Chapter Text
They are awake within an instant. They convulse with the sizzle and pop that goes off deep within the core of their chest, claws inside of their stomach raking their intestines to bloody pieces. Their first action is to ball their fists, grabbing handfuls of a warm sweater that hides their frame. With some difficulty they push themself up in a swift motion. Their body rattles, vision swimming as they find themself floating amongst a sea of yellow and green.
They press their palms into the patch of soft dirt below, leaning their weight onto their arms and letting out a fluttery sound as petals tickle their wrists. They crush petals and stems underneath their hands, digging their fingers into cold soil and tangling with the roots. They swallow down the taste of earth that threatens to close in on them, the nearness of death.
They rip a hand free from the dirt and observe the bloom tangled between their fingers, the pale yellow that's working to take over the wilting flower. They bring the roots up to their mouth and crunch down, swallowing petals and licking dirt from their hand. They feel the meal settle in their stomach, the torrent of hunger consuming and breaking it down.
Their fingers twitch, the hunger not yet quenched. Their eyes are drawn ahead, interest stolen. More.
They leave behind the wilting grave, kicking up soil and crushing petals beneath their boots. They track dirt onto a path of cracked stone, their mind seeming to swim with each loud thump of a step they take. They hobble forward through an archway, purple stone that is rough to the touch.
They find their way to one of the many caverns of the Underground, where a single patch of grass inhabited by a Buttercup waits them. The Buttercup looks to them with a bored expression that perks up in forced interest. He is about to speak but stops. The Buttercup regards them with narrowed eyes laced with distrust.
"You're not…" he trails off for just a moment, eyes drifting back to their face, "are you." It's not quite a question and so they don't quite answer.
They take slow steps forward, their unsteady legs shaking beneath them. The Buttercup bristles at their approach but a wide smile spreads across his face. Familiar, they think as they still.
They listen in silence as he introduces himself, yet they already knew his name. Hadn't they. They waver on their feet while he speaks, his shrill voice echoing and filling their head thrice over. They say nothing when he asks if they're new to the Underground, nod when he says they must be so confused.
"Ready?" The Buttercups smile is wicked and all too wide for his face. "Here we go!"
Their ears pop and they gasp in a breath of damp air. They claw at their sweater as they feel their chest lurch, drawn into their first battle. They shake their head, digging their boots into the ground in an attempt to wrench themself out of this dizzying haze.
"See-" The Buttercup begins all too cheery, but his voice dies in his stem. They look up to meet his eyes, the downward curl of a not-quite frown. "You're soulless," he says as an accusation.
They stand up straight, relaxing the hand twisted in their sweater. The pounding pain in their chest is slow to fade and they become all too aware of the coiling pain in their gut.
"What are you?" The Buttercup spits out, face twisting with annoyance.
This isn't a battle where they're meant to have options, a distant part of them recalls. But they stick out their hand in a friendly manner anyway, cocking their head silently. The Buttercup recoils and his smile turns menacing, eyes wide and hollow.
"What, you want to be friends?" His mocking laughter pierces their ears as he refuses their hand. White spinning bullets appear in a ring around him, inaccurately named friendliness pellets. "In this world, it's kill or be killed!"
They stand still as the first bullet strikes them, making a cut along their cheek. Pain is a shocking sensation, reverberating through their body as they unsuccessfully dance through his attack. Their tongue tingles and they spit onto the ground, rubbing fingers along where the first pellet had struck. There is nothing but dirt on their fingers.
"What the-" The Buttercup recoils as they pin him with their gaze.
It is their turn now
"Get back!" He hisses as they take steps towards him, his petals bristling.
They grab onto the Buttercup, taking one of his petals in between their fingers. He shrieks at them, pulling back. The soft yellow gives way between their fingers and he looks at them with fury concealing fear.
"You- you're a freak!" He screeches at them, mouth curling into an angry expression before his eyes widen and he ducks just in time to avoid a ball of searing hot flames.
