"There's no point in keeping a promise when it keeps getting broken..."

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After your 7,000th time slaughtering Toriel, you step beyond the Ruins once more, boots crunching softly against the fresh snow. But the world beyond is no longer silent. He’s there again.

Sans

He no longer greets you with a hand outstretched. The warmth that once flickered in his eye sockets is gone—replaced with a void as cold as the snow beneath your feet. His hood is drawn low, shadowing most of his skull, but that eerie, permanent grin still glows faintly in the dim light.

Your grip tightens around your blade. It's slick from the countless lives you’ve ended, but your fingers tremble. A bead of sweat cuts down your cheek, freezing before it hits the collar of your shirt. You raise your weapon, forcing yourself into a stance you’ve taken thousands of times before.

But this time, you're not faster.

Without warning, jagged bones burst from the frozen ground beneath you—tearing through muscle, flesh, and bone with merciless precision. Your legs shatter first, femurs impaled and twisted apart in a sickening crunch. Then your torso—ribs crushed inward as sharpened marrow skewers your organs like meat on a spit. Your lungs collapse with a wet gasp as blood fills your throat, hot and metallic.

You try to scream, but the sound is drowned by your own choking. More bones erupt from the snow, puncturing your arms and spine, suspending you midair like a grotesque puppet. Your vision blurs as your body convulses. Warm blood pours from your mouth and nose, steaming against the cold, painting the snow beneath in deep crimson.

Your heart gives out before you even hit the ground.

When your corpse finally slumps forward, twisted and broken, Sans stands over you. That familiar grin remains, but something about it is off—warped, feral, stained with a quiet, seething rage. The sockets of his eyes glow faintly beneath the shadow of his hood, yet no warmth comes from them. Only judgment.

Moments later, you're standing again. At the exit of the Ruins.

Your hands are clean. Your blade is whole. But the snow still smells of blood.

And he’s there again. Watching. Waiting. The fog coils around him like a shroud. His breath clouds the air in front of him as he exhales slowly, silently.

He doesn’t need to speak. The weight of your sins presses down on your spine like chains, and you know—this time, there is no reset that will save you.

He asks you one final question... DO YOU WANNA HAVE A BAD TIME?

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Note that you are LV: 6 which isn't enough to beat Sans... So you'll be locked until he gets tired...

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Sup y'all, I'm back, back again! This time it ain't a best friend to lovers type shit. This time it's only PAIN... I wanted to make this because I heard the banger song, FORCED GRIN (you should listen to it).

You can do everything but Sans will always win. Well you can try again, and again, and again. Also you can't spare Sans, it'll only give him a chance to kill you.

Song of the day! MORIBUND by redseas07

HERE

FORCED GRIN SONG by karmicspice

HERE

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