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[crow-in-a-top-hat]

Little theory involving the Noelle and Kris fusing and becoming the knight, what if we are right on that and this is the way to make a knight, but the knight that we see and the one we make are two different ones, the knight (dess) was the one doing all the kidnapping and stuff and it was made the same way, with a human and a monster trying to cross the border, but i hear you asking, "where would another human be?" and although not a human i imagine that for the purposes of this recipe a vessel could work, and if we tie the theory that we are not Kris's original soul, we have a mesh of both human and monster, soul and body, and now whe have two, only ours is made with a real human, what does thia theory entails? Idk, but its cool.

[crow-in-a-top-hat]

And roses

"The battle was over", he thought, but even so he stayed still, for God knows how much time, he stopped being for even a moment, and a moment was all that it takes, but nothing was taken, nothing.

A long time was passes, he saw himself in front of a dead beast, her friend, her savior, was nowhere to be seen.

"Where was her", he would think, but he knew that answer, the battlefield was painted in pink, the mixture of red and white, pink that painted the snow, red that painted his soul, now still, only the sound of his voice could be heard.

He walked to the only place there was, the dead creature, and he saw something, the hair of his savior, the red that didn't mix with white, Wigfrid was stuck beneath the giant she had slain, still, still there, still, still alive?

Her painted white skin had mimicked the battlefield, snow covered in red, skin covered in blood, but that was all, all he could see, now he saw nothing.

The reason was clear, he had closed his eyes, refusing to have the answer for a question he did not want to ask, Is she alive?

"Of course she is" or so he would say, if he could say anything.

"She is strong" he would speak, if he could speak anything.

"I should help her get up" he would, if he didn't need more help.

So he was, the weakest link, weak mime, no voice, no powers, no luck, nothing, he needed help the most, he helped the least, and at least he lasted, at least for last.

He didn't open his eyes, it was expected, he was too weak for that, he should have run away, he probably was the one that killed her, he was too weak to run, too weak to be, too weak to keep her, the smooth surface of the hot gem he had uselessly kept in his body grounded her, even now she was there for him, it was only fair he did the same.

He opened his eyes, he was so weak that he didn't realize he was crying, the water in his eyes hurt, but something hurt more, his weakness and the silence, she would be singing by now, but the howling of the winter winds had killed all sounds that weren't hers.

In front of him she was, as a miracle she breathes, weak, like him, he would recognize it, but not on her, it was unsettling, she too had her eyes open, much earlier than him.

"Good morning", she smiled, her voice was weak, out of character for her.

"..." he spoke, in character for him.

But he did move, he too would break his character for now, and he would save her, he but his weak body below the hulking mass of dead flesh and tried to do the impossible, lift the thing.

It didn't work, of course it wouldn't, it was useless, of course it would.

"W-wes" she spoke, weak, as he was, "get in my beast and... go get help i'll wait you here" she tried to do her voice again, but failed, again, and before he could protest it got dark.

The darkness was not that of the setting sun, but of his death, the moon in all its brilliance, decided for whatever reason to not shine today, only doing so for the stars, away from them, closer, to them.

Wes hurriedly lit his lantern, only to get dark not even a second later, before he could rummage for his one and only light bulb she was ready, she gave him her light.

"Gö förth cömpanion, I will wait för you!" her voice breaking the silence, her command was clear, but even so he could not, something in her eyes still looked too much like his.

"he didn't work out, right?" she dropped her facade of strength, "or we could stay here, die in the cold or by the darkness, what is more dignified?"

he answered with a pitiful look.

"alright, you don't need to give me this look" she spoke clearly, as if her ribs were not broken. "com'ere" she rushed him close to her and graved his cheeks, she was cold, and she wiped his tears, "there, now you're better" she smiled, her white teeth stained by blood, "but you should really go, if you want a chance to live you got to-" she stopped, he signed words to her, words he didn't know if she would understand.

"We" he signed, and them again, "Promise that We will live", she smiled.

"We" she signed back, making Wes face light up brighter than the light keeping them alive.

He rummaged in his things and gave her a light bulb, a precarious way to keep on living, but a way noneless, he signed something for her, but she was too weak to understand, instead she only agreed, which send the mime flying on top of her beefalo and them would off sight.

Silence.

No applauses, she knew that would be her end.

Cold.

The sin of a white lie, stained in blood.

Roses.

The smell of roses came from the darkness, something was there, something outside of her vision, something inside hers.

"Hi there" Wigfridge spoke, "if you came to see the show it was canceled, we haven't sold enough sits"

Silence.

"Well, i could try to crack some jokes, to crack the ice"

Cold.