"What a terrible creature," the Caretaker emerges from a nearby doorway, extinguishes the flames she holds in her paws as she tsks to herself. She looks at them with warm brown eyes and a sad smile stretching across her face, as if she already knows what will happen, "torturing such a poor, innocent youth."
They are the first human to come to the ruins in a long while, the Caretaker tells them as she introduces herself and beckons them along. They fall into step behind her as told, sparing a singular glance behind them.
Towering brick walls close in around them and their boots trample over red leaves. They pause to pick on up, carefully wrapping the petal inside. Their meal crunches satisfyingly between their teeth, scratching their throat as they swallow. The petal threatens to stick to their tongue and they wheeze with a cough, shivering as they rush to keep up with the Caretaker.
They flip switches as she tells them to, walk carefully along pathways. She has them greet a dummy that watches them with silent nerves. They pick at its seams, digging out cotton and savoring the taste. The Caretakers laugh is like honey to their ears as she softly tells them they'll have plenty to eat and ushers them along.
A frog bounds around a corner in threat, croaking deep and pulling them into battle. It's small, head bobbing around and eyes unfocused. It's confused by the prospect of a handshake, it would seem. And they're forced to say goodbye to it as the Caretaker appears to shoo it away, effectively rescuing the creature.
A maze of spikes stand before them and the next corridor and the Caretaker fidgets beside them. They avert their gaze and look sideways to the surrounding water, crisp and blue.
"This is the puzzle, but…" She turns a gentle smile onto them and their gaze snaps back up to hers. "Here, take my hand for a moment."
Their hand is small in her fluffy paw and they grab on tight, soaking up her warmth. She gasps, head jerking forward as she tries to blink the dizziness out of her eyes.
"My- my child…" She mutters and makes a weak attempt at pulling her hand free.
Her knees thunk against stone ground below and they help her onto her back. They take in a shallow breath of dusty air, swallowing down the taste of cinnamon. Her hand is limp when they let go, falling over her heart. Her brown eyes are hazy, darting around the room unsurely and brimming with tears.
"You…" her voice is something different, albeit achingly familiar, "are not my child.
The Caretakers eyes are wide, trained on them and then drifting onto the ceiling. They hesitate on a response, to agree or shake their head. They decide on neither, turning and cupping water in their hands. The water is cold as it slides down their throat and sloshes around in their hollow stomach, healing wounds make from scratching leaves.
The spike puzzle is easy to navigate and the Caretaker is long forgotten as they traverse the ruins, Monsters pop out at them, slithering from cracks in the wall or jumping from around corners. Some take their hand, some they have to poke and prod at. They move on when they get their fill, trampling through the ghost who leaves with a few sniffles and an apology.
They crush a wriggling spider under their tongue as they pass through the Caretakers door, eyes wandering over wooden floors and yellow walls. They crack the mirror open with their fists, shards of glass cutting into their gums. They take a brief peak around the kitchen before they leave down the stairs, shivering in the cold emptiness as they remember the caretaker had never gotten back to make a pie for the human.
The corridor is long, the door imposing. They stand on the tips of their toes to rub their hand across the runes. The cold stone sinks into their skin—their blood. They leave the ruins behind them, leaving the door ajar for the next human to fall.
"You're not human, are you?" The Buttercup awaits them and they can't find it in themself to be surprised.
The petals swirls in their stomach, the wound sticking out on his shivering frame. They find no point in the flower so they step aside him, continuing on.
"What's wrong with you?" He calls after them but makes no move to stop them. "Do you think you can rule this world? What did you do to Frisk?"
They stop with a hand ghosting over the door to Snowdin, cold air blowing through the crack and chilling their nose. They turn to look at the Buttercup and he flinches back, expression swirling into something afraid. They twitch to move towards him and he leaves, fleeing back into the ground.
Cold winds bite at their cheeks, stinging their eyes shut. They wrap their arms around their middle and tilt their head up, letting snowflakes fall into their mouth.
Their footsteps crunch silently in the snow, boots leaving behind no trace of themself. They nudge the stick along the path before stepping over it and refrain from looking over their shoulder when they hear the resounding crack.
