The city of Hadriel

[The whole world is ending.

Or something like that, he's guessing. Everyone's panicking, everything's burning, and people are running around like Icecaps with their hats off. Chaotic is a word for it. Amusing is another. Either way, there's a skeleton on your video feeds now. He looks just like the skeleton a lot of you are bound to know, save for maybe the look in his eyesockets. It's not the typical world-weary apathy that's more reminiscent of good old Sans. It's more like there's just an emptiness, bleak and cold. But even that's pretty hard to gauge; it ain't like the reading of skeletal facial expressions is common talent down here. Though the, uh, rather sizable crack in his skull, netted just along the ridges of his left eyesocket, might be pretty indicative that this ain't the same Sans.

From the angle of the video, it's clear that he's standing outside the charred remains of Tranquility's temple. He's got plenty of Faith that the decor will be perfect for the tone he's going for.

He looks pretty happy.

There's something very liberating about having reached The End. A number swells, and then it increases. And the last piece slots into place, the last sliver of anything resembling remorse boiled off and burned away.

It's not long now. But he's got one last task ahead of him before, at least, he and his ilk find their much-awaited sleep.]

So I've got a question for ya.

[His tone is a neutral, rumbling drawl, utterly placid and philosophical.]

Did anybody here really buy that innocent, bumbling comedian shtick?

[He opens a hand. A thin white trickle of something hisses out between his phalanges, rattling to the ground in a grainy patter of falling motes. He waits until the last of it whispers to the ground, softly, before flicking the last of it from his fingertips and continuing.

It's dust. Three guesses as to the monster it belongs to.]

Well, what can I say? I'm here to bring forth some revelation. Anybody stupid enough to buy that little act of his...

[He grins, wide - wider. No, w i d e r. And his sockets go pitch-dark, until it's like staring into a pair of black holes. A glacial bite creeps over his tone, razor-thin, the edges filed off, almost like there's something jagged and seriffed curving along the tips of the words.]

Allow me to prove you wrong.

[There's a low, dark chuckle, and the feed cuts out. He's looking for a FIGHT all right, and he won't be sated until he gets it. So come down to Tranquility's in fifteen minutes if u want an ass kicking. "Sans" here is delivering, and will continue to do so right up until his time is up.]

[[ooc: responses will come from fibia! Feel free to action things up so you can drag this edgelord to hell and back lol he deserves it.]]