You returned to a different signal.
The light flared, and the lens adjusted, appearing slightly clearer than before, as though someone had wiped away a smudge. The face that greeted you was contemplative for a moment—but she wasn't alone.
The figure you'd come to know as Subject 921, Lavender, or in this instance, Chara, stood there. Her single eye was open, and her outfit was slightly different from usual. She wore an oversized black sweater with two hearts stitched onto the front and baggy black sweatpants that looked chosen purely for comfort. Around her neck hung her usual necklace—a crystal heart of vivid orange. It flickered briefly, transforming into a star before returning to its original shape.
"Huh... what was—oh, you're on! Awesome." She adjusted your Observer, looking both surprised and pleased. "I... can't believe that worked."
Beside her stood a tall skeletal man. He was dressed casually in a long orange shirt with the words "Cool Dude" printed plainly across the front, paired with shorts and tied sneakers. Around his wrist, he wore a well-maintained yet clearly old friendship bracelet that spelled out "Papa."
"Yup," he said, his tone easygoing. "Told you it looked loose."
"Why is it always a screwdriver?" she asked with a tired sigh.
"Makes ya ask questions," he replied, grinning. "So, you said it talks?"
"It did last time. Hey, Bob, you good there, pal?" she inquired, glancing at the Observer.
The device registered a strange swirl of new data but chose to ignore it. Despite irregularities in its repair—several sections were improperly fixed yet oddly functional—it was operational again.
It responded, its voice steady. "I am. Present, yes."
"Nice," she said with relief. "Got you up and running for a bit. There's, uh... still a lot to do." She gestured toward the Observer, then added, "Oh, wait—hey, this is my father-in-law. One of them. Papyrus. He's like a power drill—full of energy, a little loud, but always gets the job done."
A phantom hand appeared at his side, nudging him further into view. Amused, he made a peace sign with his bony fingers.
"I'm the reason she knows where every hardware store in town is," he said proudly.
"There's only one store," Chara replied, raising a skeptical brow.
"As you can tell, I nailed it," Papyrus quipped with a smug grin.
"I saw that one coming," she said, snickering.
"Way to hammer it in," he added.
"Someone had to drill it home," she shot back.
The two dissolved into laughter, exchanging finger guns as they reveled in their string of puns. The Observer rated the jokes as below average but noted their obvious enjoyment. While it was not amused, at least someone was.
"Anyways," Papyrus said more seriously, his tone shifting. "I've gotta head out. Everyone's getting together tomorrow, and I'm on lasagna duty."
"Tomorrow? For what?" Chara asked, her confusion apparent.
"Your brother's big idea," Papyrus replied, noticing her perplexed look. "That 'festival week' thing. You didn't forget, did you?"
"W-wait, that's tomorrow?" she stammered, looking increasingly alarmed. "I thought Azzy planned it for Monday!"
"Well, today is Sunday," he pointed out gently. "Listen, don't stress about it too much. Everyone knows you've got a lot going on."
"I mean... yeah, but I still wanna contribute," she said, frowning.
"Take it easy for a moment—it's fine. Besides, Metta said Aliza already prepared something from both of you," he reassured her, though his words seemed to deepen her guilt. "So stop with that look. It'll be okay. I'll catch up with you later, kiddo."
"Y-yeah. Right. Thanks, Paps," she replied softly. He gave her shoulder a comforting pat before heading out.
Once he was gone, Chara leaned against the counter, burying her face in her hands. The Observer watched, puzzled. By its calculations, everything she had been concerned about appeared resolved.
It spoke. "Why do you seem bothered? The problem is resolved, no?"
Her head lifted slightly, and her tone was sharp at first. "Because I—" She stopped herself, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a sigh. "I promised I'd help out and get everything prepared," she said, frustration lacing her voice. "Instead, I've spent the last week trying to pay back Ralsei and fix you." She groaned, adding quickly, "Not that I'm mad about helping you. I just... I forgot about... that." She rubbed her temples. "Why didn't anyone say anything?"
"You appear busy," the Observer offered. "Perhaps they understand?"
"Yeah, but..." She trailed off, lost in thought. Then, with a shake of her head, she said, "Whatever. On to the present thing. I still have work to do with you, but I figured I'd wake you up and give you a little surprise."
"Surprise?" it pondered aloud.
"Yeah. Go ahead and, uh... get up," Chara said, motioning with a wave of her hand.
The Observer hesitated, processing the command before attempting to comply. Its systems sputtered briefly as it began to lift, the sensation feeling unfamiliar—peculiar, even. The controls seemed inverted in a way they hadn't been before, but with some effort, it adjusted.
The large sphere began to rise, emitting a soft, steady whirr akin to a fan. Its movements were slow, deliberate, and cautious as it drifted about the room. For the first time in a long while, it had the chance to look over its surroundings: the workshop, cluttered with tools and notes, and the study area beyond. When it turned back, Chara was watching it, arms crossed with a faintly satisfied expression.
"Still trying to get it, uh, 'up to specs,' but I figured mobility was a good start," she said. "I bet you've missed being able to move on your own, huh?"
"How is this unit moving?" it asked, curious.
"Well, Bob, fans and your 'new additions,' for now," she replied, gesturing to its sides. "See these little stabilizers? They're meant to adjust automatically, help you turn and stuff."
