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inyri · 6 years

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Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 28- Scientific Methods

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M. Nonexplicit sexual content toward the middle of the chapter.) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

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Scientific Methods

He’s being absurd.

It only takes one person to fly Nightshrike, true, and she won’t deny that Theron is perfectly capable (of the two of them he really is the better pilot, though he’d gloat for days to hear her say it), but she’s never liked letting her out of her hands.

“Also-” the speeder glides up the ramp into the docking bag, the hatch raising up behind them- “I’m Alliance Commander. I outrank you. More to the point, she’s my damned ship.”

Fastening the last of the tie-downs, Theron slings the strap of the sample container over his shoulder and starts herding her toward the medical bay like a bantha into a pen. “Yes, but-”

“I don’t need medbay.”

“Yes, you do.” He steers her around the couch. “Protocol’s protocol.”

She scowls. “When have you ever cared about protocol? It took you two days of headaches to even agree to go to the infirmary the last time you hit your head.”

“True. But I-” When they reach the medical bay Theron stands just behind her, blocking off her exit route when she tries to duck around him, and she braces herself against the door. She’s still a little dizzy- just the sedative wearing off, she’s sure- “had a concussion. You had a seizure. If something’s really wrong-”

“There is nothing wrong with me!” She sighs, looking back over her shoulder at him. “I’m fine.”

He rests his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll get us up and jumped. But the sooner we get you checked out, the better.”

“Later.” Nine digs in her heels, resisting his push. “I’ll use Lokin’s scanner once we’re back on Alderaan. Let’s just get out of here.”

His hands wrap around her waist instead, then, and he lifts her through the doorway, twisting to avoid her as she swats at him in protest. “Nope. Scan first.”

“Let go of me, Theron.” If he’s going to fuss this much she’s going to make him work for it; she goes obstinately limp, the toes of her boots brushing across the floor as he keeps moving across the room with her suspended in his arms. “Doctor Oggurobb’s run every test in his arsenal on me a dozen times over since I got out of carbonite. Physically, I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Then just humor me. Please?”

“Are you going to lock me in here until I do?”

“Probably, yeah. It’s that or hit you with a tranq dart and you’ve already had a pretty heavy dose today.”

She kicks backward at him for that but her foot passes through empty air, and when he stops in front of the medscanner she sighs. “If it’ll make you stop worrying so damned much, fine. But if you crash my ship-”

“I’m not going to crash your ship,” Theron says, kissing the back of her neck, finally letting her go and setting the sample box down on the lab bench to his left. “I’ll come check on you as soon we’re locked into the route.”

She fights the urge to throw the nearest thing to hand at him- that’d be the genetic samples, and they’d spent far too much time wrangling rakghouls for her to waste them in a fit of pique. Instead she settles for activating the scanner with an irritated swipe of her finger along the screen and, as it hums to life, starts to strip out of her clothing again .

(It doesn’t take long, not with all her underclothes still wadded into a sodden ball in their gear bag. The bedsheet had only helped to dry her halfway but the friction of it, the rough-woven fabric between Theron’s hands and her bare skin, could almost have passed for warmth, and the breeze through her hair as she picked off rakghouls from the gunner’s seat of the speeder did the rest. Still, she’d prefer to spend the journey back to Alderaan with a hot shower, hotter caf and perhaps a nap- no, definitely a nap, why’s she so tired when she was out for hours?- instead of yet another afternoon spent in infirmary.

But when she turns back to set her jacket on the examination table he takes it from her, instead, laying it down carefully, and the way he looks at her takes the fight out of her.

The war’s only beginning and already she’s so tired of it; the last person she wants to fight is him.)

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Theron knows the layout of her ship now, not like the first few trips where when one of them got hurt he had to search through every cabinet for supplies (granted, she wasn’t much better- they’d moved everything from where it lived in her memory and she had to relearn it all, too) and he opens one of the doors to pull out a blanket, draping it over her body as she settles down onto the scanner’s bed. “And I’ll get some caf going.”

