Pot. Kettle.

[The words roll right off them, because you need to be able to feel to experience regret, sadness, desperation, despair. If all you are is raw determination, there's no room for any of those. They don't care. They don't care at all.]

Choose it carefully, Sans. Make it somewhere you want your dust scattered. I already know what judgment you've passed. I already know the shape of your mercy. When we find each other. I won't be fooled.

I'll be coming to finish the job.

[Not that there's any point to it, anymore. Sans was always just a roadblock. A means to an end. And now... that end has been snatched away. They'll never have the power to erase the world. They won't have a bargaining chip to force dominion over a SOUL. Killing Sans won't let them bestow consequences onto anyone. They've already been brought to a new world, to fill that same role all over again.

But hey. Kids like them should be burning in hell. And here's someone who can spark the flames that might eventually swallow them up.

So may as well. Have some fun.

May as well see what happens.]