Frisk dreams of an Empty Kingdom, and the Angel with wings of rainbows and starlight.
Guardian of the Angel [Undertale Recursive AU]
![Guardian of the Angel [Undertale Recursive AU]](/data/threadmark-index-icons/l/57/57526.jpg?1634782467){kind=icon}
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 20
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 14
-
Statistics (13 threadmarks, 49k words)
User Total Lazor 13 Threadmarks Reader mode -
Loading…
Part 1 + (11) 9 Years Old
Guardian of the Angel
Part 1: The Angel Reawakened
Part 1: The Angel Reawakened
--
Frisk is 9, and they have lost everything.
They sit in the reception room of the EPD Station's reception room, waiting for the arrive of someone whose face they cannot remember. There is not much they can remember. They know what a police officer is, what an aunt is, how to say and write words, what their name is, and what the bandage on their leg is, but everything before this station is a blank.
The policeman accompanying Frisk says they were found in the forest surrounding Mount Ebott, not far from a car crash. They say that a man and a woman were in the driver and passenger seat when the car veered off the road and smashed into a tree. Mercifully, both died instantly from the impact instead of when the engine caught fire and burnt the car to a cinder.
It took them little time for Frisk make the connection. They were their mother and father. They were an orphan now.
Frisk themself is unharmed, but all memory of their previous life is forgotten. The doctor that looked at them said it had to do with psycho-something amnesia. The car crash must have been so traumatic in their mind, that they have suppressed their memories to cope with the event. They don't remember the car crash, they don't remember the events leading them to the station, or everything in their life before the station. For a few moments, they didn't even know if they were a boy or girl.
They don't remember who their parents were.
The doctor says that it will go away with time, and eventually they will regain all their memories. Frisk isn't even sure if they want to remember their parents. Were they loving people whose loss will forever hollow their hearts, or cruel monsters that permanently scarred their psyche? Is it better to never remember them, to make the loss less painful, or to remember them, to have a memory to cherish and honor them by?
As Frisk contemplates the what ifs and maybes of memory loss, they realize that during their contemplation, someone has left a slice of pie on the table in front of them. It's warm, with wafts of steam still rising from the dessert. Seeing no one else near the table, they pick up the fork on the paper plate and scoop a piece of the pie into their mouth.
Frisk savors the taste. It's a wonderful mix of cinnamon and butterscotch. Their mind is flooded with feelings of happiness and nostalgia, and they wonder if their mom or dad ever made something like this. The ask the nearby officer if they know who gave them the pie so that they may thank them, but they say that they did not see who dropped it off. He nonetheless offers to pass on his thanks when he finds the one responsible, to which Frisk affirms their appreciation.
Just then, a woman with long hair and the same skin color as Frisk's comes into the room. Frisks looks at them in confusion as the woman looks back in shock, sadness, and relief. Then, as if by magic, the memories come flooding back. This is their aunt, the person Frisk and their family were coming to visit. The same visit that ended in their deaths and the orphaning of her niece.
For a while, there are no words shared between Frisk and their aunt. Silently, their aunt approaches them before sitting down next to them. Frisk tries to think of words to say, questions to ask, demands to be met for the person that their family died trying to get to, but they find that they have nothing to say. Instead, they thrust themself into the chest of the last family member they remember having, and cries. Gently, their aunt wraps their arms around Frisk, and Frisk can hear them sob as well. The two cry into each other for several more minutes in this heart-wrenching reunion. Ultimately, no words needed to be spoken about the tragedy that befell their family.
Eventually, the two separate, and their aunt goes off with the police officer, making the final arrangements to take Frisk home, to their aunt and cousin.
Frisk has lost their family, and they are determined not to lose this one.
--
They sleep soundly on the ride home, their mind filled with dreams of an Empty Kingdom.
It is a place of wonder and mystery. A place that looked inhabited not long ago, yet now not a single soul could be found.
Not in the ruins of a bygone city, not in the homely towns of the wintery forest, not in the rainy swamps of the underground waterfalls, not in the hot realm of magma and machines, and not even in the city surrounding a castle.
Then, at the very end of their journey, they see him. The Angel, with wings made of rainbows and starlight.
It is a strange meeting. They do not remember the contents of what is spoken in that meeting, but there is a profound sense of relief, joy, and sadness mixed within. He holds their hands with care, and offers to dance with them, to relieve them of the burden of life's misery, of the loss of their memories of home. Frisk accepts.
It is the most wondrous fun they ever remember having. A spectacle full of stars and lights and fire and so much flying of dancers and objects. They tango on the very cliffs of a lake of magma. They do a ballet upon the rivers of the waterfall, acrobatics within the halls of castles, and they swing in the darkened rooms of hotels and television studios.
They dance for a very, very, very long time. But all things must come to an end, as Frisk remembers that they are not of the Empty Kingdom, and must have a home they must go to. The Angel asks that they stay, so that they may dance in happiness forever more, but as much as Frisk wishes to, they have a responsibility to return home.
The Angel is saddened, but accepts Frisk's fate, offering to bring them home. Back to their family, back the world beyond the Empty Kingdom. Frisk accepts.
And so they fly, fly above the Empty Kingdom on rainbows and starlight, above the canopies of the Earth and the clouds and the sky itself. Frisk looks down upon the world and sees a land of greenery and lights and clouds and so much more, and they wish so dearly to stay with the Angel so he could show them yet more wonders, but they must return home.
When they fall to the Earth at last, the Angel rests Frisk upon a bed of Golden Flowers with all the gentleness he can muster, before taking a seat in front of them. He says his last goodbyes, and strokes the top of their head in comfort and affection. Their eyes well with tears, and they thank him for his help, and for the wonderful time spent with him in the Empty Kingdom. They wish to say more, but their eyes start to dim from exhaustion. They feel they are about to fall asleep, but not before the Angel shows one last miracle.
In a swirl of flower petals, the Angel disappears, and in their place is a boy with fur a white as the Angel's and hands as soft as a puppy's paws. His appearance shocks Frisk, more than the act itself, but they do not know why. He reaches down to Frisk hands, and holds them gently but firmly in his own, as though they were about to fall out of them at any moment.
Frisk does not want him to let go.
"Remember what I said Frisk." The boy speaks, "Don't kill, and don't be killed. Don't…
"Don't be like me."
And then, before they can say anything, the world turns dark.
R e s e t
This is a first draft of an Undertale story that I plan to post on AO3 upon completion. I am looking explicitly for constructive criticism for this work as I complete it, so go ahead and praise and/or bash away at my prose to your heart's content so long as you can explain why.
Thankfully, unlike my other escapades into creative writing on this forum, I have a strong sense of what I want for a beginning, and end, and everything in between, and have already started writing on most of the chapters, so hopefully this work will be counted among those that are completed some day.
The drawing is by me, and is connected to another fanfiction which relates to the story before you.
Thankfully, unlike my other escapades into creative writing on this forum, I have a strong sense of what I want for a beginning, and end, and everything in between, and have already started writing on most of the chapters, so hopefully this work will be counted among those that are completed some day.
The drawing is by me, and is connected to another fanfiction which relates to the story before you.
Last edited:
(10) 10 Years Old
Frisk is 10, and things are going off to a rough start.
They've moved into Ebott with Aunt Ligaya and Cousin Andres, and for the moment it feels as though they have never lost their family. Auntie Ligaya treats them like their own child, and Andres is the big brother Frisk never knew they wanted to have.
It's sad, losing yet another part of the world they've forgotten, but perhaps it is for the best they did not return to their hometown. Whatever memories, connections, and friends they've made back home, it's all gone, burnt up with the car one year ago. Ebott is as good a place as any to start a new life.
The problem is how everyone views Frisk's…choices in expressing themselves.
Frisk had dropped notions of being a girl not long after the car crash. Their amnesia appeared to have wiped any sort of attachment to that kind of identity. They start thinking of themselves in terms of "they" and "them", they wear their hair and their clothing in an androgynous fashion, and everyone thinks they are queer or an attention seeker because of it.
It is not helped by the fact that Frisk is a shameless flirt that is both unbecoming and disturbing for a child of 10, and this alone had gotten them in trouble with teachers, faculty, and parents more times than they can count.
Frisk is starting to find that they didn't care, and in some ways, they find it liberating and exhilarating.
It lets them play with dolls one moment and try playing in the mud with the boys without any discomfort or shame in switching between them. It lets them play with people's emotions when they can't tell what sex they are. It lets them be as masculine and feminine as they want to be, whenever they want to be, without being confined to those roles. It even gives them the perfect excuse to flirt on both sides of the aisle and confuse kids on whether being seduced by Frisk makes themselves gay or straight. They even tried using the boy's restroom as an experiment, but was chased out by the jeers of the boys (and quite honestly, even Frisk found it too awkward as a kid).
But Frisk, for all their unique behavior, is not the biggest talk of the town or even the school that year.
No, that right is reserved to Ebott's newest urban legend: the Monster in the Mountain.
There are many urban legends about monsters in and around Mount Ebott, such as the White Beast of Ebott that came and killed a child not a few decades ago, the Kingdom of Monsters and the battles that destroyed it, the existence of magic among monsters and humans so long ago, and the ever-present warning that those who climb the mountain never return. The Monster, however, is new and different. No one has seen it, but they have seen its lair, heard its voice, and it has a large body count.
One year ago, there was an explosion at Mount Ebott. When explorers went to investigate, they found a gateway to an underground civilization never before seen by the world.
Then, as the explorers went beyond the entrance of the mountain, they vanished.
Many more exploration teams tried to follow in their footsteps. Many rescue teams came to try and find them and discover their fate. Even remote drones were used to explore from the safety of the surface.
Nothing came back. Nothing except for a walkie-talkie thrown from the abyss.
"To the moronic, brainless, humans who have been stalking around the mountain," The voice on the radio said, "you have NO IDEA who you are dealing with. Stay away if you plan on keeping your souls, or you will never know Heaven nor Hell once I have you."
The video recording of the transmission propelled Ebott onto the national stage of myths and urban legends.
Frisk tries hard not to think too much about the Monster in the Mountain. The other children made up a game of the same name to roleplay as the explorers, the rescuers, and the Monster that took them all. Frisk is always selected to be the first hapless explorer to get their soul taken. Frisk doesn't think it is fair, doesn't think that the Monster in the Mountain would go after them the way the children do. It feels cruel the way that even urban legends are weaponized against them.
If there is one upside to the first year spent in Ebott, it is that they got a new dog. Andres found him left on the doorstep of their house one day, and managed—with the help of Frisk's big, sparkling eyes—to beg and plead with Auntie Ligaya to keep him as a pet. She agreed, so long as they made the effort to take care of him. Frisk is determined to not disappoint her and their new dog, Toby.
It is a rough start, but with their newfound family and a new companion in Toby, Frisk hopes that things will get better from here.
--
Frisk sleeps in frustration, and dreams of an Empty Kingdom.
They could not use the gate, as it had been reduced to rubble and glass by a gigantic explosion meant to kill the Angel. The attack failed, and another city was vaporized in an instant. Then another, and another, and another. First in retaliation for each attack, then the Angel decided to just destroy everything. Just like it did to Ebott. Just like it did to their family.
The trek from the hole on the other side of the mountain was one of agony. They hurt something badly when they fell into the hole in the mountain. Then their feet turned black in the cold of the forests. Then they cut themself deeply with their own knife when a bridge collapsed at the waterfalls. Then their hands were burnt when they tripped and placed their hands to close to the edge of the magma chamber. Worse than all those injuries and ailments, however, is the sickness that came with them from the surface.
Something was in those bombs. It turned the water black and nasty, and it did something to the air to give them ugly bumps and marks and made their skin burn and feel and look as though they were about to melt off at any moment. They already felt like they were dying when they started this journey, and are almost certain they will die this day just from the poison that courses through their system.
But they are determined to avenge their aunt and cousin. They are determined to kill the Angel.
When they investigate the mirror in the house near the end of their journey, they can barely recognize themself in the reflection. Torn up, burnt, frostbitten, and irradiated, their face and body are a hideous mess. They wonder if anyone that knew them could even recognize them. They cry when the realize anyone that could is already dead by now. So, they continue on, their tears and anguished memories driving their determination to give back all the pain that was inflicted upon them.
When they reach the hallway, the pause, expecting…something to happen in this place. The evening sun shone through in this location of the Empty Kingdom, and Frisk could tell that their journey is almost complete. They wait, imagining a judge standing across from them, deciding if they are worthy to enter the throne room.
But nobody came. Frisk pushes onward.
They open the door at the other end of the hallway, and it is there that they finally see him. The Angel of Death, seated upon a throne of brambles and spacetime, surrounded by a field of golden flowers.
"Oh? Another human crawls from the ashes to challenge me?" he asks unsurprised, levitating up from his throne to hover a couple feet off the ground, "I thought I killed every last one of your kind on this continent weeks ago. I must be getting sloppy."
Frisk does not answer, and immediately lunches forward with the knife, and is stopped dead in their tracks by the Angel's left paw.
"A kitchen knife! How cute." He drawls, lifting Frisk into the air by their arm. Frisk wriggles their arm and kicks out with their feet to no avail. The Angel's grip is like steel. He reaches up with his other hand, palm facing the blade, and squeezes. The knife shatters into a hundred pieces with a loud crash.
The Angel flicks metal shards off his unblemished paw. "As if knives mean anything to me when nuclear bombs can't give me a sunburn."
He gazes upon your battered body with eyes that do not belong on an Angel, the Devil's eyes with pupils slit like a snake's and irises as red as blood.
"Hmm," The Angel of Death contemplates, "you know, in all the killing I've done, I don't think I ever bothered to take any of your souls. Not one in the hundreds of millions I've already killed. How foolish of me. How about I start with yours, then we can go out and take the other seven billion that remain?"
He reaches out with his free hand again, this time making a tugging motion in the air. They hear clicking and whooshing noises as something red flies out of their chest. In the Angel's hand, a heart-shaped object can be seen, a brilliant red light shines from it and illuminates the throne room.
The Angel's face scrunches in confusion, looking as though he found something he did not expect. He directs his eyes at you, then back at the heart-shaped thing, and then back at you. "Human. What is your name?" He asks.
They spit into their face and tell him, hoping that they remember the last human to defy them so close to home. He wipes the spittle from their face, but before he can kill you, his anger morphs into something…astonished.
"Frisk?" he repeats. "Frisk…" He tests the name in his mouth, as though it is a word familiar to him. He brings them closer, and uses two of his claws to pry open their swollen eyelids to look at them directly.
Red Devil's eyes look directly into yellow sparkling ones. The Angel's eyes widen.
"Frisk." He gasps, dropping Frisk onto the ground in shock. "Frisk!" He grasps his head in his claws, shaking it as his expression transforming into complete, abject horror. He then reaches out grabs Frisk around the waist and pulls them into an embrace "FRISK! Oh my God Frisk, what have I done!?"
Frisk is unable to do anything as the Angel wails in agony, their scream of sorrow meshed with the cries of thousands upon thousands of others. Perhaps they are the voices of the damned, those whose lives were cut short by the Angel himself? Or is it something else, a product of the nature of the Angel? Frisk did not know, and could not act upon the Angel's moment of weakness. Their body finally gave out, their accumulated injuries catching up to them while the Angel holds them in place with an iron grip.
"I killed so many people Frisk!" He cries out, uncontrolled sobbing coming out of his muzzle. You can feel the wetness of tears on your cheeks as they drop down upon you. "I killed so many!"
The Angel, who scoured the world on wings of rainbows and starlight, is still hugging them even as he stops floating in the air. He kneels as he rocks Frisk left and right, holding them as though they were a precious child. He holds them out to look at them in the eyes again. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have gone out like that. I shouldn't have wasted this gift like this. You shouldn't have come here. You shouldn't have gone and-" he sniffles, interrupting whatever it is he had to say. Something changes in his mood, and Frisk can see a determined look even as tears continue to pour from his eyes.
"I promise it didn't go to waste," he mutters to you, "I promise I won't be like him ever again. I promise. I promise…"
Something is happening. It feels as though the world is distorting, and they can see the throne room bend and sizzle like a bad signal on a television. It terrifies them.
The Angel sees your terror, and gently cups your head in his paws.
They're so warm and soft.
"I promise everything will be alright."
The world goes dark.
R e s e t
They've moved into Ebott with Aunt Ligaya and Cousin Andres, and for the moment it feels as though they have never lost their family. Auntie Ligaya treats them like their own child, and Andres is the big brother Frisk never knew they wanted to have.
It's sad, losing yet another part of the world they've forgotten, but perhaps it is for the best they did not return to their hometown. Whatever memories, connections, and friends they've made back home, it's all gone, burnt up with the car one year ago. Ebott is as good a place as any to start a new life.
The problem is how everyone views Frisk's…choices in expressing themselves.
Frisk had dropped notions of being a girl not long after the car crash. Their amnesia appeared to have wiped any sort of attachment to that kind of identity. They start thinking of themselves in terms of "they" and "them", they wear their hair and their clothing in an androgynous fashion, and everyone thinks they are queer or an attention seeker because of it.
It is not helped by the fact that Frisk is a shameless flirt that is both unbecoming and disturbing for a child of 10, and this alone had gotten them in trouble with teachers, faculty, and parents more times than they can count.
Frisk is starting to find that they didn't care, and in some ways, they find it liberating and exhilarating.
It lets them play with dolls one moment and try playing in the mud with the boys without any discomfort or shame in switching between them. It lets them play with people's emotions when they can't tell what sex they are. It lets them be as masculine and feminine as they want to be, whenever they want to be, without being confined to those roles. It even gives them the perfect excuse to flirt on both sides of the aisle and confuse kids on whether being seduced by Frisk makes themselves gay or straight. They even tried using the boy's restroom as an experiment, but was chased out by the jeers of the boys (and quite honestly, even Frisk found it too awkward as a kid).
But Frisk, for all their unique behavior, is not the biggest talk of the town or even the school that year.
No, that right is reserved to Ebott's newest urban legend: the Monster in the Mountain.
There are many urban legends about monsters in and around Mount Ebott, such as the White Beast of Ebott that came and killed a child not a few decades ago, the Kingdom of Monsters and the battles that destroyed it, the existence of magic among monsters and humans so long ago, and the ever-present warning that those who climb the mountain never return. The Monster, however, is new and different. No one has seen it, but they have seen its lair, heard its voice, and it has a large body count.
One year ago, there was an explosion at Mount Ebott. When explorers went to investigate, they found a gateway to an underground civilization never before seen by the world.
Then, as the explorers went beyond the entrance of the mountain, they vanished.
Many more exploration teams tried to follow in their footsteps. Many rescue teams came to try and find them and discover their fate. Even remote drones were used to explore from the safety of the surface.
Nothing came back. Nothing except for a walkie-talkie thrown from the abyss.
"To the moronic, brainless, humans who have been stalking around the mountain," The voice on the radio said, "you have NO IDEA who you are dealing with. Stay away if you plan on keeping your souls, or you will never know Heaven nor Hell once I have you."
The video recording of the transmission propelled Ebott onto the national stage of myths and urban legends.
Frisk tries hard not to think too much about the Monster in the Mountain. The other children made up a game of the same name to roleplay as the explorers, the rescuers, and the Monster that took them all. Frisk is always selected to be the first hapless explorer to get their soul taken. Frisk doesn't think it is fair, doesn't think that the Monster in the Mountain would go after them the way the children do. It feels cruel the way that even urban legends are weaponized against them.
If there is one upside to the first year spent in Ebott, it is that they got a new dog. Andres found him left on the doorstep of their house one day, and managed—with the help of Frisk's big, sparkling eyes—to beg and plead with Auntie Ligaya to keep him as a pet. She agreed, so long as they made the effort to take care of him. Frisk is determined to not disappoint her and their new dog, Toby.
It is a rough start, but with their newfound family and a new companion in Toby, Frisk hopes that things will get better from here.
--
Frisk sleeps in frustration, and dreams of an Empty Kingdom.
They could not use the gate, as it had been reduced to rubble and glass by a gigantic explosion meant to kill the Angel. The attack failed, and another city was vaporized in an instant. Then another, and another, and another. First in retaliation for each attack, then the Angel decided to just destroy everything. Just like it did to Ebott. Just like it did to their family.
The trek from the hole on the other side of the mountain was one of agony. They hurt something badly when they fell into the hole in the mountain. Then their feet turned black in the cold of the forests. Then they cut themself deeply with their own knife when a bridge collapsed at the waterfalls. Then their hands were burnt when they tripped and placed their hands to close to the edge of the magma chamber. Worse than all those injuries and ailments, however, is the sickness that came with them from the surface.
Something was in those bombs. It turned the water black and nasty, and it did something to the air to give them ugly bumps and marks and made their skin burn and feel and look as though they were about to melt off at any moment. They already felt like they were dying when they started this journey, and are almost certain they will die this day just from the poison that courses through their system.
But they are determined to avenge their aunt and cousin. They are determined to kill the Angel.
When they investigate the mirror in the house near the end of their journey, they can barely recognize themself in the reflection. Torn up, burnt, frostbitten, and irradiated, their face and body are a hideous mess. They wonder if anyone that knew them could even recognize them. They cry when the realize anyone that could is already dead by now. So, they continue on, their tears and anguished memories driving their determination to give back all the pain that was inflicted upon them.
When they reach the hallway, the pause, expecting…something to happen in this place. The evening sun shone through in this location of the Empty Kingdom, and Frisk could tell that their journey is almost complete. They wait, imagining a judge standing across from them, deciding if they are worthy to enter the throne room.
But nobody came. Frisk pushes onward.
They open the door at the other end of the hallway, and it is there that they finally see him. The Angel of Death, seated upon a throne of brambles and spacetime, surrounded by a field of golden flowers.
"Oh? Another human crawls from the ashes to challenge me?" he asks unsurprised, levitating up from his throne to hover a couple feet off the ground, "I thought I killed every last one of your kind on this continent weeks ago. I must be getting sloppy."
Frisk does not answer, and immediately lunches forward with the knife, and is stopped dead in their tracks by the Angel's left paw.
"A kitchen knife! How cute." He drawls, lifting Frisk into the air by their arm. Frisk wriggles their arm and kicks out with their feet to no avail. The Angel's grip is like steel. He reaches up with his other hand, palm facing the blade, and squeezes. The knife shatters into a hundred pieces with a loud crash.
The Angel flicks metal shards off his unblemished paw. "As if knives mean anything to me when nuclear bombs can't give me a sunburn."
He gazes upon your battered body with eyes that do not belong on an Angel, the Devil's eyes with pupils slit like a snake's and irises as red as blood.
"Hmm," The Angel of Death contemplates, "you know, in all the killing I've done, I don't think I ever bothered to take any of your souls. Not one in the hundreds of millions I've already killed. How foolish of me. How about I start with yours, then we can go out and take the other seven billion that remain?"
He reaches out with his free hand again, this time making a tugging motion in the air. They hear clicking and whooshing noises as something red flies out of their chest. In the Angel's hand, a heart-shaped object can be seen, a brilliant red light shines from it and illuminates the throne room.
The Angel's face scrunches in confusion, looking as though he found something he did not expect. He directs his eyes at you, then back at the heart-shaped thing, and then back at you. "Human. What is your name?" He asks.
They spit into their face and tell him, hoping that they remember the last human to defy them so close to home. He wipes the spittle from their face, but before he can kill you, his anger morphs into something…astonished.
"Frisk?" he repeats. "Frisk…" He tests the name in his mouth, as though it is a word familiar to him. He brings them closer, and uses two of his claws to pry open their swollen eyelids to look at them directly.
Red Devil's eyes look directly into yellow sparkling ones. The Angel's eyes widen.
"Frisk." He gasps, dropping Frisk onto the ground in shock. "Frisk!" He grasps his head in his claws, shaking it as his expression transforming into complete, abject horror. He then reaches out grabs Frisk around the waist and pulls them into an embrace "FRISK! Oh my God Frisk, what have I done!?"
Frisk is unable to do anything as the Angel wails in agony, their scream of sorrow meshed with the cries of thousands upon thousands of others. Perhaps they are the voices of the damned, those whose lives were cut short by the Angel himself? Or is it something else, a product of the nature of the Angel? Frisk did not know, and could not act upon the Angel's moment of weakness. Their body finally gave out, their accumulated injuries catching up to them while the Angel holds them in place with an iron grip.
"I killed so many people Frisk!" He cries out, uncontrolled sobbing coming out of his muzzle. You can feel the wetness of tears on your cheeks as they drop down upon you. "I killed so many!"
The Angel, who scoured the world on wings of rainbows and starlight, is still hugging them even as he stops floating in the air. He kneels as he rocks Frisk left and right, holding them as though they were a precious child. He holds them out to look at them in the eyes again. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have gone out like that. I shouldn't have wasted this gift like this. You shouldn't have come here. You shouldn't have gone and-" he sniffles, interrupting whatever it is he had to say. Something changes in his mood, and Frisk can see a determined look even as tears continue to pour from his eyes.
"I promise it didn't go to waste," he mutters to you, "I promise I won't be like him ever again. I promise. I promise…"
Something is happening. It feels as though the world is distorting, and they can see the throne room bend and sizzle like a bad signal on a television. It terrifies them.
The Angel sees your terror, and gently cups your head in his paws.
They're so warm and soft.
"I promise everything will be alright."
The world goes dark.
R e s e t
Last edited:
(9) 11 Years Old
Frisk is 11, and things are starting to get better.
Life in Ebott has evolved into a sort of rhythm. They get up, eat breakfast, feed and play with Toby in the morning, then go to school. During break, they spend their time looking around for kids that are in trouble or are having issues, and helps them the best they can. Once home, they do their homework, help Auntie Ligaya tends to the gardens, then head off with Toby and Andres to play in and around Ebott.
Now that they've become a familiar face in Ebott, their peers and seniors soon discover that, beneath all the controversy over pronouns and the childish acts of seduction, there is a wonderful person within Frisk.
They're attentive, kind, and exceptionally intelligent for a child their age. They're someone who spends their breaks attending to students who are complete strangers simply because they saw them in need of help. They're someone that learns sign language just so that they can communicate with the deaf schoolmate in their class. And for all that it is indecent in normal society, they're someone who uses flirting to liven up people's lives, or make a good laugh at Frisk's expense.
After one year, there is little that even Frisk's most ardent critics can find wrong with Frisk as a person. For now, however, Frisk is focusing on different matters.
Crayon in hand, they carefully fill in the yellow of the petals on the many Golden Flowers their drawing, making sure that none of it fall out of the outline or leave spots of uncolored paper to the best of their ability. It's small fry compared to some of the more ambitious drawings they have in mind, but practice, even small practice like this, makes perfect.
Drawing is one of Frisk's favorite activities. When they weren't learning to garden or cook with Auntie Ligaya, or playing together with Toby and Andres, or giving a helping hand to the countless strangers and schoolmates in need, they liked to spend their breaks and their off-days sitting alone, collecting their thoughts to form a picture they can then bring to life onto paper.
Auntie Ligaya did not trust them to not make a mess of paint in the house, and paint isn't very portable, so they must settle for crayons, pencils, and markers for now, much to Frisk's disappointment. It is unfortunate that their elementary school did not have an art class (supposedly something to do with money), which is sorely disappointing. Oh well, hopefully their middle school will have one.
At last, Frisk fills in the rest of the Golden Flowers in the image, and holds it out for inspection.
It is a crude picture of Frisk in their favorite blue and purple-striped sweater, standing next to a band of cartoon goats that tower over them. All the characters in the drawing are wearing smiles, and are standing together in a field of Golden Flowers, holding each other's hands.
Frisk is pretty sure that goats have hooves, not paws nor manes like the ones in their drawing. Then again, they're meant to look more like the mascot of the Ebott Goats, which do have those features. Frisk gives a quiet chuckle at how inaccurate both they and the sports team got goat anatomy wrong, but really, giving them paws makes them 100% cuter in Frisk's book.
Frisk's bemused thoughts start to quiet as their eyes move from the goat with a mane and golden knight armor, to the goat that wears a robe and a pair of glasses, before finally resting their gaze on the smallest goat in the picture, the one Frisk's hand is interlocked with. It's a tiny kid, with floppy ears, a cowlick, no horns, and a pencil-face smile that can brighten anyone's day. It wears a sweater much like Frisk did, except it was green and yellow instead of blue and purple. It's cute in Frisk's opinion, almost like a goat-Frisk…
The notice some wet splotches on the paper and goes to dry it out with their sweater. Then a few more splotches start to appear on the drawing, and then their nose starts to feel runny, and their vision is getting blurry. That is when they realize that they're crying, and they wonder why it is their crying until they realize what they are looking at: it's a mother, a father, and a child; a family, just like the one they lost.
Frisk still can't remember what their parents were like, no matter how much they try to think about them in their head. They saw picture albums of themself and their parents from when they were a baby all the way to the year of that fateful accident. They found videos, toys, gifts, drawings, and diaries that pointed to a child that was raised well, lived prosperously, and had a great appreciation for the things they received. They listened to stories of Auntie Ligaya's life spent with their mother, her sister, and all the wonderful visits from Frisk and their parents and just how cute it was the way Frisk tried to seduce Andres with the same ridiculous flirtations that their father used to win their mother over. All of it painted a very clear picture: Frisk loved their parents, and their parents loved them.
Now they will never be able to experience that love again, and with each year, it's becoming more and more likely that they will never remember that love.
Their mood utterly ruined, Frisk decides then and there that they've done enough drawing for the day. They stow the picture and their crayons in their backpack, and head off home, briefly running their fingers through their hair to make sure the hairclip with the heart charm is still there.
They don't know when they got the clip, only that it was on their person when they came to the police department. They can only assume it was a part of their life before Ebott, likely a gift from their mother and father. Whoever gave it or wherever it came from, Frisk right now is just happy that it's still attached to their hair.
They've already lost enough of their past life. They don't want to lose any more.
--
Frisk sleeps sadly that night, dreaming of an Empty Kingdom and an Angel with wings made of rainbows and starlight.
When Frisk is especially lonely, they wander around the forests of Ebott and await the arrival of the Angel. It didn't matter which part of the forest they disappear into or what time of day they do so, the Angel always finds them, appearing one way or another with a dramatic flair of his magical talent. Frisk's favorite has to be the ones where he descends on his beautiful wings, whose prismatic colors sparkle with the light of distant stars. He doesn't use them often, fearing the attention of others, but that makes the times he does use them all the more special.