They freeze as slow footsteps move towards them, deliberately loud. They stand on a wooden bridge, the only thing between them and the dark chasm below. Ahead is a gate with bars too wide to stop anyone.
"Human." The Judges voice rings close to their ears and the single word sends a shiver up their spine.
They turn to face the Judge and his outstretched hand, the whoopee cushion hidden by the curl of his bony fingers. They set their own hand firmly in his and his smile lifts in surprise before stuttering, the lights in his eyes giving way to a dark void.
Recognition—they're led to think—dawns on his face as they pull away. They stick their tongue out at the taste of ketchup and hotdogs, taking steps away as the Judge gives a chuckle, form wavering. Different from the Caretaker, they note solemnly. They turn away before he can speak, before he can start hobbling away to die.
A snow-covered sentry station and conveniently placed lamp awaits them. Thick woodland closes in around them from all sides as snow drops fall down their cheeks. They kick at snow and chuckle at how strange it is to think they're underground surrounded by foliage and weather.
Heavy, exaggerated footsteps rush to meet them and they re-focus their attention. The Puzzlemaster emerges from the trees in a guard-like march, scarf billowing behind him. He stops in a wide stance when he spots them. He squints before his eye sockets grow impressively wide.
"Oh my god!" He shouts into the cavern, gloved hands flying to his skull. "A- a human! wait- you are a human, correct?" His voice lowers to a whisper as he crouches down to their height. They offer him a slow nod and he shoots up straight once more, shaking his hands, "Wowie! A human! I finally did it I'll- I'll be so popular!"
He's vibrating with a giddiness that slowly gives way to annoyance. "And my lazybones brother is not even here to assist me!" Placing his attention back onto them he asks. "Human, have you perhaps seen my brother, Sans?"
They nod yet again, pointing behind themself to the gates and beyond. The Puzzlemaster lights up again, "Why, thank you," he says, politely walking past them to find his fallen brother, "do not move on too far! For I will be back to capture you!"
They watch his vermilion cape disappear around a line of trees and turn, marching down a trampled path. They pluck a pine needle off of a tree, stopping by the river and taking a sip of icy water to wash it down.
They're used to the antics of Snowdin, the puzzles second nature to them. They wait at the electricity maze for the Puzzlemaster to appear but he never does and they move on in silence, seeing no trace of him save for frozen spaghetti they inhale the scent of. The royal guard of Snowdin attempts to stop them, one mutt after another in their path. They subdue them all with belly rubs and they go down easy, they're soon washing the taste of dog treats and biscuits out of their mouth.
The town of Snowdin is somewhat empty when they arrive, residents that'd gone out for a stroll yet to return and perhaps never will. They find their way easily through the ghost town, peering through windows into empty houses and poking at the flickering lights of the giftmas tree.
The snowstorm thickens and they squint as they walk through it, shivering. They see the form of the Puzzlemaster through the thinning storm. He paces round in a circle but comes to a sudden stop as he notices them.
"Human," his voice is small, hardly as boisterous as he usually is, "I—The Great Papyrus—will- will- no. I can't." He shakes his head and looks away from them, ashamed. "I am sorry, human. I wish to give you a good fight, to capture you fairly but- but my brother. Something terrible has befallen him and he won't wake up."
They think the Puzzlemaster might cry, as much as he fights to hold back the tears. They observe him for a moment before catching his attention by stepping forward and holding their arms out in the invitation of a hug.
His face lights up, "Wowie! Are you offering me a hug? The Great Papyrus will gladly accept your comfort, human!"
He moves forward to sweep them up into his long arms, crouching down to get onto their level. They stand on the tips of their toes and wrap their arms around his neck, inhaling the encompassing scent of pine and swallowing the taste of spaghetti as he turns rigid in their grasp.
"Human…?" He mumbles as his arms slip from around them.
They help lower him to the ground, staring into his confused eyes. Snow drops slide down his face and they imagine him soon becoming buried in the snow. They pat him comfortingly on the chest before they turn, trekking out of the snowstorm.
