Special thanks to @Tailbolt for giving me the idea in the first place! I expect this book to be fully released in its entirety some time around the beginning of November! Add this book to your library to receive updates!

"Look at what you've done."

The city of dust, the city of bone and chaos and ruin, forged on the blade of silver, the blade that dug into the flesh of the living and caved a new future, a better one, a world without monsters or life or anything to call this damned underworld home. That was what the skeleton had done, he had been the one to pick up the knife and turn upon those he called his kin, slicing and burning until nothing remained.

Silence.

Nothing but the occasional passing of the wind, the brief stir in the breeze that offered the hint of life but yet carried the dust, carried the hints of death all the same. And the skeleton was the fault of this, all of it.

At first it had been necessary, vital for the aspect of breaking free from the cycle of never-ending resets. The skeleton, the comedian, he had been given the gift to remember each and every world, the gift that he could recall previous lives and dead times when others could not. He could name a thousand times when the human child walked through the Underground as friend, only to turn in the next life to the adversary, wielding their sword of knife against those that had once claimed to be their friends.

And they had done the dance in the Judgement Hall more times than the comedian could count, sang the song of ice and fire, blazing determination that rivaled the icy coldness of the snow. But even that had soon proven to be a bore, when the child had mastered the comedian and could strike him down the same as they could the next monster and so forth. The cycle had repeated without end, the record forever stuck on repeat.

But there was something the skeleton could do, one part he could change that others could not. He could see past the child's lies and schemes, and after countless centuries of torture and resets, he has mustered up the will and desire to finally surpass the human's power and take control of the timeline.

The comedian could win.

It had started with the rabbit woman in the town of Snowdin, an unimportant monster that would surely not be remembered or missed should they turn up dead. And so the skeleton had struck the first blow, taken the knife from the counter that was strictly reserved for his younger brother when chopping up the ingredients for his fine cuisine, stalked the monster through the depths of the night and plunged the blade into her abdomen, watching as the blood seeped into the snow and her body withered away into dust.

At first he had been mortified, the thought of taking another's life was daunting, an innocent being that had done no crime but simply existed, and he had taken that away. But in the aftermath, when the energy from the butchered creature had flowed into the skeleton's essence and raised his level of violence, that had been the true reward. For the first time in forever, the skeleton no longer sat at level one as all monsters did, no longer had one meagre bar of health, but he was stronger, and with that the skeleton was more determined.

Monsters are all born at a neutral state, with varying health amounts, sure, but every monster that has not killed remains at level one. And this skeleton had never killed
anyone before, at least not in this timeline. But when his level increased, when the power thrummed within his core, the skeleton felt alive, felt powerful, and oh boy, how much he craved more.

And so monster after monster went missing, victim to the blade. The human had not yet appeared in the Ruins yet, the skeleton was determined to build up as much strength as possible for his final dance with the human. The guard was alerted and sentries were posted, but none suspected the skeleton, none ever conceived the possibility that the slumbering comedian could be at fault.

The skeleton stalked the Ruins when the human fell, watched from a distance as the human landed in the pile of flowers and once more began their journey through the Underground. By then the skeleton was desperate, needing to further build up his strength so that he could match the prowess of the child. He marked monster after monster in the Ruins for death, but not even that was enough to further increase his power, for they were mere creatures that lacked little to no power. The true answer lay with the goat woman that inhabited the catacombs, for her death would certainly provide the initial power boost needed.

It had been hard, confronting the goat woman and watching her smile at him. But the skeleton deemed it necessary, vital in his conquest over the human. So the bone pierced her heart and she withered into dust, his level increasing all the while. And from there it was a roller coaster that spiralled downhill, kill after kill, butcher after butcher becoming easier until dust coated the world. Every kill that the human neared, the skeleton would claim.

And then when there was nothing, when every monster had been dragged from their homes and slaughtered on the streets, when no one remained but the skeleton and his brother, the human cowering in the shadows, did the comedian confront his kin. It was painful, the thought of striking a blow against the taller skeleton unbearable, but it was necessary, every ounce of experience gained from murder boosted the comedian even closer to the kill, stronger yet stronger.

The chef of a skeleton had pleaded, begged his brother not to kill him, that there was still good and hope for the sadistic comedian, yet those were words that rebounded from the skeleton, his resolve already made. The skeleton was determined for the first time in a long while.

And so the skeleton died and the comedian gained the experience, finally amounting to the grand level of twenty, surpassing the human in all ways imaginable. The monster was the god of his own world and the child was subject to his mercy!