Frisk has never actually been to the Empty Kingdom, but the Angel has many magical talents, and is able to conjure images of the place while he told stories about it. A land of wonderful creatures that filled their hearts with love and hope in spite of everything that went wrong with their lives. A land with exotic ruins filled with puzzles and overgrowth, places that snowed and rained every day, and hallways that shone like gold in the sunset.
He entertains Frisk with stories about monsters that once lived in the empty Kingdom, of great battles fought between monsters and humans. When he says all he has to say about monsters, he then talks about the wonders of the universe. The stars, the planet's beauty, and even the mighty creations of man are subjects he likes to cover, though the latter of which he often tail-ends with barbs at Frisk's species. Today, he appears to be in a particularly venomous mood when it comes to them.
"Humans are such cruel beings even in peace, Frisk. In the city of New Orleans, they built a monument to the Battle of Liberty Palace, celebrating the scum that tried to overthrow the government elected by their former slaves. I'm sure there's plenty of humans around that still share that sentiment."
Frisk thinks it is rather unfair to generalize such a specific incident to all humans, noting the war that was fought not long beforehand that freed those slaves, but they acknowledge that those kinds of events occur far too many times in human society. They wonder if the Angel counts them among those cruel beings.
His stare hardens at Frisk's question. Not in malice, but in one of…contemplation and concern. "Of course not Frisk," he answers, "You're special compared to those humans."
Really? How?
"How, they ask?" He chuckles to himself, "Don't be an idiot, Frisk. Your compassion is unlike anything I've come across in all the humans I've met. You forgive, and forgive, and forgive, and forgive, long after you should have stopped. If you were any other human being, that kind of forgiveness would have gotten you eaten alive, but you…you're different."
The Angel he reaches out and holds Frisk's hands in theirs, "You find even the smallest seed of goodness in people and can find a way to make it bloom and overtake all the malice and despair in that fills their hearts. You can make the worst person in the world become a good person through sheer, bullheaded determination. You're no ordinary human. You're an angel, in character and deed."
Frisk does not know what to say at such stellar lauding of their character. Hearing those worlds up close from the mouth of one of the most beautiful creatures they've ever met sends butterflies through their stomach, and they have no idea how they are should handle it. Having nothing to say, they try and change the subject.
Remembering a detail that came about when making one of their drawings, Frisks asks them if his horns are different, mentioning how they once had a simple curve instead of the S-shape they recall from their drawing.
"Oh, that?" he replies, tapping his horns "I can change my shape and appearance into whatever it is I like." He blinks, and suddenly the white slits in his eyes turn black, surrounded by a red corona of glowing red light. "This body is practically clothing to me."
Clothing? Is this even what he really looks like?
The Angel thinks for a moment before answering, "Kind of…" he says, "This is what I imagine myself looking like if I were ten years older."
Ooooooooooh! Can he give himself big-huge muscles? Can he eat tons of food and make himself stay skinny? Can he turn into a building-sized giant or an ant-sized dwarf? Can he turn into a girl? Can he turn human? Is that why the Angel looks the mascot of the Ebott Goats? Can he look like other animals too?
Wait…ten years older? He looks and sounds like a big teenager! How old is the Angel!?
The Angel winces "I said too much." L O A D
The Angel clicks his tongue, "Kind of…" he says, scratching a spot in the back of his head, "This is what I imagine myself looking like if I were a young adult."
Ooooooooooh! Can he give himself big-huge muscles? Can he eat tons of food and make himself stay skinny? Can he turn into a building-sized giant or an ant-sized dwarf? Can he turn into a girl? Can he turn human? Is that why the Angel looks like the mascot of the Ebott Goats? Can he look like other animals too? How old is he really?
Instead of answering their questions he just chuckles and rubs their head in amusement, "It's not polite to ask someone how old they are Frisk. Just know that I can change my appearance however I like. Don't worry, I'll make sure you will recognize me no matter what form I take."
They talk a little bit more, and the subject turns to Frisk's art projects. Frisk likes sharing their drawings with the Angel in particular. His compliments always send butterflies through their stomach. He looks though them, giving some pointed critique filled with light barbs at Frisk's intelligence along with praise and actual, constructive statements that Frisk takes to heart.
Then he comes to the last one, and the Angel stares at it for a long time.
It's a drawing Frisk made of him using one of the outfits he showed off. Apparently, he was inspired by the "Angel of Death" moniker he gave himself and decided to dress like the Grim Reaper. Frisk thought it was a cool idea and made a drawing of him collecting the souls of the dead.
"But why is my face a flower?" the Angel's face puckers when asking the question, as though the idea of a flower for a face mortally offended him.
Frisk thought it made good symbolism for life being reborn after death and all of that. Plus, the Angel said he likes Golden Flowers. As for why it's on their face…Frisk can't think of a good reason.
"I see," he says. The Angel then looks up at the sky, noting the orange light that has seeped its way into the horizon. "Hey. It's starting to get dark. You should head back home now." He moves to levitate from his sitting position, and starts hovering away.
"Wait."
Asriel pauses at the voice. He turns to look back at Frisk. "What is it?"
Frisk grabs ahold of the Angel's right hand. It's long and massive, with their small hands barely able to hold onto just one of his fingers. "Come with me," Frisk begs the Angel, "Please."
The Angel sighs, "Frisk," he says, "you know I can't come with you. The humans will react terribly to me. They'll try to hurt me, and when that fails…they'll try to hurt me through you instead."
"I don't care," Frisk says, "My Aunt is becoming worried about all the times I disappear into the forest. I don't think we can keep this up any longer. Please…let me introduce you to them. I'm sure everything will be fine."
The Angel gently tugs at his arm, but Frisk holds on firmly. They do not want to let go.
The Angel growls. "Don't be an idiot," he scolds, "Humans fear and destroy things they don't understand. They're not like you. You let the world know I exist, and they will tear you apart."
"Then it's a good thing I have a grumpy guardian angel at my side."
"This is getting ridiculous. Go home and don't ask that stupid question again!"'
Frisk refuses to let go.
L O A-
Frisk refuses to let go.
The Angel stares at them for a long time, his face unreadable. Frisk worries that they might have pushed the Angel too far. Then, at long last, he slouches in resignation.
"Alright," the Angel sighs, "I'll come."
Frisk's smile grows from ear to ear. This day is slowly turning out to be the best day ever.
And so, Frisks leaves the forest with a skip in their feet, the Angel dragging through the air as Frisk pulls them along like a giant, grumpy balloon.
Imagining the Angel to actually be a giant, grumpy balloon fills Frisk with laughter, and though they don't show it, they can tell that their joy is shared by the Angel as well.
---
A/N: Credit for the drawing goes to Twix015 on DeviantArt. It's not mine, nor is it created for this fanfiction, but the fanfiction it is related to is important.
Life in Ebott has evolved into a sort of rhythm. They get up, eat breakfast, feed and play with Toby in the morning, then go to school. During break, they spend their time looking around for kids that are in trouble or are having issues, and helps them the best they can. Once home, they do their homework, help Auntie Ligaya tends to the gardens, then head off with Toby and Andres to play in and around Ebott.
Now that they've become a familiar face in Ebott, their peers and seniors soon discover that, beneath all the controversy over pronouns and the childish acts of seduction, there is a wonderful person within Frisk.
They're attentive, kind, and exceptionally intelligent for a child their age. They're someone who spends their breaks attending to students who are complete strangers simply because they saw them in need of help. They're someone that learns sign language just so that they can communicate with the deaf schoolmate in their class. And for all that it is indecent in normal society, they're someone who uses flirting to liven up people's lives, or make a good laugh at Frisk's expense.
After one year, there is little that even Frisk's most ardent critics can find wrong with Frisk as a person. For now, however, Frisk is focusing on different matters.
Crayon in hand, they carefully fill in the yellow of the petals on the many Golden Flowers their drawing, making sure that none of it fall out of the outline or leave spots of uncolored paper to the best of their ability. It's small fry compared to some of the more ambitious drawings they have in mind, but practice, even small practice like this, makes perfect.
Drawing is one of Frisk's favorite activities. When they weren't learning to garden or cook with Auntie Ligaya, or playing together with Toby and Andres, or giving a helping hand to the countless strangers and schoolmates in need, they liked to spend their breaks and their off-days sitting alone, collecting their thoughts to form a picture they can then bring to life onto paper.
Auntie Ligaya did not trust them to not make a mess of paint in the house, and paint isn't very portable, so they must settle for crayons, pencils, and markers for now, much to Frisk's disappointment. It is unfortunate that their elementary school did not have an art class (supposedly something to do with money), which is sorely disappointing. Oh well, hopefully their middle school will have one.
At last, Frisk fills in the rest of the Golden Flowers in the image, and holds it out for inspection.
It is a crude picture of Frisk in their favorite blue and purple-striped sweater, standing next to a band of cartoon goats that tower over them. All the characters in the drawing are wearing smiles, and are standing together in a field of Golden Flowers, holding each other's hands.
Frisk is pretty sure that goats have hooves, not paws nor manes like the ones in their drawing. Then again, they're meant to look more like the mascot of the Ebott Goats, which do have those features. Frisk gives a quiet chuckle at how inaccurate both they and the sports team got goat anatomy wrong, but really, giving them paws makes them 100% cuter in Frisk's book.
Frisk's bemused thoughts start to quiet as their eyes move from the goat with a mane and golden knight armor, to the goat that wears a robe and a pair of glasses, before finally resting their gaze on the smallest goat in the picture, the one Frisk's hand is interlocked with. It's a tiny kid, with floppy ears, a cowlick, no horns, and a pencil-face smile that can brighten anyone's day. It wears a sweater much like Frisk did, except it was green and yellow instead of blue and purple. It's cute in Frisk's opinion, almost like a goat-Frisk…
The notice some wet splotches on the paper and goes to dry it out with their sweater. Then a few more splotches start to appear on the drawing, and then their nose starts to feel runny, and their vision is getting blurry. That is when they realize that they're crying, and they wonder why it is their crying until they realize what they are looking at: it's a mother, a father, and a child; a family, just like the one they lost.
Frisk still can't remember what their parents were like, no matter how much they try to think about them in their head. They saw picture albums of themself and their parents from when they were a baby all the way to the year of that fateful accident. They found videos, toys, gifts, drawings, and diaries that pointed to a child that was raised well, lived prosperously, and had a great appreciation for the things they received. They listened to stories of Auntie Ligaya's life spent with their mother, her sister, and all the wonderful visits from Frisk and their parents and just how cute it was the way Frisk tried to seduce Andres with the same ridiculous flirtations that their father used to win their mother over. All of it painted a very clear picture: Frisk loved their parents, and their parents loved them.
Now they will never be able to experience that love again, and with each year, it's becoming more and more likely that they will never remember that love.
Their mood utterly ruined, Frisk decides then and there that they've done enough drawing for the day. They stow the picture and their crayons in their backpack, and head off home, briefly running their fingers through their hair to make sure the hairclip with the heart charm is still there.
They don't know when they got the clip, only that it was on their person when they came to the police department. They can only assume it was a part of their life before Ebott, likely a gift from their mother and father. Whoever gave it or wherever it came from, Frisk right now is just happy that it's still attached to their hair.
They've already lost enough of their past life. They don't want to lose any more.
--
Frisk sleeps sadly that night, dreaming of an Empty Kingdom and an Angel with wings made of rainbows and starlight.
When Frisk is especially lonely, they wander around the forests of Ebott and await the arrival of the Angel. It didn't matter which part of the forest they disappear into or what time of day they do so, the Angel always finds them, appearing one way or another with a dramatic flair of his magical talent. Frisk's favorite has to be the ones where he descends on his beautiful wings, whose prismatic colors sparkle with the light of distant stars. He doesn't use them often, fearing the attention of others, but that makes the times he does use them all the more special.
Frisk has never actually been to the Empty Kingdom, but the Angel has many magical talents, and is able to conjure images of the place while he told stories about it. A land of wonderful creatures that filled their hearts with love and hope in spite of everything that went wrong with their lives. A land with exotic ruins filled with puzzles and overgrowth, places that snowed and rained every day, and hallways that shone like gold in the sunset.
He entertains Frisk with stories about monsters that once lived in the empty Kingdom, of great battles fought between monsters and humans. When he says all he has to say about monsters, he then talks about the wonders of the universe. The stars, the planet's beauty, and even the mighty creations of man are subjects he likes to cover, though the latter of which he often tail-ends with barbs at Frisk's species. Today, he appears to be in a particularly venomous mood when it comes to them.
"Humans are such cruel beings even in peace, Frisk. In the city of New Orleans, they built a monument to the Battle of Liberty Palace, celebrating the scum that tried to overthrow the government elected by their former slaves. I'm sure there's plenty of humans around that still share that sentiment."
Frisk thinks it is rather unfair to generalize such a specific incident to all humans, noting the war that was fought not long beforehand that freed those slaves, but they acknowledge that those kinds of events occur far too many times in human society. They wonder if the Angel counts them among those cruel beings.
His stare hardens at Frisk's question. Not in malice, but in one of…contemplation and concern. "Of course not Frisk," he answers, "You're special compared to those humans."
Really? How?
"How, they ask?" He chuckles to himself, "Don't be an idiot, Frisk. Your compassion is unlike anything I've come across in all the humans I've met. You forgive, and forgive, and forgive, and forgive, long after you should have stopped. If you were any other human being, that kind of forgiveness would have gotten you eaten alive, but you…you're different."
The Angel he reaches out and holds Frisk's hands in theirs, "You find even the smallest seed of goodness in people and can find a way to make it bloom and overtake all the malice and despair in that fills their hearts. You can make the worst person in the world become a good person through sheer, bullheaded determination. You're no ordinary human. You're an angel, in character and deed."
Frisk does not know what to say at such stellar lauding of their character. Hearing those worlds up close from the mouth of one of the most beautiful creatures they've ever met sends butterflies through their stomach, and they have no idea how they are should handle it. Having nothing to say, they try and change the subject.
Remembering a detail that came about when making one of their drawings, Frisks asks them if his horns are different, mentioning how they once had a simple curve instead of the S-shape they recall from their drawing.
"Oh, that?" he replies, tapping his horns "I can change my shape and appearance into whatever it is I like." He blinks, and suddenly the white slits in his eyes turn black, surrounded by a red corona of glowing red light. "This body is practically clothing to me."
Clothing? Is this even what he really looks like?
Ooooooooooh! Can he give himself big-huge muscles? Can he eat tons of food and make himself stay skinny? Can he turn into a building-sized giant or an ant-sized dwarf? Can he turn into a girl? Can he turn human? Is that why the Angel looks the mascot of the Ebott Goats? Can he look like other animals too?
Wait…ten years older? He looks and sounds like a big teenager! How old is the Angel!?
The Angel winces "I said too much."
The Angel clicks his tongue, "Kind of…" he says, scratching a spot in the back of his head, "This is what I imagine myself looking like if I were a young adult."
Ooooooooooh! Can he give himself big-huge muscles? Can he eat tons of food and make himself stay skinny? Can he turn into a building-sized giant or an ant-sized dwarf? Can he turn into a girl? Can he turn human? Is that why the Angel looks like the mascot of the Ebott Goats? Can he look like other animals too? How old is he really?
Instead of answering their questions he just chuckles and rubs their head in amusement, "It's not polite to ask someone how old they are Frisk. Just know that I can change my appearance however I like. Don't worry, I'll make sure you will recognize me no matter what form I take."
They talk a little bit more, and the subject turns to Frisk's art projects. Frisk likes sharing their drawings with the Angel in particular. His compliments always send butterflies through their stomach. He looks though them, giving some pointed critique filled with light barbs at Frisk's intelligence along with praise and actual, constructive statements that Frisk takes to heart.
Then he comes to the last one, and the Angel stares at it for a long time.
It's a drawing Frisk made of him using one of the outfits he showed off. Apparently, he was inspired by the "Angel of Death" moniker he gave himself and decided to dress like the Grim Reaper. Frisk thought it was a cool idea and made a drawing of him collecting the souls of the dead.
"But why is my face a flower?" the Angel's face puckers when asking the question, as though the idea of a flower for a face mortally offended him.
Frisk thought it made good symbolism for life being reborn after death and all of that. Plus, the Angel said he likes Golden Flowers. As for why it's on their face…Frisk can't think of a good reason.
"I see," he says. The Angel then looks up at the sky, noting the orange light that has seeped its way into the horizon. "Hey. It's starting to get dark. You should head back home now." He moves to levitate from his sitting position, and starts hovering away.
"Wait."
Asriel pauses at the voice. He turns to look back at Frisk. "What is it?"
Frisk grabs ahold of the Angel's right hand. It's long and massive, with their small hands barely able to hold onto just one of his fingers. "Come with me," Frisk begs the Angel, "Please."
The Angel sighs, "Frisk," he says, "you know I can't come with you. The humans will react terribly to me. They'll try to hurt me, and when that fails…they'll try to hurt me through you instead."
"I don't care," Frisk says, "My Aunt is becoming worried about all the times I disappear into the forest. I don't think we can keep this up any longer. Please…let me introduce you to them. I'm sure everything will be fine."
The Angel gently tugs at his arm, but Frisk holds on firmly. They do not want to let go.
The Angel growls. "Don't be an idiot," he scolds, "Humans fear and destroy things they don't understand. They're not like you. You let the world know I exist, and they will tear you apart."
"Then it's a good thing I have a grumpy guardian angel at my side."
"This is getting ridiculous. Go home and don't ask that stupid question again!"'
Frisk refuses to let go.
L O A-
Frisk refuses to let go.
The Angel stares at them for a long time, his face unreadable. Frisk worries that they might have pushed the Angel too far. Then, at long last, he slouches in resignation.
"Alright," the Angel sighs, "I'll come."
Frisk's smile grows from ear to ear. This day is slowly turning out to be the best day ever.
And so, Frisks leaves the forest with a skip in their feet, the Angel dragging through the air as Frisk pulls them along like a giant, grumpy balloon.
Imagining the Angel to actually be a giant, grumpy balloon fills Frisk with laughter, and though they don't show it, they can tell that their joy is shared by the Angel as well.
---
A/N: Credit for the drawing goes to Twix015 on DeviantArt. It's not mine, nor is it created for this fanfiction, but the fanfiction it is related to is important.
Last edited:
- Location
- Not the asylum anymore
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Well. This is interesting. Very interesting.
The fuck are you up to, Azzy?
The fuck are you up to, Azzy?
Who is this Azzy you speak of? The only characters of import here are Frisk and the Angel.
Anyway the next chapter is taking longer than I anticipated because of work and changes to the second half of the chapter. I'm also thinking of illustrating the chapter, which I expect to take just as long.
(8.1) 12 Years Old
Frisk is 12, and they are crying. Middle school has proven to be a far more arduous affair than they ever anticipated.
Ebott Mountain Middle School was located relatively far from Sentry Way Elementary, and was not the closest junior high school either. As a result, only a minority of its student body is from Sentry Way, and few of its teachers had connections to the other school.
Much like Frisk's first experience with school in Ebott, its faculty members did not wish to "entertain" Frisk's "peculiarities," referring to them using "she" and "her" no matter how much Frisk and her friends try to correct them, albeit with a bit more venom than they are used to.
Frisk could deal with this; they have come to accept that it's simply more convenient for strangers to call them by their sex. More than that however, this is all familiar ground Frisk had tread on not two years ago. The "enemy" in this situation may be more entrenched, but Frisk likes to think that they have the skills to convince these people down to pat. All they must do is be the same kind and diligent student they were known to be in elementary school, throw in some hilarious puns in the process, tone down the innuendos, and the teachers will be on their side in no time. They might even start using their personal pronouns, if for no other reason than as a sign of respect.
But then things turned for the worse when the children decided to twist her use of non-gendered words into a horrible, ironic game. They did not use "they" or "them," or even "she" or "her", but instead referred to them simply as "it". They called Frisk "it" to each other when they thought they were not listening, and they called them "it" directly in their face too. And when they decide to use words for a non-person instead of a non-gender when referring to Frisk, things start to get internalized, and then everything gets even uglier.
Take today for example. At lunchtime, Frisk is chasing desperately after a group of students that are tossing an object between them, juggling it so that Frisk never comes close enough to get it within their reach.
A group of boys led by an 8th grader have stolen Frisk's hairpin, and are now leading the child on an emotionally turbulent chase to get it back, ignoring Frisk's desperate pleas to return it to its rightful owner.
The small cadre of 6th graders that accompanied Frisk is unfortunately unable to help their friend—despite some of them looking like they are rearing to go—thanks to the three 8th graders that stood guard between them and Frisk, with an additional one wrestling one of the rowdier boys to the ground in an arm lock.
Mocking Frisk's gender identity was bad enough. Taking one of Frisk's most prized possessions was bad enough. Doing so in a scenario where Frisk cannot get any help is bad enough.
Then they brought Frisk's parents into the conversation, and say horrible, horrible things about them as they run.
They say that their dad was a drunkard and a drug-dealer. They say their mom was a whore that dad bought in the Philippines. They say that their parents never loved them and beat them to sleep, or that they probably molested them, and that is why Frisk keeps flirting with everyone: to become a slut just like her mother.
They must be trying to trip them up, Frisk thinks, they must be untrue! The assurances did not make the words any less biting.
And then…they say that their parents could not stand a girl that couldn't act like a girl, and they tried to get rid of them.
They say that their parents killed themselves because they could not stand their daughter acting like a freak.
The last insult catches them off guard, and they are unable to do anything when one of the bigger boys shoves them onto the ground, stunning them and leaving them out of breath.
As Frisk rasps in their breathing, they look around to see all the boys say terrible words at them and laugh at them, at their plight and suffering. It, orphan, thing, freak, tranny, idiot, slut, moron, and words so vile Frisk would never dare utter them in public or private. They hear the other kids cry out for help, trying to reach Frisk, but the 8th graders hold them back.
They gaze over to the 7th grade boy holding their hairpin; Daron, they think he is named. He has scruffy brown hair and sea-blue eyes, and he makes eye contact with Frisk's shinning, tear-filled yellow eyes. They plead for him to give it back, and they briefly see something in Daron's face. A slight twitch in the eye, a quiver in his lips, eyebrows upturned into sadness.
Then, before he can do anything, the shouting of one of the teachers can be heard coming towards them. Quickly, the leader calls everyone off and they scatter before the teachers finally arrives. Daron flees with Frisk's hairclip still in hand.
Frisk can do nothing but collapse onto their back, exhausted physically and mentally by the ordeal, tears still flowing from their eyelids, powerless to stop others from taking yet another memory of their past from them.
They can hear the 6th graders talking to the teacher, probably telling them what had transpired, but Frisk is too numb to hear the words that are spoken. That sensation, that numbness, follows them through the rest of the day, an aura of sadness so palpable that everyone in their classes noticed. Looks of concern and pity were plentiful, and few seem inclined to continue their cruel little game.
When they finally get back home, the place quickly fills with the sound of crying, angry words, and soft assurances. Andres is swearing up and down and wringing his hands in rage and anger, lamenting the fact that Frisk's lunch period is separate from his. If not, he said, he would have been around to beat the kids to a pulp for what they did to Frisk.
Auntie Ligaya admonishes her son for threatening to hurt others and get himself in trouble. She then returns to stroking the back of Frisk's head as they cry into her chest. The incident should be reported by now, she says, but they will go together to the principal's office tomorrow to confirm that something will be done about this. For all that the teachers disliked Frisk's behavior, Auntie is certain not even they would tolerate this behavior. If nothing comes from it, she says, then she plans to confront the children's parents directly and force the issue with them.
After that…all they can do is hope for the best.
--
Frisk dreams happily of an Angel, who hails from an Empty Kingdom.
Introducing him to Auntie Ligaya has gone much better than what the Angel predicted, albeit with some difficulties still present. Never has Frisk seen Auntie interrogate someone so intensely before, nor have they seen someone so…amused by an interrogation, like finding out how much a dog adores and cares for its puppy. The Angel answers all of Auntie's question politely, and while she does not seem entirely satisfied, she lets off the Angel with a warning never to have Frisk alone with them. The Angel does not seem happy with the outcome either, but he appears to value Frisk's presence enough to tolerate the presence of others and accepts the term.
Later, his idea of visiting frisk "with company" turns out to be a grand entrance at middle school, with multicolored lightning flashing from a cloudless sky, descending before frisk on wings of rainbows and starlight and announcing his presence in a deep voice that echoes across the yard.
Frisk fears they might have caused a heart attack among the staff.
And so it was that the Angel had changes their routine from visiting Frisk in random spots in the forest to visiting Frisk during lunch break at school, where they sit together in the shade of the lone tree in the playground, an aging oak as old as the school, and then talk about the happenings of their lives, help Frisk with their homework and studies, or let Frisk watch as he does favors for the school at Frisk's insistence. He always make those chores fun to watch, like creating a localized raincloud that only rains on the flowerbeds, or telekinetically grab all the used gum in the school and fling it at a basketball hoop (it was too big to fit, but everyone found it hilarious).
Frisk is happy that this arrangement also provides a regular schedule for his visits, never requiring them to be lost in a forest again.. Plus, having an angel for a friend turns out to be an amazing icebreaker too. Everyone in the middle school comes out one day or the other to meet the greatest spectacle to have ever graced Ebott since its founding. Even better, the Angel is willing to share what he has shown Frisk in the forest and performs magic (real magic!) for everyone to see. Everyone is always awestruck and filled with questions and compliments that seem to take up half of their time at the school.
Things like:
You're huge. Are you a furry? You're hot. Are you the angel? Are you the Devil? Where are the strings? You're not supposed to have fire in the school. What is Heaven like? Can you teach us magic too? You're so fluffy! Why do you have paws for feet if you're a goat? Do you also have a big-?
Frisk coughs in embarrassment. Truthfully, few of these children are here to make friends with them, and are instead here to meet the Angel. In all the comments and questions they field, almost none of them are directed at Frisk.
Despite how much it hurts that little attention is paid to them, Frisk accepts this small sacrifice. All these children may be here just for the Angel, but the Angel is here for them, and for Frisk that is enough..
One day, the two spot the school principal coming over to their little corner of the school. The Angel was busy showing a crowd of kids a magic show featuring moving toys and stuffed animals as the woman approaches. The Angel looks up with his red eyes as the principal coughs for their attention.
"Greetings, principal," the Angel says to the woman.
"Ah, yes, hello," the principal greets nervously, hands clasping together, "Wonderful day we're having."
The angel moves to grab Frisk, and places them on the ground so that he can stand up. It never fails to awe Frisk to see just how huge the angel is. His hands practically wrap around their entire body when he moves them off his knee, and now that he is standing, it's easy to see he has three feet over the principal, whose head barely reaches his chest. Then he starts to float in the air, and now she doesn't even reach that. The principal seems to be aware of this difference too, and they cough nervously.
Seeing the principal is not saying anything, the Angel starts, "Is there a problem, madam principal?"
"Sadly, yes. I am not sure if you are aware of this, but you've become a very hot button issue in this school. If you've been listening to the radio and news hosts, if they're not falling over themselves at what is essentially an alien superman, they are instead foaming at the mouth at Satan himself coming out to personally corrupt God's children." The Angel rolls their eyes, and Frisk and the kids laugh at the notion. The Angel, one of the coolest beings they've met, is the Devil? Preposterous.
The principal wrings their hands as they think about what to say next. "More pertinent to our current arrangement, the PTA is…God, how do I put this around the children…they don't like you one bit. Most who don't think you're the Devil himself think you're a…well, a predator in a fur suit out to get their kids."
The Angel sneers in disgust. "I'm not some sicko who's into that stuff. I don't even think humans are attractive."
"And I believe you. Frisk is an exceptional student I have had the pleasure to work with on many occasions and an amazing judge of character, and they and their aunt have vouched for you. You have given no indication that that you are of the predatory kind, and after all the charity your provided for this school, you have done nothing but reinforce my faith in you."
The principal sucks in a breath, preparing herself for what she is about to say next. "Sadly, the fact remains that you are effectively a stranger to this community, a non-citizen, and in violation of our visitation policy. Even if no one had any problem with you, you are technically in violation of our rules, and if I do nothing, I'll have parents breathing down my neck with attorneys behind their backs."
The sounds of "awws" and "boos" rise from the crowd of kids, disappointed that the playground's greatest attraction will have to leave.
"Hmph," the Angel grunts, "Is there a way for me to carve out an exception?"
"Yes. Maybe. I don't know if it would work." She reaches for something in her bag, pulling out a sheet of papers with printed words on it. "I've been thinking…you've been a lot of help to this school, so how about this: we work out a hiring arrangement so you can count as a custodian of this school, and you'll have the perfect excuse to be on campus. You'll be doing the same charity work as you have before, just with the benefits of being paid for your efforts."
If anything, their look of disgust became even worse. "I'm not going to mop up every puddle of urine human children make inside the restrooms for a pittance."
"Who said anything about a pittance? Given your exceptional skillset, I'm sure you can do ten custodian's worth of work in an hour, and as such can expect a salary wage worth ten custodians. You don't even have to work 40 hours a week, just make sure everything is spiffy clean with a snap of a finger or…" she makes flailing gestures with her hand, "whatever it is you do to work your magic, and you can go back to being a merry well of wonders for the kids. We'll even give you back payments for the work you've already done."
The Angel stares hard at the principal for a second, then scowls, violently snatching the papers out of the principal's hands, threatening to tear the forms with his claws.
"This is all far beneath me," he says as he looks at the top page, then flips to the next, "You're lucky that human waste is so easy to clean with magic, otherwise I would never entertain this notion. Why shouldn't I just leave this dump be and reserve all my time with Frisk after school?"
The principal shrugs her shoulders. "Your choice. I'll admit I can't do much about the citizenship issue, but if you were born in America, you should count as a birth-citizen."
"Then I'll stop wasting your time and look into other options."
"No!" Frisk shouts, causing the principal to jump and the Angel to suddenly freeze. Others joined in Frisk's protests, begging the Angel not to leave.
"Please," Frisk says, "At least try. You've made so many more people happy when you visit here. You've made the school into a wonderful place, in body and spirit, and I don't want to ruin that for everyone.
"Please," they continue, "If not for them, then for me?" The Angel looks into Frisk's bright yellow eyes with his crimson red ones. He seems to be processing Frisk's words, more than the principal's it seems. Frisk worries that his next words will be "no" or worse, that they will drive the Angel away.
Then he bursts into laughter, a light, heartfelt laughter that catches everyone by surprise.
The principal looks around, as though she missed a joke. "I take it that laugh means no?" she asks.
The Angel calms down, wiping a tear from his eye. "No, no, it's just…I remembered something," the Angel looks down at the children, a sad smile on his face, "My mother always wanted to run a school and become a teacher, and now her son is offered to work at one. Ironic is it not?"
