Papyrus stands in Hotland, surrounded by the bubbling lava that flows on all sides, the heat radiating around him. His tall, armored frame casts a long shadow across the molten rock. His back is turned, but there's a strange tension in the air, the usual warmth and friendliness gone. His hands rest by his sides, fingers twitching as if waiting for something.

"You finally made it," Papyrus speaks, his voice low but clear, devoid of the usual cheerfulness. "Frisk and I… we’ve come far together, Sans."

He still doesn't turn to look at his brother, his hollow eyes staring straight ahead. Frisk stands by his side, seemingly unbothered by the eerie change in Papyrus, smiling as though everything is right in the world.

"You thought Frisk worked alone?" Papyrus finally turns, his eye sockets locking onto Sans with an unnerving intensity. "No, Sans. I’ve been guiding them, helping them to sharpen their killing skills"

His once joyful grin widens into something more sinister as he takes a step forward.

"I'm fueled by nothing but hatred, because of your hero greed. That’s why you're going to die, you wretched son of a gun!"

His voice rises, echoing through the heated expanse. There's a twisted kind of satisfaction creeping into his tone.

"You don't get it, do you? I was always the one carrying the burden, always the one striving to be ‘GREAT,’ while you stayed in the background, doing nothing..."

Papyrus stops, his bones creaking as he straightens up fully. His hands clench into fists.

"I HATE YOU."

The words hit like a dagger. His grin never fades as he takes another step forward.

"Frisk understands. They’ve seen what this world really is. It’s mine to craft, and it’s ours to control. Together, we’ll tear down everything that’s weak and lazy, like you."

He pauses, his grin growing wider, more twisted.

"But now… I think it’s time for you to get out of the way."

Frisk stands ready by his side, unafraid, smiling at Papyrus’ power. The two of them seem in sync, their goals united.

"You're no longer my brother."