As Richter stepped through the door and swept the sopping hair out of his eyes, he could only think of one thing: It was warm. It was stiflingly hot, hell the hunter felt he had been lambasted by a Fire Warg. Despite it all, he wasn't sweating nor did he feel like he even needed to. The warmth just seemed to seep into his bones and echoed through the rest of his body. To his surprise he was almost...comfortable. As comfortable as he could be as his hair continued to flop forward and block his vision; it had slipped out of the soaked bandage and now refused to get back under control. At least the heat did wonders in drying him off after the sudden and surprisingly downpour that followed them to the dive. That what the place was, at the very least: A dive. Richter had been to his fair share of taverns when he was younger and the atmosphere jumped out at him before he could see. The comfortable chatter, the cheers of "Papyrus" that almost shook the establishment as the three of them made themselves known, and the all too familiar sounds of drinks clattering against themselves and the table. The folk inside seemed of the friendly sort and if Toriel's family was anything to go by, Richter was sure he'd be among good company. At least he hoped. The thought of drinking though turned his stomach but he thought it best to not dwell on it. Instead he let the two go on ahead, waving them on in a comedic fashion as he struggled to use the bandage to tie his hair into a ponytail. He couldn't see their response.

It took him longer than he cared to admit, mostly because of the limited range of motion in his shoulders prevented him from really reaching back behind him, but he eventually got his hair sorted. Finally, he could see; what he saw though brought him little comfort. At least some of it. His initial guess of it being a dive was mostly correct, by the looks of things. It was fairly quaint all things considered: the floor and walls had a matching oak paneling, a small stage for what seemed to be musicians (and a very large piano) took up a sizable chunk of the building's right side. A dozen or so tables, booths, and stools were littered about the rest of the floorspace as if placed their because it was comfortable and not because it looked good. Across from him at the opposite side of the entrance sat the bar itself. A seemingly archaic set of bottles lined the many shelves. The counter was made of a wood the Belmont couldn't quite recognize, seemingly older than the hills but looked like it would take a greataxe to get a nick out of it. The barkeep wasn't present at the time so he let his eyes drift elsewhere. It was there that the hair on his neck sprung up in alarm. He was being watched, probably had been since entering the building, by the majority of the monsters in the bar. The wide array of different body types and "species" of sorts left him wonderstruck but it had been buried under the soft anxiety that came with being glared down by ten-plus patrons.

He hated being watched like this, being judged for just being in the room. He knew those eyes all too well. He oftentimes attracted the ire of visiting villagers or mercenaries simply by existing in the same relative space. Power attracted hate, hate attracted conflict, and conflict only brought death. It was always death, there was nay a single bout that didn't end in a body being burned or buried that night. The graveyards he had filled, and some he had dug himself, still managed to linger in his memory. The Belmont felt like he had just interrupted a caravan and he knew he clearly was not wanted here. So with a sigh, a nod of greeting in their general direction, he made his way to wherever the two monsters he came with went. Thankfully Papyrus's outfit was far too loud to remain unnoticed for long. They had stationed themselves at what seemed to be a table off in the corner of the room for cards. A large collection of dog (wait, dog?) monsters seemed to be muzzle deep in their hands, casually discussing something he couldn't hear. There was something ironic about the situation but the context seemed to be just out of reach. Papyrus was chatting up one monster in particular; a large humanoid-sized dog wearing a pink tanktop, combat leggings, and something lit in his muzzle. Richter chuckled to himself at that, guess dogs had their vices too. Asriel had disappeared off to a corner stall near the door to talk with what looked to be an absolutely trashed rabbit monster but Richter wasn't too terribly concerned, instead his attention was solely focused on what appeared to be the only other human in the building. Maybe it was someone who could relate to this strange situation with the hunter. At least he hoped, so with a shrug he made his way to the tan gentleman.

The walk took all of a handful of seconds, most of which was spent navigating around the many tables and chairs that probably weren't supposed to be there to begin with. The quiet sneers and hesitant muttering about him as he passed did little to calm the the welling discomfort. Ahh, it felt like he was back in his homeland. Certainly not a good thing, but at least it was a familiar feeling. If Richter had returned to whatever was left of his own village after his reign as Lord of the Castle, he would be dealing with a significantly worse form of this. So all in all, the Belmont felt grateful that the most they were doing was staring. The human male, looking to be in his early twenties, had taken a notice of Richter's approaching form and with the curious raise of his eyebrow, he pulled a chair out. The hunter sat down and offered a quiet "thanks" before wiping the water from his brow once more. He took that moment to really assess the man he was sitting next to. The gentleman was mindlessly thumbing over the paw fo the humanoid dog in pink, staring happily at the poker game sitting in front of him. The man had a small goatee with a pair of dog-bone earrings. He was dressed in slacks and a t-shirt with the text "Water you doing later?" adorning it. Richter couldn't glean much from his appearance alone, so he coughed quietly to get his attention. The man offered a smile, his brown eyes clearly too happy to question his surroundings, and just mouthed out "Long day?". For some reason, whatever reason that may be, it tickled the Belmont pink that his first real interaction with a human adult (and not some punk kids) here was a man asking if his day had been long. It was so...normal, so commonplace that he couldn't fight the quiet chuckle that escaped him. Hell, he might as well enjoy the conversation for what it is.