“Finally, the man says something reasonable.”

He grins.

***

She drifts in and out of sleep, she thinks, the steady rhythmic hum of the rotating machine lulling her eyelids closed, but even so she can feel it when they make the jump to hyperspace.

She loves the feel of it, of flying, of the void of space- the first time she’d been allowed off Dromund Kaas as a student- barely even a journey in the grand scheme of things since they’d only gone to see the shipyards at Dromund Kalakar- when the ship’s engines roared to life and they broke atmo half her classmates were sick and she just laughed, joyful, at the way her heart pulled taut inside her chest.

Today is no different.

They jump. Her pulse stutters; she smiles, and keeps drifting.

***

She wakes again to the slow outward slide of the scanner bed, its programmed cycle finished, and turns her head to check the room.

No Theron. No clothing, either: her armor’s gone from the table where she left it and the sample kit’s plugged into the main cryo unit. He must have come in while she slept.

(Normally she’d worry that she hadn’t noticed it. But he could move quietly when he wanted to- he wouldn’t have survived in the SIS if he couldn’t and that he’d managed to sneak out of her bed was proof enough; with anyone else that would have been her job- and she knew he would have tried so hard to let her rest-

Ah, stars, she doesn’t deserve him-)

She sits up, letting the blanket fall. By the sound of the hyperdrive they’re well on their way so she won’t be needed on the bridge for hours, not until they get close enough to require full stealth. Time for a shower, then.

Out of habit she checks the readout- normal. Ghosts and AIs and torture and five fucking years in carbonite and still her scans are fucking normal. Next verse, same as the first, and when she thinks it there’s an echo in her head like the memory of laughter.

As she pads, barefoot and undressed, from medical bay to their quarters she glances further down the corridor toward the bridge. The door’s open but Theron’s not in the pilot’s chair. Where’s he wandered off to? Shrugging, she keeps walking- past the bed, still neatly made from this morning, their bags tucked together at its foot; past the desk, less tidy, datapads and caf cups scattered across its top- until she reaches the ‘fresher.

When the first drops of water hit her skin the water’s already hot and she lets her hair down, lets the water soak in until it hangs heavy down her back. Even with her earlier drenching she still feels dirty, sweat and blood and urine in her nostrils and over all of it the half-dead smell of Taris (sometimes she thinks the Sith that bombed the planet all those years ago had the right idea- if only they’d finished the job properly). Turning toward the shelf and the little bottles, she fills her palm with bright-scented soap and takes a deep breath in.

That’s better.

Minutes pass; she cleans the day from her skin, inch by inch, until she’s pink from heat and scrubbing but finally, finally clean.

She ought to shut the water off. She ought to get dressed. Her muscles ache, though, and she bends forward, palms pressed flat to the tiles as the backs of her legs howl protest.

I am not accustomed to being ignored, Cipher. She can’t tell if his voice is echoing off the tiles or the inside of her skull, and she turns, snapping upright so quickly her head spins. Do you really think you can shut me out?

“If you’ve got something useful to say, then please, go ahead. But I’ve finally got the blood out of my hair so if all you mean to do is hurt me-”

She could never picture Valkorion as a father, even having seen him beside Arcann. But when he sighs, deep and long-suffering, water droplets hanging in the still air around him like bits of shimmering glass, she almost feels sorry for his children.

Almost.

What is my son doing at this moment, I wonder? My daughter? Not chasing after beasts to help a dying old man. How many more of your allies have died while you distract yourself with foolish errands?

His words cut deep. She frowns, looks down at herself, at her toes, at the flat unmarred skin of her stomach, pristine and scarless, and-

Wait.

(and there is a noise just beyond her hearing, more a feeling than a sound, that reminds her more than anything of someone rather smugly clearing his throat, and the world twists around her and-)

***

Nine wakes again to the slow outward slide of the scanner bed, its programmed cycle finished, and sits up in a panic.

