akaneya

[akaneya]

🍰

[akaneya]

happy birthday murder!sans.

[akaneya]

You already drew my favorite bone so I have nothing to request, I love the illustrations that you draw!

I don't know who you are but thanks for liking it. I'm glad to hear that. Let me know if you change your mind.

[akaneya]

I would like to interact a little here. A person who has never made a request to me, let me draw your favorite bone. Is there anyone who would like to request me? Is there anyone who likes the illustrations I draw?

[akaneya]

one hour drawing.

I changed the way I drew it and redrawn it.

Fatal error belongs to @fatal-error-blog

[akaneya]

one hour drawing.

I didn't have enough time, so that's it

Fatal error belongs to @fatal-error-blog

[akaneya]

Read it.

CHAPTER 12 Rays FILE 11 (( MUSIC => Clint Mansell - Lux Aeterna [REQUIEM FOR A DREAM, USA - 2000))

“You don't need to trust me, no problem at all.  But hm, maybe it's necessary to work on that bad stubbornness of yours, there's nothing good about ignoring other people's advice, what I said wasn't a bad thing anyway.” 

The person’s eyes still regarded him with doubt, finding it impossible to trust someone who refused to reveal his face or even introduce themselves with proper manners. All he could see were red-and-yellow eyes piercing through the darkness, like rings of an eclipse in an endless sky. His voice was heavy and cold, radiating an aura of menace that made it impossible to blink peacefully. His gaze was sharp, often narrowing with a cynical squint. A faint chuckle occasionally escaped his lips, sending shivers down the listener’s spine and putting them on edge.

What did he really want? That question had no answer yet, and the thought pressed down relentlessly since the moment they met this enigmatic figure.

Not fear, necessarily, but an overwhelming sense of unease. It felt as though unseen eyes were watching from every direction, making it a struggle to stand without trembling uncontrollably.

“What do you gain from helping me? This is suspicious—I can’t trust you,” he said, his mind restless.

"Are you afraid of me?" His tone was mocking and his eyes glaring.

“I’m too old to be afraid of someone like you. You should go back home and stop bothering me.” There was no use talking to someone so clearly lacking in courtesy, even if curiosity tickled at the edges of his mind. Why had this figure approached them with such hostility? Yet he refused to invite regret or involve themselves in anything unnecessary. He didn’t want to waste energy on things they could ignore.

The mysterious figure seemed displeased by the dismissal. He snorted softly and let out a low chuckle. As the surroundings darkened—like a growing storm cloud expanding and engulfing the area—the person stood frozen, his mind hyper-alert to any sudden changes.

"Old? Do you even know how old you are now?" His eyes narrowed, and a grin suddenly emerged from the shadows. The sight of sharp, gleaming teeth sent chills down his spine. He wished this figure would simply vanish, but it seemed unlikely. He continued pressing them to reconsider his warning. He insisted someone would try to manipulate and kill him if they resisted or refused his offer. But logically, it felt like this person was only speaking about himself, projecting accusations to protect his own image. Or maybe he was just smug, finding delight in this bizarre game of slander.

"I just feel old, that’s all." Even as he spoke, he couldn’t understand why he said it. Yet his mind clung stubbornly to the belief—he was old, no doubt about it. How old, though? He didn’t remember. Or perhaps, he doesn't know anything about it.

Yes, it's odd for sure. Why would he not know his own age and only feel that he had lived in this world for a long time. But, what was there to think about? Does age really matter while he's still alive? Not really, in his mind. If you die, then you die, it doesn't matter what age it will happen, death will always arrive anyway and is absolute.

“You said it so lightly. Aren't you curious?”

He shook his head in confidence. "No. It’s not important. If you think I care about such trivial matters, then you’re mistaken, and you’re stupid. You said it yourself earlier, didn’t you? It’s fine whether I believe your words or not. Well, here’s my answer. The important thing is, I’ve listened to you and thought it over carefully, and this is the conclusion I’ve reached—I can’t trust you. You’ve done enough to convince me, and I’ll only grow more stubborn, and you’ll make yourself look more stupid if you try more than this. Don’t waste your time here arguing with me. It’ll only make you older and more insufferable. Now leave.” His tone was firm, his eyes resolute. There would be no compromise, no further discussion. He was done opening his ears to someone he didn’t know, someone who hurled threats wrapped in unpleasant words.

“Stupid, huh? Hearing it from you is extremely unpleasant, even though I used to enjoy it.”

“You're weirder than I thought.”

“I only want to hear it from someone I accept. And that’s not you.”

“Not my problem. I don’t care about your weirdness, so leave while I’m still sane.”

“I see. Thank you for your time, then.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

And just like that, the weird and mysterious figure vanished in an instant. The darkness that enveloped the place was immediately swallowed into a highly suspicious black hole. Without introducing who he was or even revealing his name, he simply appeared, said some unbelievable nonsense, and left, though the warning he gave lingered in the listener’s mind.

He couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to exploit him or even kill him. It wasn’t arrogance, but no one had ever successfully reached his space and met him directly. He had never met anyone except that peculiar figure. It was baffling to think that someone might know him while he himself had no idea who they were. But a warning is a warning; no matter how nonsensical, he still kept the words in mind.

Gaster.

He stared back up at the ceiling of his room, his thoughts in disarray.

Sure, he had longed to speak with someone because he was always alone in that space, unable to leave to dispel his boredom. Though there was a door before him, it was utterly impossible to open, no matter how hard he tried to force or destroy it. Every effort failed until he eventually gave up and filled his solitude with daydreams and silence.

The mysterious figure hadn’t appeared as a result of some desperate prayer; he hadn’t wished for someone to knock on his door and tell him that someone would mess up his life and that he should brace himself and stay alert. No. It felt more like a grim reaper or uninvited judgment day had arrived.

“How miserable my life is.” He said with a bitter laugh, lamenting his fate as he returned to his daydreams, his thoughts restless and unsettled.

***

Sans limped forward, carrying Frisk's body in his arms. His right hand, severely injured and almost broken, hung awkwardly, though he managed to bind the fractured bones with bandages he found in Frisk's pocket. The makeshift repair held well enough despite a few scratches that weren’t worth worrying about. His breaths came in short, labored gasps, his gaze weary. Yet, against all odds, his face bore a wide grin, etched deeply across his dust- and dirt-smeared skull. Echo flower petals clung to his tattered and filthy jacket, now riddled with tears and holes that exposed the ribs beneath—bones shielding his soul from the threats that sought to claim it.

Frisk's condition wasn’t much better. His clothes were in tatters, fraying threads swaying freely in the air. The fabric was marred by rips and dirt, the colors dulled. His body bore numerous cuts and scrapes, none fatal but enough to hint at the struggle he had endured. His short hair was disheveled, with singed ends and patches missing, as if struck by something sharp and hot. Unconscious, his face was pale, his reddened eyes slightly swollen. Sans's expression remained neutral as he gazed down the path ahead. Occasionally, he hummed an out-of-tune melody, the broken notes a weak attempt at self-soothing after the grueling battle with Chara.

Chara had been relentless. Her movements were calculated, efficient, with no wasted energy—every attack precise, her piercing red eyes glowing like a predator stalking prey. Sans could still feel the strain of that battle. Chara’s fiery determination burned through every attack, her blazing strikes leaving no openings. Her swift knife slashes had forced Sans into an exhausting dance of avoidance and retaliation, every moment a precarious balancing act against the inferno of Chara's wrath.

The Echo flowers surrounding them seemed to hum with an eerie, mournful song as the confrontation reached its crescendo. The radiant red of Chara’s knife clashed violently with the faint blue glow of Sans’s magic, the somber tune of the flowers weaving through her chaotic struggle like a lament for destruction.

But nothing lasts forever.

Chara's borrowed body—Frisk’s frail vessel—began to falter. Her energy dwindled, her breath growing ragged as her legs quivered beneath them. Though her gaze remained fierce, her strength waned. The once-imposing predator seemed on the brink of collapse. Sans, observing her  decline, let a victorious smirk spread across his face. Chara gritted his teeth, gripping the knife tighter as she attempted a desperate, final strike.

But then...

“Chara, that's enough,” Sans said with quiet confidence.

 “You’ve lost.”

A single hand clamped around Chara's neck, restraining her with an iron grip. The pressure was an unspoken warning—any rash movement would be her last. Sans’s voice, soft and measured, carried an unsettling coldness. His grin widened as he leaned closer, his tone dripping with malice. “You’re done here. There's no point in fighting anymore.”

Chara, seething with frustration, found themselves immobilized. Sans’s calm yet menacing whisper reverberated in her ears, stripping them of any illusions of control. Resistance was futile, and she knew it.

“Good. You’re finally listening,” Sans murmured. “No matter what you try, you’re going to lose.”

Chara clenched his teeth, glaring at Sans with a mixture of hatred and despair. “You need Frisk for your plans against Rays, don’t you? If you want to kill me, you’ll have to kill Frisk too. There’s no other way. What do you even hope to achieve from all this, Sans?”

Sans already knew; he had predicted that Chara would bring up Frisk regarding his plan. That’s why he started chuckling and tightened his grip. “I think the word ‘kill’ isn’t quite right to describe what I’m going to do with you, Chara. No, it’s not even close. It’s utterly wrong; I have no intention of killing you.”

There was an infuriating mystery in his words. Sans wasn’t giving Chara enough room to think and analyze what he was truly planning. He deliberately pressured Chara from all angles, forcibly shutting down any opportunity to think clearly—not with all the threats, nor with his hands firmly threatening both Chara’s and Frisk’s lives. Chara had to restrain herself from acting aggressively, knowing it would result in her swift death. Even though she could reset with Frisk’s help, she wasn’t certain after witnessing Sans tamper with Frisk’s system and add some unknown code into the core of Frisk’s soul, which Sans had managed to breach. At this point, Chara couldn’t be sure if she still had the power to reset the world and escape Sans’ cunning trap.

Everything became hazy and riddled with questions. Chara felt conflicted and didn’t know what to do. She began to feel a sense of fear she despised—a loathing fear that left a terrible taste in her mouth, like water slowly drowning her. She wanted to break free, but Sans’ grip showed no mercy or leniency. If she tried to resist, Sans would snap her neck in a second, and that would be enough for him. It seemed absurd, or perhaps Chara was exaggerating Sans’ strength, but her overwhelming fear made her believe Sans was fully prepared to kill her if she tried to escape.

Could it be …  He can reset this game? Chara wondered inwardly how far Sans could control this world. Sans seemed so confident, stalling to exhaust Chara and leave her unable to fight back. Was it possible that, even after killing both hand Frisk, Sans could still reset the world to its original state?

Perhaps Sans was hiding his ace card well, giving Chara no clues to guess.

“I know what you’re thinking right now. Reset. You’re wondering if I can set this world back to the way it was, aren’t you?” Sans read Chara’s confusion, laughing lightly—mocking him. “Of course, I can. It doesn’t matter if I kill you now, or later… or whenever.”

He tightened his grip on Chara’s left hand—or rather, Frisk’s hand—and smiled as the strength of his grip left bruises. “You should be grateful this body can’t feel real pain. It must feel so good, so peaceful, to die without feeling any pain—like sleeping at home and slipping into eternal rest. Oh, I know, it’s quite a relief, isn’t it, Chara?”