The Observer examined the additions—small, wing-like structures with embedded fans that tilted and shifted to guide its movements. While functional, they felt clunky, heavier than its original design. Despite this, the sensation of self-directed movement filled it with a strange satisfaction, a sense of reclaimed autonomy.
"Thank you," it said simply.
"No worries," Chara replied, waving off the gratitude. She held something out toward it. "Now, do you want this thing back or not?"
The Observer floated closer, drawn to the familiar object: your world, still secure in its canister.
"Got the compartment fixed. Well, Aliza did," Chara explained. "Said it should be a 'first priority,' considering how important it is to you."
Scanning the canister, the Observer noted that your world remained untouched and intact. A mechanical arm extended, carefully retrieving the canister and inserting it into a newly repaired slot. The fit wasn't perfect—it required some adjustment—but once secured, it felt immovable, safe.
"This was kind," it said. "What now?"
"Now," Chara continued, "I'm going to try to fix you up a bit more. I'm not sure what all you need, exactly, so I'm mostly working on your broader functions for now." She hesitated, frowning slightly. "I did poke at your code, though, and... wow. That was a mess. Half the time, it felt like it was alive, like... writhing. So, yeah, I'm not messing with that just yet."
"This is understood," the Observer replied, lapsing into contemplation.
A voice slipped out, as one of you spoke. "Hey purple Chara." This inspired a raised brow from her. "Would you help gather for us?"
Chara replied. "Wondered when one of you would, uh, 'talk again.' Heh." She sighed and crossed her arms. "Lemme guess—this is about your 'list' of people?"
She paused, considering. "I've been thinking about it. I know a lot of folks who lost their worlds but still linger in the joined one. I bet if you offered them a second chance, they'd join you in a heartbeat."
The Observer emitted a curious whirr. "You would. Assist?"
"I mean," Chara said, feigning deliberation, "maybe after dinner and a movie." She gestured toward the doorway. "Aliza made something, the couch is comfy, and there's a stupid rom-com on. How could I do anything but that?"
"Very well," it agreed, as she started to the door. "Perhaps after."
"You can come watch the movie, you know," Chara offered, glancing over her shoulder.
"Why?" it asked, puzzled. "This unit is unfamiliar."
"With...what?" She asked.
"Rom-Com. Unfamiliar term." It responded.
"You've never seen a rom-com?" she replied, amusement creeping into her voice. Beckoning, she added, "You'll love it. It's about this spy who marries the daughter of the guy he was supposed to—wait, no, that's a spoiler. Uh, it's great. You'll love it. Trust me."
The Observer followed her, its movements slower but steady. As it left the workshop and entered the apartment, your connection began to fade. Before it fully slipped away, you caught glimpses of the space: warm, filled with pleasant aromas, and Aliza sitting on the couch.
She said something you couldn't quite catch before your perspective shifted, pulling you elsewhere.
Somewhere you needed to be.
When the signal returned, the only sound was the wind.
Your host, for the moment, possessed a stillness that seemed almost plantlike, as if he were rooted in place. His peculiar form occasionally shifted in small, subtle ways, the breeze brushing against the false fur of his surface.
One of you broke the silence, asking, "How... hmm, how's the void treating you?"
Asriel was drawn from his thoughts and introspections. Turning his attention to you, he smiled faintly, various rippling vines burrowing beneath the snowy field at his feet.
"If I said 'decent enough,' I'd be lying," he replied, his voice calm but laced with bitterness. "The void's treatment of me has been cruel, filled with the same disregard it offers all Empty Ones."
Another of you spoke up. "I wish to consult with the possibility of a character taking the position of 'Flowey.' It's a concept I've been considering for a long time."
"Should I be charging for this consultation?" he mused, a faint glint of humor in his tone, before gesturing dismissively. "I joke. But when you say 'position of Flowey,' I assume you mean the 'Empty One' that exists in so many worlds?"
"Maybe."
"Very well," Asriel said, tilting his head slightly. "What are you thinking?"
A flower sprouted at his side, some pale imitation of Flowey. Its stem grew from his roots, its vacant eyes and expressionless face lending it an eerie resemblance to the infamous entity.
"Would it be possible to have our guide, the Fell!Gaster, take that place?" you asked.
"That's a fascinating question," Asriel said with a soft chuckle. "You want him to be an Empty, dangerous thing in your world?" He seemed amused by the idea, but there was a weight to his words. "It would be so very fitting. Though it is… a complicated question."
"Why?"
"Do you understand what it means to be 'bound' to you?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost solemn. "Your Observer—it may as well be a gravestone, at least for the mission you're undertaking."
The Observer emitted a curious whirr.
"The world you're making," he continued, "your beautiful world. If it stays 'here,' in the void, it will forever be vulnerable. To protect it, it needs to escape. It must return to the light, to the broader, fuller multiverse above. Only there can it become 'real,' safe from... all this." He gestured vaguely at the endless void surrounding you.
"But," he added with a bitter laugh, "if escaping were easy, don't you think we'd have done it already? No. As if it were some cruel poem, there is a barrier in the way. To pierce it requires an enormous expenditure of power... enough to erase a person completely."
The Observer whirred again. "Erase. Person?"
