Dust spilled, hissing, through the gaps between his fingers and pooled in front of his knees. Motes, glowing under warm sunlight, floated and fell with delayed grace. A heart—red like the blood that bathed the torn body of the child—feebly hovered on top of the grass, almost to level of the kneeling king's eyes, then winked out of existence.

His eyes bulged and his hands shook—he sharply gasped, and his arms fell to his side.

His wife cradled their child's corpse, a hand pressing their head to her cheek. She murmured their name and sobbed.


Toriel Dreemurr, Queen of the Monsters, called her subjects to war.

He tried to stop her, he really did, but she misunderstood his apprehension for cowardice and lashed out, almost blindly, in anger. He refused to return fire—his flames only doused her frenzied attacks to minimize the damage wrought to their home. In the end, he had to forcibly defend himself. The throne room did not survive their row unscathed, and a wing of New Home will have to be rebuilt altogether.

Asgore Dreemurr, no longer the King of the Monsters, became afraid of his wife. He fled and went to hiding.


A human child fell. They were the first to come to the Underground after Chara. He was reluctant to attend to them, but their groans of pain called to his fatherly instincts.

The child panicked, and despite their wounds, they ran away in fear.

He listened to the hushed words of the people, on a stroll to the Waterfall a few weeks later. The Royal Guard has captured a human. The Queen has passed through the Barrier. The Captain of the Royal Guard has sent adverts far and wide, looking for recruits. The veterans have been called to arms.

"What should I do?"

The flower whispered his words to him. "What should I do?" uttered the ghost of his voice as it faded to the rush of falling water.


He had cut his hair and practiced walking with a hunch. His hood and cape covered the bulk of his body. His voice managed only soft, high-pitched sounds.

The Royal Guards that watched over the monsters coming out of the broken Barrier did not so much as blink in his direction as he walked through.


Asgore Dreemurr sat on the bank of a stream. He fixed his gaze to the water, watching the reflection of the sky. Above him, energy whizzed in different directions: glowing spears whistled, balls of fire swerved and exploded, beams of light flashed, and many more forms of magic flew as they cut through the air. Shadows played on the trees, dancing with images of rushing hordes and retreating forces. Smoke billowed from somewhere in the distance.

War cries, explosions, and grunts of fallen fighters echoed, coming from everywhere and nowhere.

He sighed. The day was far from over; his move cannot be made until the skirmishes calm down.

Until then, he will have to conceal himself as best as he can.