Chapter 8: An Old Friend
Sans floated calmly in a vast nothing. As his body struggled to cope with the immense magic he had gained, the skeleton slept. Or something very close to sleep at least. He hung on the edge of conciousness and slumber, a darkness surounding him that seemed to know no light had ever existed. However, he was not afraid nor claustraphobic, as some might have been. Instead, he simply waited. As void of emotion as this place was of light.
After what felt like a century of nothing changing, a figure approached him. It was tall with a white face, hands and lab coat over a black body just a shade lighter then the world around it. The face held hallow eyes with cracks extending from them, and a hallow mouth turned up in a smile someone could have considered sinister. Sans thought he seemed rather like a skeleton, with his segmented hands that had holes in the palms. But that was impossible; Sans was the only skeleton left now that his brother was dead.
The figure spoke, its voice unused and fragile, like ancient text never read. It hummed out the words in a broken, but understandable manner, if he focused hard enough. Sans listened in silence, taking in the information and nodding along. It explained where he was and why, what was happening to him on the outside and what he could expect when he woke up. He would be in some pain, and when it faded he would carry a dull ache in his bones for a few months. When that ache finally left, he would begin to change. The figure did not say exactly how he would change, only that his soul was just as strong as Frisks (his "dear little friend", as the figure put it) and perhaps even stronger when it fully develops. He gathered he may become some sort of hybrid like Frisk is, with the physical properties of a human and the magic ability of a monster. He couldn't be sure however. The figure emphasised that Sans' control over his magic would always be better than Frisks and warned him that he should teach the child quickly about control or they would cause some havoc.
It explained that he would not remember everything that it said, but if he did, it was this: Frisk was the only person he could trust completely with what they were about to do for history and monster kind. No one else could know how they were doing it or things would end up very badly for them both. It asked him to try to trust them with other things, but understood if he could not.
"After all," it hummed, "A mans past is his own burden to do with as he pleases," its head tilted in an amused way.
When the figure finished speaking, it cast around to take in all the darkness before nodding to him and fading away again. It had not given a name, race or any sort of indentification. It simply was. Sans wondered if he may have imagined the whole encounter.
A dull ache in the back of his head alerted him to the fact that his time of peace was over. The world began to lighten rapidly, over taking his senses in a wave of blinding light after all that darkness. Angry voices drew his attention. They seemed to be yelling at someone. Sans could feel his bones crying out for him to never move again and, being the lazy guy he was, the skeleton was tempted to listen to them. However, he could hear a distinctly quieter pair of voices, one stuttering and the other quite slow and halting, arguing with the other louder tones and Sans knew he had to get up.