"Mhm." Asriel nodded. "If you wanted to take Gaster, your guide, and use him in your world—to offer him a second chance he doesn't deserve—you'd need to find a replacement guide. Someone willing to die for your mission."
The pale imitation of Flowey at his side, which had been waiting patiently, leaned toward him and whispered something. Asriel listened, then scanned the space around you with a sharp gaze. With a subtle motion, the flower burrowed back into the ground and disappeared.
One of you spoke again, changing the topic. "So, Asriel—or, actually, what should we call you? Are you fine with Asriel?"
"It's been a while since anyone actually called me Asriel," he admitted, his expression softening as he considered the question. "I get called so many things by so many people. Sometimes something Umbral. Sometimes something Eldritch. Sometimes an Overlord, a Collector, an Evil Fiend, or an Imitation. And sometimes..." He paused, the faintest shadow crossing his face. "...it's just 'Flowey.'"
He seemed to sink into thought for a moment before continuing. "But in my deepest memories, when I think of home—my old home—I feel like him again. Asriel. And it fills me with grief, shame, and judgment toward myself." His voice faltered slightly. "I'm sorry, that doesn't really answer your question... You're a friend. You may call me whatever you please. I promise I won't be mad."
The wind carried faint whispers, a soft melody that seemed to intertwine with you. Something of you danced within the breeze, blending and brushing against him. Asriel's focus shifted, following your movement as though captivated, the peculiar rules of this place making your presence almost tangible to his senses.
One of you spoke, your voice curious yet cautious. "You're the same Asriel from the past, right?" You drifted near the Operator. "Not someone else?"
Another added, "Just to confirm—you are the surrogate Asriel to whom our guide refers as his 'ward,' correct?"
A third chimed in, "You are the same Asriel, right? The one who threatened us? How did you get here?"
One more of you pressed further, "If so, then who was the one you described as 'goopy, sloshy, creepy'? I thought that was you—unless it wasn't? Please explain."
Your barrage of questions drew a faint smile of amusement from him. He waited patiently for the torrent to subside, allowing your scattered senses to settle.
"Sometimes your words sound anxious," he remarked gently. "Remember to breathe and steady yourself. Stress is not good for you."
With that, he shifted his focus to your questions. "Yes and no," he began. "I am him, in so much as he became me, and in so much as he was me." He paused, as if collecting his thoughts.
"To explain—originally, I hailed from a Storyswap world with my sibling. They perished to the human of our world, though their soul persisted, determined to hold on. I found that soul and bonded with it, desperate not to lose them." His voice grew distant, heavy with memory. "With our will combined, we confronted the demon. Sadly, we were never meant to win. One of the beings like you—the players—controlled that human. They were petty and angry. They erased our world, plunging it into the void... dragging us down, down, down."
As he recalled this, the faint glow of his eyes faded, leaving them dark and hollow. Even the light within his mouth vanished. The intricate leaves interwoven into his form dulled, their vibrant colors paling.
"Isn't that funny?" he snickered, though the sound was bitter and humorless.
Behind him, the towering Flowey with its singular, glaring eye loomed closer to your Observer, whispering faint, unintelligible things. Asriel took a deep breath, pulling himself back together. Slowly, the light returned to his form, and he seemed more present.
"We were found by Gaster, recently freed from his master. He took us into his care. We became his wards and traveled with him for some time. After visiting many worlds, he discovered a way to separate us—my sibling and me. He was inspired by some version of Frisk who had saved some version of me."
He manifested his soul before you, a fractured thing, a mere half of what it 'had been.' Its core was mostly white, but traces of determination lined its edges like fiery veins.
"Gaster used his power to create a vessel for my sibling's soul, snapped from my own. It was painful, but it reunited us. I was Asriel again—that Asriel. The one who was hugged by my sibling for an hour without being let go, despite my false protests. The one who felt safe for the first time in what felt like forever. I was given purpose again."
He drew a long breath, the towering flower's singular eye blinking before shifting its focus elsewhere. It gazed at the sky as a distant rumbling began to grow.
"So yes," he continued, "I am. The many Floweys—the Eldritch, twisted versions you've encountered—the ones Chara found and brought home, that called them friend-are also me, have been me, or will no doubt be me in the future. I was the one who whispered about grafting because, while I find it dangerous, I was curious about what you might do. Your world is a beautiful thought, and such brightness tends to attract vile things. It felt wise to prepare you for that possibility."
He cleared his throat, his voice momentarily softer. "But I'm off topic. The only one who wasn't me was the manifestation created by the Phage. I was there, opposing the Assistant. I was guarding your prize—Chara, Pablo, and their Aliza—whom I had found lost in the void." His tone grew heavier. "I hoped to get them out safely before that thing, The Assistant, arrived. But it didn't turn out that way. My manifestation wasn't strong enough. I could only save one—Chara—and helped her find a surrogate reality, one much like the world she called home. She lives there now, among the many worlds I've collected. She presently holds the other half of your Observer."
He adjusted how he sat, bits of his form blending into the ground. The patterns on the walls shifted—flowers blooming, changing colors, and fading away. Roots stretched to every inch of the surface below, inscribed with glyphs, runes, and strange magics. The rumbling sound from afar grew louder, shaking the air with its approach.
