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You made a mistake, that's all. You aren't the first human to climb that mountain on a dare.
And even though you're never going to climb back down, you are certain you won't be the last.
Humans don't learn.
You fell.
You expected death, or at the very least serious injury.
You feel lucky.
You landed, not nearly as hard as you should have, at a bad angle. There was a sharp crack as your extended arm snapped beneath you.
You managed to stand and, clutching your arm to your chest, looked around. There were flowers. You didn't understand then how you'd survived the fall. You doubt you ever will.
You left the area too quickly to notice one of the flowers was watching you with a single, horrifying eye.
You quickly figured out that the place you were in was not like the one you came from.
It took you nearly two days to escape Toriel, and you were forced to barricade the door behind you when you fled.
You looked around. Snow. And trees.
You weren't dressed for the cold, a shiver wracking your body as you forced yourself to trudge forward. You had to get out of here.
Now, standing frozen in front of a hotdog stand, you wonder if you should have stayed with Toriel.
The skeleton, Sans, is horrifying to behold. His fingers gently drum the rotting wood of the stand, a soothing rhythm. One blood red eye watches you, his wide stretched smile twitching as he offers you a bite to eat.
Suspicious stains on his jacket tell you to run away.
Your eyes drift to the hole in his skull, focusing on the splintered shards of bone. You wonder what happened to him.
“I.. I... uh...” You stammer, slowly taking a step back. “I'm good, man. I've had like nine really sketchy pies.”
He laughs, sudden and harsh, and you jump violently. What the fuck?!
“holy shit, pal.” he gasps, fingers gripping the edges of his stand hard enough for you to hear the wood protesting. “that's probably the best answer i've heard all day.”
You shift nervously, scratching your arm. His shift in personality is confusing. As if sensing your unease, his laughter abruptly ceases, that eerie smile settling back onto his face, eyes slightly lidded.
You notice the single red orb within his eye sockets flick down, tracing over every curve and angle you have. He seems to be considering something.
“Yeah... uh... so I'm just gonna go...” You mumble, gesturing behind you with a single thumb.
You force yourself to turn away from him, not wanting to appear weak by backing away. You aren't some startled animal.
At least, that's what you tell yourself.
You don't hear him move.
You feel him though, inches away from your back, and you let out a startled scream when he whispers in your ear.
“nah, pal, i think yer gonna stay.”
A skeletal hand grips your neck, lifting you off the ground. Your feet kick violently, fingers of your good arm gripping his phalanges, trying to pry them away from your neck.
You can't breathe.
Just as your vision begins to spot, he throws you.
You gasp in a lungful of air as you fly through the air.
Your skull slams into a tree before you can scream again, and you crumple into the snow. You feel warmth trickling down your forehead.
The last thing you see before you lose consciousness is Sans, his slippered feet crunching towards you through the snow.
When you wake up, it's much warmer. You're indoors, body laid out on a thin mattress. The air tastes stale, and you attempt to sit up.
You can't move.
When you tug at your arms, gasping at the pain that shoots up your broken one, you realize you've been tied down.
You look around in a panic, trying to ignore the steady pounding in your skull that has decided to make itself known.
Sans is slumped against the wall, a few feet away from you. The moment your eyes focus on him, his sockets snap open, grin stretching his face.
“hey buddy.”
You let out a weak noise.
“what's wrong, kid? y'sound like you've got a killer headache there.”
He laughs at his pun as he stands, stretching, and lifts something.
You begin to shake. It's an axe.
“yer not gonna like this very much, but we gotta make sure you don't run off. can't keep you tied up forever.”
You sob, begging him to let you go, violently struggling against the ropes on your ankles and wrists, ignoring the shooting pain in your arm.
He laughs, lifting the axe above his head.
“lemme axe you a question, kid. why'd the kid lose the footrace?”
You sob harder, unresponsive, but he doesn't care. There's a manic gleam in his eyes as he takes aim at your upper thigh.
“cuz they didn't have any fucking legs.” he hisses, and he brings the weapon down with a sickening, wet crunch.
You scream. The blade sinks through flesh, crushes through bone, before finally embedding itself in the mattress beneath you. He tears it free with a growl, silent now, and brings it down even harder on your remaining leg.
You continue screaming for a moment, but you quickly lose consciousness from the loss of blood.
