A/N: This would have been up sooner, but the charger for my laptop died and real life obligations prevented me from writing. Maybe when this story is complete I'll go back and remove all these author's notes that only apologize for delays, make more room for the parts that matter so new readers don't have to slog through a bunch of excuses that don't even apply anymore.

With that in mind, here's something that I feel I should mention, especially in light of the previous chapter;

This is not a story of mindless violence followed by one heartfelt talk to make it all better. This is not a story about how determination and kindness can win above all, nor is it about how evil always triumphs or something cynical and stupid like that. It's about something that's trivial and vitally important and something we all come face to face with at some point in our lives.

This is a story about regret.

The King

Looking back, I'm not sure what I would have done to Asgore if Papyrus hadn't shown up.

Would I have simply shot him and be done with it? Just go up to a guy who had never wronged me, leave him bleeding and dying on the floor, and then… walk away, as if nothing had ever happened?

"Dum dee dum," the king of the Underground hummed all the while, oblivious to my presence, to the gun pointed at the back of his head.

…Fucking hell. That's exactly what I would have done.

I shoved the gun back into its holster, too disgusted to keep holding on. Asgore paused at the sound.

"Oh? Is someone there? Just a moment, I have almost finished watering these flowers."

I noticed them for the first time. The garden was filled with yellow flowers, the same kind at that pool in Waterfall, and at the entrance to the Underground…

"Ah, there we are!"

Asgore set down a watering can, careful not to crush any of the flowers.

"Howdy!" he turned around, smiling jovially. "How can I-"

He stopped, taking several steps back.

I don't know what I expected the 'king of all monsters' and six-time child murderer to look like, but Asgore was tall and covered in decorative but functional plate armor. A great purple cloak too grand to be a cape and too convenient to be a robe hung off of his frame, joined together by a royal crest. He had a pair of horns and golden hair. But what struck me were his eyes. They were kind and regal and caring all at the same time, the very model of what a good king was supposed to look like. But beyond that, he looked… more than just weary. Tired, in a way that made him awe-inspiring yet depressing to look at.

I found myself wishing he looked like the more familiar slavers and fiends I was used to. Things were so much easier when the guilty didn't look so much like me.

"Oh," he spoke first, then paused, gathering himself.

(*What are you supposed to say to a man who's seen too much?)

"I apologize," he said slowly. "It has been a long time since I have met a human of your age."

I nodded.

"I…" he sighed. "I so badly want to ask, 'would you like a cup of tea?' but…"

I'm not sure why, but I wanted to accept. The characters in those little pre-war storybooks always had tea, and it only just occurred to me that I never knew what it tasted like.

"Yeah," I muttered instead. "I know."

Asgore nodded, trudging mechanically to the window.

"…Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" he asked, suddenly sounding far away. "Birds are singing… flowers are blooming…"

The tiniest of cracks in his voice, so small and so fleeting that I could have sworn I imagined hearing the pain and sorrow in his voice.

"Perfect weather for a game of catch!"

No, I definitely wasn't imagining it.

He turned to me. His smile was long gone.

"…Though I suppose this isn't the time or place for a game of catch, is it? Just for a little while…" he trailed off.

I couldn't hold back the sigh this time. It rattled through me, it made me aware of just how exhausted I was. I wanted so desperately to take up his offer of a break, but I knew neither of us would want to head towards the barrier if I did.

"It's not," I agreed, because what else was I supposed to say?

Asgore nodded. "Then… when you're ready, step into the next room. I'll be waiting."

He went. I walked past a grand window I would have admired any other day. A pair of thrones lay next to it, one covered up but not discarded, as if Asgore dreamed that Toriel would come back some day and everything in the world would be right again, and he wouldn't be obligated to murder people for their souls.

It was a childish, foolish hope that I had personally made impossible. A few days earlier, I might have scoffed at the idea of it all.

But sometime between then and know, I had learned (or maybe just remembered) not to mock these things. For a lot of people, it's all they have left.

