilderness for a long time...after...Sans’ left eye socket flared bright blue as disjointed images flashed through his mind. His fingers started to tremble slightly, the snow beneath his feet agitated by an unseen force, the already frigid wind growing even colder. Papyrus immediately rushed to his brother’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, his grin a strange combination of reassuring and nervous. “H-HEY! YOU KNOW WHAT? IT...IT ISN’T IMPORTANT WHY WE’RE HERE, OR HOW WE GOT HERE, OR...UHH...ANYWAY, WHAT MATTERS IS THAT WE’RE TOGETHER, RIGHT?” he asked cheerfully, his grin wide but his eye sockets showing evident concern as he stared at Sans, worry mounting as his brothers eye burned with that strange blue fire. Sans looked up at Papyrus slowly, wanting so badly to share with him the fragments of memories he kept seeing, tell him about the twisted things that haunted what little sleep he could get. As he stared back into his brother’s eyes, seeing the innocence and hopefulness within Papyrus...he just couldn’t bring himself to force that burden on him. Instead, he fought down the nightmarish visions and shrugged off Papyrus’ hand, giving him a sly grin.

“heh...yeah thats what really matters. after all, im the only one with a funnybone between us.” he said, snapping his fingers in comedic flare, to which Papyrus snorted derisively.

“PSSSH, HONESTLY SANS. I DO HOPE THOSE BAD JOKES DON’T TURN INTO A REGULA-” he started to say, only to be interrupted by the sound of massive footfalls crunching through the snow, growing closer and louder with each passing second. Papyrus clapped his hands together excitedly and stood, still facing Sans as he brushed snow away from the cloth that covered his leg bones, adjusting his posture and putting on a more winning smile. He spun around smartly, drawing a breath to deliver his usual over enthusiastic salutation, only to be dumbstruck by the sight that greeted him.

Standing only feet away was a towering figure clad in gleaming iron armor, thick plates of highly polished black metal imposingly stark against the snow covered ground, a massive spear of glowing energy clutched tightly in their left hand. Their helmet was an intimidating and ancient visage, the twinkling light of a single eye visible, a long plume of vibrantly crimson hair flowing cinematically behind them. They surveyed the skeletal siblings before them for a long moment before hefting the magical spear effortlessly, settling into a defensive stance.

“You there. Skeletons. Identify yourselves and your purpose in Snowdin Town at once, or face the wrath of King Asgore’s Royal Guard.” barked an aggressive, resonate voice from behind the jagged visor, a voice that carried easily and powerfully across the snow coated path. Sans gave the figure a cursory examination, deciding he could take them without too much hassle if it came down to it, provided their armor wasn’t somehow blaster-proof. Papyrus, on the other hand, was completely transfixed by the staggeringly dangerous opponent before him. He stood admiring them for seconds on end, wowed by the sheer aesthetics of their fierce black armor, blown away by the brilliant sheen of their wickedly pointed spear. The awkward silence built between the three figures for about a minute, to the point where the knight began to feel slightly unnerved by the taller skeletons...adoring gaze. The shorter one seemed thoroughly uninterested in the situation, but despite his apathetic demeanor, the knight suspected him of being more capable than he looked. Unbeknownst to any of the silent participants of this impromptu standoff, Papyrus’ lower jaw had been hanging agape, stretching wider and wider as the skeleton gawked. Just as the knight drew a breath to threaten their potential challengers, there were two loud pops in rapid succession, followed by a clattering as Papyrus’ jaw fell to the ice slickened ground.

Deafening silence prevailed as all three figures stared down at the fallen component of the taller skeletons skull, until Sans let out an extended snort of laughter he had been desperately trying to suppress, failing miserably as Papyrus shot him a scathing glare. The lanky skeleton knelt down carefully to pick up his jaw, only to scrabble for a grip and have it slide away on a patch of ice. In panic, Papyrus rushed forward to grab at the bone, only to lose his footing and kick it even further away. Sans collapsed to his knees, his composure finally shattering as he let out a howling stream of laughter, gasping for breath as he watched his brother continue to fumble for his elusive jaw. The knight stood in place watching the scene unfold, slowly lowering their spear to the ground, utterly perplexed by what they were witnessing. Papyrus’ misfortunes only continued to magnify as he poured more effort into catching the confoundingly agile length of bone, every desperate grab only extending the farcical scenario as the jaw skittered out of his reach. Meanwhile, Sans was reduced to lying on his back, kicking his feet wildly as his laughter grew more and more intense. This carried on for a solid minute before Papyrus’ frustration reached a fevered pitch, leaping up into the air and diving down towards the deceptively immobile jawbone, crashing into the ice and furiously grappling for it. His momentum carried him further than intended as he slid across the frozen path, a harsh screeching sound filling the air as his bones scraped against the ice, his absurd ordeal finally coming to a close as he crashed bodily into a snowdrift.