The air in Waterfall is damp, the ground soft beneath their boots. The sentry station remains empty, the area uninhabited save for a child gazing up at the few twinkling gems embedded into the ceiling. The Undergrounds stars. They pluck a petal from the silent echo flower as they pass, swallowing down whispers and prayers.
They trudge slowly through a rushing waterfall, soiling their boots and the cuffs of their pants. They drag water behind them as they move on, wading through a bush of seaweed. The foliage tickles against their cheek and they shiver, stilling at the sound of metallic boots overhead.
They listen to the heavy steps of the royal guards captain, peering up through the green at the shine of a blue spear. They hold their breath, a single thrum of fear coursing through them as she looks from side to side. She's expressionless in her armor, the mouth carved in jagged angry lines and eyes shining. Her red hair flies in the drafty caves and it takes her a few seconds to pull back, retreating into the shadows.
They hurry out of the seaweed, the air wetting the back of their throat. The Child stops them as they walk, excitedly rambling before tripping over their own legs and landing on their face. They watch the Child leave on their own, slowly making the journey through Waterfall.
The captain chases them through the caverns, hot on their tail with glowing spears as they pluck off the petals of lotus'. They hide in long strands of seaweed on more than one occasion, brush their fingers along wilting echo flowers. They take a respite among the caverns to stare up at the ceiling of stars, to find the monsters constellations. They crush a gemstone between their teeth as they walk, scoop up bright blue water and retch at the acrid taste.
They place an umbrella over the sleeping statue, paying it little mind before they offer the Child passage through the rain. The Child offers their head as a stool and they take the offer, planting a hand on their head for balance as they climb up. They don't look back as they move forward.
They awake on wilting flowers when the captain next chases them, staring up into an ever stretching darkness. The sound of rushing water fills their ears and they force themself on through the trash heap. They dodge explosives from the mad dummy until the ghost interrupts their fight. They cup their hands for their acidic tears, eyes tearing up at the burn in their throat.
They traverse a maze of crystals and mushrooms, stumbling around in the dark before they fall into waist deep water. Effectively out of the maze they follow the wall to dry land and a single echo flower at the end of a corridor.
"Behind you," a distant voice whispers as the flower sheds it's petals, dying in their hands.
The Captain takes three heavy steps forward and then three more, coming to a stop. Their back is pressed flat against the wall and they give a look to the seaweed at their right. They know no one is hiding in there, they're on their own.
"Seven." The Captains voice is a low sound, muffled and angry through her helmet and they feel their chest give a start. "Seven human souls."
The captain tells them about the King, form menacingly still. The King who will one day become a god when he wields the power of seven human souls, what is needed to break the barrier. Their hand comes up to their chest, clutching at the emptiness as an aching hunger roils to life in their stomach, clouding their vision.
"Understand, human?" She spits out the question and they can only imagine her glaring from inside of the helmet. "This is your only chance at redemption. Give up your soul." Her hands twitch, fingers tensing, "Or I'll tear it from your body."
The spear appears in her hands, a flash of blue blinding their vision. She creeps towards them as they feel their chest lurch, the battle beginning. the Captain goes to strike their soul and stumbles when it does not appear. Resolutely, she shakes herself, continuing with her assault. Spears fly past them and they grab one stuck in the wall to use as a shield, gritting their teeth with the force they're met with.
Her armor covers her from head to toe, not a sliver of scales show. She would take off her helmet if they encountered her in a later fight. Annoying. The Captain swings her spear up and they set their sights on the darkness behind her. They drop the weapon they'd grasped onto, making a break and fleeing into water.
"Hey!" She bellows after them, spear whizzing past their head.
They splash around in the water, desperate screams of the past reverberating in their mind as they nudge past echo flowers. Soaking wet they finally pull themself onto the blue grass as she makes a steady pace behind them. They rush to their feet and keep running, reaching the middle of the rickety bridge atop too sharp rocks before they're struck square in the shoulder.
