Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The pack waits.

Not because we're uncertain. Not because we're afraid. Because the strongest speaks first.

Nightmare stands where darkness gather, a silhouette sitting in a throne built for someone stronger than everything else in the room—his rightful place. The shine of his cyan eye is the only thing I can clearly see. But I don't need to see his face. Predators don't stare into another's eyes unless they're looking for a challenge. No one here is foolish enough to challenge him.

Silence stretches between us.

Then—

"Leave no one alive."

Simple and clean—a command shouldn't waste breath.

The hunt begins before the first step is taken. Dust lowers his head, muttering some incohesive words under his hoodie. Cross places a hand over the hilt of his 'sword', and a fist over his Soul. He bows slightly—the same reverence he always reserves for our master. Horror doesn't move at all, but the way his hand tightens around his axe says enough.

None of us speak.

There is nothing to say.

The strongest has chosen the hunting grounds. A relatively populated universe that grew far too positive for master's liking. This universe works just like all the others, except for some minor changes in the story—though not enough to disturb my knowledge of how the Underground works. It is useful knowing the place; every corner with an end, every shortcut known, every house mapped with who lives there. One exit, a single entrance, and no way out—not without the seventh human soul.

Pity these people don't have any.

Nightmare opens a portal to that universe. We cross the border. Scenery changes from the dark brick walls of the castle lit by candlelight to the cold damp of Snowdin. Master always chooses Snowdin as our starting point since it's the place most familiar to us—makes sense, because we're all Sans, in a way.

The underground is silent enough, but I can hear the forest breathing. Smoke signaling all the houses with prey inside. Footprints mixing with one another but ultimately pointing towards the same end.

I move forward a few steps. The crunch of white under my sneakers makes my face pinch in poorly-veiled wicked glee when I see how perfect the hunting grounds are.

It's easy to follow prey when they leave footprints.

The snow melts behind me, and my pack's trail. We don't get too far away from each other before everyone peels away toward their chosen path. I don't turn around to see where they chose to go, but I can guess where they won't go. Cross never chooses the trail towards Hotland because he wears too many layers and overheats easily. Horror never goes to Waterfall—he can't bear to see a look-alike Undyne. Dust—like me—doesn't care. He hunts anywhere, and kills anything that moves—be it Monster or Human.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

A gasp.

I turn around. A look-alike Monster Kid stops a few meters away from us, looking awed at the same time he looks confused.

"You all look like Sans," he says.

"We are Sans, kid." I grin, already taking out one knife on each hand. "Though we are a little... murderous."

Monster kid looks terrified when he sees the blades in my hand. It only gets worse when he also sees the huge axe in Horror's hand, and Cross's sword—he still refuses to admit it's just a big-ass knife—It doesn't take much for the kid to run, fall, stand once again, and run once more.

"Gotta warn everyone!" He adds before fleeing.

The sounds of his desperate breathing and screams for help are music to my ears.

Soon, the pack separates. Heavy footsteps from Horror, hushed muttering from Dust, and the slow drag of Cross' sword through the snow are all I can hear until the forest swallows it all. I, like always, follow the trail of hurried footprints and racing heartbeat. One foot after another; a playful knife flip; A wicked grin breaking through my teeth; A deranged giggle. Just a few steps away from piercing all the preys with a knife.

It's funny how all genocide starts with a kid.

"Run, little prey, run while you can. It's more interesting that way."

Fear smells different. Sweeter. Sharper. Makes the chase worth it.

The track through the forest opens to the sight of some of Snowdin’s houses–more specifically, it opens to where I grew up. A look-alike of it.

The sight is not pretty. A rabbit lady holds a garden fork as if it’s a mighty weapon while her child stands behind her, clutching her clothes. Except for the dog couple, the dog unit are all making a sort-of barricade, pointing their weapons in my direction. I catch sight of a few other unimportant Monsters—and even Jerry, to my extreme amusement—before the flammable bartender decides to block my view of them, standing in front of him.

"How heroic..." My voice is dipped in mockery, even though my smile is as wide as ever.

"S-Sans...?" A blue bunny gasps, still hiding behind Grillby. "Is it really you...?"

It's the only sound I can hear outside of the crunching snow under my feet.

"Correct!" I chuckle, flipping a knife casually.