You wake, not sure how much time has passed. Your lower body aches horribly, and when you try to move you find yourself untied. You sit up slowly, looking down with trepidation and fear at your legs.
Your upper thighs end midway, wrapped haphazardly in bandages. They don't hurt nearly as much as they would if they were fresh, so either you've been asleep for some time, or he used magic to speed up the healing process. You move your arm and find it has healed.
You sit for a while, crying, before you hear the ground crunching outside. You still.
Sans enters, holding a bowl. You shift, suddenly realizing how starving you are, your gut gnawing at you, demanding food.
You whimper, and he grins.
“hungry, kiddo?” he asks, crouching in front of you. You nod, lower lip trembling.
He holds out the bowl, and you nearly retch.
There's something fleshy and red in the bowl, and you are fairly positive you know what it is. You. The meat of your own leg, hacked off for you to eat.
“what's wrong, human? don't you wanna eat?”
You shake your head, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. He growls, pinching a chunk of flesh and meat between his phalanges, his other hand grabbing you by the chin and squeezing until you're forced to open your mouth.
He shoves the meat into your mouth, and you struggle violently, gagging.
His hand forces your mouth shut, the other coming up to pinch your nose. You scratch at his wrists, but he doesn't relent. When you finally grow desperate for air, you swallow roughly, and he releases you. You cough violently and gasp in lungfuls of air, shaking violently.
“that wasn't so bad now was it?” he coos, grinning maliciously at you.
You don't respond, and he nudges the bowl towards you.
“finish it. or i'll take yer arms next.”
You shakily scoop up a chunk of bloody meat, shoving it into your mouth and chewing slowly, face scrunching up at the unusual taste of iron and raw meat. You force yourself to swallow after a moment before taking another chunk.
As you eat a small portion of a limb that was far too recently detached from your body, Sans' cheeks begin to grow red, a hint of something other than murderous glee beginning to shift his expression.
You find yourself growing detached from the disgusting sensation of your own flesh and muscle sliding down your throat, overcome by your own starvation, the gnawing hunger emptying your mind of all thought as you shove fistfuls of bloody leg meat into your mouth.
You don't notice the soft panting coming from the skeleton staring you down as you finally empty the bowl, tilting it sideways to lick at the inside.
You do notice him suddenly tackling you backwards onto the mattress though, his femurs on either side of your stomach, digging in slightly as he ruts against you.
You also notice the glowing, red bulge in his shorts.
His fingers wrap around your wrists, pinning them above your head, and he presses his teeth against your soft lips, bruising and violent, a strange tongue forcing your jaw open, licking into your mouth, tasting the blood between your teeth.
You struggle weakly, whining, but he ignores you. A skeletal hand shoves itself between what's left of your legs, pushing your clothes out of the way to rub between your thighs, teasing you. You gasp into his mouth, and he growls low in his chest.
He stands then, shoving his shorts down his hips to reveal cock clearly made from his own magic. You don't get a chance to ponder the logistics of that before he grabs your hair, pulling you back into a sitting position, and thrusts into your mouth, choking you on his thick length.
Your hands grip his pelvis desperately as he fucks your throat, grunting and moaning above you. You stare up at him, feeling your own spit mixed with his pre-cum leaking from the corners of your stretched wide mouth.
When he meets your pleading eyes, he growls again, pushing you back, and tears at your underwear. The second he has your entrance bared to him he is fucking into you, thick cock stretching your unprepared hole wide around him. You let out a noise somewhere between pained and pleasured, and he begins a brutal pace, slamming into you as your hands scrabble for purchase, fingers barely managing to hook around his ribs.
He seems to like that, his frantic thrusts picking up speed, and you can't help the whines and moans escaping your parted lips now. For all the pain he's cause you, you can't help but feel pleasure from this.
His hands move to your neck, gripping tightly, cutting off your air completely, and your noises cut off as your hands release his ribs in favor of clawing desperately at his arms.
Suddenly, your entire body seizes up, your orgasm tearing through you without warning. Sans releases your throat, moaning low as he buries his face between your neck and shoulder. You feel his hot cum releasing inside you as he bites down hard, breaking the skin, tasting your blood.
He lays there for a while, catching his breath, before sitting up.
“heh. sorry about that, kiddo. but hey, i think i might keep you around after all.”