Prologue part one

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Silence.......
That's the only thing that could be heard over the loud pitters of thick liquid
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He held to his wound that cut deep into his bones, crimson refusing to stop pouring from his hands and onto the once clean, unbroken golden floor.. the demon undoubtedly grinning at the scene as they trotted down the halls and past him.
One hit was all it took.

One hit while others refused to die, refused to end it there, they were the ones with true fight, and much more worthy to take his place; yet he, the only one to see the resetted was chosen..

He couldn't care at this point if the human had lived or died, whether they were to free everyone from the wretched hell, or kill them in it. He gave up all hope of having a life of happiness for his brother or to spend the rest of his days under a sky....

Killing after killing, slaughter after slaughter, no one survivef the massacre which is the kid with nothing more than a kitchen knife and the ability to Revive themself after repeated deaths, a child with a power of a god.. or more like a demon, with the control over an entire race.

How was he supposed to overpower that? How was he expected to protect the underground from a force like that? An unstoppable, unpredictable power.....

A power to change the rules of every game....

Flowers... Blossoming....
Birds... In perfect symphony....

Yet... Why couldn't it be the same for him?

Time, and time again... Repeat after repeat after repeat.
Nothing changes....... Other than how they choose to kill.

It's a beautiful day....

And the cool tiles are welcoming

Pain is fading. . . . . . .

He could hear out his brother, calling out his name as he rested on the stained floor.  .  .  .

"I'm going out with the human Sans! Do behave yourself and don't litter on the floors again! I'll be back at spaghetti break time later today, if you're hungry, there's leftover pasta, no more Grillbys I beg of you!" he yell out in his cheery, booming voice that would often rattle his jaw as he spoke.
Sans heaved himself from his mattress; an unfinished bed that he became too lazy to build a frame for. Head becoming dizzy as he heaved through his nonexistent lungs... Ribcage expanding and contracting quickly with one hand holding to his nonexistent slash wound, and the other clawing at the back of his neck.
Sweat dripping down his pale skull and bones rattling to an unnatural rate, he attempted to calm his body from the shock that he was too familiar of; though he had wished he could stop it from ever happening..

He remained in that state for brief, enough time for his brother and human to leave the house, and with them, left any life that had remained in the house.
It was cold and dark, nothing similar to Sans' bedroom.
It was more similar to himself.... Unforgiving, hopeless.... Dead.

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He decided to get up from his worn mattress on the floor, picking himself up and his attire that often made him feel shielded from the gazing eye, with a forced grin and pink slip-ons, his humourous, lazy sona covered over the broken refection of loss..

With a smile, no one is ever able to see behind that mask.

Stepping out from his childhood home, which was ridiculously decorated in all year-round Christmas lights that his brother insisted heavily on putting up himself.
It was funny to remember how Papyrus had done it; in his fits of inspirational anger he had decided to chuck nearly a hundred feet of led lights onto the roof in an orderly mess which he chose to do after taking nearly five hours just to untangle and connect them.... He plunged that flag so deep into the roof after his victory that it left a hole in the ceiling, which now is hidden behind a single rainbow sock..
That night however, was a huge snow storm, and after they had dug out their way from being snowed in, all the lights and decorations were misplaced and were wrapped around the house like a two year olds present wrapping.
Papyrus was so distraught over it, but had refused to fix it.
And so leaves the reason why it looked the way it did, but no one complained.

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