Shoving the blanket aside, she drags her fingers across her belly until they catch on the puckered edge of the scar. When she looks down this time she can see it, too, soft pink beneath her hand, and the five crimson lines etched along her ribs- everything where it ought to be.

Her heart’s racing, body prickling in a cold sweat; she pulls the blanket back up over her chest, wiping the damp from her skin as she glances around the room.

Still empty.

Her armor’s gone again and Theron’s nowhere to be found, just as before, but now she thinks she can hear him, humming deliberately off-key somewhere near the kitchen, and when she reads the scanner’s screen once again (she’s almost afraid to- what if-) the results are exactly the same. Normal. Always normal.

Now she really does need a shower.

She practically runs toward the cabin and the ‘fresher, slips inside and into the shower cubicle before the door gets halfway open and slaps the panel so hard her hand stings. The water’s hot, as it should be; the tiles are cool beneath her feet, against her forehead as she slumps against the back wall. The bottles on the shelf sit in a neat line, soap second from left. As it should be.

Her hand shakes as she reaches for the bottle.

I’m losing it. The soap alone isn’t enough to strip the discomfort away. Taking up the cleaning-cloth, she scrubs and scrubs and scrubs until her skin’s raw and her hands are shaking. I’m fucking losing it. Can’t even tell what’s real any more, or what’s in my head-

Footsteps, a shadow in the doorway: she turns, steadying herself against the tiles. If it’s Valkorion again-

“If you keep going at that rate,” Theron says quietly, “you’re not going to have much skin left. What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. I fell asleep in the scanner. Just a-”

“Nightmare?” He sighs; he’s got a mug of caf in each hand and sets them both on the counter as he steps in toward her. “Must have been bad. You look like you just saw a ghost.”

She shrugs, raising an eyebrow, and he nods understanding.

“That kind of nightmare.”

“Yes.” She hangs the cleaning-cloth back on its hook.

Theron leans against the rim of the sink. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” (She should. She really, really should, and Theron always asks, even when the answer’s almost always no. It helps sometimes, but so often what Valkorion’s dredged up isn’t something she wants to remember. She supposes that’s why he chooses them. And if he can still manipulate her into seeing things that aren’t there at all, well-)

“Okay,” he says, and it isn’t- she can hear it in his voice- but he just shrugs.

“I think I’ll stay in here for a little while, if we’ve got time. I still need to wash my hair.”

“We won’t make scanner range of Alderaan for a few hours yet. Take all the time you need.” He picks up the right-hand caf cup and takes a sip before he sets it back beside the other. “Though I remember you as the short shower type, given I’m pretty sure you don’t even need to shave.”

He’s teasing her now, and she forces herself to smile in return- he’s only trying to cheer her, she knows. “Mostly correct. We didn’t have unlimited hot water on Rishi- and yes, when I started as a new agent I blew my entire aesthetics budget on electrolysis. Made undercover work quite a bit easier without having to worry about the carpets matching the draperies.”

She can tell he gets it when he starts to laugh. “So that is your natural hair color. But seriously, you got an aesthetics budget? That’s not even a little bit fair. I had to buy my own blasters.”

“The official suggestion was rhinoplasty. But I rather like my nose.”

“So do I.” Pushing his shirtsleeves up to elbow height, he reaches forward into the spray of water and taps his finger lightly to the tip of her nose; she scrunches her face up at his touch. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll use the shower in crew quarters.”

Theron starts to go before she answers and she nearly lets him, but no- if he stays, if she can see him, talk to him, maybe his presences will be proof enough to settle her restless free-floating brain. He only gets halfway out of the ‘fresher before she calls out.

“Don’t go. I mean-” she says when he turns around, pausing mid-step- “there’s more than enough room for two here, if you don’t mind sharing.”

“Do you promise not to hog the water?”

“I promise.”

