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The SAVE burns the palm, the heat sway through the veins, is given by the beating of blood in the temples. The smile becomes wide to the point of pain in the cheekbones. You're stepping carefully, although you have nothing to fear anymore. Every step accompanies with a loud echo. The skin itches from the dust clogging under the nails, settling on the tongue. Breathing in. The thirst for a new dose of EXP makes you tremble with your fingertips.
The light floods the Judgment Hall without touching the silhouette standing a couple more steps away from you. You throw a knife to catch with ostentatious dexterity. With SAVES your time becomes infinite. You rehearsed this movement until you reached perfection.
— you've been busy, huh?
Sans stands with his hands in pockets, carelessly enough to make it look fake.
—Waiting for me or what? Do you want to take a couple of burgers? We can invite our friends, play uno or something.. Oh, wait! They're all dead!
...
—What about a date in that case? Just you and me.
***
You giggle quietly, gradually bursting into a deafening hysterical laugh. This responds with a stabbing pain in your hest (a couple of ribs are probably already broken) and the feeling as if you lack air, a painful tension in the corners of the lips and a burning sensation throughout the left part of the face (turned into one continuous burn by the crazy beam of the gaster blaster). Sans looks at you like a mad animal, leaving no choice but to shoot.
—either i hit your head against the wall too hard, or your brain is already screwed up, kiddo.
Another laugh gets up across your throat, and you cough up, spitting bloody saliva (maybe it's the teeth knocked out when you hit your face on the floor). You would gladly spit right into Sans' smiling face, but the bloody bonehead will surely dodge again.
Did he stop counting your deaths after twelve? Even you've already been out of count. It's no longer important. One wrong step, and you choke on blood, or stumble over your own guts, or burn in a white flame, or... Death is nothing more than a temporary inconvenience. Again and again you come back, with each new attempt going a little further, dodging another attack. Sooner or later you will win.
***
The realisation of control excites. The smell of blood rapidly spreading under you in a bright scarlet puddle sweetly pulls in your stomach. LV 19 kills all common sense. Looking at the flickering SAVE in front of you, you think about how the moment when your knife dissect a hard bone will feel. About what it would be like to look into the eye sockets empty from shock (their appearance always touched something deep inside). About running your hands into the remaining pathetic pile of dust and inserting your stained fingers as deep as possible into yourself. Don't monsters have a tradition of dusting what was dear to the deceased during their lifetime? That would be so funny.
Something clicks in your head.
***
—Hey, Sans, how about the deal? You fulfil only one of my wishes, and I reset this stupid timeline and everyone lives happily ever after.
—and what's the guarantee that you won't lie? you managed to pretend for a long time that there was something human about you.
Sans' smile is tense, almost disgusive. The fatigue that begins to appear becomes obvious too much, to the point of the unnaturalness of the relaxed posture and the lustre of sweat on the smoothness of his skull. You're almost proud of the fact that it's all your fault.
—I'll have to take my word for it. Otherwise, I won't have even one reason not to start genocide again, and again, and again. You know, the craving for violence is the most human trait of all.
—kill just because you can, until you get bored, right?
Sans is silent for exactly half a minute.
—well, i don't think i really have a choice, do i?
You hum, mesmerised by the consciousness of the power concentrated in your hands. A random idea that came from somewhere outside the boundaries of morality has taken shape.
—You know, I wasn't kidding about a date. But we can go straight to the next stage!
The hair stuck together with blood tickles the neck. It's a bit annoying. In Sans' look, distrust was mixed with disgust.
—i thought you were just curious. too much power for one person. but now i doubt it. you're really a freak, aren't you?
You squeeze your hips together without even trying to pretend that the way he talks to you doesn't turn you on. There are a lot of sins behind you, and you're definitely not a good person. The world has been torn to pieces by you more than once, and you don't regret it.
However, when Sans insults you the way only he can, when your blood spreads on the floor, it seems almost a relief, like when a pus-filled blister finally bursts. Because that's right.
You should have just died irretrievably. It's definitely deserved.
But you refuse to die.
***
Sans’ eye socket melts with a restless blue-yellow light. Gravity increases, limbs get stuched in the compacted air. In the chest painfully pulls. Sans waves his hand as if it doesn't cost him anything, and you fly into the wall. Your legs are dangling one and a half metres from the floor. The ears are ringing, the air is compressed so much that it becomes difficult to breathe.
Sans slowly comes closer, fluffy slippers shuffle on the floor. Now he's a step away. You can't help but remember the knife squeezed tightly in your hand. That would be easy.
Not interesting.
When Sans raises his hand, you involuntarily shudder. Slightly cool knuckles touch your cheek before fingers squeeze on your neck with a dead grip. You reflexively open your mouth, trying to swallow the air. And you can't. Suns squeezes harder, and after a little more in the eyes darkens, and in the lungs begins to burn. You twitch convulsively, but the mind is blissfully empty, and the body seems so far away that it's almost good.
Sans unclenches his fingers. You make a nasty wheezing, turning into an unrestrained moan, swallow the air, forgetting to exhale, choking on your own breaths.
Sans picks up the edge of your shorts along with underwear, almost disgustingly, and then pulls it up sharply, as if he wants to end it quickly.
The bones are cool when it runs between your legs for the first time, but they heat up quickly from the heat of the body. It still feels like you're getting an electric shock. The blood flows so much to the cheeks that they become hot, and your gaze rushes behind Sans' back, looking for the open mouth of the gaster blaster.
Sans presses his palm tighter and draws a little more thoughtfully, and you almost break into a frankly pathetic sob, but bite your tongue in time.
—you're surprisingly wet for someone who could have your trachea broken a couple of minutes ago. although maybe it was to be expected from someone like you.
—Says the one who fucks for lives of his friends. It must be very offensive to discover that this is the only thing you can do to be useful.
Sans shrugs his shoulders, smearing your liquids at the entrance, before driving three fingers at once, knocking out an idiotic squeal out of you. It was too sharp, too much, and the tips of the bones scratch the walls almost painfully. The feeling of fulness is excessive, almost bursting, as well as what Sans, Sans, Sans does it.
—at least i don't have to kill a bunch of people to someone agree to fuck me.
He pulls out his fingers, almost immediately pushing them back, observing a fast, calibrated rhythm, from which your breath is confused, and the body begins to tremble slightly. You squirm, trying to get them deeper, but the gravity increases again so much that you can barely move. Sans' face retains a focused and contemptuous expression when he accelerates the pace.
This makes all the organs in your stomach seem to curl into a tight spring. You close your eyes tightly, clench your fists, digging your nails into palms.
Sans again tightly wraps his hand around your throat and squeezes it even harder than last time, even for a moment without slowing down the movements of the other hand.
The darkness under the eyelids is rippled. The spring in the abdomen twists painfully and finally straightens, disintegrating with hundreds of electrical impulses.
You fall on your knees on the floor, twitching from residual flashes. You scrape the tile with your nails, giggle almost silently and pull your head up, mockingly looking at Sans from the bottom up.
He looks back with the empty eye sockets.
—i think my part of the deal is done.
There was a smell of ozone in the air. The gaster blaster opened the jaws, between which a piercing white light bubbled.
—if there is any hope for you, you will fulfil yours too.
The beam burns out the eyes, licks the skin from the bones, melts the muscle tissue.
***
The SAVE shimmers a step away from you, as if nothing had happened. You're grinning.
*Continue.
*Reset.