"You're not Sans..." he adds. "You're smiling wrong."

That makes my smile widen, even if I feign ignorance. "Am I? Didn't know there was a right way to smile."

"Who are you? You're not our Sans..." A wolf asks, the same one responsible for throwing ice cubes to refrigerate the CORE. I remember bothering my universe's version of him until I got bored, got rid of him, and went to take a nap.

I take a step closer.

I laugh lowly. "Wow! You're quite the aware-wolf, aren't ya? Well, it's knife to meet you, but let's cut to the chase, shall we?"

Another step.

I laugh once again. "Cheer up! At least one of us is gonna have fun. Isn't that great?!"

Their eyes all widen when I start approaching them once again, still slurred, still lazy. Every step makes my heart beat faster, the sound thumping excitement through my bones.

"Step back! Go back to where you came from!" She says, still pointing the fork towards me. "Do not come any closer!"

No, the sight is definitely not pretty...

But some spilled dust will definitely decorate it how I like it most.

"Technically, rabbit lady," I flip my knife casually, loving the way it makes some of them flinch. "I came from here."

I take one step closer to her. A single step. It's all it takes to make her eyes sparkle with fear—just like the scared bunny she is.

"Go back!" Then, she turns to her child. "Stay behind me," she tells her kid.

Oh, so melodramatic...

I hum, pretending to be making a difficult decision. "Nah. Don't wanna." I say playfully, a dangerous tune stuck to my words.

As soon as I finish saying that, I make a hundred knives—all made with my Determination-contaminated magic. I hear a gasp, thundering heartbeats, screams and shouts prompting everyone to start running. I lick my lips, and my magic falls down like meteors. The rabbit lady is immediately hit by one of the knives on her chest. She coughs up blood almost immediately after. Her child frantically approaches her, to soothe 'mommy'. It doesn't take long for both to understand a funny little side-effect of my knives.

They start melting.

The Determination that oozes from my Soul and magic does not affect me anymore—but average Monsters are still very much weak to it. They always melt when my magic gets inside them—That's what Determination does. And my knives reek of its toxicity. It turns them into amalgamates easily.

Now they're finally starting to look pretty.

I chuckle darkly. "If Alphys saw this, it would make her jealous." Then, I turn around, searching for one of the scientist's cameras. "Actually, she probably is watching. Enjoying the show, my dear wicked lizard?"

Of course, I don't expect an answer from a camera—but it's funny imagining Alphys trembling while watching me trigger her DT trauma.

Neither of my prey laughs with me, they're too busy running. As if running would help... But I can't complain. Running prey does make the chase feel more rewarding once I catch them—and I will catch them. I always do.

I start whistling a tune Horror taught me once. It belonged to his universe, which means that it sounds absolutely terrifying.

More prey start running.

I turn around. "Fun, fun, fun! Isn't it so fun?!" I giggle to no one in particular. "The hunt begun. Enjoy the last moments of your pathetic lives!"

As I say that, I target another prey.

It gets interrupted by a flame that passes inches away from my face. Grillby doesn't speak, but I can hear his labored breathing—he has never been much of a fighter.

"Did your mother ever told you not to play with fire?" I look at him.

"..."

"Nothing to say, huh?"

It's a short path to close the distance between where I was standing and Grillby. Even shorter between my knife and his Soul. One slash—that's all I had to do to make him Fall Down in a burst of old flames, ash and dust.

I click my tongue. "At least fight better than this. It isn't fun if none of you resist."

There is a scream near my left. I grin, twist my body, tackle them down. They fight to be released from under my body, but their Soul turns BLUE with a ping. All movement ceases. I laugh, impaling them with my blade. More dust decorates de snow, dirtying it.

Now this place is looking better.

Very, very pretty.

Dust from all killed Monsters clung to my clothes as if the passed away Souls want to revenge themselves by making my laundry time harder. Too bad I don't care. In fact, it sends a thrill up my spine to think of the mess I made. The chaos brings me a type of satisfaction I only get when the LV is running down my ley-lines—an addictive taste after a successful hunt.

Instead, I count my kills on my fingers, listing their names to check if I accidentally left someone out.

"Snowdrake, Ice Cap, Lesser Dog, Chilldrake, Jerry, Gyftrot, Dogamy, Dogaressa, Greater Dog, Doggo, Grillby…"

A pause.