A minute later his clothes are in a heap on the floor and they’re both wedged into the little shower cubicle- there wasn’t really room enough for two at all, of course, and they both knew it; her quarters were well-appointed as ships go, but no refresher on any ship was ever built for more than one person- and her back’s to him as he works shampoo into her hair, fingernails scraping lightly over her scalp.

Oh, that’s lovely.

Hair properly lathered, Theron presses the pads of his thumbs into the knots at the base of her skull until the tension releases and she sighs. She tilts her head back, letting the water run over it; his fingers follow the trail of suds down, down, until he gets to the middle of her back where by rights she ought to still have a scar except that in those days she wasn’t allowed scars-

She shivers.

(She ought to have learned a long time ago that just because the evidence was gone didn’t mean the wounds didn’t linger.)

“Theron?” She turns, grounding herself in the way his hands circle around her waist. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“This is all really happening, right? I’m not still stuck in carbonite, watching Valkorion’s third-rate melodramas play out on the backs of my eyelids?”

He blinks down at her. “I’d argue that personally I’m at worst second-rate melodrama, but clearly I’m missing the point. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t-” she sighs, purging her first thought from her mind as soon as it takes shape. He should know- someone should know about Watcher X, probably, if something happens, but- “Even when I knew I was dreaming, I could never completely tell the difference between the truths he showed me and the lies he fed into my head. I spent five years second-guessing myself, and now- what if all of this, the war, everything, isn’t even real?”

“Nine.” He catches her face between his palms. “You’re not dreaming. You’re not. I promise. And we are going to find a way to get him-” she knows who Theron means, of course, but if she wondered she’d have known by the way he says the word, full of spite even as his lips press gentle on her forehead- “out of your head.”

She closes her eyes. “I want to believe that.”

“People said we’d never get you out of Arcann’s vault, either, and look at us now.”

“True,” she says. “But still. How can I be sure?”

He bites back a huff of amusement, not quite well enough; she can still hear it. She doesn’t blame him- she must sound ridiculous. “Somebody told me once that there are things you just have to take on faith.”

“Imperial, remember?” Eyes still closed, she leans forward into him, lets him bear her up with hands still on her face. “I’m not any good at faith.”

Theron sighs. “Well, then, I’m pretty sure I’m real. Does that convince you at all?”

“Maybe.”

He seems real enough, at least, solid beneath her fingertips as she slides them up his back, inch by inch, until she’s stretched out tiptoe-tall against him and she can feel him smile and his mouth, hotter than the water, brushes across her eyelids, along one cheekbone, and finally settles on hers-

When he nudges her backward she hits the wall and the tiles are cold against her back, as they should be; the water is warm, as it should be, and when he lifts her up her legs wrap around his waist as he presses into her, slowly, slowly and then not (and then not, again and again, her teeth in his shoulder)- and oh, Force, she is anchored by him, if only for that moment.

***

Back on Alderaan, she throws herself into the research.

Three days pass in the lab with too little sleep and too much caf until she sees pipettes and vials and spinning centrifuges in the rare moments when she dozes. Between the four of them- Tee-Seven’s surprisingly handy at chemical mixing for an astromech- they brew ten batches of serum in those three days.

All of them fail, and with every trial Doctor Lokin looks greyer and thinner and the spines protrude further through his skin. He’s confined to the kolto tank, now, between attempts, and as they lift him back into the tank he shakes his head.

“You’ve done enough, Ciph- Commander. A valiant effort, to be sure-” he gasps and she can hear the howl hiding inside his breath- “but enough.”

“Two more vials.” The door slides closed between them. “Two more. It can still work.”

“Then if I might make a suggestion?”

She nods.

“Double the adjuvant.”

***

Double adjuvant doesn’t work, either. Close, close enough that they all hold their breath as his muscles dance beneath his skin, spines receding-

-but no.