Everyone gasps. No way! Angels have moms too!? That is so cool! Frisk wonders if the angel's mom and dad are as beautiful and kind as their son is.
The principal appears to read something from that sentence, and their gaze softens. "I'm so sorry," she says.
The Angel waves off her concerns. "No need. They're still around, I'm just…lost to them." He floats closer to the principal, and outstretches his right arm to the woman. "You have a deal, principal."
A smile cracks across the Angel's face, and the principal starts to smile back in return. She reaches out and returns the gesture with a handshake. "Welcome aboard."
Frisk and all the children cheer loudly as the two shake. Forget bringing the Angel home, this is the best day ever!
---
A/N: Oh my God, this chapter did not want to be written. Ultimately, it got so long that I have to split them into different chapters.
Thankfully, the other one has half of it fully written out, so I should have it ready in a week. Brace yourselves, the next chapter is going to be a wild ride.
Ebott Mountain Middle School was located relatively far from Sentry Way Elementary, and was not the closest junior high school either. As a result, only a minority of its student body is from Sentry Way, and few of its teachers had connections to the other school.
Much like Frisk's first experience with school in Ebott, its faculty members did not wish to "entertain" Frisk's "peculiarities," referring to them using "she" and "her" no matter how much Frisk and her friends try to correct them, albeit with a bit more venom than they are used to.
Frisk could deal with this; they have come to accept that it's simply more convenient for strangers to call them by their sex. More than that however, this is all familiar ground Frisk had tread on not two years ago. The "enemy" in this situation may be more entrenched, but Frisk likes to think that they have the skills to convince these people down to pat. All they must do is be the same kind and diligent student they were known to be in elementary school, throw in some hilarious puns in the process, tone down the innuendos, and the teachers will be on their side in no time. They might even start using their personal pronouns, if for no other reason than as a sign of respect.
But then things turned for the worse when the children decided to twist her use of non-gendered words into a horrible, ironic game. They did not use "they" or "them," or even "she" or "her", but instead referred to them simply as "it". They called Frisk "it" to each other when they thought they were not listening, and they called them "it" directly in their face too. And when they decide to use words for a non-person instead of a non-gender when referring to Frisk, things start to get internalized, and then everything gets even uglier.
Take today for example. At lunchtime, Frisk is chasing desperately after a group of students that are tossing an object between them, juggling it so that Frisk never comes close enough to get it within their reach.
A group of boys led by an 8th grader have stolen Frisk's hairpin, and are now leading the child on an emotionally turbulent chase to get it back, ignoring Frisk's desperate pleas to return it to its rightful owner.
The small cadre of 6th graders that accompanied Frisk is unfortunately unable to help their friend—despite some of them looking like they are rearing to go—thanks to the three 8th graders that stood guard between them and Frisk, with an additional one wrestling one of the rowdier boys to the ground in an arm lock.
Mocking Frisk's gender identity was bad enough. Taking one of Frisk's most prized possessions was bad enough. Doing so in a scenario where Frisk cannot get any help is bad enough.
Then they brought Frisk's parents into the conversation, and say horrible, horrible things about them as they run.
They say that their dad was a drunkard and a drug-dealer. They say their mom was a whore that dad bought in the Philippines. They say that their parents never loved them and beat them to sleep, or that they probably molested them, and that is why Frisk keeps flirting with everyone: to become a slut just like her mother.
They must be trying to trip them up, Frisk thinks, they must be untrue! The assurances did not make the words any less biting.
And then…they say that their parents could not stand a girl that couldn't act like a girl, and they tried to get rid of them.
They say that their parents killed themselves because they could not stand their daughter acting like a freak.
The last insult catches them off guard, and they are unable to do anything when one of the bigger boys shoves them onto the ground, stunning them and leaving them out of breath.
As Frisk rasps in their breathing, they look around to see all the boys say terrible words at them and laugh at them, at their plight and suffering. It, orphan, thing, freak, tranny, idiot, slut, moron, and words so vile Frisk would never dare utter them in public or private. They hear the other kids cry out for help, trying to reach Frisk, but the 8th graders hold them back.
They gaze over to the 7th grade boy holding their hairpin; Daron, they think he is named. He has scruffy brown hair and sea-blue eyes, and he makes eye contact with Frisk's shinning, tear-filled yellow eyes. They plead for him to give it back, and they briefly see something in Daron's face. A slight twitch in the eye, a quiver in his lips, eyebrows upturned into sadness.
Then, before he can do anything, the shouting of one of the teachers can be heard coming towards them. Quickly, the leader calls everyone off and they scatter before the teachers finally arrives. Daron flees with Frisk's hairclip still in hand.
Frisk can do nothing but collapse onto their back, exhausted physically and mentally by the ordeal, tears still flowing from their eyelids, powerless to stop others from taking yet another memory of their past from them.
They can hear the 6th graders talking to the teacher, probably telling them what had transpired, but Frisk is too numb to hear the words that are spoken. That sensation, that numbness, follows them through the rest of the day, an aura of sadness so palpable that everyone in their classes noticed. Looks of concern and pity were plentiful, and few seem inclined to continue their cruel little game.
When they finally get back home, the place quickly fills with the sound of crying, angry words, and soft assurances. Andres is swearing up and down and wringing his hands in rage and anger, lamenting the fact that Frisk's lunch period is separate from his. If not, he said, he would have been around to beat the kids to a pulp for what they did to Frisk.
Auntie Ligaya admonishes her son for threatening to hurt others and get himself in trouble. She then returns to stroking the back of Frisk's head as they cry into her chest. The incident should be reported by now, she says, but they will go together to the principal's office tomorrow to confirm that something will be done about this. For all that the teachers disliked Frisk's behavior, Auntie is certain not even they would tolerate this behavior. If nothing comes from it, she says, then she plans to confront the children's parents directly and force the issue with them.
After that…all they can do is hope for the best.
--
Frisk dreams happily of an Angel, who hails from an Empty Kingdom.
Introducing him to Auntie Ligaya has gone much better than what the Angel predicted, albeit with some difficulties still present. Never has Frisk seen Auntie interrogate someone so intensely before, nor have they seen someone so…amused by an interrogation, like finding out how much a dog adores and cares for its puppy. The Angel answers all of Auntie's question politely, and while she does not seem entirely satisfied, she lets off the Angel with a warning never to have Frisk alone with them. The Angel does not seem happy with the outcome either, but he appears to value Frisk's presence enough to tolerate the presence of others and accepts the term.
Later, his idea of visiting frisk "with company" turns out to be a grand entrance at middle school, with multicolored lightning flashing from a cloudless sky, descending before frisk on wings of rainbows and starlight and announcing his presence in a deep voice that echoes across the yard.
Frisk fears they might have caused a heart attack among the staff.
And so it was that the Angel had changes their routine from visiting Frisk in random spots in the forest to visiting Frisk during lunch break at school, where they sit together in the shade of the lone tree in the playground, an aging oak as old as the school, and then talk about the happenings of their lives, help Frisk with their homework and studies, or let Frisk watch as he does favors for the school at Frisk's insistence. He always make those chores fun to watch, like creating a localized raincloud that only rains on the flowerbeds, or telekinetically grab all the used gum in the school and fling it at a basketball hoop (it was too big to fit, but everyone found it hilarious).
Frisk is happy that this arrangement also provides a regular schedule for his visits, never requiring them to be lost in a forest again.. Plus, having an angel for a friend turns out to be an amazing icebreaker too. Everyone in the middle school comes out one day or the other to meet the greatest spectacle to have ever graced Ebott since its founding. Even better, the Angel is willing to share what he has shown Frisk in the forest and performs magic (real magic!) for everyone to see. Everyone is always awestruck and filled with questions and compliments that seem to take up half of their time at the school.
Things like:
You're huge. Are you a furry? You're hot. Are you the angel? Are you the Devil? Where are the strings? You're not supposed to have fire in the school. What is Heaven like? Can you teach us magic too? You're so fluffy! Why do you have paws for feet if you're a goat? Do you also have a big-?
Frisk coughs in embarrassment. Truthfully, few of these children are here to make friends with them, and are instead here to meet the Angel. In all the comments and questions they field, almost none of them are directed at Frisk.
Despite how much it hurts that little attention is paid to them, Frisk accepts this small sacrifice. All these children may be here just for the Angel, but the Angel is here for them, and for Frisk that is enough..
One day, the two spot the school principal coming over to their little corner of the school. The Angel was busy showing a crowd of kids a magic show featuring moving toys and stuffed animals as the woman approaches. The Angel looks up with his red eyes as the principal coughs for their attention.
"Greetings, principal," the Angel says to the woman.
"Ah, yes, hello," the principal greets nervously, hands clasping together, "Wonderful day we're having."
The angel moves to grab Frisk, and places them on the ground so that he can stand up. It never fails to awe Frisk to see just how huge the angel is. His hands practically wrap around their entire body when he moves them off his knee, and now that he is standing, it's easy to see he has three feet over the principal, whose head barely reaches his chest. Then he starts to float in the air, and now she doesn't even reach that. The principal seems to be aware of this difference too, and they cough nervously.
Seeing the principal is not saying anything, the Angel starts, "Is there a problem, madam principal?"
"Sadly, yes. I am not sure if you are aware of this, but you've become a very hot button issue in this school. If you've been listening to the radio and news hosts, if they're not falling over themselves at what is essentially an alien superman, they are instead foaming at the mouth at Satan himself coming out to personally corrupt God's children." The Angel rolls their eyes, and Frisk and the kids laugh at the notion. The Angel, one of the coolest beings they've met, is the Devil? Preposterous.
The principal wrings their hands as they think about what to say next. "More pertinent to our current arrangement, the PTA is…God, how do I put this around the children…they don't like you one bit. Most who don't think you're the Devil himself think you're a…well, a predator in a fur suit out to get their kids."
The Angel sneers in disgust. "I'm not some sicko who's into that stuff. I don't even think humans are attractive."
"And I believe you. Frisk is an exceptional student I have had the pleasure to work with on many occasions and an amazing judge of character, and they and their aunt have vouched for you. You have given no indication that that you are of the predatory kind, and after all the charity your provided for this school, you have done nothing but reinforce my faith in you."
The principal sucks in a breath, preparing herself for what she is about to say next. "Sadly, the fact remains that you are effectively a stranger to this community, a non-citizen, and in violation of our visitation policy. Even if no one had any problem with you, you are technically in violation of our rules, and if I do nothing, I'll have parents breathing down my neck with attorneys behind their backs."
The sounds of "awws" and "boos" rise from the crowd of kids, disappointed that the playground's greatest attraction will have to leave.
"Hmph," the Angel grunts, "Is there a way for me to carve out an exception?"
"Yes. Maybe. I don't know if it would work." She reaches for something in her bag, pulling out a sheet of papers with printed words on it. "I've been thinking…you've been a lot of help to this school, so how about this: we work out a hiring arrangement so you can count as a custodian of this school, and you'll have the perfect excuse to be on campus. You'll be doing the same charity work as you have before, just with the benefits of being paid for your efforts."
If anything, their look of disgust became even worse. "I'm not going to mop up every puddle of urine human children make inside the restrooms for a pittance."
"Who said anything about a pittance? Given your exceptional skillset, I'm sure you can do ten custodian's worth of work in an hour, and as such can expect a salary wage worth ten custodians. You don't even have to work 40 hours a week, just make sure everything is spiffy clean with a snap of a finger or…" she makes flailing gestures with her hand, "whatever it is you do to work your magic, and you can go back to being a merry well of wonders for the kids. We'll even give you back payments for the work you've already done."
The Angel stares hard at the principal for a second, then scowls, violently snatching the papers out of the principal's hands, threatening to tear the forms with his claws.
"This is all far beneath me," he says as he looks at the top page, then flips to the next, "You're lucky that human waste is so easy to clean with magic, otherwise I would never entertain this notion. Why shouldn't I just leave this dump be and reserve all my time with Frisk after school?"
The principal shrugs her shoulders. "Your choice. I'll admit I can't do much about the citizenship issue, but if you were born in America, you should count as a birth-citizen."
"Then I'll stop wasting your time and look into other options."
"No!" Frisk shouts, causing the principal to jump and the Angel to suddenly freeze. Others joined in Frisk's protests, begging the Angel not to leave.
"Please," Frisk says, "At least try. You've made so many more people happy when you visit here. You've made the school into a wonderful place, in body and spirit, and I don't want to ruin that for everyone.
"Please," they continue, "If not for them, then for me?" The Angel looks into Frisk's bright yellow eyes with his crimson red ones. He seems to be processing Frisk's words, more than the principal's it seems. Frisk worries that his next words will be "no" or worse, that they will drive the Angel away.
Then he bursts into laughter, a light, heartfelt laughter that catches everyone by surprise.
The principal looks around, as though she missed a joke. "I take it that laugh means no?" she asks.
The Angel calms down, wiping a tear from his eye. "No, no, it's just…I remembered something," the Angel looks down at the children, a sad smile on his face, "My mother always wanted to run a school and become a teacher, and now her son is offered to work at one. Ironic is it not?"
Everyone gasps. No way! Angels have moms too!? That is so cool! Frisk wonders if the angel's mom and dad are as beautiful and kind as their son is.
The principal appears to read something from that sentence, and their gaze softens. "I'm so sorry," she says.
The Angel waves off her concerns. "No need. They're still around, I'm just…lost to them." He floats closer to the principal, and outstretches his right arm to the woman. "You have a deal, principal."
A smile cracks across the Angel's face, and the principal starts to smile back in return. She reaches out and returns the gesture with a handshake. "Welcome aboard."
Frisk and all the children cheer loudly as the two shake. Forget bringing the Angel home, this is the best day ever!
---
A/N: Oh my God, this chapter did not want to be written. Ultimately, it got so long that I have to split them into different chapters.
Thankfully, the other one has half of it fully written out, so I should have it ready in a week. Brace yourselves, the next chapter is going to be a wild ride.
Last edited:
(8.2) 12 Years Old
The next day, when Frisk and their aunt go to report their side the incident, they see the office assistant has a nervous look in their eyes as she flicks her eyes to them while she types out her report. When they ask if there is an issue, the staffer simply states that the participants involved are already part of a separate, more severe incident, and the children were not present at for the week because of it.
The two family members are concerned, but nonetheless glad that the bullies are being dealt with. A few minutes later when the report is complete, when Frisk and their aunt are about to part ways, the staff member informs them that they have been summoned to the principal's office.
Worried, they nonetheless comply. Meeting the principal, they see she has a very worried look in her eyes well when she asks them to take a seat. She then describes, in detail, the previously mentioned incident with the bullies. What she tells Frisk causes all thoughts of sadness and justice to turn into horror.
Every single one of the bullies have been hospitalized. Someone had poisoned them.
It was one of the children's birthday the same day as the incident, and a party was held after school with his friends in attendance. Someone, no one knows who, had put an extract of buttercup flowers into his birthday cake. Aunt Ligaya tell Frisk that it is a toxic flower that blisters the skin and severely irritates the digestive track, and Frisk's stomach turns at the description.
All of the children in attendance had eaten the cake, ensuring everyone was affected. It was fortunate that time and the baking process had reduced the effects, but not enough to prevent hospitalization.
The result of the poison that was still ingested is no less appalling. Blisters and swelling were all over their fingers and mouths. Their mind and body were a shaky mess, and that did not account for the horrific vomiting and diarrhea they all had to deal with. It was plastered all over local news and even national television, and the populace was out for blood against the monster that gruesomely harmed several children. But try as they might, the culprit is still at large, with no solid leads to work with.
Frisk had been informed because the victims' parents had singled out them as the culprit, citing their queer behavior and their "interaction" with the children as a red flag. Initially, the investigators would follow on the hypothesis, as the bullying incident that day would be a strong motive poisoning the children. For a few seconds, Frisk fears the worst.
The principal notices and quickly give her assurances to the family that Frisk was cleared of suspicion just an hour ago, as it was established that Frisk, their friends, and their Family were nowhere near the party when the cake was being made. Everyone in the room breathes a sigh of relief.
As they listen to the principal outline her plan to return the children to school, and how to ensure Frisk does not face retaliation over what is essentially a conspiracy theory at this point, a part of Frisk (much larger than they would ever admit) felt a sense of karmic justice at the suffering of the boys who have caused them nothing but grief since they started middle school.
Then they remember that if not for the poison being degraded, the children could have face much more serious symptoms. Frisk didn't know how many buttercups they needed to kill a person, but the possibility that one of them might have died causes whatever pleasure they might have derived to shrivel up in shame and horror.
Someone tried to maim children. Someone might even have been trying to murder them. It makes Frisk sick to their stomach.
Perhaps that is why, when the principal mentions which hospital they were staying at, Frisk announces they plan will visit the children after school at the hospital, and to try and burry any resentment and misinformation from the ordeal.
Later in the day, when they make good on their promise, the meetings start off tense as expected. Frisk never forgot the grief the bullies have caused them, and most of the bullies had this look of fear in their face whenever they make eye contact. Initially, few words are exchanged other than Frisk's condolences and the boys' insistence that they go away. Some of them say so with a tinge of their fear in their voice and a tremble in their body. Frisk is certain many of them still believe they had a hand in the poisoning. Frisk is dejected, but decides to leave them be for now. Once they have visited everyone else, they'll decide how to better approach each one.
When they reach the last room, they can hear the sound of a guitar playing. It's a sweet tune, one that fills Frisk with memories of happiness long forgotten. Opening the door, they find the person to be the birthday boy himself, an acoustic guitar in his hands while he rests in the hospital bed. Daron looks up and his face turns to shock. What surprises Frisk the most is that it is not out of fear as they expected, but shame and…something else.
Unable to think of anything else to say, Frisk complements Daron's music, which causes the boy to break down into flustered "thank you"s. He is surprisingly bashful, they think, and tries to peer more into this side of the bully.
As they interview him, Frisk finds out he has a fierce passion for music. Enough so that he managed to haggle for his guitar to be brought to his hospital room so he can practice with it. Even so, he says he has not done well, still shaky from the poison's effect on his mind. This is not helped by the blisters on his fingers from handling the cake, which made working the strings exceptionally difficult. Frisk still thinks he played well and lets him know. The boy blushes, which causes Frisk to chuckle in delight.
Hoping to expand on this opportunity, Frisk opens up their backpack and decides to share some of their own art as well, showing Daron the drawings they have been working on. Her proudest one this year is a picture of Toby, who is carrying a bone almost as long as he is away from a duo of brothers that are chasing him. Daron laughs heartily at the image, and the two happily continue to discuss their passion projects, animosity long forgotten.
Daron, as his guitar implied, wants to be a musician, and even managed to guess star in some student concerts, and score in the top 10 of some student talent shows (never 1st, 2nd, or 3rd unfortunately). He's had the guitar since he was 9 and has been practicing with it diligently ever since. If the song Frisk heard is anything to go by, they are certain that he is a shoo-in for his dream job, and wishes him the best of luck.
For Frisk, drawing is more of a hobby than a facet of their dream job. For them, they wanted to be a politician, to which Daron blanches in disbelief. He heard enough from his parents of how miserable a subject it is to be aware of, much less actively participate in as a career path, and Daron wonders why Frisk would torment themself like that. This neglects the amount of misery people would inflict on them simply because of their transgender status.
Frisk, however, is steadfast, believing that their place is in helping other to the best of their ability, and few positions of leadership offers such a breadth of abilities to help and improve other people's lives as a career in politics, as venomous and toxic as it may be. Besides, it's not like presidents and senators are the only political positions available. Frisk admits they will probably go on to be something far less glamorous like…say…an ambassadorship. Daron laughs heartily at that, commenting that it would be a perfect position for someone that tries to make friends with everyone.
Frisks smiles, but the grin slowly loses its luster before their face turns neutral as they digest his words. Their thoughts turn back to the day before, of how Daron was the last one they saw with their beloved hairpin. Anger begins to coil in their stomach before they clamp it down. It will not do them any good now, not after the rapport they just established.
This prompts Frisk to turn the conversation back to yesterday's incident, and Frisk asks Daron why he decided bullying them was acceptable. Was it peer pressure? Was it because they were different and alien to them? Or was it simply to pick on someone weaker and younger than him?
When Daron answers after a period of hesitation, what enters Frisk's ears surprises them, and they find it to be more entangled and perverse than anything they had anticipated.
Daron did not hate them. In truth, they had a hard crush on Frisk the moment they first met in middle school. This turned out to have caused a miserable situation for Daron, as his family and most of his friends are explicitly transphobic (something Daron had only recently gotten out of because of said crush).
And when his parents found out…the silent sob from his body tells Frisk all they need to know.
And so, a test of character—proof that his attraction to Frisk was a fluke—was to burn whatever bridges they could form, and in-turn cauterize the wound borne from their actions. A petty lash out to assert his own normalcy within his group.
Frisk is disquieted at the confession, and they are not sure how to process the information they receive, or the quiet sobs that Daron lets out at the end of his tale. There are questions Frisk still wants to ask Daron: where is the hair pin? Do you think I was the one that poisoned you? Why did you eat so much of the poisoned cake?
The last one was more out of curiosity. Auntie Ligaya had puzzled aloud at how much cake they must have ingested to get this severe a reaction in so many. Apparently, buttercups—in addition to being toxic—have a repugnant taste to them. It should have alerted the partygoers something was wrong the moment the first person took a bite, yet all of them appear to have eaten large quantities of the substance.
Looking at the boy, however, Frisk could not bring themselves to bring up any more questions as they watch the boy silently breakdown from the cruelty he had caused and experienced. Asking them about the hairpin now would be too much, much less reliving their poisoning. No, the hairpin will have to wait.
It is then that a nurse comes into the room and informs Frisk that visiting hours are closed. Frisk tells Daron his goodbyes and promises to visit again tomorrow, but Daron instead asks that they come over to his house instead, as the hospital is discharging him that very day. After everything Daron had told him about his parents and friends, Frisk isn't sure if it is a wise idea, but considering how much progress they've made with Daron after one visit, they decide to brave what is to come, and they tentatively accept.
When they get home that day, Auntie Ligaya present Frisk with an envelope that came in the mail that day. It has no return address, and inside were three items.
The first is Frisk's missing hairclip, much to Frisk's shook, relief, and unending joy. The second is a Golden Flower, one of Frisk's favorite plants and a common flower around Ebott. The third is a simple note written in cursive pen. On it is two words.
"I'm sorry."
There is little doubt in Frisk's mind that Daron had arranged for the envelope, though they wish they simply presented their case for forgiveness in person, rather than through an unmarked envelope. It would allow Frisk to get a better read on the sincerity of their apology.
Frisk then looks at the Golden Flower that came in the envelope. They imagine Daron's face on it and try to picture if they could look him in the eye after everything he did, and forgive him for what he had done to them; the way he had hurt him so much.
The more they think about it, they more they start to believe things were out of control for Daron to be a better person under the circumstances. It would require a lot of willpower and determination to overcome that kind of peer pressure and parental pressure. Not even Frisk is sure if they could hold out better than Daron. The fact that the envelope arrived today suggested that Daron had it arranged the same day he took the hairpin, which heartens Frisk as it lets them know that they were ready to apologize unprompted the same day.
He might be bad at showing it, but Daron appears to be genuinely sorry for what he has done. Rejecting his apologies in such circumstances would do nothing to make him a better person, nor will it help him overcome his situation. His friends and family would still egg him on to discriminate against Frisk so long as Frisk and everyone else lets the issue fester. It would be best to tackle the problem now, and work things out from there. Besides, Daron already went through enough with the poison cake; they didn't need to pile on more grief on the boy.
Yes, Frisk decides, even if their apology is insincere, they will come to his house tomorrow. They will brave whatever they face that day, and forgive him.
--
Frisk sleeps anxiously that night, and dreams of an Empty Kingdom, and those who sought to get inside.
Their encampment rests upon a cliffside on Mount Ebott. It at the terminus of a trail large enough that one could pave a two-lane road upon it and have room to spare, and on the face of the mountain is a grand, marble gateway, the entrance locked tight by a shimmering, white Barrier.
The men and women surrounding Frisk hurry around the location, the clink of brass indicating they are gathering ammunition for their weapons, while the sound of something large and in bags are being dropped at the base of the gate. They think those are explosives. Frisk could also make out the silhouettes of pickets standing at the edge of the cliff, looking for any signs of the Angel. Any more than that was lost due to the brightness of the fire they were next to. Even though only their arms and mouth are bound, their state as a hostage prevents them from moving for a better look, lest they provoke retaliation, or let the bomb on their back go off.
There is a brilliant light that casts their side of the mountain in a shadow. Frisk hears panic from the assembled gunmen as they scream and point in a direction behind Frisk. A minute later, there is the sound the sound of a great and distant boom that echoes across the mountain for more than a minute.
"That's in the direction of our compound."
"Holy shit, that thing can throw fucking nukes!?"
Frisk hears more yelling, screams of despair as some of the fighters throw down their weapons and try and run as fast down the mountain as they can.
One of the individuals, a blonde woman who appears to be in her 50s, approaches the man sitting next to Frisk's entangled body. "Is everything ready?"
"Yep, boys are just about to finish up, and I got the detonator ready minutes go." The man says, holding out a smartphone with brilliant red and yellow buttons on-screen. "I've got three ready to blow on this app here," he points a finger at the phone, "One for the dynamite rigged on the gate, one for the IED we strapped to the back of the tranny, and one for the claymores surrounding this campsite just in case the IED doesn't cut it."
The Woman shrieks, "Give me that now!" as she yanks the phone out of the man's trembling hands.
The Woman hums, "Sounds like overkill."
"It's a little trick I learned from the Afghanistan. It'll think it will have all the bombs accounted for and then BAM!" the man slaps his fist into his palm, "The next set of bombs will shred it and the girl into mincemeat. The damn thing won't know what hit him."
"Where the hell did you get all this stuff anyways? The state's gun laws are very stringent, and I don't think this stuff is legal in any state."
The man looks around, rests his eyes upon Frisk, then leans into the Woman. "Don't tell anyone but…I know some guys in a couple nearby militias. Like-minded people who want the Monster dead as much as we do. They managed to smuggle back some of the explosives they worked with in Iraq and Afghanistan." The man shoots a look at Frisk, "Actually, should we really be talking about this around her?"
The Woman sneers. "Doesn't matter. That gender-confused freak will die with the Monster before she has any chance to tell it anything."
"I see it, here it comes!" Someone shouts in the background. Over in Ebott, Frisk can make out a bright light that shimmers in many colors. They watch as it comes closer and closer, and they hear the clatter of guns being aimed and bullets being chambered.
Then, there are two minutes of silence as theterrified nervous men and women point their guns up into the sky.
Finally, Frisk can make out the features of the Angel, its majestic form illuminated by wings of rainbow and starlight. With a flap of his wings, he breaks his momentum and floats before the gathered humans.
The Angel shifts his attention to each human briefly, then back to Frisk, and whips his hand into their direction.
Frisk feels a bewildering sensation of weightlessness before they find themselves zipping up from the trap surrounding them and towards the Angel.
Frisk can make out the gaping mouths of the gunmen below them as they spin in the air, right before they hear the Woman shout, "Kill the hostage!"
Immediately, some of them raise their firearms in the direction of Frisk, and they hear the woosh of the Angel's wings as he tries to close the distance as fast as he can. They shut their eyes in pain from the deafening crack of dozens of gunshots. Suddenly, a burning agony slams into them five times for the five holes punching through their stomach.
Frisk screams in pain as the world starts to fade. The Angel yells their name before a loud bang turns everything into nothing. L O A D
The Angel appears to flinch, before he raises his hand in to the sky.
A loud crash deafens Frisk, the bomb on their back turns hot, and they see arcs of rainbow lighting in the edges of their vision. They realize that the Angel just called down lighting to fry the bomb. That did nothing to solve the bombs surrounding them.
The Angel immediately dives into Frisk's direction, unable to hear Frisk's warnings of the booby traps surrounding them. Then, just as the Angel tries to wrap his arms around Frisk, the humans surrounding them open fire. The bullets bounce harmlessly against his wings and his robes, but he is too busy shielding Frisk's body to notice them trying to warn him.
Suddenly, explosions send hundreds of metal shards that tear Frisk apart. They feel a second of complete agony, then something pierces the back of their neck, then nothing. L O A D
The Angel screams an eerily demonic roar. He then points a finger upon the humans.
"D I E."
Immediately, all the surrounding humans burst into flames. Men and women scream in agony and fire their weapons even as they flail about in a futile attempt to extinguish themselves.
The Woman's shrieks are especially loud, and she drops to the floor and rolls in the dirt to snuff out the flames. The man that handled the bombs was less fortunate, as he runs in a panic and ends up falling off the cliff.
By the time the fires were snuffed, the Woman's legs were burnt down to the thighs, reducing her to crawling across the ground. She pulls herself with her arms, crawling towards something Frisk cannot see on the ground. A foot comes crashing down on her burnt arm. Frisk hears bone snap, and the Woman screams in pain.
The Angel is facing away from Frisk and the Woman, staring down at the thing she was reaching for. "So that's how you set off the bombs," he remarks as he picks something up. It appears to be the same phone as before.
"Good to know." He casually crushes the device in his hands, then turns to look at the Woman he is standing on. He gets off her arm, then kneels down and pulls her head up by her hair. The Woman struggles to reach the Angel's arm with her one unbroken hand, but fails to raise it high enough to do anything.
"I've never tasted human flesh before," the Angel says. Frisk's heart turns cold. "I always believed it was a disgusting as the species that it grew on."
Faster than the Woman could react, the Angel—no, the Demon—tears out a meaty chunk from the Woman's neck with his fangs. It swallows, and licks its bloodied lips as he shudders in pleasure.
"I w a s w r o n g."
The Woman gurgles as her lifeforce exits her torn neck. The Demon drops the Woman unceremoniously to the ground. In its hand is a glowing object that looks an awful lot like a blue, cartoon heart. It then turns its attention to Frisk, its glowing red eyes highlighting its ghastly, bloody grin.
But then, as the Demon looks upon the trembling human, it stops grinning, and a look of horror starts to dawn on its face. It drops the heart and slowly approaches Frisk.
"Frisk," the Demon says, reaching out for the bound human.
Frisk shuffles away from the Demon, eyes wide open and locked on the monster as Frisk's muffled screams reaches his hears.
The Demon flinches, but floats closer as it grasps Frisk in its arms. Frisk continues to struggle in its arms as the Demon brings them closer to its chest. "I'm sorry Frisk." It says as it overpowers the flailing human in a hug, "I failed my promise."
