Chapter 28
Downpour
The small village in the swamps of Bob appeared a ghost town in the misty rain. The villagers knew the drill as all windows, doors and shutters were closed the very second before the downpour commenced at the exact same moment every day. Every now and then, a figure would be seen darting across the walkways, moving fast enough to stay out for the least amount of time while also refraining from slipping. Every structure stood elevated on many legs above the rippling waters; each one had two clear lines worn in them: one when the tide was low and the other when it was high; the top line was where the water level lay.
The inn was both close enough to be a part of the village and yet far enough to be considered isolated. With no bridges, the only way to reach it was by boat, which were all tied on a port lined by its entrance. Four boats lined the walkway – the most recent belonged to the frog boatman who was inside the inn, sat on a heightened stool with a glass in hand.
On the upstairs floor overlooking the bar, a freshly brewed fire flickered within a fireplace that had seen much use. Asgore and Toriel sat in two comfy armchairs facing the inviting flames. It reminded Toriel of the old days in her old home, reading her many books over and over with the sweet smell of pie wafting from the kitchen.
The patter of rain against roof was a sound neither of them had heard in a long time. Ghostly air surrounded the spindly fingers reaching up from submerged grounds, visible from a balcony door welded shut with rust and mildew.
"I know I've been locked in the Underground for a long time," Asgore commented, staring outside, "but I don't remember the weather changing this rapidly."
"I do not know, Asgore," Toriel said as she reached for her glass on the circular table between them. "Remember that one time along the coasts of Scotland?"
In their youths, in a time before the war, the couple were quite the nomads, travelling the lands and meeting new cultures. How different they were back then, how naïve they were to life and clueless to the events to come that would shape their very lives to this day. Asgore even shaved in those days, only when it was fashionable to do so depending on the lay of the land. Fun fact: his blonde beard hairs reverted to white whenever they were the same length as his fur.
During their travels, they set foot along one of the many coasts of the island. Cold air and colder waters, not as frigid for people with pelts as thick as theirs, under the pelts they wore back then. Scotland was home to such fascinating landscapes, an interesting culture, and a very friendly yet shy monster living in Loch Ness. That particular morning seemed to be a typical one, with grey overcast skies and a slight breeze.
Asgore leaned back. "How could I?" he reminisced as he recalled the exact moment the heavens opened, dropping a torrent on the couple. The tree they huddled under was not the greatest form of shelter but it was better than nothing. "We became quite the pair of drowned rats." He chuckled as he reached for his glass also.
Both pint tumblers bubbled with Toxin Water. Toxin was an acronym (tasty oxygenated xylitol isotonic crystalline) and it was a forced one at that. Asgore and Toriel were probably the only two people with the courage to try it. The bar did not serve tea and the two needed their minds clear for when they arrived at the castle. The boatman was so generous to buy them the means to wet their whistles while the rain did its thing. Honestly, for the free ride, Asgore and Toriel should be the ones buying, but the frog insisted for such a lovely, charming person. The lady was nice too, he supposed.
Sitting around and waiting for the downpour to pass made the couple itchy, knowing that while they lounge around in a cosy pub with a warm fire and cold drinks, their child could be fighting for their very life. They could be lost. Alone. Cold. Hungry.
Toriel brought her drink down on the coaster which bore the rings of a thousand moist glasses before rubbing the sleeves on her upper arms. Asgore took notice as his wife tried to imagine Frisk on her lap as they read an enjoyable story.
"I know." Asgore glanced back at the patio window. Outlined in the mist was the castle the two of them had been heading towards since their arrival. It was the closest he had seen it, now a giant on the horizon. The remaining journey there was perhaps no more than an hour away, and now the rain had impeded their progress. "Can't wait to meet this fellow…" he whispered loud enough for Toriel to catch before he took a swig of his fizzy water.
"Yes. I too cannot wait to meet the ruler of a monster kingdom who wants the soul of an innocent child," Toriel said cynically. "Wait a minute, I do not need to. I already have."
Asgore swallowed his mouthful down hard, gripping his glass tighter. "Must you always bring that up…?"
"On the contrary, I believe we have put off this subject for too long, Dreemurr."
"What more is there to talk about? Look, I admitted that I was wrong. What more do you require?"
"Assurance," Toriel retorted. "We may live under the same roof and you have agreed to be a father figure to Frisk, but after everything done, I am still afraid of the risk you pose. If you were so eager to hurt Frisk in the past, how do I know you will not in the future?"
Asgore shot her a most disgusted expression. He set the glass down before he could shatter it. "Toriel, how can you accuse me of such things? I have no desire to hurt Frisk – I never wished to hurt anyone in the first place." He closed his eyes. "You and I both know what it's like to go from having everything we've ever wanted to having nothing, all in one day. I was angry, I was desperate, I just wanted our children back again, and I did things, said things that I am not proud of. I am not asking for forgiveness. All I ask is that you understand it from my point of view."
"You condoned the murder of children, innocents whose only crime was falling into the Underground when it all could have been avoided. How can I possibly understand that?"
"I had little choice in the matter. Regardless of what you and I lost, I was still king. I had the entire Underground to think about. Subjects to look after. Morale to keep high. They all looked up to me for guidance, hope, so I gave them what they needed."
"You gave them false hope."
"False hope was still hope. It was either that or plunging the Underground into despair."
Toriel continued to scowl, not moved by his words in the slightest.
"You think it was easy?" Asgore continued. He hunched forward, leaning closer to the fire. Flickering, orange light dazzled in his eyes. Vague images of better days danced within those flames. Golden flowers. Hot tea. Laughter. Lots of laughter. "I bared the entire Underground's burdens all on myself and myself alone – I could never have dragged you into it. I took all the pain so that no one else had to. You have no idea how hard that was, Toriel… because you weren't there."