"oh, i see what you did there a little breaking of the fourth wall, if you came to visit you could at least have brought some-"

Roses.

"oh, well i was going to say help, but that will do it" she plucked the roses that came from the ground, strangely warm that gave her a sense of relieve, "if you're a fan i apologize, i don't have paper with me" she picked her finger on the spike and wrote an uneven Wig in the Deerclops's antler, "there, that is the least i could do" she heard a snapping, the thing had taken her prize and steeped away.

The muffled sound of footsteps, grew farther and farther, "hey, queen of darkness" the sound stop, "why don't you take one last gift", she lifted her light bulb and a laughter could be heard in the darkness, the laughter was cut short thought as Wigfridge said, "And the curtains falls." smashing the light bulb on her hand.

Sending the queen of darkness closer to her, but to her surprise, she felt something uncharacteristic, a warm, coming from the empty darkness.

"well- this is awkward now" she laughed, before felling warm hands cover her face, like a mother that rushes a child to sleep, but only barely, as the warm became cold and Wigfridge and Wigfridge realize that the darkness was much closer to her.

The queen darted away, trying to keep herself far from the Warrior, but she smiled.

"It fine yöur highest, we all must dö öur beast to nöt starve" and she tilted her head, showing a little of her neck, like a bait, except there was no trap, both knew that, as the sound of the darkness, the sound that both had heard many times before drew closer, another one did, the gallop of a beast, far away, but not nearly that far.

But our Warrior would be death before they reach her, she would, but many characters were broken today, why not one more, the darkness ran away, death herself refusing to take her, again, and again.

Previous chapter

[crow-in-a-top-hat]

and Red

The beast galloped on the vast plains, it would be free if not for its invisible shackles, above it, a warrior, she warmed her voice while ridding her beast, she would be free-

Cöme Fört nöble beast, we shall not falter töday.

Her cries were not meant to the woolen beast, in that empty field, the only thing that could hear her, was her.

White, Wigfrid knew the white of the winter, but she never lost anything to her, not anything meaningful, the white snow reminded her of the mime, the weakest link, never broken inside the constant.

Where one day she hunted for food, now she hunted for him, she would pray for his safety, but her Gods only dealt in blood, and today, the red of blood sickened her, what use is for the strongest if she can't protect the weakest.

She drew clouds of vapor with her breath, a second of weakness would kill her, she knew that, the winter was her first friend, her first enemy, her muse, her first death.

In truth, she did not know how long it has been, when Wes disappeared everyone assumed he would be back before the sun died, she didn't know if that was true, but she looked for him either way, maybe she wasn't looking for someone, maybe she was running away, the blood washed away everything, her worries, her mind, her fear, life in the camp was perfect, but to peaceful, no one would clap for an empty stage.

She heard a sound, a familiar grunt, another beast lived in the winter, a partner for her dance, a giant monster of cold and snow, a cortless king, a singer with no audience.

But there was an audience, muffled by snow a wind another familiar sound screamed silently across the field, the sound of a broken whistle.

There was only one thing that could make that sound, and ironically, the one holding it was the one who couldn't make a sound, she found him, but she hasn't the first.

White, the blighted white demon, horned aberration of one eye, shrouded by ice and snow, a Cyclops, a Deer a Deerclops, she made icicles on with every step, he broke the woods and clouds with his horns, nothing could survive its wrath, that was nature incarnate, the will for stillness, no man woman or robot can survive death, a mime could do nothing, as Wes watched silently at his own fate, he knew nothing could save him.

White, her vision blackened in white death, she saw the bleeding mime - her companion, on the ground, against a giant that embodied death, white death that accompanied her, silent howling winds of her homeland, a survivor and a beast, the lines thinning at each passing moment.

She jumped from her mount, the beefalo was raised for speed, but she was raised for death, stabbing her spear into its heart was enough to get its attention, but only that, before it could react the Valkyrie screamed, her voice as loud as a war bugle, and she demanded for one thing, war, enough to get the monsters' attention, from the mime, wile her spear was still stuck on its chest she had another one in hands.

Wigfrid charged into the monster, ignoring the apparent danger she moved between its legs, making the cold gaze of death further itself from the mime, when she turned to look at him, she was relieved, his bloody visage scared her, but he was ok, he was alive, he was-

The monster care little for the heart-warming reunion, with a flick of its wrist it sends a mountain of ice spikes towards the warrior, but she answered the same, slowly leading them further from Wes, guiding one of them to their grave.

The giant overshadowed the warrior, but one of them had died a thousand time for the other, and the other remembered every death, The deerclops raised its hand and once again turned the ground into a forest of ice spikes, a spirit of destruction that lived to kill and die, Wigfrid evaded the attack and slowly sawed its legs, it wasn't perfect, many of the spikes were tainted in bloody red, but she didn't falter, even bloodied and bruised she didn't stop, the giant could not survive, but it did.

