──────────────────────────── Canon "Fanon" UltSans(D2V)[1]
Among all versions—both canon and fanon—there are only two that stand apart as truly unique: the Canon-Canon, and the Canon-Fanon. Each possesses an entirely different story, almost as if they are opposite beings from opposing extremes, no longer variations of the same entity, but separate existences altogether.
This UltSans is massive, towering at 7'5", with a muscular, powerful physique that surpasses every other incarnation. His skin is not simply pale—it is a realistic, ghostly white, more akin to bleached life than vampiric death, giving him an unsettling, grounded presence.
His attire remains consistent: a thick black jacket with fur-lined hood, dark jeans, and sport shoes. But this version is not a scholar nor a wanderer—he is autonomous, driven by hatred, and relentless in his self-destruction. He trains obsessively, with no regard for health or pain, often pushing himself to the brink in a masochistic pursuit of strength, as if trying to shatter his own body just to see if it can still bleed.
His torso is a battlefield, marked by an array of scars that speak of endless conflict. Some are superficial. Others are so deep and vicious that they could have easily been fatal. Among them lies a broken rib—as seen in other versions—located on the bottom right of his ribcage, with a clear mark of having been pierced from within.
Over his heart are strange stab marks, not multiple wounds—but one. A single self-inflicted stab, where he twisted and dragged the knife, transforming a horizontal wound into a vertical one. The result is a grotesque, unnatural pattern, more ritualistic mutilation than a clean injury.
His neck bears a deep, ring-shaped scar, not just superficial—this was from the moment he tore his own head from his body with his bare hands, an act of madness, rebellion, or pure loathing.
Every inch of his body tells the story of a being locked in eternal war against humanity—an endless soldier, carrying every scar of a hatred that never sleeps.
When enraged or overwhelmed by frustration, he can channel magic through his body, using his own Determination as a weapon. The buildup of power causes his upper clothes to burn away or explode into ash, unless he removes them first. His shirt and jacket disintegrate, revealing his torso in full, along with red chains wrapping around his arms and chest—binding him, burning him, smoke curling from the wounds, his eyes and mouth leaking that same energy.
In this state, his expression becomes unrecognizable—twisted into a sadistic, psychotic grin, the embodiment of genocide and madness. He is no longer just UltSans. He is vengeance, hatred, and trauma, given a name and a body that refuses to die.
────────────────────── Canon-Fanon UltSans – Phase Two: The Incarnate of Hatred
This is not evolution.This is not rage.This is the end of humanity wrapped in sinew, soul, and self-mutilation.
When Canon-Fanon UltSans enters his true second phase, it's not triggered by frustration—it's the moment when his mind fractures so violently, reality shatters with it. His body begins to overheat, not from emotion, but from an uncontainable surge of Determination fused with raw, corrupted magic.
This isn't cellular mutation anymore—this is full-body violation. His veins bubble, muscles swell grotesquely, nerves twist like cables, and his skin turns scarlet with internal combustion, boiling from the inside out.
He opens his mouth wide—far too wide—the flesh at the corners splitting, tearing down his cheeks, until his jaw is grotesquely stretched beyond natural limits. Then, without hesitation, he grabs his own jaw and rips it apart, cracking it into a horrific, gaping maw, too wide, too wrong to belong to anything human.
His eyes crack like breaking crystal, fractured in countless veins, glowing with a flickering crimson light—but deeper within, there is no light at all. There is only void. A darkness that doesn't just look back, it consumes. Any soul that locks eyes with him is instantly stripped of emotion, plunged into blindness, and trapped in an internal, inescapable realm of psychological torment, tailored to their deepest fears.
His chains evolve—melting into his skin, burning deeper, until they become part of him. Not armor. Not defense. Just a second skin of agony, feeding into his insanity, fusing with his body like veins of molten iron.
And then comes the moment he turns against himself.
With a twisted grin, he plunges his own hand into his chest, fingers driving through muscle and bone, until he crushes his heart inside his body. He yanks his fist away, slamming the shattered remains into the ground with primal force—a statement of self-hatred and sacrifice, proof that no one deserves mercy, not even himself.