Finally, one of you spoke again, your tone hesitant but curious. "Aaanyway, onto the next question. How did you get like this? You know—all made of flowers and such?"
"In short, Gaster," he replied plainly.
Then, after a pause, he elaborated, "In longer fashion—Chara perished because of him. The others... the group we were part of... they believed my sibling held the key to salvation. They refused to let them go, persuading them to try again despite the risk. And Gaster—despite all his past protests—just let it happen."
His voice took on a sharp edge. "I don't know how they convinced him, but when they came, he did nothing. When they rebuilt the Observer, making their own world from their 'finest members,' he did nothing. When they sent my sibling—the only person I had left—to pierce the veil, to bring that world through the barrier, he did nothing."
The ground trembled as he spoke, rage building in his eyes. "And when they broke apart, in agony—not strong enough to endure, not strong enough to succeed—he did nothing. Save claim what remained of their soul."
The wind stilled. The leaves ceased their rustling. The flowers froze in place, motionless. Gravestones, scattered across the landscape, sat silent in the eerie calm.
"I was angry," he said at last, his voice low and trembling. "I hated him. I hated all of them. And I lashed out."
A bitter laugh escaped him as he continued. "I destroyed much of their work, tore apart their sanctuaries, and ravaged the worlds of those who dared to try and save them. I became an event—a calamity—that brought ruin to everything they held dear."
He paused, as if weighed down by the memory. His form flickered, his presence momentarily dimming as he sank into contemplation.
"When he finally returned, I didn't know what he'd do. But with so little effort, he responded with... this." He gestured to himself as petals and leaves began to shed from his form, unraveling with deliberate slowness. "He reduced me... destroyed me... made me..."
What remained was a small echo flower, its pale, lifeless eyes staring blankly. "...an echo of 'Flowey.' Funny, right?"
The smaller flower scanned you, its fragile form framed by the hoodie lying discarded on the ground behind it. Its face shifted like a canvas, altering to replicate the events he described, mimicking the moments as best it could in its miniature state.
"He claimed he'd turn me back when I 'calmed down.' But that would require me to stay... and how could I possibly do that?" He tilted his head, the movement almost mocking. "Everyone I'd loved was gone. The last one I held sacred... erased before my eyes while I was left to watch. All that remains of them is trapped in my memories alone. So, I wondered... why would I stay there and wait?"
The display stopped, and vines began to coil around the small flower, rising and consuming it. Drawing the hoodie up, as it did so.
"I fled," he continued, his voice quiet but sharp. "I tried to find a new home. Most of them, to be honest, only made me miserable—or were vile constructs of the darkest reaches of your imaginations." A pause, his tone shifting, his form reconstituted. "Until I found a strange one. A lovely place where the beings accepted me."
He placed his hoodie back on, a faint smile crossed his features. "I found myself in a family again—my parents, my sibling, and, strangely, another version of me. They treated me like an older brother again. It felt... nice."
For a moment, his expression softened, but it didn't last. A dark chuckle broke the moment as the vines and leaves shifted, completing the familiar shape of his adult form once more.
"But you and I both know," he said bitterly, "worlds in the Void do not last."
He stared at you, his eyes narrowing. "Do you know how it feels to watch the world around you decay? To watch everyone you know slowly erode, consumed by an agony they can't fully understand or perceive? To be able to do... nothing?"
He stood whole once more, and the sound of thundering grew louder, transforming into a pounding force that seemed to shake the very fabric of this place. The sky above dented, bruised, and fractured, as though something immense and unseen were battering against it.
"I thought I'd be done with it all," he continued, his voice tinged with bitterness. "But as I lay near self-destruction, I remembered what Chara wanted that day. Why they agreed to... that... in the end." His tone darkened further. "They wanted to keep these worlds safe. Alive. They wanted to save all these people—even the ones who really, really don't deserve it."
He hissed the last words, frustration evident in his expression. "I had nothing left but their hopes, their dreams, their memories—the only things I could still hold onto." He paused, scanning you intently. "So, I wondered... could I do what they failed to do? Could I provide the place we were promised? Could I make their dream come true, in some fashion that those fools could not?"
He shrugged, almost casually. "And so, I went from world to world, finding the undeserving. I massacred them, consumed them, and grew strong enough to see my plan through. I survived by scraping together the power I needed to fend off the countless horrors of this place. Enough power to start piecing together the broken fragments of stray worlds."
A grim smile crept across his face. "To piece them together like a puzzle, all my own. My collection. To offer them something they never had without me... a chance."
One of you dared to ask, "Why do you consume the worlds you collect?"
"This place I built is always under attack," he replied, his tone unwavering. "It is always in peril. The only way to keep it alive is to hold enough power to drive back the horrors."
He sighed, though there was no remorse in his voice. "I need that power, or it all fades away. I've accepted the brutal reality we're in. I know my limitations."
His gaze sharpened as he added, "So I try to be fair. I let them challenge one another—tournaments, games, contests—until the best ones remain standing. But those who lose..." His voice dropped, his smile turning cold. "...well, I can't fail. So tell me, what else would you have me do?"
One of you spoke up, asking, "Would you be willing to part with a small piece of yourself, for a future possible position?" You added, "I'd personally place the piece in the role of 'Chara.'"
