Chapter II – Breaths
Asgore could not utter a word.
And, on the other hand, neither the spirit did.
For long moments, the same astounding willpower that shied him away from the brink of madness, although unable to stop the wear and tear of his psyche for centuries, abandoned him. Alone, with that ghost.
And more strange than one could say, it seemed he needed it no longer.
An aura strange, pervasive and powerful heaved in front of the intangible, and a kind of presage, of something already lived before and therefore familiar, crossed his mind.
His breath slowed down, and his hands unhanded the trident.
"At the risk of repeating myself, who are you?" said the King, whose fear of impending disaster vanished behind him. "How can a being like you, arrived suddenly and with hidden face, calm my mind with just his sight?"
The spirit just looked away. If it were not for the lack of tone that permeated the echo of his voice, that hiss of wind that seemed his breathing, the King himself would have sworn that his light torches concealed one of the proudest and haughtiest demeanors.
"Thou art still a King," the spirit spoke, in fairness stating the obvious. "Albeit fear and pain were thy companions for long, steady nerves became thy prerogative. Enjoyest a minimum of respect for thy person, I dare say."
Asgore grumbled his slight dudgeon to that statement, hardly managing to interpret if it were sarcasm or some friendly advice, while again dodging questions about his identity.
"Have you made some kind of spell rather? It seems at best a hallucination, complete with an antiquated way of speaking!" he said, not failing to include some peeve, still wanting to arouse a reaction.
"Is't of paramount importance to know who I am and ignore what I said?!" so he replied, sharp and brutal, thrusting his staff onto the floor with a terse and vibrating sound that struck the King, awaking him totally from his debilitating numbness. "'Tis not the time to yield to inaction! Thy life hath indeed much more to write and bear."
As poetic as it was his way of speaking in metaphors, Asgore frowned at that, since he was not in the right mood to listen to rhetorical speeches.
"What are you talking about? My life?" he said, his voice turning serious. "What else do you expect of me? I exhausted my mandate, and my every aspiration. The story is over, it's over for me."
"Dost thou really think that opening a door is the end?" the spirit answered to his apathy, now opening his arms, eyes radiating purpose. "Turnest thy gaze not to relics of the past, but to the light of dawn that awaiteth thee there, amidst the light of sun and moon, o'er the threshold of the crumbl'd Barrier."
As soon as he finished, another blow on the floor, stronger than the first, found its way through the depths of Asgore's soul, shaking it to the core.
"Stop that! What do you hope to accomplish?!" the King, returned shattered, said, bitten in his certainties. "There can be no future. I caused too much pain and false hopes, it is only fair that I pay to the last ounce!"
"What other guilt thou art stain'd with, if rather should be blam'd the horrid circumstances in which heretofore thou hast found thyself? Thou wert ultimately wise and persevering. Thou charg'd thyself, despite the initial sin, with the weight of thine actions. And thou waited until the last moment the human who would prove thy wrong."
"And that wasn't enough?! They succeeded where the King of a nation has failed! They brought them out to live, out of this dreary world of stone!"
"A world however abounding in light and color, always vibrant with the hope of its inhabitants, who learn'd to live in serenity, in the warmth of their families. Albeit a comforting lie, thou gavest them reason not to doubt and persist, even in the midst of purgatory. Extreme times require extreme sacrifices, and thou art a champion in this guise. But lo! Pick thyself up, dust thyself off, stand tall head-on, there is still much to do. No one is without fault, yet any can be cleans'd."
"And tell me then," – Asgore stood in all its height – "How could I ever heal sins so irremediable like the killing of innocent creatures whose only fault was falling in here?!"
"Betimes said! Countless secrets lie on Earth, and thy kingdom is not exempt. Thou hadst not the chance to know what the Barrier truly was and could do. Thus I say unto thee, thou can still return to the joy thee long for, mend what thou committed, for there is still hope, there hath always been."
Asgore shook his head. "My hope is dead…"
"Nay, 'tis not. An opportunity to put things right existeth and I am delivering it to thee, now that the timeless limbo that trapp'd all of you hath been destroy'd."
"Why you persist on torture me with false hopes?!" he shouted in exasperation, realizing soon his was an unnecessary reaction.
His breathing loosened until it quieted.
But he looked away, as he found bothersome the very eyes of the ghost glancing at his own.
"What else do you want from these spoils tired of life? I still do not know what stops me from putting an end to my miserable existence…"
He stabbed himself with his own words. That crown on his head suddenly weighed on it, unbearably. It forced his sight to look now the floor, with resignation.
Yet the spirit did not flinch. He did not hold back even then, as if he however wished to bear that burden with him.
"I persist, for there are still those who beseech thy loyalty. I know what gripeth thine heart, dipp'd of neglect and helplessness before inescapable fate, and therefore hearest them not when thou sittest on thy throne, while they clung tooth and nail to keep their breath. Thou cannot grasp who they are, yet this is understandable, for 'tis beyond thy power. There is still life in these places, suspended on the brink of death, so thou hast to listen to me, my King, and follow me."
This time Asgore did not open his mouth.