When the giant feel to its knees, Wes was relived, it was only a thing, a living thing that could die and be killed, but the Gods rejected that notion, when the giant feel it brought its horns to the ground on top of the warrior, sending her flying to a nearby tree, the sound of broken wood muffled the sound of broken bones-

It was useless.

He thought.

Nothing could fight against nature.

He was right, and nature would prove him so, the giant approached her savior, another death on his name, a prophetized death, trying to meddle in the will of the Gods could only cause death.

There was nothing he could do, his body was weak, his mind was weak, he was cold and alone, no one would blame him from running, eve she would understand, he looked at her, she was smiling, her ribs were probably broken, but she said something, something that did not carry over the battlefield, but even far away he could read her lips.

"run" she said with a smiled.

His body was too weak to move, hurt and tired, if he moved now he could not move later, but his body knew that, and it gave him just enough strength to move, to run away, to abide by his saviors wish, to live, and ultima tile let her die, but there was nothing he could do, and yet, he did, he ran, towards the beast, giant white death, the nature's wrath incarnate into a monster of flesh and bones, like him, like her, it bleeds, it can die.

He threw a branch at the giant, enough to make it look, but not that much, the giant laughed at the mime's attempt and when it turned his back, the mime hit it with an axe, finally earning its attention, the mime ran with the strength that he didn't have, and few to the ground, the Deerclops raised its hand, like a guillotine blade decreeing his and it fell.

The giant feel, as the broken and bruised Wigfrid punched a hole thought the giant's leg, its blood running across her spear and feeding her shattered body, the battle was not over.

Before falling on the ground, she stood in front of the monster, plucking her old spear from its chest spraying a fountain of dark blood, the battle was not over.

She tried piercing its eye, but the monster caught her on its cold hands, freezing her body and crushing it like glass, the battle was not over.

She screamed to the creature.

"This is a Gödless land" As she threw her spear on the thing's eye, any human would be death already, but Wigfrid was not human, neither was the creature, as the spear only bounced on the thing's sclera, making it blink.

She slipped from her broken wooden armor, a sorry excuse of how she was alive, she got the spear before it feel and lunged it on its neck, a moment of weakness was enough to bring its death, but the battle was not over.

The thing screamed, it tried to get up, but it couldn't, the only thing it did was run wildly for some steps, it fell, the battle was over.

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[crow-in-a-top-hat]

White

Luck never smiled at Wes, be it in forests of wood or stone, trapped in bars of bone or air, he was never a lucky man, but today was different, dancing between misfortunes and a labyrinth of unusual paths he found himself in a beautiful place, below earth and far from the light he saw the impossible, a blue meadow with blue mushroom trees, light in the middle of an infinity abyss, he may have come here to run away from death, but to find life here could only be luck.

His smiled faded, luck never smiled to him, suddenly the earth above started to sift and life a rainstorm the sky feel on his head, he ran towards the blue meadow just to be meat by an impossible void between himself and beauty-

A mockery

Wes thought, he would've screamed to nature herself if he could, but even quiet the world still answered, if the earth raged above him, it would be only right to do it below him, small mounds of dirt moved at a distance, the sound of a thousand crawling worms drowned the sound of the earthquake, everything wanted him dead.

He ran, watching for the falling rocks and trying to remember his path back was impossible for the mime, he was not a survivor, he didn't have the strength or fighting prowess of his friends, nor the magic or knowledge, he shouldn't be here, he knew that, and so did the world, so it demanded that he wasn't, it demanded his death more than any other.

He was tired, not because he ran for too long, but because he was weak, his body was weaker than the others, much like his luck, his mind, his strength, but he steeled himself, his bones burned, and his muscles gridded into dust, his sweat made his makeup fall on his eyes and when he closed them by instinct a rock hit his head.

Red, from his black hair a streak of bright red burned his body, every time he was hurt enough to bleed his friends were near, but not now, not here, he was already below the earth, they didn't need to dig.

For a moment he accepted everything, his body made out of flesh could not move like steel, if only he was half as strong as them, as her.

Red, it reminded of her, so fitting for his last moments to be blessed by her image, her voice could clean the cacophony that was the caves-

My Crimson Chanteuse, I only pray that you don't miss me.

He selfishly prayed with his soon-to-be last breath, but prayers are for Gods, and they didn't want his wishes, so from the corner of his eyes he saw a light.

Red, a glimmer impossible in this hell, when he turned to see it he confirmed, a red gem, between the rocks that fell from above this was different, it was red like her but weak like him, when marble and gold shattered on impact a clear red gem could not exist, and nature agreed.