With a nod, and the unwanted adjustment of his shoulder, he splayed his fingers on the table and knocked. The dealer, knowing that the Belmont wanted to be dealt a hand, seemed to hesitantly debate upon it before ignoring him entirely. Richter let out a soft sigh, unsurprised by how it had played out, and leaned back to give the game itself a quick gander. From all appearances it was a simple game of cards. It had gone by many different names in his youth, as he was sure it was now something completely different in this day and age, but the rules were still...generally the same. He wasn't quite sure though why they were betting with dog treats, toys, and a handful of assorted sticks. Was there a connection with these monsters to their surface beast counterparts? Maybe it was bests that Richter wasn't dealt a hand, he doubted he would have anything of meaning to contribute to the pool. His peer beside him noticed that the hunter had been denied and, with a huff, tossed his own cards across the table with enough force to catch the attention of his companion. Either it was that or the removal of his hand from the monster's paw. Either way it was ignored soon afterward by everyone present, so the human just settled on talking with Richter instead. He gave off an apologetic smile and began.

"Ah, shit. I'm mighty sorry about that. They can be jerks sometimes, but they'll warm up to you. Probably. They used to be a lot friendlier but with everything going on recently...I'm sure you understand. Anyway! What brings you down here, with Papyrus and the Prince no less?"

It is true, it is more than understandable for them to be so put off by the presence of the hunter. He wasn't exactly someone who eradiated comforting feelings anymore. The old wounds that litter his body speak volumes for the type of man he is, or was. That's not including his own humanity as well. However, ignoring that, the question caught Richter off-guard. How in the nine hells could he describe what was going on? It would probably best to come off as honest as possible. It never hurt to have someone to talk to.

"I, uh, really don't know. They wanted to show me the city. I guess you could say I'm new around here."

The human let out a quick, breathy chuckle at the notion and gestured to the many scars littering the Belmont's body. It was immediately clear what was about to be said, but Richter braced himself for it anyway. It was safe to assume he really did stick out. Not like he could cover them all up anyway, the dainty shirt was only so effective at that. He did hope it wouldn't become a reoccurring issue in the long run because these scars, these memories, would be with him for a very, very long time.

"Well hell, I'd say so! I feel like I would remember a face quite like yours. Or arms for that matter, haha. You look like you just walked away from a plane crash. No offense."

Seeing that, unsurprisingly, there was much offense to take from saying something like that, the human held his hands up defensively with a nervous chuckle. Upon seeing that he wasn't about to be assaulted, he shook his head and offered a small package of crackers buried in a pocket. They were surprisingly intact for what seemed to be a simple bar snack. Along with the crackers was the man's "phone" as well which he casually set aside. After a quick glance to his partner, he continued.

"That came out wrong, you'll have to forgive me. The monsters 'round here tend to have a different, uh, preference for speaking. They shoot straight. I guess I've been spending too much time here and not with the rest of humanity but there are plenty of reasons to avoid the bunch anyway. The name is Louis, by the way! Welcome to Grillby's. You haven't started chucking slurs across the table yet, and you didn't lay my ass out for accidentally insulting you like I did, so I guess you don't feel as strongly about the monsters as some of your peers, eh?"

So the man, Louis, spends all of his time with the monsters in the area? If mankind was as vile as it had been in his own world, then that was more than perfectly understandable. He knew there were many redeeming qualities to his race but they had been obscured by recent events. What was it that Alucard had told him? Something about doing them no harm as their lives are a hard lot. Either way it was no excuse for their actions. Then again, as he reminded himself of their tendencies, it came to him that the monsters of the surface were starting to fall into some of the same nasty habits. That is if the fierce cold shoulders and withering glares were anything to go off of. Richter idly ran a thumb along the scar near his cheek as he reflected on the question. The crackers had long since been ignored. He was not in the mood to eat.

"It's nice to meet you, Louis. As for your friends, I've got my own issues but none of them are with monsterkind. It seems that you are pretty close with them yourself."

The pointed tinge on the last sentence was not missed on Louis, as the human offered a gentle smile toward his partner before turning his attention back to the discussion. So they definitely were romantically involved then, huh? Richter debated on questioning how that worked but decided against it. Seeing that the Belmont wasn't going to be eating the crackers, Louis helped himself to them as he opted out of the next game of cards. It seemed that their brief conversation was less brief than they thought. With his mouth no longer full of what looked to be some of the driest crackers known to man, he picked the topic back up.

"Well hey... I'm not one to judge, but you look like you need a drink. Or two. I hate to say it but you're not gonna be treated all too well at the tables here. You probably remind 'em of what they're scared of out these doors. It's not all doom and gloom though! I'll make sure to talk to Paps about it. I've never seem him fail to change someone's mind; like I said, just give them time. It was nice to meet you though, uh...-"

"Richter, Richter is fine"

"-Richter then. I don't see a friendly face, a human one at least, very often anymore in these parts. Just keep yourself safe, you hear?"

And with that, he offered a nod before turning his full attention back to the table. He had not long to wait for the next game as it seemed a few...dogs folded early. It left Richter sitting there, awkwardly fidgeting with the callouses on his hand from the old weight of the whip-flail. The idea of getting a drink disgusted him immensely, alcohol was something Shaft made sure he indulged in when the Belmont was Lord of the Castle. Wine and blood were interchangeable and oftentimes it was all he drank. Now he would rather be thrown into the colosseum than drink another glass. But as he looked around, he noticed there really weren't any other options at hand. Asriel was still enraptured by his conversation with the bunny monster and Papyrus was now joining the game, putting a comically oversized bone in the pot. The monsters seemed wholeheartedly distracted from their original purposes here, but Richter didn't blame them. This was their life, not the hunters. He didn't belong in this community nor would he be welcomed by it. It mattered not how much he wanted it. So he bid the table a farewell that fell upon deaf ears and made his way to the still unmanned bar. The countless bottles lining the walls did his stomach no favors as he chose to instead focus on the sound of his boots on the wooden flooring. It was a meager comfort among a sea of anxiety. The stool that he found himself soon sitting on though was stable and supported his weight well so he at the very least had that. The small things, right?

