@
pixieknight3264
Warnings: Violence
I don’t remember how I died. All I remember is that I fell asleep. By the time I woke up, they had stopped discussing what had happened to me. A quiet pall had fallen over the house, and my family went about their daily business in jerky motions, as though they were nothing but puppets to their daily necessities.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was a ghost. I walked with my ankles in the floor. I floated through doors and then the walls. It was delightful fun at first. No one could see me, but if I concentrated hard enough, they could sense me. I could make candles flicker and, if I screamed, they could hear me. Scaring my older sister was my favorite pastime for the first month after my awakening.
Ennui didn’t settle into my soul until late into the second month. The novelty of being a ghost melted away before the eternal dawn of my immortal life. The depression that hung over the household faded, and my family started to smile and laugh again. I felt useless, forgotten, even though my mother always paused at my old room to stare at the closed door. Even though I heard my sister randomly cry at times in the dark of the night.
I started to wonder why I was still here. What use could the world have for a ghost? Why had I died? Rather than a curiosity, it became an insufferable mystery. I hadn’t felt sick, not that I could remember. I just fell asleep and didn’t wake up within the confines of my flesh.
The third day of the third month after my death, I felt
them for the first time. I never did find out exactly who they were. Their essence was crafted from hatred and decay. Malice rotted their souls. I couldn’t see them, but I could sense them, slipping around my home, seeking a way inside.
My older sister started to act strangely. As day after day crawled through time, she became obviously nervous. She dodged our parents, hoping to evade their notice. I followed her into her room one night and found her reading through a strange book that I didn’t recognize. Her eyes were frantic and her hands shaking as she flipped page after page, endlessly searching through the volume.
With a sob of frustration, she slammed the book shut and pulled it to her chest. Under her breath, she murmured her apologies over and over again, rocking with each repetition.
That’s when the first creature slipped into the room. It was camouflaged and appeared to be crafted from the materials of the house. Blurred lines about its form were all that distinguished it from its surroundings visibly, but its presence was a vise upon the room. I stared at the impression of its location, trying to make sense of what was before me.
My sister’s ramblings suddenly halted. She grew still, I couldn’t even hear her breathe. Fear spiked through my soul, but I didn’t dare turn around to see if she still lived. Rather, I crouched down and stared at the beast before me. A golden glow flowed from my shoulder to the palm of my hand before lengthening into a razor-sharp knife the length of my forearm. I had no time to consider how anything here was possible. The glow attracted the creature’s attention. As it looked towards me, I lunged, driving the knife towards what I hoped was its heart.
I should have known that these creatures did not have hearts. My knife pierced the shimmer that marked its location. A scream erupted in my head, forcing me back as it fell away. Behind me, I heard my sister give a frightened wail. But I couldn’t look towards her. Two more creatures stepped through the wall, their inquisitive malevolent attention raking through my mind. No anger emanated from the creatures, even with one of their own still thrashing in pain. They analyzed the strange red ichor, somehow akin to blood, dripping from the end of my knife.
Then they moved faster than I could react. They leapt upon me, their forms solid against mine even where the house was not. We toppled through the ceiling and into the kitchen where my mother was cutting vegetables for dinner. She didn’t notice as I started to fight for my existence. Every claw that scratched me attacked the strands that tied me to this world, that protected me from oblivion. I started to fight frantically, swinging the knife to drive the things back. If they won, there would be no coming back. I would cease to exist. I didn’t even know if memories of me would remain.
Terror reigned over my actions, and I turned rash and erratic in my desire to escape. They hit me again and again. The room started to dim. Carrots, my mother was slicing carrots. The kitchen smelled of savory. A picture of me on the wall was fading.
They thought they had won. One turned to leave, turned to move back up through the ceiling, and then I remembered that I was fighting for more than myself. The world snapped back to focus, fury flashed through me, and I regained my senses.
The creature still upon me disappeared as I drove the knife through its midsection.
The other halted its ascent and turned to face me, uncertain. The hesitation cost it its life as I threw my knife. The blade gleamed crimson in the white kitchen light as it sliced through the being. It, too, disappeared with the sound of sand through an hourglass.
I didn’t spare it another thought. I leapt back up through the ceiling and into my sister’s room. She was huddled in the corner of her bed, sobbing as she continued to clutch at that Godforsaken tome. The last remaining creature had regained its composure and was next to her, slowly, deliberately slicing at her again and again.
An inhuman snarl ripped from my throat.
It turned to me. I could only tell from the weight of its attention upon my soul.
She killed you, it whispered in my mind.
She sacrificed your life so that she might one day be rich and powerful.
My rage turned to ice as I felt the snarl flee my face.
The creature pressed on, wicked delight lacing its thoughts.
She doesn’t deserve to live. She doesn’t deserve to exist. We are those who guard against creatures like her, who prevent them from wreaking havoc upon…
My knife tore through its gut and disappeared into the wall. The creature evaporated with a startled hiss.
My essence wavered as I stumbled over to my sister. Her breathing was ragged, but she was very much alive, her eyes darting around in horror. It took a full ten minutes for her to peel herself away from the corner. She dropped to the floor and pulled out a small iron cauldron from underneath her bed. The book fell into its black depths with a solid thud. My sister’s hands shook as she retrieved a lighter from her drawer and leaned over, flicking it once, twice, thrice before it finally caught. The flame flickered as she trembled.
She touched the lighter to the book, and it caught flame. I froze, glancing down towards the kitchen, waiting for smoke detector to start wailing through the house, but when I returned my gaze to the cauldron, I found the book didn’t smoke. Instead it glowed and crumbled, turning to ash before fading out of existence.
I lifted my eyes to my sister to find her staring at me. Tears welled within her eyes before they spilled down her cheeks, shimmering gold in the glow of the book.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “So very, very sorry. I regretted the wish immediately. I pleaded for them not to do it.”
I reached out a hand to touch hers. It was solid and warm against mine as our two worlds collided over the dying book in the iron cauldron.
