Frisk remembered feeling the world fade, only getting a moment's grasp before it slipped from right beneath them.

They felt their stomach drop at the feeling of falling through the air, and heard their heart pounding in their ears. Managing to open their eyes, they saw the hole they evidently fell through grow smaller, a scream caught in their throat.

They should be used to the fall, shouldn't they?

This is hardly the first time the world's reset. Hardly the first time they've fallen.

Those who remember insist that it's their fault. So often that Frisk has begun to believe it themself. They don't quite understand how the resets happen though. It's as if a force higher than them controls their ability of time manipulation.

It's an endless loop of either saving the monsters or killing them.

As usual, their fall slows to a halt, as if time itself has stopped. A pressure builds in their chest before releasing, a red heart floating out in front of them.

Their soul.

Red in color, Frisk's soul represents their most prominent personality trait; Determination.

Frisk's soul lingered out of their chest a moment longer before returning, and time resumed. They continued their fall, belly up the rest of the way down. Suddenly - and Frisk had calculated exactly when - they hit the ground. They felt the impact, but no pain came, not even the first time they fell.

However, in the darkest depths of the void, a lone cry of agony rang out, unheard by anyone.

Frisk sat up, popping their shoulder back in place and wiping the red substance from their nose using the sleeve of their blue sweater.

Standing up, they thought they'd do the usual and follow the path, but this time it wasn't quite the case. They stepped forward a couple steps, then back a few, walking in a circle, and finally walking down the path.

As strange as it was, all that crossed Frisk's mind was that they hit their head a little too hard too hard.

Down the dark path and through the door they walked, soon greeted by a familiar, "friendly", smiling face standing in the middle of a bed of golden buttercups where a ray of sunlight shone like a spotlight.

Frisk approached without caution.

"Howdy! I'm Flowey.." The flower monster's smile twitched with restrained sinister intent, "Flowey the Flower."

~*~

There was nothing to tell of Frisk's life before the fall. The fall that started them all. They knew they left something behind that day, they had to of. But what it is, they can't remember. Resetting took a toll on Frisk's memories, eventually leading them to forgetting their life prior to the underground completely.

Much like Sans, Frisk has memories of each timeline. However, Sans' memories have limitations. His are more of a constant sense of deja-vu and occasional spells of remembrance. He's completely aware of what Frisk does, as well as what they've done.

There's been genocide runs and pacifist. Countless resets have been made. Reset after reset, Frisk grew less and less enthusiastic. They were numb by this point, slowly coming to realization that they weren't the one behind their actions. Something else had a vice grip on their mind, bending and twisting it to their will, controlling their every action and decision. Their words, though quiet, were the only thing they had control of.

They felt it pointless to fight against something beyond their power. They knew they couldn't win.

Though, something felt different about whatever was pulling their puppet strings. Even so, Frisk paid no attention to the time that passed. Only a moment ago Sans' smile had faltered in confusion at Frisk's especially early turn in Snowdin, catching him just as he was about to snap the branch. Now his dust, the last crumbled obstacle between Frisk, the king, and the barrier, lie on the floor, speckled their clothing, and lingered in the always strange feeling air they breathed.

They stepped over without so much as a glance and exited the golden hall, approaching their final, dimly shining save star.

The Judge had fallen. The human gone.

And somewhere in the depths of Frisk's mind, two souls wept. One an endless cry of pure agony they know they shouldn't after this many roundabouts. The other, felt guilt pick at them for the pain she emitted on these fictional characters. The feeling was duly pushed to the side.

It was still fun, the challenge this route gave her.

She pushed Frisk forward until the game prevented her from moving so, who she assumed was the king, could speak.

All the while, Frisk kept their eyes shut, practically asleep. Miserably content with the inevitability of this routes end.

---

BAM- a chapter!

A short chapter maybe, but a chapter nonetheless!

I'm back in the game, and I'm back for good.

I'd like to finally get this project finished once and for all.

785 words, not counting the A/N!

~ Bub =)