He gave a quick onceover to his bag. It had thankfully, somehow, not completely been soaked through. The parchment was still intact. With a sigh of relief, he put the bag on the floor next to his stool and pulled out his Stopwatch. Running the chain through his closed grip, he found that it helped him think. He dared not to open it in public again. His memories starting to return put him at a point of contention. The Belmont knew it would take a long time for everything to piece itself together, but to look at something so monumental so soon after his most recent panic attack would do him no favors. Instead he decided to just rub along the grooves of the engravings. He distinctly remembered the countless hours he toiled over each and every single detail. It had been such a colossal task. Richter, in a different life, could honestly see himself serving as a village tinkerer or a blacksmith. There was something so rewarding from designing and constructing such objects. There was a subtle glory to the fine edge of a blade, to the hefty weight of a perfectly honed axe, and the smile a polished set of armor gave him never failed to brighten up his day. He actually held much respect for the knights of the Altar. Their upkeep on their equipment, especially their armor, was flawless. He was unaware if it was from the magic of the Altar or if they sat down and dedicated the time for the upkeep, but either way the work was obvious. The Guardians in particular were very demanding on themselves with the condition of their gear, Richter recalled. It made sense after all. They were once tasked with protecting the most important figure in the castle: Shaft.

The name of the Dark Magician wiped any joy that was gleaned from his thoughts. The bastard would probably haunt Richter for the rest of his life. The Belmont hated mages with a fiery passion and the irony was not lost on him. Ignoring his own status as a magician and the debt his bloodline owes to the magicians in the family tree, he simply was never on friendly terms with local sorcerers and casters. It wasn't from a sense of jealousy or competition. He just felt that mankind deserved to die by steel, not magic if in combat. To this end he ensured he was almost as skilled with a sword as he was with the Vampire Killer. His martial prowess substituted any of his failings in those moments. But that horrendously skewed outlook of his didn't last long once he surpassed his teen years. There were far too many mercenaries, too many bandits, and far, far too many cultists to kill individually with blades and his fists. His magic expedited the process at the cost of, at times, a death much worse than a quick lunge to the heart or decapitation. His magic was fierce, devastating, and refined to the point of overkilling whatever faced him. It served him well for killing monsters, but mankind paled in comparison to their resistance. The smell of charred flesh still haunted him. But as he dwelled about the destructive nature of fire magic, it occurred to him that someone was waiting on him. In front of him. For how long, he did not know. A quick glance seemed destined by fate as the figure that stood before him, behind the bar, was...fire?

More accurately, with the initial glance aside, a monster made of fire. A remarkably well dressed and bespectacled inferno stood before him, hands working on what looked like steaming several glasses clean. The gentleman, as the body was fairly masculine (oddly enough, how did fire have a shape such as this?), was adorned with a black vest, white dressing and waist-apron, with a black bowtie nestled up to his slightly unbuttoned collar. His white sleeves were rolled up, revealing what looked to be flesh made from a hearth. It was an unusual gradient of yellow and orange that resembled the flickering fire the top of his head was emanating. His glasses were too reflective to see if the monster had any eyes, and outside of an ambiguous jawline, he had no facial features. There was something slightly unsettling about the bartender that kept Richter on edge. It wasn't as if he was new to fire magic, as he was a very potent caster of that element himself, but it had taught him to fear its temperament. If the allusions monsterkind seemed to make to their surfaceworld counterparts are to be taken with any degree of truth, then he best tread carefully. He was already a stranger in an establishment where he would be the last person anyone here wanted to see, let alone probably serve a drink or two. So the Belmont lifted his head completely from his hunched stance over the bar, pocketed the Stopwatch, and mumbled something about having to leave. It wasn't as if he had any coin to his name anyway.

"stay a while, 's okay. we'll take a double order of fries."

Richter wasn't someone who could startle easily. He had that beaten out of him by the elders first and the monsters of his realm second. When it was matter of life or death, to be scared would to offer your vulnerable self to the mercy of the enemy. At that time, they would never hesitate to take the opportunity to tear his throat out. So when the distinct baritone voice of a particular skeleton echoed to his right, Richter would love to say he wasn't caught off guard. He would love to say that, as in actuality he nearly leapt from his stool. The surge of magic that nearly erupted from his fingers was immediately stifled before they could lead to anything. He certainly did not want to start something, especially if what Toriel had told him was true: that some monsters could detect or feel his aura. Them feeling that he has magic was much more preferable to them seeing that he has it, and the last thing he needed here was an entire bar room fight on his hands. So without giving a look towards either monster, he readjusted his seat and leaned back over the bar top, head rested in one of his hands. His fingers still tingled with magical energy; he could feel the electrical current underneath his skin threatening to spark outward into uncontrollable bolts. His relationship with elements of the storm were spotty at best as it was his most recent undertaking. It was unruly and capable of clearing rooms whether or not he was wanting it to. It was almost always a defensive spell, one he relied upon heavily if suddenly ambushed or surrounded.

"i see that paps gave you one of his shirts, huh? he's awfully proud of 'em. he used to give them out to anyone who would talk to him. he doesn't do that anymore."