“I forgive you,” I said quietly. “And I’ll still be here when they come back.”
@
pixieknight3264
Warnings: Violence
I don’t remember how I died. All I remember is that I fell asleep. By the time I woke up, they had stopped discussing what had happened to me. A quiet pall had fallen over the house, and my family went about their daily business in jerky motions, as though they were nothing but puppets to their daily necessities.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was a ghost. I walked with my ankles in the floor. I floated through doors and then the walls. It was delightful fun at first. No one could see me, but if I concentrated hard enough, they could sense me. I could make candles flicker and, if I screamed, they could hear me. Scaring my older sister was my favorite pastime for the first month after my awakening.
Ennui didn’t settle into my soul until late into the second month. The novelty of being a ghost melted away before the eternal dawn of my immortal life. The depression that hung over the household faded, and my family started to smile and laugh again. I felt useless, forgotten, even though my mother always paused at my old room to stare at the closed door. Even though I heard my sister randomly cry at times in the dark of the night.
I started to wonder why I was still here. What use could the world have for a ghost? Why had I died? Rather than a curiosity, it became an insufferable mystery. I hadn’t felt sick, not that I could remember. I just fell asleep and didn’t wake up within the confines of my flesh.
The third day of the third month after my death, I felt
them for the first time. I never did find out exactly who they were. Their essence was crafted from hatred and decay. Malice rotted their souls. I couldn’t see them, but I could sense them, slipping around my home, seeking a way inside.
My older sister started to act strangely. As day after day crawled through time, she became obviously nervous. She dodged our parents, hoping to evade their notice. I followed her into her room one night and found her reading through a strange book that I didn’t recognize. Her eyes were frantic and her hands shaking as she flipped page after page, endlessly searching through the volume.
With a sob of frustration, she slammed the book shut and pulled it to her chest. Under her breath, she murmured her apologies over and over again, rocking with each repetition.
That’s when the first creature slipped into the room. It was camouflaged and appeared to be crafted from the materials of the house. Blurred lines about its form were all that distinguished it from its surroundings visibly, but its presence was a vise upon the room. I stared at the impression of its location, trying to make sense of what was before me.
My sister’s ramblings suddenly halted. She grew still, I couldn’t even hear her breathe. Fear spiked through my soul, but I didn’t dare turn around to see if she still lived. Rather, I crouched down and stared at the beast before me. A golden glow flowed from my shoulder to the palm of my hand before lengthening into a razor-sharp knife the length of my forearm. I had no time to consider how anything here was possible. The glow attracted the creature’s attention. As it looked towards me, I lunged, driving the knife towards what I hoped was its heart.
I should have known that these creatures did not have hearts. My knife pierced the shimmer that marked its location. A scream erupted in my head, forcing me back as it fell away. Behind me, I heard my sister give a frightened wail. But I couldn’t look towards her. Two more creatures stepped through the wall, their inquisitive malevolent attention raking through my mind. No anger emanated from the creatures, even with one of their own still thrashing in pain. They analyzed the strange red ichor, somehow akin to blood, dripping from the end of my knife.
Then they moved faster than I could react. They leapt upon me, their forms solid against mine even where the house was not. We toppled through the ceiling and into the kitchen where my mother was cutting vegetables for dinner. She didn’t notice as I started to fight for my existence. Every claw that scratched me attacked the strands that tied me to this world, that protected me from oblivion. I started to fight frantically, swinging the knife to drive the things back. If they won, there would be no coming back. I would cease to exist. I didn’t even know if memories of me would remain.
Terror reigned over my actions, and I turned rash and erratic in my desire to escape. They hit me again and again. The room started to dim. Carrots, my mother was slicing carrots. The kitchen smelled of savory. A picture of me on the wall was fading.
They thought they had won. One turned to leave, turned to move back up through the ceiling, and then I remembered that I was fighting for more than myself. The world snapped back to focus, fury flashed through me, and I regained my senses.
The creature still upon me disappeared as I drove the knife through its midsection.
The other halted its ascent and turned to face me, uncertain. The hesitation cost it its life as I threw my knife. The blade gleamed crimson in the white kitchen light as it sliced through the being. It, too, disappeared with the sound of sand through an hourglass.
I didn’t spare it another thought. I leapt back up through the ceiling and into my sister’s room. She was huddled in the corner of her bed, sobbing as she continued to clutch at that Godforsaken tome. The last remaining creature had regained its composure and was next to her, slowly, deliberately slicing at her again and again.
An inhuman snarl ripped from my throat.
It turned to me. I could only tell from the weight of its attention upon my soul.
She killed you, it whispered in my mind.
She sacrificed your life so that she might one day be rich and powerful.
My rage turned to ice as I felt the snarl flee my face.
The creature pressed on, wicked delight lacing its thoughts.
She doesn’t deserve to live. She doesn’t deserve to exist. We are those who guard against creatures like her, who prevent them from wreaking havoc upon…
My knife tore through its gut and disappeared into the wall. The creature evaporated with a startled hiss.
My essence wavered as I stumbled over to my sister. Her breathing was ragged, but she was very much alive, her eyes darting around in horror. It took a full ten minutes for her to peel herself away from the corner. She dropped to the floor and pulled out a small iron cauldron from underneath her bed. The book fell into its black depths with a solid thud. My sister’s hands shook as she retrieved a lighter from her drawer and leaned over, flicking it once, twice, thrice before it finally caught. The flame flickered as she trembled.
She touched the lighter to the book, and it caught flame. I froze, glancing down towards the kitchen, waiting for smoke detector to start wailing through the house, but when I returned my gaze to the cauldron, I found the book didn’t smoke. Instead it glowed and crumbled, turning to ash before fading out of existence.
I lifted my eyes to my sister to find her staring at me. Tears welled within her eyes before they spilled down her cheeks, shimmering gold in the glow of the book.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “So very, very sorry. I regretted the wish immediately. I pleaded for them not to do it.”