They look back to the Captain as they pull it out, the blood dripping into the abyss below. They feel their wound stitch back together, blood drying as their sweater mends. The Captain stiffens and recoils and they take off again with the weapon still in hand, making it to the caves mouth before they trip over a spear in their path. They raise their spear above their head as she brings down her own weapon, wrist burning from the strain of deflecting. As she goes back up they swing their spear, making a cut along her breast plate. It's a shallow cut that doesn't even make it past the metal but blood leaks past her helmet and she stumbles back.
Love burns on their tongue as they get to their feet and run, gripping the dust coated spear. It takes a moment but she's after them again, footfalls heavy as the ground gets rougher and the air hotter. They look up at the still sign that reads: 'Welcome to Hotland' in dark red letters.
They nearly trip as they pass through the tunnel, exiting out into the too hot air of Hotland. Burbling streams of lava churn beneath their boots and they run carefully across a wooden bridge. Sweat prickles along their brow and stings their eyes as they listen to the slowing steps of the Captain.
In a few more paces they reach the line past the water cooler. The blood has dried up from the Captains helmet, the cut along her breastplate gone. She stumbles a few steps, raising her spear up before she falls with a heavy thud. They let out a breath, shoulders slumping as they take careful steps forward. They place a foot on her spear, stomping the magic out of existence. They use their own borrowed weapon to wedge her helmet off, gazing down at her expression of angry exhaustion. Her scales are damp to the touch, and they wipe their hand on their sweater when they stand. They look into her foggy eyes, reveling in the taste of a hero before they turn to leave.
The Robot tells them that the Scientist is gone, having evacuated the masses during their adventures in Waterfall. He's quick to leave as they move towards him, speeding away on a singular wheel.
The puzzles of Hotland send them zooming around on moving platforms and flying through the air. With one wrong move or wrongly built platform they'll fall into the boiling stream below, the thought sends sweat trickling down their spine. As told by the Robot, Hotland is a near empty wasteland. They feel the hunger gnawing at their insides with each empty turn, claws wrapping around their intestines. They pass through doors and whole up inside elevators with a tapping foot, the sweltering heat biting at the back of their check.
They swirl spider webs around their finger like cotton candy, biting at the string as a shrill voice fills their ears. They wade through thick webbing, not minding the thousand of little legs crawling around their wrists and neck until the Baker lowers herself onto her nest.
Spiders bite at their skin as their limbs are constricted in webs, arms pulled above their head. Her face twists when she comes to realize their lack of soul but she's content to keep fighting them. Moving is difficult in the webs and they're racked with pain at their hunger and the inflicted bites.
Before long the Baker brings out her pet and they hoist themself up as far as they can to avoid it's chomping maw, a squeeze of uncomfortable thrill permeating deep within their chest. It's teeth close around their leg and they hiss with the pain, raising their other foot to jam their heel into its eye when they force themself to calm.
The Pet yanks on their body like a chew toy and they let it, tears of pain springing to their eyes as they reach down. The webs holding them up snaps and they fall onto it, hands sinking into its muffin-like head. It whimpers, deflating as it's eyes turn foggy. The Baker lets out a cry of alarm and they vault towards her. They trip over her webs and she takes a step back with an angry expression but she's not quite quick enough. Their finger tips brush against her leg as their chin collides with warm rock and sticky webs, their blood seeping out and the wound stitching back together.
Warm backed goods. Slowly—shyly—a spider scurries forward to her twitching body. It flinches back as they struggle to their feet but soon moves forward again as they simply stare. More begin to gather, swarming the body of their fallen ruler, mourning her predetermined death.
Their fulfillment is brief as they continue on, leaving behind Hotlands sweltering heat for the comfortable coolness of the Robots resort. They take a drink from the fountain, the reprieve welcome as they rest upon the plush carpet. They take the elevator up to the core then, the mechanical whirring filling their ears as they come to meet the waiting Robot.
He becomes his true form in a flash of light, standing before them as a guard to not just monsters but humanity. He laughs when they extend their hand and they're locked into a too flashy battle. They've never had to fight him in this form, his body destroyed easily with one hit. But they're not trying to kill him and they don't have any other weapon save for their hands.