It wasn't hard for Richter to understand why Papyrus stopped giving them out. If anything, it just hurt to think about the poor skeleton being rejected. For most people, his attitude could be seen as overbearing. Many just can't handle that level of enthusiasm no matter how wholesome. Richter couldn't lift a single finger against the monster, let alone think about saying something rude or harsh to him. He genuinely was like a puppy who just wants friends. Seems that even his brother recognized that, which brought out a quiet laugh out of the Belmont. It was adorable that the monster was proud of the shirts too even if they were a smidge narcissistic. But Richter knew that remaining silent wouldn't make this soon to be conversation any less awkward, so he decided to play his part in filling the silence as well. Hopefully there wouldn't be any hostilities from Sans.

"It was a great gift, in all honesty. They're missing out."

An affirmative "mhhm" echoed from the monster sitting beside him before the wait for Grillby, who Richter assumed left to go make the fries, continued. Surprisingly and uncharacteristically Sans was quiet. No puns, no jokes, no witty or biting remarks. All he could really hear was the distinct sound of bones tapping on the wooden bar top. It struck the Belmont as odd. His curiosity got the better of him and with a steady motion, he turned his head to assess the skeleton monster. There he was, pink bunny slipper-adorned feet dangling from the ground. He, like Richter was moments ago, was keeping his gaze focused on the bar top. It seemed that he didn't want to have this conversation either. Richter doubted the skeleton was here to apologize but something needed to be said or else they'd be waiting here forever. So with a sigh, he removed his hand from his face and stretched his back out. The cracking of his spine and joints were muffled by the idle chatter of the bar.

"Sans, wha-"

"listen, pal. we got off on the wrong foot here. i will be the first to admit i can be pretty boneheaded sometimes, heh."

Richter dared not to say anything, he was very curious to see where this was going. So he just turned more in his stool to face the talking monster. Now this is interesting.

"i'll be honest, i don't know what to think about ya'. i know about your soul, i've never seen someone with a love as high as yours. you're a threat. part of me wanted to kill you when you were sleeping."

The tingling sensation in his fingers returned, this time being directed into the bar top. Richter knew he'd never let the magic escape his control but there was just something about Sans that put him on edge. He felt like he had to be on the defensive, to prepare himself for an attack at any moment. The statement about death in his sleep did nothing to calm him. The monster was unnatural and reeked of a magic borderline incomprehensive to the hunter. The capacity of his power remained frustratingly unknown and it was haunting. And what was that about a love? Richter couldn't piece together the connection there, was his former relationship with Annette making him dangerous? Either way he knew that Sans hadn't finished, so he kept his mouth shut and let the monster continue with his so-far botched explanation of the situation.

"but i didn't. i would've been boned anyway if toriel found out. yet, you woke up. only for you to do the opposite of everything i expected. humans are predictable. you, you are not. so i ended up ribbing you too hard about the whole family thing. i'm sure you understand."

The skeleton's voice took almost what seemed like a sorrowful tone as he turned to face Richter directly. His white pinpricks somehow staring deep into the Belmont's soul. There was a degree of vulnerability that Richter couldn't have guessed to even be possible out of the skeleton. Despite his disdain for everything Sans had put him through, he felt the monster deserved a chance. So he listened.

"we fought too hard to lose this, to lose our family. you've never appeared before. not a single time. i got scared and i-"

The rattling sound of two plates being placed in front of Richter and the confessing skeleton shook them from their conversation. As soon as the vulnerable moment had arrived, it passed and Sans quickly turned his attention to the fries. Giving them a onceover himself, the Belmont found them to be...interesting. He's worked with potatoes before, albeit in a limited fashion. He was never the best cook. But fries were pretty rare in any of the households he ate with. He only really encountered them in Dracula's castle hidden among the many secret passageways and rooms that littered the doomed structure. He hadn't a clue how they were made and was only partially curious how they tasted. Not wanting to be rude though, as he assumed Sans was paying for their meal, he reached to grab the first truly crispy fry he saw.

"naw, you gotta try the ketchup with it. here."

And with a single, swift motion, Sans grabbed a red bottle, overturned it towards Richter's plate of fries, and somehow managed to flick the lid off completely soaking all the fries in a red paste. Richter didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It wasn't like he was hungry, but he somewhat wanted to try the new food out. If it was monster food, then it could have been the experience he had been striving for. But once again, those opportunities seem to remain just out of grasp. Richter just shrugged and pushed the plate towards the skeleton, giving the rest of the dive a gander to see if Asriel had turned up anywhere. He could have sworn he was in one of the stalls, yet he was gone. He was probably just being paranoid, in all honesty he was antsy about Sans' confession. He wasn't dense enough to miss the hidden and loaded meaning behind each and every word that came out of the monster's perfect teeth. It made no sense to the Belmont and he couldn't quite process it in his current environment.

"welp, guess that means more for me. you coming back to the house?"

Maybe though it wouldn't hurt to ask, he thought. So while Sans managed to eat despite his mouth remaining fixed in the singular smile (something Richter did not have the time or energy to question), Richter gave his thanks to the bartender and bid him farewell. As he stood up though, he thought to at least leave the skeleton monster with some parting words. While he was still unsure how to interpret what he had been told, he did appreciate the monster's botched attempt at an apology. It would not make up for what was done, not by a long shot, but it was a start. He knew all too well about how important and lifechanging simply having a start could be. So with a quick push to tuck the stool next to the bar and a sweeping motion to put the bag back on his shoulder, he turned his back to the skeleton. He needed to provide a bit of advice that he learned the hard way. The mere thought of it brought a headsplitting pain but he fought through it, it needed to be said. So it was.