I reached out a hand to touch hers. It was solid and warm against mine as our two worlds collided over the dying book in the iron cauldron.
“I forgive you,” I said quietly. “And I’ll still be here when they come back.”
Flowey was wrong. Monsters may be predictable, but people are not. In all the lifetimes she had lived, loved, and lost, one thing remained constant: change.
She had learned over time that she was an anomaly. Every timeline had one, but across the timelines, she still stood alone. Why? She alone chose to live her life out to its extent, rather than going back under the mountain again and again in search of -well, none of them were sure what the other Frisk's were searching for.
In her first lifetime, she had grown. The young child who emerged from the mountain, taking the heavy mantle of ambassador with no experience other than that of exacting her mercy on every monster - she became a powerful young woman, fiercely devoted and astoundingly capable. Making friends with humans was a lot harder than making friends with monsters. After all, humans knew how to wound with more powerful things than matter and magic.
Still she had endured, her newfound family by her side. Sans most of all, with a mysterious insight and (when he wasn't sleeping) scientific breakthroughs that allowed them to examine other timelines for clues to proceed. They had grown closer, walking in the cool nights over a sky with more stars than souls in the timelines. There was a small, quiet ceremony, and then small, not so quiet children. The entirely new union of human and monster soul was found to be verdant and whole, opening new doors for both races.
Until she lay on her deathbed, surrounded by her loved ones. Asgore was inconsolable, trying to put on a brave face through his tears. Toriel, however, was stoic. "I will miss you, my child," she murmured softly, stroking Frisk's forehead, "but it is your time. It is not so bad, now that you have had the chance to live a long and happy life. All things must come to and end."
The others remained in varying states of grief. The ghosts, retaining some kind of immortality even with their souls bound to physical forms, took their turns coming in. Mettaton stayed by her side, though, for once quiet except when Frisk looked to him for reassurance, which he gently gave. Papyrus too, was strangely subdued, the only outward sign of his feelings displayed when he would reach for Mettaton's hand. Alphys and Undyne were not there, already having succumbed to age.
Then Sans- Frisk knew he would not last long once she had gone. He slept by her side, but even in her sleep she sometimes glimpsed thin, spiraling streams of dust rising up like smoke from his bones. It was not uncommon for partners of monsters who had died to lose Hope, and Sans had none to give.
Death had come like a shadow in the night, taking her with a soft rustle of breath and a slight chill across the skin. Curling up sleepily in death's embrace, Frisk was ready, but she didn't expect a sensation like falling, hitting an unforgiving ground, and pain lancing back though her once-again-heavy body.
The timeline would not let her go. She reached their happy ending again and again, but at her ending again and again was drawn back to the start. Each time she emerged from the mountain, though, she found a different world waiting for her. Or - the same world, with the same people, taking different paths.
Her many lives passed on. She was seemingly immortal in the limited span of her life, and after many, many lives, grew weary and desperate of finding a solution. How was it that each lifetime could be so different, no matter what she did or said? How was it that no matter what she did or said, she ended up back under the mountain?
As she blinked and saw golden flowers yet again, despair stole through her heart. "There is no happy ending," she thought bitterly. "Not for me. It doesn't matter if my soul is reaped by age or others or by my own hand. Because of me, they are trapped in time."
She pushed herself up to her knees, examining the small stick grasped in her hand. "Well, if it is my fault that the timeline is broken, maybe by my action I can undo it? There is one variable I have not yet examined: Love."
She pushed herself to her feet, determined to find out if that was the missing key to being locked in time.
It started with one or two monsters. Small, inconsequential, and yet it still rent her heart with crystal shards of dust as she struck them down. She told herself it wouldn't matter, because she could always reset, it would probably reset anyway, and who would miss Jerry, So Sorry, Glyde.
The list grew. Froggit, Whimsun, Migosp. She picked up the Toy Dagger. Moldsmal, Vegetoid, Loox. The echoes of her footsteps were muffled by a layer of dust over the purple halls. Show mercy to Toriel - she was doing this to set her free. Snowdrake, Ice Cap, Gyftrot. Sans eyed her with distrust. The dogs. Papyrus begs her to turn back, but she presses on, sparing him so she can give him a world that moves on. Methodically, one reset by one reset, she tries killing new monsters, new combinations. She works her way through Waterfall, Hotlands, The Core, New Home. Trapped in the body of a child, she abandons toys and picks up the Worn Dagger. She finds herself wishing it would have been left in the Ruins.
A kind of fever overtakes her, blurring the runs into a dark haze. Maybe if she only kills those who really care about her, the rest of monsterkind will be set free. Or maybe just those who are immortal. Or maybe... or maybe... or maybe...
Sans eludes her. He refuses to fight, disappearing before she can strike at him, as if he knows its coming. Perhaps it is for the best. Even in this dizziness consuming her, going round and round the timeline like a carousel, she still retains a distant fondness for Sans. She had loved him, once.
Golden flowers. Golden flowers mocking her, taunting her. They seem to swim with Flowey's face, reminding her that like him she is trapped in a fate she can't escape. "Cursed time, you show me no mercy," she howls to the distant sky. She lowers her head, glaring into the darkness. "Then why should anyone else be entitled to mine? If this reality won't leave me be, I shall grow powerful, and bring it to its end!"
With every swirl of dust, the madness in her soul consumes her more. Love and love intertwine, interchangeable. What is grief but fuel to the fire? What is triumph but an means to her ends? She is an unforgiving goddess, consigned to torment, fallen from grace. When she is struck down she rises more terrible, more wrathful. None can escape.
The light of dusk or dawn streams through the Judgment Hall. Frisk vaguely thinks it is the twilight of evening, but can't remember why. Sans blocks her way, and this time he does not offer only words. He strikes before she can, obliterating her in a flash of agony and bone.
"Why don't you just give up?" Give up. Give up. How could she possibly give up, on this eternal, infernal cycle, cursed with immortality in a vessel made to die? Her body was made to crumble, the lightning coursing through her nerves to flash bright then disperse, her soul to pass into the unknown. It was unsustainable, really. She could not contain time, not even this tiny, knotted fragment. She could not give up.
