At first, it's as though the gaping tear in her chest doesn't quite register. And for a moment, it doesn't; Undyne winds up to strike again, spear gripped in a too-tight fist, temple streaked with nervous sweat.

But then, she buckles. Her knees collapse, too weak to support her own weight. In a flash, she's smiling again, confident — proud, in her effort, in her friends.

(They were once a friend — once one of her prides. Frisk steps just a bit closer, half-tempted to raise a hand to help her up.

They do not. It laughs, voice chilling — And I thought YOU were the human one of us.)

"By now…" Undyne starts, one hand held over the split in her chest, "By now, Alphys has called Asgore and told him to absorb the six human souls." Her grin is tight, wracked with pain, but still, she continues to speak.

"And with that power —"

She chokes out a laugh, shoulders tumbling to meet with her feet. There is a pile there — dust — melting into the floor. Her face is streaked with tears.

"This world…"

A cough rebounds against the water. There is a light pattering sound, like sand panning through a sieve.

Frisk buries their face in their hands and runs.


a/n i always liked Undyne.