Not dead yet.
The sun shone down, a pleasantly warm autumn in the underground. A lone boss monster practiced in his backyard with his birthday gift- the sabre of the wartime head guard. The current head of the guard- the original owner's son- gave it to the prince himself, upon pledging fealty to the king.
A piercing scream echoed throughout the cavern where Asriel was practicing with his dulled weapon, shortly followed by a loud crack.
The startled boss monster clutched his practice sabre in both hands, and ran to investigate the commotion.
He sprinted through the narrow connecting hallway towards the origin of the noise, weapon tightly clutched, ready to strike. He approached the main garden, stopping adjacent to it's portal. He prepared himself for whatever beast, or bloodthirsty human he would see. He was ready to help protect monsterkind.
As Asriel turned the corner with his approximation of a mighty roar (which was much closer to a squeal) the overwhelming scent of blood accosted his nose and he promptly puked up his most recent meal.
Before Asriel lay the mangled and bloody corpse of some poor creature who had misstepped and fallen into the underground. Chunks of meat had splattered all around, some reaching a few feet away- not to mention the blood, which had managed to hit the celing. Bones jutted out at strange angles. The sight was truly grusome. He, naturally, ran for his mother.
Asriel sprinted faster than he ever had before, and made it halfway back to his training area before he met his mother, who took one look at him and got an epression of pure mortification. "My child, are you alright!?", Toriel asked. He bleated out in a panic "Momhelp therewasathing inthegarden Ithinkit'sdead". He pointed towards the direction of the main garden, and promptly began crying.
Toriel sat Asriel down, and assured him that everything would be alright. After making sure he was okay she set about figuring out what had gotten injured where. When she reached the Cavern containing the corpse, she smelled the stench of it before she saw it. She recognized the snout lying a few feet away from the rest of the body as that of a boar's, and she muttered a silent "shit..." to herself.
Toriel returned to Asriel, finding him asleep against the cavern wall with puffy eyes. She picked him up with one arm, and his sword with another. She took him inside and tucked him into bed, then called Asgore and the royal guard to have fall wards put up at every opening to the world above, and to arrange for the pig's disposal. Of all the people to see that, it had to be her son. Her little boy. She could feel her horns growing hot at the injustice of it. The memories, of so many scarred by the war. Broken eyes, broken children. She'd kill if that's what it took to stop her child from being another. She was done with letting humans break everything she held dear.
A chilly wind blew through the alley where Chara had set up a small barrier of broken crates, waking them from a nightmare. It was midday, and they needed to scrounge for food. Picking themselves up, they tried to remember things from the dream- shapes, yelling, and fire.
Chara got up, and went towards the town square to beg. The sounds of hustle and bustle soon filled the air.
They knelt, bowed their head, and put their hands forwards; cupped and begging for coins. A few hours later, Their sweater was filthy and they were badly bruised from an interaction with the locals.
Chara saw a travelling merchant walking by, pouches filled with gold and a local harlot on his arm. They considered warning him about the innumerable diseases, but quickly decided against it. The local prostitutes would kill them if so much as a word was breathed about the rampant crotch rot in town.
Chara was having no luck begging, so they decided to steal some bread and head home. They began the trudge downtown to the bakery, keeping an eye out for anyone who usually beat them. As they meandered down the cobblestone streets, the smell of freshly butchered pig grew intense, and their stomach growled. They had gotten some pork once from a passing nun who took pity on them, and they craved it immensely. The savory flavor was rare, as they mostly ate fruits and bread.
Chara quickened their pace towards the bakery- they couldn't eat pork anyway; they had no means to cook it. They blended into the crowd, and got next to the bakery. They quietly made their way inside the large brick building, and went towards the back room door. They saw their prize, and their exit. Getting a running start, they grabbed a massive loaf of rye and barged through the unlatched door at the back of the bakery. The baker, sitting and watching an oven's contents to avoid them burning, jumped and promptly threw his rolling pin at Chara with as much force as he could muster. Another reason they stole from the baker instead of the butcher is that the baker threw hunks of wood, and the butcher threw knives.
Chara made haste retreating to their small shack on the outskirts of town, hoping that no-one would steal their bread. They took a few bites of the tough loaf, savoring the meal as if it were their last. They saw a few hazelnuts had fallen from the old tree next to their shack as they grew close, and counted their lucky stars. The impending winter would be harsh, and they needed to bulk up. They sat down in their small shack made of old crates and began to eat.
As Chara laid down for the night, they couldn't help but marvel at the moon. It was a brilliant blood red. They had never seen such a thing in their life. Screams could be heard around town. People were yelling that it was the end of days, the clergy praying, and the local blacksmith had holed up in his shop with crucifixes nailed to his door, and loud crashes coming from inside.
It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, a year past the sun had been blocked out by something, and every blue moon people would get into a fright about werewolves.
Perhaps one day the world would really end, or perhaps a beast would really emerge. Wouldn't that be lovely?
I lost a friend the other day. Some people make short chapters frequently, and some make long chapters once a month/longer. I make a short chapter once a year. whoopee.