We walked into the next room, neither of us in much of a hurry.

"How tense," he commented. "Just think of it like… a visit to the dentist, if that makes it any better."

It didn't, but I appreciated the attempt.

We came to a stop at an old stone arch, just like the one outside of Toriel's place.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"No," I said. I just didn't have it in me to lie. "Not really."

His eyes fell down. "I am not ready either."

Asgore walked through the doorway. I lingered and wondered—just for a moment—how it had come to this. Because you don't just arrive at the situations I'm in for no reason. I had to have done something at some point that led me to- to this. There had to be some kind of answer I wasn't seeing, something that, if I only realized it, I could stop being so god damn unsure about everything.

And you know what? For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what that was. I still can't.

I'm just a fucking courier.

And like clockwork, in the same instance I have that thought, that fucking voice pipes up again:

(*The man who always tried to do what was right, only to become just as wicked and cruel as his foes.)

(*The king who sacrificed so much of himself for others, until there was nothing left of him to give.)

(*You can't tell them apart anymore.)

I stepped in after the king. I told myself that it was because I was done with delays.

Truth is, I think I was just too afraid of what else I might have heard if I stuck around.

The barrier.

It was immeasurably tall and wide, crackling with charged ozone and ancient magical power that was no weaker in the present than the day it was forged. The king had attacked it with magic and trident in the early days of monsterkind's imprisonment, but it was always he who yielded, never the barrier.

The seventh human stood before the king, both of them watching the light coruscate off the walls in undulating waves. Neither spoke for some time, until-

"This is the barrier," the king explained. "It is what keeps us all trapped underground."

There was no response. Only the barrier's strange wind, howling softly.

"If…" the king stopped, tried again. "If you have unfinished business to attend to… please, see to it."

"…"

"Even if it's just to read a book, or enjoy a walk… take your time. I'll understand."

"No. This is all that's left for me."

The king paused at the certainty in the human's words.

"This is it, then," said the king. "Ready?"

The soul containers rose between them. Three on one side, three on the other-

And one more, empty.

The human glanced at it, then at him.

They were ready.

"...Human," said the king. "It was nice to meet you."

A mighty trident formed between them. Crimson red and taller than even the king.

"Goodbye."

The hell of it is, I bet we could have talked it out if we weren't so stubborn.

Or- no, that's not the right word. Too simple.

I hadn't met the guy for more than a few minutes, but it was pretty obvious that even despite everything that happened, Asgore was still driven. He didn't fight for himself. He didn't just fight for himself. Everyone in his kingdom—whoever was left at least—was counting on him for freedom, for their lives, and he knew it. He'd already lost so much, compromised far too many times in the name of keeping his kingdom together, what was one more dead human on top of the other six?

After fighting my way through the entire Underground, getting this close to the exit, and with only one more person standing in my way, I couldn't imagine how to answer that question.

The king of Monsterkind attacked with a flurry of swipes from his spear. I barely got out of the way in time.

Fucking hell. Asgore was-

(*ASGORE DREEMURR - 80 ATK 80 DEF)

(*He looks just like you.)

-fast.

But I'm not exactly easy to hit either. I dodged. I jumped. I rolled. It was harrowing, and that bloodred spear came close a lot more than I would have liked, but none of those vicious blows ever connected. He couldn't hit me—faster and stronger things than him had tried and ended up in pieces for the effort.

And I…

I blinked. The gun was back in my hands, and I didn't remember drawing it.

I hated that killing was so routine, so reflexive that I jumped to do it without even realizing.

I hated that it hurt to lower it, to go against instincts brought on by a lifetime of fighting, but somehow, for some reason, I did it. I still can't quite say why. Any other day, if I had been locked in an underground dungeon and told that the only way to escape was by killing an inhuman child murderer, it shouldn't even have been a choice. The right decision was laughably obvious and yet…

Why was it suddenly so hard to kill someone who was so obviously filled with regret?