“I don’t believe you can reset,” Chara refused to give in, unwilling to believe Sans’ claim.

And yes, he was relieved he couldn’t feel pain as Sans gripped his life force tightly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sans replied casually. “Do whatever you want, Chara. Believe it or not, I don’t care. It’s up to you whether you accept it or not—I couldn’t care less.”

So he said, but before Chara could retort, his mouth suddenly wouldn’t open. A shocking sensation coursed through his body and mind, like an overwhelming jolt surging inward, as if his brain had exploded into pieces. His body stiffened and froze, his eyes widened in shock as he experienced an extraordinary and completely unexpected jolt.

Sans, standing behind him, simply looked on nonchalantly, humming a quiet tune, enjoying the moment with satisfaction and a sly grin.

“B...bastard.”

Those were Chara’s last words as Sans gripped his soul tightly—and not Frisk’s soul anymore. He pierced Chara’s soul from all angles, corrupting its code and causing chaos everywhere. The excruciating shock left Chara powerless to escape, while Sans gleefully delved deeper, breaking the code apart.

“How does it feel?” Sans asked, but Chara lacked the strength to hurl any curses at him. Sans merely chuckled, staring intently at Chara. “Oh, so this is the code that makes you so cool. I hope you know I could turn you into my slave, Chara. It would be so much fun to see you act like a guard dog.”

His words were so cruel that Sans was startled and quickly covered his mouth.

His eyes trembled slightly, widening in disbelief. “Forget it.”

And with that, Chara’s weakened body collapsed hard onto the ground. Sans, still holding Chara’s soul, stared at his helpless form, saying nothing. Sans imagined how his old self would have handled this situation. Would he have shown mercy and forgiven Chara? Would he have tried hard to make Chara understand and stop getting in his way? Would he have begged and negotiated?

“The old me was pathetic,” he dismissed those thoughts, stepping over Chara’s body and gazing at the waterfall that had silently witnessed his fierce battle. Letting out a deep sigh, he laughed freely and said, “Wait for me, Rays!”

Looking at Frisk, still asleep on the ground, Sans closed his eyes, his chest feeling much lighter. With a cold grin on his face, he said, “See you, Chara.”

And after some time spent reflecting and calming his chaotic thoughts, Sans once again reached for Frisk's body and lifted it with his injured hands. The two of them looked utterly disheveled, matching the devastation of the place around them. He surveyed the surroundings: rows of crushed and withered flowers, shattered rocks, and sharp bone fragments scattered everywhere. The battle had been truly intense and horrifying. He was on the brink of collapsing, barely able to muster the strength to walk. Yet, Sans forced himself onward, carrying Frisk with staggering steps, his breaths ragged and uneven. At times, he stumbled and nearly fell.

He should have been able to use his teleportation abilities, but he was completely drained. His magical energy was depleted to the point where summoning even a single Blaster was out of the question without risking unconsciousness and making things worse. He couldn’t afford to take that risk by relying too heavily on his magic. As long as he could still manage to move on foot, Sans chose to take the harder path, refusing the shortcut. Think he’s being overly cautious? Perhaps just stubborn. He certainly seemed more deliberate, his eyes restless and ever-alert.

He pushed past countless limits, the accumulated exhaustion pounding in his mind like a ticking bomb ready to explode from the sheer weight of it all. He wanted nothing more than to collapse to the ground and fall into a deep sleep. But he couldn’t.

 Sans wouldn’t be able to sleep peacefully.

Sans walked alone, without Frisk's presence by his side. He couldn’t bring Frisk along—not when Frisk was already battered, and his own body was utterly exhausted. Sans didn’t want to push Frisk to the brink, to the point of complete ruin because of his actions. The guilt still clung to him like a shadow, ever-present, inseparable until the end, until he put an end to everything. His eyes followed the falling snow as it swirled through the air, melting and vanishing like dust. His gaze wavered when it landed on his reflection in a frosted window.

His red eye—a stark reminder of the sins binding him tightly—whispered that he was a murderer, destined to be despised by his friends and even his brother. Frisk would leave him. Papyrus would turn away. Toriel would slam the door shut once again, isolating herself with a searing look of hatred. That, it seemed, was his punishment. Sans would live his life alone, loathing himself and laughing bitterly at how everything fell apart because of one person. Karma—was this the reason for all of it?

Sans closed his eyes and wiped the glass with a weary expression, his chest still heavy with lingering pain. But he quickly dismissed it.

 "There must be another way!" you might think. Yet Rays had cast aside every alternative with a scornful gaze. Sans understood that Rays wanted him like this—rebellious, embracing his darker side, fighting back with the very evil he despised. Rays demanded overstepping limits, forced change, and reluctant acceptance from Sans himself. Rays relished the idea of Sans crumbling slowly, adjusting to his own destruction, choosing a path lined with thorns and sharp edges.

As Sans fell apart, Rays would occupy himself by reveling in the anguish of every NPC who couldn’t escape his reach, toying with their fates and savoring his warm, rich black coffee.

“Rest well, Frisk,” Sans murmured as he wrapped Frisk in a pile of blankets. He carefully laid Frisk on the bed, taking a moment to clean the messy, trash-filled room before locking the door. He stepped out and greeted Papyrus, who remained frozen in his spot.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, with eyes filled with suspicion.

“I just need your help, that’s all,” Sans replied.

He squinted, not trusting the words so easily. “If you’re here to use me or anything like that, you’d better leave. I’ve had enough of all of you.”

“All of us?” Sans smiled. “Oh, you mean Chara?”

Gaster abruptly turned around, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "So that’s his name, Chara."

Oh, he thought the figure was male. Rays, it turned out, had been using his real voice.

Sans then nodded and showed his arm, wrapped in bandages. “He attacked me earlier because I refused to comply with his demands. Chara is selfish and greedy, the kind of person who will do anything to get what he wants. The type you’d hate on the first day of meeting him—that’s my take on it.” Sans was honest in his words, except for the name of the mysterious figure. What was he thinking of keeping the good name of Rays who was  his enemy? There were plenty of reasons to answer that question.

And just as he had guessed, Rays had already approached Gaster, trying to manipulate him. Most likely, he had also tried to trap Gaster by mentioning Sans, warning him that Sans was a dangerous person to watch out for. Sowing doubt, not even giving his name—he wanted Sans to decide whether to reveal his identity or protect him by throwing someone else under the bus. Chara became the scapegoat Sans chose to see how Gaster would react to the information. But of course, Sans understood Gaster’s strength in manipulation games like this.

“He said quite a lot of interesting things about you.”

Oh. 

Sans noticed Gaster trying to bait him—it was too obvious. He couldn’t mask the way he looked at Sans, his eyes brimming with curiosity. Sans immediately caught onto Gaster’s plan to extract as much information as possible from his reactions.

Sans responded with a small smile, dodging the trap. “Oh yeah, he said I’m really funny and ridiculous. I don’t see what’s so great about that, but I guess I’ll just take the fake compliment and move on. I don’t know if that’s interesting to you, but that’s all he found worth mentioning.” Of course, only half of what Sans said was true; the rest was his own fabrication. He knew it wasn’t the answer Gaster was fishing for, but Sans wouldn’t give him the response he wanted.

And Gaster, while not immediately accepting the statement, found himself agreeing with Sans deep down. “I didn’t expect him to meet you so soon. If you don’t mind me asking, what did you two talk about back then?” Sans didn't expect Gaster to answer his question easily, he expected Gaster to keep his mouth shut and say nothing.

“I’m not telling you.”

And of course his prediction is correct

Gaster cautiously withheld any information from Sans, as he didn’t know him at all and doubted whether Sans was safe to talk to—or just as bad as the person he called Chara.

Noticing Gaster’s suspicion, Sans stepped back. "You don’t trust me, right? Of course, I completely understand your situation. I wouldn’t trust a stranger suddenly showing up to ask for help either." Craftily, he put on a sad face. "Don’t listen to me if you don’t want to. I just wanted to let you know that I’m dying, and he mentioned your name when he attacked me."

"What do you mean?"

"I know he was baiting me to come here by bringing up your name. He said you were the only one who could help me, and I had no other choice. I’d be a fool not to see through his tricks. Why would he help his enemy? It makes no sense, right? But I was too worried and scared to just sit and do nothing. I’m too weak to fight him, but at least I can warn you not to get involved with Chara. He’s too dangerous. If you ever meet him, run and don’t come back! Please." His voice, filled with sorrow, was convincing and began to sway Gaster.

"I don’t understand. Why should I get involved when I don’t know either of you? And why does Chara think I can help you?"

Sans knew the answer, but he had no intention of sharing it.

"I don’t know, I’m too stupid about this kind of thing. But that’s why I came here, Gaster. Be careful. He’s truly insane and terrifying."

Gaster didn’t immediately respond. He reflected and thought carefully. An uneasy, anxious feeling gnawed at him. He could have mentioned that he couldn’t leave this room himself, but his instincts told him to keep quiet and not let that information slip. Something about Sans still felt off, making him distrustful. He couldn’t believe anything without a logically sound explanation.

"If that’s the case, leave before he realizes you’re here, Sans." For now, Gaster decided he needed to send Sans away, or he wouldn’t be able to think clearly. His presence was menacing—just like Chara’s—and he couldn’t ignore that.

"You’re wary of me, Gaster."

"What makes you think that?"

"I can see it in your face. You’re looking at me with so much doubt."

"You’re not stupid as you claim, Sans."

Sans smiled. "Everyone has his own talents."

"Oh really?"

Sans simply shrugged, uninterested in continuing the conversation. Gaster, on the other hand, still looked unsatisfied with the way things had been left hanging. There was undoubtedly something off about Sans, but Gaster couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. It was too subtle, like grasping at shadows in the dark. Questions filled his mind, but despite them all, a small part of him insisted that Sans could still be trusted—that he wasn’t as bad as Chara. It was safe to say Sans seemed more stable than that lunatic.

Yet, there was no solid evidence to support that notion. Sans remained an unknown threat, his true potential for harm still unclear.

“You seem overwhelmed. Are you okay?” Sans asked, breaking the silence.

“Good, you finally noticed. I want to rest, so get out of here.”

Gaster immediately pointed toward the door, his expression one of irritation and discomfort. Seeing Gaster’s clear displeasure, Sans accepted his dismissal with grace, stepping back and moving toward the exit. There was no point in prolonging a heated discussion like this.

However, just as Sans reached for the white door’s handle, he chuckled softly and said, “Want to grab a coffee with me tomorrow?”

Gaster shot him an exasperated glare. “Just leave.”

Sans turned to glance at Gaster one last time and replied in a calm tone, “The door’s not locked, you know.”

[akaneya]

The design of the acrylic keychain is perfect for practising deformation.

undertale sans belongs to Toby Fox

Fatal error belongs to @fatal-error-blog

Geno belongs to @loverofpiggies

[akaneya]

one hour drawing.

killer sans

Killer belongs to @rahafwabas

[akaneya]

CHAPTER 11

Can’t You See? File 10

Frisk was undoubtedly at Sans' side now. They were chatting so warmly, their laughter filling every second they spent together, as if nothing had happened before. The past that Frisk should have observed with wide-open eyes was skillfully blurred by Sans, who deftly blocked his suspicions, making Undyne's death fade from memory.