Frisk heaves in panic and shock as the situation starts to become inescapable for them. They try and struggle some more, but the Demon's grasp is simply too strong for them to overcome. They're stuck with the murderer.
Despairing, Frisk's heavy breathing starts to calm as their body unconsciously melts into the hug of the demon, turning numb to the slaughter it had commenced moments ago.
They stay there for many minutes. All is quiet except for the sound of crackling fire and the smell of blood and charred flesh. Frisk's mind starts to wonder aimlessly as the surrealness of the situation sends their mind into a fuzzy space of numbness and resignation.
"Don't worry," The demon finally speaks, "I think I know how to solve this now." L O A D
The Angel looks at the gathered humans before him. He sneers.
"First you try to assault me, then you try to kill me, and now you are reduced to taking those I care for as a hostage," the Angel calls out, causing the gunmen to back up in some cases. Frisk's heart beats furiously at the reverb his voice sends through the encampment. "You humans have no low you would not stoop to."
The Angel crosses his arms as he scans the area. "I don't like you humans. Really, I don't like humans in general. Not one bit." His eyes lock with Frisk's, and for a moment his features soften before they harden again. "But you happen to hold the exception to that rule right there, and I care about them a lot. So much that I understand perfectly well that they would prefer it that I don't splatter all of you across the mountainside in spite of everything you have done.
"So please," the Angel holds out his hand in gesture, "do me a favor and hand them over."
There's a loud crack and something bounces off of the Angel. That seems to be the que as others scream in rage and fear as they fire off their own guns at the Angel. They shout obscenities and death threats at the Angel as they unload everything they have at the creature.
The Angel seems unbothered, however. The Angel's eyes close.
Then they snap open, and the Angel's outstretched arm immediately makes a pulling motion in the Woman's direction. She jerks just as something small and black—probably the same phone as before, Frisk deduces—zips out of her pocket and flies directly into the Angel's outstretched hand.
He crushes it in his hand instantly.
"You will all wish you die today," he announces.
Realizing the situation they are finally in, the Woman snaps her head in the direction of Frisk. "Kill her!" she shouts.
Some of the men turn their guns in the direction of Frisk and open fire immediately. Frisk flinches back, but watches in astonishment as the bullets are stopped a mere foot from their body, suspended in the air. A slight shimmer of rainbows surrounds the bullets.
"Shit," one of the shooters says, "that think can make others bulletproof?"
"Don't you have something more important to take care of?" The Angel asks, who had somehow appeared mere centimeters behind the man. Before the man can whip around and aim his gun, the Angel knocks the firearm out with a slap of his hand, then presses the other to the chest of the man. He screams as arcs of multi-colored electricity course through his body.
Bullets continue to bounce off of his form. "Hold your fire!" someone shouts "You might hit Marcus!"
"Screw shooting it, the thing is bulletproof! We have to go get the National Guard and the goddamn Army."
"You will be going nowhere," the Angel announces raising his hand in the air. From a cloudless sky, there is a barrage of thunder that crackles in the air before a rainbow of colored lightning flashes through the crowd electrocuting almost everyone present.
The Woman jumps to the side just in time to avoid an arc crashing down upon where she stood, landing right at Frisk's bound form. She looks at the bound individual before quickly reaching behind Frisk's head.
"Get moving, you hell spawn," she shoves Frisk, aiming a pistol at their head, "This is all your fault for bringing the Monster to the city."
Frisk is forced forward towards the clash between the Angel and two men who survived the Angel's attack. Wielding pipes and wooden clubs, they clash with the Angel as best as they can. Their efforts are futile, however, and the Angel easily deflects their blows with his bare hands.
Then, out of nowhere, two ornate swords materialize in his hands, and with a swing, he easily cuts through the men's instruments. While the two gawk at their shortened weapons in amazement he smacks them in the head with the pommels of his swords, and they fall down to the ground.
"Tch," the Angel comments, seemingly oblivious of the Woman and Frisk behind him, "I've been getting sloppy."
"Stop right there!" the Woman shouts. The Angel's head perks up, and slowly he rotates to face the two remaining humans.
"Don't move," she commands "One errant twitch, and you risk me pulling the trigger on your precious hell spawn."
The Angel pauses for a moment. He sighs, and he drops his swords in resignation. They dematerialize before they even hit the ground.
"Alright," the Angel says, "Is your bloodlust satisfied? Will you finally release Frisk knowing that you stand against a god?"
"Shut up," the Woman shoved the barrier into Frisk's temple, "We knew demons like you consort with queers like her. We should have stopped you sooner. Now our kids can't stop talking about you every day and don't care a lick about how they're abandoning Christ for you."
"Oh goody," the Angel says sarcastically, clapping his hands mockingly, "a self-righteous dogmatist. How original. You wouldn't happen to have a certain name? 'Karen' I think the children call them these days?"
"It's Helen, demon," she spits, "Bad enough we're having girls pretends to be boys, boys pretending to be girls, and some made up word that doesn't even exist. Next you'll have us practicing witchcraft, worshipping Satan, and bang goats and demons so that you can have someone fondle abominations like yourself."
The Angel's eyes twitch, but his lips turn into a smile, "I too happen to be appalled by bestiality. Fornicating with lesser beings like yourself is beneath a god."
Frisk wriggles in their restraints. "Stop struggling!" the Woman shouts.
"Alright, so if you are not blazingly marching Frisk before me because you see reason, what are you trying to do?"
"Simple," she pulls the hammer on her pistol, "Leave this place. Never come close to another human again, and never come near this city or my son again."
"And if I don't comply what is demonstrably an unenforceable command, what do you plan to do?"
"Then I put a bullet in the tranny's skull, so go back through the gate whence you came, and never come out. If you do come back out again, know that others know where she lives."
The Angel rests his head upon one of his hands and makes a humming noise. Frisk is certain that he is still mocking her. By the sound of the low grumbles behind them, so does the Woman. Then his smile turns into a devilish grin.
"Helen, was it? Did you know your other son James comes to my gatherings so he can see his baby brother?" the Angel asks.
The Woman freezes. Taken by surprise at the statement.
"What?" she asks.
"Oh he didn't tell you? After so much grief you've given Winston, I was sure he would have told you by now. I guess he loves he brother more than he does you." The Angel lets out a low chuckle.
"James makes time between college classes to come down to visit his brother when I hold magic shows after school. He has certainly provided…" the Angel's voice is laced with malicious mischief, "perspective on the family situation."
The Woman feels shaken, as Frisk can tell by the gun barrel wobbling on their head. "You don't know anything," the Woman says.
"Was it really worth it to break your family apart just because James wanted to love another man? Did you really have to hate your husband just because he supported his son's quest for love? Of course, given your animosity to Frisk simply for how they present themself, I shouldn't be surprised. Your pettiness is appalling."
"Shut up." Frisk hears a click, and starts panicking. The Woman shoves the pistol right onto Frisk's temple again.
"Pathetic, is it not? It seems that the children know their angels from their demons better than you do."
"Shut up!"
"When your corpse is done getting cold up on this mountain, I'll be sure that their father will take good care of them. After the love that they've shown each other, they certainly deserve better than you."
"SHUT UP!" the Woman screeches, pulling the trigger and-
There's no bang. All Frisk can hear is the frantic pulling if the trigger next to their ear.
Frisk feels the gun lift away from their temple. "Wha-" the Woman asks before the Angel zooms in front of her and lifts her up by her shirt with one arm. She looks at the Angel in shock while the Angel stares back in amusement.
"You idiot. I didn't want you to realize I toggled the safety while we were talking." He then rams the blunt side of his horns into the Woman, causing her to crumble to the ground unconscious.
The Angel then turns to Frisk, their arms still bound tightly to their chest. The Angel hovers closer, all malice from his face disappearing as he looks at Frisk with concerns. With a flick, he summons a sword and slices through the bindings, leaving Frisk unharmed.
While Frisk stretches their arms and gets use to the new freedom they have, the Angel went around and gathered the unconscious bodies of the militants in silence. He conjures rope from…somewhere…and uses it to bind them by their hands and feet behind their backs.
When he finishes up with his task, he hovers back to Frisk, who is now sitting on a log next to the campfire.
"That's the last of them," the Angel announces as he drops the Woman next to the piles of other men and women, taking a seat next to Frisk, "If there is any justice in this world, they will never see the light of day after this night."
After the stunt they did at the library? After they killed their last remaining family? Frisk is certain that would be the case.
The Angel signs in resignation, wiping his face with his paw. "It's just as I said Frisk. They'll hurt you so that they can hurt me."
It's over now, Frisk tells him, they won't hurt them again.
"…No. You heard what she said. There are others out there still willing to hurt you. This has happened before Frisk, and it will happen again, and again, and again, and again, until one side or the other is dead.
"You saw what I could do every day, and you saw what I can do when confronted with people that try to hurt me. This is only a fraction of what I am capable of, and they killed Ligaya and Andres because of it." He rubs one of his eyes. Frisk cannot tell if it is from fatigue or tears. "Revealing myself was a mistake."
Frisk takes his other paw in their hands and grasps it tightly. They do not know what the Angel has planned, but if they think things will only get worse, then what they have in mind must be truly drastic. Frisk is afraid of what that means for their friendship.
"Please," They say, "Don't go."
"Shhh, shhh," the Angel soothes, gently stroking the back of Frisk's head with their free hand, "Don't worry. I won't be going anywhere." He then moves his other hand out of Frisk's grasp and pulls them into a hug.
Frisk does not want to let go.
"I promise everything will be alright."
R E S E T
---
A/N: We are a third of the way there. I admit, I'm kind of excited. I've never gotten this far in writing fanfiction before.
The two family members are concerned, but nonetheless glad that the bullies are being dealt with. A few minutes later when the report is complete, when Frisk and their aunt are about to part ways, the staff member informs them that they have been summoned to the principal's office.
Worried, they nonetheless comply. Meeting the principal, they see she has a very worried look in her eyes well when she asks them to take a seat. She then describes, in detail, the previously mentioned incident with the bullies. What she tells Frisk causes all thoughts of sadness and justice to turn into horror.
Every single one of the bullies have been hospitalized. Someone had poisoned them.
It was one of the children's birthday the same day as the incident, and a party was held after school with his friends in attendance. Someone, no one knows who, had put an extract of buttercup flowers into his birthday cake. Aunt Ligaya tell Frisk that it is a toxic flower that blisters the skin and severely irritates the digestive track, and Frisk's stomach turns at the description.
All of the children in attendance had eaten the cake, ensuring everyone was affected. It was fortunate that time and the baking process had reduced the effects, but not enough to prevent hospitalization.
The result of the poison that was still ingested is no less appalling. Blisters and swelling were all over their fingers and mouths. Their mind and body were a shaky mess, and that did not account for the horrific vomiting and diarrhea they all had to deal with. It was plastered all over local news and even national television, and the populace was out for blood against the monster that gruesomely harmed several children. But try as they might, the culprit is still at large, with no solid leads to work with.
Frisk had been informed because the victims' parents had singled out them as the culprit, citing their queer behavior and their "interaction" with the children as a red flag. Initially, the investigators would follow on the hypothesis, as the bullying incident that day would be a strong motive poisoning the children. For a few seconds, Frisk fears the worst.
The principal notices and quickly give her assurances to the family that Frisk was cleared of suspicion just an hour ago, as it was established that Frisk, their friends, and their Family were nowhere near the party when the cake was being made. Everyone in the room breathes a sigh of relief.
As they listen to the principal outline her plan to return the children to school, and how to ensure Frisk does not face retaliation over what is essentially a conspiracy theory at this point, a part of Frisk (much larger than they would ever admit) felt a sense of karmic justice at the suffering of the boys who have caused them nothing but grief since they started middle school.
Then they remember that if not for the poison being degraded, the children could have face much more serious symptoms. Frisk didn't know how many buttercups they needed to kill a person, but the possibility that one of them might have died causes whatever pleasure they might have derived to shrivel up in shame and horror.
Someone tried to maim children. Someone might even have been trying to murder them. It makes Frisk sick to their stomach.
Perhaps that is why, when the principal mentions which hospital they were staying at, Frisk announces they plan will visit the children after school at the hospital, and to try and burry any resentment and misinformation from the ordeal.
Later in the day, when they make good on their promise, the meetings start off tense as expected. Frisk never forgot the grief the bullies have caused them, and most of the bullies had this look of fear in their face whenever they make eye contact. Initially, few words are exchanged other than Frisk's condolences and the boys' insistence that they go away. Some of them say so with a tinge of their fear in their voice and a tremble in their body. Frisk is certain many of them still believe they had a hand in the poisoning. Frisk is dejected, but decides to leave them be for now. Once they have visited everyone else, they'll decide how to better approach each one.
When they reach the last room, they can hear the sound of a guitar playing. It's a sweet tune, one that fills Frisk with memories of happiness long forgotten. Opening the door, they find the person to be the birthday boy himself, an acoustic guitar in his hands while he rests in the hospital bed. Daron looks up and his face turns to shock. What surprises Frisk the most is that it is not out of fear as they expected, but shame and…something else.
Unable to think of anything else to say, Frisk complements Daron's music, which causes the boy to break down into flustered "thank you"s. He is surprisingly bashful, they think, and tries to peer more into this side of the bully.
As they interview him, Frisk finds out he has a fierce passion for music. Enough so that he managed to haggle for his guitar to be brought to his hospital room so he can practice with it. Even so, he says he has not done well, still shaky from the poison's effect on his mind. This is not helped by the blisters on his fingers from handling the cake, which made working the strings exceptionally difficult. Frisk still thinks he played well and lets him know. The boy blushes, which causes Frisk to chuckle in delight.
Hoping to expand on this opportunity, Frisk opens up their backpack and decides to share some of their own art as well, showing Daron the drawings they have been working on. Her proudest one this year is a picture of Toby, who is carrying a bone almost as long as he is away from a duo of brothers that are chasing him. Daron laughs heartily at the image, and the two happily continue to discuss their passion projects, animosity long forgotten.
Daron, as his guitar implied, wants to be a musician, and even managed to guess star in some student concerts, and score in the top 10 of some student talent shows (never 1st, 2nd, or 3rd unfortunately). He's had the guitar since he was 9 and has been practicing with it diligently ever since. If the song Frisk heard is anything to go by, they are certain that he is a shoo-in for his dream job, and wishes him the best of luck.
For Frisk, drawing is more of a hobby than a facet of their dream job. For them, they wanted to be a politician, to which Daron blanches in disbelief. He heard enough from his parents of how miserable a subject it is to be aware of, much less actively participate in as a career path, and Daron wonders why Frisk would torment themself like that. This neglects the amount of misery people would inflict on them simply because of their transgender status.
Frisk, however, is steadfast, believing that their place is in helping other to the best of their ability, and few positions of leadership offers such a breadth of abilities to help and improve other people's lives as a career in politics, as venomous and toxic as it may be. Besides, it's not like presidents and senators are the only political positions available. Frisk admits they will probably go on to be something far less glamorous like…say…an ambassadorship. Daron laughs heartily at that, commenting that it would be a perfect position for someone that tries to make friends with everyone.
Frisks smiles, but the grin slowly loses its luster before their face turns neutral as they digest his words. Their thoughts turn back to the day before, of how Daron was the last one they saw with their beloved hairpin. Anger begins to coil in their stomach before they clamp it down. It will not do them any good now, not after the rapport they just established.
This prompts Frisk to turn the conversation back to yesterday's incident, and Frisk asks Daron why he decided bullying them was acceptable. Was it peer pressure? Was it because they were different and alien to them? Or was it simply to pick on someone weaker and younger than him?
When Daron answers after a period of hesitation, what enters Frisk's ears surprises them, and they find it to be more entangled and perverse than anything they had anticipated.
Daron did not hate them. In truth, they had a hard crush on Frisk the moment they first met in middle school. This turned out to have caused a miserable situation for Daron, as his family and most of his friends are explicitly transphobic (something Daron had only recently gotten out of because of said crush).
And when his parents found out…the silent sob from his body tells Frisk all they need to know.
And so, a test of character—proof that his attraction to Frisk was a fluke—was to burn whatever bridges they could form, and in-turn cauterize the wound borne from their actions. A petty lash out to assert his own normalcy within his group.
Frisk is disquieted at the confession, and they are not sure how to process the information they receive, or the quiet sobs that Daron lets out at the end of his tale. There are questions Frisk still wants to ask Daron: where is the hair pin? Do you think I was the one that poisoned you? Why did you eat so much of the poisoned cake?
The last one was more out of curiosity. Auntie Ligaya had puzzled aloud at how much cake they must have ingested to get this severe a reaction in so many. Apparently, buttercups—in addition to being toxic—have a repugnant taste to them. It should have alerted the partygoers something was wrong the moment the first person took a bite, yet all of them appear to have eaten large quantities of the substance.
Looking at the boy, however, Frisk could not bring themselves to bring up any more questions as they watch the boy silently breakdown from the cruelty he had caused and experienced. Asking them about the hairpin now would be too much, much less reliving their poisoning. No, the hairpin will have to wait.
It is then that a nurse comes into the room and informs Frisk that visiting hours are closed. Frisk tells Daron his goodbyes and promises to visit again tomorrow, but Daron instead asks that they come over to his house instead, as the hospital is discharging him that very day. After everything Daron had told him about his parents and friends, Frisk isn't sure if it is a wise idea, but considering how much progress they've made with Daron after one visit, they decide to brave what is to come, and they tentatively accept.
When they get home that day, Auntie Ligaya present Frisk with an envelope that came in the mail that day. It has no return address, and inside were three items.
The first is Frisk's missing hairclip, much to Frisk's shook, relief, and unending joy. The second is a Golden Flower, one of Frisk's favorite plants and a common flower around Ebott. The third is a simple note written in cursive pen. On it is two words.
"I'm sorry."
There is little doubt in Frisk's mind that Daron had arranged for the envelope, though they wish they simply presented their case for forgiveness in person, rather than through an unmarked envelope. It would allow Frisk to get a better read on the sincerity of their apology.
Frisk then looks at the Golden Flower that came in the envelope. They imagine Daron's face on it and try to picture if they could look him in the eye after everything he did, and forgive him for what he had done to them; the way he had hurt him so much.
The more they think about it, they more they start to believe things were out of control for Daron to be a better person under the circumstances. It would require a lot of willpower and determination to overcome that kind of peer pressure and parental pressure. Not even Frisk is sure if they could hold out better than Daron. The fact that the envelope arrived today suggested that Daron had it arranged the same day he took the hairpin, which heartens Frisk as it lets them know that they were ready to apologize unprompted the same day.
He might be bad at showing it, but Daron appears to be genuinely sorry for what he has done. Rejecting his apologies in such circumstances would do nothing to make him a better person, nor will it help him overcome his situation. His friends and family would still egg him on to discriminate against Frisk so long as Frisk and everyone else lets the issue fester. It would be best to tackle the problem now, and work things out from there. Besides, Daron already went through enough with the poison cake; they didn't need to pile on more grief on the boy.
Yes, Frisk decides, even if their apology is insincere, they will come to his house tomorrow. They will brave whatever they face that day, and forgive him.
--
Frisk sleeps anxiously that night, and dreams of an Empty Kingdom, and those who sought to get inside.
Their encampment rests upon a cliffside on Mount Ebott. It at the terminus of a trail large enough that one could pave a two-lane road upon it and have room to spare, and on the face of the mountain is a grand, marble gateway, the entrance locked tight by a shimmering, white Barrier.
The men and women surrounding Frisk hurry around the location, the clink of brass indicating they are gathering ammunition for their weapons, while the sound of something large and in bags are being dropped at the base of the gate. They think those are explosives. Frisk could also make out the silhouettes of pickets standing at the edge of the cliff, looking for any signs of the Angel. Any more than that was lost due to the brightness of the fire they were next to. Even though only their arms and mouth are bound, their state as a hostage prevents them from moving for a better look, lest they provoke retaliation, or let the bomb on their back go off.
"That's in the direction of our compound."
"Holy shit, that thing can throw fucking nukes!?"
Frisk hears more yelling, screams of despair as some of the fighters throw down their weapons and try and run as fast down the mountain as they can.
One of the individuals, a blonde woman who appears to be in her 50s, approaches the man sitting next to Frisk's entangled body. "Is everything ready?"
"Yep, boys are just about to finish up, and I got the detonator ready minutes go." The man says, holding out a smartphone with brilliant red and yellow buttons on-screen. "I've got three ready to blow on this app here," he points a finger at the phone, "One for the dynamite rigged on the gate, one for the IED we strapped to the back of the tranny, and one for the claymores surrounding this campsite just in case the IED doesn't cut it."
The Woman hums, "Sounds like overkill."
"It's a little trick I learned from the Afghanistan. It'll think it will have all the bombs accounted for and then BAM!" the man slaps his fist into his palm, "The next set of bombs will shred it and the girl into mincemeat. The damn thing won't know what hit him."
"Where the hell did you get all this stuff anyways? The state's gun laws are very stringent, and I don't think this stuff is legal in any state."
The man looks around, rests his eyes upon Frisk, then leans into the Woman. "Don't tell anyone but…I know some guys in a couple nearby militias. Like-minded people who want the Monster dead as much as we do. They managed to smuggle back some of the explosives they worked with in Iraq and Afghanistan." The man shoots a look at Frisk, "Actually, should we really be talking about this around her?"
The Woman sneers. "Doesn't matter. That gender-confused freak will die with the Monster before she has any chance to tell it anything."
"I see it, here it comes!" Someone shouts in the background. Over in Ebott, Frisk can make out a bright light that shimmers in many colors. They watch as it comes closer and closer, and they hear the clatter of guns being aimed and bullets being chambered.
Then, there are two minutes of silence as the
Finally, Frisk can make out the features of the Angel, its majestic form illuminated by wings of rainbow and starlight. With a flap of his wings, he breaks his momentum and floats before the gathered humans.
Frisk feels a bewildering sensation of weightlessness before they find themselves zipping up from the trap surrounding them and towards the Angel.
Frisk can make out the gaping mouths of the gunmen below them as they spin in the air, right before they hear the Woman shout, "Kill the hostage!"
Immediately, some of them raise their firearms in the direction of Frisk, and they hear the woosh of the Angel's wings as he tries to close the distance as fast as he can. They shut their eyes in pain from the deafening crack of dozens of gunshots. Suddenly, a burning agony slams into them five times for the five holes punching through their stomach.
Frisk screams in pain as the world starts to fade. The Angel yells their name before a loud bang turns everything into nothing.
A loud crash deafens Frisk, the bomb on their back turns hot, and they see arcs of rainbow lighting in the edges of their vision. They realize that the Angel just called down lighting to fry the bomb. That did nothing to solve the bombs surrounding them.
The Angel immediately dives into Frisk's direction, unable to hear Frisk's warnings of the booby traps surrounding them. Then, just as the Angel tries to wrap his arms around Frisk, the humans surrounding them open fire. The bullets bounce harmlessly against his wings and his robes, but he is too busy shielding Frisk's body to notice them trying to warn him.
Suddenly, explosions send hundreds of metal shards that tear Frisk apart. They feel a second of complete agony, then something pierces the back of their neck, then nothing.
"D I E."
Immediately, all the surrounding humans burst into flames. Men and women scream in agony and fire their weapons even as they flail about in a futile attempt to extinguish themselves.
The Woman's shrieks are especially loud, and she drops to the floor and rolls in the dirt to snuff out the flames. The man that handled the bombs was less fortunate, as he runs in a panic and ends up falling off the cliff.
By the time the fires were snuffed, the Woman's legs were burnt down to the thighs, reducing her to crawling across the ground. She pulls herself with her arms, crawling towards something Frisk cannot see on the ground. A foot comes crashing down on her burnt arm. Frisk hears bone snap, and the Woman screams in pain.
The Angel is facing away from Frisk and the Woman, staring down at the thing she was reaching for. "So that's how you set off the bombs," he remarks as he picks something up. It appears to be the same phone as before.
"Good to know." He casually crushes the device in his hands, then turns to look at the Woman he is standing on. He gets off her arm, then kneels down and pulls her head up by her hair. The Woman struggles to reach the Angel's arm with her one unbroken hand, but fails to raise it high enough to do anything.
"I've never tasted human flesh before," the Angel says. Frisk's heart turns cold. "I always believed it was a disgusting as the species that it grew on."
Faster than the Woman could react, the Angel—no, the Demon—tears out a meaty chunk from the Woman's neck with his fangs. It swallows, and licks its bloodied lips as he shudders in pleasure.
"I w a s w r o n g."
The Woman gurgles as her lifeforce exits her torn neck. The Demon drops the Woman unceremoniously to the ground. In its hand is a glowing object that looks an awful lot like a blue, cartoon heart. It then turns its attention to Frisk, its glowing red eyes highlighting its ghastly, bloody grin.
But then, as the Demon looks upon the trembling human, it stops grinning, and a look of horror starts to dawn on its face. It drops the heart and slowly approaches Frisk.
"Frisk," the Demon says, reaching out for the bound human.
Frisk shuffles away from the Demon, eyes wide open and locked on the monster as Frisk's muffled screams reaches his hears.
The Demon flinches, but floats closer as it grasps Frisk in its arms. Frisk continues to struggle in its arms as the Demon brings them closer to its chest. "I'm sorry Frisk." It says as it overpowers the flailing human in a hug, "I failed my promise."
Frisk heaves in panic and shock as the situation starts to become inescapable for them. They try and struggle some more, but the Demon's grasp is simply too strong for them to overcome. They're stuck with the murderer.
Despairing, Frisk's heavy breathing starts to calm as their body unconsciously melts into the hug of the demon, turning numb to the slaughter it had commenced moments ago.
They stay there for many minutes. All is quiet except for the sound of crackling fire and the smell of blood and charred flesh. Frisk's mind starts to wonder aimlessly as the surrealness of the situation sends their mind into a fuzzy space of numbness and resignation.
"Don't worry," The demon finally speaks, "I think I know how to solve this now."
The Angel looks at the gathered humans before him. He sneers.
"First you try to assault me, then you try to kill me, and now you are reduced to taking those I care for as a hostage," the Angel calls out, causing the gunmen to back up in some cases. Frisk's heart beats furiously at the reverb his voice sends through the encampment. "You humans have no low you would not stoop to."
The Angel crosses his arms as he scans the area. "I don't like you humans. Really, I don't like humans in general. Not one bit." His eyes lock with Frisk's, and for a moment his features soften before they harden again. "But you happen to hold the exception to that rule right there, and I care about them a lot. So much that I understand perfectly well that they would prefer it that I don't splatter all of you across the mountainside in spite of everything you have done.
"So please," the Angel holds out his hand in gesture, "do me a favor and hand them over."
There's a loud crack and something bounces off of the Angel. That seems to be the que as others scream in rage and fear as they fire off their own guns at the Angel. They shout obscenities and death threats at the Angel as they unload everything they have at the creature.
The Angel seems unbothered, however. The Angel's eyes close.
Then they snap open, and the Angel's outstretched arm immediately makes a pulling motion in the Woman's direction. She jerks just as something small and black—probably the same phone as before, Frisk deduces—zips out of her pocket and flies directly into the Angel's outstretched hand.
He crushes it in his hand instantly.
"You will all wish you die today," he announces.
Realizing the situation they are finally in, the Woman snaps her head in the direction of Frisk. "Kill her!" she shouts.
Some of the men turn their guns in the direction of Frisk and open fire immediately. Frisk flinches back, but watches in astonishment as the bullets are stopped a mere foot from their body, suspended in the air. A slight shimmer of rainbows surrounds the bullets.
"Shit," one of the shooters says, "that think can make others bulletproof?"
"Don't you have something more important to take care of?" The Angel asks, who had somehow appeared mere centimeters behind the man. Before the man can whip around and aim his gun, the Angel knocks the firearm out with a slap of his hand, then presses the other to the chest of the man. He screams as arcs of multi-colored electricity course through his body.
Bullets continue to bounce off of his form. "Hold your fire!" someone shouts "You might hit Marcus!"
"Screw shooting it, the thing is bulletproof! We have to go get the National Guard and the goddamn Army."
"You will be going nowhere," the Angel announces raising his hand in the air. From a cloudless sky, there is a barrage of thunder that crackles in the air before a rainbow of colored lightning flashes through the crowd electrocuting almost everyone present.
The Woman jumps to the side just in time to avoid an arc crashing down upon where she stood, landing right at Frisk's bound form. She looks at the bound individual before quickly reaching behind Frisk's head.
"Get moving, you hell spawn," she shoves Frisk, aiming a pistol at their head, "This is all your fault for bringing the Monster to the city."
Frisk is forced forward towards the clash between the Angel and two men who survived the Angel's attack. Wielding pipes and wooden clubs, they clash with the Angel as best as they can. Their efforts are futile, however, and the Angel easily deflects their blows with his bare hands.
Then, out of nowhere, two ornate swords materialize in his hands, and with a swing, he easily cuts through the men's instruments. While the two gawk at their shortened weapons in amazement he smacks them in the head with the pommels of his swords, and they fall down to the ground.
"Tch," the Angel comments, seemingly oblivious of the Woman and Frisk behind him, "I've been getting sloppy."
"Stop right there!" the Woman shouts. The Angel's head perks up, and slowly he rotates to face the two remaining humans.
"Don't move," she commands "One errant twitch, and you risk me pulling the trigger on your precious hell spawn."
The Angel pauses for a moment. He sighs, and he drops his swords in resignation. They dematerialize before they even hit the ground.
"Alright," the Angel says, "Is your bloodlust satisfied? Will you finally release Frisk knowing that you stand against a god?"
"Shut up," the Woman shoved the barrier into Frisk's temple, "We knew demons like you consort with queers like her. We should have stopped you sooner. Now our kids can't stop talking about you every day and don't care a lick about how they're abandoning Christ for you."
"Oh goody," the Angel says sarcastically, clapping his hands mockingly, "a self-righteous dogmatist. How original. You wouldn't happen to have a certain name? 'Karen' I think the children call them these days?"
"It's Helen, demon," she spits, "Bad enough we're having girls pretends to be boys, boys pretending to be girls, and some made up word that doesn't even exist. Next you'll have us practicing witchcraft, worshipping Satan, and bang goats and demons so that you can have someone fondle abominations like yourself."
The Angel's eyes twitch, but his lips turn into a smile, "I too happen to be appalled by bestiality. Fornicating with lesser beings like yourself is beneath a god."
Frisk wriggles in their restraints. "Stop struggling!" the Woman shouts.
"Alright, so if you are not blazingly marching Frisk before me because you see reason, what are you trying to do?"
