The snow crunched beneath their feet as Frisk and Papyrus made their way to the outskirts of Snowdin. The trees parted to reveal a clearing where the snow shimmered under the pale glow of the moon. Frisk's heart felt heavier with each step, though he kept his face calm. He knew this place.
He remembered how it had ended last time.
Papyrus twirled dramatically, cape billowing in the soft wind.
"ALRIGHT, HUMAN! IT'S TIME FOR OUR EPIC BATTLE! BUT WORRY NOT — THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS A MERCIFUL OPPONENT!"
Frisk forced a smile.
"I know," he thought, though he didn't say it.
"Ready to play pretend?" Chara's voice cooed. "Let's see how long you can keep it up before you crack."
—
The battle played out exactly as it had before.
Papyrus hurled bones and puzzles with enthusiastic glee, his attacks playful rather than lethal. The snow beneath Frisk's feet lit up in a familiar pattern. Frisk dodged, as he always had.
Papyrus declared his attacks were growing stronger.
His confidence booming.
His spaghetti references abundant.
Frisk kept choosing [MERCY].
Again.
And again.
Papyrus' attacks slowed.
His confidence faltered, replaced by confusion.
"HUH? YOU'RE… NOT FIGHTING BACK?"
Frisk shook his head.
Papyrus lowered his hands.
His grin softened into something gentler, quieter.
"WELL… I GUESS I'LL JUST HAVE TO BE YOUR FRIEND INSTEAD!"
The words struck deeper than any blade.
In another timeline, Frisk had shattered those bones.
Left Papyrus crumpled in the snow, his last words filled with unbroken belief.
"I STILL… BELIEVE IN YOU…"
Frisk felt his throat tighten.
"Aww," Chara purred. "Touching. Pathetic. Do you really think this makes up for it?"
Frisk ignored the voice.
Papyrus beamed.
"LET US CONTINUE TO SNOWDIN TOWN, HUMAN! FRIENDS LIKE US MUST CELEBRATE WITH SPAGHETTI!"
Frisk followed him back through the snowy forest.
This time, there was no blood.
The town welcomed Frisk with warmth. Grillby's flickered with cozy orange light, though something in the air felt thin. As though some deep memory stirred in the shadows, but refused to surface.
Frisk slept uneasily in Papyrus' guest room.
When morning came, the path ahead was clear.
—
And so it began again.
Frisk spared Loox.
Chara mocked.
Frisk spared Jerry.
Chara sneered.
"You think they'd spare you?"
"You think this means anything?"
"You think this will fix what you did?"
The world moved forward, the monsters none the wiser.
Frisk travelled through Waterfall, Hotland, the Core — choosing [MERCY] each time. His resolve hardened not with hatred, but desperate hope. But every step felt like walking across glass shards of past timelines.
The Underground's smiles felt forced. The light dimmer. The world colder in ways no one could name.
Chara's voice was always there.
Taunting.
Possessive.
Growing louder with every spared soul.
"They don't remember. But I do."
"You can't outrun this. You made me."
Frisk clenched his fists and kept going.
—
And at last —
The Judgment Hall.
The hallway stretched out endlessly ahead, the heavy golden pillars reflecting the flicker of the torches. The very air felt thick, as if holding its breath.
Frisk stood before the doors.
Behind them, the skeleton waited.
Sans.
And after him, the final choices.
Frisk didn't hesitate.
He stepped forward.
And far above, atop Mt. Ebott, the girl by the fire lifted a trembling hand toward the storm-churned sky.
The man's voice was low, steady.
"And now… the last judgment."