"I could not have been, Asgore. There was no way I could stand by your side after what you deemed acceptable. When you took to that stage and declared war on humanity, announcing to the entire crowd that all humans who fell down were to be killed, it was as if you became a different person." Toriel stared at the fire also. "The man I loved… Gorey… King Fluffybuns… he was gone, and all the moments we shared meant nothing anymore."
Through the excited blaze, Toriel watched from behind the curtain as the King of the Underground stood before his loyal subjects; their bodies crammed in to one tight space, coming from all four corners of their world: Snowdin; Waterfall; Hotland; New Home. He brushed aside his purple cape to raise his mighty trident. He announced a new policy, effective immediately: humans were the enemy and any who fell down into their home were to be treated as such. King Asgore added that there were going to be drastic changing, including a draft to form their own military and sentry posts.
The Queen of the Underground hoped the citizens would see through his façade, realise how monstrous such a policy was, and respond with heckling chants and the throwing of rotten fruit. Instead, her soul was torn apart to the sound of cheering; all monsters made hungry for human blood. The kind, simple man she loved roared with anger as hot as fire. She could watch no longer.
When King Asgore was finished, he marched off stage to find his wife – the one piece of family he had left – gone, leaving only her golden crown discarded on the stone floor.
"I lost the man I loved that day," Toriel said.
"And I lost you as well, Toriel," the broken king responded. "It wasn't Chara's death that almost broke me. It wasn't Asriel's either. It was losing you that pushed me to the breaking point. You were the last good thing I had left in my world, and after you vanished, I had nothing. I was nothing. Being king was the only reason for me to exist… the one purpose I had left, and now that is gone."
Solemnly, Asgore rose and stepped over to the patio, giving the Emperor's fortress another hard look. The person who occupied the throne within those walls had a story of his own, an origin to how his hatred of humanity manifested, and Asgore reckoned there lay many similarities to his own. The coolness in the air sapped the heat persisting on his fur.
"Look. I'm sorry, Toriel, but…" Asgore faced his wife. The dim greyness hued the linings of his frame. "I am not sorry."
This got a stunned look out of Toriel. "What?" she breathed.
"I look back on everything that happened. The loss. The pain. The misery. My terrible actions. My cowardice. And if I had a chance to relive those days… I would not change any of it. If I had to bare all the pain ten times over, then I would do it all again."
Toriel slowly rose. "Asgore… how can you say such things…?"
Asgore took a few short, confident steps over. "Because it made me the person I am today. It's the reason why the barrier was destroyed. It's the reason why we have returned to the surface. It's the reason why we have a child once more." Despite knowing everything he had been through and all the mistakes he made along the way, he managed to smirk. He took Toriel by the hands, cupping his over hers. "It's the reason why we're going to get them back, together."
Toriel looked away, unable to face her husband or return his enthusiasm. "If I had the chance to turn back time," – she slipped her hands free from Asgore's fingers – "I would change everything: Chara and Asriel's deaths; what you became; the ruling against humans; the lives lost along the way. Even if it meant we died without ever seeing the sun again, I would be happy to have those days back."
Asgore's smile faded. "That is why you returned to our old home, is it not?" he asked.
"I guess I should not be surprised," Toriel replied, making eye contact. "The Underground was a small place; the ruins even smaller. There were only so many places to go."
Asgore said, "Toriel, I think I deserve to know what happened down there."
What happened after Toriel fled the imposing metropolis of New Home, carrying in her arms the bundled, lifeless remains of the first human child, was such a complicated story for her mind to handle. Chara did not deserve to remain in the King's clutches, locked within that coffin forever. Just like how monsterkind sent off their loved ones, so did humanity. Chara got a decent burial as far away from the troubles that plagued New Home as possible, in the spot at the end where light from the surface shone through. Toriel returned to pay their respects every so often, and eventually, flowers bloomed on their final resting place. A sign that even beauty can blossom in the wake of tragedy.
So much and yet so little happened upon her return to the first home, where all of them – herself, Asgore, Asriel, Chara – spent the greatest years of their lives before braving the trek back to the cusp of the barrier. Where does she begin?
"I needed to get a far away as possible," Toriel explained. It sounded more like a confession.
"Far away from me?" Asgore asked.
"From everything. New Home held too many memories. Bad ones." Toriel faced the fire and saw the same orange glow that ordained the mantle of her previous house. "And it was the one place where the first human was found. I knew that if any more humans were to fall down, it would be there. I walked through the ruins more times than I can remember and encountered only a handful over all those years…"
Toriel closed her eyes and hugged her body as their youthful faces returned to her, one by one.
The boy with the apron, who loved to cook, was always so kind-hearted and gentle. The pies never tasted as sweet or as crumbly after he left.
The ballerina girl, always so honest and graceful in both body and principle. Toriel heard a passing rumour that a child of the same description was found in Waterfall a couple days after she passed the door.
Then there was the most inquisitive boy she had ever seen, always so knowledgeable on what he knew and curious on what he did not know. There was an interesting story regarding how Gerson came across a torn notebook and a badly damaged pair of jam jar glasses while in the garbage dump. He could not remember.
That girl with the beautiful red ribbon was such a patient little trooper. She stayed with Toriel the longest and appeared ready to settle in permanently until, sadly, it was discovered that the ruins were not the safest place for a human child to play in.
The boy who dreamed of being a sheriff when he grew up was always seeking out wrongs to put right and bad guys to prove wrong. Toriel regretted telling him about the King; that mentality was what urged him to leave the safety of his new home, seek out this tyrant, and put an end to his diabolical reign. He reached the castle's doorstep before his resolve clicked as empty as his gun.
The tough kid with the bandanna who possessed a bottomless pit for courage was the last child to fall down before Frisk did. His bravery only got him so far, though. Someone slain him sheer minutes after he left the ruins.
