They might, anyway, if those same fingers weren't about to get bitten by a large skull dog. Hot blue light surges through the wrist of the water formation, instantly evaporating some of what it touches. Steam pillows off in clouds.

And suddenly, Sans is at Frisk's side, his left eye blazing blue and gold.

"Gotta hand it to you, Lazuli," he calls after her. "Didn't peg you as the type to go after kids."