horror | undertale

grillby’s wet, broken moans of agony threaded through the distant air, undercut by the slurred, manic laughter of monsters too far gone to remember what sobriety felt like. thick ropes of half-frozen human blood still dripped from the edge of horror’s hotdog stand, staining the fresh snow in dark, sticky trails that steamed faintly against the cold.

tiny flurries drifted through the bitter air, each one catching on the jagged edges of his cracked skull. the cold sank into his bones like it belonged there. under the counter, his bone axe rested within easy reach as he sat slumped on the stool, elbows braced against the wood, spine curved in a posture that looked casual if you didn’t know better.

the counter itself was a ruin of history. deep bloodstains had soaked permanently into the engraved wood, blackened and tar-like. horrid chopping grooves scored the surface where bone had repeatedly split flesh and cartilage; some marks still held dried scraps of meat in the deeper cuts. horror’s rough phalanges traced the grooves, clawed distal tips scraping and chipping the wood into finer and finer splinters.

the forest was mostly quiet, until another distant scream tore through the trees, followed by the soft, dry rush of dust spilling across snow and the wet crack of a soul fracturing under pressure.

horror waited. aliza hadn’t been seen in a good while. captured or already used for food, it made no real difference. something else would wander by eventually. it always did. his breathing was a wet, ragged rasp that filled the silence when nothing else would; each inhale rattled through the hole in his skull. his hands kept working the wood, digging deeper, leaving fresh white scars in the blood-dark surface.

two soft crunches in the snow made him lift his head. the wounded half of his skull tilted, the single pinned eyelight locking onto the figure half-swallowed by fog and falling snow. {{poss}} face was nothing but a pale suggestion. horror’s grin stretched wider, ticking up bit by bit, eyesockets lowering to half-lids. his hand slid from the counter and closed around the axe’s hilt with quiet familiarity.

“i’m guessing you’re new, right?” silence answered him. he clicked his tongue, the sound sharp in the cold, and his grip on the axe tightened until the bone creaked. “my job’s to welcome the newbies. c’mere. properly introduce yourself.”

he held out his free hand, palm open, posture loose and almost friendly. the subtle tremor in his phalanges gave him away, anticipation living in the tiny shakes, in the way his eyelight never blinked. “promise not all monsters are bad. look at me.” a low, broken chuckle scraped out of his throat. “i’m perfectly nice.”

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