A magical attack passes inches away from my face, brushing my cheek a few centimeters under my eye-socket. The brush is enough to smear some of the black tar off my face. The attack falls to the snow like an arrow to the ground with the force of its landing. I grin, finding it funny how that did no damage outside of getting my attention. I look up, seeing the owner of said attack stand a few meters in front of me like an avenger—even if the sad eyes and nervous twitch of his fingers tell a different story.

"Oh, seems like I left someone escape after all."

… Papyrus.

He stands there, pushing his chest plate outwards as if encouraging himself to be courageous. He's likely mentally repeating to himself something about being more like Undyne, or how he needs to help, or some other honor-based stuff.

I should feel sympathetic towards that display. It is foolish—but very brave.

Unfortunately, for Papyrus, I am not Cross—I don't give mercy to my prey just because of some honor code they might follow.

Prey is prey—it's simple as that.

"You need to stop," he says, still nervously twitching despite his apparently confident posture.

Papyrus doesn't attack again.

Interesting.

Most prey understands the situation once they see enough dust. They run. They scream. They beg. Sometimes they try to fight, but that's usually just another flavor of panic. But Papyrus… he just stands there. His hands are shaking—but his eyes aren't.

It's ridiculous to think he can hide under bravado. I know Papyrus—and this one is an alternate version of my dead brother. Such ridiculous notion…

"Ah, yeah? And what if I don't?"

"You really don't need to… do this. You… You need help." A step closer. "I can help you—if you let me. You don't have to… do what you're doing."

"I know." I huff. "But I'm following Master's orders. He wants you all dead. If you have complaints, go complain to him."

Papyrus—unaware I'm messing with him—seems to actually consider my words.

"Then, how can I talk to your… master?" He says slowly, as if just now tasting how the title I chose for Nightmare feels rolling off his tongue.

I grin. "You can't. That's the point."

Papyrus stares at me.

For some reason, I don't kill him. Maybe it's because he's not running. Maybe it's because he's looking at me like I'm still someone worth talking to. Or maybe I'm just curious—Curiosity is a dangerous thing. I've learned that the hard way. Usually, it gets people killed.

I tilt my head. "You really wanna talk to him?"

Papyrus nods.

"Even knowing that he sent me here to have you dead? Even knowing what I'll do to you if you annoy me?"

Another nod.

I snort. "You're weird."

"I've been told that before."

"Not the good kind of weird."

He sighs. "I'll take what I can get."

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

I don't know why.

Maybe it's because he isn't reacting the way prey is supposed to. Maybe it's because I've spent so long watching people beg, scream, run, and fight that someone simply standing there and talking to me feels almost novel.

Or maybe...

Maybe I want to see how long that courage lasts.

I lower my knives slightly. "Fine."

Papyrus blinks.

"I'll listen."

His expression brightens. "Really?"

"Don't get excited." I point one knife at him. "I'm not suddenly becoming a good person. I'm just bored." It's only half a lie. "Now, what exactly were you planning to say?"

A pause.

"You need to stop."

I snort. "Already said that."

"I mean it."

"Good for you."

I spin one of my knives between my fingers. The blade catches the pale light coming through the trees.

Papyrus doesn't move. "You're hurting people."

"Yeah."

"You're killing them."

"Yep!" I say, popping the 'p' in a way I know sounds annoying.

"You don't have to."

I grin. "Actually, I do."

"No, you don't!"

His voice cracks through the forest. For a second, I don't hear the wind, I don't hear the crunching snow. I don't hear anything except that stupid sentence echoing inside my skull.

I blink, then laugh. "That's cute."

Papyrus takes another step. "You don't have to listen to whoever is controlling you."

"Master isn't controlling me."

"Then leave."

"Can't."

"Why?"

I stare at him for a few seconds.

Why?—The answer should be obvious.

Because Nightmare gave me a purpose. Because he gave me somewhere to belong. Because before him, there was nothing but empty timelines, endless resets, and that pathetic little voice in my head telling me that I was supposed to be something I wasn't anymore.

Nightmare didn't ask me to be Sans. He didn't ask me to be good. He looked at what I had become and gave me a place among people who understood it.

A pack.

A master.

A reason to kill.

I shrug. "Because I don't want to leave."

