This blog resonates with a strange feeling.

Chara Undertale ❤ Undertale

🍫 Just a kid. Around 11 or 12 years old.

🍫 Agender, asexual, they/them pronouns.

🍫 The most iconic aspect of their appearance is their bright red blush stickers. In other words, their cheeks are always reddened.

🍫 Also… dead! Very, very dead. As far as they know, they died just a half-hour or so ago...

🍫 Yes, A HALF-HOUR. They were also temporarily undead, so that’s fun

🍫 They’re dead because they killed themselves to try and save an entire species. As kids do.

🍫 A pun-loving memey weeb edgelord with a somewhat dark sense of humor. Probably would get along well with Sans, actually.

🍫 Loves chocolate, tea, and their semi-adopted family.

🍫 Hates humanity, so will probably hate your character on sight!

🍫 Autistic and OCD, which they try to hide for Reasons. This is canon now. I have said so

He observes them rise, muscles tense as they rush him again. They want him to kill them? He will not. He will not rise to their taunts. Instead, his powerful wings open up,  and with a powerful flap, lift him into the air above them. With the small telekinetic power granted by the costume, he attempts to wrench their weapon from their hand.

“Why are you so determined to die? You can stop fighting at any time. You need not attack me.”

He asks, eyes narrowed. He will remain out of reach of their knife and their hands, for he does not want to fight them. “The choice is yours, but you cannot blame others for your rash decisions.”

The weapon flies out of their hand, without Chara making any attempt to hold onto it, and across the ground. Chara just stares at the bird above them.

“Even in self-defense, you will not kill? Are you sparing me then? Showing me your mercy?”

“How interesting. Surely you do not think you can spare one child and be forgiven?” they say with a shrug and a tilt of their head. “Karma will come to you, in one form or another. That is a law of the universe.”

Barry raises an eyebrow in return. What an interesting kid, calling a hundred-and-forty year old man naïve. Not that they know anything about his life, so that’s understandable.

“It’s an informed stance,” he says, but he leaves it there. It looks like they’re finding words for something else to say, and sure enough, they do.

Barry is quiet for a few moments, considering that. He’s not sure exactly what they mean by betrayal. A lot of kids think small things are much worse than they are, just because they have no frame of reference. But on the other hand, Chara seems pretty serious, for a kid.

“They sound like good people,” he says.

“If you were trying to help, why do you think you betrayed them?”

“Because it was all pointless,” Chara responds, chin in their hands. They’re not going to cry, they think. Not about this. Not in front of a stranger. “I killed myself to give my family freedom. I thought if I died for some greater purpose, they’d understand. But my plan failed, so I died for nothing.”

“And my plan failed because my brother - because Asriel - stopped it. He didn’t want me to go through with it. And, if he didn’t want it - if none of them wanted it - what was the point of any of it?”

Chara pushes their half-eaten pizza away and lays their head on the table. They’re suddenly not hungry.

“I find that being perched high gives one a unique perspective on things,” he replied simply, his expression soon shifting to one of concern as the child looked close to collapsing. 

“…perhaps I should be the one to ask why you are out and in such a state.” Despite having previously agreeing to remain where he was, seeing the child in this state prompted him to act. 

Quickly rising from his spot, Waka lept gracefully from the branch onto the ground, floating down until the teeth of his gets gently touched the soft earth below. “We should get you somewhere safe and warm, possibly before you give out.”

Chara stares at the strange human with the closed eyes, reminded oddly of an older Frisk, and looks even more nervous than they look pale.

“W-w-who says I w-want...”

And they lose their footing and fall onto one knee, hissing at the impact.

“Missing folks from home?” Barry asks, kindly but not looking them in the eye, in case they’d like to pretend they didn’t hear him. He’s fortunate that he has so much of his family here, doesn’t know what he’d do without them, and he’s certainly sympathetic to everyone who’s arrived here alone.

He nods when they mention the robbing, like he’s seriously considering the point, and then says, “People don’t–They don’t usually go for an in-person mugging without reason. And, not to typecast, but that’s especially weird for a kid.”

“And you’re not trying to rob me anymore, which gives me a great opportunity to be ‘nice’. I mean, you–you’re right, it’d be much harder to help you if you were still trying to stab at me.”

“…There’s–I’ve had people who were there for me through many of my darkest times. And I’ve had dark times without them, too, so I know how it can be. I think–I think it’s important to help people out, when I can.”

Do they ever miss “folks from home.” Their real home, in the Underground, where they belonged. They’d thrown it all away and for what? To die miserably, painfully, and accomplish nothing at all? From the very moment they’d stepped through the Barrier, they’d hated to leave their family behind - only determination had pushed them forward. 

And now Asriel was gone too.

“You have no idea,” Chara says softly.

Chara listens to the explanation, but they only raise an eyebrow.