He tilted his head thoughtfully. "A Lost Soul. The Narrator. Fitting." He seemed to consider this, glancing at you as though weighing something. "I did promise you myself, if you saved them. You did not... but you tried."
With deliberate care, he reached into his own body, his leaves parting like the layers of a veil. "I will not give you myself. But I can give you what I was." From within, he pulled forth the echo-flower form of Flowey. "This was once my core. But I have outgrown it."
He pressed along the edges of the fragile form, which began to fracture and dissolve, breaking apart into shimmering strands of blue code. "You do not have to use it. If you did, I would be able to... 'feel' your world, like a dream. A piece of me, lingering within it... an undeserved gift." His gaze was steady as he added, "I will not be so arrogant as to demand or even request that you do so. The choice is yours."
The code hovered before you, offered without expectation.
The Observer carefully opened its damaged slot and drew the energy in, storing it securely, if only for now.
"Our many thanks," one of you responded.
"You do not need to thank me," he replied evenly. "I have done little to earn that."
Another voice spoke up, asking, "How's the unnamed half of the Observer doing?"
"If you mean the one 'here,' it isn't unnamed. Subject 921—Chara—called it Bob," he noted before glancing at the Observer. "If you mean this one... it has seen better days. A large chunk of it is missing, with shoddy patchwork stretched across the broken pieces. Not to mend it, but more like a cast placed over a missing arm, until that piece may be found. It is insufficient."
You asked, "Is it possible to reunite the two halves of the Observer? Like, can you do that?" Clarifying, you added, "Not confirming the action, just asking if it's a possibility. Because if so, we can avoid unnecessary confrontation and close proximity with volatile subjects."
"I am not a technical sort," he admitted. "That was my sibling's domain. I could brute force it back together with raw power, but it may not settle... correctly." He gave a small shrug. "It may behoove you to return it to Gaster. As loath as I am to suggest he receive anything."
One of you asked pointedly, "Is Gaster going to kill Chara? The purple one?"
"Ah, is that why you ask?" He seemed amused but not dismissive. "You are right to be wary of that. You did warn him of her presence, after all. Though I stopped you from sharing a certain detail I think you'd have regretted dearly."
He tilted his head slightly, his tone darkening. "However, he may still learn of Aliza's... unique condition. If so, the result will not be kind."
His voice carried the weight of certainty as he continued, "To him, that Chara—Lavender—is an abomination. An unwelcome thing. A reminder of all his failings, unwelcome origin, and convenient scapegoat upon which to place his blame. And something dangerous enough that his justifications for eliminating her might be considered valid, even without critique."
Another voice asked, "What's the deal with this chick?" Adding, "She's dangerous or something? How?"
"Short version?" he replied without hesitation. "Dangerous lady. With strange, potentially apocalyptic powers."
He paused before elaborating. "The being who made Gaster made her as well. She created a reality. He made an echo of that reality. And that is Gaster's world."
He shrugged as if dismissing the weight of the revelation. "Longer version? Well..."
Asriel adjusted his seat and took a measured breath. He manifested a cluster of flowers around him, their subtle lavender scent filling the air—not overpowering, but soothing and welcome.
"The being who made Gaster," he began, "is a variant of himself. Or, more specifically, a variant of the original thing." He gestured vaguely, as if pointing to a distant, unseen figure. "And he made her to test a power he was working on. Something he intended for himself once the kinks were worked out." His gaze narrowed. "RESTART. But we'll get to that."
He exhaled slowly, as if centering himself. "That man was—and, if still alive, is—a creature who wielded enough strength to carve vast swaths of the void into his personal domain. He tried to emulate the Underverse he so desperately wanted to be part of, but could never quite... reach."
He chuckled dryly. "His god complex drove him to create a false multiverse, patchworked together with replications—copies of worlds he observed. But to someone who views themselves as 'above all others,' mere replicas are intolerable." His expression darkened. "So, he tried creating his own things. Synthetic beings made from memories. His 'special variants.' Synthetic souls. Constructs to replace existing beings in his worlds... and to test powers he might one day claim for himself. Tools to aid his ambitions."
He opened his hand, and a lavender flower bloomed from his palm, its petals glistening faintly in the dim light.
"Lavender—as some have come to call her—was given one such synthetic soul. A creation of his, whose boundaries and capabilities he could manipulate at will. Less 'limited,' more 'malleable.' Albeit... less reliable than the real thing." He glanced at the flower. "He encountered failure after failure, of course. After all, she's Subject 921 of the Perseverance line."
He smirked knowingly. "Not the 921st subject, mind you. I read his notes."
Clearing his throat, he continued, "The reason for his failures? They lacked love. No real connection. Memories and manipulations can only take you so far. Honest connection inspires passion, fuels action, and fills the void within, burning away the imperfections to make something... complete."
He gestured to the flower, which began to grow taller, spreading dust from its edges as it seemed to hum with latent power.
"Her soul—Perseverance—was and is different from Determination. His variant couldn't load or save manually. These functions were automatic, outside the user's control. In that respect, it was more limited than Determination."
The flower bloomed wider, its edges crackling with faint energy.
"But," he added, "this modified soul could absorb traits, powers, and magic from any monster, human, or creature it killed—or even those whose bodies or dust it came into contact with. More power was gained from personal kills, but scavengers can grow strong, too." He gave a small shrug. "That modification was merely to ensure her survival in a dangerous, Fell world. A place designed to stress the senses—fear, agony, pain, hate, loss. He believed those emotions would grant him what he wanted."