Papyrus's brow furrows. "You don't want to?"

"Yep."

"… So you just… want to follow his orders?"

"Correct."

"To kill everyone?"

"Yep."

"Because your master told you to?"

"Yep."

He looks genuinely confused.

I grin. "What's so complicated about that?"

Papyrus doesn't answer immediately. I can practically see the gears turning inside his skull. Then—

"But what does he give you?"

My smile twitches. "What?"

"Your master. What does he give you in return?"

I don't answer.

Papyrus takes a careful step closer. "Is it power? Protection? … Friendship?"

My grin stiffens.

Papyrus notices, and takes a step closer to me.

I click my tongue. "Careful, bonehead."

"But you hesitated."

"I didn't."

"You did."

I laugh, but there isn't much humor in it. "Nightmare gives me everything I need."

Silence.

Papyrus stares. I stare back. He looks confused, and I find that hilarious.

"That's it?"

I shrug. "That's it."

"You'd kill everyone here just because someone told you to?"

"Sure."

"Even me?"

"Especially you."

His expression falls.

Good. Finally, he's understanding.

"You're not Sans. He would never do that."

There it is again.

"I know." I click my tongue. "I don't need people reminding me of that."

"No." Papyrus shakes his head. "That's not what I mean."

I stop spinning the knife.

Something about his voice changed.

He isn't scared anymore.

"I know my brother."

My grin remains—It has to.

"Do you?"

"Yes." Papyrus points at me. "Sans make jokes when nervous." My smile twitches, and my knife stops moving. "Sans avoid answering questions when he doesn't like them. Sans pretend he doesn't care about anything… but do care."

A pause.

"… You do all that, too."

I laugh. "Wow. You got all that from watching me murder your entire town?"

A pause.

"I got it from knowing Sans."

My fingers tighten around the knife.

Papyrus takes another step. "For someone who claims they're not Sans, you still act very much like him. You're still doing all the things he does."

Silence.

I hate this. I hate the way he's looking at me. Not like prey. Not like a murderer. Not like I am some godforsaken creature sent to murder him, but—Like he knows me.

"You don't know me." I snap. "I'm not Sans anymore."

"I know you enough."

"No, you don't."

"Then why are you angry?"

…

I stare at him.

My grin is still there—but it feels heavier now. I hate how it reminds me of when I was still Sans. When I had to grin and pretend everything was fine for the sake of everyone else. For the sake of my brother…

Papyrus notices.

Of course he does.

"Because you're wrong," I say.

"About what?"

"Everything."

I flick my wrist, and a dozen knives appear around him.

Papyrus reacts instantly. He summons a bone attack, and uses it as a sort-of sword, swatting the knives away.

I extend my hand—Blue magic catches his Soul, dragging him sideways as the knives slam into him. He blocks it with a burst of bone attacks erupting from the ground.

My magic releases him, and he isn't Blue anymore. But he doesn't get time to recover.

I teleport. One hand catches his scarf, and the other brings a knife towards his chest.

Bones erupt from the ground under me, making me loose balance.

I twist away.

A white spear-like bone-attack passes through the space my head occupied half a second ago.

"Okay!" I laugh. "There you are!"

Papyrus doesn't answer.

He attacks again.

Bones.

More bones.

Some aimed at my feet. Some at my head. Others rising beneath me.

I dodge them all.

He's getting better—Or maybe he's just finally trying.

A bone catches my side. Pain burst from the wound, making me lose some HP. But I don't dust. I can't dust as easily as Sans because of all the Determination and LOVE pulsing inside my Soul—a testament that I am not Sans anymore.

Papyrus seem sick seeing the injury he caused, but that just makes me grin wider.

"Much better!"

Another.

I duck.

Another.

I jump.

The next one catches my leg, making me stumble. Papyrus gasps, horrified.

I laugh. "Don't look so surprised." I rip the bone away. "Did you really think I was gonna stand still?"

"I hoped you dodged it better."

"Aw. That's adorable."

I throw a knife. Papyrus blocks it. Another—Blocked. Another—Blocked again. He keeps moving. Keeps defending. Keeps refusing to attack where I know it'll hurt.

It's annoying.

I rush him. Papyrus raises a wall of bones. I cut through it. His eyes widen when I grab his arm. He tries to pull away, and I twist.

