[Frisk's throat closes for a moment. They know this, they've seen it. A happy ending, peaceful and right, interrupted by a sinister smile, a photo with faces scribbled out.]
[Swallow it. Swallow it. Don't let them see that panic. Have to trust them.]
Do you want to?
[They had tried before. Attempted with Papyrus, succeeded with Sans, came terrifyingly close with Toriel...if they'd had the Knife then it would have been a slaughter.]
What do you think, Frisk? That I woke up and found myself cured of myself overnight? That perhaps the power of friendship burned away the demon and made them all better?
[The words are heavy with scorn. No. No, Frisk. This is not the storybook ending they apparently desire. They think to ask the question, as if anything has changed. As if they are the partner Frisk remembers, infinitely superior.]
[They stop, bite their tongue. Don't know what to say, never knew, had to be led by the hand just to make a few friends. Led that hand down a path of disaster and ruin, corrupted it into something it never should have been.]
[* Look at what you've done.]
I think I'm not above consequences.
[Frisk meets Chara's gaze, holds it. Holds the Dagger out again.]
[It's certainly an improvement, is it not, over the child who might have forged blindly ahead, content in knowing they could simply RESET their mistakes into oblivion.
They have no reason to argue, and so they do not. They retrieve what is theirs by right.
The effect is instantaneous.
The blade ignites like a torch, bathing the faces of both children in its harsh red cast, limning the tips of their hair in a spectacular wash of crimson. The pattern spirals from pommel to blade tip, the crescent vine-like patterns winding 'round and 'round, sparking the end in a trail of dust motes, flakes of white and scarlet.
[There's a sick coiling in their gut, a feeling of dread that washes over them, leaves a phantom feeling of grit on their hands and legs. Silence, silence that lasts forever, that howls in their ears--]
[Frisk swallows hard, pushing the memories away. It doesn't have to end like that here. They have to believe that.]
...mm.
[They pull their hand back, watching the specks of light fall off the edge of the Knife. They never really understood how Chara did that, how their will was so strong as to forge the best items out of something so simple.]
[Hold this moment in time for as long as you must, Frisk. Remember always that you did this, willingly. 99 ATK and 99 DEF and an utter freedom to reap as much EXP as they desire.
As for the Knife...consider it simply a rotation of perspective.
[Frisk pulls their knees up to their chest, wraps their arms around and hides their face. This is the right thing to do, isn't it? It was never theirs, should have given it back before...]
[Chara laughs. A bit late for remorse and regrets, Frisk! You made your decision, and they gave you ample chance to back away. They have been utterly transparent regarding what they want and what they will take.
[They flinch, curl inward. The wrenching feeling of their SOUL being ripped away, scrambling desperately to reach out. Calling out desperately, hoping, * Hoping--]
[You thought what, Frisk? That a shower of rainbows and Hopes and Dreams would SAVE them anew? That they would be bestowed with a happy ending that they did not deserve?
Let Frisk live their life. Let them live safe from the demon, the final threat. Let them live free from YOU.
They are and will continue to be what they always have been.]
Is that so? [They have nothing to fear from anyone, and so their smile is absolute.] Because the person who once asked whether that was possible - he was the absolute pinnacle of sincerity, was he not?
[Not wrong? Perhaps merely insincere in the worst possible way. Cold irony, served with a sufficient side helping of ruthless, implacable judgment. But of course Frisk misses him, don't they? Just as they apparently missed their demon.
They've always missed that which hurts them most.]
[History informs the future. History informs the way things are headed, the way they end up. And all historical evidence would indicate that stuttering to an anguished and unprecedented halt mid-run is very, very low on the list of likely endings in store for the pair of them.]
[Frisk looks at Chara quietly for several very long moments, considering their words carefully.]
...I think...you'll get people mad at you, an' hurt them. Mostly on purpose. An' you'll keep doin' it, because you think that's how it should be. But there'll be nice people, too, that want t' help you. An' they won't give up just because you make a scary face at them.