"Simple," she pulls the hammer on her pistol, "Leave this place. Never come close to another human again, and never come near this city or my son again."
"And if I don't comply what is demonstrably an unenforceable command, what do you plan to do?"
"Then I put a bullet in the tranny's skull, so go back through the gate whence you came, and never come out. If you do come back out again, know that others know where she lives."
The Angel rests his head upon one of his hands and makes a humming noise. Frisk is certain that he is still mocking her. By the sound of the low grumbles behind them, so does the Woman. Then his smile turns into a devilish grin.
"Helen, was it? Did you know your other son James comes to my gatherings so he can see his baby brother?" the Angel asks.
The Woman freezes. Taken by surprise at the statement.
"What?" she asks.
"Oh he didn't tell you? After so much grief you've given Winston, I was sure he would have told you by now. I guess he loves he brother more than he does you." The Angel lets out a low chuckle.
"James makes time between college classes to come down to visit his brother when I hold magic shows after school. He has certainly provided…" the Angel's voice is laced with malicious mischief, "perspective on the family situation."
The Woman feels shaken, as Frisk can tell by the gun barrel wobbling on their head. "You don't know anything," the Woman says.
"Was it really worth it to break your family apart just because James wanted to love another man? Did you really have to hate your husband just because he supported his son's quest for love? Of course, given your animosity to Frisk simply for how they present themself, I shouldn't be surprised. Your pettiness is appalling."
"Shut up." Frisk hears a click, and starts panicking. The Woman shoves the pistol right onto Frisk's temple again.
"Pathetic, is it not? It seems that the children know their angels from their demons better than you do."
"Shut up!"
"When your corpse is done getting cold up on this mountain, I'll be sure that their father will take good care of them. After the love that they've shown each other, they certainly deserve better than you."
"SHUT UP!" the Woman screeches, pulling the trigger and-
There's no bang. All Frisk can hear is the frantic pulling if the trigger next to their ear.
Frisk feels the gun lift away from their temple. "Wha-" the Woman asks before the Angel zooms in front of her and lifts her up by her shirt with one arm. She looks at the Angel in shock while the Angel stares back in amusement.
"You idiot. I didn't want you to realize I toggled the safety while we were talking." He then rams the blunt side of his horns into the Woman, causing her to crumble to the ground unconscious.
The Angel then turns to Frisk, their arms still bound tightly to their chest. The Angel hovers closer, all malice from his face disappearing as he looks at Frisk with concerns. With a flick, he summons a sword and slices through the bindings, leaving Frisk unharmed.
While Frisk stretches their arms and gets use to the new freedom they have, the Angel went around and gathered the unconscious bodies of the militants in silence. He conjures rope from…somewhere…and uses it to bind them by their hands and feet behind their backs.
When he finishes up with his task, he hovers back to Frisk, who is now sitting on a log next to the campfire.
"That's the last of them," the Angel announces as he drops the Woman next to the piles of other men and women, taking a seat next to Frisk, "If there is any justice in this world, they will never see the light of day after this night."
After the stunt they did at the library? After they killed their last remaining family? Frisk is certain that would be the case.
The Angel signs in resignation, wiping his face with his paw. "It's just as I said Frisk. They'll hurt you so that they can hurt me."
It's over now, Frisk tells him, they won't hurt them again.
"…No. You heard what she said. There are others out there still willing to hurt you. This has happened before Frisk, and it will happen again, and again, and again, and again, until one side or the other is dead.
"You saw what I could do every day, and you saw what I can do when confronted with people that try to hurt me. This is only a fraction of what I am capable of, and they killed Ligaya and Andres because of it." He rubs one of his eyes. Frisk cannot tell if it is from fatigue or tears. "Revealing myself was a mistake."
Frisk takes his other paw in their hands and grasps it tightly. They do not know what the Angel has planned, but if they think things will only get worse, then what they have in mind must be truly drastic. Frisk is afraid of what that means for their friendship.
"Please," They say, "Don't go."
"Shhh, shhh," the Angel soothes, gently stroking the back of Frisk's head with their free hand, "Don't worry. I won't be going anywhere." He then moves his other hand out of Frisk's grasp and pulls them into a hug.
Frisk does not want to let go.
"I promise everything will be alright."
R E S E T
---
A/N: We are a third of the way there. I admit, I'm kind of excited. I've never gotten this far in writing fanfiction before.
Last edited:
(1i)
Another failure.
You lash out in anger and rage. Whips of magic strike the surrounding trees, felling them and creating violent crashing noises in the forest. You attack the trunks repeatedly until your magic reduces the fallen trunks to so many splinters. Then, you light it all in a raging inferno that illuminates the night. It is not enough however, and you summon your swords and dash them against the nearby rocks, leaving stones split in half and rock sides red with violent hot gashes.
Another failure.
You scream in anger and frustration as you shoot into the sky, and a pillar of white-hot flame erupts from your mouth, vaporizing the clouds around you and barely missing a passing airliner.
You then zip back to the ground and smash your feet into the Earth with the energy and force of a nuclear bomb. The shockwave flattens the trees and sends millions of tons of earth flying from the ground.
Another failed timeline.
You want to kill them so badly. The children, who belittled your friend and reduce them to a thing; the men and women who killed your friend's family….
You want to kill them all, to crush the skulls like eggs, to feast on their souls, to consume their torn flesh and drink their spilled blood until you are satiated.
You want to take you friend from them and bring them with you, to shelter them, to give them comfort while you cleanse the world of all the evils that dare threaten them.
But you couldn't stand the tears in their eyes when you did it.
But you won't do it. No matter how much they deserved to be butchered, no matter how much their demise would bring ecstasy and pleasure to you, the look in your friend's eyes never makes it worth it.
You can't forget their melted skin from the havoc you caused.
You won't hurt them for a crime that no longer exists.
You look around at the devastation you have wrought. Not a tree stands around you for miles, the Earth scorched by the flames of your magic. This kind of destruction never has the same catharsis as killing, but neither does it bring the horrible crash that follows, and that make it far more palatable.
Of course, it always attracts a lot of attention. Already, you can sense the movement of helicopters from the nearby city, no doubt alerted by the explosive force of your "venting." You contemplate staying here and letting the humans find you among the destruction, to revel in the shock and fear you oh so enjoy.
Alas, you are not in the mood. You've had your fill of terror in the last save, and the events of it give off a bitter taste. It is time to go.
[File 3 Loaded]
You are behind a tree as your friend calls out and begs you to show the children one more magic trick. Your concealed location gives you ample opportunity to review recent events and mentally prepare yourself before you come out of hiding.
In case things went to hell but did not justify a reset, you kept some of your save points in times and places you cherish the most. The moments when your friend was at their happiest. The moments when you were at your happiest.
Today is your biggest magic show yet, and as you float out of the tree line, you intend to capture that magic once again.
It is nighttime, and all the schoolchildren have come for a special event your friend helped to organize for the school to see. You don't want them here. You certainly don't want to share your magic when only your friend has earned it. At least this time you are no longer something as plebian as a janitor, otherwise you would have been tempted to burn this school to the ground for going through that again.
…But it makes your friend happy to share their delight with others, and despite all your grievances, that happiness makes it all worth it.
Your shows have made you a master of light magic, and you make use of your honed skills to put on a lightshow of epic proportions, the kind schools like these would never see in their lifetime.
Up in the sky, upon your mighty wings, you weave an epic take of dragons that plague the land, and the mighty god that stood against them. The god that you imagined in a drawing so long ago.
As the school band played a triumphant orchestra, you duel dragons of all kinds with your swords, each strike sending out sparks like fireworks, and you make the same grandiose proclamations as you had when you were roleplaying as a child, now benefiting from vocal cords that could be manipulated to make the words sound so much more eloquent and invigorating than they really are.
You call upon Frisk to help you deal the finishing blow to a dragon whom you 'cannot' slay alone, and they reach out with their hand as you hoist them up to the sky. You twirl in the air as you bring them to your shoulders, and you catch them grinning ear to ear, laughing in excitement. It sends tingles of joy through your stomach.
You arm them with one of your swords, and with a mighty swing, your swords cut through the final dragon, causing it to explode in a cacophony straight out of the Spring Festival. The crowd below roars in celebration and applause, clapping their hands as the two of you descend to the ground below. The two of you giggle from excitement, appreciation, and embarrassment.
Revealing yourself in this timeline has certainly been a mistake, but you won't lie to yourself and say you didn't have good moments like these.
You're so happy. You wish moments like this lasted forever.
For a minute, you contemplate giving them your gift. You had made it in one of the first iterations as a thank you present for what they have done for you. It got erased along with the rest of the timeline, but just like this moment, giving them the present is one of your most cherished memories.
They thank you with a kiss on the cheek.
It is a ritual at this point with how you repeat the process every time you intend to reveal yourself to them. You lack the skills and tools to handcraft it, and your magic cannot conjure physical matter. Fortunately, plastic and metals mold easily under your willpower, and making it only takes a few seconds at this point.
You can give it to them now, just like last time. You can turn one of the best days of this timeline into one of the best among all timelines.
"You're my best friend," they say tearfully. Your heart stops for a moment, and you remember hearing those words from someone just as special so long ago. You feel your own eyes starting to wet as well.
But then, your eyes fall onto them, and you remember why this happiness will not last. The people who ruined the timeline near the back of the crowd, looking on with, seething with hatred, self-righteousness, and fear. You see the Woman lead her protesting son away from the spectacle and to their home, and her band follows.
…No. You know how this all ends. You know what your presence caused, and you will have to go back to before you revealed yourself. You will save the gift for another timeline, when your friend will have the time to cherish it.
For now, there is something else you must investigate.
[File 2 Loaded]
You stand atop a metal platform. Beneath it, a shimmering, black void that forms the center of your home's power plant.
When you were in your darkest moments, you contemplated what the limits of your mortality were. How much damage was needed to force you to turn back the clock?
You don't deserve this life. You don't deserve this power.
You used everything. You shot yourself, stabbed yourself, doused yourself in lava, ate every poison known to monsters and men, exposed yourself to diseased that would melt flesh and fill lungs with fluids, hopped into the sun and even infiltrated a nuclear missile facility to set off the device yourself.
Sadly, you found out you are not invincible, but you are thankful gunshots and ailments of the body cannot hurt you, otherwise the whole process would have been far more painful and unpleasant.
In all your tests upon your durability however, you never dared to enter the CORE. You couldn't risk it.
The Scientist That Came Before fell into the CORE, but he did not die. What happened to him was so much worse.
He was erased from time. Not just from the moment he fell in, but from the past as well. No one remembers him; not the Old King, nor the Scientist, nor even the monsters that looked like his family. The only reason you know he exists is because the Sentry, for whatever odd reason, was able to keep records of what little he does remember. Other than that, all that is left of his legacy is his cryptic writings, the people you suspect are his family members, and the very machine you now hover over.
Your immortality depended on the ability to manipulate time. The CORE's effects attack the very power that let you get this far, erasing you from time, removing your ability to reset the world. It is the zero to set your infinity back to zero. And yet…
There is more to the fate of the Scientist That Came Before than you initially anticipated. You have seen things wandering around your home that do not belong. Three monsters that appear and speak of cryptic events that seem to pertain to the lost doctor, a door that should not be there in a place it does not belong, and a man that spoke not a word but used his hands to sign letters.
Then, in this timeline, you had just cracked the cipher to the notes of the Scientist That Came Before. It was annoyingly simple, but it has revealed surprising and game-changing applications of Void. And the key ingredient for its manipulation was Determination. Something you are practically made of.
Joy.
Which is why you now on the precipice of dropping yourself within the CORE. If your reading of the notes is correct, and based on inferences from your encounters, then the Scientist That Came Before had the Determination to prevent himself from experiencing complete oblivion, but not enough reconstitute himself fully within reality. You, however, have far greater amounts then he ever had by many orders of magnitude. If a single monster's Determination is enough to prevent oblivion, then you should be able to conquer the Void all by yourself just fine.
Already, you are tantalizing the ways you can use the Void to your benefit: a faster way to travel, a pocket space you can access from anywhere, and perhaps even a way to manipulate time in ways more sophisticated than a video game's save file.
But you fail, well…
You laugh maniacally as you slice through the fleeing humans.
You vomit as the souls, your soul, recoil at the vile murders you have committed.
You do nothing as your friend tries and fails to stab you to death. You deserve far worse fates.
At least you will no longer be a burden upon your friend anymore.
You descend into the CORE.
You lash out in anger and rage. Whips of magic strike the surrounding trees, felling them and creating violent crashing noises in the forest. You attack the trunks repeatedly until your magic reduces the fallen trunks to so many splinters. Then, you light it all in a raging inferno that illuminates the night. It is not enough however, and you summon your swords and dash them against the nearby rocks, leaving stones split in half and rock sides red with violent hot gashes.
Another failure.
You scream in anger and frustration as you shoot into the sky, and a pillar of white-hot flame erupts from your mouth, vaporizing the clouds around you and barely missing a passing airliner.
You then zip back to the ground and smash your feet into the Earth with the energy and force of a nuclear bomb. The shockwave flattens the trees and sends millions of tons of earth flying from the ground.
Another failed timeline.
You want to kill them so badly. The children, who belittled your friend and reduce them to a thing; the men and women who killed your friend's family….
You want to kill them all, to crush the skulls like eggs, to feast on their souls, to consume their torn flesh and drink their spilled blood until you are satiated.
You want to take you friend from them and bring them with you, to shelter them, to give them comfort while you cleanse the world of all the evils that dare threaten them.
But you won't do it. No matter how much they deserved to be butchered, no matter how much their demise would bring ecstasy and pleasure to you, the look in your friend's eyes never makes it worth it.
You won't hurt them for a crime that no longer exists.
You look around at the devastation you have wrought. Not a tree stands around you for miles, the Earth scorched by the flames of your magic. This kind of destruction never has the same catharsis as killing, but neither does it bring the horrible crash that follows, and that make it far more palatable.
Of course, it always attracts a lot of attention. Already, you can sense the movement of helicopters from the nearby city, no doubt alerted by the explosive force of your "venting." You contemplate staying here and letting the humans find you among the destruction, to revel in the shock and fear you oh so enjoy.
Alas, you are not in the mood. You've had your fill of terror in the last save, and the events of it give off a bitter taste. It is time to go.
[File 3 Loaded]
You are behind a tree as your friend calls out and begs you to show the children one more magic trick. Your concealed location gives you ample opportunity to review recent events and mentally prepare yourself before you come out of hiding.
In case things went to hell but did not justify a reset, you kept some of your save points in times and places you cherish the most. The moments when your friend was at their happiest. The moments when you were at your happiest.
Today is your biggest magic show yet, and as you float out of the tree line, you intend to capture that magic once again.
It is nighttime, and all the schoolchildren have come for a special event your friend helped to organize for the school to see. You don't want them here. You certainly don't want to share your magic when only your friend has earned it. At least this time you are no longer something as plebian as a janitor, otherwise you would have been tempted to burn this school to the ground for going through that again.
…But it makes your friend happy to share their delight with others, and despite all your grievances, that happiness makes it all worth it.
Your shows have made you a master of light magic, and you make use of your honed skills to put on a lightshow of epic proportions, the kind schools like these would never see in their lifetime.
Up in the sky, upon your mighty wings, you weave an epic take of dragons that plague the land, and the mighty god that stood against them. The god that you imagined in a drawing so long ago.
As the school band played a triumphant orchestra, you duel dragons of all kinds with your swords, each strike sending out sparks like fireworks, and you make the same grandiose proclamations as you had when you were roleplaying as a child, now benefiting from vocal cords that could be manipulated to make the words sound so much more eloquent and invigorating than they really are.
You call upon Frisk to help you deal the finishing blow to a dragon whom you 'cannot' slay alone, and they reach out with their hand as you hoist them up to the sky. You twirl in the air as you bring them to your shoulders, and you catch them grinning ear to ear, laughing in excitement. It sends tingles of joy through your stomach.
You arm them with one of your swords, and with a mighty swing, your swords cut through the final dragon, causing it to explode in a cacophony straight out of the Spring Festival. The crowd below roars in celebration and applause, clapping their hands as the two of you descend to the ground below. The two of you giggle from excitement, appreciation, and embarrassment.
Revealing yourself in this timeline has certainly been a mistake, but you won't lie to yourself and say you didn't have good moments like these.
You're so happy. You wish moments like this lasted forever.
For a minute, you contemplate giving them your gift. You had made it in one of the first iterations as a thank you present for what they have done for you. It got erased along with the rest of the timeline, but just like this moment, giving them the present is one of your most cherished memories.
It is a ritual at this point with how you repeat the process every time you intend to reveal yourself to them. You lack the skills and tools to handcraft it, and your magic cannot conjure physical matter. Fortunately, plastic and metals mold easily under your willpower, and making it only takes a few seconds at this point.
You can give it to them now, just like last time. You can turn one of the best days of this timeline into one of the best among all timelines.
But then, your eyes fall onto them, and you remember why this happiness will not last. The people who ruined the timeline near the back of the crowd, looking on with, seething with hatred, self-righteousness, and fear. You see the Woman lead her protesting son away from the spectacle and to their home, and her band follows.
…No. You know how this all ends. You know what your presence caused, and you will have to go back to before you revealed yourself. You will save the gift for another timeline, when your friend will have the time to cherish it.
For now, there is something else you must investigate.
[File 2 Loaded]
You stand atop a metal platform. Beneath it, a shimmering, black void that forms the center of your home's power plant.
When you were in your darkest moments, you contemplated what the limits of your mortality were. How much damage was needed to force you to turn back the clock?
You used everything. You shot yourself, stabbed yourself, doused yourself in lava, ate every poison known to monsters and men, exposed yourself to diseased that would melt flesh and fill lungs with fluids, hopped into the sun and even infiltrated a nuclear missile facility to set off the device yourself.
Sadly, you found out you are not invincible, but you are thankful gunshots and ailments of the body cannot hurt you, otherwise the whole process would have been far more painful and unpleasant.
In all your tests upon your durability however, you never dared to enter the CORE. You couldn't risk it.
The Scientist That Came Before fell into the CORE, but he did not die. What happened to him was so much worse.
He was erased from time. Not just from the moment he fell in, but from the past as well. No one remembers him; not the Old King, nor the Scientist, nor even the monsters that looked like his family. The only reason you know he exists is because the Sentry, for whatever odd reason, was able to keep records of what little he does remember. Other than that, all that is left of his legacy is his cryptic writings, the people you suspect are his family members, and the very machine you now hover over.
Your immortality depended on the ability to manipulate time. The CORE's effects attack the very power that let you get this far, erasing you from time, removing your ability to reset the world. It is the zero to set your infinity back to zero. And yet…
There is more to the fate of the Scientist That Came Before than you initially anticipated. You have seen things wandering around your home that do not belong. Three monsters that appear and speak of cryptic events that seem to pertain to the lost doctor, a door that should not be there in a place it does not belong, and a man that spoke not a word but used his hands to sign letters.
Then, in this timeline, you had just cracked the cipher to the notes of the Scientist That Came Before. It was annoyingly simple, but it has revealed surprising and game-changing applications of Void. And the key ingredient for its manipulation was Determination. Something you are practically made of.
Joy.
Which is why you now on the precipice of dropping yourself within the CORE. If your reading of the notes is correct, and based on inferences from your encounters, then the Scientist That Came Before had the Determination to prevent himself from experiencing complete oblivion, but not enough reconstitute himself fully within reality. You, however, have far greater amounts then he ever had by many orders of magnitude. If a single monster's Determination is enough to prevent oblivion, then you should be able to conquer the Void all by yourself just fine.
Already, you are tantalizing the ways you can use the Void to your benefit: a faster way to travel, a pocket space you can access from anywhere, and perhaps even a way to manipulate time in ways more sophisticated than a video game's save file.
But you fail, well…
You vomit as the souls, your soul, recoil at the vile murders you have committed.
You do nothing as your friend tries and fails to stab you to death. You deserve far worse fates.
At least you will no longer be a burden upon your friend anymore.
You descend into the CORE.
Last edited:
Part 2
(7) 13 Years Old
Frisk is 13, and Daron's birthday party is turning out much better than the rather infamous one from the previous year.
There are no buttercups at the party, which Frisk is eternally thankful for as they are now in attendance. While Daron has lost his appetite for all things cake and cake shaped, Frisk had offered to step in with their own brand of desserts.
Halo-halo is a popular dish from the homeland of Frisk's mom and aunt. It isn't a dessert specifically for birthday parties, and quite a few partygoers are put off by how exotic it looks, with all the milk, fruit, beans, shaved ice, ice cream and flan mixed in, but it is a dish Frisk knows how to make well. The nature of the frozen ingredients meant they had to do the mixing on-the-spot, and everyone watched in curiosity as the strange child makes these special treats for all the other children to eat. Thankfully, Daron can be counted among those that enjoy the dessert, and when Frisk watches him eat his share, they catch him eagerly nodding back in gratitude.
Frisk grins back, but then their smile starts to falter. Daron's crush was, in the end, a mere crush after all. Beyond the arts, there really is not anything else they had shared interests in. They didn't like the same movies, the same sports, nor even the same games. They had strong opinions that contradicted rather than complemented each other, and he really was not interested in the whole 'dating' thing.
It essentially rendered last year's acts of cruelty completely pointless. Still, Frisk is happy to see that Daron remains courteous and nice with them in public and private, and they personally count him among their small cadre of friends in spite of their issues.
Their lips perk up into a smile again as they watch Toby run off with a hot-dog sausage in his mouth. Frisk stifles a laugh as they watch one of the former bullies try desperately to catch the white Pomeranian, but Toby proves surprisingly nimble in avoiding his reach. Frisk would have given up long ago, but the stubborn boy keeps chase to everyone's amusement.
The good cheer lasts through the remainder of the party. When it comes time to open the presents, Daron looks onto his open gifts with open gratitude, and Frisk is happy that his smile is completely genuine. If they had to pick a favorite, it's the new guitar that Daron's grandfather got him, a well-polished acoustic that looks much nicer than the once Frisk saw him with ever since the hospital.
Which brings them to Frisk's present.
Frisk sees him give a funny look as he unboxes the present that is inside. It is a heart shaped guitar pick. Frisk remembered them complaining about losing his old one a few weeks ago, and Frisk thought to give him a replacement while they were still a thing. Now, the choice of a heart was a bit too inappropriate and on-the-nose given their breakup, but…it felt right somehow.
The crowd gives well-meaning jeers at Daron and Frisk's former crush, which causes Frisk to suppress the urge to chuckle at themself. They explain to Daron that, yes, even though they're no longer dating and things did not work out, the experience was nonetheless pleasant, and they wanted to commemorate the time spent together.
Frisk holds out their heart-shaped hairpin and uses the opportunity to thank them as well. They say that the gesture he made by returning the hairpin made them have a crush on them as well and solidified their willingness to forgive him.
Then Frisk is bewildered when Daron looks at the hairpin in shock and…is that fear? He appears to want to say something, but he loses his words and instead accepts Frisk's thanks hesitantly. Something strange is going on.
Frisk would choose to stay behind to help with the cleanup effort for the birthday party, something that gets begrudging thanks form Daron's parents. Auntie Ligaya needed to leave and pick up Andres, and so had left with Toby and the kitchenware in tow. Fortunately, the sun hasn't set yet and Frisk is content with walking home. As they pick up one of the garbage bags, however, they see Daron approach them with the strange expression again.
Frisk asks him what the problem is, and that is when he opens his mouth. As more words come spilling out of it, things start to click in place, and their heart freezes.
Frisk's body goes cold as Daron continues to apologize. His words are toned out as everything that happened in those two eventful days suddenly come into focus. Frisk gives them a slight thank you for their honesty and proceeds to hastily finish the remainder of their chores before bidding Daron's parents a quick goodbye.
His words replay in the back of their mind as they walk back home, their eyes darting to every corner of the neighborhood, as though they were expecting someone to watch them, which was ridiculous. And yet the hairpin…
It's twilight now. The walk is completely uneventful, but the previous conversation had driven Frisk's mind into paranoia, jumping at every shadow in the evening light. By the time they reach home, it is nearing the end of dusk. Ligaya sees the terror on their face and asks what is wrong. Frisk lies by telling them they saw a coyote following them. Ligaya is concerned but nonetheless thankful they are unharmed, whispering words to sooth their mind. It meant Frisk was never allowed to walk alone on evenings, but Frisk numbingly accepts, too exhausted to contest her.
Tired, and in no mood to make the night enjoyable, Frisk doesn't feel like staying up any longer. They promptly clean themselves up, change into their pajamas, and go into bed, their mind still stuck on Daron's last words to them.
He was not the one who returned the hairpin. It disappeared from where he kept it during his stay in the hospital.
--
When Frisk, exhausted after hours of sleepless paranoia, finally falls into unconsciousness, their tired mind turns to the they day they met the Angel from the Empty Kingdom.
It's funny. They thought that they were able to come to terms with their impending death, but it appears as though they can't help but fear their coming doom. Or perhaps it is not death that they fear, but rather the fear that they have not done enough on this mortal plane.
The past three decades were a non-stop marathon from one disaster to another. Pandemics, economic collapse, backslides into authoritarianism, climate change, and—just five years ago—a limited nuclear exchange. Frisk thought they made it through it all unscathed, but it appears that the last disaster is the one that will finally do them in.
Leukemia. It had been so long since they have been to a hospital that no one could have detected it. Frisk and Andres were too busy moving, going from one sanctuary to another as the world started to fall apart. It was not without a lack of trying that they avoided hospitals. When Frisk wasn't busy leading a band of refugees through sheer force of will and charisma, prioritizing the health of others over themself, they had to avoid interim and successor governments who would have put them through conversion therapy or something far, far worse.
Now, they have settled once again within the newly rebuilt city of Ebott, the crises of man and nature finally winding down, the tyrants crushed, and the world beginning to heal; only for the cruel beast of cancer to strike when they have finally earned their peace.
The medical staff tried everything, even utilizing what little progress in medical science was made in this horrible era to stave off the cancer by a year, but it was already too late. It had metastasized before they were admitted, and now nothing can stop it. Already, eating has become difficult, reducing Frisk to an IV drip as their body slowly wastes. Their joints ache everywhere, creating an unbearable sensation that almost makes death welcome.
At the very least, they've said their final goodbyes to their friends. Cousin Andres had decided to stay with them in their last moments instead of his family, and Frisk is touched that would not dare leave them alone in their final hour. Frisk just wishes he didn't have to bring his gun (a sad force of habit from dark times).
All that is left is to enjoy what little time they have left on this Earth.
It's depressing. They never really had time for themselves when they became an adult. Mostly it was spent moving from one refugee camp to another, avoiding extremists and fundamentalists of every stripe, bartering, pleading, and begging from whatever intact institution remained to help their band of refugees eke out another month.
It was a long, arduous, and thankless job, and Frisk will not live to see its final outcome. Peace is, quite simply, not coming to them easily.
That is when he appears.
In a flash of white light, the Angel manifests before them the end of their bed. He looks nothing like the angels of common imagination. He has the head of a goat, the claws of a lion, and eyes black as night and red as blood. A symbol they do not recognize is emblazoned on his black, torn robes. Above all, the most eye-catching feature has to be his wings; enormous, beautiful wings with feathers that shimmer in all the colors of the rainbow, sparkling with the light of distant stars.
He is at once angelic and demonic, a paradox of ideas and symbols to create one of the most majestic creatures Frisk has ever seen.
He floats just above them, almost touching the ceiling with his horns, and looks upon them with his hands clasped, his face a visage of sadness and resignation.
"Greetings, Frisk," the Angel says, his voice resonating with a deep melody,, "I am the Angel of Death."
The Angel of Death? Then that means…is today…?
The Angel nods. "Yes," he says, "In about one hour, your cancer will take its final toll, and you will pass on from this world."
Then he is here to collect their soul?
Again, the Angel nods somberly.
Frisk's head drops on the pillow. What timing it is that they are about to die one day after they said their last goodbyes.
"Do not worry," the Angels says as through he read their mind, "Your efforts were not in vain; I have foreseen it. Yours and many other heroes' efforts will ensure humankind survives long enough to escape to the stars in spite of everything that went wrong. Despite all the greed, the evil, the self-destruction of humanity, the good in them has triumphed this day, and they will endure even if the planet will not."
Frisk sighs in relief. What about Andres?
He waves his hand towards the door. They can make out his sleeping form through the glass, leaning on the door, standing sentry over their cousin. "Your cousin will go on to live a long, fulfilling life with his wife and two daughters, and die peacefully in bed. His name and yours would be memorialized in many places as small as streets to a museum named after yourself."
Wow. Frisk flushes in embarrassment and pride.
The Angel cups his hands and bows in respect to Frisk. "Be proud. It is because of you that tens of thousands of lives under your watch navigated a broken country in relative safety. It is because of what you had done at Kansas City that the great leaders of your rebuilt nation could realize their potential. You have earned much, and I wish to show my own appreciation.
"I cannot reverse your ailment," the Angel says, "but if you have any other last wish, then I will perform it to the best of my ability."
Any wish? Frisk does not know what to think. There are a lot of things they wish for. They wish they didn't have to die of cancer. They wish the world never had to fall apart the way it did. They wish their Auntie didn't have to perish in the Race Wars of the 30s. There were so many things they wanted to ask of the Angel, but they didn't know what to choose.
So they settle for something simple. They hope that no one will begrudge them for this small piece of selfishness.
"There is a large flower garden in the park at the center of this city," Frisk explains to the Angel. "Across from it, they are constructing the New Ebott City Center. Would it be too much to ask that I spend my final moments resting among the flowers, to see the world rebuilding itself as I pass from this mortal coil?"
Frisk sees the Angel's eyes widen, and a bewildered look crosses his face.
He loses his cool composure and brings up his hand to cover up his chuckle. "Funny, it just so happens there was once another human from Ebott that wished for the exact same resting place," the Angel lets out a longing sigh, "It did not end well for the both of us."
"So that is a no then," Frisk says. Disappointing, but understandable.
"No,," the Angel waves their hand in a negative, "I can still fulfill your wish. The circumstances then are different from what they are now." He looks upon Frisk with a nod of affirmation, "This will be a simple task."
"Wait," Frisk tries to get up, but collapses back onto their bed, "How do they plan to get me over there? What about all the medical stuff I'm hooked up to!? What about Andres!?"
"Nothing to concern yourself with," the Angel dismisses as he floats to the side of their bed, not really answering their question.