He falls. My knee pins his chest against the snow, making his Soul appear Blue—A familiar little ping.

I laugh.

"Gotcha."

My knife rises. Papyrus looks at it, then at me…

Then he smiles.

Not the terrified kind. Not the fake brave one. A real smile.

My hand stops.

"… You hesitated," he says, still smiling. "There is still some good in you."

I stare at him.

Then laugh.

It hurts. Admittedly, it hurts a lot. Not the injuries on my body, or the scratches, or the Determination running through my body. But my Soul. The wicked, useless thing is floating in front of my chest, wobbling as it threatens to change into a state I have long since forgot how it feels.

I press the blade closer. "Want me to prove it?"

Papyrus' smile doesn't disappear. "You're not going to."

My eye twitches. "What makes you think that?"

"Because if you wanted me dead..." He looks directly into my eyes. "...you would've done it already."

Something cold crawls down my spine.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I hate the way he talks. I hate the way he looks at me. I hate the way he keeps seeing things I don't want him to see. Most of all, I hate that stupid certainty.

I raise the knife.

Papyrus closes his eyes.

For one stupid second, I see another face. A scarf. A grin. Someone standing in front of me. Someone that looks like that alternate Papyrus but is different at the same time. Someone who shouldn't be there.

My grip loosens.

Papyrus opens his eyes.

"Sans."

The knife falls. Not far. I stare at it in the snow—then at Papyrus.

"Don't." My voice comes out quieter than I want.

Papyrus doesn't move.

"Don't call me that," I add.

"But that's your name."

"No."

I pull away from him. My Soul pulses painfully in my chest—still trying to decide which shape to take.

"No, it isn't."

Papyrus slowly gets back on his feet.But he doesn't attack. Of course he doesn't—he isn't like that. He isn't like me. He just looks at me—And somehow that's worse.

"You can keep saying you're not Sans." He straightens his scarf. "But I know what I see."

I glare at him. "What?"

"My brother."

Silence.

The word digs underneath my ribs. Something inside me twists, and I don't like it.

So I do what I always do. I laugh.

Loud.

Sharp.

Wrong.

"I ain't your brother."

Papyrus's expression softens. "I know."

That shuts me up.

My Soul wobbles harder, shooting pain through my body. I can't move correctly when my emotions are fighting between assassin intent and compassion.

I look away first. "You're annoying."

"I've been told that."

"You're also going to die."

"I know."

"Then why aren't you running?" I snap.

Papyrus looks at the piles of dust surrounding us. At the ruined houses. At me. He smiles again.

"Because you're still here."

I frown.

"What?"

A pause.

"There is someone here who needs help! And I, the great future Royal Guard, cannot simply turn a blind eye!" He declares, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Then, he adds: "Besides, if there was nothing left of Sans..." His voice shakes. "...you wouldn't be able to be angry about me calling you that."

My smile disappears.

Only for a second.

But it does.

My Soul decides on a shape fairly quickly then. A red target. The numbness invade my mind, muffling my emotions again. Black tar drips from my eye-sockets in heavy trails. It makes things easier again.

I stab him.

The blade goes straight through his chest.

Papyrus freezes.

His Soul cracks. Then shatters. He is smiling.

"Don't forget it: You can still be saved." A cough as he spills blood. "I believe in you."

His dust scatters across the snow. I stare at the empty space where he was. My knife drips. My Soul wobbles once again.

I should feel good.

I still feel that familiar rush. That delicious little spark running through my Soul. The sensation of LV climbing. Another successful hunt. Another dead Monster. Another pile of dust.

So why does my chest hurt?

I kick the snow over the dusted clothing that remains, throwing the scarf left in my hands to the ground. "There." I force a laugh. "Problem solved."

I turn away. Start walking.

One step.

Two.

Three.

...

"Stupid Papyrus." My voice sounds wrong.

I laugh again—It sounds even worse.

I shove my hands into my pockets and keep walking. Snow crunches beneath my shoes. Behind me, the dust settles. Ahead of me, more prey waits. And somewhere in the back of my mind, an irritating voice refuses to die.

Sans.

I grit my teeth.

"Shut up."

I cleaned Snowdin.