Toriel lingered behind the door, wondering whether or not to pass through and confront the world that had forgotten her. Six children had fallen down. Six children she tried and failed to protect. Six children were dead. Their souls resided in the king's possession, awaiting a seventh. One more soul was all that was needed to destroy the barrier, meaning the sacrifice of one more human was required. One final human from the surface would eventually fall down to their world; it was inevitable, and each day she squandered was one day less she had to prepare.
By revealing her face to the world, Toriel would in turn confront those who followed King Asgore's commands. The thought made her hands tremble inches away from the door. She tried to picture the faces of those who killed those children, but dreaded how she would act upon meeting them, upon breaking her own self-imposed exile.
She worried and made excuses to herself. What if another human had fallen into the ruins right now? She needed to be there to guide him or her to safety. Did she remember to turn off the stove? Was there a burning smell in the air or was it just her? She was no spring chicken, there was nothing wrong with being forgetful in her old age. Speaking of which, did she remember to sweep under her armchair when she cleaned up last week? Her bed, also? Dust always accumulated the most under there.
And then two distinct taps rattled from the other side, accompanied by two little words…
"Knock knock."
She opened her eyes and almost said who's there. She had returned to the moment of time inside the inn. Rain speckled against the glass and a gust creaked the foundation. "I thought I could protect them," Toriel whispered.
"Protect them?" echoed Asgore.
"Against the policy. Against the monsters. Against you. I tried to keep them safe, show them the best love a mother could give, but their love of the surface was greater than mine."
Asgore went anguished. "You tried to be a mother to them…?" Suddenly, it all made sense. "Through all my anger, I had to face the truth that the pain would never go away, that I would ultimately learn to cope with it. But I dealt with it in the worst way: I refused to move forward and chose to root myself in the past, refusing to acknowledge the terrible things that had happened, refusing to acknowledge that you weren't there anymore, believing that it would all come back one day. So you see, you weren't trying to protect any of them… not really. You were just like me, trying to live in the past. Perhaps we are more similar than we initially thought."
"Asgore…" Toriel said in a low growl. "Do not even dare comparing me to you…"
"Neither of us could handle the future we faced," he persisted. "The only difference is you chose to run from it, thinking that not being involved would make you the better person."
"Dreemurr…"
"Admit it. We had the perfect family, and when disaster struck, we both buried our heads in the sand and pretended like nothing was wrong, that all these problems would just go away on their own." He stabbed his finger downward. "I woke up in that castle every day, wrote the same thing in my diary, and kept the flowers tended wishing that a family would come to me instead of going out there and making one. Just how you woke up in our old home every day, searched the ruins, and kept a bed ready wishing that one day you'd have a child of your own who would call you 'Mom'."
Toriel was shaking. Sadness and fury brewed deep inside her. "I am warning you, Dreemurr…"
"Did you really care for those children better than I did…?" Asgore knew what he was about to say would hurt both of them. "Or were you just that desperate to be a mother again?"
No words. No thoughts. Toriel lashed out. She did not think to do it, her body simply reacted. Her body whipped around, swinging an open palm directly into Asgore's waiting cheek. He saw it coming a million miles away and yet chose to do nothing but take it. The slap was quick, sharp and painful; Asgore reacted with a silent turn of the cheek. The strike left it feeling hot and prickly. He deserved it, and, honestly, it was well within her right.
Down below, the patrons went quiet as the whipping crack drew all eyes upwards to the balcony above. The few monsters huddled around the bar paid the arguing pair a couple of seconds before returning to their drinks. None of their business. Among them, the frog boatman frowned as he reached back for his glass of grog water.
He shared a glance with the bartender and said, "Dirty laundry," before swigging the remaining traces and sliding the glass over. "This stuff's flat. When did you last change the keg?"
The bartender took the empty, cloudy glass and tipped it under the beer tap. "Lots of dirty laundry," he agreed as he pulled on the handle. "And I changed it five minutes ago."
After allowing the pain to pass, Asgore's soft eyes – devoid of anger – lay upon Toriel's. "Did you do that to Frisk, too?"
Toriel clutched the hand that struck him. She gripped the wrist tightly, refraining it from lashing out again.
"I did not… I did not wish to… I thought I knew what was best for them…"
"You did." Asgore said. "Why?"
"I was desperate. I was lonely." Her own actions burst to life in the flames. What happened between herself and Frisk was uncalled for. Waves of fire went forth from her palms. Frisk dodged the blasts, occasionally taking a few. "I was scared. I thought I was scared of what might happen had you gotten a hold of Frisk." She slumped back down in her chair and witnessed in the licks of flame the sweet cuddle she gave the child before she let them go. "When all this time I was truly frightened of being on my own again."
Asgore saw the orange glint in Tori's eyes, then took his seat beside her.
"Out of all the children who ventured through the underground," Asgore said, "Frisk was the only one who reached me. The first time I ever laid eyes on them, I…" Pause. "They kind of look like Chara, don't they?"
Toriel nodded slowly, remaining fixated on the fire. "I have also witnessed glimpses of them in Frisk…"
Asgore took his glass and held it a foot off the table. "We both messed up, didn't we?"
Toriel grabbed her glass off the worn beermat. "Royally," she replied as she glumly clinked glasses with her ex.
Together, the two guzzled the rest of the fizzy water in one go and slammed their empties back down simultaneously.
Asgore savoured the bubbly tickle on his tongue until it dispersed a couple seconds later; the taste not long after. This was the longest conversation both he and her have had since they exited the Underground, progress into rekindling some form of compromise between them hopefully had been established, and yet the fire still burned and the rain pelted from outside those walls. So much had changed between them, as boss monsters, but the world around them progressed how time always did. The patrons below, huddled around the bar telling stories and passing rumours, had problems and demons of their own that meant the Outerworld to them, and were completely unrelated to theirs.