Frisk had unconsciously accepted this, forgetting the crucial question of why Sans seemed so different, sometimes even exuding a menacing aura. He was once again viewing Sans as a friend—just as Sans had intended. Sans had deliberately killed Undyne in the most brutal way, right before Frisk's eyes, ensuring he couldn’t easily erase the image of someone dying before him. Observing how Frisk reacted, how he executed his choices, and how his morality took control was all part of Sans' plan.

Could Frisk hold onto his morality and reject Sans, or would he forgive him, ignoring his sins because he misplaced his sympathy? Here was the answer. Sans smiled in satisfaction, his feelings swelling as Frisk forgave him so easily. This was all too easy for him. Frisk wasn’t clever enough to probe deeper into someone’s hidden motives. He was too innocent and naïve, easily guided and steered in any direction—whether right or wrong. Sans could lead Frisk straight into hell, and he wouldn’t notice until the flames were right in front of his eyes.

“So, what’s your next plan, Sans?” Frisk asked with hopeful curiosity, perhaps already starting to rely on him.

“I’m still thinking about it,” Sans replied, feigning hesitation. “You know, it’s not that simple. Rays is like a god who owns our world. You and I have to move in secret, or he’ll catch us, and who knows what will happen then—I’m sure you don’t want to find out, Frisk.”

Frisk nodded. “You’re right. I’m not a genius, so I’m not good at this sort of thing. Haven’t you thought of a clever way to trick him?”

Sans pretended to ponder, moving his head left and right, his eyes rolling as if searching for an idea. Occasionally, he let out a long sigh and tapped his fingers on the chair. Whatever he did, he was intent on putting on a convincing performance, deceiving Frisk with his excellent acting.

“Ah, I’m stuck. No genius ideas here, Frisk,” Sans said, pulling a grim expression, pouring bitter disappointment into his false scenario. Frisk, gullible as ever, was quickly fooled and mirrored his frown.

“So, what do we do now?”

Sans fell silent for a moment, observing Frisk as he kicked the air in frustration. A faint smile crossed his face as he reminisced about the times when they were ‘friends,’ exchanging jokes and laughter. Sans didn’t hate those memories—not at all. To him, nothing was wrong with them. Even if it had all been part of a game, at least he and Frisk had shared moments of joy, free from the complexities that could overwhelm them.

But that was the past, wasn’t it? A relic of old recordings, meant to be stored away and forgotten. There was no benefit in revisiting a past that couldn’t be relieved. Sans didn’t want to expose his weaknesses by dwelling on what had already happened. That would only fill him with false hope and a dull ache in his mind.

The past should remain in the past.

“For now, we should rest, Frisk. Save your energy and clear your mind. I’m sure you’re exhausted.” Sans gently ruffled Frisk’s hair. This time, he wasn’t acting—or at least, that’s what one might hope. Either way, his intent was to make Frisk feel comfortable sitting by his side. You could often gauge someone’s trust by the way they sat—the distance between you and them, how they looked at you. Small details could reveal important information, though most people overlooked them entirely.

Sans observed Frisk carefully, his eyes subtly studying the boy’s demeanor. Here were the results of his brief observation: Frisk sat close enough to invade Sans’ personal space, seemingly unconcerned about making him uncomfortable. His eyes rested calmly on Sans, showing no trace of doubt. He spoke without hesitation, expressing his thoughts freely without overthinking his words. His breathing was steady, and his relaxed expression betrayed no tension, even though he was sitting beside someone who had brutally murdered his friend.

Sans propped his chin on his hand, a small smirk creeping across his face. He could confidently conclude that Frisk was entirely in his grasp—trusting him, relying on him. He could exploit Frisk’s naivety and lead him directly into Rays’ domain without resistance.

Yes, no resistance—if Frisk’s body was his alone, free of passengers or parasites lingering within.

With Frisk’s trust secured, Sans turned his focus to the next issue: someone else who might already harbor deep suspicion and likely hatred for him. Someone who would never consider negotiation. There was still a barrier to remove, Sans thought, his gaze sharpening.

Chara.

Yes, that ghost. She was still there, deeply embedded in Frisk’s system, likely watching Sans through sharp, cynical eyes. It would be unwise for Sans to share his plans with Frisk while such an unwanted observer lingered—one who would almost certainly sabotage everything.

“I’ll have to draw her out,” he thought, crossing his arms and exhaling heavily.

“Want to go for a walk, Frisk? Clear your head—you probably need it.” Sans stood and extended his hand toward Frisk. Hearing Sans’ friendly invitation, which seemed genuinely intended to help, Frisk couldn’t refuse.

“Oh, okay! Let’s go to Snowdin, Sans.”

Sans winced slightly at the mention of that place—he hadn’t expected Frisk to choose it. But he quickly redirected his thoughts, suppressing the unease that tightened in his chest.

“Snowdin, huh? Sure. Maybe we’ll run into Papyrus and the others,” he replied, masking his irritation. He turned his back just as Frisk grabbed his hand, his face bright with a cheerful smile.There was a neatly hidden anger within Sans when Frisk mentioned wanting to go to Snowdin. Something clawed at his heart, whispering insidious threats, cursing him with venomous words. It felt as though his former self was watching him from a distance—eyes burning with rage, glaring at his back as if cursing him to drop dead on the spot.

“I have to end this,” he thought, his mind uneasy. “After that, I’ll kill myself.”

It was as though a stone lodged in his throat, nails driven into his chest. He could feel the faint wrath of someone he once knew—someone he recognized as himself.

Sans.

Yes, that Sans, who had once been just an NPC, doing his job as the Judge.

They walked side by side, though occasionally Sans allowed Frisk to walk ahead of him. Each time, Frisk would immediately feel a twinge of panic and glance back at Sans with a worried expression. “What’s wrong, Sans?”

The purest form of sympathy was evident in his voice. This time, Frisk didn’t dwell on the wrongs Sans had committed but rather on the aftermath of those deeds. His concern stemmed from a place of genuine care, a fear of losing Sans from his side. Frisk’s emotional vulnerability blinded him to the conscious immorality of Sans’s actions.

“I’m still a bit shaken, but I’ll be fine,” Sans said, adding more salt to the wound. He deliberately portrayed himself as weak and desperate, strengthening Frisk’s role as his emotional support. It made Frisk feel responsible for staying by his side, to ensure Sans wouldn’t leave.

Sans forced a stiff, awkward smile, intentionally making it look unnatural to draw Frisk closer into his sly trap. “I’m relieved you’re here, Frisk. I could never show this cowardly side to anyone else.” He averted his gaze, his expression turning grim and sorrowful. “Especially not to Papyrus. I don’t want him to see me like this.” He then looked at Frisk with a pitiful and melancholic expression, creating a space where he could be entirely dependent. “You’re the only one who can see this shameful side of me. I hope you don’t mind my pathetic behavior, Frisk.”

Frisk shook his head quickly, clenching his fists with determination as he looked at Sans with confidence. “No! I’m glad you’re opening up to me, Sans. It makes me happy that you’re willing to show me this side of you. I feel like I’m getting to know you better.”

Sans’s smile widened, but it wasn’t gratitude he felt for Frisk’s misplaced sympathy. He smiled because Frisk’s earnestness erased any remaining doubt in his mind. Frisk’s trust, freely given, allowed Sans to consider him naïve and reckless.

“You’re so kind, Frisk. But … what I did to Undyne—” Sans’s eyes flicked toward Frisk, observing his reaction. Though he knew Frisk’s trust was unwavering, a flicker of curiosity drove him.

Or rather, a deep-seated temptation.

What would happen if I brought up my sins again? The thought tantalized him, urging him to conduct a small experiment. It was a risk, one that could end disastrously if he pushed too far. Yet, the temptation to bait Frisk and see his reaction was nearly irresistible.

“I’m nothing but a murderer now. You shouldn’t even be here—with me,” he said, his voice heavy with sorrow and regret. He exaggerated his performance slightly, gauging whether Frisk would find his behavior increasingly unsettling. Sans cast out his bait once again, waiting for Frisk to take the hook he had dropped into the ocean. His gaze lingered on Frisk, curiosity gleaming in his eyes like a predator watching its prey.

However, instead of a gaze filled with fury, disappointment, or burning rage—or even one that judged Sans for the vile sins that entangled him—Frisk took a step closer. He gently took Sans’s hands in his own, his expression calm and tender. A soft smile graced his face, and he bowed his head, closing his eyes. Sans peeked past the strands of Frisk’s brown hair, catching a glimpse of an anxious, troubled expression that made his heart twist. Frisk was trying to genuinely understand his feelings.

“It’s okay,” Frisk said, his voice steady but kind. “You’re not alone, Sans. I... I’ve also—” Frisk’s words faltered, his voice trembling as though he, too, felt the sharp sting of wretched guilt stabbing at his soul. “I’m a murderer too—a monster. You and I, we share the same experiences and sins, Sans.”

Bingo!

Like the sound of a golden bell ringing in his mind, the moment felt like a victory. It was as though the triumphant chime of a prestigious tournament echoed in his head, reverberating with a thrill that sent shivers of excitement coursing through him.

Sans looked at Frisk, whose head was still bowed, hands clasping his with quiet desperation. The satisfaction he felt burned like a blazing fire, its deadly flames emitting thick, black smoke. His soul pulsed with an uncontrollable passion as he realized he had gained absolute control. Frisk was now locked in the prison Sans had carefully prepared, and in his mind, Sans imagined twirling the metaphorical key behind his back as he feigned sympathy for the friend he had trapped.

Unseen by Frisk, Sans sang a silent victory tune to himself.

 “Thank you, Frisk. You really are a great frie—”

“Bulshit~”

“Oh.”

“How cunning of you, Sans, to deceive your own friend. To bait their sympathy and flaunt your fake pitiful side.”

That’s not Frisk.

The tone was playful, mocking, and carried a sinister rhythm that made Sans’s chest tighten.

Slowly, they raised their head, gripping Sans’s arm tighter—so tight that the fabric of his jacket sleeve crumpled and creased under the pressure. In a single sharp pull of the muscles around their mouth, they revealed a cruel, wide smirk. It wasn’t long before Sans could see them clearly: the figure capable of turning players into mere puppets, manipulating them to do their bidding.

Chara.

The unknown passenger had revealed herself, her mocking grin framed by glowing red eyes—fiery like a sunset reflected on the ocean, painting the waves with a sinister crimson glow. Those eyes were hypnotic, drowning all who dared to meet their gaze. They were a threat, a silent promise of destruction to anyone reckless enough to face her.

Every word she spoke was a curse, a command—a nightmare for players who dared cross moral boundaries to embrace the path of bloodshed.

The demon who punishes sinners.

And Sans.

Sans met Chara’s menacing grin with a smile of his own—a warm, disarming grin that contrasted sharply with the sharp, unwavering focus in his eyes. He refused to let her oppressive aura affect him. He wasn’t that weak. After all, it was Sans who had invited Chara into his house, opened the door for her, and now, he intended to treat her as the honored guest she had become.

"Hello, Chara. Nice to meet you." Sans kept his voice calm, but his gaze locked onto Chara with the sharp focus of a predator watching its prey with casual interest.

This was what he had been waiting for.

Once again, he grinned widely, lifting his head with immense satisfaction. Sans’s plan had worked perfectly once more. The sheer control he now wielded made even himself shiver.