His body becomes grotesquely unnatural, with muscle fibers rebuilding upon themselves, regenerating faster than they can tear, forming layer after layer of fused flesh, all stitched with threads of Determination and warped magic. His muscles no longer look human—they're fused cords of meat and flame, pulsing and growing in real time.
His mouth can no longer close properly, hanging agape, leaking heat and steam, often used to bite. Not just as a weapon—as a hunger. He no longer kills simply to destroy. He devours. Faces torn off, hearts eaten mid-beat, skulls crushed between his jaws.
Worse than any Horror variant, he doesn't just consume out of survival or desperation—he enjoys it. Every devoured piece of flesh is a message to the world:
"If humanity made this monster, then humanity deserves to be his feast."
──────────────────────────── Unhearted
"I'd rather be torn apart a thousand times… than lose him once more."
He was created for violence—another variant on the mission to erase humanity reset after reset.But this one didn't finish the cycle.
Because he found Cad—the one he considered his true Papyrus.Alive.
And not just him.Frisk too.
But this time, Frisk wasn't the one he remembered.She had become the slaughterer, a vessel now pushed forward by Chara, manipulated into a pawn of obsession—her soul twisted to eliminate Cad, all so she could have UltSans for herself.
But he refused.He stood in the way.
☠ Who He Became
Unhearted is the name he earned—not because he lacks a heart, but because he gave it away.All of it.To protect Cad.
In this moment, everything within him changes. The Papyrus side of him—the 60%—becomes dominant, and for once, UltSans isn't the one in control.He becomes something else.
He becomes the shield.
He cannot attack.Will not attack.He lifts a massive bone, not to strike, but to block, like Papyrus once did. He cries, silently and openly, as he holds his ground—tears flowing, magic trembling, his voice cracking through the weight of everything he's fighting against and everything he's fighting for.
And when Frisk strikes, he does not flinch.Even if his body is mutilated.Even if he's torn apart.
He stands there, again and again, arms wide, in front of Cad, never letting anything pass.
"I can't lose him again... I won't... I won't..."
🔥 Eyes of Loyalty
His pupils burn in two soft yet vibrant colors—blue and green, a perfect reflection of Patience and Kindness.Each eye has a trail of those colors, always flowing—not aggressively, but with a steady flame, a slow reminder of the things he fights for.
When the heat of the battle rises, they begin to pulse, not in anger, but in emotional overload, as if his entire soul is struggling to hold back everything inside him.
💔 Why He's "Unhearted"
Because he chose compassion over genocide.Because he stood in the way of a fight he couldn't win, just to save one soul.Because he gave up everything he was supposed to be—monster, destroyer, god of death—just to be what Papyrus would've been.
And in the end?Whether he survives or not…That doesn't matter to him.
All that matters is Cad lives.
Even if he doesn't.
─────────────── Unhearted – Phase Two: "The Breaking Hope" ───────────────
He never wanted to fight.He only wanted to protect.But even hope bleeds.
After enduring blow after blow, his defense finally gives out—his bone shatters in his hands, broken completely. With nothing left to block, he is left wide open, and the onslaught begins.
Blow after blow, he refuses to fight back with intent to harm, even as Frisk—driven mad by Chara's control—cuts deeper. Eventually, his right elbow and half of his arm are gone, his hand severed, his body trembling, barely able to stay standing.
He falls once—Then slowly rises again.
"If you're going to kill someone... kill me. Not him."
Unhearted is shaking, unstable, bleeding, almost melting—but his will hasn't cracked. He still believes she can stop. That somewhere inside, the Frisk he loves still exists. That this can all still end without one more soul being lost.
🔷 Fighting Without Hatred
His attacks change.They're not just barriers anymore, but carefully aimed magic to slow her down, to force hesitation.But still, never lethal. Never with intent to kill.
In his left hand, sharp bones float around his fingers, orbiting like protective daggers—used to parry slashes, never strike.Every movement, every parry, every block—hurts him more. But he refuses to stop.
🩸 The Price of Hope
The battle takes more than his body. It takes his magic.
Just like any Canon variant, his path—the one he chose—makes his magic unstable. But now, that instability begins to affect his vision.