After minutes of silence, Asgore broke it. "Toriel," he said, "I look upon you and I still see the woman I loved. Still love. I know those days are over, I know you are not perfect, and I know you have made your fair share of mistakes, but none of that changes how I feel about you." He faced her. "Even after all that has happened, you are still the Queen of the Underground to me. I understand your actions, but why can you not understand mine? Why can we not leave the past behind us and start again with a clean slate?"
"Some things are not so easily forgotten, Asgore," said Toriel. "I want to believe that the man I loved is somewhere in there, but… every time I gaze upon you, all I see is what you became all those years ago."
The former queen remembered the look on Asgore's face, shortly after Frisk had flew away to the heavens and as she hysterically scoured the books in the living room. She look back in anger as her former husband looked upon her with those soft eyes.
Just for one second, she did not see the whelp she despised. She saw him. Gorey.
I miss you, she thought. I still miss you.
The downpour riddled the ground, making it moist and slick. The soldiers had a colossal task ahead of them as they heaved the prisoner transport over the rising hills. The incline was the hard part. At the peak stood a service elevator that led up to Highkeep Enclave. Once they were up there, and the rain had ceased, then it was smooth sailing the rest of the way.
The wheels of the heavy cart and each iron step sank into the earth. Even with the extra pullers up front being rotated every so often, the task seemed herculean in scope. Every effortful tug budged the cart by a foot.
"Pull, men," Colonel Fisher barked from the side-lines. "Pull!" She could barely register her own voice under the jangle of raindrops around her helmet, which sounded like nails against a tin roof. Leftover morsels of grub ran down the canals of her soggy cape, piling extra weight onto her shoulders.
Knowing his colonel would not hear him – he could not hear his own thoughts – one of the pullers muttered, "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one pulling."
Thankfully, Fisher did not hear that. "Ten more minutes, then you can catch a breather in the service lift."
Colonel Fischer glimpsed inside the solid cart at the prisoner in tow. Undyne sat snug, safe and dry within with one foot bent over her knee and her handcuffed hands resting behind her head. Never before had Fischer seen someone so confident in their capture, although that could be because she had the means to escape at any time, and since none of the troops could stop her even if they tried, they were essentially transporting a dragon in a bamboo cage.
Oddly enough, it was quite apparent that Undyne had gotten the better end of the bargain by being the prisoner. She was sheltered and the moist ground made the cart roll smoother than usual. Not to mention the troops were the ones escorting her while she got to kick back and relax, so this was a free ride for her.
Fischer approached the grated window. "Don't get too comfortable in there, scum," she said. A quick glance to her troops informed her that no one else was within earshot. "Seriously though, don't get too comfortable. You're in a prisoner transport, not a luxury carriage. At least try to look the part."
"Oh, trust me, I'm fuming on the inside," Undyne replied, switching her crossed legs. "I like the rain; there was only one freaking spot in the whole Underground where I could experience an imitation of it. Now, I'm in the middle of another fake downpour and I can't even enjoy that from inside here. You have no idea how much this makes me want to punch someone in the face."
"That's good," Fischer said. She pulled her visor up and pressed her lips between the bars. "Not the face punching part, that's a five hundred cloud coin fine and a hundred hours of community service. Build that frustration. Display it. Remember, you're looking at a hundred years of hard time in the castle dungeon."
Undyne pulled her hands in front of herself; the shackles keeping the wrists an inch apart. "Gotcha!" she said, then proceeded to stand up, hunching to prevent herself from hitting the low ceiling. "You might wanna stand back for this."
Without any warning, Undyne threw her shoulder into the cart door. Fischer fell back as the entire transport shunted to the side; the opposite wheels slopping out the thick muck which technically could not be called mud. The crash swung all heads over, along with fears of her escaping her hold. The cart stood balanced and motionless on two wheels for a couple of seconds before it fell back on all fours with a crunching jolt. Undyne punched, kicked, and threw obscenities around the cramped interior, rigorously rattling it back and forth.
All men stopped what they were doing and surrounded the cart, pushing on all sides to keep it from shaking and toppling. Undyne made a show of her defiance for a few minutes before going still and quiet, like a caged animal. Of course, if she really wanted to escape, she had the key, but none of them knew that – except for the colonel.
Breathing heavily, the soldier next to Colonel Fischer chimed in. "I'd hate to be the one to fish her out of there when we get to the castle."
"I don't even want to think about how she'll act once we get her inside the dungeon," another added, paying special notice to the large dents made from the inside. "Can the doors really hold her?"
"They better," Colonel Fischer responded. Undyne's outburst may have been a little overboard, but the colonel was confident she had made her point. "Snap to it, we're almost there."
Over the hill, the large rise of the elevator shaft stretched upwards, carving through the rock which hung below Highkeep Enclave. The large, rectangular entrance and ramp were within range, no more than five minutes away.
Reluctantly, the men stepped back from their perimeter around the cart, afraid that the captive might kick off again, and seized the reigns up front, continuing the hike.
"Hey, uh, Colonel?" a grunt beside Fisher got her attention. "Is it me or does this rain feel different somehow?"
Fischer rose her gauntlet and extended the fingers, feeling trace amounts as the raindrops landed against metal and chainmail. She unbuckled her glove and pulled it off, exposing her white-skinned hand and purple fingernails to the element.
She winced. The grunt was right. There was something different about the routine downpour today. As a member of the Monster Military, they strived on being one above the weather conditions. Whether rain or shine, day or night, the military were always on duty and at maximum effectiveness as a fighting force. Fischer, along with the rest of the troops, had been out in the rain more times than she could care to remember.
Today, the rain felt bitter, more so than normal. Harder. Fiercer, like the calm before the storm.
Perhaps this was the perfect weather for the rebellion to unravel their plans.
