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Clutching his opaque shawl tighter around him and righting his grip on the bundle of cloth he'd wrapped up, Sans continued his way through the cold, quiet hall. The stained glass windows, filled with the glow of the moon, cast morbid images on the ground as he passed.
At the entry to his destination, his eyes tracing the cracks along the stone floor, a familiar portrait painted itself over his bare feet. As he slowed to a stop and raised his head, he could not help but admire the craftsmanship bestowed upon this particular window. In the background, a beautiful soft blue contrasted by the sun, stationed in the middle barely peeking through the horizon. Placed in the foreground, their backs together one looking up, the other down, was his brother and himself.
Sans was depicted wearing a cool, white robe which wrapped around one shoulder and was held by an elegant, red ribbon around the waist. In his hands was a tall brown staff, the end having a gold layer with swirling, vine like, designs. Sat atop the scepter, held in the clutches of golden leaves, was a smooth, shining gemstone. The stone was round, and heavy, he recalled. The item had been a gift, a tribute for his new position, and the presenter had emphasized it's value. From the ancient tree's wood, the six small gemstones along the gold layering, to the Ethiopian opal that sat at the very top.
His attention directed itself to the other side of the scene, to his brother, looking as noble as Sans remembered. Draped in a blood red cape, with fur decorating the neckline, his hands rested on the handle of a sword planted in the ground. Atop his skull was a golden crown, each sharp pike stretching upwards adorned with six gemstones of different colors, the same as Sans' staff. The longer Sans stared at Papyrus the more his red cape burned Sans' eyelights, afraid the red would begin to bleed from the glass, he lowered his head and entered the main chamber.
Atop a platform, looking down at the wooden pews, was a large stone statue. The sculpture depicted a hooded figure sitting cross-legged and holding an upright staff in their hand, reaching higher than their head. Coming closer to the statue Sans could see the few cracks and small details he, and his visitors, had seen so many times before. Kneeling down, perhaps a foot away from the base, he set down his bundle and began to feel around the ornate pedestal. Finding the separate plate hidden within the indents, he pressed his phalanges into the panels awaiting the familiar click, to signal it had unlocked.
As the sound of grinding stone reached him, Sans could not help but wonder how much time he had left. The sound of sword clash and distant screaming could not reach such a deep chamber, but this only left him without a means of hearing the intruders, until it was too late.
Reaching into the open space inside the statue's base, his hands were met with the texture of rough wood, to which he sighed in relief. Lifting up the object, and bringing it to his chest, Sans opened the wooden box with a creak and gazed at the glass bottle inside, cradled by a soft red cushion. Removing the vial, almost half the size of his palm, he set down the wooden container and placed the glass bottle next to it.
Turning to the bundle he had set aside during last worship and pulling it into his lap, he began to untie the ends and let the cloth lay open over his knees. On the open cloth lie two coins; one gold, the other silver, each with his deities' symbol upon it, and a small vial of a red substance. Taking the vial and removing the cork with a distinct pop, he dipped his finger into the liquid and began to coat both in it’s color. Once this task was done, he re-sealed the vial, set it down, and picked up one of the now red coins.
With the metal pinched between his phalanges, lightly shaking, he slowly let the coin slide into his left eye-socket. 'a token of payment for the life i have been gifted with-' he thought, rubbing his socket, hoping to soothe the discomfort. Now raising the second coin, he repeated his actions to his right. '-and a tribute of silver for my Soul's safe journey to the next.'
Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of the coins settling inside his skull, he wiped his phalanges on the cloth and moved it out of the way. Picking up the glass vial he had taken from the statue, he took out the glass cork, setting it gently back into the wooden box. Inside the vial was a shimmering white powder, almost like sand, which left residue on his hands when he touched it. Coating his fingers in the mixture of crushed opal, which had taken him so long to complete, and various ingredients rich in magic, he began to run his fingers over his skull hoping the symbols would be accurate, despite his lack of a mirror.
Met with a suffocating silence in a place that had been so lively before, inflicted Sans with a sense of bittersweet saudade. The various servants, knights, and slaves had fled at the news of the attack, even his personal guard Garit had left, albeit reluctantly. Sans did not blame nor fault them, the servants and knights were aware that the attackers would not treat noble monsters kindly, while the slaves, stars the slaves... There was no way they knew that the invaders would turn out to be their saviors. Humans were treated as though they had no significant intelligence and could not take part in the whispers of monster gossip, let alone be updated on the affairs of rebellion or war. Despite their almost guaranteed safety Sans had still sent them away. The Temple had been a safe haven for humans, a place where they could be treated equally, but this information was not widely known. If the nobles had heard of this, let alone Papyrus, the punishment of all involved including himself, would not be one they could survive. As such, it remained a secret, whispered among the slaves who could only hope to be stationed there.