They grab the Robot when he gets close enough to touch, dodging a kick and wrapping their hands around his ankle. He makes a noise of disgust, kicking them away as if they're nothing but a pest. They roll and skid to a stop, watching him with wide eyes as he stays standing proud and steady. Their eyes wander down to his soul, encased in fragile glass. Like the Captains armor.
Once more, they fight. They throw their body at him elbow first and he grunts, throwing them back with a snippy remark. They spit blood onto their hand, staring at it before licking it back up. Iron. Still, his body is weak so even if they don't have a weapon their attempts do something.
A wing falls off first and then the other. Oil that makes the illusion of sweat drips down his metallic face as the bones in their elbows shatter from the hard impact. They cry out with the pain, ligaments stitching together as they don't stop moving, dodging and attacking until glass finally shatters beneath their elbow and they grab his soul between their fingers.
They spit out the taste of oil as he collapses in a heap, his wires giving a dying spark. They stare down ruefully at his mechanical corpse, stepping over him and leaving the Core behind them.
They walk through the cold and empty imitation of the Caretakers home, hands brushing against grey walls. The Buttercup splits through the wooden floor, tense and ready to bolt. His petals hang down, the edges turning an ugly brown color as he slowly wilts. They offer him a small wave of acknowledgement, spinning on their heels to find the second key.
"Frisk is on their way to stop you," he jeers in a low voice, and they stop in their tracks. They spin around with their breath caught in their throat, eyes caught onto the pain in his cruel smile. "Then what will you do? Kill each other and leave me to inhabit this empty world?" His smile picks up as cruel laughter rings through the silent halls.
He leaves as they rush towards him but they continue on to, skidding to a stop in front of the mirror. They press their face to the glass, their short breathes fogging it up. Frisk, Frisk, Frisk. They search their familiar face, fingers ghost down their cheek. Frisk.
Judgment hall is cold and empty, the large windows letting in streams of light. Their footsteps echo as they pass through the long corridor, the hairs on the back of their neck prickling.
The King doesn't recognize them as a human, turning around with a smile even as they stand amongst wilting flowers. He places his hand in theirs and curls in on himself. The taste of tea fills their mouth, a distant sorrow. He moves his mouth in the faint shape of words they don't bother to decipher, marking a path of dead vegetation as they find their way to the barrier.
Six human souls encased in glass jars, six human children who fell and died underneath this mountain.
They pluck the souls from their jars one by one, cupping the hearts softly and holding them to their own chest. Bravery makes their stomach curl with nausea and they retch up an empty stomach. Justice brings them down to their knees, rocks skinning their knees through their pants. Kindness brings tears to their eyes as an unfamiliar warmth blooms in their stomach. Integrity makes the cavern spin around them as they reach for another soul. One deep breath after another the soul of patience settles a deep calmness. And with perseverance their body is alight.
They dig their fingers into their chest as a cry worms its way out of their throat. Their chest explodes with the pain of their soul shattering and re-forming, the pop loud. Voices crowd their head, whispers of confusion swirl round and round their skull, taking up the empty space in their chest. fingers poke and prod at them, nudging their shoulder, a hand closes around their wrist and pulls. A finger gouges into their eye and they scream their throat raw. Out with the finger something leaks from their left socket. Not quite tears, something thick and warm that drips onto their sweater and onto the rocky ground. The substance is of a rainbow hue, slowly melting into orange. A color that had once meant bravery, but now-
They force themself onto their shaking legs, chest heaving. The hands help them though they're of little help, and the whispers act as a mental nudge. Hands poke at their chest and they oblige, bringing forth a soul. The outline shifts it's color throughout the rainbow, though it misses the key color of red. They can see their fingers on the other side as well. Their soul is transparent, hollow, only an outline. They are incomplete.
A slap on the back, footsteps behind them.
They press their soul back into their chest and turn around, the hunger roaring back to life and they find-
Frisk.