The wind howl a lullaby of ruin for those who passed away—and the trees dance in sympathy. The silence is near deafening, but I like the quiet. The ground is a mess of owner-less clothes. Random piles of cold dust gather around the corners. The snow is reminiscent of its white glory, now showing a pretty shade of gray—the shade of a successful hunt.

Some houses resemble a porcupine from how many bladed objects I have used to pierce one of two Monsters against it, be it my knives or something else—I got creative with some of my kills. They should be honored for it. Unfortunately, there is only one witness left in this misery:

Me.

Though I can still tell how perfect of I hunt I did to my pack once I finish it whole.

Snowdin is left behind me. The dust on my clothes is still fresh. The snow crunches beneath my feet.

For some reason, I can still hear him.

"You're still Sans."

"You can still be saved."

"I believe in you."

I laugh. “What a stupid thing to say.”

I ignore how it stings. I have a job to do, and I barely started. We each have two places to clean. It's how we've always done it. Finish both, return to the castle, and nobody has to wonder whether you did your share. Snowdin is usually mine—even if we sometimes rotate places to not grow bored.

One hunting ground is cleaned, but I have one more to go.

And today, I choose the Ruins.

The Ruins are quieter than Snowdin. Older, too. The walls are damp, the corridors are narrow, and the moss has started swallowing parts of the stone. It's almost nostalgic.

Almost.

I don't give myself time to think about it.

I hunt.

A Froggit jumps out from behind a pillar. Knife. Dust. A Whimsun tries to fly away. Knife. Dust. A Moldsmal blocks the path. More knives. More dust. I move through the Ruins like I own them. Room after room. Corridor after corridor. Every Monster gets the same choice.

Run.

Hide.

Fight.

It doesn't matter which one they choose.

They all end the same way.

The ruins slowly fill with the smell of dust, making me laugh more than I should. Maybe that's the point. Maybe if I keep laughing, I won't hear Papyrus anymore.

Another Monster runs past me. I throw a knife, and it falls down.

"You're still Sans."

Another.

"You can still be saved."

I kick the dust aside.

"Shut up."

I keep walking.

By the time I've reached the deeper parts of the Ruins, there isn't much left moving. My clothes are heavier with dust. My knives are stained. My Soul feels pleasantly numb.

Good. That's how it should be.

I turn another corner. Then stop, looking at the Monster dust on the ground. Fresh.

I frown.

"That's strange," I mutter. "I haven't been here yet."

I look around. I see another pile, then another. The piles neatly organized as if someone had the trouble of sweeping them into piles.

Someone has already passed through this part of the Ruins.

My grin returns. "Oh?"

I follow the trail—knowing exactly who I'll find at the end of it. There is only one person in our pack that is considerate enough to organize Monster dust in piles after killing them.

The dust leads deeper into the Ruins.

Then I hear it: A wet crack. A familiar scream.

I turn the corner.

Cross stands in the middle of the room, His sword buried in the chest of a Froggit. The Monster twitches once. Then falls apart into dust. Cross calmly pulls his blade free, and immediately starts sweeping the dust into a pile with his feet.

"You're wasting time."

Cross turns around. He doesn't look surprised to see me.

I stare.

He stares back.

"... What are you doing here?" I ask.

Cross wipes the dust from his sword with one smooth motion. "I finished Waterfall."

"Already?"

He nods. "Horror and Dust are taking care of the other areas." He gestures vaguely toward the corridor behind him. "So I came here."

I hum. "I see Undyne didn't put up much of a fight in this universe…"

Cross shakes his head. "She did, actually."

I look around.

At the dust.

At him.

Then back at the dust.

"You stole my prey," I say.

Cross's eye twitches. Just once.

I grin. "Don't worry. I'll share."

He doesn't answer.

I take his silence as agreement.

I walk past him. Another Froggit hops into the room in a terrible attempt at outrunning us—or out-hopping us. Froggit doesn't get very far.

Cross moves first.

His sword flashes.

Dust.

I laugh. "Hey! I was gonna get that one!"

Cross looks at me. Then at the dust. Then back at me.

"You said you'd share."

I blink, then laugh. "Fair enough."

We keep going.

It is strange—Not bad strange. Just...

Strange.

Cross doesn't play with them. He doesn't chase. Doesn't laugh. He doesn't seem to enjoy the fear, or the thrill of the hunt. He simply walks forward and cuts down whatever stands in his way in that efficient, precise, and almost boring way of his.