Because the Temple's treatment of humans had remained such a well-kept secret, the attackers would be unaware of this as well. Knowing this and understanding that he had no chance of survival, Sans decided to send the humans away, despite their insistence otherwise. He would admit, while he had not wanted the humans, especially the younger ones, to witness his death he was not completely selfless in his decision.
Finishing his ministrations upon his skull he set down the bottle, plugging the cap inside, and stood. With a glance at the cold, stone statue, he turned to his right and made his way through the hall. Eventually he found himself at one of the various balconies, the entrance covered by long, sheer curtains. As they swayed in the wind, Sans pulled one out of the way stepping out onto the balcony, now able to hear the sound of battle and the screams of the populace riding on the wind. As he gazed out upon the city's square, he could see the red glow of fire spreading throughout the buildings and stalls. Taking a deep breath, Sans slowly lowered himself onto his knees, for the first time in years he would be able to revere and worship the teachings he had devoted himself to so long ago, the commandments that Papyrus had forced him to change.
As he recited his vows, he could not help but reflect on the mistakes he had made over the years, the changes he should have so desperately fought. Sans could remember when he and Papyrus were still young, unknowing of the workings of the world around them. He remembered the feeling of awe when he discovered the teachings of Eurethos, how... complete he felt. He had known, even then, that he wanted to inspire that feeling in others, that he wanted to devote his life to the Deity he now worshipped. He recalled how determined Papyrus had been, how ambitious it was to take over the position of King. Sans supposed the previous King's treatment of his people had upset them enough, that Papyrus had more than enough support. He still remembered remnants of the rage and betrayal he felt, when Papyrus informed him that, while the teachings of Eurethos would become the empire's religion like he'd promised, they would change the teachings he had worshipped for so long.
'I Can't Argue With The Nobles.' Papyrus had said. 'If The Empire's Religion Doesn't Promote What They Believe In, They Won't Support My Reign!' he'd snapped. He went on and on about the changes they would make to the rules and commandments set in place, but he assured Sans that the deity of Eurethos, Nehena, would stay the same, as if that could make everything better. What nonsense, to change the teachings of something Sans had once found such joy in, all for their own gain. He despised them, the nobles, the court, Papyrus.
Slowing his thoughts, and bringing silence to his mind, he clasped his hands together against his forehead and began to pray. "magnificent spirit, glorious light of all life, i come to you with a remorseful soul. i failed you, i have not loved you with all my soul nor defended your teachings against those who wish to destroy them. i accept your punishment, i won't fail you again. allow me to repent so i may make amends for my mistakes." He spoke softly, lowering his hands and head in silence. Now, with time slowly running out, Sans only hoped that Nehena would give him another chance, that he would have the opportunity to spread their warmth and knowledge in his next life. Faintly he could hear the doors to the Temple slamming open, it was only a matter of time now, and he bent his head, re-clasped his hands and began to recite his vows once more.
Through his mumblings Sans could hear heavy footsteps approaching, a group, it seemed like. As the footsteps stopped just outside the balcony's curtains, he heard the angry voice of an adult male. "The hell are we waiting for? I'm just gonna go out there and sl-" The voice stopped abruptly, and a single pair of footsteps slowly made their way onto the balcony. Having finished his vows for the final time, Sans raised his head and turned to look at the intruder. A tall human male stood just in front of the curtains, with dark black hair and sharp green eyes, he donned the uniform of a human royal, or general. Attached to his hip on the left was a long sword, covered in dust. On his right, a crown, gold with six colored stones along its spikes. It, too, was covered in splotches of dust.
The human walked forward, drawing his sword with a sharp and loud sound, keeping his eyes in contact with Sans'. "You are the priest of this temple." he said, never stopping his advancements.
This was not a question, the human could guess who he was simply by the clothes he wore, and likely passed through the stain glass hallway as well. It was only when he was an arm's reach from Sans that he stopped, looking down on him with a cold, indifferent stare.
"Your King is dead." he continued, raising his sword slowly. Sans returned his stare, and despite everything he regretted, he found himself at peace.
"so he is." Sans responded, bowing his head, and clutching his robe.
The man no longer spoke, his sword raised to the air, he gave Sans one last glance. Then, he swung.
Sans knew that dying this way would hurt, the pain along his neck only proved him right, but what he didn't understand is how he hadn't immediately perished. He could feel himself lying on hard stone, well perhaps not stone, but he wasn't sure what else it could be. Sans heard the chirp of crickets, and a light breeze blew over his body, making him shiver.
As he pried open his eyes, two bright lights, barely an arm's length away blinded him. And despite his best efforts, as he began to hear voices from behind the two suns his consciousness faded, into what he could only assume, was death.