Kotv 11 SO HERES YOUR QUESTION KID

"Ow! Would you stop pinching me?! I'm not doing anything!" Frisk cried.

"Exactly. You will be buried and freeze if you stop now."

"What do you care? Why am I here?" she snapped at the air.

"To get through the storm." The voice answered with a drawl.

"I don't understand… do you people just want to torture me?" Frisk received no answer, and squinted to see beside her where she sensed the voice. Snow shuffled beside her, and caved in to the shape of bare foot. Just barely seen because of the haze of snow, was a faint form tall, thin, and transparent. Snow caught around their shoulders and head, and on their eyes and nose. but they remained, save for outline and foot prints, invisible. Two white blurs of eyes scowled at her. "There is no looking back."

the being grabbed Frisk, (who was still baffled and in a daze,) by the shoulder to spin Frisk her forward and give her another shove through the snow. Her sudden momentum nearly tripped her into the snow, but she caught herself before she did.

"F-fine," she set her eyes ahead of her, squinting and trying to see signs of shelter beyond the thick sheets of snow. She was greeted with no comfort, for there was nothing more to see than an endless plain of white with the occasional tree and bush. No hills, no caves… no buildings.

Sniffling, wiping her red, and numb nose, Frisk trudged onward through the knee high snow, clinging to her the thin fabric wrapped about her sides. She so missed the fire in Toriel's home… but… she doubted she would ever see it again. Right now, in all this cold, she wondered she would ever feel the warmth of a fire place again. Was it impossible to get out of all this snow?

But why else was this ghost monster here? To keep her moving, from falling asleep, acting as though she had a destination. And she must… why else was she alive still? She had been chased in a thunderous wind storm, dropped into a hole in the ground that… how tall was it? In any case, it was so high she probably shouldn't have lived. She had even met a lion monster! But that was beside the point… Toriel didn't have anything to do with Frisk's unfortunate luck, but these ghosts did. That's right. That shadow man, and those he was with had hurt Toriel badly. But the worst they had done to Frisk was make her fall.

It was hard not to yawn, and just keep her legs moving. Frisk stumbled, but a clawed hand caught and dug under her arm jolting her awake. "Ah?!" Frisk jumped back, facing the monster but still moving in the direction it wanted. She turned around, cradling her stinging arm. Her legs were able to move her a while longer, but eventually they would slow, and she would get another sort of scratch from the ghost.

Shuffling freezing and numb feet through knee high snow, with daggers that would press into her back to keep moving, Frisk kept her eyes forward. Her thoughts were being overwhelmed by the urgency to get her blood pumping, to get some heat; moving her hands over her arms, and taking thorough deep breaths. As this technique began to fail in its purpose, and Frisks skin became more numb, and her movements even more slow, the panic mingled with cold caused her to shiver violently.

I'm so tired…

Eyes fluttering, Frisk clapped her hands over her face to keep herself awake.

… I want to sleep…

Again, Frisk raised her hands to clap her face, but now there was no speed to her movement to pack any sting.

I just want to fall…

The ghost beside her held her upper arm, claws digging into it, but Frisk's skin was so numb, she couldn't feel it. Again, Frisk turned her gaze to see the ghost striding beside her, seemingly unphased by the unforgiving snow.

Where are you taking me?

Time slowed as her mind flashed through dark memories, the last moments she had spent with Toriel in the ruins, from the moment Toriel found her, bandaged her wounds, fed her sweet food, fixed her glasses… to the moments the shadows broke them, bruised her again, and consumed Toriel in darkness.

The scorn and hate that flickered in her heart was enough to set her heart beating faster again, for her blood to start pumping again. She felt warmth, but she also felt something else. Something… cautious, scared, alert, fast… a menagerie of overwhelming, confused emotions projected on her. Frisk knew them not to be her own emotions.

Suddenly, wanting to listen, Frisk stopped moving, and turned to look back. Her eyes were locked on something in the distance, and she couldn't see it yet, but she could feel someone tearing through the forest.

There was a voice calling over the howling of the storm, that seized their attention.

There you are.

