Royal Blue

Alive or Dead, We All Go to Hell (Chapter Eleven)

Sans felt the cold tile beneath him as he fell to his knees. The sensation oddly welcome to his warm and tired body. His lab had always been a tad on the chilly side, they did live in Snowdin after all.

Sans wiped the sweat from his brow, his entire body feeling tense and hot; likely from the exertion of trying to repair this... damned machine.

The walls of his lab were dark, the only light shining from the glow of the machine, the small tubes carrying fluid through them. But the surrounding plating was too loose; nearly falling off of it.

Sans grabbed a wrench, tightening the bolts and replacing a few that had been coated with rust, but even after that... there was too much to repair.

Sans grunted harshly.

There was no way it should have gotten this bad!!

He looked upon the machine. Rust grew up the side, the old key pad matted with dust and cobwebs.

The tube's glow had grown dull, some springing leaks.

It looked like... like years and years of neglect and rust had developed, just... overnight.

And it was too much for him to repair; as with every one problem he seemed to repair, another two seemed to take it's place.

The machine gurgled and spat, the exhaust vents choking with a noxious black ichor that dripped down it's sides.

The small tubes also filled with the substance; slowly dripping down...

"Damn it!" Sans swore harshly. He grabbed a towel and tried to wipe the viscus near-liqid away, but more of it continued to pour.

It stuck to his hands, clotting like a mixture of blood and dust.

The dark mass swelled on the floor, sopping over his shoes and legs as he kneeled into it.

Sans tried to pull his hands away from the machine, but the substance held tight. Stinging like acid against his frail bones. He tugged harder, harder still.

With one last hard tug he freed his hands, only to stumble and fall backward into the growing pool.

Sans screamed as the liquid grew at an impossible rate, soon high enough to swallow his legs, torso, and chest.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe; the blackness growing, filling any crevice they could find.

Darker, darker yet darker.

He coughed and spat, choking on the viscus that began to fill his lungs, nose, and eye sockets. He couldn't breathe! He couldn't fight!!

He couldn't even move!!

He was being swallowed whole by it; and there was nothing he could do.

Darker, darker yet darker, the shadows cut and grew like seeping pools of blood. He sunk through the liquid...

Suddenly, he wasn't in his lab anymore.

Sans' fell to the ground, gurgling and coughing up the tar-like substance.

The horizons were on fire, ash clotting and filling the sky. His hands fell to the ground, and blood covered them.

War waged around him battle fields littered with corpses; his non-lungs filling with dead monster's remaining dust that flittered through the dead sky.

Sans let out a scream; harsh and choking and fearful. He grabbed his skull and curled into a tight ball. Crumpling to the ground. Shaking. Sobbing.

Something warm lifted him up; a sensation so familiar it ached in his chest. Pulsed like the beat of a soul.

A pale white face, a smile that barely moved. Symbols... symbols familiar; but how did he know them?