You drag your determination back into your soul in a shuddering breath in. You can't help but notice the way the oxygen trembles between you lips, whispering out into the empty palace corridor. You need that strength now, you need the energy to continue with this mission.
But it's so boring now, so predictable. You're almost tempted to not bother anymore.
The skeleton tilts its head slowly in your direction, and even though his eye sockets are devoid of any emotion, you can almost, almost, see the hatred in them, writhing around inside the skull like shadows.
"So," Sans says slowly. "I've got a question for ya."
He pauses, as if he's dragging out these seconds, imprisoning them in amber like insects, holding onto them for as long as he can. "Do you think that even the worst person can change? That everybody can be a good person, if they just try?"
You don't say a word. Not because you can't, but rather because so much more can be said in the smile you throw towards him. It's large, with big, white teeth and cold, dead eyes. He laughs anyway, cool air whispering through his hollow bones.
What magic is this? Where skeletons are held together by nothing more than silken fibred of magic and that oh-so-wonderful 'determination', where creatures with no human soul can care more about each other than you ever have about another being?
Even Flowey wants to care- that poser, the flower without a soul who is physically unable to feel emotion, the flower that wants to watch the world to burn to dust- he cares more about caring than you ever could.
"I've got a better question, then." The skeleton pauses, and its eyes sockets turn black. So empty, so cold.
"Do you wanna have a bad time?"- The knife feels warm, so fantastically, deliciously warm in your hand- "'Cause if you take another step forward, you are really not going to like what happens next..."
The knife feels so perfect in your hand. You smile- an even larger one this time, all but splitting your face in half like a cut throat- as you raise your head to meet those empty, empty eyes. Then you take that o n e m o r e s t e p.
You've been waiting for this. You live for this. You live for this power, the buzz of strength beneath your skin. You live for this destruction, the promise of ripping bodies apart and digging your hands into the dust.
Beneath Sans' coat, you can see the faint outline of his ribcage, the faint shape of fragile bone sticking through his shirt. You want to punch through that. You want to break those bones, split then in half. You want to tear him apart, just like you did his brother, all those hours ago.
Y'know, that's probably why Sans is so set on murdering you, actually. Funny, how easy it is to forget killing the kindest one of all, the sweetest and most innocent, the one that offered his hand and his trust.
Of course, it's not like you could have done anything else, anyway. No one was allowed to live. No one.
Ah... it was fun, killing him. What had been his name, anyway... Papyrus?... yeah, that had been it. He hadn't been expecting it- he said that you and him, you should be friends, that everything could be fine. Best friends forever. Everything could be sunshines and rainbows and magical flying unicorns because he, the great Papyrus, believed in you.
It had been fun, killing him.
Ah, good times.
Sans shrugs, but you can't help but see a twinge of regret in his empty eye sockets. Such self-righteousness. Such honour. Fighting a child in order to save the world.
Or what you've left of it, anyway, which really isn't much- empty streets littered with dust. Looted stores, murdered guards. You've torn this world to bloody shreds in mere hours, and yet, still, it's not enough"
"Welp. Sorry, old lady. This is why I never make promises."
You're inclined to ask who he's talking to- did you miss someone? Is someone still out there with blood still running through their veins?- but what would be the point? Even if someone really does remain, you know that they won't for long.
There's silence, an almighty roar of crushing nothingness, before you feel yourself falling, tumbling directly into the fight. Sans is facing you, skeletal hands shoved deep into his pockets, a nonchalant expression plastered onto his skull like a mask.
You almost like Sans. He is the one who always tries to joke, to laugh, but you can't help but wonder if this is nothing but another flaking front, just like the illusion of bravery that he's currently cloaking himself in, as if he's tried to smother all that fear, all that anger and all that wisdom beneath pathetic jokes and puns.
You fidget excitedly, but the skeleton doesn't look at you. "It's a beautiful day outside," he says.
'Shut up!' You want to scream. 'Be quiet and stop stalling and let me kill you.' You want to feel the blood, you want to hear the screams, you want to... you want to...
You want to destroy him.
You want to destroy everything.
But he continues anyway, and you run a small finger down the handle of the knife. "Birds are singing... flowers are blooming..." You can't wait to use it. "One days like these... kids like you..."
He looks at you- finally- and his eyes are gone.
They're just gone. "S h o u l d b e b u r n i n g i n H e l l."
He flings his arm out and you find yourself flying, short hair whipping at your face like claws, before crashing into the wall. The oxygen is thrown from your body in a crushing wall of air, the impact crushing your lungs into nothing but mush.
You're barely able to clutch at an instant before Sans throws his arm out again, and you're tumbling face first into the opposite wall.
You choke out a gasp as something that almost resembles... pain... wracks your body, thundering through your bones in a wave of agony.
You haven't felt pain in so long...
It feels so good, dragging every fragment of reality back into your aching body. Everything suddenly seems so clear, so bright.
Your limbs still work, and you slowly clamber to your feet. Your arms are shaking, not from fear, but from the overwhelming excitement that rushes through your veins, clearing out everything but pure animal instinct. The knife- the small, gloriously sharp dagger you found in Y O U R R O O M- is the perfect weight, the perfect length, and lies next to your feet. Huh. You must have dropped it.
"Huh," he says, as your glare up at him. Your cheeks are flushed pink, leaving you almost doll-like in appearance. "I always wondered why people never used their strongest attack first."
Then there's light; bright, burning light scorches your eyelids, almost ripping your eyeballs from their sockets, almost searing the hair from your scalp.
The pain is so, so beautiful...
You smile. You're going to enjoy this fight.