There's a lot of determined people out there. An' we both only have one shot at things now.
[They'll get people mad at them. Oh, that's nice. A lovely way to sugarcoat it and wrap it up in a nice neat bow.
They could pursue those words, scatter them like flocks of pigeons, drive after them with a reckless and ruthless intent, blast a hole in every section of that stupid, worthless argument.
But instead, they lift the Knife and run their fingertips along the blade wonderingly, almost reverently.]
[It's not hard to hear the longing behind that simple phrase, and immediately Frisk regrets pointing it out. Their lips press thin, and their hand clenches up into the fabric of their sleeping bag.]
Don't.
[A plea? A warning?]
[Or a promise?]
[They won't go anywhere Chara isn't anymore. They already decided that.]
[Again, they have to ask themself - what did Frisk expect? Their eyes remain locked on the blade, on the 99 ATK that could scythe through 99 DEF so cleanly and completely. Could it not be over? Could it not over.]
[Their smile twists, a deft, wry uptick of one side of their mouth. The unevenness put it askew, softens it in some respects - and darkens it in others. It is not the plastic thing it is typically, but that makes what it is now all the worse.
It makes it worse because it means something.]
Only half-right, Frisk. Kids like me don't end up with kids like you.
[The friend Asriel wished he always had! The future of humans and monsters, but better, and earnest, and real! Someone who worms their way into everyone's hearts but does so in a nice way, in a good way, in a way that doesn't ravage their SOULs whole!]
[They curl up, arms around their knees and face hidden against them. Thick curls of hair fall to hide them even further, but nothing is truly secret there.]
We were both...I chose that. I had every chance t' stop.
Did you? Because if I recall, there was never truly a choice in the matter.
[They form a gun-shape with their hands, press the tips of middle and index finger to their temple with a false, bright grin.]
Toriel gets lucky shot in. Boom, you're dead. GAME OVER. You have to stay determined. Don't you? So you keep going. You keep going until Undyne pokes all sorts of little holes through you.
Boom, you're dead. GAME OVER.
But you have to stay determined. So you get up and you keep going.
Asgore skewers you with a giant fork. Boom, you're dead. GAME OVER.
But you have to stay determined.
[Whose memories were those, Frisk? They certainly weren't yours. That was the demon in your head, feeding you lines of dialogue until you got back up off the ground and kept going!
[It hurts. It hurts and they don't know what to say, can't make the words form in their throat. Fingers dig into the flesh of their arms, nails pressing hard, hard, harder into the skin and they shouldn't do that, shouldn't shouldn't but there's nothing else to do. Doesn't matter.]
N...not your fault.
[They look up again, eyes bright and wet and brow creased in worry and regret.]
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[Swallow it. Swallow it. Don't let them see that panic. Have to trust them.]
Do you want to?
[They had tried before. Attempted with Papyrus, succeeded with Sans, came terrifyingly close with Toriel...if they'd had the Knife then it would have been a slaughter.]
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What do you think, Frisk? That I woke up and found myself cured of myself overnight? That perhaps the power of friendship burned away the demon and made them all better?
[The words are heavy with scorn. No. No, Frisk. This is not the storybook ending they apparently desire. They think to ask the question, as if anything has changed. As if they are the partner Frisk remembers, infinitely superior.]
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[They stop, bite their tongue. Don't know what to say, never knew, had to be led by the hand just to make a few friends. Led that hand down a path of disaster and ruin, corrupted it into something it never should have been.]
[* Look at what you've done.]
I think I'm not above consequences.
[Frisk meets Chara's gaze, holds it. Holds the Dagger out again.]
I'm trusting you.
[For better or worse, this is their choice.]
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They have no reason to argue, and so they do not. They retrieve what is theirs by right.
The effect is instantaneous.
The blade ignites like a torch, bathing the faces of both children in its harsh red cast, limning the tips of their hair in a spectacular wash of crimson. The pattern spirals from pommel to blade tip, the crescent vine-like patterns winding 'round and 'round, sparking the end in a trail of dust motes, flakes of white and scarlet.
