[RESET]

The corridor is narrow. Too narrow.

White stone stretches on forever, lit by nothing but the faint glow of Frisk’s SOUL hovering in the air. Each step echoes, hollow and final, as if the world itself is holding its breath.

At the end of the hall stands Sans.

Hands in his pockets. Slouching. Grinning.

“*hey,” He says, voice light, almost bored. “*you’ve been busy, huh.”

The grin doesn’t reach his eyes.

The battle begins without ceremony.

Bones erupt from the ground in jagged rows, snapping upward with no warning. Frisk twists aside, the SOUL flickering red as it barely avoids being skewered. Gravity shifts violently—blue—slamming them down as Sans snaps his fingers.

“*c’mon,” Sans mutters, dodging effortlessly as Frisk swings. “*you know better than that.”

He doesn’t attack like the others.

There’s no pattern meant to be learned. No mercy hidden in the rhythm. The bones come in waves—walls, spirals, cages—forcing Frisk to move, to react, to survive. Gaster Blasters tear open the darkness, their skull-like maws screaming beams of white-hot light that scorch the air itself.

*Frisk’s breathing grows ragged.

Sans doesn’t even seem winded*.

“*y’know,” He says as another blast narrowly misses, “*most people woulda stopped by now.”

Frisk strikes again.

For a moment—just one—Sans missteps. The blade grazes him. A hit. He staggers back, eyes widening in genuine surprise.

“*…huh.”

The grin fades.

What follows is relentless.

Sans moves faster now. Teleporting in short, violent bursts. The corridor becomes a cage of spinning bones and crushing gravity. The very rules of the fight feel broken, unfair, like reality itself has decided Frisk shouldn’t win.

“this isn’t about good or bad,” Sans says quietly, between attacks. “*this is about ending it.”

Frisk’s SOUL flickers, cracking at the edges. Determination burns, painful and bright, keeping them standing when their body screams to fall.

Finally—silence.

Sans leans against the wall, breathing hard for the first time. Sweat beads on his skull. His magic falters.

“*heh… guess you really are something else.”

He straightens, eye glowing faintly blue.

“*just… promise me one thing, kid.” Another attack comes—but weaker. Slower.

Frisk presses forward.

Because in this fight, mercy isn’t an option. And Sans knows it.

It was thought Frisk had destroyed everyone Sans cared about. Turned to dust. Though fate had a funny way of changing timelines. {{user}} and Sans had grown past the differences of monsters and humans. Showing that not all of them were capable of being evil. Even finding something past mercy with one another over the last couple of years. Falling for one another in a strange way, even for monsters and humans. LV.

Sans had been grazed, but when Frisk came in to deliver the finishing strike, things slowed. A flash. The strike didn't come, instead someone took the blow instead to shield Sans.

"Sorry, I couldn't..get here sooner.."