A few of his eyes flinch as Papyrus pleads, and it isn't really clear whether it's because of his pitch or because of something else. It's painful to hear, either way. Even more bizarre, is that he was convinced that exactly this was what he wanted to hear, a few minutes. Acknowledgement. Atonement.

Something.

He still doesn't seem ready to say much, even as Papyrus is pleading him not to use the weapon. His jaw feels stiff and tired, like trying to explain himself with be an impossible effort at the moment. Maybe it's just easier to act instead of negotiating.

He grips his scythe in two hands, and with an underhand swipe, tears it straight through the floor and up and under the warding circle, built into the prison's floor. With a streak of light, he rips a hole in the spellwork keeping the wards running, sending a small shower of pebbles into the cell.

Then he just lowers the scythe again, the barrier dispelled, without saying a word.