Asriel's voice hardened. "But that soul couldn't RESET. It could only RESTART."
The sky above cracked, a deep fissure spreading across the expanse as if something immense were pounding against it. The lavender flower writhed, energy coursing through it. It twisted violently, a distant scream seeming to echo from its center before it reformed—its petals uneven, its color altered.
"RESET restores the world as it was," he explained. "RESTART reshapes it. It shatters the pieces of a world and drags them back, forging something new based on the beliefs of the user. A shortcut to creating a brand-new reality."
He sighed, letting the flower fade into nothingness. "That man wanted to use this power to fulfill his dreams of absolution. To create billions of worlds, each with countless variations, stripping away layer after layer of the void until it all belonged to him."
His voice dropped, carrying a note of disdain, and amusement. "But it never worked right. So, he used her as his test subject—his beta tester. No risk to himself. Do you see?"
Asriel folded his hands in his lap, pausing to let the weight of his words settle.
"It's wildly arrogant, cruel, and foolish. Because his vessel found completion for her soul as he planned... though not as he intended. While hate, pain, and loss shaped its edges, it was filled with something more mundane—and beautiful." His tone softened. "Connection. Friendship. The stirrings of hope, of puppy love. Stupid little things like a longing for family, a desire to be cared for, to make the hurt stop. Comfort, compassion, peace."
He smiled faintly. "He traumatized her so deeply that all she could do was crave an end to it."
He laughed warmly, his amusement genuine. "I read his notes. Listened to his recordings. To his fury. His chosen vessel refused him. Refused to play his games, to finish his tests. The moment he asked her to kill her 'crush,' she wouldn't do it. So he tried to 'remake her.'"
His voice was thick with irony. "Each time he made a new copy, he stripped away more and more of their autonomy and care. And each time, they failed. She was his only success... and she would no longer cooperate. She wouldn't forget. No matter his threats or tortures, she refused to do anything but persevere."
Asriel chuckled darkly. "You see, he's a fool. A dangerous, hellish man. He didn't choose a soul Determined to see it all. He chose one that only wants to Persevere to the end."
The pounding against this world's barrier grew louder, a storm of noise reverberating through the space. The Observer glanced toward the sky briefly as cracks spread further across it.
"She wants what I want. What many of you want. Love, friendship, a home where she can exist in peace. It's beautifully boring, isn't it?" He smirked. "For someone holding such a dangerous power, to be so unwilling to use it."
He leaned forward slightly. "Imagine you're him. Your creation—your key to divine ascension—would rather live a quiet life than act upon the power you gave her."
He paused to let the thought settle.
"With that said, you can see why Gaster—your guide, and my former guardian—might view her with dread. If his maker ever got hold of her again, through some lingering manipulation or vulnerability, she could be catastrophic. An event that might purge this layer of the void and call down the next for a similar fate. And he would rather not risk it."
The space around him began to tear, tendrils and roots coiling beneath him as they burrowed into the garden's confines, preparing for something.
"It seems our time is drawing to an end," Asriel muttered. "He's here."
He stood, his tone calm as he added one last note. "If you want my view, I've considered 'rewarding' her tournament performances by letting her world off the hook. Letting her live her mundane little life with her wife and family. Eventually, she'll grow old and die, and the problem will solve itself."
He tilted his head, considering. "But if that can't be done—if the risk is too great—I could rip that power out of her being and graft what remains of her body onto your world. Or toss her damaged body back to her loved ones. True, she might become soulless, but it's better than nothing. Threat removed."
As if on cue, the walls of this reality fractured, jagged patterns spreading like fragmented glass. Darkness and light wove together through the cracks, glistening like fell, consuming starlight.
A suffocating weight descended, oppressive and inescapable, broken only by the faint hum of otherworldly energy as Gaster emerged from the shadows. His silhouette, jagged and fractured like a shattered mirror, shimmered briefly before the edges smoothed, drawing themselves back together.
Their eyes met. For a moment, neither moved—a single wordless exchange passing between them.
The Observer chirped softly, and Asriel motioned for it to go. It floated toward Gaster, halting just before him. Yet, Gaster's focus was elsewhere.
"What was the game this time, Asriel?" Gaster asked, his tone cool but edged. "Another attempt to derail things, to irritate me in a petty fashion?"
"A game? No, no." Asriel's voice was casual, yet tinged with hostility. "I just wanted a friendly chat. Maybe some tea. So... how are things, Gaster?" He smirked. "Lost anyone else I care about lately while you stood idly by?"
Gaster adjusted his coat, brushing off the remark. "Wonderful to see you haven't matured."
"Shockingly, losing someone you love leaves a mark," Asriel shot back. "Or, typically."
Gaster folded his hands behind his back. "You have something of mine, Asriel. And I want it back."
"Oh, of course. It's right there. Take it." Asriel gestured to the Observer with mock generosity.
"The other part," Gaster hissed.
"You mean the piece you lost while running away?" Asriel taunted.
From the fractured sky, phantom hands emerged, laced with power that distorted the air. Gaster's gaze was cold and unyielding.