“That’s surprisingly naïve, for an adult. They won’t ever help you in return.”

There’s a short pause where they say nothing, and then, in spite of themselves, they continue speaking.

“But Asriel... Toriel... Asgore... my family... they all believed the same thing you did. That you helped people because it was... the right thing to do. Not because you expected anything in return.”

As much as he didn’t want to say that he expected this, he had almost certainly expected that it might come to this. At the first second of their aggression, his arms drop to his sides and the experience of a man who has a seen a lifetime of war takes over.

It’s almost a good feint, but time begins to slow down for him. Truthfully time passes as it normally does, but in his mind it slows down as he fights. The moment they start to close in, his longer legs propel him forward, and suddenly he’s too close. Too close for them to act as a knee meets their chest with enough force to topple an adult. Perhaps too much for a child, but this was their warning. Non-lethal strikes and pulled punches only produced results up until a certain point.

“Please, continue to talk. Your actions contradict your statements, and I find this amusing.”

Truthfully, he should not be taunting a literal child with a knife- but he could sense that this was not a child, rather something inhabiting a child-like body.

The blow hits them like a truck, knocking all the wind out of their lungs and sending them rolling backwards. It’s strong enough, in fact, to draw blood, which the strange child coughs out onto the ground.

The child continues to smile their manic smile as they lift themselves up, although it looks more than a little strained. Something in them, though, drives them upwards, drives them forward.

“So you fight. Will you kill, as you have done so many times? Will I be another number in your ledger?”

That… didn’t sound good at all. At first, Chara had been talking about himself as “the boy who lived” who they referred to themselves as “They Who Shall Not Be Named”. They were making a reference to something, weren’t they? Ralsei couldn’t pinpoint what. Frankly, that wasn’t even the weirdest part.

They had this… creepy smile, one that shouldn’t be possible - and a glint in their eyes that made Ralsei shiver. They were talking about the “rules of the world”. Despite himself, the words Chara spoke sent shivers crawling. In what world would Chara’s “rules” be okay? Somebody could get hurt! …but maybe that was the point. Ralsei didn’t understand it fully, and frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

At the name “Asriel”, Ralsei tilts his head to the side.  He’s… not Asriel? Confusion overtakes his facial features. Was this “Asriel” someone that they knew and did he bare some resemblance to them? He wonders if he could be introduced to this unknown person. Maybe they would get along well.

He shakes his head.

*My name’s not Asriel, though! I’m Ralsei. I do understand the confusion.

He figures Chara doesn’t want to hear about his name, though. Time to address the elephant in the room, huh? 

*Um, I don’t wanna hurt you… I just met you! W-Why would I fight someone I just met?

“An anagram?” Chara says curiously, tilting their head. “You never were very clever, Asriel. Perhaps I should have called you He Who Shall Not Be Named.”

“I don’t wish to hurt you either,” Chara says, raising their knife in spite of their words. “But  you must show no mercy, because no one will show mercy on you. You must become strong, so you can eradicate those that would harm you. You understand this better than anyone else. You know me better than anyone else.”

They swing the knife at Ralsei’s chest.

The would-be knight gets his blade out as soon as he notices the stranger getting near him, but is left merely staring in confusion and nervousness. Is this some sort of zombie? Demon? Surely, he must defeat it! For fame, glory, and the safety of the city! 

But mostly fame and glory!

Clang. He barely manages to get his sword up in time to stop the knife from slicing him, and the blades clash with a surprising impact. Klug jumps back, leveling his sword at the demon as crackling mauve energy surrounds the blade (though it’s purely visual).

“S-stay back! I won’t hesitate to strike you down!”

Chara only smiles their intense, eerie smile when the knife and sword collide. A challenge, then. Clearly this person will make them strong.

“Good. Kill or be killed - that is the way of this world. Strike me down, before I take your life first.”

Something’s wrong. With the way they’re moving, how… how they didn’t answer her. Her weapon stays holstered on her back, but she grips the basket tighter, taking a shaky breath.

“Is this some kinda prank? Are you playing a joke on me? Because, uh… you got me! It’s really good!”

If it is a joke, it’s really quickly becoming not very funny. That knife is a prop, right? She’s had her share of real knives, and real knives pointed at her, so she has the uneasy feeling that it’s not just a toy.

“Chara, cut it out! I don’t want to fight you or anything…!” She puts a hand on her weapon, but is more prepared to run if she needs to. Maybe Barry will know what to do, if she can just reach the house…

Chara swings the knife at Kay, overhead.

And misses. They miss so badly, in fact, that it’s like they didn’t even try - their swing was so slow and clumsy that, even if they’d actually hit, they wouldn’t have done more than clip the fabric of her costume. Their head is lowered after the missed swing, hiding their face.

When they lift their head again, there are tears rolling down their cheeks.