I prefer making prey run.

Cross prefers making sure they can't.

Different methods.

Same result.

We don't talk much after that. I take the left corridor, and he takes the right. Sometimes our paths cross. Sometimes one of us gets to a Monster first. Neither of us complains.

The Ruins become quieter with every room, every turn, every spilled dust that Cross still insists on making piles out of them—even the dust from Monsters I killed.

Napstablook doesn't last long. Loox tries to fight. Vegetoid runs, just to die after a few steps. The Dummy doesn't even get the chance to finish its performance. It's ridiculous, pathetic, and honestly? A little boring.

Eventually, there is only one Monster left:

Toriel.

The moment I see her, my grin disappears. Because I know her. Or... I knew someone like her. A different version, in a different timeline—but with the same eyes. Same kindness. Same stupid tendency to think everyone can be saved.

She looks at us. At Cross, and at me. Then at the dust surrounding her home.

Her expression changes. "Sans, and... Sans—?"

I click my tongue. "Not again…."

She looks momentarily confused to see Sans in double, but she recomposes herself fairly quickly.

"You are hurting these people," she says.

I roll my eyes. "You're gonna do the same thing as Papyrus, aren't ya?"

Cross glances at me with a question in his eyes. I ignore him.

Toriel raises her hands, fire gathering around her palms. "Then I shall stop you."

I grin. "Finally."

The fight is different from the others.

Toriel doesn't run or beg. She doesn't freeze. She really fights—with all she has to offer. Fire fills the room, and the temperature rises considerably. Cross cuts through what he can, managing to nullify the magic with his own most of the times. Meanwhile, I teleport between attacks, throwing knives whenever I see an opening.

But she keeps dodging. Keeps protecting herself. Keeps protecting the path behind her—even if there is no children to protect in her home anymore.

It's annoying.

It's fun!

For the first time since Snowdin, I have to actually make a real effort. A fireball grazes my shoulder, making me hiss. But Cross's sword slams into the ground beside Toriel, forcing her to jump backward, and I have an opening.

I appear behind her.

She turns.

Too late.

Our attacks hit at almost the same time, making Toriel freeze as blood darkens her purple dress, and her Soul cracks. Then—Shatters.

She stares at us for the few seconds of time she has of life before losing her Soul. She doesn't say anything—her eyes say enough. Disappointment. Sadness.

Her body dissolves into dust.

Silence.

I stare at the remains. Cross lowers his sword, and his head. He makes a small reverence before, once again, going to gather the dust in a pile.

Neither of us speaks.

The Ruins are empty.

I look around.

No footsteps, or voices. No Monsters hiding behind doors. There is just… Nothing.

I grin again. "Clean."

Cross gives a small nod. "Clean."

I look at him.

For some reason, that word sounds different coming from him.

I shrug.

"Guess we're done."

Cross sheaths his sword.

I start walking.

He follows.

Neither of us mentions the fact that we didn't fight each other over a single kill. Neither of us mentions how easily we worked together. Neither of us needs to.

He's weird. But we're both here for the same reason—

and that's enough.

The castle doors open.

I step inside, leaving a trail of melted snow and dust behind me.

Cross is already here. Dust sits somewhere in the shadows, muttering to himself. Horror leans against one of the walls, his axe resting over his shoulder. And Nightmare sits upon his throne.

His cyan eye settles on me.

I grin. “Snowdin and the Ruins are clean, Master.”

Nothing.

I wait.

Nightmare looks at me for a moment longer before speaking.

“You have fulfilled your purpose.”

My grin widens.

Of course I have. I followed the trail. I chased the prey. I killed them.

Simple.

I shove my hands into my pockets and walk past the others, feeling the familiar weight of dust clinging to my clothes.

“Good hunt,” I mutter to myself.

No one answers.

They don't need to.

A predator doesn't need praise for catching prey.

The pack had a target, the pack hunted, and the prey died—That's how it's supposed to work.

I glance back at Nightmare. He's already looking elsewhere, his eyes squinting with a far away look. I don't stand near—none of the pack does. Instead, I head toward my room, leaving dirty footprints across the castle floor. Behind me, the others all head to their own rooms—catching a break between missions.

Now, the pack waits. And when the next order comes—

we'll hunt again.