* About times.
Chara smiles, undeniably satisfied.]
Right where it belongs.
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[Frisk swallows hard, pushing the memories away. It doesn't have to end like that here. They have to believe that.]
...mm.
[They pull their hand back, watching the specks of light fall off the edge of the Knife. They never really understood how Chara did that, how their will was so strong as to forge the best items out of something so simple.]
Please be careful.
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As for the Knife...consider it simply a rotation of perspective.
Chara continues to smile serenely.]
I'm not the one you should be warning.
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[Frisk pulls their knees up to their chest, wraps their arms around and hides their face. This is the right thing to do, isn't it? It was never theirs, should have given it back before...]
Please.
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Their laughter is like knives. How fitting!]
You made your choice long ago.
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[Did nobody come after all?]
[For a long few moments, they're silent.]
...
Even the worst person can change.
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Let Frisk live their life. Let them live safe from the demon, the final threat. Let them live free from YOU.
They are and will continue to be what they always have been.]
Is that so? [They have nothing to fear from anyone, and so their smile is absolute.] Because the person who once asked whether that was possible - he was the absolute pinnacle of sincerity, was he not?
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[Frisk lifts their head, looks over at Chara with wet eyes and a mouth pressed thin.]
I believe in you, Chara.
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They've always missed that which hurts them most.]
Why settle for disappointment?
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[They swallow, straighten up. Keep their mask in place, hide behind the illusion of calm to try and make their point.]
You don't--neither of us knows what's gonna happen.
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[History informs the future. History informs the way things are headed, the way they end up. And all historical evidence would indicate that stuttering to an anguished and unprecedented halt mid-run is very, very low on the list of likely endings in store for the pair of them.]
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...I think...you'll get people mad at you, an' hurt them. Mostly on purpose. An' you'll keep doin' it, because you think that's how it should be. But there'll be nice people, too, that want t' help you. An' they won't give up just because you make a scary face at them.
There's a lot of determined people out there. An' we both only have one shot at things now.
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They could pursue those words, scatter them like flocks of pigeons, drive after them with a reckless and ruthless intent, blast a hole in every section of that stupid, worthless argument.
But instead, they lift the Knife and run their fingertips along the blade wonderingly, almost reverently.]
We only have one shot.
[No one will bring them back.
Imagine that.]
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Don't.
[A plea? A warning?]
[Or a promise?]
[They won't go anywhere Chara isn't anymore. They already decided that.]
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And this world would let me go.
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[They stare hard at Chara, intent and near deathly still.]
[They mean this, Partner.]
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It makes it worse because it means something.]
Only half-right, Frisk. Kids like me don't end up with kids like you.
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We're not that different.
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[The friend Asriel wished he always had! The future of humans and monsters, but better, and earnest, and real! Someone who worms their way into everyone's hearts but does so in a nice way, in a good way, in a way that doesn't ravage their SOULs whole!]
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[They curl up, arms around their knees and face hidden against them. Thick curls of hair fall to hide them even further, but nothing is truly secret there.]
We were both...I chose that. I had every chance t' stop.
[They never did learn when to QUIT.]
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[They form a gun-shape with their hands, press the tips of middle and index finger to their temple with a false, bright grin.]
Toriel gets lucky shot in. Boom, you're dead. GAME OVER. You have to stay determined. Don't you? So you keep going. You keep going until Undyne pokes all sorts of little holes through you.
Boom, you're dead. GAME OVER.
But you have to stay determined. So you get up and you keep going.
Asgore skewers you with a giant fork. Boom, you're dead. GAME OVER.
But you have to stay determined.
[Whose memories were those, Frisk? They certainly weren't yours. That was the demon in your head, feeding you lines of dialogue until you got back up off the ground and kept going!
Figured it out yet, Partner?
Escaping from
your purpose
is impossible.]
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N...not your fault.
[They look up again, eyes bright and wet and brow creased in worry and regret.]
It wasn't ever...your fault.
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