One by one, the wires and tubes connected to Frisk are taken out. Once the Angel disconnects the heart monitor, it flatlines as the he disconnects them from the device, and a long beep stretches out and fills the room. The Angel pays no heed to the noise, and gently he lifts Frisk from the bed and brings them into his embrace.
"So…" Frisk starts, "You're not going to try and fly us out the window, are you? You're a little too…" Frisk flops their weak arms, "big."
The Angel cocks in eyebrow and grins, "Who says we need to fly? Angels have more means than flight to get around."
Tucking Frisk in his right arm, the Angel makes a cutting motion in the air with his left hand. At the tips of his claws, the space around them looks as though it splits apart, leaving behind a black tear that leads into an empty void.
Frisk panics as the two hover towards the portal, and against their better judgement they try and shuffle in his arms away from the pitch darkness that is closing in.
But they are powerless. Frisk hears the door crash in and the sound of panicked voices as the two cross into the threshold of the portal.
And then there is nothing…
"I will never let go. Never again."
And then there was light.
Frisk shuts their eyes to block out the sun's rays, then slightly creeks them open to adjust to the sudden brightness around them. They hear panicked shouts and curious voices surrounding them overlap with the noise and bustle of endless car traffic.
Their eyes finally adjust, and they realize they are at the entrance to Ebott City Park. It is a simple, but beautiful park famed for the garden of Ebott Golden Flowers that the city maintained to honor the victim of a great tragedy from long ago.
The hospital is on the other side of the city, and they just crossed it in a few steps.
"This is amazing," they mutter as they look out into the park.
It's spring now, the flowers are in bloom, carpeting the park in a sea of yellow. Near to the middle of the park, they can see an oak resting upon a hill overlooking the City Center, giving a perfect view of the front of the building and the scaffolding that covers its incomplete edifice.
"There," Frisk points to the tree, "I think that tree would make for a good final resting place, don't you think?"
"As you wish," the Angel acknowledges. There is a slight shake in his arms, though Frisk cannot tell why. Slowly he hovers forwards like a specter, the people before them parting like the Red Sea.
They can see everyone stare in their direction as the Angel moves towards the tree. Most back off, dragging possessions and children away from their path, while others step closer to get a better look at the Angel's charge. They hear a cacophony of noises as dozens of conversations go on at once.
"What is that thing?" "Is that a costume?" "Mommy, is that an angel?" "He's beautiful." "Wait is that Frisk?" "Guys, that man is carrying Frisk!" "Well of course it's them. Have you heard the weird adventures they get into?" "If that really is an Angel, it would definitely want Frisk."
"See what I mean?" the Angel whispers to them (did they hear him hitch?), "You are quite revered Frisk."
Frisk blushes, "It's nice," they admit, "But it still doesn't feel enough. I wish I could have done more to help people."
The Angel is silent, but they feel another tremor.
They arrive at the foot of the tree, but the Angel pauses before he puts them down. Frisk follows his eyes and traces them to a plaque in front of the tree. They remember this is the plaque dedicated to the tragedy the park was meant to honor.
Unfortunately, it appears as through the name been warn through time, but the Angel's face seems to indicate he knows who it belongs to. He presses forward, and rests Frisk beside the plaque. Frisk is relieved to feel the soft ground beneath them once more.
"There," he states, "Wish fulfilled. It will be over in just a few moments, but at least you well get to spend it among the flowers."
"Yeah," Frisk mutters happily, "Wish Andres was around to see it though." A light barb at his inconsideration.
The Angel is silent.
Frisk sighs in contentment as they rest their head on the tree trunk, gazing at the new city center. It's only halfway complete, but already there are Greco-Roman pillars, domes and edifices going up on parts of the building. The buzz of jackhammers and drills can be heard over the notice of the now stopped traffic. There is the occasional camera flash as the crowds around the park gather to see the Angel-wait, the Angel?
After ten minutes, they notice that the Angel has not moved from his spot beside them, his eyes gazing on their failing form. Any thoughts of creepiness is washed over by the sight of its beautiful eyes fixed upon them with a sign of worry and concern. It's becalming to Frisk, rather than concerning.
"You know. I've never heard of a beautiful Angel granting last wishes you know," Frisk mentions, looking up at the Angel, "The people you visit…they must be very special if you visit so rarely. I think…if I ever see them in the afterlife, I would like to meet them."
*Sniff*
Frisk is startled at the noise the Angel makes. Then they watch in shock as what they thought was an stoic, divine creature start to make uncontrollable sniffing noises. Is he…crying?
"…No," The Angel mumbles to himself. Then, his composure breaks down, and he drops to his knees in front of Frisk, sobbing uncontrollably. "No! I can't do this! I can't leave you again. I can't keep this charade around you any longer. I can't watch you die like this again. It's too much."
He reaches for one of their arms and holds it out with both of his hands. Before their very eyes, a shining yellow spark appears in Frisk's hand. It grows, becoming bigger and bigger as it coalesces into a shining star.
"If this is to be your last moments, then you deserve to know the truth."
Frisk has no idea what the Angel is talking about, their failing heart turning to anxiety as they try to decode what has gotten into the Angel.
The star in their hand grows brighter, and their anxiety grows higher. The light from the star gives off a familiar and inviting warmth alien to their own fear, filling them with the sensation of…filling them with…with…with…
You are filled with Determination
They remember...
"Frisk…can you feel it?"
The Mountain.
"Can you feel the timeline call to you?"
The fall.
"You're starting to remember, aren't you?"
The Flower!
The Angel! He's…!
Frisk's eyes shoot up on horror, all of their joy leaving their body, "What have you done!?"
"Howdy Frisk," the Angel says, tears of happiness flowing through his eyes, "Don't you remember? It's me. Your best friend."
Frisk looks onto the Angel—no, not an angel, their Friend—with horror, unable to come to terms with the memories that flood their mind.
They shake their head weakly. "This isn't what I wanted. This isn't what I had in mind at all!" They look up at their Friend with anger, "How long has this all been going on? All of those monsters. Those children. Why have you kept been trapped for so long?"
"I didn't mean for it to last this long," their Friend says, "I thought it would be so easy to find willing souls to replace them."
"So what the Hell!?" Frisk shoves them weakly, "Have you been dilly-dallying this whole time!? Did you even make the effort to find willing donors for the souls?"
Their Friend laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, how I wish it were that simple," he bemoans, "Look at how you of all people talk to me. Do you really think anyone would give up their soul to me if they knew what I am, what I have done? Do you think I have the self-control to make sure no-one else panics?"
He lazily draws his clawed finger across one of the tree's massive roots. It effortlessly makes a deep gash no kitchen knife could hope to make. "My LOVE is at 9999, just like it always has been. You have no idea what it took to get to that level without EXP, what it's like to have this much when you talk to someone you don't care for."
Their Friend bears his fangs in a viscous grin, his voice unsteady, "It's like trying to stop yourself from engorging on a meal when you have been starving for weeks, it's too much." He hitches. "When I first got out of the mountain, I made the mistake of flaunting myself to the world, and they brought me to the verge of death."
Frisk leans their head back in despair. They hadn't accounted for this, hadn't accounted for the fact that his old self would get in the way so much. That he would try his Plan B again. Now their friend had taken the souls of their family, even the six children. Children.
God, forget what he was thinking. What were they thinking?
Their Friend continues, "Each timeline where I make the effort to integrate with humans, there is always one bad day that makes me slip, one small irritation, one hateful human that makes me paint the walls red with blood. I stopped bothering finding willing souls long ago. I just wanted to destroy everything."
This is a complete disaster. They don't have the power of the Reset anymore to undo this catastrophe. They have a not-so-flowery friend with questionable self-control and the power to destroy the world, and he has utterly failed to find anyone that will give up their soul to free the people he has taken.
Their Friend sighs, "At that point, taking a soul wouldn't have solved anything. It always ends in flames."
Unless…
"Then take mine."
Their Friend double takes "What?"
Frisk tries to lean further up the tree, but the aches in their joints send them slumping back down. "You only need seven human souls to make up your own soul. You have six, while the monsters make up for the last one. Take my soul, and you won't need the monsters anymore. Once that is taken care of, we'll figure out how to free the children from there.
"Look around you," Frisk motions their head to the park entrance, where hundreds of humans have gathered in front of a barricade of police cars, "People already think you are the real deal when it comes to angels. We'll have to milk that divinity for all of its worth if we're going to keep the monsters safe in this world."
"You don't think I haven't tried passing of as an actual, divine god?"
Frisk quirks an eyebrow "Your idea of divinity comes out of a cartoon satanic cult with a penchant for mass murder." They shouldn't laugh, but they can't help but chuckle when their Friend gives them a flat stare, "I can help you present your better self to everyone."
Their Friend continues to give Frisk a flat stare. "I'm not going to seduce anyone."
Frisk is too weak to even playfully smack their Friend, but their arm gives a slight flap in annoyance. "Oh, shush you. My seduction skills are amazing. I will teach you all the moves you need to make the most of that sexy butt fluff."
"…Urahaha," their Friend chuckles back, "I suppose this is why they made you ambassador the first time around but…Frisk, there's no going back after this. You'll be stuck inside of me for a long time, possibly for the rest of time."
"You say that like it's a bad thing, handsome," Frisk winks playfully.
"Stop that," their Friend commands forcefully, but catches himself and lets out a breadth of air to calm down. "I've only had one soul that was given voluntarily, Frisk. It didn't end well either. I want you to know that before you make your decision." He looks back down at them. "You don't have to do this. You can pass on into the next life, or I can Reset so I can find another way. Just this once. I want to do this the right way. I want you to have a choice in this."
"…Can we visit my family again?" Frisk asks, "I feel bad about leaving Andres without saying goodbye to him."
Their Friend smirks. "After ditching him in your final moments, I certainly owe him one now, don't we?"
Frisk laughs aloud. "Then let's do this."
Their Friend lets out another sniffle, then he smiles back at them, "Alright," he answers back, "When your time finally comes, we'll do this." Then he rests his body next to Frisk.
There are no more words exchanged between them. Frisk peers out at the incomplete city center that will become the center of a new Ebott for a new era. How fitting, if all goes well, then it will not just be humanity that will enter a new age of hope.
The thought of bringing freedom and happiness to so many from beyond the grave…
It fills them with Determination.
Then, after many long minutes of silence, Frisk breathes their last.
A minute later, a red glow comes from their chest, and from it sprouts a heart-shaped object that blankets the garden in red light. There are shouts of anticipation and trepidation from the crowd gathering outside the park, but their Friend pays no heed to them as he stands over their corpse. They are not a danger this time. Things will be different.
Their Friend reaches out and cups the soul with both of his paws. It looks so fragile and tiny within his hands. He is about to place the soul towards his chest when, at the last second, he appears to have a second thought. Instead, he gently places it directly above his head, in between his horns. He gives a few nudges until he is sure it is directly centered between them.
"Are you ready?"
Frisk, having no idea how to communicate without a mouth, could only try to give a mental affirmation and hope their Friend understands.
At first, there is nothing. Just the sight and sounds of the city surrounding the park, the endless voices of the crowd that is still growing around them, the occasional flash of cameras capturing the likeness of their Friend.
Then something clicks, and Frisk is caught off guard as a flood of power washes over them.
Endorphins and adrenaline flush their nonexistent nerves. They feel like a junkie in a constant state of euphoria and energy, like they could run a million miles while high and never get tired of it. Everything comes into sharp contrast, the colors rich and bright in the evening light. Smells alluring and revolting assault their nostrils from places they never knew had a scent. They can see insects amidst the flowers beneath them down to the veins in their wings, and the faces of the crowds are in perfect detail to them. They can pick out the voices even from here!
"What is happening?" "What did it do to Frisk!?" "Stay back, people. I said stay back!" "Dispatch, this is Car 83, we have a situation on hand. I swear to God, you are not going to believe this." "Holy crud, it's getting bigger!"
And…and they can feel everything.
The rich, wet soil that shifts underneath their feet. The slightest changes in the wind on their fur and beyond into the countryside. The roiling moisture of the clouds above them, the tiniest of trembles from the Earth beneath them. The buzz of electricity and the burning furnace that powers it a hundred miles away. The feeling of sunlight within the cores of plants. The warm, beating hearts of millions of humans and animals as they go about their lives across the city. The euphoria of magic that they could feel coming off of the millions of souls surrounding them. It's…
It's so beautiful.
And their Friend…
He blossoms, for a lack of a better term. His form, already over eight feet tall, quadruples in size as the power of Frisk's soul courses through him. New sets of horns and eyes sprout from his head, the ones closest to Frisk's soul curls around it. A halo of red light coalesces around Frisk's soul, atop their Friend's head.
From his sides sprouts two more arms beneath the ones he already possessed, elaborate markings visible upon the hands. from his back sprouts six beautiful wings, each twice as large as he is, all of them glittering with the rainbow light of distant stars and shimmering in all the colors of the rainbow. They give an experimental flap, sending gusts of wind that causes people below them to tumble, while those who stand gape in awe at the god that stands before them.
That is the most bewildering part for Frisk. They can feel the wings as they flex behind them, and the lower arms flinch as proprioception shocks their nerves. It's an uncomfortable and exotic sensation; almost like flexing a sleeping limb to get rid of the pins and needles.
They make a squeezing motion with the bottom-right arm, and they watch as the furry hand follows their command instantly. The proportions feel all wrong, too hairy and too thick, yet it feels so natural.
Is this what being an angel is like?
"Yes," said their Friend. It takes Frisk a moment to realize he did not move his lips. His voice came from within their head. He creaks a sad smile as he caresses one of the extra arms with one he controlled. A warm sense of adoration washes over them from the emotions he projects. "For you, you will be more than just a passenger. You will become a part of me, if not in soul, then at least in body. You deserve to have some control after all that you have been put through, Frisk."
And he can read minds!? That is awesome!
"Heh," he chuckles, "trust me when I say that as great as this power is, all of it gets old really fast, and then you find out about the things you simply cannot do no matter how much power you put into it."
There is a certain tinge of sadness and despair in his last sentence, though Frisk cannot tell why it upsets him so. They can't help but feel curious at the kinds of powers the 'Angel of Death' wields, and they turn away from the crowd and look back at the tree where their corpse rests.
What can they do with magic?
*BANG*
Their eyes widen in shock at the small dot of copper appears before their eyes. It hangs frozen in the air, like a pebble stuck in time. Their eyes focus and are able to pick out what it is, down to the grooves from the rifling and the stain of powder residue. A bullet. Their Friend brings forth one of his own arms and plucks it out of the air, rolling it between his fingers. It really does look and feel like a small pebble at their size.
Both of their eyes draw towards the man that shot at them, rifle in hand. They can perceive the smell of sweat, gun smoke, and urine, the sight sweat pouring out of his skin, the shrinking of his pupils, his soul emanating a cold-hot aura of fear.
It's Andres.
That is when Frisk feels it. The warmth blown away by the tidal wave of indignation and hatred as their Friend prepares to attack their Cousin. His thoughts project a perfect picture of what he intends to do with wrathful glee. With his newfound boost to his power, he will splatter Andres in a wave of telekinetic force, catching any other human in the process from the attack itself or the shrapnel and bone fragments it sends out.
There is no care that this is Frisk's cousin. There is no doubt in his mind after all the promises he just made. There is no concern that Andres is acting out of the fear they could sense. Just a wrathful, egotistical pride that needs to be avenged. Is this the kind of mind that has an LV of 9999? No wonder he always failed.
Their Friend aims his palm-
Frisk grips the arm with one of their own. "No," Frisk thinks towards their Friend.
The wave of malice the once felt rapidly dissipates, replacing itself with upset concern. "He tried to hurt us. He tried to hurt you," he argues.
"He's my cousin," Frisk points out, "He can't hurt us anymore. None of them can. We can be better than this."
Humbled, their Friend's mind seems to recede and Frisk can feel themself in control of more of the body. A new idea in mind, they start hovering towards Andres, causing the crowd around him to panic and back away. Curiously, the flowers they pass near undergo a metamorphosis. What were once golden flowers seem to remold themselves into a new flower, one with many smaller, red flowers. Geraniums, Frisk believes they are called.
He shoots again and again, each time the bullets stop before they even reach Frisk and their Friend's body. Then his rifle clicks empty, and he can only watch, frozen, at the creature that towers more than twenty-five feet above them. Gently, Frisk reaches down and gently plucks the gun from his hands with two claws. He releases it without protest, falling to his knees in shock.
"It's very rude to shoot at people Andres," Frisk speaks from their new mouth, their old voice reverberating much like the their Friend's did, now with a new youthfulness to it, "I thought you learned that lesson after our misadventure at Twin Falls."
Andres gapes up at the creature that spoke to them, calling back to an incident which only one other person could know about, "Frisk?"
They nod silently.
Their curiosity burning, and with no idea how magic works, Frisk brings about the arms their Friend has granted to them and opens their palms out to the bullets and gun Andres had so kindly provided them, the ammunition and firearm kept suspended between their hands. They think of the garden Auntie Ligaya once grow, in full bloom in the midst of spring and summer. Their senses become filled with the smell of pollen and chlorophyll, the vision of many colored petals and green stems, the chirp and buzz of birds and bees, and the feeling of soft petals and warm sunlight on their skin.
Bloom. Frisk commands.
The euphoria that fills their body spikes within their arms, and they feel it exit their hands as the magic enters the instruments of death. Miraculously, they transform before their very eyes as the bullets burst open into fully grown golden flowers that rain down around Andres. The rifle bursts apart into pieces, and from its nook and crannies an olive tree sprouts in Frisk's hand, its branches already heavy with fruit. They rest it at their feet, and the plant magically forces its roots into the ground, becoming permanent fixture of the park. They can hear the crowd gasp once more at the miracle before them. Some drop to their knees and to the floor in prayer.
Frisk looks at what they created with wonder. Is this what magic is like?
Their Friend is left equally speechless. They can feel the buzz of shock and curiosity from his mind. "How did you do that?" he asks in wonder.
Frisk is confused at the statement. "Couldn't you do this yourself?"
"I cannot manipulate life," he clarifies, "many forms of creation are beyond me; a consequence of being the Angel of Death I suppose. Even I cannot bend reality that much."
"What does it mean then?"
"I don't know," their Friend says as his own set of eyes cry tears of joy once more, "I don't know. I have never been able to do this before. Maybe it's a sign that we don't have to be a bringer of death anymore, maybe it's a specialty of your soul…or…or…"
"Speaking of…what about the other souls?"
"Right," their Friend acknowledges, "Right. They've waited for this moment long enough," They feel...a presence…overlap with them, and all six wings start to buzz with energy, "It's time for monsters to finally go free."
There is another cry of awe from the humans as their Friend fully extends his wings. "I'm sorry Andres!" Frisk notifies their cousin, "My Friend and I have something very, very important to take care of. I'll explain everything later!" With a mighty flap their Friend sends himself and Frisk soaring into the air. Higher and higher, with the wind billowing in their face, they fly above the buildings and clouds around Ebott and into the orange sky. Butterflies fill their stomach, adrenaline and exhilaration they have not felt in decades comes rushing in, and Frisk
They let their Friend guide the body through the sky on wings of rainbows and starlight, bringing them their destination, their home: Mount Ebott.
"Can you hear them?" their Friend suddenly prompts, confusing Frisk.
They strain their collective ears to try and make sense of what he is saying. With enough focus, Frisk thinks they can hear…whispers. Countless voices in their ears when no-one should be nearby. They think of their Friend's mental communications, and they try to imagine focusing inward.
Almost immediately, the whispers start to get louder. Then, they start to feel…see…see lights. First as six dots of colors, then as the whispers grow louder, a dozen white lights start to appear behind them. Then hundreds. Then thousands. Thousands upon thousands of white lights in a sea of black, centered around dotted six colored lights.
"Can you hear them, Frisk? Can you hear their songs of happiness?"
Frisk does as their Friend asks, and listens.
"What's going on?"
"Is someone there?"
"Oh, there's a stranger in here!"
"Hello?"
"Who is that?"
"I-Is is is that a…that a human?"
"Another human?"
"A HUMAN! WHERE!?"
"Hi there."
"heya."
"Well howdy there."
"Greetings."
"Do we know you?"
"They look familiar."
"I think I remember you somewhere."
"That soul…n-no. It can't be."
"Is it really them?"
"Yo! It's really you!"
"Darling, it's been so long! It's been so dreary without you!"
"It's them! It's the Seventh Human!"
"NGYAAAAAH! About time you showed up!
"It's the Savior of the Underground! They're back!"
"We are saved! God's prophecy came true! His beloved angel has returned!"
"We will be free!"
Frisk is overwhelmed, they hear the cries of happiness of so many people, people they loved and cherished in times that never existed, people they have never met in this life, people who are celebrating their return nonetheless. They can't help but cry happily.
Then, for the first time in decades, they hear their mother's voice.
"My child," she whispers in joy, "welcome home."
--
A/N: Drawing by myself.
There are no buttercups at the party, which Frisk is eternally thankful for as they are now in attendance. While Daron has lost his appetite for all things cake and cake shaped, Frisk had offered to step in with their own brand of desserts.
Halo-halo is a popular dish from the homeland of Frisk's mom and aunt. It isn't a dessert specifically for birthday parties, and quite a few partygoers are put off by how exotic it looks, with all the milk, fruit, beans, shaved ice, ice cream and flan mixed in, but it is a dish Frisk knows how to make well. The nature of the frozen ingredients meant they had to do the mixing on-the-spot, and everyone watched in curiosity as the strange child makes these special treats for all the other children to eat. Thankfully, Daron can be counted among those that enjoy the dessert, and when Frisk watches him eat his share, they catch him eagerly nodding back in gratitude.
Frisk grins back, but then their smile starts to falter. Daron's crush was, in the end, a mere crush after all. Beyond the arts, there really is not anything else they had shared interests in. They didn't like the same movies, the same sports, nor even the same games. They had strong opinions that contradicted rather than complemented each other, and he really was not interested in the whole 'dating' thing.
It essentially rendered last year's acts of cruelty completely pointless. Still, Frisk is happy to see that Daron remains courteous and nice with them in public and private, and they personally count him among their small cadre of friends in spite of their issues.
Their lips perk up into a smile again as they watch Toby run off with a hot-dog sausage in his mouth. Frisk stifles a laugh as they watch one of the former bullies try desperately to catch the white Pomeranian, but Toby proves surprisingly nimble in avoiding his reach. Frisk would have given up long ago, but the stubborn boy keeps chase to everyone's amusement.
The good cheer lasts through the remainder of the party. When it comes time to open the presents, Daron looks onto his open gifts with open gratitude, and Frisk is happy that his smile is completely genuine. If they had to pick a favorite, it's the new guitar that Daron's grandfather got him, a well-polished acoustic that looks much nicer than the once Frisk saw him with ever since the hospital.
Which brings them to Frisk's present.
Frisk sees him give a funny look as he unboxes the present that is inside. It is a heart shaped guitar pick. Frisk remembered them complaining about losing his old one a few weeks ago, and Frisk thought to give him a replacement while they were still a thing. Now, the choice of a heart was a bit too inappropriate and on-the-nose given their breakup, but…it felt right somehow.
The crowd gives well-meaning jeers at Daron and Frisk's former crush, which causes Frisk to suppress the urge to chuckle at themself. They explain to Daron that, yes, even though they're no longer dating and things did not work out, the experience was nonetheless pleasant, and they wanted to commemorate the time spent together.
Frisk holds out their heart-shaped hairpin and uses the opportunity to thank them as well. They say that the gesture he made by returning the hairpin made them have a crush on them as well and solidified their willingness to forgive him.
Then Frisk is bewildered when Daron looks at the hairpin in shock and…is that fear? He appears to want to say something, but he loses his words and instead accepts Frisk's thanks hesitantly. Something strange is going on.
Frisk would choose to stay behind to help with the cleanup effort for the birthday party, something that gets begrudging thanks form Daron's parents. Auntie Ligaya needed to leave and pick up Andres, and so had left with Toby and the kitchenware in tow. Fortunately, the sun hasn't set yet and Frisk is content with walking home. As they pick up one of the garbage bags, however, they see Daron approach them with the strange expression again.
Frisk asks him what the problem is, and that is when he opens his mouth. As more words come spilling out of it, things start to click in place, and their heart freezes.
Frisk's body goes cold as Daron continues to apologize. His words are toned out as everything that happened in those two eventful days suddenly come into focus. Frisk gives them a slight thank you for their honesty and proceeds to hastily finish the remainder of their chores before bidding Daron's parents a quick goodbye.
His words replay in the back of their mind as they walk back home, their eyes darting to every corner of the neighborhood, as though they were expecting someone to watch them, which was ridiculous. And yet the hairpin…
It's twilight now. The walk is completely uneventful, but the previous conversation had driven Frisk's mind into paranoia, jumping at every shadow in the evening light. By the time they reach home, it is nearing the end of dusk. Ligaya sees the terror on their face and asks what is wrong. Frisk lies by telling them they saw a coyote following them. Ligaya is concerned but nonetheless thankful they are unharmed, whispering words to sooth their mind. It meant Frisk was never allowed to walk alone on evenings, but Frisk numbingly accepts, too exhausted to contest her.
Tired, and in no mood to make the night enjoyable, Frisk doesn't feel like staying up any longer. They promptly clean themselves up, change into their pajamas, and go into bed, their mind still stuck on Daron's last words to them.
He was not the one who returned the hairpin. It disappeared from where he kept it during his stay in the hospital.
--
When Frisk, exhausted after hours of sleepless paranoia, finally falls into unconsciousness, their tired mind turns to the they day they met the Angel from the Empty Kingdom.
It's funny. They thought that they were able to come to terms with their impending death, but it appears as though they can't help but fear their coming doom. Or perhaps it is not death that they fear, but rather the fear that they have not done enough on this mortal plane.
The past three decades were a non-stop marathon from one disaster to another. Pandemics, economic collapse, backslides into authoritarianism, climate change, and—just five years ago—a limited nuclear exchange. Frisk thought they made it through it all unscathed, but it appears that the last disaster is the one that will finally do them in.
Leukemia. It had been so long since they have been to a hospital that no one could have detected it. Frisk and Andres were too busy moving, going from one sanctuary to another as the world started to fall apart. It was not without a lack of trying that they avoided hospitals. When Frisk wasn't busy leading a band of refugees through sheer force of will and charisma, prioritizing the health of others over themself, they had to avoid interim and successor governments who would have put them through conversion therapy or something far, far worse.
Now, they have settled once again within the newly rebuilt city of Ebott, the crises of man and nature finally winding down, the tyrants crushed, and the world beginning to heal; only for the cruel beast of cancer to strike when they have finally earned their peace.
The medical staff tried everything, even utilizing what little progress in medical science was made in this horrible era to stave off the cancer by a year, but it was already too late. It had metastasized before they were admitted, and now nothing can stop it. Already, eating has become difficult, reducing Frisk to an IV drip as their body slowly wastes. Their joints ache everywhere, creating an unbearable sensation that almost makes death welcome.
At the very least, they've said their final goodbyes to their friends. Cousin Andres had decided to stay with them in their last moments instead of his family, and Frisk is touched that would not dare leave them alone in their final hour. Frisk just wishes he didn't have to bring his gun (a sad force of habit from dark times).
All that is left is to enjoy what little time they have left on this Earth.
It's depressing. They never really had time for themselves when they became an adult. Mostly it was spent moving from one refugee camp to another, avoiding extremists and fundamentalists of every stripe, bartering, pleading, and begging from whatever intact institution remained to help their band of refugees eke out another month.
It was a long, arduous, and thankless job, and Frisk will not live to see its final outcome. Peace is, quite simply, not coming to them easily.
That is when he appears.
In a flash of white light, the Angel manifests before them the end of their bed. He looks nothing like the angels of common imagination. He has the head of a goat, the claws of a lion, and eyes black as night and red as blood. A symbol they do not recognize is emblazoned on his black, torn robes. Above all, the most eye-catching feature has to be his wings; enormous, beautiful wings with feathers that shimmer in all the colors of the rainbow, sparkling with the light of distant stars.
He is at once angelic and demonic, a paradox of ideas and symbols to create one of the most majestic creatures Frisk has ever seen.
He floats just above them, almost touching the ceiling with his horns, and looks upon them with his hands clasped, his face a visage of sadness and resignation.
"Greetings, Frisk," the Angel says, his voice resonating with a deep melody,, "I am the Angel of Death."
The Angel of Death? Then that means…is today…?
The Angel nods. "Yes," he says, "In about one hour, your cancer will take its final toll, and you will pass on from this world."
Then he is here to collect their soul?
Again, the Angel nods somberly.
Frisk's head drops on the pillow. What timing it is that they are about to die one day after they said their last goodbyes.
"Do not worry," the Angels says as through he read their mind, "Your efforts were not in vain; I have foreseen it. Yours and many other heroes' efforts will ensure humankind survives long enough to escape to the stars in spite of everything that went wrong. Despite all the greed, the evil, the self-destruction of humanity, the good in them has triumphed this day, and they will endure even if the planet will not."
Frisk sighs in relief. What about Andres?
He waves his hand towards the door. They can make out his sleeping form through the glass, leaning on the door, standing sentry over their cousin. "Your cousin will go on to live a long, fulfilling life with his wife and two daughters, and die peacefully in bed. His name and yours would be memorialized in many places as small as streets to a museum named after yourself."
Wow. Frisk flushes in embarrassment and pride.
The Angel cups his hands and bows in respect to Frisk. "Be proud. It is because of you that tens of thousands of lives under your watch navigated a broken country in relative safety. It is because of what you had done at Kansas City that the great leaders of your rebuilt nation could realize their potential. You have earned much, and I wish to show my own appreciation.
"I cannot reverse your ailment," the Angel says, "but if you have any other last wish, then I will perform it to the best of my ability."
Any wish? Frisk does not know what to think. There are a lot of things they wish for. They wish they didn't have to die of cancer. They wish the world never had to fall apart the way it did. They wish their Auntie didn't have to perish in the Race Wars of the 30s. There were so many things they wanted to ask of the Angel, but they didn't know what to choose.
So they settle for something simple. They hope that no one will begrudge them for this small piece of selfishness.
"There is a large flower garden in the park at the center of this city," Frisk explains to the Angel. "Across from it, they are constructing the New Ebott City Center. Would it be too much to ask that I spend my final moments resting among the flowers, to see the world rebuilding itself as I pass from this mortal coil?"
Frisk sees the Angel's eyes widen, and a bewildered look crosses his face.
He loses his cool composure and brings up his hand to cover up his chuckle. "Funny, it just so happens there was once another human from Ebott that wished for the exact same resting place," the Angel lets out a longing sigh, "It did not end well for the both of us."
