The cover art is by velocesmells on tumblr.
"… My child?"
No. No, no, nononono. It cannot be.
The fire around them vanishes. They are still, and quiet, and they have been burned-she has burned them, she knows, and that it is her fault. Her hands shake as she crouches down. She takes them in her arms, carefully, sweeps the hair and ash from their face… and she has hurt them.
She has always known the death of humans. She has seen them in war, in family, and known them beyond the door.
But never like this. Never like this.
They do not turn to dust, but their flesh has been burned and marred; their body, still. It is strange, to see a person but to not see them walk, and talk, and breathe, and live. And she knows it is her fault.
And, poor mother that she is, weeps. For she has murdered her own child. "I am sorry," she cries. "I am so, so sorry-I did-I did not want this to happen, I…"
But she knows that for all her weeping, they will not come back. For all her fire, they will not live. What a fool she is to think so. What a fool she is she could save their life like this, when all she did was end it, alone again in this empty house. Perhaps it would have been better if they had turned to dust-at least, then, she would not have to look them in the eye.
Not that they're looking at much anymore, anyway.
They went out with significantly less fanfare than she expected.
There it was; a spear, and then they slumped over, and they died, and then their soul popped out of their body. No dramatic collapsing, no dying speech.
The silence that followed was deafening.
They're bleeding red on Waterfall's blue stone.
It's red and it's everywhere, and it stains her armor and her gloves, it's everywhere and for some reason she feels as if it will never come off. For some reason, she feels as if they were still alive despite the bright red soul floating in front of her, and she almost stabs them again for good measure-except something about that feels like a horrible thing to do, and the feeling rolls in her stomach in the awful way that sins do.
She knows that they are definitely dead. Human shows have taught her this much.
She jars the soul. She wants to get out of there as fast as they can and leave them far, far behind, where she cannot look at them and be reminded of the child she killed.
They try to run, but he does not let them.
Instead he launches another volley of little bomb troopers, and he satisfies in seeing them panic-it pleases the viewers, especially since their idol is winning so fantastically, with such glitz and glamour and glitter. He swings his leg up, then down, connecting with their head and they shudder, then collapse. The music keeps rolling, the ratings keep climbing… but they don't get back up. They don't keep muscling through like they always have.
Something is wrong. He must have knocked them out. He tuts; this will not do.
"Come on, darling," he croons, "I know you've still got some fight left in you."
They don't move.
"… Well, let's go, then! What are you waiting for?"
… there's something pouring from their head onto his dance floor. It's red and ugly and ruins the colors surrounding the pair.
He almost misses it, its glow lost amidst the flashing lights: their soul, bright and red, floating high above them.
No.
He gets angry. "The show isn't over yet, sweetheart. I won't let you leave!"
His persuasion moves to calling-and from calling, to threats. He tells them to get up or else, to keep moving or he will kill them.
Except he knows he already has.
The cameras shut off, and so does the music. The only lights remaining on are the spotlights and the dance floor. Glitter winks at him as he crouches by their body, inspecting, careful not to get any blood on his boots. He rolls them over, brushing the hair from their face.
They are staring at nothing. They are completely still. Is this how humans die?
… for some reason, he feels as if he had done wrong-that despite this being his goal, his dream, to capture a human soul, he did so at the price of…
of what?
But the prize almost does not feel it is worth what it took to get it. He should give it to Asgore, he knows, but his dreams wait for no one.
"Keep the cameras rolling!" he shouts.
And they do. The human's body has been left in the dark. There is only one light now, a spotlight: and it is on him.
"Behold!" He throws his arm into the air; the bright, beautiful red soul is there hovering above his palm. He can practically feel the ratings spike beyond his wildest fantasies. "I, as always, have reigned successful. But I couldn't have done it without all of you: my dear, loyal fans, sticking with me for all these years…"
And he keeps moving, gesturing, posing, pouring his heart into an emotional goodbye speech, thanking friends, thanking Blooky, thanking the brilliant Doctor Alphys.
(Who, outside the door, feels her heart sink, because this means two things that she dares not consider until she sees it herself.)
"… and as always, you all have been a brilliant audience. For one last time… I bid you… good night."
He snaps up their soul and walks out the door leading out of the CORE.
It is at that moment the other door opens and Alphys comes racing through. She sees the blood, the body, the missing soul, the missing friend, and she very nearly screams.
Instead, she sobs. It makes for a very heartfelt ending.
He kneels before the body in front of him.
He does not want to do it. He must, for his people. But first.
He sweeps up their body. It is so small, so frail, in his large hands; he feels as if that with the simplest wrong movement, they will break.
He calls for his suitors, his advisors, the palace helpers. Mend their wounds, he says. Embalm them. Lay them to rest in a coffin.
They take their body with grace, and he can hear them chatter excitedly among themselves. He is not excited: the future he has laid before himself has now been locked, and he cannot escape it, no matter how much he regrets it, no matter how much he repents. He must, he tells himself: for his people, for all of monsterkind.
He steels himself, and releases the other souls from their chambers. They surround him, twirling. They know. Spreading his arms, he welcomes them; spinning about the King, they fall into him.
There is a great flash of white, and the whole world watches.
There is a great crash, the sound of collapsing stone and glass, as if the palace itself had fallen, but it remains intact. The sound echoes through all of the Underground, reverberating through the stone caverns, shaking its very foundations. It brings silence to the mountain. Its ghost makes its rounds against the walls once, twice, three times more: such a profound thing, to echo through the bones of an entire civilization. Mount Ebott itself seems to shudder. Like dust, the noise begins to settle, then disappear.
Whispers rise from silence, dredges of conversation and anxiety. No one knows what happened. They can only assume, and the feeling becomes worse as the silence drags on.
Until it is all drowned out by His divine voice, piercing the SOUL of every monster; and as suddenly alien as it might sound, they all know it is the voice of their King.
And He has freed them all.