Meanwhile, in Haze's hidden laboratory, his new guests were quite surprised at the turn of events…
"You've got to be kidding me!" cried Alphys, exasperated. "Frisk was right here and we missed them by a minute?" Stuck in her panic, she paced around the room, spiky neck frills gripped with sweaty claws. "If only we gotten here sooner…! If only… If only…"
"Hey. Relax and look on the bright side," Barb responded, temporarily stopping the doctor's panic. "A second later and I would've kicked you three to the moon." This did not help. Alphys continued as agitated as ever.
The audience remained glued to their seats, talking amongst themselves and dumbstruck by what to do. Their chosen one had abandoned them, their means of salvation missing, and now the secret meeting – which no one else but a select gathering knew about – had been crashed by a trio of monsters claiming to be Frisk's companions. In the realm of the Outerworld, it usually took a decade or two for the next strange thing to occur, and then, in this case, everything comes together within the span of ten minutes.
Alphys tried, but was unable to contain herself. Once more, Frisk, the child she was trying to find and save, had slipped from her grasp at the last second. If only, she thought. If only… I got here sooner. If only I held on for longer. What would Gori think? What would Tori think?
"The kid's still gotta be close by," Sans intervened. "Just point us in the right direction and we'll…" – he reached into an inside pocket of his blue jacket and pulled out a red bottle with a picture of a tomato on the label – "ketchup."
Ba dum pish!
The attempt to lighten up the mood was met with a slew of mixed reactions. Some monsters groaned. Some giggled. Professor Haze was as stoic as stone. Sam an' Rita could not decide whether to laugh or not.
"Sorry," Sans said, winking, "I couldn't resist."
"Reaching for the lowest hanging fruit, Sans?" Papyrus said, displeased at hearing more than the average amount of puns for one day.
"Nope," Sans responded. "This fruit was already in my pocket when I reached for it." He stuffed the bottle back and then pulled back the other half of his jacket to reveal a green bottle with a pickle printed on the face jammed inside the second inside pocket. "You know how much I relish a good joke."
Ba dum pish!
That time, more groaning than laughing came from the crowd. His jokes were already overstaying their welcome. Someone better shut that short stack up before he pulled another bottle from out a sensitive spot.
Now, it was Alphys's turn to shout out. "I-I-I swear, Sans, can you please j-just take this seriously for one—"
Professor Haze brought his cane down. "Enough!" His booming voice and the sharp clash dialled everything down to zero. "This talk is getting us nowhere. The paths leading out from here are innumerable; Frisk could've taken any one of them. Your chances of finding them on foot are slim, at best."
"But you had them here just a minute ago," Alphys said to the other monster of science and technology. "Surely, you have some way of finding Frisk again!"
"How else do you think I found them in the first place?" Haze already started shambling out the room. It was fortunate Barb stopped before she could kick down the perfectly functional door, although he had no plans on remaining there for much longer. "This way. Hurry!"
"P'fessor," Rita called out, stopping Haze in his tracks. "Don't mean to be a pain in the behind, but shouldn't we be a bit more worried by our uninvited guests?"
Haze looked over his shoulder at the three monsters: a podgy, nervous train wreck of a doctor (the lab coat gave her away), a skeleton who could not take things seriously, and the other pile of bones dressed for Halloween who gazed fixatedly at the blaring stage.
Papyrus shouted in his outdoor voice, "You guys running a TV show here?" He spoke as if he expected Mettaton himself to strut out from behind the curtain and open his act with, from his album, song number seventeen powerfully and profoundly named: You're a Lousy Worker, Burgerpants. Mettaton was sick that day.
Sam answered, "You could call it that."
"Ah, wowie!" Papyrus rubbed his gloved hands together and rattled his bones. Some members of the audience cringed at the sound, having never seen or heard bones in their lives – except on television. "What's it called?"
Haze responded dryly, "Never considered a name much. How about Commence Attack on Castle Highkeep otherwise we all Die in a Cataclysm of Devastation Proportions?"
Papyrus paused and squinted. A title like that does not roll off the tongue naturally. Thankfully, Papyrus did not have one. "Caochowadiacodp?" He pronounced it ka-o-chow-ay-de-a-cod-p. "Is that a one-off special or a pay-per-view?"
"It'll only happen once and cost you a lot more than the contents of your wallet." Haze replied, then gave Rita a scowling look while shaking his head. These uninvited guests – especially with subjects such as these – were the least of their concerns right now. And with that, Haze stormed out, returning to the solitude of his lab.
Barb was next, followed shortly after by Rita an' Sam, then Rickard. Sans was the next to exit the stage room, ushering his associates to follow. The remaining audience were reluctant; the best they managed was to rise from their seats and form a blockade by the door. All eyes peered in at the cold, unloving interior that was Haze's laboratory.
Professor Haze approached one of the many screens that littered the lab; only he knew what each of them was assigned to. Barb, Sam, Rita, and Rickard remained near him. Alphys, Sans, and Papyrus remained somewhere in the middle, soaking it all in.
The sight of the floors, walls, and technology spaced around reminded Alphys too much of her own laboratory, abandoned within the deepest, darkest, hottest recesses of the Underground. There was more to that place than just a few hundred hunks of machinery and some obsolete video tapes; it was the roots to her entire life. The Underground was her childhood; the place she was born in, raised in, and expected to die in. Her lab was where the highest and lowest moments of her life happened. Her biggest successes and greatest failures happened within those walls, away from the eyes of the world. What happened should have stayed in the Underground and yet they did not, for those monsters now roam the surface of the Earth for everyone to see and the experience would continue to exist within her memories and nothing she could do would ever change that.
After hooking his cane on the side, the professor dialled on the interface before him, scanning through feeds on the screen. Alphys had to guess that he had a surveillance system throughout these lands, just like the one she had to keep track of Frisk's movements.