"So that is a no then," Frisk says. Disappointing, but understandable.
"No,," the Angel waves their hand in a negative, "I can still fulfill your wish. The circumstances then are different from what they are now." He looks upon Frisk with a nod of affirmation, "This will be a simple task."
"Wait," Frisk tries to get up, but collapses back onto their bed, "How do they plan to get me over there? What about all the medical stuff I'm hooked up to!? What about Andres!?"
"Nothing to concern yourself with," the Angel dismisses as he floats to the side of their bed, not really answering their question.
One by one, the wires and tubes connected to Frisk are taken out. Once the Angel disconnects the heart monitor, it flatlines as the he disconnects them from the device, and a long beep stretches out and fills the room. The Angel pays no heed to the noise, and gently he lifts Frisk from the bed and brings them into his embrace.
"So…" Frisk starts, "You're not going to try and fly us out the window, are you? You're a little too…" Frisk flops their weak arms, "big."
The Angel cocks in eyebrow and grins, "Who says we need to fly? Angels have more means than flight to get around."
Tucking Frisk in his right arm, the Angel makes a cutting motion in the air with his left hand. At the tips of his claws, the space around them looks as though it splits apart, leaving behind a black tear that leads into an empty void.
Frisk panics as the two hover towards the portal, and against their better judgement they try and shuffle in his arms away from the pitch darkness that is closing in.
But they are powerless. Frisk hears the door crash in and the sound of panicked voices as the two cross into the threshold of the portal.
And then there is nothing…
And then there was light.
Frisk shuts their eyes to block out the sun's rays, then slightly creeks them open to adjust to the sudden brightness around them. They hear panicked shouts and curious voices surrounding them overlap with the noise and bustle of endless car traffic.
Their eyes finally adjust, and they realize they are at the entrance to Ebott City Park. It is a simple, but beautiful park famed for the garden of Ebott Golden Flowers that the city maintained to honor the victim of a great tragedy from long ago.
The hospital is on the other side of the city, and they just crossed it in a few steps.
"This is amazing," they mutter as they look out into the park.
It's spring now, the flowers are in bloom, carpeting the park in a sea of yellow. Near to the middle of the park, they can see an oak resting upon a hill overlooking the City Center, giving a perfect view of the front of the building and the scaffolding that covers its incomplete edifice.
"There," Frisk points to the tree, "I think that tree would make for a good final resting place, don't you think?"
"As you wish," the Angel acknowledges. There is a slight shake in his arms, though Frisk cannot tell why. Slowly he hovers forwards like a specter, the people before them parting like the Red Sea.
They can see everyone stare in their direction as the Angel moves towards the tree. Most back off, dragging possessions and children away from their path, while others step closer to get a better look at the Angel's charge. They hear a cacophony of noises as dozens of conversations go on at once.
"What is that thing?" "Is that a costume?" "Mommy, is that an angel?" "He's beautiful." "Wait is that Frisk?" "Guys, that man is carrying Frisk!" "Well of course it's them. Have you heard the weird adventures they get into?" "If that really is an Angel, it would definitely want Frisk."
"See what I mean?" the Angel whispers to them (did they hear him hitch?), "You are quite revered Frisk."
Frisk blushes, "It's nice," they admit, "But it still doesn't feel enough. I wish I could have done more to help people."
The Angel is silent, but they feel another tremor.
They arrive at the foot of the tree, but the Angel pauses before he puts them down. Frisk follows his eyes and traces them to a plaque in front of the tree. They remember this is the plaque dedicated to the tragedy the park was meant to honor.
Unfortunately, it appears as through the name been warn through time, but the Angel's face seems to indicate he knows who it belongs to. He presses forward, and rests Frisk beside the plaque. Frisk is relieved to feel the soft ground beneath them once more.
"There," he states, "Wish fulfilled. It will be over in just a few moments, but at least you well get to spend it among the flowers."
"Yeah," Frisk mutters happily, "Wish Andres was around to see it though." A light barb at his inconsideration.
The Angel is silent.
Frisk sighs in contentment as they rest their head on the tree trunk, gazing at the new city center. It's only halfway complete, but already there are Greco-Roman pillars, domes and edifices going up on parts of the building. The buzz of jackhammers and drills can be heard over the notice of the now stopped traffic. There is the occasional camera flash as the crowds around the park gather to see the Angel-wait, the Angel?
After ten minutes, they notice that the Angel has not moved from his spot beside them, his eyes gazing on their failing form. Any thoughts of creepiness is washed over by the sight of its beautiful eyes fixed upon them with a sign of worry and concern. It's becalming to Frisk, rather than concerning.
"You know. I've never heard of a beautiful Angel granting last wishes you know," Frisk mentions, looking up at the Angel, "The people you visit…they must be very special if you visit so rarely. I think…if I ever see them in the afterlife, I would like to meet them."
*Sniff*
Frisk is startled at the noise the Angel makes. Then they watch in shock as what they thought was an stoic, divine creature start to make uncontrollable sniffing noises. Is he…crying?
"…No," The Angel mumbles to himself. Then, his composure breaks down, and he drops to his knees in front of Frisk, sobbing uncontrollably. "No! I can't do this! I can't leave you again. I can't keep this charade around you any longer. I can't watch you die like this again. It's too much."
He reaches for one of their arms and holds it out with both of his hands. Before their very eyes, a shining yellow spark appears in Frisk's hand. It grows, becoming bigger and bigger as it coalesces into a shining star.
"If this is to be your last moments, then you deserve to know the truth."
Frisk has no idea what the Angel is talking about, their failing heart turning to anxiety as they try to decode what has gotten into the Angel.
The star in their hand grows brighter, and their anxiety grows higher. The light from the star gives off a familiar and inviting warmth alien to their own fear, filling them with the sensation of…filling them with…with…with…
You are filled with Determination
They remember...
"Frisk…can you feel it?"
The Mountain.
"Can you feel the timeline call to you?"
The fall.
"You're starting to remember, aren't you?"
The Flower!
The Angel! He's…!
Frisk's eyes shoot up on horror, all of their joy leaving their body, "What have you done!?"
"Howdy Frisk," the Angel says, tears of happiness flowing through his eyes, "Don't you remember? It's me. Your best friend."
Frisk looks onto the Angel—no, not an angel, their Friend—with horror, unable to come to terms with the memories that flood their mind.
They shake their head weakly. "This isn't what I wanted. This isn't what I had in mind at all!" They look up at their Friend with anger, "How long has this all been going on? All of those monsters. Those children. Why have you kept been trapped for so long?"
"I didn't mean for it to last this long," their Friend says, "I thought it would be so easy to find willing souls to replace them."
"So what the Hell!?" Frisk shoves them weakly, "Have you been dilly-dallying this whole time!? Did you even make the effort to find willing donors for the souls?"
Their Friend laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, how I wish it were that simple," he bemoans, "Look at how you of all people talk to me. Do you really think anyone would give up their soul to me if they knew what I am, what I have done? Do you think I have the self-control to make sure no-one else panics?"
He lazily draws his clawed finger across one of the tree's massive roots. It effortlessly makes a deep gash no kitchen knife could hope to make. "My LOVE is at 9999, just like it always has been. You have no idea what it took to get to that level without EXP, what it's like to have this much when you talk to someone you don't care for."
Their Friend bears his fangs in a viscous grin, his voice unsteady, "It's like trying to stop yourself from engorging on a meal when you have been starving for weeks, it's too much." He hitches. "When I first got out of the mountain, I made the mistake of flaunting myself to the world, and they brought me to the verge of death."
Frisk leans their head back in despair. They hadn't accounted for this, hadn't accounted for the fact that his old self would get in the way so much. That he would try his Plan B again. Now their friend had taken the souls of their family, even the six children. Children.
God, forget what he was thinking. What were they thinking?
Their Friend continues, "Each timeline where I make the effort to integrate with humans, there is always one bad day that makes me slip, one small irritation, one hateful human that makes me paint the walls red with blood. I stopped bothering finding willing souls long ago. I just wanted to destroy everything."
This is a complete disaster. They don't have the power of the Reset anymore to undo this catastrophe. They have a not-so-flowery friend with questionable self-control and the power to destroy the world, and he has utterly failed to find anyone that will give up their soul to free the people he has taken.
Their Friend sighs, "At that point, taking a soul wouldn't have solved anything. It always ends in flames."
Unless…
"Then take mine."
Their Friend double takes "What?"
Frisk tries to lean further up the tree, but the aches in their joints send them slumping back down. "You only need seven human souls to make up your own soul. You have six, while the monsters make up for the last one. Take my soul, and you won't need the monsters anymore. Once that is taken care of, we'll figure out how to free the children from there.
"Look around you," Frisk motions their head to the park entrance, where hundreds of humans have gathered in front of a barricade of police cars, "People already think you are the real deal when it comes to angels. We'll have to milk that divinity for all of its worth if we're going to keep the monsters safe in this world."
"You don't think I haven't tried passing of as an actual, divine god?"
Frisk quirks an eyebrow "Your idea of divinity comes out of a cartoon satanic cult with a penchant for mass murder." They shouldn't laugh, but they can't help but chuckle when their Friend gives them a flat stare, "I can help you present your better self to everyone."
Their Friend continues to give Frisk a flat stare. "I'm not going to seduce anyone."
Frisk is too weak to even playfully smack their Friend, but their arm gives a slight flap in annoyance. "Oh, shush you. My seduction skills are amazing. I will teach you all the moves you need to make the most of that sexy butt fluff."
"…Urahaha," their Friend chuckles back, "I suppose this is why they made you ambassador the first time around but…Frisk, there's no going back after this. You'll be stuck inside of me for a long time, possibly for the rest of time."
"You say that like it's a bad thing, handsome," Frisk winks playfully.
"Stop that," their Friend commands forcefully, but catches himself and lets out a breadth of air to calm down. "I've only had one soul that was given voluntarily, Frisk. It didn't end well either. I want you to know that before you make your decision." He looks back down at them. "You don't have to do this. You can pass on into the next life, or I can Reset so I can find another way. Just this once. I want to do this the right way. I want you to have a choice in this."
"…Can we visit my family again?" Frisk asks, "I feel bad about leaving Andres without saying goodbye to him."
Their Friend smirks. "After ditching him in your final moments, I certainly owe him one now, don't we?"
Frisk laughs aloud. "Then let's do this."
Their Friend lets out another sniffle, then he smiles back at them, "Alright," he answers back, "When your time finally comes, we'll do this." Then he rests his body next to Frisk.
There are no more words exchanged between them. Frisk peers out at the incomplete city center that will become the center of a new Ebott for a new era. How fitting, if all goes well, then it will not just be humanity that will enter a new age of hope.
The thought of bringing freedom and happiness to so many from beyond the grave…
It fills them with Determination.
Then, after many long minutes of silence, Frisk breathes their last.
A minute later, a red glow comes from their chest, and from it sprouts a heart-shaped object that blankets the garden in red light. There are shouts of anticipation and trepidation from the crowd gathering outside the park, but their Friend pays no heed to them as he stands over their corpse. They are not a danger this time. Things will be different.
Their Friend reaches out and cups the soul with both of his paws. It looks so fragile and tiny within his hands. He is about to place the soul towards his chest when, at the last second, he appears to have a second thought. Instead, he gently places it directly above his head, in between his horns. He gives a few nudges until he is sure it is directly centered between them.
"Are you ready?"
Frisk, having no idea how to communicate without a mouth, could only try to give a mental affirmation and hope their Friend understands.
At first, there is nothing. Just the sight and sounds of the city surrounding the park, the endless voices of the crowd that is still growing around them, the occasional flash of cameras capturing the likeness of their Friend.
Then something clicks, and Frisk is caught off guard as a flood of power washes over them.
Endorphins and adrenaline flush their nonexistent nerves. They feel like a junkie in a constant state of euphoria and energy, like they could run a million miles while high and never get tired of it. Everything comes into sharp contrast, the colors rich and bright in the evening light. Smells alluring and revolting assault their nostrils from places they never knew had a scent. They can see insects amidst the flowers beneath them down to the veins in their wings, and the faces of the crowds are in perfect detail to them. They can pick out the voices even from here!
"What is happening?" "What did it do to Frisk!?" "Stay back, people. I said stay back!" "Dispatch, this is Car 83, we have a situation on hand. I swear to God, you are not going to believe this." "Holy crud, it's getting bigger!"
And…and they can feel everything.
The rich, wet soil that shifts underneath their feet. The slightest changes in the wind on their fur and beyond into the countryside. The roiling moisture of the clouds above them, the tiniest of trembles from the Earth beneath them. The buzz of electricity and the burning furnace that powers it a hundred miles away. The feeling of sunlight within the cores of plants. The warm, beating hearts of millions of humans and animals as they go about their lives across the city. The euphoria of magic that they could feel coming off of the millions of souls surrounding them. It's…
It's so beautiful.
And their Friend…
He blossoms, for a lack of a better term. His form, already over eight feet tall, quadruples in size as the power of Frisk's soul courses through him. New sets of horns and eyes sprout from his head, the ones closest to Frisk's soul curls around it. A halo of red light coalesces around Frisk's soul, atop their Friend's head.
From his sides sprouts two more arms beneath the ones he already possessed, elaborate markings visible upon the hands. from his back sprouts six beautiful wings, each twice as large as he is, all of them glittering with the rainbow light of distant stars and shimmering in all the colors of the rainbow. They give an experimental flap, sending gusts of wind that causes people below them to tumble, while those who stand gape in awe at the god that stands before them.
That is the most bewildering part for Frisk. They can feel the wings as they flex behind them, and the lower arms flinch as proprioception shocks their nerves. It's an uncomfortable and exotic sensation; almost like flexing a sleeping limb to get rid of the pins and needles.
They make a squeezing motion with the bottom-right arm, and they watch as the furry hand follows their command instantly. The proportions feel all wrong, too hairy and too thick, yet it feels so natural.
Is this what being an angel is like?
"Yes," said their Friend. It takes Frisk a moment to realize he did not move his lips. His voice came from within their head. He creaks a sad smile as he caresses one of the extra arms with one he controlled. A warm sense of adoration washes over them from the emotions he projects. "For you, you will be more than just a passenger. You will become a part of me, if not in soul, then at least in body. You deserve to have some control after all that you have been put through, Frisk."
And he can read minds!? That is awesome!
"Heh," he chuckles, "trust me when I say that as great as this power is, all of it gets old really fast, and then you find out about the things you simply cannot do no matter how much power you put into it."
There is a certain tinge of sadness and despair in his last sentence, though Frisk cannot tell why it upsets him so. They can't help but feel curious at the kinds of powers the 'Angel of Death' wields, and they turn away from the crowd and look back at the tree where their corpse rests.
What can they do with magic?
*BANG*
Their eyes widen in shock at the small dot of copper appears before their eyes. It hangs frozen in the air, like a pebble stuck in time. Their eyes focus and are able to pick out what it is, down to the grooves from the rifling and the stain of powder residue. A bullet. Their Friend brings forth one of his own arms and plucks it out of the air, rolling it between his fingers. It really does look and feel like a small pebble at their size.
Both of their eyes draw towards the man that shot at them, rifle in hand. They can perceive the smell of sweat, gun smoke, and urine, the sight sweat pouring out of his skin, the shrinking of his pupils, his soul emanating a cold-hot aura of fear.
It's Andres.
That is when Frisk feels it. The warmth blown away by the tidal wave of indignation and hatred as their Friend prepares to attack their Cousin. His thoughts project a perfect picture of what he intends to do with wrathful glee. With his newfound boost to his power, he will splatter Andres in a wave of telekinetic force, catching any other human in the process from the attack itself or the shrapnel and bone fragments it sends out.
There is no care that this is Frisk's cousin. There is no doubt in his mind after all the promises he just made. There is no concern that Andres is acting out of the fear they could sense. Just a wrathful, egotistical pride that needs to be avenged. Is this the kind of mind that has an LV of 9999? No wonder he always failed.
Their Friend aims his palm-
Frisk grips the arm with one of their own. "No," Frisk thinks towards their Friend.
The wave of malice the once felt rapidly dissipates, replacing itself with upset concern. "He tried to hurt us. He tried to hurt you," he argues.
"He's my cousin," Frisk points out, "He can't hurt us anymore. None of them can. We can be better than this."
Humbled, their Friend's mind seems to recede and Frisk can feel themself in control of more of the body. A new idea in mind, they start hovering towards Andres, causing the crowd around him to panic and back away. Curiously, the flowers they pass near undergo a metamorphosis. What were once golden flowers seem to remold themselves into a new flower, one with many smaller, red flowers. Geraniums, Frisk believes they are called.
He shoots again and again, each time the bullets stop before they even reach Frisk and their Friend's body. Then his rifle clicks empty, and he can only watch, frozen, at the creature that towers more than twenty-five feet above them. Gently, Frisk reaches down and gently plucks the gun from his hands with two claws. He releases it without protest, falling to his knees in shock.
"It's very rude to shoot at people Andres," Frisk speaks from their new mouth, their old voice reverberating much like the their Friend's did, now with a new youthfulness to it, "I thought you learned that lesson after our misadventure at Twin Falls."
Andres gapes up at the creature that spoke to them, calling back to an incident which only one other person could know about, "Frisk?"
They nod silently.
Their curiosity burning, and with no idea how magic works, Frisk brings about the arms their Friend has granted to them and opens their palms out to the bullets and gun Andres had so kindly provided them, the ammunition and firearm kept suspended between their hands. They think of the garden Auntie Ligaya once grow, in full bloom in the midst of spring and summer. Their senses become filled with the smell of pollen and chlorophyll, the vision of many colored petals and green stems, the chirp and buzz of birds and bees, and the feeling of soft petals and warm sunlight on their skin.
Bloom. Frisk commands.
The euphoria that fills their body spikes within their arms, and they feel it exit their hands as the magic enters the instruments of death. Miraculously, they transform before their very eyes as the bullets burst open into fully grown golden flowers that rain down around Andres. The rifle bursts apart into pieces, and from its nook and crannies an olive tree sprouts in Frisk's hand, its branches already heavy with fruit. They rest it at their feet, and the plant magically forces its roots into the ground, becoming permanent fixture of the park. They can hear the crowd gasp once more at the miracle before them. Some drop to their knees and to the floor in prayer.
Frisk looks at what they created with wonder. Is this what magic is like?
Their Friend is left equally speechless. They can feel the buzz of shock and curiosity from his mind. "How did you do that?" he asks in wonder.
Frisk is confused at the statement. "Couldn't you do this yourself?"
"I cannot manipulate life," he clarifies, "many forms of creation are beyond me; a consequence of being the Angel of Death I suppose. Even I cannot bend reality that much."
"What does it mean then?"
"I don't know," their Friend says as his own set of eyes cry tears of joy once more, "I don't know. I have never been able to do this before. Maybe it's a sign that we don't have to be a bringer of death anymore, maybe it's a specialty of your soul…or…or…"
"Speaking of…what about the other souls?"
"Right," their Friend acknowledges, "Right. They've waited for this moment long enough," They feel...a presence…overlap with them, and all six wings start to buzz with energy, "It's time for monsters to finally go free."
There is another cry of awe from the humans as their Friend fully extends his wings. "I'm sorry Andres!" Frisk notifies their cousin, "My Friend and I have something very, very important to take care of. I'll explain everything later!" With a mighty flap their Friend sends himself and Frisk soaring into the air. Higher and higher, with the wind billowing in their face, they fly above the buildings and clouds around Ebott and into the orange sky. Butterflies fill their stomach, adrenaline and exhilaration they have not felt in decades comes rushing in, and Frisk
They let their Friend guide the body through the sky on wings of rainbows and starlight, bringing them their destination, their home: Mount Ebott.
"Can you hear them?" their Friend suddenly prompts, confusing Frisk.
They strain their collective ears to try and make sense of what he is saying. With enough focus, Frisk thinks they can hear…whispers. Countless voices in their ears when no-one should be nearby. They think of their Friend's mental communications, and they try to imagine focusing inward.
Almost immediately, the whispers start to get louder. Then, they start to feel…see…see lights. First as six dots of colors, then as the whispers grow louder, a dozen white lights start to appear behind them. Then hundreds. Then thousands. Thousands upon thousands of white lights in a sea of black, centered around dotted six colored lights.
"Can you hear them, Frisk? Can you hear their songs of happiness?"
Frisk does as their Friend asks, and listens.
"What's going on?"
"Is someone there?"
"Oh, there's a stranger in here!"
"Hello?"
"Who is that?"
"I-Is is is that a…that a human?"
"Another human?"
"A HUMAN! WHERE!?"
"Hi there."
"heya."
"Well howdy there."
"Greetings."
"Do we know you?"
"They look familiar."
"I think I remember you somewhere."
"That soul…n-no. It can't be."
"Is it really them?"
"Yo! It's really you!"
"Darling, it's been so long! It's been so dreary without you!"
"It's them! It's the Seventh Human!"
"NGYAAAAAH! About time you showed up!
"It's the Savior of the Underground! They're back!"
"We are saved! God's prophecy came true! His beloved angel has returned!"
"We will be free!"
Frisk is overwhelmed, they hear the cries of happiness of so many people, people they loved and cherished in times that never existed, people they have never met in this life, people who are celebrating their return nonetheless. They can't help but cry happily.
Then, for the first time in decades, they hear their mother's voice.
"My child," she whispers in joy, "welcome home."
--
A/N: Drawing by myself.
Last edited:
What I regret, is not having more than one Like to give. Amazing chapter!
What parts did you like and dislike, if I may ask?
Well, I don't think there is really anything I dislike... The chapter seems to be fine as it is.
The art is a nice, personal touch; same with the use of font colors and blank spaces.
The parallel narration ('present' and 'alternate(?) future') makes things interesting; and the story isn't about the "New Thirty Year War", but there is enough information to fill in some of the gaps.
Good balance between narration, dialogue and action; powerful feelings, when describing Frisk's last moments or old friends meeting again.
(6) 14 Years Old
Frisk is 14, and they sigh in exasperation as they see the rain front come towards Ebott, wishing they took up the offer of Jacob's mother to drive them home. Alas, that is a mistake they must live by. Steeling themselves with Determination, they wave goodbye to their newest ex-boyfriend Jacob, leaving him at door of his new boyfriend.
A funny story that. So as it turned out, the poor guy was in the closet the whole time, and his friends were pressuring him to get a girlfriend. Apparently, a non-binary split the difference in his head. Frisk did not know what to make of that line of logic, but quite honestly the boy is too sweet and goofy for them to make a big deal out of it. He always brought a good smile with the silly ways he tried to impress them, and he put all his effort into being a good boyfriend. Not to mention he makes a killer French toast.
In the end, there were no hard feelings. In fact, Frisk is jubilant they were able to help Jacob come out with his true feelings. They had just spent the previous hour doing final checks with him as he prepared his first date with Harald, with Frisk just finishing up from last minute tips.
Now if only they took his family's offer of driving them home.
Frisk was not completely lacking in foresight, however. Or more accurately, Auntie Ligaya wasn't, and she had them carry an umbrella with them. They must thank her for insisting on bringing it with them. Pulling double duty for gardening seems like a nice, silent thank you.
The shiver a little as the rain pours in, the frigid wind brushing against their face and even through their clothes. The faux-leather jacket they have gotten themself is woefully inadequate at keeping out the cold.
Hoping to distract themself from the freezing wind, Frisk draws their head to the buildings around them. If their sense of direction is correct, they should be passing through Old Ebott, the most ancient section of the city, dating back all the way to when Ebott was first settled by European colonizers. Frisk admits to themself that there is little on the subject they can claim to know, such as the historical accuracy of the wood and tile facades of the shops, the story of the city's founding, or the history of that orphanage over there. Nonetheless, everything has an aesthetic to it that feel nostalgic and classical, and they can see the appeal in-
Their vision turns back to the orphanage across the street. It's a complex with two buildings built in an L-shape next to each other, and a large yard area with a tree sitting atop a hill. Scattered across the yard is a massive garden, full of golden flowers. The entire property is surrounded by a metal bar fence with a gate serving at the entrance.
Their eyes, however, are drawn to an object in the middle of the front yard. A statue, they think.
Their curiosity burns to investigate it with a Determination that surprises even them, and they move to investigate the object. The gate is open, and though some strangers eye them, none of them seem bothered to stop them. Right now, no one is out in the yard, leaving only Frisk to see the statue up close.
As they approach, features on the statue start to become clear in rain. Whatever it is, it's not human. A set of horns pop out of its round head, its body hunched over with its arms wrapping something in its chest. Stones are perched around its body, perhaps in support of the statue, or to represent its legs. Even crouched, its height is still slightly above that of Frisk's.
It also appears to have been heavily damaged over time. There are large cracks all over their body with pieces chipped off. The worst of it is its left horn, which had snapped off. If there were any fine features to its face, it has either been worn away or deliberately removed. They wonder how old it must be for so much wear to accumulate on a stone statue.
They are curious as to what the lump is within the statue's arms. Wishing to inspect it further, Frisk decides to rest their umbrella within the gaps of the statue's arms so they can poke around freely.
But when they place their umbrella, they yelp in shock as something clicks.
Music starts coming from the statue.
*do-do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo**do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo*
The tune is a melody they've never heard before. The slow pace of the song doesn't sound as cheerful as they'd imagine a music box would have, but there is a serenity to it that feels timeless and enjoyable. They can almost feel the sensation of peace and hope it brings. It…it…
*do-do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo**do-do-do-doooo-doooo-dooooooooooooo*
It reminds them of their tenth birthday. The pain of their parents' deaths still brought a gaping hole in their chest that could not be filled. Auntie Ligaya and Cousin Andres brought out all the stops that day, and when they came home from school that afternoon, they were shocked and surprised by not just their family, but the friends of Ligaya, Andres, and even the scant few Frisk had made. Inflatable castles and miniature theme-park amusements, presents stacked like mountains, and a cake so huge they could not possibly finish it all in a week.
*do-do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo**do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo*
It was an extravagance their family couldn't possibly afford on their own. It was something that would have bankrupted them alone, and yet they went forward with it, and had gathered a network of people willing to do anything to help a little child that lost so much. To be reminded of that day, to know that so many people cared for them, directly or indirectly, fills them with an immense sensation of happiness, sadness, and deep…
*do-do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo*
…nostalgia…
*do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…*
…
…
can'tsavehim
…They…
can'tsavehim
They can't…
can'tsavehim
They can't…
can'tsavehim
They can't…they can't…
can'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehimcan'tsavehim
Frisk is startled when they are shaken by someone else. They realize they had just broken down into tears, hugging the statue as tight as they could. They look to the woman that startled them, who asks what they are doing here. Her stern look is accentuated by the middle-aged skin and the auburn hair tied in a bun, giving her an aura of elderly wisdom and authority.
Frisk, shaken by whatever that episode was, apologizes profusely for their intrusion, confessing their curiosity over the statue.
Based on the sad expression on her face, she didn't believe their story wholesale, but seems more concerned about Frisk's breakdown than anything else. She sighs and starts to tell her story.
It was an anonymous donation by a sponsor for the construction of the facility four-to-five years ago, along with a generous helping of—of all things—a bag of gold and a promise of more should the orphanage's performance prove "satisfactory".
The emphasis on the word becomes clear as her story goes on. The previous facility of a hundred years ago suffered the common pitfalls of orphanages, wrecked with sordid tales of child abuse, neglect, stunted development, wasted potential, and sometimes far worse.
The horrors culminated when one day, when the children were away from the orphanage, one of them burnt it to the ground and fled towards Mount Ebott. They would not be seen again until the next year, this time as a corpse in an animal's grasp.
The arson had prompted an investigation, revealing a horrific and sustained case of child sexual abuse within the orphanage. Little wonder that it took a hundred years for someone to try and build a new one in the same location. It was a cursed place.
She says with some pride that such an accursed past is behind them. The children here have been kept healthy and well-schooled, and with an exemplary turnover and fast adoption and fostering rate. She admits it almost feels like a guardian angel is watching over them, making sure they succeed where others fail.
Alas, she says, most still lag behind, and laments the institution is no substitute for a loving family, something no amount of money or schooling can help with.
Frisk asks if there is anything that can be done. The lady says that money is no issue, but it the orphans she and her staff attend to are in serious need of friendly faces and new families. They have a volunteer program, but Frisk is too young to come without adult supervision. If they know anyone willing to adopt or volunteer in their place, it will make an acceptable substitute.
Frisk does no-
"Frisk. You came from this world, right? So you must have a place to return to, do you not?"
-t yet know of anyone, but their grip tightens with an overwhelming Determination to correct that. They look at the statue beside them and are reminded of their new family with Auntie, and of the old one they had lost. They will not be a bystander in this.
They tell her they will talk to the people they know, and affirm a promise to come back and volunteer when they are 16. The lady gives a simple thanks, and the two depart from each other, umbrella returned to Frisk's possession.
Before Frisk makes their way home though, they turn their head back to the entrance and memorize the name of the orphanage. As they read off the name on the gateway, they cannot help but say that it is a rather peculiar name.
Chara Memorial Village
--
Frisk sleeps in contemplation, and dreams of their divine union with their Friend from the once empty kingdom.
It is a strange thing to say, but Frisk believes that dying has to be one of the best things to have ever happened to them. In death, they are able to help people more than they ever could in life.
It's a union that has benefited the both of them. Their Friend now has more power than he ever possessed before, and Frisk now has the power to answer every cry for help using those means.
Incidentally, drawing ocean water into a portal and desalinating it is something he could do already, but simply never had the need to do so.
That is, until Frisk needed it for what they are doing right now.
Up in the sky, their four eyes inspect their work before them, using their four arms to adjust the incredible phenomenon before them when need be.
It is a sight straight out of a biblical tale. For hundreds of miles, across half a horizon under a clear sky, pillars of water a mile high and as far as they eye can see are gushing from thousands of portals down into the lakebed beneath them. Inch by inch, the once dry lakebed became filled with life-giving freshwater the people and the environment sorely needed.
It has been the culmination of months of work with the Union of Turkic Republics as part of a worldwide project to restore the Earth's freshwater bodies. They have already filled in smaller lakes across the world that have dried up, and plan to start recharging underground water reservoirs once this project is complete.
Carbon sequestration, reforestation, nuclear disarmament, and a whole slew of other ambitious goodwill projects are on the table or in progress. All of this is made possible by the unlimited wellspring of magic held within Frisk and their Friend. It is a gift to humanity and a symbol of the good monsters can bring into the world.
Their Friend grumbles. "Why are we even doing these things? Humans deserve none of my services after what they did to us; to themselves."