Sans fell asleep, and what remained of Frisk's heart (infinitesmal though it was, eroded by streams of time) fell. The moment was now. She waited, patiently, timing her strike, and he dodged but it didn't matter something in her muscles knew and acted before she could think and stabbed him in the back, slashing all the way through his ribcage.
Frisk didn't hear his last words. The dagger fell from her hand with a dull clatter on the now red-and-gold tile. She stared at her shaking hands, the weight of what she had done hitting her harder than any attack. In that moment, her soul threatened to splinter, hardly able to hold the Love it now restrained. Sans dusted, drifting towards her in the still air though he had walked away. As cold stole over her, she recovered his jacket.
She wrapped it around her shoulders. Maybe it was the soft warmth of the fleece, the gentle blue of the sleeves, the soft rustle of the fabric. Maybe it was the familiar smell that so subtly and suddenly assaulted her, flooding her with memories more clarion than anything had been in many lifetimes. The last of her broke, and though she couldn't feel the hot tears streaming down her burning face, she could feel the force of the scream ripping through her raw throat. She could hear the deathly sound ringing against the cold stone walls like the sharpening of a blade on a rock.
When she stopped, she wasn't sure. She swayed, the room alternately blinding and dim. AS she proceeded, every thing around her seemed to possess a quality of razor-edged finality.
She let Asgore speak. A tendril of anger stirred as Flowey took her kill, but something faint soothed it down. Flowey begged for mercy. Flowey begged for mercy. Once upon a time, that would have meant something, she thought.
The world receded, leaving her in a sort of void. Someone new appeared, someone new but - intimately familiar.
Something tickled the back of Frisk's mind as she listened to them. It didn't matter. It was time to erase this world.
"Right. You are a great partner. We'll be together forever, won't we?"
What? No -
Indescribable - well it had to be pain but that word could not encompass the sheer being of the sensation, it transcended pain, it transcended all agony and anguish that could ever be experienced it was burning and freezing and lightning and sorrow all
The absence of the feeling was a relief, but she was aching deeper than her bones and her soul. She had not known the meaning of eternity before. And still there they stood, a red knife diminishing from their hand.
Frisk panted, heaving. She threw up, to the backdrop of their sibilant voice.
"I am the demon that comes when you call my name."
With that, the last of Frisk's tattered guard slipped away, and a new voice whispered in the back of her mind.
"It was her."
Frisk whipped about as she felt a light pressure on the back of her shoulder. But nobody came.
With a yell, she charged them, initiating a deadly dance. With each red strike, Frisk could feel her Hope draining away. She knew, somehow, that it was her own soul that was being used to attack her, but it was not her using it. Time after time she returned, until her being resonated with the feeling that she know knew was Chara striking her down. Her soul trembled, held together by a poisonous combination of determination and Love.
They took yet another attack, and Frisk recognized her chance with the same kind of knowing as when she had struck Sans down. Their soul had once carried the same power, and now Frisk, fighting against them, had gained the perception with which they had ruined her.
This time, though, another force stayed her hand.
A figure appeared between them, halting the fight. He turned back so Frisk saw the face of bone, cracks running through his eyes, one side above and one side below. He wore a lopsided grin, the permanent expression of a skeleton.
"Chara," he said softly. "It is time to let go. It is time to move on."
Something shifted in her eyes, but she stood defiantly.
"Gaster," she said, some of the glacial chill leaving her voice. She sounded almost ... longing?
"Gaster, you know as well as I that this was inevitable. It was absolute. From the moment you fell, the timeline was condemned to be destroyed. There is no reality that can endure in reality and nonexistance, and with a piece of ours cast into the Void, the rest would inevitably be drawn in."
"Chara," he said again gently. "You are not wrong. You were as skilled in science as I, but you always let emotion cloud your reason. Look more closely. I am but a small piece, a pawn in the great scheme of things. I had a part to play, as in every timeline. Remember back to when you were still as yet dozing, the observations Frisk and my brother made."
"I don't -" Chara growled.
"Past this end. The soul of the timeline is yet preserved. It will be resuscitated, and go on. This reality has many eons before it will fade to join me in the void. Look closer. Even at the ending of the world, you still endure."
Frisk looked on in wonder as Chara's hard facade melted away and she burst into tears. "I didn't want to die," she said. "I was afraid. Afraid for myself and my brother because what if I was left alone without a vessel for whatever time remained? What if he remained, alone and afraid, or he passed on too. Where was there left for us, when heaven and hell and the void had all rejected us? What could possibly lay beyond reality and nonexistence?"
"Perhaps, Chara, this temporary end is not so bad. There is a way you can still help, with the power the two of you have gained. I do not know what lies beyond - I remain here until the True Ending, but perhaps there is still something you can do. Some small comfort you can gain, in each other?"
Chara wiped her eyes with her wrists, fists balled tightly.
"I was never awake enough to speak to him before. Maybe now..." she trailed off.
"If this is our fate, we won't be alone," she said, voice growing stronger. She turned to Frisk.
"I need something from you."
Frisk looked to Gaster, who nodded.
"Yes," Frisk rasped, through a tight, dry throat.
"Then I will take your soul."
Frisk hesitated. "I have no right to ask this of you, but please, grant me mercy in exchange for my soul. Return the world. Let us give them the life they deserve, if it means that I have no part in it."
Chara's eyes were gentler than Frisk would have believed possible, and the faintest of sensations rippled over her heart, like an echo of the opposite of her deathblow.
"It is not mine to pass judgment. We share the same crimes, so we will share in the repentance and maybe find redemption. If there's one thing I've learned from monsters, it is that there is no pure evil, nothing that cannot be raised from the depths. I thought humans to be that once, and monsters to be an untainted good. Nothing is so simple as that."
Frisk smiled wearily. "Shall we live and love again?"
Her expression was mirrored in Chara's eyes. "One more time."