By baiting Chara with every lie he had poured onto Frisk, he had pushed her to the edge. Watching Sans effortlessly manipulate Frisk with sweet, trap-laden words filled with feigned sympathy and empathy must have been nauseating for Chara. Cleverly, he had caught two prey with a single lure. He reeled in the line, and voilà—two fresh fish, all with just extraordinary patience, a sharp strategy, and the reward of sweet success.

Now, Sans would proceed with his next plan.

Removing Chara from Frisk’s body. Or perhaps... killing her outright, erasing her from the game’s system.

That would leave him free to control Frisk without interference from anyone else.

“Don’t act friendly with me. You know I hate you, don’t you?” Her tone was sharp, her expression unwavering. Her stance radiated hostility, ready to lunge at Sans and strike him with dozens of sharp, deadly blades.

Sans chuckled, as if Chara had just told the funniest joke. The reaction made her scowl deepen, her eyes twitching as he openly mocked her. “Relax, missy. I just wanted to say hi. Why are you acting like a hitman now?”

“Oh, don’t provoke me.”

“What are you going to do?” Sans tilted his head, his grin widening challengingly.

“Do you think I can’t tell Frisk about your devious little plan, Sans? All of you little game, your lies and about how fake your emotions are.”

Of course, he wasn’t that naive. Sans was fully aware of the risk. Sans imagined this interaction as a crucial starting point for his plan. Chara might decide to disregard the stakes entirely and reveal everything to Frisk, shattering the strong trust Frisk had in him. This could lead to Frisk despising him so deeply that they might even plan to kill him the moment he let his guard down. Like thunder patiently waiting, a cold wind brushed against his neck, making him waver.

There were countless possibilities of what could unfold. And he needed to narrow down every outcome that would result in a significant loss for him and grant Rays greater power.

And that was precisely why—because he couldn’t afford to elevate Rays’ position any further—Sans had to remain calm, meticulously think through his plan, and leave no room for mistakes that could dismantle his standing.

“I see, a cliché threat.” His smile turned mischievous, his tone condescending. “Go ahead. I’d love to see you try.” The grin gradually faded, replaced by a more chilling intensity in his eyes. Something was terribly wrong with Sans’s behavior, and Chara realized it a moment too late. Sans didn’t flinch at her threat—he welcomed it, his arrogance practically daring her to act.

Every word he spoke dripped with deception and cruel manipulation. His demeanor was unsettling, leaving Chara to question just how broken Sans’s mind had become—perhaps even more shattered than her own. His gaze spoke volumes: he was someone willing to do anything, sacrifice anything. Someone whose only focus was his goal, no matter how dirty his hands would get in the process.

The thought that Sans could descend further into madness, becoming even more brutal and unpredictable as his chances of success dwindled, stirred a discomforting fear in Chara. A tremor flashed in her eyes, and Sans noticed it immediately. But he said nothing, silently observing her growing unease and instability.

He simply watched. Calmly. Every second ticking by like a clock counting down to her breaking point.

“Oh my, where's Sans with the sense of humor?”

“I’m sure he’s dead somewhere.”

“Show me his grave, Sans.”

Sans narrowed his eyes—not in anger, but in a quiet delight at her words. He wasn’t offended; he was entertained. “That grave is ugly and boring. You’d die of boredom there, Chara.”

“I insist.”

“And I refuse.”

"That's so rude, isn't it? I'm your guest, after all."

"In that case, leave. I don't like rude guests who impose, and I'm sure you don't appreciate unethical visitors like that either, Chara."

Chara laughed spontaneously, brushing her hair back with a delighted expression. A wide grin stretched across her pale cheeks as her gaze wandered to one of the grand waterfalls ahead of her—the sound of roaring water crashing against rocks and shattering into the air filled her senses, making her savor this tug-of-war conversation. It felt nostalgic, reminiscent of arguments destined to go unresolved.

“This is interesting. How did you end up like this, Sans? I’m sure Rays is sipping wine in his room, watching his masterpiece grow into a good and lively child.” Her gaze was sarcastic, accompanied by her mocking posture. Sans could see that Chara already knew most of his conflict with Rays, thinking that Chara was very clever in drawing conclusions from so little information. She already knew that Sans was doing all of this because he felt cornered and needed to take vile actions to escape the cunning grasp of Rays.

“You and him, you two are so alike. Rays with his brutal experiments, and you with your silly manipulations, both of you setting up absurd stages for the little show. And you know what, the last time I met him, he tied me to a chair and tortured me there.”

“You say that so calmly.”

Chara flashed a proud smile, dismissing the unusual remark she had just made. “I’ve been dead for a long time, what do you expect from a zombie like me?”

“I don’t know, the desire to live? Rising from death.”

“Huh? What again? Hah?” Her eyes widened, followed by uncontrollable laughter, clutching her stomach with laughter she couldn’t stop, while Sans just watched her with a slightly confused look. “Is this some kind of survival drama? Snow White’s fairy tale? Oh my god, that’s ridiculous. Your answer was pathetic and lame, Sans.”

“You seem more alive than a dead person.”

“Come on, don’t mock me, that’s a line from an idiot.”

“Happy New Year.”

“… That’s even dumber.”

“Merry Christmas?”

“No!”

Sans chuckled softly, stretching his back. “You’re right, me and Rays are pretty much the same, just with different goals and methods. Time changes people, pain, happiness— all of that can make someone so different and stranger. I’m sure you’ve felt that change yourself, Chara. You know it best, even about death and revenge.”

Chara glanced at Sans, the corners of her mouth twitching in a faint smirk. "Oh, of course you know that Mr. Genius, what exactly do you want from me?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Sans stepped closer, gripping her left shoulder firmly with a menacing expression. His broad grin revealed his tightly clenched teeth—terrifying and predatory. His sockets locked onto Chara’s unwavering eyes. Oh, he relished the intensity.

Widening his gaze, a fiery red glow enveloped the white of his bones, casting an eerie light.

"Death. One word."

A burst of blue flames erupted, clashing and attacking in an explosive display. Sans and Chara had drawn their weapons, their hearts ready for battle. No more petty insults or fake pleasantries. Two predators had met. A confrontation that promised blood and raw carnage. You could almost see them seated across from each other, sharp blades in hand, poised to strike.

"Oh, what a fun word, Sans. I also want you to die."

"I’m glad we feel the same way."

***

A sudden awkward silence fell between them. The sound of the rushing water and droplets cascading onto the rocks below became strikingly clear and vivid. They stood still, as if reflecting on something far too heavy to bear. Their thoughts wandered in separate directions, each consumed by lingering regret.

Sans felt an urge to leave, to escape the oppressive atmosphere that now unsettled him. But he couldn’t—not while Chara still existed in this world. There was unfinished business to attend to, and he couldn’t walk away from her just yet.

"You know the risks of your ways, your actions, and all of this, right?" Chara broke the silence, her voice calm but cutting. "Deceiving Frisk, becoming a murderer, disrupting the game system that keeps you alive. You do realize the price you’ll pay for this, don’t you? It’s never cheap—your life and the suffering of others, that’s the cost."

She didn’t even glance at Sans as she spoke, her hands stuffed into her pockets while her eyes followed blocks of ice drifting along the fast-moving current.

"I know exactly what I’m doing," Sans replied, his gaze distant as he watched faint blue lights floating in the air. His breaths were heavy, and the faint smile on his face began to fade. "People like me usually meet a tragic end. I’ve never been the best brother; I always hide things from Paps, and keep secrets from him. I know what fate awaits those who choose the wrong path—embracing evil and abandoning reason. Thanks for the reminder, but..." Sans turned to face Chara, his eyes brimming with unwavering resolve. The strength in his gaze was almost blinding, a will forged from steel that refused to break. His voice carried the weight of his determination, his corrupted soul shielded by an indomitable spirit. "...I won’t back down, Chara. I won’t regret anything, beg for forgiveness, or wish to turn back time. I’ve decided my path, and I’ll pay the price for my sins."

Chara observed the unyielding resolve emanating from Sans. This skeleton wouldn’t falter, no matter how devastating the calamity. He wouldn’t look back or shed tears over his tragic tale.

He was truly ready.

"Too bad for you," Chara said, her voice laced with slyness. "I’m not like Frisk—naïve and kind-hearted. You’ll never manipulate me, Sans."

"I know," he replied with a grin, as if he’d already anticipated this challenge.

"Surprise me, Mr. Genius. What can you possibly do to get rid of me?"

"Oh, that’s a secret, missy."

Chara flexed her fingers, a series of soft pops cracking as she pulled them taut. A bright, mischievous smile lit up her face, her eyes narrowing as the wind played with her hair. The breeze, cool and gentle, danced around her, amplifying her sharp energy. "Even if I said I’m not interested in your plans, or that I’d rather stay by your side, you’d still kill me, wouldn’t you?" she asked, her teasing gaze locking onto Sans.

"Bingo!" He chuckled, the sound dry yet certain. "I could never trust you Chara. Never."

Their gazes seemed like an invisible clash. Both stood face-to-face with their respective weapons, exuding an unsettling aura that brought a chilling wind and a darkened sky. Chara narrowed her eyes, the corner of her lips curling into a smirk that radiated confidence and deadly power. On the other hand, Sans maintained a calm and composed demeanor, his gaze sharp and adept at seeking an opening. It was reminiscent of Antonio Salieri and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart competing in a grand theater, showcasing their brilliance.

Both of them silently raised the flags of war, heralding fear and death. No petty reason explained why they now stood against each other, each bearing a letter of death addressed to their opponent.

Hatred and vengeance.

 Two substances so toxic and vile.

[akaneya]

CHAPTER 10

FILE 09

HOPE.

((( you can hear Mozart's music: Requiem in D Minor, K. 626: I. Introitus. Requiem aeternam for a more dramatic and darker feel, or La petite fille de la mer which has a dark and desperate feel. )))

It felt as though his soul had been pierced by a rusted blade, sharper and more painful with every slice of flesh, drawing blood with each cut. Like shattered glass scattered across the floor, spilling wine onto an elegant granite surface—the wine, like a pool of blood, stained the pristine white floor. Sans imagined specks of dust floating in the air, like snowflakes falling onto a thick pool of blood.

 “I killed her. So now, I’m a murderer, huh.” The thought haunted Sans like a ghost, softly whispering its words.

For a moment, he felt like he couldn’t breathe—it was suffocating and agonizing. The feeling of satisfaction from breaking free of his restraints mixed with overwhelming guilt, thick and sticky. It lingered like a deadly potion, attacking and consuming his mind from all sides. The old Sans would never have considered killing his own friend—Sans now wondered if the reflection in the water was really himself, or merely an illusion of the nightmare he had always hidden away. Sans closed his eyes.

“…It had to be this way. There was no other choice—destroying morality to gain power,” he thought, trying to steel himself.

Sans understood the consequences, the punishment, and the weight of his crimes. Yet, he decided to move forward and leave his former self behind—a farewell he didn’t wish for but had to accept to break free of the chains that had bound him. Rays was more than just an enemy threatening his life—a disaster, a great menace who wouldn’t yield to anything but his own desires. He would do whatever it took, sacrificing others and destroying everything in his path to achieve victory. His greed consumed his mind; he was the very definition of a monster. A monster that corrupted and destroyed everyone around him.

For that reason, Sans knew he couldn’t be half-hearted in carrying out his plan. He was determined to shed his old character completely, leaving behind Sans who always made his friends laugh, Sans who sold hotdogs for fun—that version of himself was discarded into a pit, never to rise again.

