Daybreak [ Error!Sans x Reader ]

Aftermath

But of course, skeletons do not have blood.

You did not realise this at first, kneeling before Error's lifeless form, the red dagger still in hand. You had work to do, work that your father had written into your very code and drove you to carry out, to create the perfect universe with the perfect utopia that none could usurp. You were the end game, the final stage in his plan. And yet you waited, waited for the damn comedian to wither away into dust and thus end this hell that existed betweent the two of you, to finally put a stop to this cycle.

Something else was stirring inside of you while gazing at Error's lifeless form, watching the vitality slowly drain away from him. Every part of you wanted to lash out and fight against the coding that held you prisoner, to escape the bonds that held you captive, to snap the strings that were chaining you to the ground.

"What a shame."

The dialogue caught you unawares and your head whipped around, attempting to find the source of the noise. It was not possible for someone to be speaking to you, for you and Error were the only living things that still lived inside the Void, and the comedian was on his death bed, sailing forever into the oblivion that awaited him.

But then the realisation sunk in, the prospect maddening. The comedian was alive, after all you had done! Even with his health at one, even after your dagger had cut through him as scissors often did with paper, the damn comedian was alive.

"This was a limited edition," Error muttered, removing the ketchup bottle from his jacket. Your eyes traced along the gash marks cut into the condiment bottle. So your knife hadn't struck the comedian but the damn ketchuo bottle tucked away underneath his jacket, thus resulting in the red liquid to spill across the Void, an eerie contrast to the serene white of the world around you.

A part of your rejoiced in this, the comedian was alive, still walking and talking! But why would you feel such a thing, why would such emotions run through your mind when you had a greater task at hand, to carry out your father's plans and create the perfect world, the perfect place where no resets would ever occur, no alternate worlds would ever form?

There is error in perfection and perfection in error.

Those were the words that the anomaly had whispered to you, those were the words that stuck and hummed in your very core. There would always be fault within the perfect world. even if everyone lived in peace and the universe was at an equilibrium for no creaitvity would exist, nothing would change, everything would stay the same. And with error, with the so-called anomalies that were the alternate universes, that was perfection. For even if they were a nuiscance, they were the true balance within the multiverse for creativity flourished.

That was the balance.

You sunk to your knees, feeling your entire being split in two. This was where you would die, where your code would collapse in on itself, the corrupted wanting to kill the anomaly, wanting to gash your knife across his spinal cord and watched the life drain away. And yet a part of you remembered, remembered the echo flowers and the weeks spent together, fighting against the odds and conquering false gods so that there might be a better future, living in the now and conquering the problems one at a time, not caring what the future may hold.

The comedian sensed this, the way your entire composition was tearing in half, how your grip on the world was slipping as if with the next breath could your soul slip away into oblivion. But still you persisted, still hanging on by a meager thread even when all odds were stacked against you living. You felt the glitch's arms wrap around your chest and held you close, feeling the hum of his soul and magic vibrate in unison within the magic of your own soul for you two were halves of a whole, halves of a balance that were forever intertwined.