Flowey was wrong. Monsters may be predictable, but people are not. In all the lifetimes she had lived, loved, and lost, one thing remained constant: change.
She had learned over time that she was an anomaly. Every timeline had one, but across the timelines, she still stood alone. Why? She alone chose to live her life out to its extent, rather than going back under the mountain again and again in search of -well, none of them were sure what the other Frisk's were searching for.
In her first lifetime, she had grown. The young child who emerged from the mountain, taking the heavy mantle of ambassador with no experience other than that of exacting her mercy on every monster - she became a powerful young woman, fiercely devoted and astoundingly capable. Making friends with humans was a lot harder than making friends with monsters. After all, humans knew how to wound with more powerful things than matter and magic.
Still she had endured, her newfound family by her side. Sans most of all, with a mysterious insight and (when he wasn't sleeping) scientific breakthroughs that allowed them to examine other timelines for clues to proceed. They had grown closer, walking in the cool nights over a sky with more stars than souls in the timelines. There was a small, quiet ceremony, and then small, not so quiet children. The entirely new union of human and monster soul was found to be verdant and whole, opening new doors for both races.
Until she lay on her deathbed, surrounded by her loved ones. Asgore was inconsolable, trying to put on a brave face through his tears. Toriel, however, was stoic. "I will miss you, my child," she murmured softly, stroking Frisk's forehead, "but it is your time. It is not so bad, now that you have had the chance to live a long and happy life. All things must come to and end."
The others remained in varying states of grief. The ghosts, retaining some kind of immortality even with their souls bound to physical forms, took their turns coming in. Mettaton stayed by her side, though, for once quiet except when Frisk looked to him for reassurance, which he gently gave. Papyrus too, was strangely subdued, the only outward sign of his feelings displayed when he would reach for Mettaton's hand. Alphys and Undyne were not there, already having succumbed to age.
Then Sans- Frisk knew he would not last long once she had gone. He slept by her side, but even in her sleep she sometimes glimpsed thin, spiraling streams of dust rising up like smoke from his bones. It was not uncommon for partners of monsters who had died to lose Hope, and Sans had none to give.
Death had come like a shadow in the night, taking her with a soft rustle of breath and a slight chill across the skin. Curling up sleepily in death's embrace, Frisk was ready, but she didn't expect a sensation like falling, hitting an unforgiving ground, and pain lancing back though her once-again-heavy body.
The timeline would not let her go. She reached their happy ending again and again, but at her ending again and again was drawn back to the start. Each time she emerged from the mountain, though, she found a different world waiting for her. Or - the same world, with the same people, taking different paths.
Her many lives passed on. She was seemingly immortal in the limited span of her life, and after many, many lives, grew weary and desperate of finding a solution. How was it that each lifetime could be so different, no matter what she did or said? How was it that no matter what she did or said, she ended up back under the mountain?
As she blinked and saw golden flowers yet again, despair stole through her heart. "There is no happy ending," she thought bitterly. "Not for me. It doesn't matter if my soul is reaped by age or others or by my own hand. Because of me, they are trapped in time."
She pushed herself up to her knees, examining the small stick grasped in her hand. "Well, if it is my fault that the timeline is broken, maybe by my action I can undo it? There is one variable I have not yet examined: Love."
She pushed herself to her feet, determined to find out if that was the missing key to being locked in time.
It started with one or two monsters. Small, inconsequential, and yet it still rent her heart with crystal shards of dust as she struck them down. She told herself it wouldn't matter, because she could always reset, it would probably reset anyway, and who would miss Jerry, So Sorry, Glyde.
The list grew. Froggit, Whimsun, Migosp. She picked up the Toy Dagger. Moldsmal, Vegetoid, Loox. The echoes of her footsteps were muffled by a layer of dust over the purple halls. Show mercy to Toriel - she was doing this to set her free. Snowdrake, Ice Cap, Gyftrot. Sans eyed her with distrust. The dogs. Papyrus begs her to turn back, but she presses on, sparing him so she can give him a world that moves on. Methodically, one reset by one reset, she tries killing new monsters, new combinations. She works her way through Waterfall, Hotlands, The Core, New Home. Trapped in the body of a child, she abandons toys and picks up the Worn Dagger. She finds herself wishing it would have been left in the Ruins.
A kind of fever overtakes her, blurring the runs into a dark haze. Maybe if she only kills those who really care about her, the rest of monsterkind will be set free. Or maybe just those who are immortal. Or maybe... or maybe... or maybe...
Sans eludes her. He refuses to fight, disappearing before she can strike at him, as if he knows its coming. Perhaps it is for the best. Even in this dizziness consuming her, going round and round the timeline like a carousel, she still retains a distant fondness for Sans. She had loved him, once.
Golden flowers. Golden flowers mocking her, taunting her. They seem to swim with Flowey's face, reminding her that like him she is trapped in a fate she can't escape. "Cursed time, you show me no mercy," she howls to the distant sky. She lowers her head, glaring into the darkness. "Then why should anyone else be entitled to mine? If this reality won't leave me be, I shall grow powerful, and bring it to its end!"
With every swirl of dust, the madness in her soul consumes her more. Love and love intertwine, interchangeable. What is grief but fuel to the fire? What is triumph but an means to her ends? She is an unforgiving goddess, consigned to torment, fallen from grace. When she is struck down she rises more terrible, more wrathful. None can escape.
The light of dusk or dawn streams through the Judgment Hall. Frisk vaguely thinks it is the twilight of evening, but can't remember why. Sans blocks her way, and this time he does not offer only words. He strikes before she can, obliterating her in a flash of agony and bone.
"Why don't you just give up?" Give up. Give up. How could she possibly give up, on this eternal, infernal cycle, cursed with immortality in a vessel made to die? Her body was made to crumble, the lightning coursing through her nerves to flash bright then disperse, her soul to pass into the unknown. It was unsustainable, really. She could not contain time, not even this tiny, knotted fragment. She could not give up.