When Alphys glanced at her screen on that faithful day and witnessed Frisk exiting the ancient door to the ruins, she nearly choked on her frozen yoghurt. She nearly died a second time when the human child literally stared into the camera as if looking straight at her, knowing that she was watching their every move.
And she did.
"Don't move, child," Alphys whispered at the giant screen as she curled up in her chair and tucked her hands against her chin. The child was behind the lamp shaped like them, and Papyrus was… being Papyrus. "Oh my god, don't move a muscle. Don't let Papyrus catch you."
"Let's see. If the child moved a few steps forward…" Alphys had her head down, jotting down hastily on a piece of paper. The human had reached the invisible electricity maze, and she got to working out how to overcome it. "Then up, right twice, then straight down…" She looked up. Then they would – oh wait, they've already solved it."
"No, no," Alphys shouted and pointed at her monitor as if the child, now in Waterfall, would suddenly hear them. "Stand there and push four bridge seeds out! No, not there! You can do it!"
She needed to turn away from the monitor and go down into her laboratory. It was lunchtime for the Amalgamates. She was sure the task would be done before the human confronted Undyne. That she absolutely had to see.
Alphys stepped out of the elevator. Light on. She went to return to his computer… and there they were. The human. No longer on the opposite side of a screen, but standing in her path.
The rest was history.
Professor Haze scanned through the video feeds in the vicinity around his hideout, expecting to swiftly cross the child's route in seconds. However, to his surprise, each camera turned out a haze of green and grey as it rushed past.
"What in Outerworld?" Haze blurted. He switched the screens only to find the same everywhere he went. He switched to the populated treetops to find the falling leaves at its worst. Monsters running for cover, seeking shelter from the blizzard.
The others were at the professor's side, just as shocked as he was.
"What… is that?" Former Master Scribe Rickard muttered.
"It's rainin' leaves!" Sam said. "Leaves everywhere."
Rita pointed. "Look at the bark! It's turning grey! Has it ever done that before?"
Barb the Bounty Hunter shook her head. She knew every nook and cranny of these lands. "Never. None of us have ever seen anything like this…"
Haze shifted over camera after camera. "This is a little earlier than expected." Everywhere he looked in the Forest, it all came up the same. At this rate, all the leaves would be at the dark floor and those thousands upon thousands of branches would be left bare and grey before the day was over. "What is going on here?"
Alphys looked around the laboratory that was not hers. About twenty feet to Haze's left stood a chalkboard laden with rows over rows of white numbers. She recognised every single symbol. Judging by the fading in the lines, those writings had been up for quite some time.
"What's these equations?" Alphys asked.
Without tearing his eyes away, Haze answered, "They're my calculations on how much magic this world has until it runs out."
Great. Even more bad news for Alphys to lug. "W-what do you mean this world is running out of magic?"
"There's no time to explain, especially to any of you. Once the magic dies, so do we." Professor Haze waved his free hand out as if grasping for an object that wasn't there. "Just keep quiet and your hands to yourself while you're here."
All four of Alphys's eyes scanned the digits, and it did not take long for her to spot an anomaly. Right then, she stopped thinking, stopped talking, stopped worrying, and simply acted. The board was high up, so she pulled up a conveniently placed stool. A few nibs of weathered chalk rested in the holder; she took one and jumped straight in, replacing numbers and writing new ones within the gaps. She was once more the scientist, and the white lab coat on her back cemented that fact.
Sans followed her lead, drawing himself closer to the other side of the board. "Now that there just ain't right." Working up the effort, he grabbed himself his own piece of chalk and began work on a separate segment of numbers. A nod between himself and Alphys confirmed that they were both on the same page. Underneath his lazy demeanour and shabby presentation, lay a brilliant mind.
Papyrus, not wanting to be left out, grabbed two pieces of chalk and got to work on an empty spot in the bottom left hand corner, hunching his lanky frame down so that his head was between his knees.
Rickard watched as the three newcomers desecrated the chalkboard against Haze's wishes. Should he tell the professor, or should he not? "Professor…? Those three are…" Then he realised there was little point. Haze was too engrossed in the cameras to care.
Meanwhile, a few cameras returned grey, mizzled static. "It's no good," Haze conceited, "I can't find them. Cameras one-eight-two, three-three-nine, and seven-eight-four are down. This is most disturbing…" Haze turned away from the monitor in troubled thought and realised that the trio of strangers were slashing away at his delicate display of mathematics. "What do you think you're doing?" he snapped, breaking the doctor out of her trance.
Alphys jumped and span around, her glasses slipped askew on her nose. Her claw fumbled the chalk piece and it broke in two upon hitting the ground; one half rolled beneath the board. Sans took his time finishing off a correction before calmly replacing his white marker where he found it. Papyrus continued to brush away with his two hands.
Doctor Alphys stuttered, "S-s-s-sorry, I-I saw an-an e-error and… and I just couldn't help but—"
Haze limped forward and pointed with his cane. If anything, her measly explanation fuelled his annoyance. "Error? Get down from there!" he shouted, and she complied without question. Haze looked upon the workings he made over the years, all tarnished with fresh lines which stood out from the dull ones. The taller skeleton obviously had not heard him. "Get away from that, right now!"
Papyrus, finally noticing, scooted back to reveal his addition to the complicated columns of sums: a sketch of himself. The proportions were correct, featuring his trademark grin, except he sported a pair on sunglasses and had bulky biceps and a six-pack. The drawing of himself was also drawing a sketch of himself, who in turn was also drawing a stick figure who vaguely resembled himself.
"My contribution," Papyrus said proudly while rising, "is easily the most encapsulating thing on this board. You're welcome."
Haze opened his mouth, prepared to let loose another angry remark when the lenses of his spectacles focus on the altered calculations, damming the words in his throat.