Frisk reeled back. The feeling was unmistakable. Whoever he was, he was looking straight at her. They were unseen, but Frisk could feel his rapacious eyes boring into her, seizing her attention with a jolt through her that paralyzed her with fear. There was no way what she had heard was real, because it wasn't even a sound she had heard with her ears. It was like a thought that wasn't her own. Frisk's mind kept whirling, but she was staring at the back of a transparent monster ghost, facing the forest, tense and still like game that had just realized the hunter was near. To fight or to bolt?

So tell me, new kid… With determination that could slice steel in two, he said: Are you an Angel or a Demon?

The question carried a unvoiced threat that chilled Frisk to the bone.

"Hide. Now!" the ghost shoved Frisk, and shattered the paralysis icing her over.

Without a second glance, Frisk turned and with new adrenaline almost flew over the snow, and kept going until she found a bush and slid under crackling and chittering ice soaked twigs and huddled at the muddy wet ground beneath it. Thick green quills poked at her face, but kept her hidden well enough with the piles of snow caked up over it, but not so much that she couldn't see through the gaps herself. The ghost was standing firm, tense, bracing himself.

Her breath came in ragged breaths that she tried frantically to calm and hide with her hands. Not a sound… not a sound… Her panicked thoughts chanted in time to her thundering pulse.

Her eyes were locked on the ghost, and suddenly the snow was parting, like waves scattering around a surf board. There was nothing there, but the ghost was stepping back, and then there was a skeleton in a blue jacket and jogging shorts, in midair, above the ghost, a fist raised over his shoulder, ready to come down on the ghosts head. The ghost was in the process of crossing his arms to shield himself.

The skeleton's fist had barely met home when there was a cracking boom, and a wind that was so savage it scraped the snow from the trees and bushes so that the individual snow flakes stung brushing by. Frisk crossed her arms to shield herself, while the snow and the quills from the bush rushed at her, tearing at her clothes and skin.

When the stings of the wind, snow, and tree quills faded, Frisk peaked over her arms, seeing her clothes slashed and skin bleeding between the fabric. Wherever her skin stung from the cold more than others, she knew she'd been cut. Before her, the ground, bushes, and surrounding trees were all scraped bare of snow… there were tracks in the dirt, that led backwards some 3 yards where the skeleton and the ghost were locked in combat.

The skeleton moved like he was made of air, and packed punches that could have weighed tons. He jumped high, leapt far, moving like a blur, throwing punches and whirling kicks at the ghost that made him stagger. It sounded like the crack of a bat on a punching bag.

The ghosts arms were still crossed over his face, the blows in such rapid succession and strength that he just kept stepping back. In the split second before the skeleton's leg struck the ghost, the ghost blocked with his right arm, latched with his left hand around the skeletons ankle before gravity made him fall, spun left and hurled the skeleton into a tree.

The crack of bark and bones splintering, and the skeletons cry were all mixed in one terrible sound.

Yet the skeleton wrenched himself away from the tree, blurred again, slashing wildly at the ghost, but this time lower to the ground, rolling and dodging and whipping under the ghosts legs as the ghost threw punches and/or tried to grab the skeleton.

Blue fireworks began to spit from the skeletons left eye, and a fuming, smoking blue energy rolled in his hands. The ghost was jerky and began using his own white energy that lit up the insides of his transparency with white lightening and fireworks.

"Why am I still here?" Frisk snapped out of it, staring at the scene. This was nothing she had ever seen before. Nothing she had ever read about. Nothing she had ever dreamed about. It both horrified, and intrigued her. "Im gonna die if I sit here." In frantic quiet, Frisk scrambled out from under the bush, indecisively looking left and right. "Where do I go?"

From across Frisk, a small white ferret like figure with wide circular eyes locked its eyes on her, nervously glancing towards the fight. He waved a hand to her, urgently. "This way," his voice barely was a whisper.

Frisks' feet shuffled forward, but she took one last glance back at the battle, and for a split second, the skeleton's eye was on her; vicious and terrible, but also wary. The look was enough to give her a jolt of fear to race after the small spirit, the two of them weaving and through over and under the forest, swift as deer filled with the fear of being hunted.