Sans fell asleep, and what remained of Frisk's heart (infinitesmal though it was, eroded by streams of time) fell. The moment was now. She waited, patiently, timing her strike, and he dodged but it didn't matter something in her muscles knew and acted before she could think and stabbed him in the back, slashing all the way through his ribcage.
Frisk didn't hear his last words. The dagger fell from her hand with a dull clatter on the now red-and-gold tile. She stared at her shaking hands, the weight of what she had done hitting her harder than any attack. In that moment, her soul threatened to splinter, hardly able to hold the Love it now restrained. Sans dusted, drifting towards her in the still air though he had walked away. As cold stole over her, she recovered his jacket.
She wrapped it around her shoulders. Maybe it was the soft warmth of the fleece, the gentle blue of the sleeves, the soft rustle of the fabric. Maybe it was the familiar smell that so subtly and suddenly assaulted her, flooding her with memories more clarion than anything had been in many lifetimes. The last of her broke, and though she couldn't feel the hot tears streaming down her burning face, she could feel the force of the scream ripping through her raw throat. She could hear the deathly sound ringing against the cold stone walls like the sharpening of a blade on a rock.
When she stopped, she wasn't sure. She swayed, the room alternately blinding and dim. AS she proceeded, every thing around her seemed to possess a quality of razor-edged finality.
She let Asgore speak. A tendril of anger stirred as Flowey took her kill, but something faint soothed it down. Flowey begged for mercy. Flowey begged for mercy. Once upon a time, that would have meant something, she thought.
The world receded, leaving her in a sort of void. Someone new appeared, someone new but - intimately familiar.
Something tickled the back of Frisk's mind as she listened to them. It didn't matter. It was time to erase this world.
"Right. You are a great partner. We'll be together forever, won't we?"
What? No -
Indescribable - well it had to be pain but that word could not encompass the sheer being of the sensation, it transcended pain, it transcended all agony and anguish that could ever be experienced it was burning and freezing and lightning and sorrow all
The absence of the feeling was a relief, but she was aching deeper than her bones and her soul. She had not known the meaning of eternity before. And still there they stood, a red knife diminishing from their hand.
Frisk panted, heaving. She threw up, to the backdrop of their sibilant voice.
"I am the demon that comes when you call my name."
With that, the last of Frisk's tattered guard slipped away, and a new voice whispered in the back of her mind.
"It was her."
Frisk whipped about as she felt a light pressure on the back of her shoulder. But nobody came.
With a yell, she charged them, initiating a deadly dance. With each red strike, Frisk could feel her Hope draining away. She knew, somehow, that it was her own soul that was being used to attack her, but it was not her using it. Time after time she returned, until her being resonated with the feeling that she know knew was Chara striking her down. Her soul trembled, held together by a poisonous combination of determination and Love.
They took yet another attack, and Frisk recognized her chance with the same kind of knowing as when she had struck Sans down. Their soul had once carried the same power, and now Frisk, fighting against them, had gained the perception with which they had ruined her.
This time, though, another force stayed her hand.
A figure appeared between them, halting the fight. He turned back so Frisk saw the face of bone, cracks running through his eyes, one side above and one side below. He wore a lopsided grin, the permanent expression of a skeleton.
"Chara," he said softly. "It is time to let go. It is time to move on."
Something shifted in her eyes, but she stood defiantly.
"Gaster," she said, some of the glacial chill leaving her voice. She sounded almost ... longing?
"Gaster, you know as well as I that this was inevitable. It was absolute. From the moment you fell, the timeline was condemned to be destroyed. There is no reality that can endure in reality and nonexistance, and with a piece of ours cast into the Void, the rest would inevitably be drawn in."
"Chara," he said again gently. "You are not wrong. You were as skilled in science as I, but you always let emotion cloud your reason. Look more closely. I am but a small piece, a pawn in the great scheme of things. I had a part to play, as in every timeline. Remember back to when you were still as yet dozing, the observations Frisk and my brother made."
"I don't -" Chara growled.
"Past this end. The soul of the timeline is yet preserved. It will be resuscitated, and go on. This reality has many eons before it will fade to join me in the void. Look closer. Even at the ending of the world, you still endure."
Frisk looked on in wonder as Chara's hard facade melted away and she burst into tears. "I didn't want to die," she said. "I was afraid. Afraid for myself and my brother because what if I was left alone without a vessel for whatever time remained? What if he remained, alone and afraid, or he passed on too. Where was there left for us, when heaven and hell and the void had all rejected us? What could possibly lay beyond reality and nonexistence?"
"Perhaps, Chara, this temporary end is not so bad. There is a way you can still help, with the power the two of you have gained. I do not know what lies beyond - I remain here until the True Ending, but perhaps there is still something you can do. Some small comfort you can gain, in each other?"
Chara wiped her eyes with her wrists, fists balled tightly.
"I was never awake enough to speak to him before. Maybe now..." she trailed off.
"If this is our fate, we won't be alone," she said, voice growing stronger. She turned to Frisk.
"I need something from you."
Frisk looked to Gaster, who nodded.
"Yes," Frisk rasped, through a tight, dry throat.
"Then I will take your soul."
Frisk hesitated. "I have no right to ask this of you, but please, grant me mercy in exchange for my soul. Return the world. Let us give them the life they deserve, if it means that I have no part in it."
Chara's eyes were gentler than Frisk would have believed possible, and the faintest of sensations rippled over her heart, like an echo of the opposite of her deathblow.
"It is not mine to pass judgment. We share the same crimes, so we will share in the repentance and maybe find redemption. If there's one thing I've learned from monsters, it is that there is no pure evil, nothing that cannot be raised from the depths. I thought humans to be that once, and monsters to be an untainted good. Nothing is so simple as that."
Frisk smiled wearily. "Shall we live and love again?"
Her expression was mirrored in Chara's eyes. "One more time."
@
PixieKnight3264
There, at the top of the stairs did she stand
A knife clasped firmly in her hand, blood falling
A voice unlike hers came to me:
"How grand!"
