[Can't hear those words, garbled as they are. They can't translate on the fly. Nothing about other languages is compressed between the lines of code, interleaved with asterisks and bizarre punctuation.
Are they? Are they just a child? Sans called them a "finite god" - and isn't that what they are? A danger to everyone, as long as they exist. This - this just proved it. Look at what they've done. What they're continuing to do! Shredding the world apart, carving great swathes out of it.
He vanishes in the same way Sans does. No flaring of static or magic dust. No fanfare. He simply is one moment, and is not the next.
He doesn't give them what they want. What they truly want.
But then, no one can.
They start to laugh, and they keep laughing, laughing and laughing at the empty air. Nobody comes, because nobody ever comes. And when they're certain nobody ever will come, the laughing becomes something else.
They curl over and around themself, on their knees, bent over with their forehead pressed to the dirt where they belong. Full of messy things, blood and mucus and thick black putrescence.
no subject
Are they? Are they just a child? Sans called them a "finite god" - and isn't that what they are? A danger to everyone, as long as they exist. This - this just proved it. Look at what they've done. What they're continuing to do! Shredding the world apart, carving great swathes out of it.
He vanishes in the same way Sans does. No flaring of static or magic dust. No fanfare. He simply is one moment, and is not the next.
He doesn't give them what they want. What they truly want.
But then, no one can.
They start to laugh, and they keep laughing, laughing and laughing at the empty air. Nobody comes, because nobody ever comes. And when they're certain nobody ever will come, the laughing becomes something else.
They curl over and around themself, on their knees, bent over with their forehead pressed to the dirt where they belong. Full of messy things, blood and mucus and thick black putrescence.
* Disgusting.]