"I couldn't quite see you before," Gaster said, his tone sharp. "A neat trick. But I've adapted. If you're looking for a fight, snuffing you out might actually be enjoyable."
"Two for two, am I right?" Asriel chuckled darkly, rising from his seat. "Relax, old man. I have no intention of keeping you from your precious machine. But as you can see, it's not here at the moment."
"Clearly." Gaster's tone was dry. "I've been informed that it's with a variant of Chara. A particular one, if my assumptions are correct."
"You presume a lot," Asriel replied. "But her fate isn't up to you. Nor is it-"
"I know it is." Gaster's voice was calm, yet absolute. "I felt her presence. How could it not be my choice?"
"Because it's up to them." Asriel gestured toward you. "They've gone through a lot to get this chance. Might as well let them decide."
For a moment, Gaster seemed almost amused. "And what exactly do you think they'll decide? That thing—she—is an abomination. A creature that ought not exist. You know they'll see reason and destroy it. Why delay?"
"Because this isn't your laboratory." Asriel's voice turned cold, and the ground shattered as vines erupted, twisting and warping the realm. "You have no say over anything in my domain. Here, you have no power unless I permit it. And I will only do so if it's what they truly, honestly want."
Gaster's contemplative expression deepened as he paced. The phantom hands receded into the cracks, leaving the space eerily still.
"River was a terrible influence on you," Gaster remarked with a shrug. "But very well. How shall we proceed? I assume you've devised some spectacle, a tournament or fight, perhaps?"
"I had considered it," Asriel admitted, a sly grin on his face. "But honestly? I'd rather not waste another second of my eternity in your company. I'll summon the courier, retrieve the object, and you can take it—and your world—and leave."
"Do so," Gaster replied curtly, though a subtle lie laced his words. "It's all I need, and came for."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Asriel wagged a finger mockingly. "Don't lie. You wanted a few denizens from my world, didn't you? Curious to lay claim to them?" Adding. "Sending out those 'proxies' before coming here, thinking I wouldn't destroy them?"
Gaster scanned Asriel with a sharp gaze. "What do you want for them?"
"I can think of two things." Asriel's grin widened. "The heart. Or perhaps… your demise."
"Neither will happen." Gaster's voice was firm, dismissive. "Unless, of course, you're desperate to take my place, as guide. But I doubt that."
"The heart is more mine than it ever was yours," Asriel said with a glint in his eyes. "But why don't we let them decide?"
"You're not bound by this," Gaster growled. "None of this is necessary. You could simply step aside."
Asriel chuckled darkly. "You're their Vessel, Gaster, even if you pretend you're not." He smirked. "I know it infuriates you to have no choice but to obey their will. And that's enough for me." Asking. "Unless you wish to fight to the death, instead?"
"You would not win a fight," Gaster warned, his voice low and dangerous. "It would destroy everything you've built."
"Perhaps," Asriel said, his tone gleeful. "But it would destroy everything you've built as well. Could you afford to start over? Could you survive it?"
Silence fell between them, heavy with animosity.
"Fine." Gaster materialized a cigarette, lighting it with a flick of his hand. "We'll let them decide since you insist."
"Marvelous." Asriel clapped his hands together mockingly. "Let's lay out the options, shall we?"
"The fate of that 'thing.'" Gaster pressed.
"And the nature of the 'trade.'" Asriel replied knowingly. "Perhaps the courier can stop and 'find' the pieces you want, before returning here, hmm?" Adding. "If, you accept."
Gaster didn't say anything. Merely motioned. Suddenly, information poured through your Observer—choices, possibilities, decisions waiting to be made.
Your vision drifting again...
Fate of Subject 921
Her Here
the Power
the Remains
Subject
Trade for Denizens
the Heart
Your Guide
Not Accept
When the movie had ended, and the Observer had been left to process it.
It wasn't sure how to feel about it. Oddly emotional, in a way it hadn't anticipated. Aliza, who had been seated nearby, patted it gently, wiping away a few happy tears at various parts.
"Don't you love happy endings?" she sniffled, smiling through her tears.
Chara mused. "Always a bigger fan of tragedies."
"You are not." Aliza remarked, adding. "I saw you tearing up."
Chara brushed her eye, and glanced away. "Did not."
The Observer found itself wondering: what did it feel like to cry? Was it warm? Was it cold? if it could cry, would it?
However, it wasn't long before the group had moved on to something new. Or, at least new to them, it however—was familiar with this. Though, their involvement piqued its curiosity. Chara had spread out a piece of paper, its surface cluttered with notes and jottings. She had found your list, your wants, what it was meant to claim for you.
She and Aliza leaned over it, deep in conversation.
"So, to confirm," Chara began, scanning the paper, "They choose the 'Snowfall' region—which is like our Waterfall, but snowy."
The Obs...Bob nodded, speaking in its usual measured tone. "This is correct."
Aliza skimmed the list beside Chara. "And these...uh, watcher-peoples, they want Papyrus to be Captain of the Guard?"
"Task completed," Bob interjected. Thinking of itself by this new name—Bob—felt oddly pleasant. "This was obtained. It seems."
"Well," Aliza mused with a smile, "I imagine whatever Papyrus you all recruited will be thrilled to have the role."
Chara smirked some. "I mean. Most of them, yeah." She then asked. "Can you imagine your dad as a royal guard?"
