You know when you just have inspiration to do something and can't get it out of your head? This is that. Just thought this up laying down in bed and it would bother me if I didn't manage to get it out before I forgot it. There's definitely spoilers, and most likely warnings or something I should put here.
Undertale and it's characters do not belong to me.
He would never forget them.
Not a single one would ever leave his memory, from the very first one that fell. The one he had loved as a child of his own, who had laughed at near everything, but had a dark look shadowing their bright red eyes. He wouldn't forget the way they bitterly chuckled as their last wishes were unable to be granted, nor the flash of sadness he could see in their eyes at their family's concern as they lay there, struggling to breathe their last, their brother gripping their hand and showing his emotion as clearly as he always had, before it was replaced with that same determination that always shone through the worst of the worst.
He wouldn't let himself forget them.
The other six that fell had all been struck down by his hand. He couldn't allow his subjects to go through with doing it, he wanted them to have hope. The next one was young, but no younger than the one who had been his child. They came through the door to the ruins with a ribbon in their hair and a toy in their grasp. Despite the danger all around them, they seemed eternally serene and patient in the chilly air that rolled across the snow. And they kept it, even as his fire seared their skin. He remembered the way they didn't scream loudly despite the pain, and the chill that went through him, as if the cold hard eyes of his wife were on his back once again. When he turned though, nobody came, and the toy and ribbon that had fell onto the snow were gone.
He had to remember them.
The next one never made it past the bitter cold either, though they got farther before he managed to do it. He remembered watching this one, older than the others so far, as they punched first and asked questions later. He watched as each punch landed where they were meant to, though some were too strong, and others too weak. The human made it past every challenge though, and it wasn't until they were nearly at Snowdin did he bring himself to come forward. He stared into the unwavering bravery that burned in their eyes, even as they stood in front of the king of the land they were trapped in. A cocky smirk spread across the human's face, and it stayed there as they charged. It didn't waver even as the weapon he once wielded in defense of his kind pierced through that growing body, the youth facing their death as they had the one who caused it.
It made him tired, but he held their memory in a vice.
After that, the humans made it even deeper, past the bitter cold of Snowdin and into Waterfall. After only two, he was weary. He couldn't bring himself forwards, especially when he saw the youth, younger though not by much than the first one who had fallen. It pained him to see, the way they moved to their own rhythm, even as the tutu they wore became slightly battered and broken with each fight they entered. Not a single attack hit them though, the small creature dancing to an invisible beat of combat to twirl and hop away from danger every time. But he could not put it off forever, and when they were into Waterfall, he made himself known. Even meeting the king didn't break their stride, and they continued in their elaborate dance. He was amazed at how agile, how graceful the young human's movements were. But everyone slips eventually. And yet, even as they stumbled into the line of fire, they never stopped moving at their own pace, not until their last breath when their battered clothing and shoes were swept away by the water, bobbing as if their owner still danced within them.
It brought him despair, but he would never let go.
It was tiring to see each new coffin filled, each new soul entering it's container. He vaguely remembered some distant memory of a war, being told by human warriors that killing got easier with each one, but he did not feel that way. If anything, each new one was harder on him than the last, adding to the lives he had taken. Another human fell, he had been told one morning. It took more effort to rise from his bed each morning, the weight of the world sticking him to his throne even as he put on a nice face to keep the hopes of the people up. He didn't watch this one, as it felt as if rising from his throne took more time than he had ever lived. When he met this one in Waterfall, they were scribbling away in a notepad as they walked, cuts and bruises along their skin. He watched as the human made sure that he was able to make each monster back off with naught but harsh words, persevering through each fight one after another. He was not immune to the child's words, images of his enraged wife entering his mind at some things that were said, but the desire to end all the pointless suffering allowed him to raise his weapon once again. Even as they dodged, the human never stuttered a single time. But as a sickening ripping of flesh mixed with the tearing of paper in his ears, the glasses that hid the child's eyes from view fell from their face, and he saw a terrified look in those wide eyes. He silently admired the human for being able to endure even through their fear, but it saddened him to think that he was truly a monster, an abomination that struck fear into the hearts of children.
Some days he thought it wasn't worth it, yet he still couldn't move on.