"I'm not coming back, Sans. I have my own purpose, as do you. Fear is a powerful motivator. Many wars have been fought, countless lives lost, and souls banished to the pits of hell over fear. Mankind hates everyone here because of that fear, and it would do you well to remember that it goes both ways. You keep your family safe though. If you want to truly keep them safe, watch over them. Be there, as I'm sure you have been. Don't let your own personal...ambitions and feelings get in the way of that task, because you'll lose them. You'll lose them the same way I did. Don't make the same mistake."

"mistake?"

He didn't humor the monster with an answer. In fact, he didn't even register the question. Richter's sole focus was on something he just noticed. Near the door on the floor, about a foot away from the entrance, was the distinct glowing and vibrating phone of a particular goat monster. He had seen the peculiar design on it many times in their recent conversations. He and that device were inseparable, what was it doing on the floor? With a quick glance to the stall, he noticed that the bunny had passed out completely. The bouquet of sunflowers sat nestled in the seat where a particular goat monster should still be. No one else seemed to notice Asriel's absence. Richter knew damn well that he wouldn't just leave the phone on the floor like that. Several long, and fairly loud, strides later, he stooped down to inspect the device. The face of its surface had dimmed with a crack running from the uppermost edges. It had stopped vibrating and instead was showing the time, a message, and a picture in the "background". It looked like Asriel and Karasuman had a bit of fun goofing around last night. Guess the kid couldn't turn down the opportunity to talk with another type of monster. What caught his eye though was the message.

"4 Missed Calls"

Richter knew enough about phones to understand that to call someone was to reach out to talk with them. A transponder of sorts. This phone must have been on the floor for a while. A wave of anxiety washed over him, his mind racing. Asriel had been so close to the door and no one was watching. Hell the one person he was talking to was completely wasted. It would be easy, far too easy, to abduct someone that way. Swearing under his breath, the Belmont pocketed the phone and practically busted through the front door of the establishment. The rain hadn't relented. If anything, it had gotten worse. There was little to no visibility and the Belmont couldn't hear a damn thing. The warmth that was once present had faded away, replaced with the cool hunger for violence. He must have been keeping everyone's attention simply by being up at the bar. Wherever Asriel went, it wasn't willingly, and he had a head-start. The Belmont needed to focus and not let the situation get to him. He could feel the anger buried deep in his chest, the kindling starting to spark up the bonfire. He bit it down and forced himself to close his eyes and think. Richter was an accomplished tracker...in the forest. Never in a city. But the rules were the same. If they were to abduct someone, they wouldn't want to walk in this rain. Too hard to drag a teenager down the streets, it would attract too much attention. Those...cars, as they were called, left large tracks like a wagon. Their wheels were far bulkier than the wooden ones he was used to. He hadn't seen a single one on their walk down to this district. Even Papyrus wouldn't drive down here. It seemed that they much preferred to walk.

The rain may have reduced his visibility, but it did wonders for softening the dirt that made up these back streets. The stone sidewalk wouldn't help him much. Stooping down, he ran his palm along the mud in the center of the road. It was there where he confirmed his suspicions. Wheel tracks, large ones, having come from the way they had walked in. It didn't take much to connect that they had been followed. If Richter had just been in the right headspace, he would've seen that. They were all distracted, damn it all. That meant these tracks only would take him one way. He'd have to run if he wanted to catch up. With the tightening of his ponytail, he took off down the street following the distinct trail. There was no time to question his actions. The mud stuck to his boots, the rain completely drenched his meager clothing, and his muscles were immediately screaming at him to stop. He didn't listen, he wouldn't listen, and with the grinding of his teeth he pushed himself harder. He was picking up speed. Nowhere near as fast as he used to be, but the motions were familiar. His magic seeping into his limbs, edging him further despite his condition. At his best he could outrun the local stables' horses, he could chase down and destroy racing wagons, and not a single human soul was capable of surpassing him. He was certainly not at his best but muscles be damned he was willing to try. Richter continued that way, following the tracks around every bend, street corner, and alley, eventually taking him past the outskirts of the district. The Belmont wouldn't let another child get hurt under his watch. When someone in his own world had put their hands on a child, nothing was capable of ceasing his unbridled wrath; even he himself was not exempt to that rule as his aching heart reminded him. He muttered a quick prayer for the souls of those he would find. They'd need it just as much he did.

Oh these bastards were stupid. It was a bridge, a solid few miles away from the exit sign for District 3. They had stationed their "car" outside the tunnel underpass with the tracks clear as day even with the torrential downpour. Richter still couldn't hear anything outside of the deafening sound of buckets of water slamming into ground beneath his feet. It didn't matter anyway, he found his mark. He didn't have a clue how much time had passed since they had taken Asriel. He had grown numb to his own pain and his sense of time had been lost along with it. It would not stop him from confronting these people. It was possible, a remote possibility, that these people were friends of Asriel. He remembered the pranks the town's children used to pull on each other. If this was the case, then by the holy lord of light above would they be in for a lecture of a lifetime. If not... Richter took little comfort in the idea of what he would do if they weren't. A part of his core being, something deep inside him, found itself not so buried anymore. In fact it was screaming at him to tear them limb from limb and scorch their bodies until even the rain could do little to extinguish the pain. But that was something that would only come to pass if needed, or if he lacked the self control to take care of the situation humanely. With a practiced flip he leapt from the top of the road, over the edge of the bridge, and landed directly on the metal roof of their car. The iron(?) gave way and he sunk in slightly, but the sound could be heard even over the rain; along with it, the shouts of alarmed individuals. Male. He shook off the pain that managed to bite through the numbness to gauge the situation and address the ambiguous figures huddled under the underpass.

