a/n: Re-uploaded this one with a new summary and some more words.
"This is it. This is the barrier that keeps us all trapped underground."
They stand before the void, a human and a beast. The false cheer in Asgore's tone is gone; now he is humble, grim with resolution. He pauses, to gather his courage and allow the human to soak on this information, and then he says:
"I will confess that I am not ready. If by any chance you have some unfinished business to attend to, I will wait for you."
He almost wishes the child will comply. She does not speak, nor does she meet his eyes, staring defiantly across the white-black chasm. He sighs gravely.
"Very well," he says.
The walls of the barrier are gleaming around them, changing colors from black and white to a pale gold-orange; twilight.
Asgore does not smile.
"Human. It was very nice to meet you." He speaks to his feet. A wide arm cast out beside him, and within one mighty paw he wields a scarlet trident as tall as himself. "Good-bye."
With the grace of a practiced soldier, he drives it deep into the heart of her tiny form and does not watch her die.
The first time she returns—light on her toes, unscathed—he's almost surprised.
He doesn't know what to say, so he tells her again: "It was very nice to meet you."
She blinks, slowly, considering him through short-cut bangs. The knife from the kitchen is gripped tight in her fist. A thin line of gold shines in the light, draped around her neck. Asgore wonders how each item came to be there, not why, then he pushes the notion aside; it's too painful to consider.
With his own weapon poised, he repeats: "Good-bye."
The human flits about the empty space, evading his pyro-kinetic storm like a butterfly among a field of crimson-yellow flowers, almost too quick; she has enough tenacity to make up for her lack of technique.
She is equally small in life as she is in death; a mere child, yet she is no innocent. He can feel the emptiness in her dark eyes, devoid of fear or anger or pain when she looks at him, when he speaks to her or when he does not, when he drives the trident into her throat.
Blood bubbles from the corners of her mouth, staining her skin and the white of her teeth. Asgore shuts his eyes and grinds his own, animal teeth and prays for forgiveness he does not deserve.
The seventh time she looks upon his massive form and does something new: she speaks.
"You've killed me before." The statement is uttered without sentiment, a simple fact.
He does not acknowledge her. Each death is swift. She is a human and humans must be destroyed. The kindest thing he can do is not prolong her misery.
She bleeds with every death and he can no longer distinguish the color of the weapon from the carnage left in his wake. The smell of death runs thick in his nostrils, pungent enough that he tastes metal on the back of his tongue, in his throat.
He will not move from his station; she feeds upon his weary heart with an undying persistence, and for every five times she is killed, she strikes him thrice with her tiny knife.
"I don't want to fight you," she says once, quietly, and Asgore has to catch his ragged breath.
He does not know how many times he has killed her when he says: "I cannot do this anymore."
They have fought and torn at each other. Both are wounded, but unlike her, all his injuries have accumulated.
The human looks to him, a tiny figure in his shadow. She is the enemy, the manifestation of all he has fought for, and he crumbles before her.
"I remember the day my son died. The entire Underground was devoid of hope. Our future had once again been taken from us. In a fit of anger, I declared war upon your people." His voice is strangely calm throughout this speech. "I swore to eliminate any human that dared step foot within this place. I would use their souls to become godlike, and free my people from this prison."
The human does not move. She's sizing him up. Or maybe she's listening.
"But Toriel—was disgusted by my actions. She left me, never to return. Truthfully, I cannot find fault in her actions."
His breath comes strained in his throat. He coughs, swallows dryly.
"I do not want power," he confesses. "I do not want to fight. I only want what is best for my people, and yet…" Vulnerability grips him. "I just want to see my wife again. I want to see my child. Please, little one. This war has gone on long enough. Take my soul and leave this wretched place."
And she smiles, uncold, empathetic. Gentle.
Her blade pierces him and it is quick, only a little painful.
His eyes fog over, wet with unshed tears. Her face blurs.
"Thank you, child," he whispers.
Suddenly her eyes leave his to find something behind them, and horror clouds her features but he does not know why, and before he can ask, comfort her, he is gone.