The blue and green flames in his eyes flicker violently. His magic burns from within, not out of rage—but out of overload, as if his soul is cracking under the strain of trying to protect everyone.
His sight fades. First it's blurred. Then dark. Eventually—he can't see at all. Even with his eyes open—there is nothing.
His attacks become unfocused, erratic, though still trying to defend. Every movement a guess. Every step, a stumble.
And finally—he's cut down. Again. And again. And again.
🔚 The Last Words
As his body begins to melt, his skin tearing and dripping in soft trails of agony, the blue and green flames of his magic gently drift from his empty eyes, dancing weakly, before slowly disappearing.
His soul cracks, thin fractures echoing into the void.He murmurs something, voice trembling, heart already broken:
"You can still stop... Frisk... this isn't you..."
"I still... love you... even if you forgot how it was..."
"Even now... I believe in you..."
Then—silence.His soul shatters.
And the world says nothing.Because there's no one left in it that cared the way he did.No one left who believed like he did.And now—there never will be again.
──────────────────────────── Nightmare UltSans – NM!UltSans
Height: 6'8" (Standard fanon height)
Body: Fully blackened—not just shadowed, but absorbing light, like his skin is made of concentrated void
Veins: Glowing, pulsing Determination-infused veins, bright red, wrapped across his body like roots of burning magic
Inside those veins: flashes of Wingdings glyphs
And faint soul fragments in Green, Yellow, Orange, Purple, Blue, Cyan, Red, Black, and White
Aura: A swirling, drifting storm that floats off him, constantly moving, made of:
Determination pulse
Soul fragments
Faint language symbols
It doesn't just glow—it moves like it's alive, breathing with him, reacting to his will
Eyes & Magic Signature
Eyes: Constantly flicker between:
Purple (Fear)
Red (Hate)
A fused Blue & Green (Patience + Kindness)
Burn Trail: From both his eyes and mouth, a faint burn trail glows constantly
When casting any magic—the burn flares into intensity, like a torch erupting
Doesn't matter if it's a flicker or a full burst—if it's magic, he ignites
This is Nightmare Mode personified—not screaming, not raging. Just focused, precise, unstoppable.
His design tells you everything you need to know:You don't survive this version.You just hope he's not already behind you.
────────────────────────── Nightmare UltSans – Phase Two: "Breakfire"
"When the body burns out, the nightmare burns brighter."
🔥 Body and Cracks
His previously solid, jet-black body now shows fractures across the arms, chest, and jaw, like charred porcelain
From within these cracks, the original trails of red Determination veins now blaze like molten lava, pulsing violently
Trails of fire now exit the cracks, not just glow—they burn out like jets, flickering and sputtering with instability
His right arm and torso show the heaviest fractures—pieces of his shell flake off mid-motion, showing pulsing soul veins underneath
⚠️ Aura Evolution
His aura goes unstable—what once floated elegantly now turns into a three-layered storm:
Determination Pulse – Flashes violently, no longer controlled, now surging with raw energy
Soul Fragment Stream – Colors now torn and unstable, bleeding into one another, distorting and stretching
Glitch Veil – The final layer—Wingdings and soul fragments become corrupted, replaced with visual glitches, error static, and pixel distortions
Symbols flicker, split, and jitter
Parts of his body momentarily phase, showing alternate frames, like broken sprite flickers
The aura bleeds out as if reality itself is failing to keep him rendered
🔥 Eyes & Trails in Phase Two
Eyes still flash, but now leave burn streaks behind them—thin, ember lines that float and burn out slowly like afterimages
The trail fire from his mouth is uncontrollable now—every breath exhales heat and distortion
With each attack or movement, blades of glitch-particle trails spark off him like digital embers
💀 Overall Vibe
This isn't power.This is failure turned into combustion.
He's burning himself alive—not caring, not slowing down.Not because he wants to survive—But because he refuses to break alone.
He doesn't fall apart quietly.He takes the world with him—in heat, glitch, and flame.
──────────────────────────
[1] The name of Canon-Fanon UltSans version.
Determinant to Void
The soul that chose to reject identity.
Not Asriel. Not Raziel. Not UltSans.
Just D2V—the one who doesn't want to be remembered, only feared.