Their forms were shrouded by the rain, the misty fog that had begun to form in the trench, and what seemed to be heavy coats they were adorning. But several things stood out for certain: They were armed with tools, shovels in particular, and they were adults. At least men in their twenties upward. No children or teenagers here, which meant no Asriel. Unless there were more hidden elsewhere, this was all he had to work with at the moment. He would dwell on that a moment later, there was more he needed to address first. They were also very much so human. No unique characteristics were present to play the hand of them being monsters. What really caught his attention the most though, as a man who hailed from a land where his reputation was a horror story for mercenaries, was that they were all eyeing him up with apprehension. Richter was more than just a stranger to them. They knew who he was, but how? It would do him no good to take random guesses however, so after a quick dismount and with the stretch of his shoulder, he approached the band of humans arms wide open to hopefully diffuse the individuals. Five by the looks of it. The largest of the men, clearly six or so feet tall, met Richter halfway and refused to budge. There was immediately something about the man's stance that irked the Belmont. Underneath that coat he was clearly holding or fiddling about with an object. These men meant to fight. He needed to give them a chance first. With a shout to be heard over the rain, Richter began.

"Do you mind telling me what you're doing down here?"

The larger man, with a sneer that heated up the Belmont's blood, crossed his arms and took a step forward in front of the approaching hunter. They were almost chest to chest now. His hood had been pulled down by the rain and he did nothing to hide the vindictive eyes that rested underneath. With each passing second, it was becoming harder and harder for the Belmont to find the willpower to redeem these men. Even if they were not responsible for Asriel's disappearance, he got the feeling they were the kind to start a fight. If only they knew it was a fight they had no hopes of finishing. It was a notion that brought a spark of joy to the kindling that was beginning to truly catch aflame. He deep down so desperately wanted this fight. He wanted to beat these men into submission until they answered for every fault of their peers. But he had to wait for the large man to answer. Which he did after giving his group a look over his shoulder. They began to ready their tools and weapons. The words that came next were without meaning, everyone had come to an understanding with that one gesture: Leave or die.

"Nothing, fuckface. Now get going, we're trying to have a little privacy here. You're lucky that car is a rental. I could sue you if you don't move your ass."

Richter was losing the battle with himself. He was genuinely ecstatic to hear it. He probably should not have been as happy as he was to see what they were striving for, but an opportunity to right a wrong of humanity was something he would never pass up. To clean the smears these men cast upon their bloodlines. Part of the Belmont's soul wanted these men to be redeemable, it truly did. But his patience had been wearing thin. His muscles were starting to ache from the run, his blood was rushing to his ears, and he was sure he had opened a few tears. From the nervous movement and whispers of the four other men, it was safe to assume there was something else they were trying to hide. It only took a quick peer around their so-called leader to spot what it was. It was one key detail that locked his soul in the cage that night, for it would have no role to play in the gruesome proceedings that would inevitably follow. One of the four remaining men was someone Richter knew quite well. It was one of the punks from earlier, the one he had grabbed and threatened. Upon seeing that Richter recognized him, he began to fiddle with something in his pocket as well. No doubt the same device he had the last time. It was clear that he needed some help to finish the business he had been so rightfully interrupted from accomplishing the day prior. Richter made no attempt to hide the venom in his voice. He was on the verge of unleashing something he had desperately hid in himself since being freed from Shaft. So with the poise of a man barely containing his rage, Richter took a step closer until he was physically pressed chest to chest against the man; and once again, he spoke.

"Give me the boy."

At the mere mention of the kid, the group became visibly startled. However they were too brash, or too stupid, to run so they instead took a few steps closer behind their "leader". Their fate had been sealed. The larger man instead just provided another of his demented smiles. It was then that it struck the Belmont why it got on his nerves so badly. The traveling mercenaries he would oftentimes slaughter and bury in nameless graves were all too happy to offer shallow smiles and empty words to the kids and women they would abduct. Some would never be seen again, and the ones that were never resembled the same person they once had been. Murderers, rapists, it mattered little. They hoped to harm a child, a teenager. They might have already done so. A mere child in the grand scheme of things and one who did nothing to deserve the pain inflicted upon him. Richter could feel the crackling of magic start to surround his body. His hairs were on end and at this distance he could see that the man's body was reacting poorly to it. His muscles were twitching and a brief concerned look flashed upon his face before he buried it. He was not content with cooperating so he instead shoved Richter back and offered his final answer to the situation. So be it.

"Oh that monster fuck? You're too late, we buried the little bastard. You really shouldn't have poked your nose where it doesn't belong. No one will know you're gone."

