acRoSS TimE ANd sPacE (Undertale)

Chapter Eleven

YES THIS HAS BEEN CHANGED. NOTHING FUNDAMENTAL, BUT IT'S BEEN ALTERED. READ THE NOTE BELOW.

-Blair

-

The Round Table was exactly like what it sounded — a large, circular table made of some unidentifiable wood. There was a clean split down the center, separating it into two halves. Error eyed it with a critical gaze, assessing the damage. Nothing incredibly strange, and from the shape and size of the crack, it most likely heat that had split the wood apart. Monster magic was always surgical in its destruction, the only exceptions being Boss Monsters' magicks.

So that meant whatever caused it was either Altertale Variants or there were more involved in this "Omniverse" than just the "skelebro" equivalents.

"We've got some time before the others get here. Pastel's probably taking a break right now."

Error glanced at Spray without turning his head, an unreadable expression on his face. The almost-but-not-quite Ink was seemingly relaxed, hands in the pockets of the jacket tied around his hips, but Error knew better than to believe what the surface displayed.

If there was anything Sanses across the Multiverse— or Omniverse, here, it was that they were all liars at the core, and lying meant they were good at acting.

The outside was everything they wanted to be shown, and nothing else.

"wHy HAvE'nt YoU tRIeD tO kILl mE YeT?"

Error didn't think he was going to get an honest answer to this one. Direct questions like that were never going to be answered, and he was probably just going to be hit with more Sans-flavored bullshit.

"I don't need to."

Error blinked a couple times, processing the answer before turning his skull to look at the skeleton now sitting at the table. The Sans shook up a mini can of spray paint, not looking at Error as he did so.

"i TrIEd To kIll yOU aNd yOuR bRotHer wHEn i fIrST saW yOU."

Spray shrugged as he shook the can a bit more, laying the phalanges of one hand spread against the wood of the table while he pointed the nozzle of the spray can at the tips. He was the perfect picture of easy indifference as he released the paint in the can at his fingertips.

Typical Sanses.

"So did the Fell brothers. So did the SF brothers. So did Chara. A lot of people tried to kill us, but we aren't the type who go down easy."

The tips of his phalanges gleamed blood red as he lifted them into the air, watching Error take a seat at the table across from him. A slight flare of white magic dried the smooth, wet paint and another one took care of the excess on the phalanges, leaving behind a glossy, gleaming red finish over Spray's bones.

The paint itself was probably magic in nature, which reinforced the pigment and the conductivity of magic. Error hummed, looking down at the paint before looking back up into the shining, determined eyelights that sat too big in Spray's sockets.

".. . i SEe."

Spray cracked a smile, tucking the small can of paint into a sleeve sown to the black fabric of his fingerless gloves. Error noted that, eyelights lingering on the gloves for a second.

The presence of those gloves could indicate the existence of a Handplates universe in this Omniverse, and the way they seemed to stretch into the wide, grey-blue sleeves indicated several other cans of magic spray paint hidden in the fabric.

Interesting.

The black-boned skeleton's head snapped to the side as a scratch, not unlike cat claws appeared, standing out, stark, sterile white against green before reality seemed to bend inwards, widening the punctures around the marks. Error blinked.