And why was it that I always had to kill-

"You've lived a life where most of your decisions were made for you, haven't you?"

I stumbled—almost didn't dodge the next series of trident strikes and fire magic, too caught up in the thought of a new idea. It was beyond stupid, to try it in the middle of a fight but…

-Ulysses bowed his head in defeat. His ambush, his trap, failed. The true courier stood victorious, Courier Six. Glowing red eyes peered down at him, watching the old courier succumb to his wounds.

His lungs were perforated and filled with more blood than air. He could not feel his hands. He was going to die alone in a pre-war missile silo, and no one but The Courier would know what happened.

Ulysses managed a rattling cough, then stared at the stimpak jabbed into his chest. The Courier was… hauling him to his feet, dragging him towards the exit. He tried to ask, 'why?' and-

(*You tell Asgore that there's always hope. That it's not too late to change, even for people like you.)

(*The idea scares him, and you.)

(*Asgore's ATK dropped! Your ATK dropped!)

His attack faltered mid-strike.

The next ones didn't, and I worked overtime to dodge them all.

But in-between them, I noticed something about Asgore. There was a kind of sluggishness to him. He could move with deceptive speed, the way some power armor users might manage to fight against their suit's clunkiness and move far faster than anyone would expect them to. But his attacks weren't ordered and swift anymore, they were-

Desperate. And I think I knew why.

I dodged again, even as my legs ached in protest. I waited for an opening, not to strike, but to say-

-The petty outlaw who ran from his family and the law, who turned to a life of banditry to sustain himself. There was a bounty on his head, the byproduct of too much notoriety from stealing and raiding.

And The Courier had come to collect.

The outlaw stared down the barrel of a gun. He was too resigned to fight back, too tired to do much more than accept whatever judgement came, and he said as much.

And then…

And then…

The Courier, the slayer of ten thousand men, the walking terror that brutalized the wicked and struck fear into all from California to Arizona… lowered the gun.

(*You tell Asgore of the times when you showed mercy, even when there was no reason to give it.)

(*You tell him… that it doesn't have to end this way. That you can forgive him.)

(*He bows his head sadly.)

(*Asgore's DEF dropped! Your DEF dropped!)

We paused. For a moment, a minute, I couldn't say. Both of us just stared as if waiting for the other to make a move, or maybe to catch our breaths. Asgore simultaneously looked stronger than anyone—and moments from keeling over from exhaustion. I doubt I was in much better shape.

But in that little timeout, he lifted his head, looked at me. And it lasted for a second or maybe just half of one, but I swear it's as though we both realized that maybe, just maybe there was another way out of this… this god damned mess, and maybe neither of us would have to die for it.

I almost hoped.

And then the moment passed. Reality came back from its lunch break, reminded us that the barrier is still up, and sometimes you just can't win.

Asgore charged forward and attacked.

(*Seems talking won't do any good.)

(*All you can do is FIGHT.)

I leaped back, revolver in hand and trained on its target. My finger was inside the trigger guard, fighting against the measly few pounds of force that was all that stood between one person and a swift visit to the cemetery.

It had never felt so heavy. It was like trying to pry a blast door open.

(*All you can do is FIGHT.)

Fires erupted all around me. Asgore raised his spear, and this time I couldn't dodge it.

(*ALL YOU EVER DO IS FIGHT.)

I-

BANG

Everything stopped.

The fires died. Asgore's spear disappeared.

He fell to his knees, one hand grasping at a crack in his breastplate. The other barely propped him up.

"So…" he breathed out in a ragged, choked, and somehow still-dignified voice. "That is how it is."

He paused. I let him. Maybe there was still some part of me that saw an old man—tired, dying, and full of regret at the end of his road—and deep down, I knew I didn't want to kill him.

Maybe that part of me was long gone and I just couldn't summon the nerve to pull the trigger again.

I don't know.

I just don't know.