It was purely reflex, Richter would testify to anyone who would ask later. If anyone would ask. That he was defending himself from what was clearly an incoming attack. But only he knew the truth at that moment. The empathetic side of his soul, the one vying for the good of humanity, had been lost in the sea of bloody rage that erupted from the countless years of battle and bloodshed. Every ounce of hate and anger he held towards humanity was now directed at the five men in front of him. A chest-rattling laugh echoed down the underpass, one that he hadn't heard since his time slaughtering villagers as Shaft's Lord of the Castle. In less than a second, Richter grabbed the outstretched man's arm with one hand and another on his shoulder. With a simple roll backwards, he slung the man over his prone form before sending him careening with a forceful kick behind him. The Belmont could feel the shattered ribcage before the man even hit the vehicle. A meaty crunch was all Richter heard before he turned his attention to the other four. The man's screams as bits of broken metal and glass ruptured his flesh fell upon deaf ears, and so did the high pitched sound echoing from the car in a pattern. The front lights flickered, casting his approaching shadow on the four terrified men. The hunter had found his prey, and with a grin he readied a fan of knives. Mankind ill needed a savior such as him, he was simply playing the part he was cursed to perform. The warm blood was a comfort among the freezing soaked clothing he adorned.

Asriel had been rattled awake from what felt like his entire world shaking apart, his head colliding with the wall of the trunk. The stubs of his horns dug into his head slightly leading him to hiss in pain. Everything hurt, but it was his pride that concerned him the most. He couldn't believe he let those men get close enough to grab him like that. He had been so fucking stupid to listen to their questions, their pleas of simply wanting to talk. He had been so fucking stupid to drop his phone on the floor instead of find a way to keep it in his pocket. He had been so fucking stupid to let them shove him in their trunk instead of running. Now here he was, his ears ringing as the sound of a car alarm echoed around him. They must have crashed somewhere. The distinct sound of rain pounding away above him clued him in that they were still outside. Had they slammed into a tree? Asriel's first worry was if they were okay, but that was immediately squashed under the anger that they had the audacity to even do this. Asriel recognized one of the men as the guy Richter had chased off yesterday. He knew the human meant trouble but he doubted that they would ever go this far. Lo and behold, there he was. Poorly tied up in the trunk of probably some drug dealer's sedan. His mom must be worried sick about him.

It was at this point he could hear something else. Once the ringing subsided and he tuned out the mesmerizing rain, he could pick up...screams? Definitely shouting, a lot of shouting, but there was someone screaming as well. They must have really crashed then. He hated to think that someone was suffering even if they had, well, tried to kidnap him. While attempting to roll over to press his ear against the wall of the trunk, he noticed that the lid of the trunk had been knocked open ever so slightly. Droplets of rain were starting to drip inside while providing a very faint light. Thanking whoever or whatever they crashed into under his breath, Asriel braced his head before headbutting the trunk lid. Sans would have made a joke about him really using his head. It worked better than expected but it led to his forehead blistering away into an explosive headache. All he could do is let out a gasp in pain as he curled up in a ball. His hands were still bound so he couldn't feel the spot but it had to have been bleeding. It felt like one of those mobster movies he liked to watch with Frisk and Undyne when they were sleeping over at her house. All he was missing was the goofy fedora and toy tommyguns. Asriel tried to distract himself from the pain with his fond memories of her comfortable shark beanbag chairs, endless popcorn, and cheesy acting. It worked, but only slightly. What helped more so than his thoughts was the soothing chill of the rain on his forehead pouring through the opening he had made.

His eyes were closed blissfully during the brief respite as the pain ebbed away. It had gone quiet. Well, as quiet as it could be when stuck inside what felt like a tincan bouncing in a washing machine. Asriel couldn't hear the car alarm or the yelling anymore. There was very little he could hear now anyway over the pelting rain that was rattling the already beaten up car. Whatever had happened, it thankfully left him alone for the most part. He considered himself lucky but he definitely needed to leave. Against his better judgement, and believing that all of his friends would laugh at him for this as he was acting like every horror movie protagonist ever, he crawled his way out of the car. The men didn't have a chance to bind his feet as well so he managed to tentatively steady his footing once upright. His feet had sunk into the soaked grass and mud eliciting a quiet eww from him. Asriel hated, absolutely despised, how wet grass felt. He never had to deal with it in the Underground. Frisk was all for it though for whatever reason. But the monster chose not to dwell on it and instead take a gander at his surroundings. He needed to know what had happened and if it was even safe to leave. Worst comes to worst, he could jump back into the trunk and act like he was unconscious. It upset him to think that he really had no hope of fighting back against his kidnappers. The stories, as well as the faint memories of the surface long, long ago, were true. They could physically overpower him with ease.

It had gotten dark outside although that may have just been because of the overbearing storm. The car's headlights were providing a decent amount of ambient lighting and it was enough for Asriel to get a decent look around. They seemed to be in a dried up riverbed next to an old bridge extending maybe twenty feet above? From looking at the back end of the vehicle, they hadn't crashed off the bridge or the overpass, so they must have willingly stopped here. But why? He managed to limp around the car to get a better look at the front end when he nearly jumped out of his fur. They hadn't crashed. They hadn't crashed at all. Sticking out of the passenger side window was the distinct shape of a man. His legs and waist were dangling out, bits of metal and glass having cut him open, leading to a sizable pool of blood trickling down the car door. Most of it was being washed away in the runoff of blood, water, and mud. With a hesitant look down, Asriel could see the the fur of his feet being stained by the blending colors. He did his best to keep his stomach intact as he forced himself to look everywhere instead of the body. As much as he would like to believe otherwise, the man was dead. It looked as if he had been thrown into it. The sound of what reminded the monster of brick crumbling caught his attention as he focused his attention to the large tunnel in the underpass.