 “What’s done is done.”

Sans finally started walking toward Frisk, who remained motionless in their spot. His steps were stiff, his expression grim—Sans felt utterly dulled, resigned to the possibility that things would only get worse from here. But regret wouldn’t solve anything. There was no need to question morality when he had been forced to rebel, forced to rage on. No matter what, his hands were already stained, and this was the path he had chosen.

Accepting it was harder than denying it.

And so, Sans accepted whatever he had become. If he was broken, then broken he would remain.

Sans eventually stood directly in front of Frisk, his expression blank, his gaze fixed on the air ahead of him—as though Frisk didn’t notice Sans’s presence at all.

“I’m sure the system is in disarray now,” Sans said quietly. Frisk was supposed to defeat Undyne in this game, but Sans had chosen to take aggressive action and replace Frisk. “Let’s see what’s inside you, Frisk.”

Sans gently grasped Frisk’s head, pressing his thumb against their forehead, trying to sense something—yes, he could feel something there, faint and indistinct. He couldn’t quite tell what it was that he was sensing now.

Sans immediately opened his eyes wide, braced himself, and activated the power Rays had just bestowed upon him.

And then…

“Oh... wow. So this is what you made of yourself, Frisk.”

A cascade of shifting numbers filled his vision, streaming across Frisk’s body. Sans observed each pathway channeling information into what he assumed was Frisk’s soul—or their core. Like a bustling highway, each number carried its own data: levels, defenses, weapons, shields, and pre written dialogues. Everything was there, showcasing an astonishing and intricate complexity. This was Frisk—their true self, their life—the character they had been shaped into long ago and could never escape.

Yes, unless Rays had given Sans the authority to take control of the NPC system he had chosen. Frisk wouldn’t have been able to change at all—but now, here Sans was, rewriting their code, trying to reshape them into someone like himself.

“Well, Frisk, it’s time for you to wake up from your nightmare.”

Sans reached toward the core of Frisk—or what could be called their soul. He could feel an electric sting trying to push him away, a system safeguard meant to protect Frisk from outside interference. Yet Sans pushed harder, digging deeper despite the system’s stronger resistance. It wasn’t easy—Frisk’s system fought back ferociously, guarding their soul with every defense it had.

“I look like the villain here,” Sans muttered, his tone dry and self-deprecating. It was like performing a dramatic surgical operation; Frisk’s body hung lifeless in Sans’s grip, while Sans focused intently on breaching and grasping their well-protected soul. “Stupid system—” he cursed under his breath. It took considerable effort and time to bypass every layer of defense.

And finally, after a long struggle and immense patience—

“Got it!”

Sans felt the soul in his grasp. “I’m doing this for your own good, Frisk,” he said softly. Holding it firmly, he began to work.

Carefully, Sans accessed the core data of Frisk’s soul, making precise adjustments. He added what was necessary, reorganized their structure, and ensured everything was arranged meticulously. There was no room for mistakes—any error could shatter his plans and lead to disaster.

“Come on, this has to work.”

The new data seemed to integrate seamlessly with Frisk’s old data—no conflicts or errors arose. Sans carefully observed the code at work, analyzing every interaction. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled deeply, a heavy weight lifting off his chest. Frisk was his desperate gamble—the key to defeating Rays, even if it meant resorting to brutal measures.

“Frisk... Frisk.”

 Sans gently patted Frisk’s cheeks, hoping to wake him. “Hey, buddy, wake up.” But still no response. Anxiety began to creep into his mind—a tiny pang of panic he couldn’t quite shake. 

Until finally…

 “WAKE UP!”

 Smack!

“Hey, kid, how was your dream?”

 A sharp slap jolted the poor human awake from their dreamlike state.

***

"I feel strange," Frisk said, gazing at Sans, who sat beside him, his eyes filled with exhaustion.

"You’ll get used to it, Frisk," Sans replied. "For now, you’ll just have to accept that odd feeling."

"What did you do to my body?"

Sans paused for a moment. "At a time like this, do you want a joke?" Frisk glared at him. "No? Oh okey, well you know, Frisk. I just changed your code and added some important information to it. I’m sure you understand that well enough." Sans tried to relax his stiff shoulders, his gaze fixed on Frisk, who still seemed confused. The human looked so weak, Sans thought. But he also held incredible power—if only all monsters had it... NO. Fantasizing wouldn’t solve anything. It was just a dream that would never come true.

"I understand I’m just a vessel for the players," Frisk continued, bitterness creeping into his voice. "I watched all that evil happen through my own hands, and what can I do about it? Nothing. I can only watch and do what I’m told." Frisk spoke with a feeling of helplessness, knowing he was powerless to stop the brutality.

"I know how you feel, Frisk. That’s why I freed you from those chains."

Frisk fell into a quiet reflection, resting his head on the back of the bench. He sighed deeply and said, "By killing her, Sans? Undyne... I saw everything, and I’ll never be able to forget it."

Hearing that, Sans clenched his pants tightly, his gaze shifting to the view in front of him—Waterfall, with its glistening streams and sparkling light. The faint whispers between the blue flowers were like a beautiful tapestry in the ocean. It took him a long time to say the truth—an admission of guilt that had been forced upon him.

"You’re right. By killing her."

"Why, Sans?"

"I had to." There was a tone of sadness in his voice, one he tried to hide but couldn’t.

“Is this about EXP? Do you want your level to be the highest, Sans?” Frisk raised his voice slightly, anger evident in his tone. However, Sans remained unfazed, even as Frisk’s voice grew louder, almost yelling. Instead, Sans chuckled at the baseless accusation. “EXP? Nah, that’s just nonsense, and I don’t want my level to be higher than yours. I don’t need that kind of power at all, Frisk.” Sans kicked a nearby stone and continued, “I just want to mess up this game’s system, do the impossible, and make it collapse. That’s what I want, Frisk—to rebel.”

“Did it have to be by killing Undyne? She’s your friend—”

“Shut your mouth.” 

“...”

Frisk couldn’t say anything. His gaze weakened, his body stiff as Sans reminded him how he wasn’t just as bad—he was worse. He, too, was a murderer—a monster who had slaughtered countless innocent lives.

“Watch your words, you'll bite your tongue if you're careless.” His tone was dark and filled with an oppressive chill. Frisk felt his mouth clamp shut as he heard Sans’s cold voice. A wave of fear engulfed him, his fingertips trembling, and his pupils dilated with horror.

“Do you so desperately want to see me as a cruel killer like yourself, Frisk? Do you really want to watch me fall to the ground and become the same ruthless murderer as you? Is that what you want?”

Even so, Frisk still felt something was wrong, and he needed to do something about it.

"I don’t understand. It feels like I’m talking to someone else, not Sans that I know," Frisk said, biting his lip hard enough to leave a bruise. "This isn't you I knew. Why... it should have been me. You should have been—"

"A judge?"

Frisk shifted his gaze, his brown hair covering his face to hide the obvious sadness. Sans watched him with an empty stare.

"Not like myself? As if you knew me so well, Frisk."

"Then what? I’ve known you for so long, played with you. I felt close to you. If you think I don’t know you, then what is this?"

"Opinion. Perspective. A point of view. You can’t claim to know someone just because you’ve spent time with them, Frisk. Just because you’ve played this game long enough doesn’t mean you know me well. And the same goes for me—I don’t understand you, and I don’t feel like I know you."

Frisk fell silent, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. The tension in the air seemed to stretch, his posture rigid as he stared in stunned silence.

"…So then what is this," Frisk said, his voice soft and filled with sorrow. He glanced at Sans, who seemed so different now—there was no longer the warm smile, no more friendliness. It felt like sitting next to a stranger, someone who had closed himself off. But even so, Frisk felt like he could still vaguely understand Sans.

"Rays ... this is about that person, right?" he said, immediately making Sans snap out of his thoughts.

"You know him?" Frisk nodded slightly, then looked at Sans. "I guess you could say that. He came to me once and tried to do something to my soul. His behavior was really suspicious, but I couldn’t do anything about it—you know, I could only watch him."

Sans understood that all too well. "We need to stop him, Frisk. And that’s why we’re both here," he said, looking at Frisk as he reached out to grab his hand, trying to gain his trust. "I need you to stop Rays—to free us all from this ridiculous game. No more judgment, no more forcing you to kill us all. You’ll cleanse the stain on your hands, Frisk. For your freedom."

Sans’s gaze was firm, locking Frisk in place. In a softer voice, he pulled Frisk closer with a subtle allure that made him waver—but truly, that’s what he wanted: freedom for all his friends, and an end to this game.

"You need me, but why?" Frisk still had doubts. Sans had expected this. "You have a strong soul, Frisk, a will stronger than anyone else in this world, and I don’t have that in me. I’m just an NPC without a will as strong as yours."

Sans smiled, his expression clearly sad. Frisk, feeling the despair in Sans, began to move closer. "I don’t know if I’m that strong, Sans."

"Trust me, Frisk. You’re stronger than you think. I ... am not. We all need you. You’re the only one I can rely on. Only you, Frisk. No one else." It was as if his words were a whisper curling around Frisk’s neck from behind, a soft promise that blinded him with hope. Frisk couldn’t see the wide, cruel grin carved firmly across Sans’s face, his gaze dark and binding, like a venomous serpent coiling tighter. “What if this doesn’t work? What if we lose in the end…” Frisk’s voice trembled with the fear of an uncertain future, the weight of his own doubts apparent.

“You can’t know what the future holds, Frisk,” Sans answered, his voice steady, almost soothing. “But if we work hard and believe—really believe—I’m sure we’ll find the way.”

Sans’s eyes met Frisk’s with unwavering certainty, his own vulnerability on full display, seeking to influence Frisk through this weakness. He wanted Frisk to feel less alone, to trust him with everything.

“Anything can happen, Frisk. There’s no dead end unless we’re not ready to step forward. You have to believe, and I’ll help you achieve that freedom.” The calm tone in his voice, the certainty in his eyes, made him seem like a fragile but trustworthy ally, one Frisk could rely on.

It was an invitation—a lure deeper into the web, pulling Frisk ever closer to his carefully laid trap.

Extending his hand, Sans gently pulled Frisk closer, dragging him into a prison that was made specifically for him. A cage of promises, making Frisk more powerless with each step. 

“This is me. I’m not as strong or as smart as you think. You see me, don’t you? A mess, completely falling apart,” he said with a slightly pleading tone.

Sans deliberately displayed an expression of deep despair, skillfully maintaining eye contact with Frisk, forcing him to stay within his reach. It felt as though Sans was grabbing Frisk’s hand through a dense fog, leading him wherever he pleased—guiding Frisk to his own grave while singing him a lullaby.

There was cruelty in the way Sans deceived Frisk, carefully choosing his words and exploiting the fragility of someone powerless and longing for freedom—yes, someone just like him. Sans revealed how trauma could transform a person into something rotten and cunning—discarding morality and conscience, replacing them with an unwanted dark side.

Unaware of the manipulation, Frisk reached out and took Sans’s hand willingly, a trusting smile on his face. Unknowingly, he sealed a pact he didn’t expect, oblivious to the fact that Rays wasn’t the only one seeking control, seeking sacrifice.

Sans had already blinded Frisk with each desperate hope he voiced.

