Toby Fox presents "Ambrosia!"

[Sans]

The bonfire flared in anticipation of the coming duel. It cackled, its fiery maw widening, ready for the sacrifice, whether orc, skeleton, or human, to relieve its starvation.

Ulak’thuul lifted his great-axe, drawing massive cheers from the crowd. Smiling, he punched upwards, igniting his fist. Purple fire danced around his fingers as he gestured to the orc audience. The orcs whooped, hollered, and chanted his name as the shaman turned around to face his pudgy opponent.

Sans did not move. Even as an orc came up behind him and pulled Frisk back to prevent interference, despite her protests to the manhandling, his only reaction was to glance back and watch her disappear into the crowd.

He sighed. It was too late to back out now. He had to hold himself to his word.

He looked back at Ulak’thuul. Their eyes met, and they stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. The shaman’s muscles pulsated, his grip around his weapon tightening as both awaited the ringing of the arena bell. The shaman shifted his stance, bringing one foot back and the other forward as he lowered his form; he held his weapon close to his chest as one hand slid towards the blade of the axe; his eyes never left the skeleton’s as he readied himself for the approaching battle.

Sans, on the other hand, didn’t do any pre-battle prep work, too lost in introspection to even consider it. Outmatched on a physical level against Ulak, a straight up “fight” would be suicidal, and he was more than certain that most of his own attacks would do next to nothing against the orc leader. All except for one, anyway, but to use it at the very start would not mesh well with the honor duel. There was only one way he could win this.

He had to break their leader.

The dull, metallic roar of the bell reverberated around him before the excitement of the orcs drowned it out. No sooner had the sound reached his ear holes did he look up. Several feet in the air, barreling down at him with a flaming great-axe, was Ulak’thuul, grinning from ear to ear.

Motionless, Sans stared up at his approaching doom. The crowd steeled their nerves as the shaman descended upon him, ready to hop up once the killing blow had landed. For several moments, silence reigned.

The axe sliced down.

Sans saw a vision of chopped bones flashed before his eyes.

He took a single step to the side.

The axe hacked apart the dirt as Ulak’thuul landed. Groans of disappointment surged all around them both as the shaman glanced up at the skeleton. Sans couldn’t help but widen his smile at the orc’s completely incredulous look.

“what,” he said, digging his foot underneath a rock, “you think i was just gonna stand there and take it?”

For emphasis, he kicked the rock towards the shaman. It bounced harmlessly off of his face, but it still drew a series of boos from the audience.

“Why, you!” Ulak’thuul shouted, pulling his weapon out of the ground.

He rushed forward, swinging his axe around in swift, but imprecise, cuts. Sans sidestepped each and every attack the orc threw at him, always remaining close to bait the leader into swinging the axe again. Between moments of reprieve from Ulak’s relentless assault, the skeleton tossed pebbles and sticks in Ulak’s general direction. Each throw did about as much damage as a feather, but the more he threw, the wilder and more inaccurate the shaman’s attacks became. The fire surrounding the blade of the orc leader’s axe nearly engulfed the entire weapon, so desperate were the flames for some kind of sadistic satisfaction. Sans could feel the boiling heat with each pass of the axe, but despite the risk, he did not distance himself from the orc. In fact, he made it a point to be as close as possible at all times.

Ulak’thuul hacked and chopped away at Sans’ legs and waist, his control over the demonic fire loosening with each near-hit; while Sans never retaliated with an attack that could hurt him, the constant harassment was all too much. The orcs that were once cheering his name stood confused, and the few that weren’t were shouting insults at him! They demanded blood; they wished for death of some kind, and Ulak’thuul could not give it to them.

He decided to try something else. He spun around, twisting his axe. Then, with all the strength in his body, he completed his spin with a chop to the skeleton’s legs.

Sans saw the move all too soon and stepped backwards. Ulak stumbled as his weapon hit air. Chuckling, Sans hopped forward, removing his hands from his pockets for the first time since the battle began. The crowd stirred, its interest returning. Some actual fighting at last!

The skeleton jumped onto Ulak’s arms and gave him a boop on his ring-covered snout. He then leaped backwards, flipping around in mid-air before landing on his legs a few feet away. He shoved his hands back into his pockets to return to his casual stance. The audience groaned from the sudden anticlimax.

His cheeks red and his face contorted into a pained snarl, Ulak spoke.

“What is this… this… this TOMFOOLERY?!” Spittle shot out of his mouth as his hate-filled eyes stared into the skeleton’s comically cartoonish ones.

Sans shrugged. “i dunno, but i think I can say that i’m on fire right now, so you better turn up the heat if you wanna beat me.”

The skeleton turned around, snapped his fingers, and winked to the audience. Within the pained cries begging him to stop was a high-pitched giggle.

heh, she got it.

With his back turned, however, he did not notice Ulak’thuul charging towards him. The orcs surrounding the fighters smiled in anticipation of the surprise the skeleton was in for.

Then, with a roar so loud and ferocious it made the orcs watching the battle shiver, the shaman slammed his axe downwards, jumping to give the attack some extra force.

Chopped bone filled Sans’ vision.

He hopped forward like a frog, barely avoiding the incoming blade as it smashed into the earth. He twisted around and ran underneath Ulak’thuul’s legs just as he freed his weapon. They faced each other, panting and sweating from the fight. Both remained in silence for a long time.

“You aren’t even fighting,” the shaman said in between gasps for breath, “you’re just wasting my time!”

“that is correct. i am wasting your time.”

“Why? Because you cannot fight?”

“well,” the skeleton said, shrugging, “i don’t have a weapon.”