He felt faint, perhaps because of emotional stress, finding on his throne in fact his only support where to sit.
"Why…" – He finally said – "You tell me things that, despite centuries of inhuman efforts, uninterrupted research, ongoing regrets, just go beyond… beyond my reasoning."
He dared to look again at those piercing living orbs, his breath taken away by restlessness and… a sense of newfound hope. Inexplicably, he felt that the languor that poisoned his life was like washed away, in the manner of a disruptive fresh water river on a dry mud wall.
Now he wanted more of it. He wanted to know.
"You remind me of the strange dreams I had as of late… Yet, if they relate to what you say, how do you know? How do you know all these things? No one, I am sure, lives here anymore."
"Agree to follow me, and I shall show those lingering presences to thee."
That was how the spirit took the first step. He swiftly went out the door, never taking his gaze off Asgore that, at first transfixed and reluctant, braced himself and, standing again and upright, walked timidly toward the doorsill.
The ghost guided him through the short corridor, taking a sharp turn to the left when the path forked, headed to a room the thought of which ripped Asgore's heart from his chest countless times.
The King stopped abruptly in front of the first step. "I cannot. Please, do not take me there."
"Thou must, thy Royal Highness. It befitteth for what I have to tell thee."
Those other, horrible thoughts, resurfaced. What most he detested spoke to him through their very cries.
"There's only blood and rue beneath these stairs, a room that still exudes the memory of my despicable actions. You cannot ask that from me, spirit. I just cannot stand more of it."
The ears would not hear, not even his trembling voice. However, the eyes were enough convinced when the white-robed presence ones fixed on them, audacious and almost reassuring.
"Come down, I said," his echo eventually intimated, trying to squeeze the King's courage to come to light again, as his frail state of mind suffered defeat before the spirit's resolution.
Strong enough to make him hear again, now in bafflement, the gnashing sound of his own teeth.
I recognize this power. Clearly, that reminds me Determination...
Like a relentless force that now urged him to come down, as he struggled with himself with uncertain step, each one of them a beat of a drum, the march in time of a firing squad that resonated in his head.
Breathing heavily, he felt heart-stricken as he reached the door that the awaiting spirit opened, going in first, just so that he could watch once more the monument to his sins.
But contrary to every expectation, a surreal view engulfed him.
The coffins, except the empty one of his daughter Chara, were all uncovered. The humans who had ventured into the Underground were still lying inside there, covered in bandages and surrounded by redolent leaves, laid on a bed of flowers, still fresh and vigorous.
"What's the meaning of this?! Why their coffins are open, who dared desecrate their bed?!" Asgore said aghast, almost yelling, at the limit of any tolerable endurance.
He turned soon to the spirit, facing him ready in battle stance. "Are you perchance the responsible for this?"
The other, however, remained impassive. His gaze aimed the King's just to pierce it, in shape of beacons of blinding light. "How could thou claim me to be so low?"
The King this time realized the peak the spirit's indignation could reach, but there was too much anger that was building up in his body, patience exhausted by dint of seeking explanations in that ambiguity that strayed up to unacceptable limits. "What are you trying to tell me? That they have opened themselves!?"
"I know what thou art thinking! Well enough, I open'd them myself, but 'twas never for desecration, on the contrary! For grounds indeed so wonderful, that thou shouldst be very happy on the face of it!" the being said, reserving him another burst of indignation.
As soon as he saw that the confused King returned silent, just because of the enormity of such remark, he calmed the storm in his sentences. "King Asgore Dreemurr, learn to recognize who is amongst thy friends, not for appearance nor emotion, but by strength of deeds."
At that, Asgore stepped back, appalled. "But, why then? I..." he tried to say, bringing his hand to his forehead, sweating cold. The other interrupted him again.
"As I said, my King: thou shalt do well to hear what I have to say first, ere compromising everything."
The King, at last, complied.
Asgore's pupils contracted to normal, his tensed muscles, relaxed.
And although for the umpteenth time he could not hold his stare, his wildest imaginations paled to the most extraordinary of visions, soon to be clouded by tears, once upon the very bodies of the human children.
watch?v=F5HPfNj4VMM (Two Steps From Hell - Talia's Theme)
Lifeless they seemed, but only apparently. A glimpse could appreciate how their chest inflated and deflated, rhythmically and slowly. A breath, albeit sleepy, but vital.
The spirit shed new light with his staff lit on top, illuminating their still living remains.
"The Barrier was erected to trap monsters. A prison for time and space themselves, separated from the outside world to abide by your very same fate of exile. However, humans have never been contemplated for this place. Albeit monsters can die and dissolve, the souls of men persist thanks to Determination, and thou knowest this."
With hieratic slowness, he drew near to the center of the room, so that it could be plunged in light, fortifying the King's hopes along with his sight.
"The Barrier's grasp was only for souls, all fortunes of their host were enchain'd to their outliving and demise, like a channeling medium to absorb magic and dust. Likewise, human bodies trapp'd in your prison were bound by their souls' fate, but what magic is there to take? Naught, but everlasting Determination, that preventeth their utmost annihilation.