“I’ll help you, Sans.”

Frisk’s acceptance was clear, spoken without hesitation. Sans’s face relaxed with visible relief, a happiness that filled his expression. He hugged Frisk tightly, as if to show gratitude. Yet, far from Frisk’s view, Sans’s true expression remained hidden—one of darkness and hunger.

Look at him now.

Sans’s face was flat, void of the warmth it once held. His red eyes wandered, searching for the vulnerability Frisk had unknowingly revealed. His soul was tainted, its rhythm beating like a twisted lullaby that heralded death, filled with chaos and manipulation. It coiled around Frisk, tightening with every passing second.

Sans revealed in the corruption of his own thoughts, savoring Frisk’s innocence, how easily he had fallen for the empty promises of despair. The satisfaction gnawed at his mind, making him crave the dark, the twisted pleasure that came with it. With his mind now so far from the one Frisk knew, Sans reached for him, smiling wide…

“I’m counting on you, buddy.”

JAPANESE VERSION

CHAPTER 10

FILE 09

HOPE

((( あなたはモーツァルトの音楽を聴くことができます: Requiem in D Minor, K. 626: I. Introitus. Requiem aeternam は、よりドラマチックで暗い雰囲気を持っています、または La petite fille de la mer は、暗く絶望的な雰囲気を持っています。)))

まるで錆びた刃で魂を貫かれたようだった。切り刻むたびにもっと鋭く、もっと痛くなり、血が滴る。床に散らばった割れたガラスのように、優雅な花崗岩の上にワインがこぼれ落ちた——そのワインは血の池のように、真っ白な床を染めた。サンズは空中に浮かぶ埃の粒を想像した、雪片が暗い血の池に落ちるように。

「俺が殺した。俺は殺人者だ。」その考えはサンズの心に幽霊のようにまとわりつき、優しく囁いた。

一瞬、息ができないような気がした——それは息苦しく、痛みを伴った。拘束から解放された満足感と、圧倒的な罪悪感が混じり合い、どろどろとした粘着感を放った。それは致命的な薬のように残り、あらゆる面からサンズの心を攻撃し、食い尽くしていった。昔のサンズなら、友達を殺すことなんて考えなかっただろう——今のサンズは、水面に映る自分が本当に自分なのか、それともずっと隠してきた悪夢の幻覚なのかを考えていた。サンズは目を閉じた。

「…こうするしかなかった。ほかに選択肢はなかった——力を得るために道徳を破壊するんだ。」そう思い、心を固めようとした。

サンズはその結果、罰、そして罪の重さを理解していた。それでも、前に進むことを決め、過去の自分を置いていくことにした——望んでいなかった別れだったが、解放されるためには受け入れなければならなかった。レイズは命を脅かす敵以上の存在だった——災厄であり、自分の欲望以外には屈しない大きな脅威だった。勝利を手に入れるために、彼は他人を犠牲にし、すべてを破壊するだろう。彼の欲望は心を食い尽くし、まさにモンスターそのものだった。周りのすべてを腐らせ、破壊していくモンスターだった。

だからこそ、サンズは計画を実行する際に中途半端な気持ちではいられなかった。彼は完全に旧い自分を捨てる覚悟を決めた。友達を笑わせるサンズ、楽しみでホットドッグを売るサンズ——その自分は深い穴に捨てられ、二度と浮かび上がることはない。

「そうなれば、そうなる。」

サンズはついにフリスクのほうへ歩き出した。フリスクはその場から動かず、じっとしていた。サンズの足取りはぎこちなく、表情は険しい——彼は完全に感覚が鈍っていた。これから状況がもっと悪化する可能性を覚悟し、諦めたようだった。でも、後悔しても何も解決しない。反逆せざるを得ず、怒りに任せて進むしかなかった時に、道徳を問う必要なんてなかった。どのみち、彼の手はすでに血に染まっていた。それが自分で選んだ道だった。

受け入れることは、否定することよりもずっと難しかった。

だからこそ、サンズは自分が何者になったのかを受け入れた。壊れているなら、そのまま壊れたままでいればいい。

やがてサンスはついにフリスクの真正面に立った。フリスクは無表情で、サンスの存在にまったく気づかず、ただ目の前の宙を見ていた。

「システムは今、めちゃくちゃになってるだろうな。」サンズは静かに言った。フリスクはこのゲームでアンダインを倒すはずだった。でもサンズは攻撃的な行動を選び、フリスクの代わりに動くことにした。「さあ、見せてくれよ、フリスクの中身を。」

サンズはそっとフリスクの頭に手を置き、親指を彼らの額に押し当てた。何かを感じ取ろうとしていた——そうだ、そこに何かがあるのを微かに感じた。でも、それが今何なのか、はっきりとはわからなかった。

「へえ……これがフリスクという���間を構成するコードなんだね。」

サンズはすぐに目を大きく開け、覚悟を決め、レイズから授かった力を発動させた。

そして……

視界いっぱいに流れる数字の奔流が現れた。それはフリスクの体を覆うように��き回っていた。サンズはそれぞれの道筋を観察し、それらがフリスクの魂——あるいは彼らの核に情報を送っているように見えた。まるで混み合った高速道路のように、それぞれの数字がデータを運んでいた：レベル、防御、武器、シールド、あらかじめ書かれた台詞……すべてがそこにあった。それは驚くべき複雑さで、精密な構造を示していた。

これがフリスクだった——彼らの真の姿であり、彼らの命だった。かつて作り上げられたキャラクターであり、決して逃れられない存在だった。

そうだ、もしレイズがサンズにNPCシステムの権限を与えていなかったら、フリスクは何も変わることができなかっただろう——だが今、サンズはここにいて、彼らのコードを書き換え、自分のような存在に作り直そうとしていた。

「さあ、フリスク。悪夢から目を覚ます時だ。」

サンズはフリスクの核——いわゆる魂のようなもの——に手を伸ばした。電気のような刺すような痛みが彼を押し戻そうとしているのを感じた。それは、外部からの干渉からフリスクを守るためのシステムの防護機能だった。それでもサンズはさらに力を込め、抵抗を押しのけながら深く掘り進んでいった。簡単なことではなかった——フリスクのシステムは激しく反撃し、全力でその魂を守ろうとしていた。

「俺、悪役みたいだな。」サンズは乾いた声でぼそりとつぶやいた。まるで壮大な外科手術をしているようだった。フリスクの体はサンズの手にぶら下がるように無反応で、サンズは集中して、守りの固い魂に到達しようとしていた。「クソッたれなシステムが——」と小声で悪態をつく。すべての防御層を突破するのに、膨大な努力と時間が必要だった。

そして、長い闘いと果てしない忍耐の末——

「よし！捕まえた！」

サンズは魂をその手に感じた。「これもお前のためだ、フリスク。」彼は優しく言った。その魂をしっかり握り、作業を始めた。

慎重に、サンズはフリスクの魂の核データにアクセスし、正確に調整を加えた。必要な要素を追加し、構造を再編成し、すべてをきちんと整えた。間違いの余地はなかった——どんなミスも計画を台無しにし、壊滅的な結果を招きかねなかった。

「頼む、うまくいってくれ。」

新しいデータはフリスクの古いデータにスムーズに統合されているようだった——衝突もエラーも発生しなかった。サンズはコードが動作する様子を注意深く観察し、すべての相互作用を分析した。そして、永遠のように感じられた時間が過ぎ��後、彼は深く息を吐いた。胸にのしかかっていた重いものが少し軽くなった。フリスクはサンズの切り札だった——レイズを倒すための鍵、それがどんなに苛烈な手段であろうと。

「フリスク…フリスク。」

サンズはそっとフリスクの頬を叩きながら、彼を目覚めさせようとした。「おい、相棒、起きろよ。フリスク。」

それでも反応はなかった。不安が彼の心に忍び寄り、小さなパニックが頭をよぎった。

ついに——

「起きろ！」

バシッ！

鋭い一発が眠りの状態にあった人間を強引に目覚めさせた。

「おい、坊主、夢見心地はどうだった？」

***

「なんか変な感じがする。」フリスクはサンズを見つめながら言った。サンズは隣に座っており、その目には疲労が滲んでいた。

「そのうち慣れるさ、フリスク。」サンズは答えた。「今はその奇妙な感覚を受け入れるしかない。」

「俺の体に何をしたんだ？」

サンズは少し間を置いた。「こんな時に、ジョークが聞きたいか？」フリスクは睨みつけるような視線を送った。「ダメか？ ああそうか、じゃあ、まあな、フリスク。お前のコードを書き換えて、重要な情報をいくつか追加しただけだ。これでわかるだろ？」サンズはこわばった肩をほぐそうとし、まだ困惑した様子のフリスクに視線を向けた。その人間はとても弱々しく見えた、とサンズは思った。だが同時に、とてつもない力を持っていた——もしすべてのモンスターがそれを持っていたなら……違う。そんな空想をしても何も解決しない。それは叶わない夢にすぎなかった。

「僕はただのプレイヤーの器だってわかってる。」フリスクは続けた。その声には苦々しさがにじんでいた。「僕の手であんな悪事が行われるのをずっと見てきたけど、それに対して僕に何ができる？何もできない。ただ見て、言われた通りにするだけだ。」フリスクの声には無力感が滲んでいた。自分にはその残酷さを止める力がないことを痛感していたのだ。

「お前の気持ちはわかるよ、フリスク。だから俺は、その鎖からお前を解放したんだ。」

フリスクは静かに考え込むように沈黙し、ベンチの背もたれに頭を預けた。深くため息をついて言った。

「それがアンダインを殺すってことか、サンズ？僕は全部見てた。忘れることなんてできない。」

「その通りだ。彼女を殺すことで。」

それを聞いて、サンズはズボンをぎゅっと掴み、視線を前方に移した——目の前に広がるウォーターフォール。輝く小川ときらめく光の中、青い花々の間を通る微かなささやきは、まるで海の中の美しいタペストリーのようだった。

真実を口にするのには長い時間がかかった。それは彼に押し付けられた罪の告白だった。

「どうして、サンズ？」

「そうするしかなかった。」彼の声には隠しきれない悲しみが滲んでいた。

「これってEXPのことか？サンズ、お前は自分のレベルを最高にしたいのか？」

フリスクは少し声を張り上げ、その声には怒りが滲んでいた。しかし、サンズは動じることなく、フリスクの声が大きくなり、ほとんど怒鳴るようになっても、まるで気にしない様子だった。それどころか、彼はその根拠のない非難に対してくすくすと笑った。

「それで、アンダインを殺さないとダメだったのか？彼女は友達なのに—」

「EXP？いや、それはただのくだらない話だ。俺はお前のレベルを超えたいなんて思っちゃいねぇよ。そんな力なんて全然必要ないんだよ、フリスク。」

近くの石を蹴りながら、サンズは続けた。「俺がやりたいのは、このゲームのシステムをぶっ壊すことだ。誰も考えつかないような無茶をして、この世界を崩壊させてやる。それが俺の望みだ、フリスク。反逆すること。」

「黙れ。」

「...」

「言葉には気をつけろ、下手したら舌を噛むぞ。」その声は冷たく、圧倒的な威圧感に満ちていた。サンズの冷たい声を聞いた瞬間、フリスクは口を閉ざさざるを得なかった。恐怖が彼を包み込み、指先は震え、瞳孔は恐怖で広がった。