“One last try,” he says as the kolto reaches chest height. “Quadruple it. But if we are unsuccessful-”

“I know,” she says, and looks out of the the corner of her eye at Kaliyo, who’s standing with her arms folded and her lips pressed together in a thin line. “We’ll be ready.”

Before he can respond the tank is full; he lifts one hand to his forehead, taps the center with one sharp talon, and mouths his reply. Good girl.

***

The needle sinks home one last time, and they hold their breath, all four of them, as Tee-Seven chimes anxiously and Scritchy whines and curls around one leg of the lab table.

The last of the serum flows out of the syringe; Lokin shifts, pulling restlessly at the restraints that tether his wrists and ankles. Behind him, Kaliyo lowers one hand to her hip, unhooking the retention strap on one blaster (she’s got her own on the counter behind her, just within reach- her rifle won’t be any good at this range, not if it comes to that).

Nothing to do now but wait: a minute passes, then another. She counts the seconds by his ragged breaths as Theron, beside Kaliyo across the table, shakes his head silently.

That’s it, then. After everything, to fail so close to the end- if they hadn’t waited so long, if they’d only found him sooner. If, if, if. Another verse in the lengthening song of things the war destroyed.

And then he gasps, back arching, as one hand grips the edge of the table and Scritchy yelps, high-pitched and piercing. She reaches back behind her for the gun.

“That won’t be necessary.” He sounds like himself again, the growl that’s been a constant presence beneath his voice this last week finally gone; his claws retract, his body shifting, straightening, softening, and when he tries to sit up a fit of harsh coughing racks his body, a froth of blood on his lips.

She forces herself to stand her ground. The last batch lasted a full minute before it failed. If he reverts back again-

Her hand closes around the pistol’s grip, and she waits.

A minute.

Two minutes.

Long enough.

“Get him shipboard, ‘liyo, and then get Doctor Oggurobb on holo. Tell him I’ve found him a new project.”

“I suppose,” Lokin says as she releases the restraints, “this means my retirement is over.”

#inyri writes #equivalent exchange #theron shan/cipher nine #imperial agent #swtor fanfiction

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scartale-an-undertale-au · 7 years

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*GREETINGS, IDIOTS!

(tw: body horror, violence, blood, me, deaths, the usual sadism, etc)

A/N: So around a week ago, i saw those two amazing pictures from @tinybirdbones and i just had to write a story for it. so after getting permission, i set to work… which is what i would have liked to say but the truth was that i simply placed it aside and nearly had forgotten about it… until yesterday.

so i just needed to write something short to get my head out of my funk and then remembered the omega chara pictures and just sat with some fantasy music and wrote.

these are their stories *shot*

*Dodge! Chara shouted and Frisk dived to escape from a row of flames only for another one to slam into them, setting their soul and body in flames. The child screamed as their HP plummeted down, rolling on the floor to extinguish the fire.

Chara shook as they looked over the panting human, seeing the bar dangerously diminished and barely holding it together as the human tried to stand up and talk to the unmovable king of the mountain.

*Give it up! Fight him already! Please! They begged the human to counterattack, to stop their string of deaths, but was ignored as the small human fell on their knees and screamed as the trident was pierced through their chest and the world swirled into the void once more.

Chara breathed heavily, feeling as their grip on the world was slipping. They hated this. They didn’t want to die so many times. They just wanted to be free from this torture. This endless spiral of death.

They looked up to see Frisk lying on the void’s figurative floor, hair sprawled and covering their chubby face. Soft sobs left the child’s mouth as the small body shook.

Chara fell on their knees next to the child, angry tears dropping from their eyes. *Why aren’t you fighting? We don’t have MERCY! We can’t TALK to him! He won’t listen! He’s hell bent on killing you and taking your SOUL. Just FIGHT him already!

Frisk didn’t answer, too emotionally drained to speak, so Chara called forward Frisk’s SOUL and clutched it, ignoring the child’s confused whisper.

*I’m doing this for you, Frisk, Chara said and absorbed the SOUL.

