Derivations of L.O.V.E.

Ink

<Void>

Ink was starting to get frustrated. His fingers tapped against his leg incessantly and he was feeling thirsty.

He had taken a lot of time trying to look for residents of the city, only to find that that was more difficult than he expected. With the sheer scale of the city, one would have expected thousands of monsters, if not more. Yet he had only seen three or four max, even as the hours continue to drag on. No wonder the city had fallen into disrepair. The few people he met were not ideal sources of information anyway.

The first monster he had met was an old monster turtle, with the layers of his shell peeling off his shell. He reminded Ink of a decrepit version of old man Gerson that had also become senile.

"Hehehe, a person! You don't get people around these areas anymore. What's your name kiddie?

"Ink."

"Sink? Weird name but I guess people are getting less creative as time goes on. I'm so sorry on your behalf.

"I said my name is Ink. What happened to the monsters living here?"

"It's not cold enough to skate in the city."

"I SAID, WHERE DID EVERYONE GO!"

"Speak a little louder will you? My hearing gets the better of me sometimes."

The second monster was a shyren, quietly crying in a corner. Her dirty scales no longer gleamed in the light. She had the lower half of her body corrupted. Was the shyren's head sitting on a corpse? Who cares.

"Miss, what happened to the city?"

{"They had come! They had come and stole Shyren's joy! Shyren's inspiration!"}

"Who are these people? What did they take?"

{"They took everyone! Even myself, they took Shyren."}

"I don't understand what you mean."

Shyren gave him a quick glance, then went back to sobbing.

{"No, you wouldn't understand."}

Ink stomped off, huffing at the non-answer.

Utterly useless, these people!

All Ink knew was that the population was once larger, an obvious fact to see from the size of the city. He was starting to regret promising not to murder. He could get more information from a moldsmall, and all that species does is produce bacteria!

The third person he found was a gray human Frisk. They were shivering atop a pile of trash, and it was clear to see that they were dying. Had they been thrown in the garbage? Ink almost felt a sense of pity for them. He leaned over and shook them by the shoulder. To his surprise, the child shifted in discomfort and squinted at him hazily.

He snapped his fingers in front of their faces, and they refocused on him.

"Oh, you came back to help?"

Came back? The child must have mistaken me for someone else, in sad their state.

"It...It's too late, but that is fine. Staying is enough."

"Where is everyone? What happened to you?"

"Could...Could you not see? Everyone...at the platter." Their speech was slowing, and their breathing became erratic. "All gray, and broken. All without...pure souls. The rulers took...souls. So...don't let them, okay? They are all...gray and ugly."

They giggled, trembling in his grip. Their eyes were utterly unfocused, and Ink realized that they could not see them. Broken souls break their bodies too. Like Sans number 17's muteness.