"I remember the day after my son died," Asgore managed after a while. "The entire underground was devoid of hope. The humans had stolen everything from us, again-"

He closed his eyes, tightened the fist around his chest, as if the memory caused him physical pain.

"-And in my grief, I declared war. I would kill every human who fell down here. I would use their souls to become a god, and free us from this terrible prison. Then I would destroy humanity, so that monsters could finally live in peace. And my people had hope again."

His breathing was becoming more and more labored.

"My wife… became disgusted with me. She left, and I never saw her again…"

Toriel's eyes staring up at mine. A plea for mercy. A gunshot. Silence.

"…What a fool I was. Truthfully, I do not want power. I do not want to hurt anyone. All I wanted was for my people to have hope," said Asgore, and now I could hear strain in his voice.

"I just wanted to do the right thing. You understand, don't you?"

I wish I didn't.

"…I… just want to see my wife again. I miss my children, my family," he said, as if it pained him to admit it. As if he had told no one else, and the only one left to listen was me.

He took another breath.

"Human," he said. "I do not know you, the events that brought you here. But I know that you do not deserve this. Please, take my soul. Leave this cursed place while you still can. Please…" he begged.

"Do not remember me."

The gun froze in my hands, and I…

I…

…

…I realized something.

I never wanted to do this. I don't really know why I got on this path. Not for money, power, or respect. I enjoyed those things—and they came in very handy—but they weren't enough reason to do the things I did. There was a time when I could remember so clearly, the why behind my actions. A sense of justice, maybe. An urge to do the right thing that ended up getting out of hand. Whatever the reason was, I'd long forgotten it.

But you know what else I realized? Unavoidable circumstances didn't drive me to kill Toriel and Sans. There wasn't no other way out but to kill Alphys and drive her girlfriend to despair. It was so fucking obvious that I wanted to scream and howl at myself for being so stupid, but only then did I realize the common denominator in all those cases: At the end of the day, I was the one holding the gun. And I chose what to do with it.

I think that's what Papyrus had been trying to tell me.

I think that's why I dropped it.

Asgore lifted his head—saw the Ranger Sequoia abandoned on the ground. After another moment, he saw me offer a hand.

"…After everything I've done to you," he murmured, "You would… stay? Here?"

What the hell. I nodded.

Ten different emotions played out on his face before it changed to a small but genuine smile.

"Human," he said, and there was no mistaking the sincerity in his tone, "I promise you that for as long as you remain here, I will do my best to care for you. I could find my wife and welcome her back. We could be like- like a family."

And he said it with so much belief, so much hope that I couldn't help but believe him.

Neither of us noticed the little white bullet that shot through him and turned him into rapidly-dissolving dust. Asgore's smile never left his face.

"Well! That was disappointing." A saccharine-sweet voice piped up. A yellow flower sprouted out of the ground.

"And you got so far, too," he mocked. "All it takes to make you give up is- what? A few sob stories and a bit of soul-searching?"

I was starting to react beyond 'surprise' and about to move forward when I saw-

"Oh! And speaking of souls, would you look at what the king left, just lying around!"

The containers from earlier were empty. Six human souls were orbiting Flowey.

He sighed, a reedy-sounding noise. "And to think I had hope for you. I figured you of all people would understand that in this world, it's kill or be-"

Flowey's face came apart in two halves.

I took a step back in surprise, and I noticed that my knife wasn't in my hands, and it wasn't at my belt.

"Hello, Courier."

I looked up.

Gray smoke gathered, rolled, and dripped like candle wax. Tendrils of the stuff reached out to the souls, and they stilled at the touch. But at the center of the little stormcloud was a child in a yellow and green sweater, walking nonchalantly towards me and holding my knife in their hands.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" said Chara. "But pleasantries aside…"

They walked up to me, smoke dissolving the bodies of Flowey and Asgore. Absorbing it into them.

"…We really need to have a talk."

A/N: Next chapter will arrive when it is ready. I'm preparing for my exams, so it may take time. In the meantime…

Leave a review, or don't.

See you soon.