It doesn't go quiet immediately; a few of the bone fragments keep colliding, fragmenting further as they spread through the dark space.
But it does, eventually, and then there's no sound except Papyrus' movements, those of a skeleton still shaking. Trembling, the one splintered bone still loose in his hand.
"About... what?" he asks, voice rough - from all the screaming, maybe.
Something's wrong with his thinking. He stares at the familiar clothing and personal effects floating in that dust cloud like he expects an answer. As though this was a trick, as though Sans teleported somewhere at the last second, and the mass of dust was residue from the void bones. Or, maybe, like the time with the wolf - and he was secretly unconscious in the pile of his own dust.
Papyrus reaches a hand into the cloud to confirm: dust like a monster's, mixed with that awful blue slime he bleeds these days. No hidden brother, no note left behind. No signs or sounds of Wismuth reappearing around him.
...It seems Sans was telling the truth. There's still no way out.
"No, no no, no no no," he desperately denies, twisting and turning to look in every direction. No exit, no exit, no brother and no exit and there's nothing. It's dim and featureless, nothing but him and the slowly expanding cloud of dust. He bursts away, blue magic propelling him into the space, but something about it seems to twist and turn back on itself as the woods around the carnival do.
Papyrus exhausts himself, moving around and trying to make something change. Forming bones of any type - void-touched, white or blue, perfect volleys or frantically misshapen constructs - and flinging them into the distance. Even summoning a blaster, shooting light into the dim ambiguous distance.
Nothing works.
The space fills with bones, at least, it doesn't stay featureless and forcing himself in on himself... and he could cover his face to hide from the dust...
But after some time - an hour? Two? More? - he remembers there's no need to hide from this. This is what's supposed to happen. What needs to happen. It wasn't the way he'd wanted, the timing... but what were those hopes but dreams, and what were dreams but the lies of existence? He's been here before. He already learned this. Playing games along the way was fine, but losing his focus... just made everything hurt again, even worse.
He lets his bone constructs dissolve, and stares at the cloud of dust as it grows thinner and thinner, until he's almost staring at the Void again.
Several hours later, the pocket dimension collapses in a nondescript street in Wismuth, expelling a cloud of dust. A small heap of things covered in dusty blue goo - clothing, a scarab pendant, various personal belongings - fall together into a fire lane. A skeleton, hidden under a human-shaped glamour, lands nearby and breathes for the first time in half a day... then walks away.
Beyond the artificial lights dotting the city, it's getting dark.
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But it does, eventually, and then there's no sound except Papyrus' movements, those of a skeleton still shaking. Trembling, the one splintered bone still loose in his hand.
"About... what?" he asks, voice rough - from all the screaming, maybe.
Something's wrong with his thinking. He stares at the familiar clothing and personal effects floating in that dust cloud like he expects an answer. As though this was a trick, as though Sans teleported somewhere at the last second, and the mass of dust was residue from the void bones. Or, maybe, like the time with the wolf - and he was secretly unconscious in the pile of his own dust.
Papyrus reaches a hand into the cloud to confirm: dust like a monster's, mixed with that awful blue slime he bleeds these days. No hidden brother, no note left behind. No signs or sounds of Wismuth reappearing around him.
...It seems Sans was telling the truth. There's still no way out.
"No, no no, no no no," he desperately denies, twisting and turning to look in every direction. No exit, no exit, no brother and no exit and there's nothing. It's dim and featureless, nothing but him and the slowly expanding cloud of dust. He bursts away, blue magic propelling him into the space, but something about it seems to twist and turn back on itself as the woods around the carnival do.
Papyrus exhausts himself, moving around and trying to make something change. Forming bones of any type - void-touched, white or blue, perfect volleys or frantically misshapen constructs - and flinging them into the distance. Even summoning a blaster, shooting light into the dim ambiguous distance.
Nothing works.
The space fills with bones, at least, it doesn't stay featureless and forcing himself in on himself... and he could cover his face to hide from the dust...
But after some time - an hour? Two? More? - he remembers there's no need to hide from this. This is what's supposed to happen. What needs to happen. It wasn't the way he'd wanted, the timing... but what were those hopes but dreams, and what were dreams but the lies of existence? He's been here before. He already learned this. Playing games along the way was fine, but losing his focus... just made everything hurt again, even worse.
He lets his bone constructs dissolve, and stares at the cloud of dust as it grows thinner and thinner, until he's almost staring at the Void again.
Several hours later, the pocket dimension collapses in a nondescript street in Wismuth, expelling a cloud of dust. A small heap of things covered in dusty blue goo - clothing, a scarab pendant, various personal belongings - fall together into a fire lane. A skeleton, hidden under a human-shaped glamour, lands nearby and breathes for the first time in half a day... then walks away.
Beyond the artificial lights dotting the city, it's getting dark.