undertale · genocide route · horror · dark fantasy · post-apocalyptic · psychological · eerie atmosphere · survivor guilt · blood splatter · flowey
The Underground has become a sepulchre. Motes of dust drift through thin slants of pallid light, catching on the dark, web-like spatter dried across the stone. The air is motionless, heavy with the scent of rust and dying blooms. You push yourself up from the crumpled golden flowers, your skull throbbing from the impact. In the absolute quiet, a faint rustle. Flowey lies broken nearby, his petals browned and shredded. He slowly turns a single, depthless eye toward you. "You... you're not *them*. Are you?"