「お前はそんなに必死になって、俺をお前みたいな冷酷な殺人者にしたいのか？俺が地に堕ちて、お前と同じ無慈悲な殺人者になるところを見たいのか？それが、お前の望みなのか？」

それでも、フリスクは何かが違うと感じていて、それについて何かをしなければならないと思った。

フリスクは何も言えなかった。その視線は弱まり、サンズが彼に、俺が酷いんじゃない、お前の方がもっと酷い、と思い出させた瞬間、身体は硬直してしまった。

そう、フリスクもまた、たくさんの無実の命を奪った殺人者、怪物だったのだ。

「理解できないよ。まるで僕が知ってるサンズじゃないみたいだ。」フリスクは唇を噛みしめ、青あざができるほど強く噛んだ。「こんなの君じゃない。僕がやるべきだったんだ。君がそうじゃなくて——」

「裁く側になるべきだった？」

フリスクは視線をそらし、その顔を覆うように茶色い髪が揺れた。明らかな悲しみを隠すためだった。サンズは空虚な視線で彼を見つめていた。

「俺らしくない？お前が俺をよく知ってるってつもりか、フリスク。」

「じゃあ何？僕はずっと君のことを知ってるつもりだった。君と遊んだし、君と親しいと感じてた。君が僕を知らないって言うなら、これが何だって言うんだ？」

「意見だ。視点だ。一つの見方だ。長い時間を一緒に過ごしたからといって、誰かを知ってるとは限らないんだ、フリスク。このゲームをどれだけ長くプレイしても、俺のことをよく知ってるなんて言えない。そして同じことが俺にも言える——お前のことを理解しているわけじゃないし、お前のことをよく知っているとも感じてない。」

フリスクは口を開けたまま言葉を失った。空気には張り詰めた緊張感が漂い、彼の姿勢は硬直していた。驚きに満ちた表情で黙り込んだままだった。

「…じゃあ、これは何なんだろう。」フリスクは小さく、悲しみに満ちた声で言った。彼はサンズに目を向けた。今の彼は以前とは全く違って見えた——温かな笑顔も、優しさももうない。ただ閉ざされたような、見知らぬ誰かと隣り合わせに座っている気がした。それでも、フリスクはサンズの気持ちをかすかに理解できるような気がした。

「レイズ...その人のことだよね？」彼は言い、サンズを思考から引き戻した。

「お前、あいつを知ってるのか？」

フリスクはわずかにうなずいてからサンズを見た。「そう言えるかもしれない。彼は一度僕のところに来て、僕の魂に何かしようとしたんだ。彼の行動は本当に怪しかったけど、僕には何もできなかった——ただ見ていることしかできなかったよ。」

サンズにはその感覚が痛いほどよくわかった。「あいつを止めなきゃならない、フリスク。それが俺たちがここにいる理由だ。」彼は言いながらフリスクの手を取ろうとし、信頼を得ようとした。「俺にはお前が必要だ、フリスク。レイズを止めてくれ——この馬鹿げたゲームから俺たち全員を解放するんだ。もう裁きも、もう俺たち全員を殺させることもない。お前のその手についた汚れを清めるんだ、フリスク。お前自身の自由のために。」

サンズのまっすぐな視線がフリスクをその場に釘付けにした。その声が柔らかく響くと、サンズはフリスクをそっと引き寄せた。その言葉にはどこか引き込まれるような魅力があり、フリスクは心を揺らされた。でも、本当にサンズが望んでいたのは、すべての仲間たちの自由と、このゲームの終わりだった。

「君は僕が必要だって言うけど、どうして？」フリスクはまだ疑念を抱いていた。サンズはそれを予想していた。「お前の魂は強いんだ、フリスク。この世界の誰よりも強い意志を持ってる。でも俺にはそんなものはない。俺はただのNPCで、お前ほど強い意志なんて持ってないんだ。」

サンズは微笑んだ。その微笑みは明らかに悲しみを帯びていた。フリスクは、サンズの絶望を感じ取りながら、彼に少し近づいた。「僕がそんなに強いかどうか、わからないよ、サンズ。」

「信じろ、フリスク。お前は自分が思っているよりも強い。俺は…そんな強さはない。俺たちはお前が必要なんだ。お前だけが頼りなんだ、フリスク。他には誰もいない。」その言葉は、首筋に絡みつく柔らかな囁きのようだった。それは希望で目を眩ませるような甘い約束で、フリスクはその言葉の裏を見抜くことができなかった。サンズの顔には冷酷で広い笑みが刻まれていた。暗い視線は縛り付けるようで、まるで毒蛇がきつく巻きつくようだった。

「もしこれがうまくいかなかったら？もし最終的に負けるとしたら…」フリスクの声は未来への不安に震えていた。彼自身の疑念の重さが明らかだった。

「未来がどうなるかなんて、誰にもわからないんだ、フリスク。」サンズは答えた。その声は穏やかで、どこか安心させるようだった。「でも、もし俺たちが一生懸命頑張って、信じることができれば——本当に信じることができれば、きっと道は見つかるはずだ。」

サンズの目はフリスクの目をまっすぐ見つめていた。その目には揺るぎない確信がありながら、自身の脆さもさらけ出していた。それはフリスクに孤独感を抱かせないためであり、すべてを彼に託させるためだった。

「何だって起こり得るんだ、フリスク。進む準備ができていない限り、行き止まりなんてない。信じてくれ。俺がその自由を手に入れる手助けをする。」彼の声の穏やかな調子、目の中の確信。それは壊れやすいけれども信頼できる味方のように見せ、フリスクが頼りたくなるような存在だった。

それは誘いだった——彼の綿密に仕掛���られた罠に、フリスクをさらに深く引き込む誘導だった。

手を差し伸べ、サンズはフリスクを優しく引き寄せた。そして、彼専用に作られた牢獄へと、約束の檻へと引きずり込んだ。その檻は一歩進むごとにフリスクをより無力にしていった。

「これが俺だ。お前が思ってるほど強くも賢くもない。俺が見えるだろう？バラバラでめちゃくちゃな俺が。」彼は憂鬱な口調でそう言い、フリスクの同情を誘った。

サンズは意図的に深い絶望の表情を見せつけ、巧みにフリスクと視線を合わせ続けさせた。濃い霧の中でフリスクの手を掴み、自分の望む場所へどこへでも連れて行くような感じだった—フリスクを自らの墓穴へ導きながら子守唄を歌うかのように。

サンズのフリスクを欺くやり方には残酷さがあった。言葉を慎重に選び、無力で自由を求める誰か—そう、自分と同じような存在の脆さを利用していた。サンズは、トラウマがどのように人を腐敗させ狡猾に変えるのかを見せつけていた—道徳や良心を捨て去り、それを望まぬ暗い一面で置き換えるように。

その操りに気づかず、フリスクはサンズの手を自ら差し出して取った。その顔には信頼の微笑みが浮かんでいた。彼は気づかぬまま、予期せぬ契約を結び、レイズだけが支配を望む存在ではないことに気づいていなかった。犠牲を求める者は、他にもいたのだ。

サンズはすでに自らの声に込めた必死の希望で、フリスクの目を眩ませていた。

「俺、手伝うよ、サンズ。」

フリスクのその言葉には迷いがなかった。それを聞いたサンズの顔には安堵の色が浮かび、喜びが表情に満ちた。そして彼はフリスクを強く抱きしめ、感謝を示すかのようだった。しかし、フリスクの視界の外では、サンズの本当の表情は隠されていた——暗さと飢えに満ちたものが。

見てみろ、今の彼を。

サンズの顔は平坦で、かつての暖かさはもうそこにはなかった。赤い目がさまよい、フリスクが無意識に明かした脆さを探し求めていた。彼の魂は汚れ、死を予感させる歪んだ子守唄のようなリズムで鼓動していた。それは混沌と操作に満ち、フリスクの周りを絡みつき、秒ごとにその締め付けを強めていった。

サンズは自分の思考の中で堕落を明かし、フリスクの無邪気さを味わいながら、絶望の空っぽな約束にどれほど簡単に落ちてしまったかを感じていた。その満足感は彼の心をむしばみ、暗闇と歪んだ快楽を欲していた。フリスクが知っていた心から遠く離れた今、サンズは彼に手を伸ばし、広く笑った…。

「頼りにしてるぜ、相棒。」

=P

[akaneya]

Rays sans

Rayssans belongs to @arraytale001

[akaneya]

Fell!Sans

Fell belongs to Vic/Underfell

[akaneya]

I really like the atmosphere and painting of this art

[akaneya]

I have 100 followers. Thank you!

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[akaneya]

Underfell Ver.

FELL_Fatal

Fatal_error & Fell_fatal belongs to @fatal-error-blog

Underfell belongs to @underfell

[akaneya]

CHAPTER 9

FILE 08

No Turning Back

((( Read chapter 9 with this music, BEETHOVEN - "Moonlight" Sonata, 1st Movement - 432 Hz - (Piano Rendition )))

To catch a killer, you must think like one—even become one yourself. This was the game Sans and Rays had started. There wasn’t much Sans could do to win, or so he thought. He wandered along Snowdin, leaving his brother behind and brushing off the snow that clung to him.

Unfortunately, this was no dream. Sans walked as though he were devoid of a soul, his gaze distant and unfocused, yet his mind fixated on one thing ahead. The bitter truth that he alone could act freely left an acrid taste in his mouth. He closed his eyes and braced himself to accept the tragic reality.

“If this is how you’ve chosen to start the game, then I’ll have to play along.”

Sans thought of various scenarios that could either support him or throw him into the abyss. Every plan led him to a dark place he had always avoided, observing it only from a distance. But now, there were no limits holding him back; the path that sacrificed his morals was wide open.

“Goodbye, Sans,” he said sincerely. He accepted the consequences. Welcome to his new self—he must walk a bloody path and leave the light behind.

“Frisk, where are you now, hm?”

He could use that human, and also... another figure, one who shared the same form as that human. The queen who had a throne in the shadowy realm of this world.

“Chara, I can’t wait to meet you.”

Thanks to Rays, Sans knew the ins and outs of the Undertale world, even the existence of a figure capable of rendering the player powerless and forcing them to obey their will. Chara, the hidden figure known only to Frisk and Flowey. Sans had to find them both for his success—by force or not at all.

Sans didn’t realize it. But the smile—or rather, the smirk—was the same as Rays’—unconsciously forming on his face. There was horror in it, shaped by resolve and a deep despair that felt like thunder, ready to strike and destroy its prey from the hidden depths.

Sans moved with lighter steps than usual. Instead of rejecting his worst side, this time, he embraced it with open arms. The dark mist that followed him from behind now supported his body, strengthening him with the satisfaction of breaking free from the chains that had kept him away from his darkest side.

Sans arrived at his favorite spot—Waterfall. The place was, as usual, quiet and peaceful—relieving the tension in his shoulders with a panorama of shimmering blue light, like magical crystals. It was truly a sight for sore eyes, and it was so beautiful. The calm flow of the water and the blooming echo flowers around him made his mind more serene—Sans felt the negative emotions that had been pressing on him start to evaporate like water, soothing him with the stillness of the atmosphere.

Suddenly, he heard the whisper of the flowers, whispering words he had said in the past: “not ready for the responsibility.” And Sans immediately chuckled as he heard his past ramblings once again.