"Albeit torn off from their soul, bodies cannot decay nor die, for Determination therein resideth immortal, holding such a treble bridge, come unbroken by the very Barrier, that through resonance sustain'd. Even if thy sight sayeth otherwise, before its laws they remain in a dormant state similar to death. This is the fate that befell on them."
"That's insane! Impossible!" - Asgore finally found the strength to speak again, - "I saw them beaten, stabbed and torn! How can they survive all of this?!"
The more the spirit went ahead, the less the King could understand, or even logically accept.
"In such deathly sleep thou found them, and hast them plac'd, wiping their wounds and putting them in safe. Thus, even when in the brink of death, behind the Barrier theretofore its shattering, they regenerated. They had all the time in their endless sleep to heal every wound, expel any toxin, in the safeness of their sarcophagi."
He struggled to believe even a straw of it, he struggled to admit that he had been blind for so long. That all of that was a lie, the sweetest of lies.
To which he wanted to believe with all his might, up to suck it from the legs, until he fell to his knees.
The stranger touch of a handkerchief wiped away his tears.
The spirit took pity on him, helping him to stand up and sit on a wooden bench.
"Dost thou know the mythos of Cronos, god of time?" he said, close to Asgore, like a soothing whisper. "He ate his sons and daughters to keep control, but his youngest undermin'd him at the end of his reign, and he had to throw up them all. Albeit in his belly, they still breath'd and liv'd.
"Ah, what a coincidence then, when the last human with innocence chang'd the outcome! Humans, herein akin to gods, that now are eager to meet her as brothers and sisters, out of this jail of time. Yet, alas…"
"What… what do you mean by 'yet'?!" Asgore interrupted him, the hand running on his disconcerted mouth.
"'Twas the jail of time indeed to keep them hale for sure, and as such haleness shan't last forever. Since the Barrier is broken, the timeline settl'd in its path. And with it, their lives. The bodies resum'd their naturalness and now breathe again, and shall die in their sleep."
"No, no, please!" Asgore tugged the hems of the spirit's garment. "Tell me that there is a chance to wake them up, I cannot fathom how would be seeing those children die again! I don't want to relive that nightmare!" Terrified, he feared no more to look up in that abyssal face.
"It shan't happen, if we act in time. I made sure they are supplied magically with fresh air and nurturing, while their slow'd metabolism let them survive quite yet nevertheless. Altogether and already they could have awaken'd, but they cannot, for they lack what maketh them whole: their soul."
"No! NO!" Asgore shook forcibly his head, the fingers through his hair, not caring anymore the crown that fell with a thud on the ground. "You speak of souls, spirit! But how can we ever recover them? By now they are dispersed!"
This time, the spirit dropped all subtleness, giving a light blow on Asgore's forehead with his staff. The King cursed at the sudden pain, but at least regained self-consciousness.
"Now doest not panic! At the end of the last fallen human's pilgrimage, the souls of all monsters have been releas'd, and eke the human ones after the breach in the Barrier. They still linger as tied to their body, if that is dead in unrest, or still liveth. In the commotion no one had thought of it, but I proceeded to what was in my power to relieve the bodies from upcoming fatigue and locate roughly the sites where the souls have travel'd, in places where they were detach'd from their abode, the place of their traumatic memory."
"So what should we do? Spirit, I thank you for heartening me, but help me if you please!"
"'Tis what I set out to do, support thee in the endeavor. Thus, lendest me thine ear. We have to do what thou no doubt art us'd to: find the souls and put them in containers to protect and carry them. Alas, those thou hadst with thee were shatter'd, so we have to find new ones.
"Once retriev'd, we shall come back here and assist their mending to the bodies. Forsooth, they cannot home with conventional methods, they must be help'd in the process by reinfusing them with the appropriate energy. I cannot do it alone, inasmuch I am a spirit, sure tangible, but incapable to mend a soul to a body, which resideth in the physical plane. Thou comest into play here, I need thy power for the time being."
Asgore just beamed. Beamed and turned anguish into unbridled joy. The forlorn hope come back knocking in his chest, while energy returned in full force, making him jump from happiness.
It was somehow too good to be true.
Slithering, a doubt came, and stopped him in his tracks.
How does this spirit know all these things in the first place? What if his intentions are far from good? It would not be the first time someone tries to steal human souls in order to ascend to divinity…
But... I cannot risk to give up such an opportunity. Even if there is a remote possibility, I would do everything to save those little ones from certain doom and give them a new life to live.
He did his best to hide those grimaces of distrust, by quickly conjuring his weapon, planting it on the ground in a display of martial preparedness. "Spirit, it is decided. You have my arm and my trident."
An eerie calm seemed to conquer him.
I have nothing to lose, but their breaths of life. I won't come betrayed or unprepared, if indeed there is hope for their salvation. I'll keep my eyes wide-open while in company of you.
You may be highly trustworthy, I'll concede that, but to not trust is better…
"I notice finally some resolution in thee, thy Royal Highness. Well then, let us proceed on our way and put an end to thy suffering, once and for all."
And what we were just saying?