Sans rolled onto his stomach, barely able to breath as hysterical laughter wracked his body, the snow immediately surrounding him spattered blue as tears of pure hilarity poured down his face. After a few moments, he managed to restore some self control, shakily climbing to his feet and trying to stop himself from giggling. Papyrus’ skeletal feet stuck straight into the air, flailing and kicking as he attempted to crawl his way out of the pile of snow, his left hand punching through the frost to hold his jaw aloft triumphantly. Sans snickered and wiped the tears from his cheeks, casting a glance towards the knight, who hadn’t moved during the entire display. She had sheathed her spear and removed her gaunt helmet, revealing herself to be a...fish creature of sorts, her greenish blue scales and flexing gills fairly evident giveaways. A beaten eyepatch was stretched over her left eye, still leaving her with a quite intense stare, fixing her gaze on the snowdrift as Papyrus attempted to reattach his jaw. Sans carefully observed her expression as she watched the skeleton struggle, undaunted by his humiliating experience, a curt grin spreading briefly across her face… ________________________________________________________________ Sans blinked a few times as he returned to the present moment, a faded melancholy smile on his face, sighing deeply as he remembered his brothers irrepressible spirit. Anybody else would’ve given up hope of ever impressing someone after that, but Paps was undeterred as always, swearing fealty to the Royal Guard before Undyne was even finished explaining what it was. Sans could never fully understand how Papyrus did it, the way he was never discouraged, no matter how colossally his plans backfired. No matter how awkwardly monsters reacted to him, no matter how many times his ambitions were stunted...never once did his optimism falter. Not once.

Sans reached into his jacket and slowly pulled out a small figurine, a plastic statuette of a skeletal pirate, a curved sword clutched in its outstretched hand and a tricorner hat fixed on its skull. He stared down at it covetously, unaware of how much time was passing, not noticing as snow began to pile on top of his feet and gather on his coat collar. It was Papyrus’ favorite figure from his collection, the only memento Sans had taken into his self imposed exile...it’s what he would have spread Papyrus’ dust on if he could have. He raised the grinning pirate closer to his face, staring into the empty eye sockets dejectedly, barely registering that his own had been shedding tears uninhibited.

“Paps...bro, I...I should...I should’ve been there....I should’ve never...given up. Given up on...my friends...on m-myself.........on you.” Sans whispered quietly to the figurine, his voice strained on the verge of sobbing, the snow beneath him almost fluorescently blue. As he stood there, transfixed by his own grief, his thoughts suddenly shifted away from nostalgic memoriam. Fingers tightening around the plastic shape, causing the casing to creak audibly in his grasp, his flow of tears slowly altering into an excess of magic. Sans clenched his free hand into a fist, his mouth warped into a vengeful grin, both eye sockets aflame as he took a shuddering step forward. “...I swear...I’ll find them, brother...I’ll make them pay for every time they hurt you. Every. Single. Time.” he muttered bitterly, clutching the small figure close to his chest, his footsteps halting and scattered, bright blue flames beginning to spread down his coat. The air was filled with the sound of hissing as snow was flash melted against the wreaths of fire, Sans rested a hand against a nearby tree and leaned against it, his skeletal handprint branding itself into the frozen bark. “They won’t beat me again...no matter how hard they try...” Sans mumbled to himself, caught between a strange combination of tittering rage and hysteric amusement, digging his fingertips deeper into the charred wood. He shut his eyes tightly, his bones shivering beneath his clothing, magic seeping out from behind his ribcage billowing out unto the frozen ground. Sans clutched the sides of his skull and sank to the ground, trying to shut out the myriad of ghastly images whirling in his mind, drawing a breath to vent his anguish in ragged scream...

*SNAP*

  Sans’ eyes flew open, the magic torrent wrapped around his form immediately extinguished, the skeleton falling completely still and silent as his emotional breakdown was interrupted. He practically stopped breathing for a few seconds as he strained his hearing to the limit, desperate to convince himself that what he had heard was real, that it wasn’t just another hallucination...

*CRACK*

There it was again, no mistaking it this time, only a few dozen meters away. Sans carefully rose to his feet, his breathing shallow and terse, shuffling towards the direction of the noise as quietly as possible. He sidled up the trunk of a massive tree, leaning incrementally to peer around it, fingers digging into the bark unconsciously. Past his hiding spot was a small clearing in the forest, a field of snow dotted with clusters of puny sapling’s, shriveled diminutive trees robbed of growth by the harshening winter. One had already been stripped of its wispy branches, broken off roughly and quickly, piled together in a small bundle. Sans stared unblinkingly as a lone figure dropped another branch unto the pile, his bleak pupils following their every movement as they approached another sapling and began to tug at an ice coated limb.