“Doesn’t matter. You must have magic or something to use to fight with, yet you don’t even bother to use it.” Ulak’thuul advanced, holding his axe low to the ground to catch the skeleton if he tried to run. “Or is this truly the best you got? Show me your real magic!”

“you don’t wanna see that, man. no one here does.”

The orc snorted. “If your only skill is running, then you’ll never win the fights that matter! Show me your magic!”

“i’m serious, man. it won’t look good.”

“SHOW ME!”

Ulak’thuul stretched out his arms, leaving every bit of his body exposed. He pounded his chest and roared again; the crowd urged the skeleton to attack.

Sans sighed. He closed his eyes. He raised his hand. The orcs gasped.

He pointed his hand at a rock. The coloring of the rock turned into a deep shade of blue. He flicked his wrist in Ulak’thuul’s direction.

The rock smacked into the skull on top of the shaman’s head. The skull shattered into hundreds of pieces, each one landing next to the rock. The audience did not even make an attempt to express their disapproval, with the notable exception of a very loud slap that could only come from the legendary facepalm maneuver.

“did i get ya?” Sans said, opening his right eye to look at his opponent. The shaman’s jaw agape, his cheeks completely blood-red from rage, the orc raised his own free hand. Three purple dots materialized in the middle of his palm.

“You are a waste, and I will ensure you suffer for your incompetence!”

Three small, purple darts zapped towards the skeleton. Shrugging, he jumped forward, sailing over them.

He saw a flash of purple for a split second.

A single dart sliced past his right arm.

He forced back a scream as he fell to the earth. He tried to stop his freefall with his arms, but the sudden impact only made the pain even more agonizing. He bonked his head against the ground, blurring his vision for a brief moment. His eyes the size of pinpricks, he glanced down at the newly-formed gash on his arm. Ketchup spilled out from the wound; he covered it with his hand to slow the bleeding and hide it from view. The crowd jumped and cheered and shouted, giving their leader all the praise in the world. They yelled words of encouragement, urging him to finish the job as Sans laid there, seemingly lifeless on the ground.

Sans heard the footsteps. The deep, booming vibrations in the ground signalling the orc leader’s approach. Despite the pain, his grin expanded.

“I knew it. You ARE weak,” the shaman said, “you aren’t even fit for a sacrifice.”

The orc leader waited a few moments for the skeleton to respond. Sans couldn’t even look at him, preferring instead to keep his eyes lowered. The shaman grunted; there was no more fight left in the worthless comedian after all.

Ulak’thuul raised his axe, poised to lop the skeleton’s head clean off. “Any last words, you bumbling fool?”

Never looking up, the skeleton lifted his left hand off of his right arm. He placed it on Ulak’thuul’s leg, staining it with his ketchup blood. Ulak couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“What? Are you begging for mercy now?”

The shaman expected tears; he expected pleading. A plead to spare his life, or the child’s, or the lives of those in Ambrosia. A last ditch effort to save something, anything, from the inevitable destruction his fire would bring about to the Tangled Greens.

He did not expect the skeleton’s grip to tighten around his leg, nor did he expect to hear him laughing.

The skeleton looked up. Black eyeholes pierced the orc’s very soul; a quiet, disembodied voice overwhelmed his ears and rocked him to the core.

“Y o u  f o o l .”

The shaman’s eyes widened. Sans was right.

He had been played the fool.

Ulak’thuul’s entire body turned a dark shade of blue.

Sans thrust his bloodied hand towards the bonfire.

The orc shaman could do nothing but scream in terror as he flew into the fire, the purple flames tasting his skin before devouring it entirely. Once it finished his skin, it gnawed on his muscles. Once it ate his muscles, it tore apart his organs, charring it, burning his body, morphing it into a thick black crisp. For a long, long while, Ulak’thuul’s bloodcurdling screams echoed around the forest.

Sans telekinetically held him inside the fire for a long time, his bloodied hand carved as if to choke an invisible enemy. Eventually, the blue shade surrounding the orc shaman flickered.

The skeleton blinked before thrusting his hand towards him.

The corpse of Ulak’thuul shot out. Sans slashed his hand downwards in a deadly arc. The body slammed into the ground. A sickening crack erupted from the corpse as the leader’s head crashed into the ground. The bonfire, satisfied, dissipated into the air, bathing the area in darkness.

The battle over, the audience slowly got over its shock at the turn of events. Once the shock settled, the protests began.

Sans turned around to face the audience, his right eye glowing a bright, neon orange as he shoved his hand in his pocket. He let out a long sigh as he spoke.

“as i’m sure many of you know, i’m sans. sans the skeleton, and i do believe i have given new meaning to the phrase ‘dropping sick burns,’ you know what i’m saying?” He winked his left eye and chuckled to himself to the displeasure of the crowd. “anyways, this guy, ulak’thuul, was your leader, and we agreed that, if i won, then everyone here must go home and leave ambrosia alone, ya follow me?”

He looked around. Already a few of the more vocal dissenters were taking up arms.

His eyeholes turned black.

“to those of you who do not like this outcome... first of all, tough. second of all, i gave your leader every opportunity to back down, and he continued in spite of that. he could have let me and frisk go, but he did not. as a result, he died. i could have killed him a long time ago and the only reason i didn't is because i assumed you guys were smart enough to know your own limits.”

He paced around, never taking his eyes off of any orc for more than a few seconds. As he did this, he scanned the crowd for Frisk.

“so, uh, leave. Unless, of course, you think you can beat me. in which case, friends, you’re going to have a VERY bad time.”