Papyrus interpreted his astonishment wrongly. "My finest work yet."
The Professor read the first line, summed it up in his head, and realised that it was correct.
"…Oh no…" Haze read the next line, and then the next, and then the next. "No…" After reaching the bottom, where the total equated to, he discovered it to be wrong. "No…!"
Hastily, he rubbed out the total and scribbled what it really added up to. After which, he stumbled back, dropping his chalk to the ground alongside the doctor's.
"Ah, yes," Sans remarked, "the dramatically dropping stuff trope never gets old." He glimpsed at the writing pieces lined up on the holder, then shrugged. "Why not?" He grabbed a piece and nonchalantly tossed it on the floor.
Barb looked worried. "What's up, Haze?"
Professor Haze faced the ground, holding the back of his head with his free hand. "…I miscalculated…" His breathing was funny. The walking stick trembled. "I miscalculated. We don't have weeks left… or days for that matter."
Shocked gasps and scared mumbling echoed throughout the audience. Monsters turned to one another, turned to anything they suspected of having more answers to the growing list of questions and quells to their rising fears.
"Then…" Rickard dared to ask. "How long do we have?"
Haze faced them all. His eyes were empty. "Hours."
The audience exploded into full panic. Barb rushed over and attempted to pacify them, hoping that her reputation as one of the meanest bruisers in the Outerworld would make them fall in line regardless of the little time to live all of them apparently had. If that did not work, then she had a stun dart for every single one.
This added more guilt to Doctor Alphys's poor confidence. "I'm… I'm sorry, I…"
"Don't be sorry," interrupted Haze. "You did the right thing; it's what you do as a doctor."
Sans folded his arms in dissatisfaction. "Sure, give her all the credit," he whispered under his breath while glancing at his corrections on his side of the chalkboard. "It's not like someone else helped or anything."
Papyrus waved wildly. "Hello!" he hollered, pointing at his masterpiece. "Awesomely cool drawing of an awesomely skeleton by an awesomely cool skeleton over here!" But, alas, nobody paid him any attention, dismissing his calls as those of a needy child in an adult's body.
Sans gave his brother a much needed pat on the back. "Hey, I think it's awesome, bro."
"Y-yes, I am a doctor." Alphys shared quick glances at the brothers, as if they would do something drastic upon pulling her look away. "My name's Alphys." She gestured to the two skeletons. "These are—"
The professor interrupted again. "I know who you are. You three mugs came up on the Empire's watch list not too long ago." Hundreds of years the Outerworld has remained intact, and these idiots arrived in its final hours. Haze pursed his lips. None of this could be a coincidence. "Since you're here, you might as well make yourselves useful."
"Make ourselves useful?" Alphys asked, feeling the familiar tingle on her brow. "How?"
Her gaze fell upon the room, upon all these machines. Would she be asked to use any of these? With a little direction, the doctor was confident that she could quickly learn the ropes.
The weathered professor cut straight to the point. "As we speak, monsters are getting ready to launch an attack on Castle Highkeep. While that is happening, I need to get in there and reach the Obelisk, which is located at its midpoint. I could do with as much assistance as possible."
"W-w-wait…" Sweat dripped down Alphys's temple. "An attack is happening? Here? N-now?"
"Oh? We get to storm the castle?" Papyrus asked.
"Hold on a sec there, pal." Sans raised his hands in protest. "This ain't our fight."
"I'm not asking any of you to fight," Haze explained, "only to accompany me to the Obelisk. There, I will attempt to unlock its secrets with everything I've got, and stop this entire world from dying."
Sans, Papyrus, and Alphys shared a look with one another, weighing their options. The three of them had spent the last hours darting from place to place, attempting to find the best lead possible. They probably were not going to get a lead better than this one.
Haze grumbled at their silence, figuring his reason alone would draw more concern than what they exhibited. "Or you can wait it out here." He gestured at them with the cane. "It makes no difference to me…"
"But what 'bout Frisk?" Sam interjected. "Don't we need 'em for that whole unlocking magic thingamajig?"
Hazed faced the mummy man in the country getup. "There's not much time. Our only hope is for me to decipher the secret myself – I still have a few ideas. And there may be a chance that Frisk could be on their way there right now…"
That confirmed it: this was the best lead they had to go on. Almost immediately after hearing that statement, Alphys said, "In t-that case, we will gladly help… if it means finding Frisk."
"Very well then, but I must warn you all: getting into the castle will be no easy feat," Haze began. "Fortunately, I've been working on a secret entrance for years; however, it will require patience and perfect timing."
Sans stepped forward. "Or—" he tried to speak, raising a hand.
Haze continued over him, "First, we'll take the pipes to the outskirts of the Forest, hoping the transport still works, otherwise we could be looking at a long, gruelling trip."
"Or—" Sans still had his hand raised.
"Once we reach the outskirts—"
"Or—"
"—the attack will be well underway."
"Or—" Sans wished he had an oar in his pocket.
"We need to skirt around the enclave's perimeter—"
"Or…" Suddenly, Haze gave Sans a sharp glare, not liking being interrupted one bit. Nevertheless, San had his moment to talk. "You can follow me" – he pointed his thumb over to a lonely door across the room – "through that door."
Professor Haze shook his head. The door mentioned was the utility closet; nothing except a mop, bucket, vacuum, several cans of spray, and detergent was in there.
"Anyone else got any useless ideas?" he asked to the crowd's silence. "Didn't think so. Now, as I was saying…"
Sans urged out a sigh and then went through the door himself, slamming it behind him.
"We can use the terrain as cover to reach the eastern wall, where the moat is at its shallowest and gentlest. The two hundredth and fiftieth brick on the fourth row up is a fake, which is step one of our entrance. And then—"
All of a sudden, the utility door swung ajar and out crashed a suit of armour. Everyone went silent with bewilderment. The helmet rolled across the floor and wobbled to a stop at the professor's feet.