They strained and struggled as the branch refused to yield easily, after a few moments they huffed in frustration, reaching a hand towards their waist and grabbing hold of something. Sans’ subdued breathing hitched unconsciously as he watched the figure draw a large kitchen knife from their belt, raising it high into the air for an overhead swing, the gleaming blade shimmering under weak reflected pseudo-starlight. They brought it down swiftly onto the base of the branch, carving through the stubborn wood like it had the resistance of paper, the length of kindling falling to the ground with barely a noise. The figure grunted in satisfaction, picking up the branch and turning around to face the treeline, totally unaware of their silent observer. Sans’ eyes changed as the figure turned towards him, piercingly white pupils vanishing instantly, leaving him with only hollow sockets to stare at...the human gathering firewood.

Sans’ world seemed to narrow incredibly as he continued to gaze emptily at the human, as if he could only perceive their movements and actions, committing every detail to his mind within an instant. That vibrantly striped shirt they had clearly outgrown years ago, that head of unkempt, shoulder length dirty brown hair...that flat, emotionless face. Eyes just as hollow as Sans’, like staring into the night sky itself, a window into true darkness. The skeleton stood against the tree for what seemed like hours to him, unable to move, unable to break his line of sight. Ten years he had spent imagining this moment, plotting out every conceivable way he could confront his target, each newly devised approach grislier than the last. Now...as the human went about their business mere feet away from him...he felt himself standing in front of the door to the Ruins... ________________________________________________________________ ...leaning against the bark of a tree, his eyelids slowly drooping as he felt a post-morning nap coming on...when the sound of soft footsteps interrupted his dozing. Sans blinked and yawned, looking through the treeline to see a diminutive figure marching through the snow, eye sockets widening as he realized the strange looking interloper could only be a human. “huh, lookit that. today was the day after all, guess i owe paps a weeks worth of dishes.” he thought aloud, a mixture of disbelief and suspicion in his voice, pondering to himself how he should approach the situation. On the one hand, he had been assisting Papyrus in his overly convoluted human “hunts” for years, and here was a sterling opportunity for Sans to help him realize his dream. Then again...Undyne wasn’t exactly the type to treat them kindly, and once they were brought to Asgore...it wouldn’t be pretty. As he debated whether to approach or apprehend the human, Sans heard the soft, plaintive voice of the strange woman who lived in the Ruins echo through his thoughts.

“Sans...I have something to ask of you...if...if a human were to ever walk through this door into the Underground...watch over them, please? Guide them along their journey, keep them safe, I know it is a lot to request but...please, Sans. As a favor for me, for a friend?”

The skeleton let out a resigned sigh, watching as the human slowly walked further down the path. “why am i such a sucker for older women?” he asked aloud to himself, shaking his head and taking a whoopie cushion out of his pocket, grinning as he bound it to his palm. “welp, better go introduce myself, can’t have paps scarin’ em’ outta their skin.” he said, chuckling at his own joke, leisurely making his way through the snow as the silhouetted shape reached the first gate… ________________________________________________________________ Sans snapped back to the present, suppressing the urge to clear his skull by shaking it, keeping himself stock still as to not risk spooking the human. His caution was relatively unnecessary, as his target had remained oblivious to his presence as they continued to hack away at another sapling. Their back was turned to Sans as he stared holes through their head, reaching a hand up pinch the bridge of his absent nose, trying to settle the memories vying for control of his faculties. His promise to Toriel was one of the most vivid, a reluctant promise he had made lifetimes ago, if only he could have appreciated the weight of those words when he’d spoken them.

With a start, Sans realized he was stilling holding the pirate figurine, greatly relieved that his magical episode hadn’t melted the plastic. He wrested his gaze away from the human and stared into the skeletal eye sockets of the statue, his nervous and desperate expression slowly fading, replaced by a chillingly wide grin as his eyes sparked back to life. He carefully placed the pirate into a coat pocket, slowly removing a dusty whoopie cushion in its place, wrapping it around his palm tightly and clenching his free hand in preparation. Sans returned his focus to the human mere feet away, the deja vu of his current position not lost on him, his massive grin growing a fraction as he felt the years of his long hunt granting him a familiar exhilaration.

“How could I pass up a chance like this?” he whispered to himself, focusing his energy and warping instantly across the short distance, materializing within inches of his unsuspecting quarry. He extended his hand outward and, as a bit of an afterthought, snuffed out his pupils to leave his sockets empty. For nostalgia’s sake.

“H u m a n...don’t you know...how to greet an old pal? Turn around...and shake...my...hand.”