Canon "Canon" UltSans
Among the countless variations of UltSans, there exists only one true origin point—the Canon-Canon version. Every other form, every alternate path, every "what if" moment becomes a branch off his existence. Each thought, each action that could've gone another way births new realities, creating an endless tree of diverging timelines and interpretations. But he is the root—the one all others unknowingly stem from.
He stands at 5'5", with a frame resembling that of an average white male. His body appears simple, unassuming, and highly sensitive to touch—his skin so reactive that even the softest grip can leave faint red marks, while any pressure leaves visible impressions that fade just as quickly. It's as if even his body reflects how easily the world leaves its mark on him, yet never leaves anything lasting behind.
Like all other versions, he bears the infamous broken rib, located in the lower right side of his torso, clearly visible when exposed—an eternal, symbolic wound.
He wears blue glasses, setting him apart subtly. And unlike fanon versions, his eyes are clear, untouched by darkness. They reveal his original green and blue hues, lined faintly with veins of something deeper—traces of life still lingering, even if barely. His hair, however, betrays what he's absorbed: a mixture of his original golden yellow and the darkness he's carried, creating a dual-toned blend of light fading into shadow—a literal fusion of hope and despair.
His expression is one of unending exhaustion—a man far beyond burnout. His tiredness isn't physical, it's existential. Yet even as he fades internally, he continues on, driven by a limitless well of determination. It defies biology, defies logic—just as all canon and fanon versions do. He doesn't sleep, because he can't. Not when moving forward is the only thing he has left.
Unlike fanon counterparts, canon versions cannot wield magic freely. When they do, the cost is devastating—short bursts of power at the price of something permanent. And so, he chose a different path: to abandon magic entirely, converting every fragment of it into raw Determination—into the soul itself. A trade that cannot be undone.
Canon versions are inherently more passive, more submissive, shaped by the deepest ends of depression. Where fanon UltSans may rage or lash out, the canon versions grow silent. Numb. Hollow. They feel everything, but show nothing. They barely speak, barely react. And when they do, the weight of their words is often laced with a hopelessness too heavy to carry.
Yes, there are canon versions that walk brighter paths—some are brilliant, some hardworking, some kind. But all of them are marked by the same undertone: they are not okay, even if they pretend. And of them all, only one is the truest form—the Canon-Canon UltSans.
He is the embodiment of everything they hide, the one who doesn't pretend. He is the decay at the core, the version that knows there is no happy ending, because he was never meant to have one. He is the one who will continue when all others fall, walking endlessly into the dark, not because he's strong—but because he has nothing else left.
He is the representation of hatred's victory, of a soul that has rotted from within, losing itself day by day—not in dramatic collapse, but in quiet, aching silence.
And worst of all—He still cares.And that's what hurts the most.
Canon-Fanon Fusion: "The Frisk"
Born from Canon. Shaped by Fanon. Lost in the space between.
Unlike any other variant, this one did not sacrifice his magic to gain Determination.Instead, he gave up something more personal: his eyes.His sight.His independence.His ability to "see the world" in any sense other than how Chara allows him to.
☠︎ Identity
He has no name of his own anymore.Not UltSans.Not Asriel.Not even a codename.
He is simply called: "The Frisk."
Because in expression, behavior, posture, and presence—he is Frisk.Mouth always closed.Face locked in that cold, unreadable neutrality.Eyes empty sockets, forever black—but when using magic, blue and green trails flow from within like lost rivers of what was once power.
And when Determination surges, something more haunting occurs:Fake red pupils form. Not real eyes, but illusions of control, like hollow lenses created by magic. They're not for him.They're for Chara—So she can see through him.So she can move him.So the illusion of independence is preserved, but not believed.
🩸 Chara's Hold
Among every variant, this one is the most loyal to his Chara—But it's not loyalty through bond.It's dependence.
He cannot live, move, eat, fight, or breathe without her presence.She guides him word by word, telling him how to walk, how to live, what to build, what to burn.And he obeys—not like a puppet—but like a willing, broken vessel, submitting for the only thing that gives him direction.
In this variation, Chara doesn't have to whisper.She speaks.And he listens.
They are not two beings.They are a merged process.
🕳 The Void
His void is silent. Empty. Stark.There is no lab. No remnants of curiosity.Only a single house, built exactly as Chara described it.Every object inside, from the rug placement to the temperature of the lights, is based on her instructions.He does not decorate.He does not question.
He doesn't even know what it looks like.Only what she tells him it is.
To others, it feels like stepping into a dream that wasn't yours, one that's been perfectly crafted for someone else's comfort—and you're the mistake inside of it.
🔥 Contrast to All Variants
Only Canon variant to give up eyes instead of magic.
Only variant with no lab, no technology, no will of his own.
Only variant who lets Chara lead every decision, every motion, every word.
And the only one who, when you stand in front of him, feels like Frisk—but isn't.That's what makes him so wrong.So uncanny.So tragic.