In which I edit an old fic to be about Hyperdeath Asriel

The first thing you notice is the smell. The sharp, acrid sting of bleach melding with the metallic twinge of iron. You feel bile rising into your throat, barely quelled by your hard swallow. Looking around, it seemed like a tool shed. No, too musty for a tool shed. The concrete confirms it has to be a basement. You were talking to someone in Waterfall and then-

Thud. Thud. Thud.

What can only be heavy footsteps accompanied by the soft creaking of old wood severs your train of thought. You begin to stand up, only to find your arms, bound to a metal pole which you only now notice has been digging into your spine.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You could see his figure in the shadows. The tall, strong, terrifying Boss Monster who wielded immense power. No… Your thoughts blur. He was an unassuming monster, gentle and kind; with eyes of the purest amber you’ve ever seen. You never thought he would-

Thud. Thud. Thud.

With a final clomp of his paws reaching the concrete, he lurches over towards you, much faster than you had time to process.

“I thought I heard you wake up. How are ya feeling? Not that it matters.” His tone is just as sickeningly jovial as it was when you first met. It doesn’t reassure you now like it did then, far from it. Every syllable that careens off his wet tongue makes you shudder with dread. “Don’t tell me you’ve got cold feet!”

He laughs, no, guffaws, and then stopped abruptly, looking you dead in the eyes - looking through you. “Listen human,” He starts, his tone surprisingly monotone and low. “I haven’t had a great time so far. The way you acted on the way over, tsk tsk. It made me pretty upset. Even for a god like myself, you were quite a nuisance.”

You freeze in fear and this only makes him lean in closer, kneeling down to your level, his hot breath assailing your very being. His eyes light up, filled with a fire I had yet to see in them - that I didn’t want to see in them. “I usually start with this,” He says calmly, looking down at something in his palm that you now see to be a hunting knife, curved gently and caressed with finesse. The dim light glinted off the blade. "I have so much power, but it gets so boring. A blade like this never gets old."

Your body squirms in fear, without your brain ever giving it a signal to. This causes him to uncoil all at once, plunging the knife into your thigh. You choke on your own scream as blood begins to soak your pant leg.

“We can’t have our clothes getting soiled, now can we, human?” He says it in such a sincere, concerned way that it makes your stomach churn and bubble.

He twists the knife, just slightly, to the right, and the scream finally parts your lips: shrill and ringing. The monster grins, fueled by your discomfort. He drags the knife down the side of your leg, severing the fabric of your pants along with the first few layers of skin; parting away as if they were cloth too. He grabs at your mangled pants and rips them off, ripping what little connecting fabric they had. “I wanted to see you,” he smirks and you feel light-headed, barely letting out another visceral scream.

You scream dies down and you stare him in his laughing, amber eyes. “Fuck you.” You wince in pain after saying it, both from the dull throb of the knife and from the fear of what will come. He responds quizzically. “What did you say?”

You don’t know what to say, what to do. You can trip and stumble over your own words like they were grasping at your tongue, fighting for control. “I um s-said…” Your voice trails off and is cut short by his gaze intensifying. “Nothing! I didn’t s-say anything!” That was the wrong answer.

The monster laughs uproariously and stands up, pulling out his knife as he rises. You gasp in pain, your leg twitching and gushing warm blood. He opens a drawer, on something out of view, and you hear metal clinking very gently.

“Now, now, human,” He starts, turning around slowly. “I heard what you said to me, and I don’t approve.”

Words start to tumble out of your mouth in response. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean t-”

He cuts you off with an icy glare, far different from the fiery passion just moments ago. “I need to do something about this, no? I need to fix this little problem.” He confidently strides over, something in each hand. You made out one of the items, the hunting knife slick with your own blood. But the other looked foreign, strange. He positions himself and then lowers his body onto yours, straddling your legs, grinding the wound into the concrete. You yelp in pain and he lazily waves his knife just past your nose.

Your body tenses up, struggling to deal with the large man now sitting gleefully upon it. Asriel grins as he shifts his body weight, pressing himself into the small gash he made. You cry out in agony as he twists himself back and forth. “Just getting comfortable,” He remarks casually.

Your screams amplify and meld together in a cacophony of your own visceral pain - cut immediately short when you recognize the cold taste of metal on your tongue. Asriel has rested his hunting knife in your mouth, carefully twisting it upright. “Don’t bite down,” he says through a toothy grin. It is only then when you realize what is in his other hand. Pinking shears. The zig-zagged scissors you use to cut fabrics with. They didn’t look particularly sharp or even intimidating, the scratched metal teeth, in rows, anchored onto the cheap plastic. But you knew what was happening. You knew.

The monster shifts his weight again and a yelp gets lodged in your throat. He carefully guides the scissors into your mouth, opening them slightly. One row of teeth slips below your pulsing tongue, one above. He slides the knife over to make room, angling it down so the point drags a thin line into your palette. You taste the warm metallic flavor of blood and the cold metal of the knife and shudder in pain. Then-without warning, he grasps his hands together.

The pinking shears’ serrated teeth are pushed into the thick your tongue, digging halfway through and causing you to convulse. You twist your head away and instantly regret it, the waiting knife slicing into your cheek. Your legs thrash and kick and it only worsens the pain from before.

Again he clamps his hands down, moving the scissors just a bit to the left. The teeth were painfully dull, digging into your muscle rather than severing it. He wiggled the scissors around and beamed at your repressed convulsions. He cut down a third time, the right side of your tongue meeting the handle of joint of the scissors. You felt a large vein snap as he worked the shears back and forth, to-and-fro. A scream became a gurgle as you felt the blood quash it, rushing down your sore esophagus and into your windpipe. You choke, once, twice, on the blood, and manage to cough up a teeny fleck of it onto Asriel's fur.

No words needed to be exchanged, you knew you fucked up. Impatient, the monster slams the shears down, severing the right side of your tongue. The muscle lays hanging there, the color draining out and into your throat. You try to swallow as much as you can but it keeps slipping into your lungs. Everything burns. Your lungs. Your leg. Your mouth. It’s all one big blur of pain and you can’t even tell what’s happening.

It isn’t until one last shock of pain courses through your mouth that you realize it was over. Your tongue, mangled and finally detached, plops down and gruesomely slides down your throat. It leaves a slow trail of viscous blood, like a sickening snail looking for a home. You struggle and try to force the tongue down your throat, Asriel staring… lovingly into your eyes.

You choke and sputter and manage to force it down, dry heaving many times in succession. You gurgle out an ungodly wet slapping sound and Asriel smiles. “Good job, human. Get some sleep now.”

He strides out of the room and everything goes dark.