Reaching Out

My Hands Look Like Claws, I Think They Are

Perhaps it was the scream of the monster or human, the crunching of bones and the squelch of plasma erupting out of their heads similar to how the acid Killer used to drink would spray out of its uncomfortably colourful bottle after they insistently shook it.

It was addicting, watching viscera spray across his axe, knowing he was the reason they looked at him, eyes shaking in fear.

Images of blood frantically oozing from their flesh, glistening in the light of his allies' attacks.

He felt nauseous the first time he saw it; the memory was hard to hold onto and he was sure he'd lose it soon, after all, it had happened thirteen years ago.

In all honesty he had lost track of the blood and entrails he had pried from another living creature's body early on, and the scenes sometimes blurred together; he found he didn't have the best memory recently.

All he can recall is the nausea piling in his gut, thick chunks of vomit stuffing his throat, the taste of magic threatening to be disposed of.

It hurt him to do this to his brother, to the human, but he wasn't going to let him starve any longer.

Some monster's skin was thick, harder to cut but it was worth it in the end, to see the dust blend in with snow, followed by a chirp that rang around in his mind, a sign of a rise in LV.

There was nothing better than the rush it gave him, finally feeling alive, seeing the grin on his boss’ face and the blood and dust on his hands.

His arms ached as he swung at the dying humans bifurcated remains. Fat spilled out of their body, yellow blending in with the pinks and reds.

The crimson liquid dyed the snow beneath it a dark colour when it oozed out of the body.

Bits of brain matter wiggled on the ground near his shoes which were permanently stained brown. He stepped on the organ, feeling it burst like a pepper beneath him.

His grin widened.

Black oil pooled out of their pupil, covering their body until the substance formed his boss, an ever present sneer engraved on his face, “Dream and the other two have arrived.”

He nodded, moving to step away from the corpse and adjusting his hold on his cleaver, but a tentacle wrapped around his wrist.

“No. We will lose this fight, I'm sending you to a different universe to distract a Sans. He will fight back but I will come and get you both, do not let anyone else see you”

He stared into the thin cyan eye light in front of him,“S'boss,” he nodded, slurring his words together.

The black liquid moved quickly, covering him and pulling him through it.

In an instant he was hit with a gust of wind, wet particles of rain slapping him in the face repeatedly.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stop himself from face planting into the mucky snow. He instead pulled up his fuzzy hood, holding it firmly to his skull; it did little to warm his bones.

It was impossible to hear the crunch of his shoes breaking thick slush over the wind's screams but the water leaking in through his slippers was making it clear he was at least moving, as it was difficult to tell through the white terrain.

His thin shirt clung to his bones, wet with snow and blood and his jacket was about the same, the water quickly soaked through the fabric, effectively weighing him down.

For some reason it wasn't like back in his Snowdin, where the snow was something he was used to, instead it was painfully unfamiliar, yet bringing back memories all the same. His brain pulsed in pain and his teeth gritted together when he shook his skull to try and rid himself of the thoughts. That was in the past. His family is gone now and he has to accept that. He needs to move on so he can be better.