Is This Regret You Feel?

by soundstoner

Probably not, but whatever it is, it hurts. You have fallen, and your mission is to protect your companion. But when you start an addiction to raising numbers in your head, things start getting a little out of hand... OC's POV Genocide Run fanfiction. Neither the reader, nor the reader's friend, is Frisk. Both of the humans are original characters.

1. Prologue

You hold their combined dust in your hands, a greenish gray substance that can only be called dust because of your prior knowledge of the subject. You let it spill onto the golden tiles, watching it the same way as you would an hourglass. Both are connected to you in some way, after all. Why would they not be in the same place?

You should be happy. He's gone, after all, your opponent, the smiling fool that took you so long to kill. He'd put up such a fight, it was almost cute. And it was most definitely irritating, too.

But in his death, she's dead for real now too. Your friend, your companion, your spark of light in your dreary black world. You killed her, was it twice now? But hopefully she'll stay dead, and also stay in that world she always talked about going to after death.
You still killed her, like the emotionless monster you are.

...Twice.

Is this regret you feel?

Probably not-you'd said before you were emotionless, at least you'd like to be-but whatever this is, it hurts.

You put your regret-your feeling, that is-away in the back of your mind and, nursing your broken wrist, start for the box at the beginning of the corridor. There's really no point, seeing as you used all your healing items in the fight and everything but your clothing and your weapons are gone, but you think it's worth looking through anyway.

You make it to the box. You take great care opening it (karma, and a broken wrist, is a bitch) and look inside to find... Nothing. As you expected. You still fish through the empty space with your good hand however, in hopes of finding something.

And as you search, you think, thinking about what got you here in the first place, with dust on your black skirt and hoodie and hands and a broken wrist. About all the monsters you killed to get here, about all those numbers you had to raise.

Didn't the skeleton mention something about that while you fought? He'd called you a worse monster than he was, which was probably true, but he'd also said something else. You hadn't been listening, however, only taking enough time to retort that he had stolen your friend's SOUL before quickly dodging a bone aimed for your head that likely would have cracked your skull.

You shake off the memory as best you can. There's nothing in the box, as you deserve.

You pause, and if you think hard enough you can feel your sins crawling on your back.