The comedian had hunted down the child, dragged them into the streets of Snowdin just as he had done with his brother and tore the human limb from limb, screaming furies and insults for all the chaos they had caused, wailed for the loss of his dead brother and friends.

The soul of the child passed into the Void for they could no longer reset, the comedian surpassed them in determination and strength, therefore rendering them incapable of using their powers to claim domination over the timeline. And yet the comedian could not reset for the boundaries of his soul limited him to the confines of the rest of the mortals that walked the Earth.

"Look at what you've done," the comedian whispered to himself. It did not bother the skeleton that he talked to himself, it was a habit that he had picked up on many months ago. Besides, there wasn't anyone around anymore to raise concern at such a thing. He had killed them all.

A small giggle escaped the skeleton's mouth at the thought, recalling the surprise, the horror that had donned his kind's face as one of their own turned against them. It was quite hilarious, actually, how after years and years of hatred towards the humans that walked the surface, it was really the monsters, their own kind that they should have been watching out for in the first place.

The comedian sat down on a rock and looked over the quiet town that slumbered in the distance. He could not remember the name of the place he had grown up in, most memories of his past self were buried under countless recollections of genocide and slaughter.

But what to do no, that was the question!

The truth was, he did not ever anticipate getting this far, to standing over the human's decaying body while hysterical sobs and laughter racked his chest, wailing for everything he had lost and laughing in spite at the human had torn away his sanity after thousands and thousands of resets.

Most humans, most monsters, would have called the comedian insane for what he had done. But what they failed to realise, what anyone really failed to understand and comprehend, was that the skeleton had tried for so long to find a way out. He had lived the same life in the same week in the same year hundreds upon hundreds upon millions of times, watching helpless, hapless to do anything as the human tore through the Underground, slaughtering his friends and family out of spite.

The comedian had tried reasoning with the human, but they had merely laughed at him and continued on their way, carving their way into the Underground monster after monster. Sans had tried devising new waves of attacks, which did hinder Frisk's progress at the time. But eventually they would get farther, faster and faster until the knife finally dug into his rib cage and he once more woke up in the town of Snowdin to repeat the same life over and over again without end...

So that was what had driven him to insanity. This was truly the last resort, the only method that the comedian could come up with to finally hinder the human's reign of terror over the Underground, even if it meant killing them all by his own hand.

And the comedian had done it, sacrificing the last bits of his former self in the process. The pun-loving skeleton that had once walked these catacombs was probably in the pile of corpses that he had formed within the very heart of the town. some new demented creature possessing his mind.

But now the comedian was at an impasse, a road that seemed to offer no certain future. He had once thought that after he had regained control over the timeline and slaughtered each and every monster, that he would finally take his life after ending so many others and damn the Underground to never again known the sound of laughter and life.

Reflecting upon it now, however, the comedian did not like the thought of dying. He thought and thought about it and finally came to the conclusion that he would miss the feeling, the excitement that coursed through his veins as his knife ripped through the flesh of another all too much. More than anything, the comedian wanted to do it again.

And that was where the temptation was, several miles above him in fact, where seven billion humans scampered over the earth like rodents waiting for the slaughter.

The more Sans thought about it, the more certain he was. Humans were a disease, each and every one of them. They might parade around and claim innocence just as Frisk had done, but each and every one of them was capable of murder should they think that they could get away with it.

"No," the comedian whispered to himself, getting to his feet as he reached for the knife by his side. Sans had begun to think that the knife was nothing more than an extension of his arm. Wherever he went, it came with him. He never did part with the weapon that had been with him since the very beginning, the knife he had taken from the drawer of his brother's kitchen and used it to butcher his own kind. "I'm coming out of retirement," he wheezed.

Sans had the power, the strength to bring the entire surface world to its knees. Murdering, genocide, did not require killing each and every individual by themselves. If one knew where to cut, where to make even the slightest dent, the whole building could topple over and cave in on itself.

He laughed a little at the thought of the humans slaughtering one another. What a glorious sight that would be!

Within the catacombs of the capital city that had long since grown dark and cold after the comedian had slaughtered all those inside, would rest six human souls. Sans held the seventh, Frisk's soul that had merged with his own.

Sans took a step, then another as he began his journey towards the capital, where the Barrier lay that acted as the only gateway between the world of the monster's and the empire of the humans. And with a single blade would the skeleton cut them down, drive them from their houses like pigs for the slaughter.

The skeleton looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a red fabric that fluttered in the breeze.

"Papyrus, are you coming?"