Judgement sees and feels and knows, and in her voice there is folded the image of these signs. i know i am dangerous. i know i am a disease. i know i must die.

but not yet.

She stiffens, her spine realigning, the sound of grinding engines thrumming through her skin and streaks of pink light shooting through her rusty veins.

not till the battle is over—and the battle isn't over as long as i am alive.

With a straining crack, her fins, stretching out infinitely into the beyond, come free of their moorings, breaking off her body. Roiling black liquid churns and pours forth from the wounds they leave behind, becoming knotted black flesh, becoming conical pipes venting beams of brilliant pink.

if you were made to kill me then kill me! hit me and see if it hurts, and see if i don't dash you against the hull of the world. but you were not made for that. you are made from Frisk and without Frisk you don't mean anything.

She lurches and spins, violently, her body twisting upside-down, the abyss rotating around them, and yet gravity aligns itself with her, making her body the centre of the universe, keeping Frisk on her back. The dim light of the doorway is visible, a tiny speck in the distance, growing as she hurtles towards it, streaming shining light-blood from her sides.

you cannot hurt me. do as ANUBIS has made you to do, and let me be, until Frisk is ready.