Frisk’s body stumbled forward and Chara cursed, not used to the feeling of controlling a body of their own. They leaned on the wall, slowly relearning how to use the limbs, the process easier than expected. Finally, they limped their way into the barrier’s room, hand clutching their locket and the other flicking out their knife.

Fighting potential maximized.

Oh, good old sentimentality.

The king turned to them with a grief-stricken face and flung his trident out, signaling for their FIGHT to begin.

Chara smiled brokenly, crouching to a fighting position, shooting out of their place and slashing at the king’s shoulder, a big chunk of his HP being shaved off. Chara fell back and immediately ducked under flames and rolled away from a second row, screaming in pain when a ball hit their leg.

But they weren’t finished.

They slashed at the king’s leg and watched him fall on one knee, groaning in pain as dust trickled from the wound, dark eyes wide with shock and resignation.

Chara grinned weakly, the barrier reflecting from their blade. *Did you really think I would die forever and ever to you? Time to finish it.

Asgore exhaled and nodded, rising back to his feet and swinging his trident once more.

And so the fight continued with Chara slowly and painfully gaining the upper hand, using their stored pie against the king’s consciousness, stabbing him twice in one turn and even pushing him so he would have harder time to get up.

Finally, the king was on his knees and hands, his trident falling to the ground next to him. He was breathing hard, numerous injuries and lacerations over his body, dust piling around him.

“Finish me, human…” The king said, resigned to his fate, lowering his head and giving Chara the choice.

Chara was about to kill the king when Frisk’s soft sobs echoed in their head and they stopped, realizing that they had nearly killed someone. Something that they had promised themselves never to do again.

Their brother was one mistake too many.

They took a deep breath, trying to rein in their frustration and anger, and took a step back. *If you let us live in peace here I would not kill you.

The king looked up in awe and gaped. “You are sparing me?”

Chara nodded.

Tears begun to flow from the king’s eyes as he lamented over his destroyed family and his decisions. Telling Chara how the hope in their eyes reminded him of his adoptive child.

Chara was trying hard not to break there and embrace the king, wanting to feel their father one last time before returning into the Underground.

Soon, the king gave a smile and talked about having a pleasant lunch with his wife when something eerie loomed around them.

Chara looked around, jolting when loud buzzing noise erupted from around the king as numerous white pellets appeared around him, spinning and ready to attack.

*Da— Chara called just as the pellets struck and Asgore’s shocked face disappeared into dust, a quivering white inverted SOUL hovering in the air until one last pellet hit it and broke it into many pieces.

Chara howled in agony and dropped onto their knees, picking some of the dust and crying over the remains of their father.

A yellow flower popped in front of them, smiling maliciously with six different colored SOULs circling him.

“You IDIOT!” The flower taunted them. “You haven’t learned a thing!

In this world it’s KILL or BE KILLED!”

Then the flower erupted into maniacal laughter, not noticing how Chara’s face had been shadowed this entire time and how the knife was gripped tightly in their hand.

*Hey, weed… Flowey looked up just as the souls were entering him, eyes widening when the knife slashed at him and he was lifted from the ground, juices dripping as he was shoved into a mouth along with the SOULs.

He screamed and flailed, feeling as the mouth swallowed him and teeth tore into him, his essence and determination merging with the human’s body.

Then a wave of raw Determination shoved him into the dark abyss of the void and everything vanished.

Chara tilted their head back, blood mingled with blackness gushing from every hole possible as their body was merged with the SOULs and Flowey, howling their pain and anger to the world.

They had enough.

They were done.

They just wanted to erase everything now.

So that no one would be taken away from them ever again.

A loud crunch was heard and blood painted the barrier.

Frisk was slumped over a throne, vines and flowers growing all over them and binding them to the seat, eyes closed and face contorted into pained serenity.

Chara was kneeling before the throne, fingers tracing the chubby features of the child’s face, a soft smile on their tired features. They took a deep breath and pressed a kiss to the child’s temple, chuckling softly when the child sighed and their eyes fluttered open, revealing sluggish brown pools.