Sans appeared sheepish. "Sorry for the mess. It was the closest thing I could nab while I was in there."
Frisk breathed heavily, even though they tried not to. The uneven ground and gangly roots did not make their movements easy. Much of the empty space around the trunks was where the garbage accumulated the most. The dicey spots underneath the colossal trees would be the easiest to traverse had Frisk been ignorant to the tonnes of weight over them, ready to come crashing down at any minute.
Frisk tried sticking to the outskirts, between the garbage and the tree trunks; however, the thick and thin roots as strong as titanium made it difficult. The light shone over the gangling limbs cast unnerving shadows. Each root would reach out and snag at the loose folds of their shirt and shorts as if trying to entangle them in a web.
Did Frisk hear a noise just now? They held their sword and shield close.
Something was out there. Frisk knew it. Eyes were watching, following their every move. They span the light in all directions for the eleventh time and still uncovered nothing: no spies tracking their movements or hermits from the deep seeking better morsels than what was tossed down on a regular basis. Garbage, dust piles and roots. Roots, dust piles and garbage.
Frisk kept moving.
Garbage, roots and dust piles. Dust piles, roots and garbage.
Frisk ducked below an opening.
Roots, garbage and roots. Dust piles, garbage and garbage.
Suddenly, Frisk stopped. Their flashlight hovered over a thick root, and for one moment, Frisk thought they saw something other than the three aforementioned entities. After refocusing the beam, there were a marking carved into the fake bark. A single word.
Why
Why? Such a good question at a time like this. That exact same word headed all the thoughts that intruded Frisk's young, naïve mind. Why did this have to happen? Why was this happening? Why them? Why were they here? Why can't they just go home? Why their friends? Why Flowey?
Why, Asriel, why?
Frisk pondered on how old the carving looked. It appeared ancient, probably made hundreds of years ago, give or take. Could the one who did this still be here, or could their remains be found somewhere in the forsaken grounds in which Frisk walked?
Regardless, it confirmed one thing: Frisk wasn't the first person to be down here.
A few steps later, Frisk halted again. Sheer feet from the first carving lay a second.
can't
Why and can't. Why can't? Why can't what? Why can't Frisk find an exit.
Frisk shuffled forth, actively shining the light on the nearby roots. It did not take long to find another word. The next word.
I
Why can't I? Frisk had a bad feeling that they did not want to know the rest.
And then Frisk found it, and knew immediately that this was the final word in the question. It was like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place, and contained the same powerful force as a kick to the head.
die?
Frisk closed their eyes, and all four words lined up in the blackness behind her eyelids.
Why can't I die?
Frisk swallowed a mouthful of saliva down their dry throat.
From behind them, Frisk heard a noise. Small and soft, but clear and coupled with garbage rattling. It was coming from behind the roots and approaching slow and heavy. Each step sounded as if they sank into the ground.
"We wonder…" The raspiest, most abrasive voice weaved its way through the gaps and into the human's ears. Every syllable sounded agonising to say. It hurt like nails scratching on their own eardrums. "Which soul… has come to join us…?"
Frisk briefly caught the shape of a head upon shoulders before diving for cover against the foot of the thickest nearby root. The double lights would give them away. Frisk buried them into the belly of their sweater in an attempt to suffocate the light. The result was an aura that illuminated them like a lightbulb. They whispered lights off and, to their amazement, they went out instantly. Haze really did think of everything.
As Frisk's vision went completely black and they hoped whatever was out there had not seen them. Call it a hunch, but after their meeting with the amalgamates in the true laboratory, Frisk knew they were not ready for what awaited with those grainy steps and rough voice.
Their back was against the wood and knees to their chest. Pulse racing. They breathed as slowly as possible, allowing the littlest squeaks in through the nose and samples of shaky gasps out the mouth, which may have well been alarm bells ringing. There was no human child here, nothing but a pile of trash: a broken television; a misused sowing machine; they could be anything as long as it was left alone. It held all the quaking, unnerving terror of playing hide-and-seek, but with none of the thrill.
The stranger drew closer, moving at an impressive speed in an area which was so difficult to navigate. Nothing seemed to slow his messy movements, not the roots or garbage or piles of dust.
He stopped, and all went quiet.
Frisk held their breath and waited. They waited in complete silence for as long as their lungs could hold. When no follow-up sounds, they exhaled as slowly and quietly as possible.
A sandy substance leaked onto their shoulder.
Someone spoke from behind their hiding spot. "What… is that sound… you are making?" But it was not the same person from earlier. This voice had the same unbearable scratchiness in his tone, but it was softer, younger even. "It is… familiar. Where… have we heard it before…?"
As the presence of a large being hunched around the twisted timbers, Frisk turned their head up and to the left. Their eyes had barely adjusted to make out fingers around the edge, followed by a head. Except it was too large and deformed to be considered such.
"You… we do not recognise…" A woman's voice now, like that of a wicked witch. The figure was motionless. "In fact…"
Frisk drew in one big breath, reviving their lungs and adding further surprise to the stranger present.
…Lights on…
Both the sword hilt and shield flicked on, casting two cones of light that were quickly focused on the stranger.
"You… appear intact…" the strangers finished, unfazed by the light. "Unlike us…"
Frisk almost died right there from the shock. Grey, ashy fingers clenched the wood inches away, leaking grains the colour of steel.
From the back of Frisk's mind, Sam spoke to them in his rustic accent. "It's the pillar," the mummy monster explained.
Frisk raised the flashlight.
"Its magic sustains everything…"
The monster's deformed heads got showered in the beam, all four of them. All made entirely out of dust. Every eye locked on the human child.
"Includin' us."