A thousand and one rocks fell on the red gem, something beautiful killed once again on this world, cold, alone, but persistent, it was still there.

Did they miss? Was the gem even there?

Questions filled the silence of the mime, and when he moved to confirm, another shade filled his vision.

Blue, the light dangling in front of him promised that all would be ok, like an angler fish luring prey, but he didn't care about that beauty anymore.

If sloth is the father of all inventions and lust and love are one and the same, then greed was the wish to live, this world was not his, nothing was his, if he was going to die he would die with something in his hands, he clutched his lantern tight and hit the monster hiding beneath the glow, he could never fight, but that hit was enough to distract the worm.

He ran, not to live but to have, he needed that gem, someone needed to have her, alone in the cold, he could not think of himself, waiting to be picked, to be recognized by their work, that is an all artist's song, if no one would come for him, he would come for someone, something, it was too late for him, but art works with or without time.

The rocks flayed him, his weak glass bones cut him from inside out, but there was no tomorrow, only today, a performance for he and he alone, a silent soliloquy, composed for nothing, and no one, and in the end, the red gem was in his hand.

He shielded the brittle gem with equally brittle bones, who was he to decide what lives and dies? In the end, the gem only showed him cold.

In front of him, slowly being lit by the cavern flowers an escape, the howling winds brought cold, but an escape none less, cradling the gem in his hands he walked up the stairs carved from rock and magic.

He crawled out of the cave, the surface was not any better, the empty planes where he stood were filled with nothing but cold.

White, an infinite expanse of nothing and cold, it buried the grass and drowned life, yet, he was still there, the heat from his hands made contrast with the cold, the red gem in his hand challenged the cold winter, and although it wasn't enough to keep him from death, and wasn't the thing keeping him alive, he liked to believe it was.

He was lost, luck for him, it wasn't night, but he knew better than to believe in luck, he opened his map to situate himself, but because it wasn't night, he didn't have any star to give directions, only he and the vast infinite white.

Next chapter

[crow-in-a-top-hat]

This is more of a idea than a proper theory, but what if Asriel is dead? What if what broke the Dreemurr family was the death of their kid? What if he died because he knew to much and was killed by the Knight and their people? If so then Asgore's commentary of being a family together again makes no sense, that is if we didn't see a dead person back to live.

Gerson was losing his memories maybe because of old age or because he was already dead, my theory is is that he lost much of the dust that made him be, and the dust was in a sealed container inside a drawer probably being taken care by someone who knew what they where doing, but what if that wasn't the case with Asriel?

Could he had lost so much of himself that he forgot who he was? Became another person? Maybe even forgot his name but remember it's letters?

If you had older brothers (or a big family) you know that it is normal to inherent your brother's clothes, Kris only uses one set of clothes, maybe that is the only one they have, or it is especial for him, those clothes where washed and dirty many times on bis live, if there was something there it was probably be lost now, and only a vaguely familiar thing would've remained, not a person though, could you be a person if you already died once?

[crow-in-a-top-hat]

Ok guy, imma need you to explain this to me, how does the existence of dark world works? We (Kris) created Tenna and the others in our house, but they already existed, because we can recruit them and see them again we know that darkeners maintain they're personalities and existences through the worlds, but they exist even before being crated by a dark fountain, Tenna already existed before we made the fountain, that would make you think that the dark world is like a mirror, but no, because Susie made a dark word in the same place as the other and it was different, so there are only two options that i can see here, or the world is a a mirror betwen the light and dark, or it is not, if its not i would love to hear your guy's theories on how it work, but if it is, i have a couple theories myself.

If there is a mirror dinamic between the two worlds then we need to go bakc to the root, luckily we saw two dark fountains being made, and both where wildly different, Kris's fountain was like the others and the collor pallet was the same, Susie's fountain was different in many things but mostly in the collor, the difference between this worlds could be what Ralsei said, no Dark world is the same and blabla, but i don't think that is the case, Susie is a monster that lacks soul (for what we know, or it is very different from ours) and Kris has a soul; i think those are the main differences, witch means that the knight or the person who made those fountains have something that Kris have, or they're human or they have a soul.

[crow-in-a-top-hat]

Just had the hottest take possible, everyone thinks the soul is evil and trying to fuck things up but you forgot what Kris is, Kris isn't possessed by the soul, he is a cage, and a willing cage seeing as he can take the soul of, we are the prisoners but Kris isn't the jailer, then the question is who is Kris working to? What do they want from us? And most importantly, who is Mike?

[crow-in-a-top-hat]

Hot take, this is how maximus is in the ship