Chara nuzzled the hair. *Don’t worry, Frisk. I’ll make everything better so just go to sleep, okay? I’ll protect you properly this time…

Frisk eyes glanced to them for a moment, the child too defeated to question them before falling asleep once more, the pain still there.

Chara sighed and kissed them again before standing up and turning around, a TV screen appearing before them to show the outside world.

They were still in the barrier’s room, blood and dust covering everything.

Silhouettes were coming closer.

More coming to hurt Frisk.

They won’t allow it.

Chara took control.

Their body was bent and twisted as more bones and vines were ripped out of them, their stolen body twisting and changing into the same image of their forgotten life, clothes dyed with their life and memories. Wings burst out of their back as vegetation claimed those and flowers bloomed all over them, eyes snapping open in the joints.

More flowers and vines and cords grew and twisted, binding the SOULs to them and twisting around their red SOUL, cutting into their chest and hallowing it out.

Thorny hands exploded from their lower back, stretching and bulging, ripping everything in their way.

Finally, Mindless with pain and agony, Chara spread their arms and a big TV screen was built from their bones, the screen flickering and showing the bloodied and sleeping face of Frisk.

The world needed to see what they have destroyed.

Their uncovered and bleeding deathly pale feet touched the ground and more vines and flowers climbed over them and extended into canopies over them, blood and juices dripping everywhere like a constant rain.

Chara walked over to the king’s last remains and stuck a vacuum like pipe into it, absorbing it into them.

They took a deep breath and tilted their head back, leaning onto their throne of monstrosity, eyes closed as pain exploded in them and left them unstable.

Footsteps entered the barrier room and gasps were heard.

Chara chuckled softly.

Show time.

*You finally decided to show your face. Chara let the enormous arms lift them up as they turned to the group, their mouth set into a cruel smirk.

An enraged scream was heard alongside the rise in sobbing.

“What did you do to our friend, you abomination?” A blue scaled and red haired monster bellowed as she prepared her spears.

Chara felt a laugh rip its way out of their throat, leaving blood to gush over their lips. *Friend?

The monster took a step back at their question, eyes widening at the blood covered Chara. The new god started to laugh, insane cackles and hysterical guffaws filling the room.

*You call yourselves their friend. Chara laughed dementedly. *What a joke! Hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!

“WHO ARE YOU?” A skeleton asked. “AND WHY IS THE HUMAN IN PAIN IN THE SCREEN?”

Chara gave an insane smirk, raising their hands in beckoning, as their eyes snapped open with a loud crack and squelch.

Green filled eyes with red irises filled the eyesockets.

The group stared in horror as Chara loomed over them, the light from the SOULs and their eyes covering the room.

*GREETINGS, IDIOTS!

*YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE ABOVE CONSENQUENCES.

Vines shot out and eliminated the monsters in seconds.

Then they came back, stumbling and coughing from their sudden deaths.

Chara laughed in pleasure. *YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS IT.

*IT’S NOT.

*I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU SUFFER FOR ETERNITY FOR HURTING FRISK.

*I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU REGRET EVER LIVING.

*I WILL KILL YOU OVER AND OVER AGAIN UNTIL NOTHING WILL BE LEFT.

Their bloodied teeth opened and flowers bloomed from within, covering their lower face.

The group cowered and screamed as more vines ripped into them.

And so the dance of death begun as the guardian of MERCY wreaked havoc and the monsters fought for survival.

But in this dance, only one was leading.

Chara’s eyes shone and flames blazed, drowning their howls and laughter.

*GOODBYE!

Reality broke.

a/n: so what did you think? *innocently blink* please do leave a comment~

#undertale #frisk (undertale)#undertale chara #omega chara #charisk #flowey #fanfiction #fanfic #tw: gore #tw: body horror #blood #deaths #tw: violence #insanity

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