- the voice of a demon did come calling.
How could I look into that familiar face
And see anything but the child I've raised?
The fox-grin on her mouth was too displaced
And the bruise on my head made me feel dazed.
Should I have turned from my child, stained crimson?
When does a dying mother know to leave?
I loved her dearly, she was my vision!
But I watched her, with that knife she did cleave.
bopSuch was it that I did not turn, nor blink,
bopAs my child killed me and finished our link.
@
PixieKnight3264
There, at the top of the stairs did she stand
A knife clasped firmly in her hand, blood falling
A voice unlike hers came to me:
"How grand!"
- the voice of a demon did come calling.
How could I look into that familiar face
And see anything but the child I've raised?
The fox-grin on her mouth was too displaced
And the bruise on my head made me feel dazed.
Should I have turned from my child, stained crimson?
When does a dying mother know to leave?
I loved her dearly, she was my vision!
But I watched her, with that knife she did cleave.
bopSuch was it that I did not turn, nor blink,
bopAs my child killed me and finished our link.
@
PixieKnight3264
'Come and play with us'
The voices whispered inside his head, drawing him deeper into the darkness. It was almost without volition that his hand lifted to grasp the handle of the chefs knife and draw it towards him. The whispers guided his movements, one careful step after another.
He couldn't remember when the voices had started talking to him, only that he saw no reason to argue with them. They were kind to him, after all, when so many others were not. He offered them a crooked smile and they curled more snuggly around his mind, settling firmly in his thoughts.
'Downstairs' they whispered, urging him on.
His feet stumbled at the top of the stairs, and he whimpered, the bruises from earlier smarting through the dark haze that shrouded his mind. He bit down on his free hand, stiffling the cry. He didn't want to wake his little sister, didn't want to disturb the silence of the house. He wouldn't win the game if he woke up the monster before he reached it.
He hadn't wanted to play the monster's game. Hadn't liked the loud noises and smashed dinner plates, the rough hands against his skin. He never liked the monster's games. He hated waking up in a cold sweat to find nightmares haunting his waking hours. Until the voices had found him, he'd never had a choice, but they had shown him how to play the game a better way, and he did not intend to lose.
The voices gave him courage to pick himself back up and descend the staircase that stretched before him. The stairs had once felt like a mountain for him to traverse, with fear a burden on his back. Tonight he was not afraid. He was strong, because he was not alone. Soon, his little sister would not be alone anymore either. He would be a good brother, and he would protect her from the monster.
One step,
Two steps.
The floor creeked beneath him, but he did not pause.
He reached the bottom and still the house slept on. The voices began to laugh, the joyous sound seeming so out of place as it ripped from his mouth to echo through the house.
In its room, the monster stirred. The boy paused, but he had come too far to stop now. He continued onwards, his breath heavy in his chest.?
'Here kitty kitty' the voices whispered.
A few steps more and he reached the door to the monster's room. He listened, but there was nothing to be heard. It had settled in its slumber once more. He tightened his grip on the knife and held it out in front of him, using his free hand to push open the door. It hushed against the carpet, and he took a shaking step into the room.
He would kill the monster and save his little sister.
He would become the hero, even if by doing so he became a monster himself.
@
PixieKnight3264
'Come and play with us'
The voices whispered inside his head, drawing him deeper into the darkness. It was almost without volition that his hand lifted to grasp the handle of the chefs knife and draw it towards him. The whispers guided his movements, one careful step after another.
He couldn't remember when the voices had started talking to him, only that he saw no reason to argue with them. They were kind to him, after all, when so many others were not. He offered them a crooked smile and they curled more snuggly around his mind, settling firmly in his thoughts.
'Downstairs' they whispered, urging him on.
His feet stumbled at the top of the stairs, and he whimpered, the bruises from earlier smarting through the dark haze that shrouded his mind. He bit down on his free hand, stiffling the cry. He didn't want to wake his little sister, didn't want to disturb the silence of the house. He wouldn't win the game if he woke up the monster before he reached it.
He hadn't wanted to play the monster's game. Hadn't liked the loud noises and smashed dinner plates, the rough hands against his skin. He never liked the monster's games. He hated waking up in a cold sweat to find nightmares haunting his waking hours. Until the voices had found him, he'd never had a choice, but they had shown him how to play the game a better way, and he did not intend to lose.
The voices gave him courage to pick himself back up and descend the staircase that stretched before him. The stairs had once felt like a mountain for him to traverse, with fear a burden on his back. Tonight he was not afraid. He was strong, because he was not alone. Soon, his little sister would not be alone anymore either. He would be a good brother, and he would protect her from the monster.
One step,
Two steps.
The floor creeked beneath him, but he did not pause.
He reached the bottom and still the house slept on. The voices began to laugh, the joyous sound seeming so out of place as it ripped from his mouth to echo through the house.
In its room, the monster stirred. The boy paused, but he had come too far to stop now. He continued onwards, his breath heavy in his chest.?
'Here kitty kitty' the voices whispered.
A few steps more and he reached the door to the monster's room. He listened, but there was nothing to be heard. It had settled in its slumber once more. He tightened his grip on the knife and held it out in front of him, using his free hand to push open the door. It hushed against the carpet, and he took a shaking step into the room.
He would kill the monster and save his little sister.
He would become the hero, even if by doing so he became a monster himself.
@
Chrisondra
I really enjoyed this one. I like all the description you put in and the little moments you managed to put into the fight scene. Namely when the main character realized their mom was cutting carrots. Normally I don’t appreciate those types of moments in an intense scene but you pulled it off very well. The idea of the main character be a ghost was also very interesting and I really did not expect that twist about the sister.
Favorite line: “My rage turned to ice as I felt the snarl flee my face.”
@
TidalMoonrise
Although this one was rather long, I really liked it. I love how you wrote it so Frisk is gradually sliding down into unfeeling and pulling genocide runs. I also really love your writing style and voice. They both come through very clear in your writing.