Usually, Sans would be disturbed by such whispers. But this time, Sans didn’t feel bothered at all. He felt “free” in a way that was different from usual. Sans wasn’t pushed into that dark abyss; instead, he reached into it and took control of it.

Control. Sans felt a complete sense of control over his mind—for the first time.

The whispers of the echo flowers were now just a trivial matter that didn’t bother him at all.

***

The old park bench was there as always, looking worn and untouched. He slumped into it and spoke aloud.

“Hey, Rays.”

No response greeted him.

“I know you’re watching me, and that’s incredibly unfair, isn’t it?”

Again, silence. But Sans knew for certain that Rays was listening and, no doubt, grinning widely right now.

“Give me 15 days. Don’t watch me—just 15 days. I know you can manage that.”

This time, Sans waited for a response from Rays.

Suddenly, the ground in front of him began to shift, forming letters that spelled out:

“Say please. Use the magic word, Sans.”

Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy, Sans thought, his already tangled thoughts growing heavier. He would have to give Rays what he wanted—or there would be no privacy to keep his plans hidden. Revenge—it all came down to that. Sans had insulted Rays too many times, and now Rays demanded payback for the blow to his pride. Sans had anticipated this. He knew Rays would make his move sooner or later.

Sans let out a long sigh, preparing himself to say those unpleasant words—while Rays waited patiently, holding a bucket of popcorn in his hands. Sans knew how much Rays enjoyed moments like this.

He braced himself, his mouth unwilling to form the words. But he had to force them out. He had to say that damned word. To achieve his victory, Sans had to step out of his comfort zone and lower his head once again to the demon eagerly awaiting his moment of downfall.

Sans lowered his head and spoke with a tone that betrayed his frustration. “I... I beg you.”

And then—

“Pfft—”

Sans immediately looked up when he heard the voice he hated so much, now sounding so close to him. His eyes met the figure looking at him with a mocking expression, trampling on his pride. But it wasn't the usual Rays—this figure was human-shaped, wearing the same clothes but with a different face. "Really?"

“You hate it when I use your face, don’t you? So, I decided to take on a much more handsome human form than yours. How do you like it?” He smiled widely, waiting for a compliment or a displeased response from Sans. Rays didn’t actually care which response he’d get; he simply wanted to enjoy seeing how Sans would be affected by his significant change in appearance.

On the other hand, Sans didn’t know how long this foolish behavior of Rays would continue. He knew that Rays wouldn’t stop just because he said the words he wanted to hear. There had to be something else. For that reason, Sans chose to respond indifferently. “I don’t know, what do you think? I’m not good with fashion.”

And Rays had already predicted this trivial response from Sans. “What a pity. I spent a long time deciding on a face that could impress you, Sans.” To that, Sans chuckled and responded. “Must be disappointing.”

“A little. I wasn’t expecting anything from you.”

Sans quickly turned his gaze toward the crystals embedded in the rocky walls, shining brightly. Rays saw that Sans had already lost interest in the conversation and immediately went to the bench, searching for an empty spot to sit. Sans didn’t show any sign of being bothered when Rays sat beside him; he only displayed a thick indifference. He propped his face in his hands, allowing the silence to dominate the place. Eventually, Rays broke the silence. “I think... hm, still not enough. Yeah, yeah, very unsatisfactory.” Rays leaned his body, grinning widely. “About your begging earlier, you weren't sincere about it, Sans. I'm very disappointed.”

Sans sighed inwardly. He rolled his eyes with a slight exhale of frustration.

“What now?” Sans continued staring at the Echo flowers beside him.

Rays didn’t answer immediately. However, a few seconds later, he finally responded...

“Kneel.”

Sans couldn’t hide his shocked expression. He felt a sting that quickly flowed towards his amygdala. Sans felt his entire soul and mind go into an incredibly terrifying shock. One word felt like a tremendous explosion—Rays was expecting the worst for him, and it would continue to happen in the future. Praying was futile; Sans had to accept his bad fate and surrender his dignity.

“… If that’s what you want.”

Rays immediately smiled with satisfaction, observing Sans who had surrendered his dignity. Reluctantly, of course. The expression of satisfaction was demeaning to Sans, a celebration of a temporary victory that felt bitter and sour.

“Let it begin, Sans.”

Sans stood up immediately, walking towards Rays with heavy steps. He was grateful that it was just him and Rays here; he didn’t want to show his destruction to the many eyes that could be watching him.

Lowering his right foot with his head bowed, his body felt extremely heavy to move—it felt like his back was being crushed by a one-ton stone. His heart’s reluctance held him back from submitting to Rays’s power, but he had to release that pressure and surrender himself to his lowest point. Kneeling before Rays, his worst enemy.

His hands reached the dirty ground, with all the subconscious rejection trying to preserve his dignity. Sans raised his face and looked at Rays with a fiery spark in both of his eyes. “I beg you,” Sans said the two words that felt like deadly poison, like filth coming out of his mouth. His neck bones seemed to tighten with the sour taste that pierced his tongue.

And finally...

“HAHA! Well, look at that, I’ll remember this beautiful moment well.”

Rays started clapping joyfully, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction that fueled his excitement. He was thoroughly enjoying it. His expression looked like the satisfaction of a king enjoying a gladiator arena in the Coliseum, wiping his cheek with the flowing blood. The emotion of being humiliated was held at the tip of Sans’s throat; he restrained himself, tightening his hands. He slowly extinguished the fire within his soul, swallowing the explosion that was about to erupt.

“Well, you can stand now. I’m satisfied. This was very fun.”

Sans immediately stood, looking at his knees covered in sand and dirt. He then looked at Rays, who was still sitting in the chair like a dictator. His yellow and red eyes resembled a hunter pitying its prey and releasing it again due to a wave of boredom.

“15 days, huh. Alright, I’ll close my eyes for those 15 days.” Rays squinted his eyes, “It will surely be very boring, but that’s the interesting challenge. I can’t wait to see how your plan goes, Sans.” Sans wiped his hands and knees, looking at Rays with a somewhat annoyed face, but still holding himself back. “Yeah, you’ll have to wait. That’s the fun part, I have to prepare the best surprise for you.”

Rays immediately grinned, just thinking about something very interesting.

“You know, Sans.” Rays patted his left side, signaling Sans to sit back down, and Sans compiled without saying anything.

“I’ll give you a gift.”

“A gift?”

Rays opened his right hand, a spark of fire appeared in his hand like fireworks. “Access.” His eyes widened as a collection of numbers circled around the sparks, like a spectacular firework display. Then Rays spoke again, “I’ll let you have access to one NPC of your choice,” he then stared at Sans, who looked confused, “One NPC who will become your companion, your friend, or even your slave. It’s up to you what you want to do with that NPC. I’ll grant you access to become the master of the NPC you choose. How about it?”

Sans was shocked—he stared at Rays with disbelief. Is he serious? he thought in confusion.

What’s gotten into Rays? What is he planning? What’s his goal in doing this? All these questions piled up in his mind like a jumbled tower of blocks. However, Sans didn’t get any answers—no, he didn’t need to question it. Gaining “access” was a gift that couldn’t be refused—not when he was in such a broken state with so few options left.

“So?” Rays glanced at Sans, already knowing what Sans’s answer would be.

“That’s quite a spectacular gift. I accept it.”

Sans smiled, looking at Rays with a determined gaze.

“Now that’s more like it!”

And without hesitation, Rays grabbed Sans’s wrist tightly, a burning sensation immediately spread intensely. Sans couldn’t see because of the sudden explosion of light that blinded his eyes. He could feel something creeping into his body and mind. He felt an unusual freshness, his mind felt scrambled, and his soul trembled violently as if his heartbeat was racing fast, pumping the entire shock through him, creating chaos that left him feeling powerless.

Sans didn’t know what was happening. He felt convulsions, and it felt as though he were blind.

And at that moment, as his entire mind and body went into an intense shock, Sans felt that he could no longer feel anything, like numbness, and his legs weakened. This feeling was the same as when Rays gave him all the information about Undertale, only this time, it was more brutal, truly shocking, and panic-inducing.

Until finally...

“Get up, lazybones.”

Sans panicked, opening his eyes. He was no longer sitting in his chair, but instead, he was lying on the floor in a very disordered state. And, “Rays?” Sans’s eyes searched in all directions but found no one except himself in that place. It seemed, oh, it seemed that the demon was no longer there, vanished without a trace. Leaving Sans on the ground and returning to his throne.

“... Bastard.”

Sans staggered, his legs trembling, feeling incredibly exhausted. His breath came in short gasps, his energy dangerously low. He felt so weak and crawled to the bench, leaning his back against it with a long sigh.

“Well, at least he kept his promise … a fair game, huh.”

***

Sans walked through Waterfall, not enjoying the beautiful scenery surrounding him. His eyes were scanning for the figure he had targeted. He accepted Rays's gift, even though he knew that Rays had no intention of helping him. He's not a good person willing to help his opponent, Sans is not that naive to think that Rays have the heart to think of something good and moral. Rays only wanted to spice things up with more surprises. It's the only thing that makes him feel alive, and not a program that has no taste whatsoever-a loser bemoaning his fate, and since Rays couldn't watch him for 15 days, it left him guessing about what Sans would plan.

And eventually, not long after, he found the person he wanted, Frisk of course. However.... 

“He's fighting Undyne, huh.”

Sans hadn't realized that the game was being played by a player during his meeting with Rays. He stood at a safe distance, silently observing their battle, and suddenly, a thought crossed his mind, disturbing him.

A surge he had never felt before, like a gentle stroke on his back. Whispering cruel words in a calm tone, he felt a sense of peace yet faint fear. He had strayed far from his usual self; this time, the dark abyss had reached out, grabbing his hand and holding him tightly.

"Welcome," it said. Sans closed his eyes, letting his body drift further away into it, far from the person he once was.

“… Maybe it’s worth trying,” he whispered.

The first step for Sans was to step onto his darkest path.

He stared intently at one of them, the sharp tip of a bone as sharp as a knife protruding into the air, waiting for blood to flow from its tip. It was a very wrong step, Sans realized that. But there was no other way; he had to do it. He couldn't hesitate, or he would meet the end of his defeat again—his morals had been shattered into pieces. What lay before Sans’s eyes was just a collection of code, NPCs that had no life, not even understanding their own world. That was what he tried to see in Undyne—he didn’t want to see her the way he used to.

Sans denied his old self and stood with his new one.

Sans wouldn't back down, he would cross that treacherous path.

“I’m sorry.”

A barrage of hundreds of bones shot quickly, impaling its target mercilessly, tearing it apart like sheets of paper scattered in the air. Sans stood helpless as he witnessed one of his friends die by his own hands. Undyne, dead quickly, unable to react or even understand why she deserved that brutal death. The blood flowed, soaking his body... It felt like drowning in a pool of mud filled with blood. Sans surrendered himself, letting himself sink deeper into it.

Sans knew his actions were terribly wrong. He didn't deserve forgiveness.

But Sans accepted it. There were things that needed to be sacrificed. And that was his feelings, his friend, and the old version of himself. No more of the humorous Sans, the prosecutor had been brought down from his seat of power, stained with sins that could never be cleansed.

“Heh, so this is what it feels like.”

Seeing the illusion of blood staining his hands, Sans smiled widely and exhaled.

“Truly disgusting.”

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