Daybreak [ Error!Sans x Reader ]

9. Mors Omnibus

"Hey my broski, our bread amigo Geno says it's time for my shift. We thank you for your service to this radical country and all that funky stuff," Fresh piped in, throwing a mock bow. Error scoffed and said nothing, handing the knife over to the PSA skeleton. And you were moving farther and farther away from the other half of your soul, a sense of disparity clung to you. You had to go back, you had to meet the missing part of yourself!

"This isn't going to stop anything," Error growled, looking from the knife to your sleeping form. "Unless we can find a permanent solution, the human will manage to reunite with the knife and kill us all, you know that right?"

You wanted more than anything to be with the rest of your soul, you had to, had to! And the familiar sensation of insanity was chipping away at the edges of your logic and reasoning, leaving behind only an insatiable anger that could only be cured through murder and bloodshed. The skeletons were doing this to you on purpose, weren't they? They were keeping the other half of your soul away from you because they were afraid of the power you could wield if you were made whole again. You would show them, you would show them all!

But knives cannot move for they were inanimate objects or so the laws of physics dictated. But these would not bind you, you refused to allow such petty things to command your existence. The knife began to move, directed from your want and increasing desire to unite once more with the other half of your soul. Excitement coursed through you, watching through the knife's inanimate form, observing the look of confusion growing on Fresh's face.

The knife darted from Fresh's grasp and onto the floor, snaking its way closer and closer to your slumbering form. It was like your unconscious body knew all along because the moment the knife was inches away from your palm, your hand darted forward and clasped around the hilt and -

Awake!

You were awake and every sense in your body had been magnified in ways never though possible. It was better than before, better than the first time you had held the knife. You knew now that you could never live in full without this knife and you never wanted to live without this weapon again. It was essential to your life and you could never imagine a time when you would not have the knife, always in your hand and always with you, always killing and always slaughtering.

You could hear the shouts of the two skeletons, Error and Fresh as they called themselves, the two idiots rushing towards you in an attempt to restrain you. They would not kill you, the damn fools. But that would change when -

There was a skeleton who had just woken from his sleep, G, the seventh letter of the alphabet. The knife wanted him, wanted to feel the dust on its blade and so it commanded. The hunger burned inside the very depths of your core and you flung yourself onto the skeleton, slashing the knife across his chest, exhilarated as every fibre of your being was renewed as euphoria coursed through your veins, relishing in the kill. But you wanted to feel like this all the time, not only catch brief snippets of it. So you brought the knife down on G's skull and then on his arm and everywhere that a knife could stab. When he was nothing more than a pile of ash you were still cutting, still slicing.

A bony hand clasped on your shoulder. No, you would not have this! You would not be stopped again, you refused! The knife would never leave you again and you would never leave it. Anything that tried to do so would meet the blade.

But Error was there and another emotion came up, a different emotion that was a stark contrast from the knife's constant want to kill. You didn't want to kill this skeleton, and you didn't think you would feel the same joy if you killed him than when you did with G and the thousands of others you would soon slaughter. The anomaly stared into your eyes for a moment, trying to read, trying to catch a glimpse of any former of your self still remained. He must have detected some trace of yourself still alive, still fighting and struggling for existence.

"[Y/N]." The name felt foreign to you, had that been your name? You had no name now for no name could fully express what you were right now. You were nothing more than a knife and the knife was nothing more than you.

And then you did something you had never thought possible before. The knife in your hand glowed a deep ebony, reflected with a thousand stars that pulsed inside. You seemed to cut the air, burying the blade into the air and dragging it downwards, creating a rift that led to another dimension with a name unknown to you but a name did not matter for all inside would soon be dust.

You stepped through the rift with a smile on your face, waiting, anticipating the rush of exhilaration that would course through your veins when you turned the knife on those living inside. Error was still staring at you as the rift began to close up, some unreadable expression on his face.

"I'm going to save you." Those were the words that fell from him and those were the words that stirred up that weird feeling inside of you again. You didn't need to be saved, you were perfect, you were happy? What was there to change?

And then the rift closed and your view of him vanished, leaving nothing but the universe you had placed yourself in. Despite the euphoria that now pumped through your heart, there was another feeling that you did not like, a feeling that would not go away no matter how hard you tried to carve it out of you.

You felt alone.

And the chess piece on Gaster's chess board had left its army into an unknown, uncharted enemy territory where it was surrounded on both sides, no where to run and no where to hide.

Gaster chuckled to himself.

Everything was falling into place.