It was a while since the next humans came, and it left the king with much time to think about what he had done, the lives he had taken. At any point he could cross through the barrier with just one of their souls, and collect some in a peaceful manner. But here he was, unable to move from his throne until a subject came in, telling him that yet another human had fallen. This was the fifth one to die by his hand, and it was the hardest so far. The human who came through was visibly the oldest by a few years, but they were still small enough that they could be called a child. The smile they wore... It was exactly like his wife's, the way they moved through Hotland offering help to absolutely anyone they saw. They held no weapon, simply a slightly burnt frying pan. They seemed eager to show each new monster their various recipes, and the subjects seemed to enjoy the meals with a muted sadness at the knowledge that the sacrifice of this human was necessary if they were to ever escape. He hated himself, the way he waited until they had made a wrong turn, into a dead end of a cliff going down into the endless molten rock below. He remembered the look of shock on their face as they turned around to see the king waiting for them, before it was kindness again. It pained him to see that kindness replaced by confusion and terror as he attacked, watching them stumble out of the way of his attacks. And when one of his blows knocked them off the edge, their apron fluttering to the ground, he burned the sound of their screams into his mind along with the image of the harsh Hotland turning their dark skin to charcoal, the pan they held somehow not melting but becoming more burnt than ever. Even though there was no body, he still built the coffin. He felt it was the only kindness he could give as a murderer.
Their memory was all that was left, to let go of that was to deny them.
By this point, the king couldn't bring himself to look into a mirror anymore. He was afraid of the twisted visage he knew he would see, hiding from it as best as he could. He was drinking ten times the amount of tea he did before, and spent almost all of his time tending to the plants and speaking with the monster children, their hopeful faces easing his pain just a tiny bit. But then the seventh fell, the sixth he would have to take the soul of. But he found himself unable to do anything from the moment he saw them. This one seemed just as young as the one who had danced until they died, and they were wearing some kind of costume. It looked rather ridiculous, but what didn't was the most definitely real weapon they held between their small fingers. Each monster they met got the speech of the young human claiming to be some kind of hero, that their weapon was only meant to be used on 'bad guys'. What did that mean then, when he met them near the core, that the child immediately pulled it out with wide eyes? He supposed he truly was the 'bad guy', killing solely for the gain of his people. The bullets that hit him hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain he carried each day, and the shaky hands of the child couldn't aim to get a fatal blow. The pure terror that the child desperately tried to squash down as the weapon clicked uselessly would haunt him with the rest of them, the king unable to even look at the small child as he dealt a fatal blow. The weapon clattered to the ground and the large hat blew away as the child went limp, the king feeling older by the second. After he had buried this one away in their coffin, he sat on his throne and wept. He silently hoped another human would never come, hoped that if it was then it could be a cruel one, hoped to any being that would listen that he wouldn't have to stain his hands with another innocent. And for a while, he felt as if maybe it was all over...
He couldn't bring them back, the least he could do was to never, ever forget.
The king held on to his foolish hope. He was peacefully watering the flowers he was growing in his throne room, when he heard footsteps behind him. As he turned to face the subject who came to visit him, his hope was crushed immediately. A human stood there, and he had heard no reports of this one, either. Or maybe he had, and his hope had made him blind to it. As he lead the human to the barrier, the pure determination he could see in their large brown eyes reminded him of his child so much that it hurt. But as he entered the battle he was hoping to lose, a familiar flame knocked him back. It was his wife. In that moment, even as his offer of friendship was rejected, seeing her alive, and protecting a child so much like their own...
Even when she spat in his direction and called him a whelp, he had hope. Even when that flower appeared and absorbed everyone, he had hope. As the small child took the longest time going through the underground to talk to everyone they'd met, he had hope. The barrier was gone now, and everything was over. He could finally stop killing. He had taken six lives, ended six dreams. And as he stood there with the 8th child and their friends, he looked over the surface world, and he knew why each and every human wanted to return here. A tear slipped down his face as he remembered his child, and each in turn. He had ended so many dreams, but maybe...
If he could help achieve just as many dreams, if not more than he had ended...
He would never forget them, but perhaps with enough time and determination, he might just be able to forgive himself a little.
"Isn't it beautiful, everyone?"
And a few hours later, it's done! Hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! If I made any mistakes regarding sentence structure or punctuation or words where they shouldn't be, please tell me! No one's perfect, after all!
Reviews are a writers fuel, tell me what you liked and what you didn't! And tell your friends about it if you think they'll like it!
Happy reading, happy writing! - Edgy On Porpoise