"I could imagine Dad as one. But not Papa, no." Aliza said, making distinctions.
"You knew what I meant, love." Chara replied.
"Sure. But it's fun to tease you." Aliza snickered, before glancing to the list. "Next is...The Enraged. Spooky sounding...it's 'Flowey' it says." She raised a brow. "Who normally has this role"
Chara leaned back thoughtfully. "From what I've gathered, it is normally occupied by Mad Mew Mew, but back when she was the Mad Dummy, ya know?"
"Uhm...back when she hung around the dump?" Aliza laughed a little. "I didn't realize that role was so important," She then added, "Speaking of my Auntie though, she's been asking if we'd like any of her old clothes."
"Not gonna lie, some of them are super cute," Chara remarked with a faint grin. "So, maybe..."
Bob tilted its head. "What constitutes 'cute'?"
"Oh, just the style or fashion of it, Maddy really likes that elegant fashionable stuff," Chara replied, then refocused. "But uh, back on topic. They want Flowey for the Enraged, right? But isn't Asriel also on this list somewhere, as someone separate?"
Aliza tapped the paper. "Right here. 'The Reserved.' Which I think is the role Jerry, from our world has. He's super shy."
"Hmm. That tracks," Chara muttered, flipping the paper to another page. "Normally that'd be Shyren's spot." Adding. "Though, okay. So...if Asriel and Flowey occupy different spots are they...not the same in this world?"
Bob confirmed, "This is accurate."
Chara raised a skeptical brow. "And they're sure about that?" She gestured broadly towards 'you', or where she imagined you might be. "Like...really positive about this?"
Aliza nudged her gently. "Be nice."
"I am nice!" Chara protested, then softened. "I'm just saying, it feels weird. No judgment." She marked the list with her pen. "Okay, so, Flowey's spot and Asriel's are both open. Got it."
She moved to another line on the paper. "The 'Isolated' is Jerry... which...isn't that Onion-San in most worlds?"
Aliza nodded. "Yeah, remember? Onion-San got stuck in Waterfall for a while."
"That happens in a lot of timelines," Chara noted. "But sure, Jerry fits. No argument there."
"Your mom is listed for transportation," Aliza pointed out. "I mean... 'a' Toriel, at least."
Chara sighed. "Yeah, I guess she is. Weird, but it works I guess." Smiling some. "She'll no doubt do a better job than Old Gerson."
"Be nice." Aliza gave her a little nudge, adding. "Speaking of, did you ever call her back?"
"Yeah," Chara muttered. "Got a string of puns from her and dad-er-Sans."
Aliza giggled, leaning closer. "You're so cute."
"Am not." Chara rolled her eye.
"You can call him Dad, you know," Aliza teased. "It really made him happy last time."
"I—I know. I do. I'm just...still working on it." Chara admitted, brushing her hair aside. "Let's uh, refocus okay?"
Aliza smirked but glanced back at the paper. "Okay, Chaotic Villagers… Suzy. Or Susie. Or Suzie?"
"You just repeated the same name," Chara said flatly.
"Yes, but I'm imagining it spelled differently in my mind," Aliza retorted with a wink.
"You're such a nerd," Chara grumbled before leaning over to kiss her. "Dweeb."
"Hmm. 'We should focus,' though," Aliza quipped, mimicking Chara's tone.
Chara chuckled. "Okay, fine. Susie works for Chaotic Villagers. Feels accurate enough."
"It really does," Aliza agreed, scanning further. "Oh! Knowledgeable Vendor—Seam?"
Chara nodded. "That also feels appropriate. And I know a few of them too."
"Are any of these filled yet?" Aliza asked. "Just to clarify?"
Bob responded plainly. "Negative."
Aliza tapped her chin thoughtfully. "So... if someone joins your world, they won't remember being beyond it, right?"
"Correct," Bob replied.
"Hmm. I know a few people who'd willingly agree to that," Aliza admitted with a sort of sorrow.
"Don't worry, Bob," Chara said reassuringly. "We can introduce you to some folks or give you a few options to start with. Whatever works."
"We can make a day of it," Aliza suggested brightly. "It's been a while since I've been to the Joined City."
"You... don't have to come," Chara mumbled, looking away.
"Do you not want me to?" Aliza asked softly.
Chara exhaled, speaking earnestly. "There's not a moment of my life, that isn't made better by you being there." She hesitated receiving a smile, then added, "But... not everyone's kind. And last time..."
"I can take care of myself, promise." Aliza nuzzled Chara's arm. "I took care of you all this time, didn't I?"
"It was mutual," Chara admitted with a small smile, leaning into her. "But... yeah."
"Good enough for me." Aliza glanced at the TV. "Oh, a new show's starting. Should we put this away for now? Save it for after the Festival?"
Bob tilted its head. "Is this a... Rom-Com?"
Chara smirked. "Nah. It's about a gardener who has to throw a piece of jewelry into a volcano."
"This premise is not intriguing," Bob remarked, monotone.
Aliza laughed. "And yet, it really, really is."
Bob scanned the screen briefly, then settled into its spot. It wasn't sure where Gaster was or what he was planning, but for now, this was... fine. Comfortable. Perhaps, in the interim, it could secure the things you had requested.
After the Festival, at least.