Favorite line: “Cursed time, you show me no mercy.”
@
MyPilot
I loved this sonnet. I like how the mother wasn’t able to see the child as the demon they had become and only as the child they had raised. The only thing I really have to say is that I the second line feels a little off from everything else with its rhythm so that felt a little bit awkward.
Favorite line: “Should I have turned from my child, stained crimson?”
@
Karika
This was beautiful. I was engaged every second I was reading it and I want to know more. What are the voices really? Are they really leading the boy to a good decision (I honestly really doubt they are)? I also loved the justification for when he was going down the stairs. I feel like it brought me that much more into the story. This feels like much more than just a small moment. Rather, it feels like a small piece taken from a larger story.
Favorite line: “He would become the hero, even if by doing so he became a monster himself.”
So this is a really hard decision for me since all of you know I love your writing. But if I had to pick, the winner is @
Karika and the runner up is @
TidalMoonrise.
@
Chrisondra
I really enjoyed this one. I like all the description you put in and the little moments you managed to put into the fight scene. Namely when the main character realized their mom was cutting carrots. Normally I don’t appreciate those types of moments in an intense scene but you pulled it off very well. The idea of the main character be a ghost was also very interesting and I really did not expect that twist about the sister.
Favorite line: “My rage turned to ice as I felt the snarl flee my face.”
@
TidalMoonrise
Although this one was rather long, I really liked it. I love how you wrote it so Frisk is gradually sliding down into unfeeling and pulling genocide runs. I also really love your writing style and voice. They both come through very clear in your writing.
Favorite line: “Cursed time, you show me no mercy.”
@
MyPilot
I loved this sonnet. I like how the mother wasn’t able to see the child as the demon they had become and only as the child they had raised. The only thing I really have to say is that I the second line feels a little off from everything else with its rhythm so that felt a little bit awkward.
Favorite line: “Should I have turned from my child, stained crimson?”
@
Karika
This was beautiful. I was engaged every second I was reading it and I want to know more. What are the voices really? Are they really leading the boy to a good decision (I honestly really doubt they are)? I also loved the justification for when he was going down the stairs. I feel like it brought me that much more into the story. This feels like much more than just a small moment. Rather, it feels like a small piece taken from a larger story.
Favorite line: “He would become the hero, even if by doing so he became a monster himself.”
So this is a really hard decision for me since all of you know I love your writing. But if I had to pick, the winner is @
Karika and the runner up is @
TidalMoonrise.
Thank you for picking me <3 I'm glad you liked it~
[b]Next prompt:[/b]
[img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3d/47/10/3d4710a6409b21b99fc95e4806f9506b.jpg[/img]
[b]Deadline[/b]: 23:59 FR Time, 15 August. I'll judge after rollover when I'm home from work.
*thinking* as it's mid-week and I wont want to stay up late reading through, lets say, keep this round [b]under 1k words[/b] please~
@Chrisondra @TidalMoonrise @Mypilot @PixieKnight3264 @Karika @SamIamLuvDov @Lightshadow101 @humanityxpeople @coyearth @Avanari @demonslayr62 @ladylilitu @acorn781 @Endernil @Arithelia @Sillywinter @inthestars
[b]self-editing pinglist can be found[/b] [url=https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dBM6-s4AYOSpYMqzHtyyTD2IGu27hQDf6MlYMGa76uA/edit?usp=sharing]here[/url]
Thank you for picking me <3 I'm glad you liked it~
Next prompt:
Deadline: 23:59 FR Time, 15 August. I'll judge after rollover when I'm home from work.
*thinking* as it's mid-week and I wont want to stay up late reading through, lets say, keep this round
under 1k words please~
@
Chrisondra @
TidalMoonrise @
Mypilot @
PixieKnight3264 @
Karika @
SamIamLuvDov @
Lightshadow101 @
humanityxpeople @
coyearth @
Avanari @
demonslayr62 @
ladylilitu @
acorn781 @
Endernil @
Arithelia @
Sillywinter @
inthestars
self-editing pinglist can be found here
@
Karika
The Bridge
209 words
I stared out at the long expanse before me. The bridge of rope or vine and wood stretched out across the reflective water and through the thin fog. After a glance behind me at the world I'd be leaving I took a cautious step onto the bridge. It swayed slightly and I griped the vine like rails waiting for the swaying to stop.
Another small step forward, and another, and another.
Before I knew it I was halfway across. I looked behind me again as regret and guilt was starting to set in but shook my head looking ahead once more. No, I would not go back. I've wanted to do this for so long. I wanted to leave that place where I never fit in and explore the place that was always slightly shrouded in fog. Unlike those from my home I never feared the fog and the unknown. Today, I was acting on that.
Another step forward.
I am not afraid.
Another step.
I will do this.
Another step.
I will find what is beyond the fog.
Another step.
I will explore the beyond.
The final step.
I stood before the fog. Once I stepped through my journey would finally begin.
One step forward.
And the fog surrounded me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
((Hope ya like it somewhat))
@
Karika
The Bridge
209 words
I stared out at the long expanse before me. The bridge of rope or vine and wood stretched out across the reflective water and through the thin fog. After a glance behind me at the world I'd be leaving I took a cautious step onto the bridge. It swayed slightly and I griped the vine like rails waiting for the swaying to stop.
Another small step forward, and another, and another.
Before I knew it I was halfway across. I looked behind me again as regret and guilt was starting to set in but shook my head looking ahead once more. No, I would not go back. I've wanted to do this for so long. I wanted to leave that place where I never fit in and explore the place that was always slightly shrouded in fog. Unlike those from my home I never feared the fog and the unknown. Today, I was acting on that.
Another step forward.
I am not afraid.
Another step.
I will do this.
Another step.
I will find what is beyond the fog.
Another step.
I will explore the beyond.
The final step.
I stood before the fog. Once I stepped through my journey would finally begin.
One step forward.
And the fog surrounded me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
((Hope ya like it somewhat))
+1 FR Time
_________