It comes to no surprise that Clive disliked the celebrations, considering both his general attitude to the city, even more so when taking these phenomenons in account — ascension candies being no exception. Though, Spirale aside, even then, the amount of noise and turmoil just about anywhere in these godforsaken wards was draining, it lasting longer than a day not helping in the slightest. It’s a bit of a relief to find a quiet area, although it didn’t fix an already trampled down mood.

At first, Clive didn’t think he was the one being addressed, despite having heard it clearly. It was only when nothing but silence came afterwards, that he’d turn around with a raised brow.

A Child in a suit. So he’d figure, at least. If their huge grin whilst playing with a knife weren’t creepy enough to make someone apprehensive, surely it’d be the gruesome sight of their melting face. Yet, all he really did, was frown.

“Show off your repartee to someone who’s got the nerves to listen,” child. He’d leave out the namecalling. Either way, ultimately, he didn’t answer; the question didn’t feel like one that genuinely prompted one.

Chara does not seem bothered. They only lift their knife.

“The hunting dog and the dove... the demon and the angel... opposite symbols, of murder and of peace. And yet, are we not one and the same, seeking to bring righteousness to an unrighteous world?”

They extend the hand not holding their knife.

The way they word their last sentences irks him. Perhaps they can see it in his eyes, the way he narrows them. The way he cocks his head, but he clearly does not approve of their little act. Idle claws tap at his silk-lined belt, not as a threat so much so as him showing his dislike for their talk.

“Do not bother me with such nonsensical talk. I offer nothing and shall join nothing. Just because your terrible life choices have left you with regret and a horrible sense of self-righteousness does not mean you can assert your make believe dominance over whoever you choose.”

His purple eyes peer at them. He is not afraid. He is rarely afraid anymore. There is nothing he has not scene before, nor is there anything bad enough that could possibly illicit more than a grimace from him.

“You talk a lot about killing for someone who couldn’t even kill me. You’re pathetic. Go play charades with someone else, before you make another bad choice.”

Clearly, he is tired of their presence, and his patience is thin. He is growing irate.

“Did I not tell you that there is no choice here?”

And the strange child, clearly not at all bothered by the other’s irritation, rushes at the eight foot tall bird with their knife, an overhead swing.

“YOU ARE NOT THE ONE IN CONTROL.”

Their imagery was more so gross than it was disturbing. He does grimace at the sight of their face…melting? Oh, god, that’s nasty. He recoils just the slightest bit, wings rustling as he puts a hand on his side.

“I’m in a costume right now, so I apologize if you somehow think this means I’m a murderer. My diet is mainly fruit and plant-based goods, so I’m sorry if you think I go around eating livers. You’re being awfully rude to me, don’t you think?”

He’s lying, and he knows this. True, he has killed. He has killed a lot. His stack of bodies perhaps nearing the triple digits, if it hasn’t already exceeded it so. He would not say they were innocent, no, it was war, and what is war but an advanced game of ‘he said - she said?’ The innocent do not kill men, women, and children in their sleep as they had done to his tribe, no. He would not call them innocent. But their blood, he can still smell it. For all it was worth though…he would never admit this.

“What kind of bird do you take me for, little one? And- I uh, do not wish to be rude, but it seems as though you’re uh…you have a bit of a…problem.” He says, gesturing toward their facial features. “Would you like me to go get help?”

“Enough idle chatter, my little crow,” the child responds. “Kill, and kill again... you know that is our purpose, our raison d'être. It is kill or be killed, after all.”

They extend a pale hand.

He’s been skirting around the outskirts of the festival. He enjoys his costume, enjoys the idea of being what his race considered a strong leader or an inspiration. He hasn’t yet actually begun an activity, mostly just thinking about his choices and what the possible benefits were.

He’s interrupted by- well, he’s not sure entirely.

Turning, purple eyes narrow slightly as they talk at him. ‘An omen of death,’ they say. They ask him how much blood has been spilled, how many wings clipped. They ask him if he’s been feared. 

Then they monologue, just a bit. Perhaps attempting to engage him. While this unsettles him just the slightest, he crosses his arms, cocking an eyebrow. He does not know who or what this being is, but he will not so easily be played.

“An omen of death, you say? You think I’m a killer? Because of my appearance?” He asks, tapping a finger as his wings rustle. “You say people think I’m scary? All of this because I’m a crow? Don’t you find this just the least bit offensive? Not all crows mean harm, you know.” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “Tsk, even here, I cannot avoid being stereotyped. What are you even on about?”

The strange child just staaaaaaares, still smiling, not moving.

“You deny it? That you are a killer? The blood on those wings cannot be washed away so easily.”

“Those talons have rendered the flesh of innocents. That beak has eaten the livers of the unmourned.”

And the strange child’s face begins to melt, their eyes and mouth becoming deep, growing chasms on their pale face.