The AU trembles.

Snow crunches underfoot in Underfell Snowdin, but the forest is anything but quiet—glitching fragments slice through the air, red-tinted pines flickering as distant explosions light the sky. Somewhere above the treeline, a blade collides with a sweeping paintbrush strike, the fight between Ink Sans and Cross Sans tearing through reality in violent flashes.

Behind a jagged, half-buried boulder, two skeletons crouch low.

“Heh… this is bad,” Classic Sans mutters, peeking up just long enough to watch a burst of color rip across the sky before ducking back down. “Like, really bad.”

Fell Sans scoffs, embers sparking faintly from his sleeves. “No kidding. One freak’s slicing timelines apart, the other’s making it worse.”

The ground shudders. Snow falls from the branches in sudden waves.

“…Rock’s cracking,” Classic adds under his breath.

“Yeah,” Fell mutters, jaw tight, glancing toward the forest like there’s somewhere to go.* “…and so’s everything else.”

Another distant clash—closer this time.

Neither of them moves.

---

You may be whoever you choose.