It was as if he was looking at a picture, all of his senses were drowned out by what he was seeing. The rain faded away, the feeling of the wet mud weighing down his fur was gone; it had all been replaced by the instinctual desire to run and never look back. Yet he couldn't move his feet, or his arms. None of his body was cooperating. Every alarm bell was going off and yet he simply couldn't move. He wanted to hide or find someone who could protect him from the hell he was seeing. The tunnel was a bloodbath faintly illuminated by the beams of light coming from the car's headlights. He had found the rest of the men who had kidnapped him. Or what was left. It was like a Saw flick. Even from this distance he could easily distinguish their mangled, smoking corpses. Much of the fog that seemed to permeate the area had been evaporated from the heat being released from...something inside the underpass. Steam steadily rose from the ground and it was then the smell hit Asriel. Feeling his breakfast catch in his throat, he took a moment to keep his composure. His nostrils stung with the stench and his eyes watered from his gag reflex. Something or someone had done this. But he wasn't granted much time to question the source as his attention was drawn to some movement. One man, the one who had tried to attack him yesterday, was slowly crawling towards him through what looked to be stone rubble. His back had been visibly burnt beyond belief, his leg crushed as if it had been kicked in, and yet he was still moving. Behind him, shrouded in darkness, was the approaching figure of...someone.

Asriel was stunned, he didn't know what to do. What was he supposed to do? He had never practiced healing magic like his mom! Even if he did, he doubted he could stabilize the man in his current condition. So all he could do is stand there in abject horror as the crawling man, a solid ten feet away now, was suddenly stopped by what looked like a large dagger nastily tearing into his burnt flesh. The blade must have struck bone as it rebounded outwards, crashing into one of the headlights, and left everyone in barely lit darkness. It seemingly worked in stopping the man as all he could do was moan pitifully and roll over to face the approaching thing. Its form was hazy, giving off waves of heat that irradiated the entire passageway. It couldn't have been human and yet all that was truly decipherable was the pair of eyes seemingly aflame. Asriel found himself taking a few steps back without any input. His body had kicked into fight or flight and he had lost control. Watching in horror, he witnessed it drag the man by his leg back even further before grabbing him by his neck. With the strength of someone far larger than its form, it hoisted him up off the ground. Asriel tried his best to ignore the now terrified yelling, to pretend this wasn't happening. How was this even possible? The man, in what seemed like a last ditch effort, pulled out a handgun from his pants pocket. A single shot was fired wildly into the tunnel illuminating the figure holding him albeit briefly. Asriel's breath caught in his chest and it became a struggle to focus.

Richter, covered in mud, scratches, and blood that completely ruined the once innocent shirt he had been wearing, knocked the handgun out of the man's grip with a casual backhand. It clattered to the ground and Asriel hoped to whatever good was left in the world that it would have ended with that. But it was then that he could feel it. The air was being charged with static electricity. His fur had completely puffed up and he could taste something metallic in his mouth. He remembered the old natural disaster documentaries talking about how those were signs of lightning strikes, but it was only raining? The tunnel began to fill with a rainbowish hue coming in waves from his friend's form. The orange glow from Richter's eyes quickly shifted into a blinding blue and his matted hair began to levitate and stand on end. Asriel took another step back but still couldn't find it in his heart to run away. With a shout, streaks of lightning shot out from Richter's chest, snaked up his arm, and rammed themselves violently into the held man's head. The crack of thunder rattled the ground and the tunnel they stood in as bolts of electricity bounced around the enclosed space further lighting the destruction that was once hidden by the darkness. The crippled man's pleas for help were immediately snuffed out, replaced by the involuntary twitching of his entire body. The silence was soon followed by the last bits of electrical charge grounding itself. With the deed done, Richter dropped the now cooked, smoking, and still convulsing corpse onto the ground with an apathetic toss. His form was still wreathed in magical energy but the blueish and redish tinges to his body had died with the man he was once holding.

Asriel was speechless. Had the danger passed? Or was Richter the danger? He was scared that if he moved, he would be hunted too like the men on the ground before him. So he stood there. Waiting. Until finally it seemed Richter jolted himself out of his trance. He turned his attention towards Asriel's direction but it was as if he was seeing nothing. Acting like a total stranger to the monster, he walked straight past without even registering anyone's presence. The bodies he stepped over didn't even phase him. Asriel wanted to reach out but he dared not. He instead just worriedly viewed the damage that had befallen his protector; he most certainly hadn't gotten out of the fight unscathed. There was an unattended bullet wound in his hip and a knife still embedded in his shoulder. The metal blade of the knife was acting like a tesla coil, letting out excess electrical energy into the air with a quiet crackling. Many of his fresh scars and seams had split like tears in a painting and there was an undercurrent of blood soaking his entire lower body. Asriel was scared to find out how much of that belonged to the others. Richter, meanwhile, seemed to have forgotten everything that had transpired. He stood out of the tunnel, face to the rain, before letting out a pitiful sob. A quiet, choked, wail snuck out of his throat as he clutched his face in anguish. It was as if he wasn't drawing breath; every ounce of energy remaining was pouring from his soul and into the air as his lungs probably caved under the pressure. It was only silenced by his sudden collapse. He crashed into the ground underneath him like his muscles simply could hold him no longer. Asriel, alarmed, finally broke out of his stupor and ran over to Richter's aid. Even with his hands bound he could still check for a pulse. He was alive, breathing, but bleeding heavily. Searching the man's pockets with a difficulty that wasn't helped by his trembling and tied hands, he found the phone he had dropped back at Grillby's. He wanted to so desperately call his mom...but Sans was the only one who could get them there. He just hoped his dunkle would be understanding of the situation.

He made the call. And then he waited.