You can't escape Death <Frans>

CHAPTER 24: Her

Death sat upon his throne of distress and continued to ponder as he awaited Crowa's return. Needless to say, he needed his familiar more than ever before, and was filled with much regret to sending her off to do her regular patrols around his forest of lost souls.

He was worried about Frisk.

It was not until now that he realized that Frisk was undergoing some type of "medicinal treatment" that could not be good for her health if they did suspect something of her in her community. Death had a feeling that if he were to stay here and not do anything about it, something bad would happen to both her and her world.

His mind felt uneasy, as if he could not calm himself entirely. Which was odd for him, for his mind was constantly at peace because of his lack of emotional connection with the physical realm. He was able to relinquish his thoughts of emotions to the emptiness that he felt inside.

The sheer fact that she was able to maintain life alone was astonishing. Could someone potentially retract the power that Life bestowed upon her, thus killing her only life source? Her physical body sustains life without a soul, which that alone was dangerous, and Death's fault entirely. Upon contact with the blade of his scythe, her soul was taken from her body when had met her in the land of the forgotten.

In reality, Frisk cannot feel—cannot pertain to life—without the powers resting inside of her. They were a substitute for a soul, since the power was so compelling in of itself. Death did not think that she would realize just how important of a role Life was playing in this twisted book of a story, if she were to find out.

He did not want to alarm her, and the happiest creatures were the naive ones, free of the burdens of their lives. Life's forces were too powerful to be reckoned with, and even the slightest usage of them would alert the rest of the Gods immediately due to the current imbalance.

That is why she must not come back to this realm. Someone dangerous was after her, and he could not guarantee her safety anymore.

Death watched as the time ticked by, slowly. The rotten surface of the trees, now turned to a blackened sludge of a substance, made him more and more impatient to wait upon his feathered friend's return. Though, there was something different that Death could notice about his absence of a home. The desolate forest, absence of all life and color, had a tint of blue in the sky once again, ever so faintly.

The monochromatic schemes of everywhere he went maintained a pattern of black and white tones, as he stripped everything of not just life, but vibrancy. Everything around him dissipated in the air, leaving him alone, just as everything else did.

He reached out in front of him to look at his bare hands, as if he were horrified of who he was at that very moment. What was he doing? Had he gotten sidetracked of what his original plan was supposed to be?

The details were spared at the expense of his tattered mind. He knew he was growing weak with the progression of this challenging task, and he was not going to get any stronger if he disconnected himself now from the girl. At least he was aware of that.

What was this?

It was impossible for a soulless being, such as himself, to feel at all. Let alone the God of Death, the God of nothing, to see the good of any side at all. His pessimistic thoughts surrounded him, except for the one crack in in his skull, leaving a leak of realism—or even optimism—to work it's way into his confused mind.

It was a useless topic to maintain control over, for he could no longer suppress his emotions as he once had before. He had not wanted—he had refused—to feel anything at the sight of his exhausting duties of a God. The only way he could persevere was the sheer fact that he felt nothing at all, as his hollow eyes became tired and heavy, full of draining emotions. He was losing his patience.