"Maybe," Frisk says, using their arms to fling the detritus out of the lakebed as the waterline approached them, "but it's not about what they deserve, and not everyone should pay the price of the bad decisions of the few. Besides, I'm human too. I can't just abandon them, just as you and I can't abandon the monsters."
Their Friend sighs in resignation. "At least this chore is almost over."
After a few more minutes, their Friend manipulates their arms into a sweeping motion, and the portals begin to close themselves in a wave.
When the last one has disappeared from sight, what was once an empty lakebed has now been filled to the brim with freshwater that this coastline has not seen in almost a century. Boats that have washed up and abandoned now float freely on the lake they were once serviced on. Their ears pick up the roar of celebrating crowds, and their souls feel the energetic buzz of excitement, happiness, awe, and hope.
In less than two weeks, the Aral Sea has been restored to its full might.
In celebration, they do a flyby of the pier which now touches the water once gain. Their friend presents them to the crowd of thousands, receiving deafening cheers and blessings from below.
"At least the worship and tribute make it all worth it." Their friend basks in the adulation they are receiving, no doubt proud that his actions have inspired humans to start religiously revering him. Personally, Frisk finds it deeply uncomforting just how much his god complex has developed.
"Am I not a god in power though?" their Friend asks. Frisk realizes their thoughts were loud enough for their Friend to hear. "Is it not the power of a god that can fill lakes, end wars, turn deserts green and bring world peace where mortals cannot?"
"All true," Frisk acquiesces, "But we both know where that power comes from, and where we got it from. It's not exactly something to be proud of."
"To each their own," their Friend answers, "so long as I get free food and gifts as 'tribute,' I don't care."
"Well, if we're going to approach the crowds for your 'tribute', can I at least give blessings to the babies?" Frisk asks hopefully. Infants seem to like them a lot more when Frisk is in control of the body, and it made them happy to bring cheer to them and their parents. Their fusion gave their form additional healing magics, and Frisk likes using them to heal the sick and injured. At the minimum, a soft peck on the head makes infants giggling and happy while they applied their work towards illnesses, if the child even had any.
Really, Frisk just likes working with kids.
Their friend morphs their muzzle into a snarl. "No!" he shouts, "Human babies smell and they're disgusting. If that's your price, then we're leaving."
Before Frisk can protest further, the world turns white-
-then black-
-before the world comes back into their vision. This time in an office in the True Lab. Frisk thought it morbid that their Friend chose their "second" place of birth as their new abode. The Scientist was fine with it, albeit they are tragically certain it is out of her fear of their Friend than anything else.
Then again, there is one advantage of living here. Isolated from monster and humans through hundreds of meters of rock, it helps them tone out the sensations their god-like senses are able to pick up. it lets them relax in peace, or concentrate on paperwork.
Even so, there are signs that the isolation this office represents no longer reflects their Friend's life anymore. There are pictures of their angelic form at various locations around the world, with world leaders, monster companions, and their mother and father. There are mementos and awards from their works across the world, the tokens of appreciation from monsters and humans, and even figurines of the Robot they (reluctantly) received from the star himself.
A nice, polished wooden desk adorn the room with a faux-leather seat. Sitting on top of it lies a storage box of papers on their desk, next to an aluminum foil-wrapped slice of pie.
And right behind the seat, there is a large painting of the Old Queen, the Old King, and their Friend himself, standing in front of the gateway into the mountain, the place where the Barrier was broken. Hovering just above them, just in front of them stood the warm-red specters of Frisk themself and…
And his Best Friend.
"It's okay," their Friend tells Frisk, sensing what they were thinking and enveloping their soul with a warm sensation. "You've already done more than anyone could ever ask of you. Please, don't think too much on it."
"Was it just like this when…" Frisk's voice falls off.
"I don't know. We really didn't explore any of our powers in the time we had for all the few hours we were a god of two souls."
"Do you miss them?"
They feel the warmth evaporate into a miasma of sadness. "I do, but at the same time I don't. I…" he pauses, "We ruined so much with that stupid plan of theirs.
"And yet…" their Friend clasps their hand around something beneath the cloak. Frisk can feel the cold sensation of the golden locket brushing against their fur. "They were the only friend I had in my childhood. All those fun moments…all those times of happiness…they were very real and very important parts of my life, of their life. That part never changed."
They pull out the locket around their neck. Still golden and untarnished. They click it open to reveal a picture of their Friend and His Best Friend, innocent smiles on both of them. "BFF" is etched on the other side of the locket.
"If things went as they wanted. They wouldn't have stopped at a village. They couldn't, not when destroying it causes another war. I certainly won't anymore." He sighs. "I stand by what I said to you so long ago. I did the right thing by running away, but I'm not sure I have the moral strength to do it anymore."
"Do you forgive them?" Frisk asks.
"Do you?" he replies. His tone is accusatory, but they can feel his emotions pull back in shame at snapping at them.
"Of course," they answer. "If you can't be held for something that no longer happened, then they can't be held for something that never came to pass in any timeline." Frisk replies, "It would be astronomically hypocritical for me to extend forgiveness to you and not them."
"Yeah," he nods along, "Same here. I share blame with it too. I went along with that stupid plan until it was too late for the both of us. My inaction let things reach that point."
Their friend pauses as they eye the box. There is a noticeable hesitation in his movements. They can feel his mind strung with anxiety. His god-complex from not three minutes ago falls to the wayside as his insecurities are incarnated in the container before him.
"Are you okay?" Frisk asks.
"The plan was to get six souls, but I was in denial that we needed to kill people until it was too late" he replies, "I thought I had to eventually do that to get the seventh soul when I became a god, but I didn't think there would be so many that would just give them to me." He eyes the labeling on the side of it. To his astonishment, the label says it is 1 of 38. He flicks the top cover off with a finger and peers into the box.
It is an application for a human to donate his soul to their Friend. The face of a young man of European descent looks back at them, with a dark blue-colored heart next to the profile picture. There had to be thousands of applications like this in this storage box alone.
"I want to see them," he says, "all of them."
Frisk understands his intent. Together, they fling the entire contents out into the air with their magic, organizing and laying out the papers in the air until they all surrounded them in an organized circle.
The best part of merging with their Friend, in Frisk's humble opinion, wasn't the superpowers, the super senses, the magic, or even the flying. No, as great as they may be, they do not come close to the fact that, apparently, becoming a monster-human hybrid gives you a super mind.
It is amazingly easy how much they are able to read and memorize everything. So much paperwork they had to go through as a prince and a globetrotting angel could be read, registered, and signed at a speed their former human self could scarcely imagine. If this is a Boss Monster thing, then suddenly his species being the "Boss" of monsters has taken on a new layer of meaning. If this is a god thing, then there must be more to their abilities than they imagined.
Their eyes capture the contents of each application in less than a second, letting them parse through the papers at a rapid pace. They see applications from people all over the world.
France, Turkey, the United States, Kyrgyzstan, Russia, Rwanda, Uruguay, Australia, Vietnam…
Thousands of pages full of people. Their identities, their lives, their character, their deeds and crimes, and their reason for their sacrifice. Emblazoned on each of them is a colored heart.
Laos, the Turkic Republics, the Siberian SSR, Slovenia, Ethiopia, Brazil, South Africa…
Their friend can scarcely comprehend it all, and this is the first batch.
"So many…" their Friend mutters, they reach out and gingerly grasp one of the applications before them, a young boy from Kenya, stricken with AIDS from the moment he was conceived.
The face is enough for their telepathy to pick him out from the untold billions that walk the Earth, and their senses grasp the young child in his hospital bed.
Their mind's eye watches the patient, their infinite magics reaching out to touch the boy's mind and soul. The boy cannot be older than 14, and yet he can be seen reading physics books for college students and using his laptop to write a dissertation on nuclear fusion. A mild flu epidemic had nearly killed him, and he will likely stay in the hospital for a little longer until it blows over.
His written reason is frank and boils down to the same thing as a lot of the others: immortality through the god Frisk is inhabiting. Selfish, but they can feel the purple soul in their telepathy, filled with imagination and brilliance that can rarely be found in people twice his age, waiting to be released into the world. A mind with wonderful ideas that could change the future for the better. He is yet another person who could do more under the aegis of a god when his life is destined to be cut short from disease. The world would be less bright without him.
Just like Frisk.
"I…I didn't think I…" he struggles with his words, "I didn't think anyone would have been willing to help us.
"See what I mean. You just needed the right mindset to wiggle your buttfluff."
"Don't joke about this! It's just…" their Friend's breath hitches with tears in his eyes, the sensation of overwhelming gratitude envelops Frisk, "I tried, Frisk. I really did. I tried to get help for so long, but nothing changed the fact that I am a terrible person no one wants to be with. When they saw who I am, what I've done, they run away or try to kill me. When the donors find out who I really am, what if they abhor me for everything I did?"
And like that, the boy Frisk had abandoned so long ago re-emerges in their crying Friend. Beneath that need for worship, for validation, for vengeance against humanity, is the person Frisk remembered leaving to their fate so long ago. A nervous, kind boy that was hurt by the world. A boy that wants to be loved.
"We only need seven," Frisk says, "Somewhere, buried deep within those papers are seven of the brightest, kindest people in the world, the kind of people that could put me to shame. They will know, they will understand, and they will help you."
*Sniff* their Friend's nose is runny, and he wipes his nose with his sleeve. "You said seven," he notices, "Frisk…are you-?"
"No," Frisk reassures, "Don't even think about it. Before you did…what you did, all of this started because I wanted to save you. I meant it then, and I mean it now, even in light of what you had done."
Frisk's set of arms reaches up and grasp their Friend's set, gold markings intersecting with red, "I care about you. This is why this is so important for me. Pretend all you want, but I can feel you still hurting from keeping everyone imprisoned. With this, no one will be forced to be your prisoner anymore. And even then, if all the souls leave you, if you will be down to one soul, I'll be the last one for you. I'll never leave you again."
Their friend sniffles again, wiping away the tears in his eyes. "Promise?" he asks. The meekness of his voice betraying the deity's vulnerability.
"Promise."
Their Friend stands a bit more upright. He feels like he is about to break into tears again, "Thank you."
"Oh don't start you big crybaby," Frisk teases.
That is when the phone hidden in their robes pings with a text message.
"Huh," they wonder, "It's past midnight in Ebott, I wonder who that could be."
"Heh, it's probably just the Royal Scientist tweeting her latest fan-theory instead of sleeping," their Friend jokes, his mood improving by the second, "or Smiley Trashbag sending us another one of his stupid puns because of course he knows when we'll be arriving home." He starts shuffling for the phone.
"Don't puncture it with our claws this time," Frisk jokes. They weren't letting go with how many things his "infinitely powerful" claws can puncture and damage by accident.
"Relax. I'll use telekinesis if it bothers you so much," their Friend mocks as the phone hovers out to in front of them. Using the same telekinesis, the work the touchscreen to enable it-
-And the phone explodes in a violent magical backlash when the two register the words at the top notification in shock and horror.
ALERT: HOSTILE MONSTER-HUMAN FUSION IN OLD EBOTT BOROUGH. HUNDREDS DEAD.
SEEK SHELTER.
A funny story that. So as it turned out, the poor guy was in the closet the whole time, and his friends were pressuring him to get a girlfriend. Apparently, a non-binary split the difference in his head. Frisk did not know what to make of that line of logic, but quite honestly the boy is too sweet and goofy for them to make a big deal out of it. He always brought a good smile with the silly ways he tried to impress them, and he put all his effort into being a good boyfriend. Not to mention he makes a killer French toast.
In the end, there were no hard feelings. In fact, Frisk is jubilant they were able to help Jacob come out with his true feelings. They had just spent the previous hour doing final checks with him as he prepared his first date with Harald, with Frisk just finishing up from last minute tips.
Now if only they took his family's offer of driving them home.
Frisk was not completely lacking in foresight, however. Or more accurately, Auntie Ligaya wasn't, and she had them carry an umbrella with them. They must thank her for insisting on bringing it with them. Pulling double duty for gardening seems like a nice, silent thank you.
The shiver a little as the rain pours in, the frigid wind brushing against their face and even through their clothes. The faux-leather jacket they have gotten themself is woefully inadequate at keeping out the cold.
Hoping to distract themself from the freezing wind, Frisk draws their head to the buildings around them. If their sense of direction is correct, they should be passing through Old Ebott, the most ancient section of the city, dating back all the way to when Ebott was first settled by European colonizers. Frisk admits to themself that there is little on the subject they can claim to know, such as the historical accuracy of the wood and tile facades of the shops, the story of the city's founding, or the history of that orphanage over there. Nonetheless, everything has an aesthetic to it that feel nostalgic and classical, and they can see the appeal in-
Their vision turns back to the orphanage across the street. It's a complex with two buildings built in an L-shape next to each other, and a large yard area with a tree sitting atop a hill. Scattered across the yard is a massive garden, full of golden flowers. The entire property is surrounded by a metal bar fence with a gate serving at the entrance.
Their eyes, however, are drawn to an object in the middle of the front yard. A statue, they think.
Their curiosity burns to investigate it with a Determination that surprises even them, and they move to investigate the object. The gate is open, and though some strangers eye them, none of them seem bothered to stop them. Right now, no one is out in the yard, leaving only Frisk to see the statue up close.
As they approach, features on the statue start to become clear in rain. Whatever it is, it's not human. A set of horns pop out of its round head, its body hunched over with its arms wrapping something in its chest. Stones are perched around its body, perhaps in support of the statue, or to represent its legs. Even crouched, its height is still slightly above that of Frisk's.
It also appears to have been heavily damaged over time. There are large cracks all over their body with pieces chipped off. The worst of it is its left horn, which had snapped off. If there were any fine features to its face, it has either been worn away or deliberately removed. They wonder how old it must be for so much wear to accumulate on a stone statue.
They are curious as to what the lump is within the statue's arms. Wishing to inspect it further, Frisk decides to rest their umbrella within the gaps of the statue's arms so they can poke around freely.
But when they place their umbrella, they yelp in shock as something clicks.
Music starts coming from the statue.
*do-do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo**do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo*
The tune is a melody they've never heard before. The slow pace of the song doesn't sound as cheerful as they'd imagine a music box would have, but there is a serenity to it that feels timeless and enjoyable. They can almost feel the sensation of peace and hope it brings. It…it…
*do-do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo**do-do-do-doooo-doooo-dooooooooooooo*
It reminds them of their tenth birthday. The pain of their parents' deaths still brought a gaping hole in their chest that could not be filled. Auntie Ligaya and Cousin Andres brought out all the stops that day, and when they came home from school that afternoon, they were shocked and surprised by not just their family, but the friends of Ligaya, Andres, and even the scant few Frisk had made. Inflatable castles and miniature theme-park amusements, presents stacked like mountains, and a cake so huge they could not possibly finish it all in a week.
*do-do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo**do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo*
It was an extravagance their family couldn't possibly afford on their own. It was something that would have bankrupted them alone, and yet they went forward with it, and had gathered a network of people willing to do anything to help a little child that lost so much. To be reminded of that day, to know that so many people cared for them, directly or indirectly, fills them with an immense sensation of happiness, sadness, and deep…
*do-do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooo*
…nostalgia…
*do-do-do-doooo-doooo-doooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…*
…
…
…They…
They can't…
They can't…
They can't…they can't…
Frisk is startled when they are shaken by someone else. They realize they had just broken down into tears, hugging the statue as tight as they could. They look to the woman that startled them, who asks what they are doing here. Her stern look is accentuated by the middle-aged skin and the auburn hair tied in a bun, giving her an aura of elderly wisdom and authority.
Frisk, shaken by whatever that episode was, apologizes profusely for their intrusion, confessing their curiosity over the statue.
Based on the sad expression on her face, she didn't believe their story wholesale, but seems more concerned about Frisk's breakdown than anything else. She sighs and starts to tell her story.
It was an anonymous donation by a sponsor for the construction of the facility four-to-five years ago, along with a generous helping of—of all things—a bag of gold and a promise of more should the orphanage's performance prove "satisfactory".
The emphasis on the word becomes clear as her story goes on. The previous facility of a hundred years ago suffered the common pitfalls of orphanages, wrecked with sordid tales of child abuse, neglect, stunted development, wasted potential, and sometimes far worse.
The horrors culminated when one day, when the children were away from the orphanage, one of them burnt it to the ground and fled towards Mount Ebott. They would not be seen again until the next year, this time as a corpse in an animal's grasp.
The arson had prompted an investigation, revealing a horrific and sustained case of child sexual abuse within the orphanage. Little wonder that it took a hundred years for someone to try and build a new one in the same location. It was a cursed place.
She says with some pride that such an accursed past is behind them. The children here have been kept healthy and well-schooled, and with an exemplary turnover and fast adoption and fostering rate. She admits it almost feels like a guardian angel is watching over them, making sure they succeed where others fail.
Alas, she says, most still lag behind, and laments the institution is no substitute for a loving family, something no amount of money or schooling can help with.
Frisk asks if there is anything that can be done. The lady says that money is no issue, but it the orphans she and her staff attend to are in serious need of friendly faces and new families. They have a volunteer program, but Frisk is too young to come without adult supervision. If they know anyone willing to adopt or volunteer in their place, it will make an acceptable substitute.
Frisk does no-
-t yet know of anyone, but their grip tightens with an overwhelming Determination to correct that. They look at the statue beside them and are reminded of their new family with Auntie, and of the old one they had lost. They will not be a bystander in this.
They tell her they will talk to the people they know, and affirm a promise to come back and volunteer when they are 16. The lady gives a simple thanks, and the two depart from each other, umbrella returned to Frisk's possession.
Before Frisk makes their way home though, they turn their head back to the entrance and memorize the name of the orphanage. As they read off the name on the gateway, they cannot help but say that it is a rather peculiar name.
Chara Memorial Village
--
Frisk sleeps in contemplation, and dreams of their divine union with their Friend from the once empty kingdom.
It is a strange thing to say, but Frisk believes that dying has to be one of the best things to have ever happened to them. In death, they are able to help people more than they ever could in life.
It's a union that has benefited the both of them. Their Friend now has more power than he ever possessed before, and Frisk now has the power to answer every cry for help using those means.
Incidentally, drawing ocean water into a portal and desalinating it is something he could do already, but simply never had the need to do so.
That is, until Frisk needed it for what they are doing right now.
Up in the sky, their four eyes inspect their work before them, using their four arms to adjust the incredible phenomenon before them when need be.
It is a sight straight out of a biblical tale. For hundreds of miles, across half a horizon under a clear sky, pillars of water a mile high and as far as they eye can see are gushing from thousands of portals down into the lakebed beneath them. Inch by inch, the once dry lakebed became filled with life-giving freshwater the people and the environment sorely needed.
It has been the culmination of months of work with the Union of Turkic Republics as part of a worldwide project to restore the Earth's freshwater bodies. They have already filled in smaller lakes across the world that have dried up, and plan to start recharging underground water reservoirs once this project is complete.
Carbon sequestration, reforestation, nuclear disarmament, and a whole slew of other ambitious goodwill projects are on the table or in progress. All of this is made possible by the unlimited wellspring of magic held within Frisk and their Friend. It is a gift to humanity and a symbol of the good monsters can bring into the world.
Their Friend grumbles. "Why are we even doing these things? Humans deserve none of my services after what they did to us; to themselves."
"Maybe," Frisk says, using their arms to fling the detritus out of the lakebed as the waterline approached them, "but it's not about what they deserve, and not everyone should pay the price of the bad decisions of the few. Besides, I'm human too. I can't just abandon them, just as you and I can't abandon the monsters."
Their Friend sighs in resignation. "At least this chore is almost over."
After a few more minutes, their Friend manipulates their arms into a sweeping motion, and the portals begin to close themselves in a wave.
When the last one has disappeared from sight, what was once an empty lakebed has now been filled to the brim with freshwater that this coastline has not seen in almost a century. Boats that have washed up and abandoned now float freely on the lake they were once serviced on. Their ears pick up the roar of celebrating crowds, and their souls feel the energetic buzz of excitement, happiness, awe, and hope.
In less than two weeks, the Aral Sea has been restored to its full might.
In celebration, they do a flyby of the pier which now touches the water once gain. Their friend presents them to the crowd of thousands, receiving deafening cheers and blessings from below.
"At least the worship and tribute make it all worth it." Their friend basks in the adulation they are receiving, no doubt proud that his actions have inspired humans to start religiously revering him. Personally, Frisk finds it deeply uncomforting just how much his god complex has developed.
"Am I not a god in power though?" their Friend asks. Frisk realizes their thoughts were loud enough for their Friend to hear. "Is it not the power of a god that can fill lakes, end wars, turn deserts green and bring world peace where mortals cannot?"
"All true," Frisk acquiesces, "But we both know where that power comes from, and where we got it from. It's not exactly something to be proud of."
"To each their own," their Friend answers, "so long as I get free food and gifts as 'tribute,' I don't care."
"Well, if we're going to approach the crowds for your 'tribute', can I at least give blessings to the babies?" Frisk asks hopefully. Infants seem to like them a lot more when Frisk is in control of the body, and it made them happy to bring cheer to them and their parents. Their fusion gave their form additional healing magics, and Frisk likes using them to heal the sick and injured. At the minimum, a soft peck on the head makes infants giggling and happy while they applied their work towards illnesses, if the child even had any.
Really, Frisk just likes working with kids.
Their friend morphs their muzzle into a snarl. "No!" he shouts, "Human babies smell and they're disgusting. If that's your price, then we're leaving."
Before Frisk can protest further, the world turns white-
-then black-
-before the world comes back into their vision. This time in an office in the True Lab. Frisk thought it morbid that their Friend chose their "second" place of birth as their new abode. The Scientist was fine with it, albeit they are tragically certain it is out of her fear of their Friend than anything else.
Then again, there is one advantage of living here. Isolated from monster and humans through hundreds of meters of rock, it helps them tone out the sensations their god-like senses are able to pick up. it lets them relax in peace, or concentrate on paperwork.
Even so, there are signs that the isolation this office represents no longer reflects their Friend's life anymore. There are pictures of their angelic form at various locations around the world, with world leaders, monster companions, and their mother and father. There are mementos and awards from their works across the world, the tokens of appreciation from monsters and humans, and even figurines of the Robot they (reluctantly) received from the star himself.
A nice, polished wooden desk adorn the room with a faux-leather seat. Sitting on top of it lies a storage box of papers on their desk, next to an aluminum foil-wrapped slice of pie.
And right behind the seat, there is a large painting of the Old Queen, the Old King, and their Friend himself, standing in front of the gateway into the mountain, the place where the Barrier was broken. Hovering just above them, just in front of them stood the warm-red specters of Frisk themself and…
And his Best Friend.
"It's okay," their Friend tells Frisk, sensing what they were thinking and enveloping their soul with a warm sensation. "You've already done more than anyone could ever ask of you. Please, don't think too much on it."
"Was it just like this when…" Frisk's voice falls off.
"I don't know. We really didn't explore any of our powers in the time we had for all the few hours we were a god of two souls."
"Do you miss them?"
They feel the warmth evaporate into a miasma of sadness. "I do, but at the same time I don't. I…" he pauses, "We ruined so much with that stupid plan of theirs.
"And yet…" their Friend clasps their hand around something beneath the cloak. Frisk can feel the cold sensation of the golden locket brushing against their fur. "They were the only friend I had in my childhood. All those fun moments…all those times of happiness…they were very real and very important parts of my life, of their life. That part never changed."
They pull out the locket around their neck. Still golden and untarnished. They click it open to reveal a picture of their Friend and His Best Friend, innocent smiles on both of them. "BFF" is etched on the other side of the locket.
"If things went as they wanted. They wouldn't have stopped at a village. They couldn't, not when destroying it causes another war. I certainly won't anymore." He sighs. "I stand by what I said to you so long ago. I did the right thing by running away, but I'm not sure I have the moral strength to do it anymore."
"Do you forgive them?" Frisk asks.
"Do you?" he replies. His tone is accusatory, but they can feel his emotions pull back in shame at snapping at them.
"Of course," they answer. "If you can't be held for something that no longer happened, then they can't be held for something that never came to pass in any timeline." Frisk replies, "It would be astronomically hypocritical for me to extend forgiveness to you and not them."
"Yeah," he nods along, "Same here. I share blame with it too. I went along with that stupid plan until it was too late for the both of us. My inaction let things reach that point."
Their friend pauses as they eye the box. There is a noticeable hesitation in his movements. They can feel his mind strung with anxiety. His god-complex from not three minutes ago falls to the wayside as his insecurities are incarnated in the container before him.
"Are you okay?" Frisk asks.
"The plan was to get six souls, but I was in denial that we needed to kill people until it was too late" he replies, "I thought I had to eventually do that to get the seventh soul when I became a god, but I didn't think there would be so many that would just give them to me." He eyes the labeling on the side of it. To his astonishment, the label says it is 1 of 38. He flicks the top cover off with a finger and peers into the box.
It is an application for a human to donate his soul to their Friend. The face of a young man of European descent looks back at them, with a dark blue-colored heart next to the profile picture. There had to be thousands of applications like this in this storage box alone.
"I want to see them," he says, "all of them."
Frisk understands his intent. Together, they fling the entire contents out into the air with their magic, organizing and laying out the papers in the air until they all surrounded them in an organized circle.
The best part of merging with their Friend, in Frisk's humble opinion, wasn't the superpowers, the super senses, the magic, or even the flying. No, as great as they may be, they do not come close to the fact that, apparently, becoming a monster-human hybrid gives you a super mind.
It is amazingly easy how much they are able to read and memorize everything. So much paperwork they had to go through as a prince and a globetrotting angel could be read, registered, and signed at a speed their former human self could scarcely imagine. If this is a Boss Monster thing, then suddenly his species being the "Boss" of monsters has taken on a new layer of meaning. If this is a god thing, then there must be more to their abilities than they imagined.
Their eyes capture the contents of each application in less than a second, letting them parse through the papers at a rapid pace. They see applications from people all over the world.
France, Turkey, the United States, Kyrgyzstan, Russia, Rwanda, Uruguay, Australia, Vietnam…
Thousands of pages full of people. Their identities, their lives, their character, their deeds and crimes, and their reason for their sacrifice. Emblazoned on each of them is a colored heart.
Laos, the Turkic Republics, the Siberian SSR, Slovenia, Ethiopia, Brazil, South Africa…
Their friend can scarcely comprehend it all, and this is the first batch.
"So many…" their Friend mutters, they reach out and gingerly grasp one of the applications before them, a young boy from Kenya, stricken with AIDS from the moment he was conceived.
The face is enough for their telepathy to pick him out from the untold billions that walk the Earth, and their senses grasp the young child in his hospital bed.
Their mind's eye watches the patient, their infinite magics reaching out to touch the boy's mind and soul. The boy cannot be older than 14, and yet he can be seen reading physics books for college students and using his laptop to write a dissertation on nuclear fusion. A mild flu epidemic had nearly killed him, and he will likely stay in the hospital for a little longer until it blows over.
His written reason is frank and boils down to the same thing as a lot of the others: immortality through the god Frisk is inhabiting. Selfish, but they can feel the purple soul in their telepathy, filled with imagination and brilliance that can rarely be found in people twice his age, waiting to be released into the world. A mind with wonderful ideas that could change the future for the better. He is yet another person who could do more under the aegis of a god when his life is destined to be cut short from disease. The world would be less bright without him.
Just like Frisk.
"I…I didn't think I…" he struggles with his words, "I didn't think anyone would have been willing to help us.
"See what I mean. You just needed the right mindset to wiggle your buttfluff."
"Don't joke about this! It's just…" their Friend's breath hitches with tears in his eyes, the sensation of overwhelming gratitude envelops Frisk, "I tried, Frisk. I really did. I tried to get help for so long, but nothing changed the fact that I am a terrible person no one wants to be with. When they saw who I am, what I've done, they run away or try to kill me. When the donors find out who I really am, what if they abhor me for everything I did?"
And like that, the boy Frisk had abandoned so long ago re-emerges in their crying Friend. Beneath that need for worship, for validation, for vengeance against humanity, is the person Frisk remembered leaving to their fate so long ago. A nervous, kind boy that was hurt by the world. A boy that wants to be loved.
"We only need seven," Frisk says, "Somewhere, buried deep within those papers are seven of the brightest, kindest people in the world, the kind of people that could put me to shame. They will know, they will understand, and they will help you."
*Sniff* their Friend's nose is runny, and he wipes his nose with his sleeve. "You said seven," he notices, "Frisk…are you-?"
"No," Frisk reassures, "Don't even think about it. Before you did…what you did, all of this started because I wanted to save you. I meant it then, and I mean it now, even in light of what you had done."
Frisk's set of arms reaches up and grasp their Friend's set, gold markings intersecting with red, "I care about you. This is why this is so important for me. Pretend all you want, but I can feel you still hurting from keeping everyone imprisoned. With this, no one will be forced to be your prisoner anymore. And even then, if all the souls leave you, if you will be down to one soul, I'll be the last one for you. I'll never leave you again."
Their friend sniffles again, wiping away the tears in his eyes. "Promise?" he asks. The meekness of his voice betraying the deity's vulnerability.
"Promise."
Their Friend stands a bit more upright. He feels like he is about to break into tears again, "Thank you."
"Oh don't start you big crybaby," Frisk teases.
That is when the phone hidden in their robes pings with a text message.
"Huh," they wonder, "It's past midnight in Ebott, I wonder who that could be."
"Heh, it's probably just the Royal Scientist tweeting her latest fan-theory instead of sleeping," their Friend jokes, his mood improving by the second, "or Smiley Trashbag sending us another one of his stupid puns because of course he knows when we'll be arriving home." He starts shuffling for the phone.
"Don't puncture it with our claws this time," Frisk jokes. They weren't letting go with how many things his "infinitely powerful" claws can puncture and damage by accident.
"Relax. I'll use telekinesis if it bothers you so much," their Friend mocks as the phone hovers out to in front of them. Using the same telekinesis, the work the touchscreen to enable it-
-And the phone explodes in a violent magical backlash when the two register the words at the top notification in shock and horror.
ALERT: HOSTILE MONSTER-HUMAN FUSION IN OLD EBOTT BOROUGH. HUNDREDS DEAD.
SEEK SHELTER.
Last edited:
The Angel Reunited (Fanart)
So this is a thing. Got a piece of fanart from the author who wrote the fanfic this one is based off of.
Art by Twix015, not me.
Art by Twix015, not me.
(5) 15 Years Old
Frisk is 15, and today they're visiting their latest boyfriend at the hospital.
It has been a tumultuous relationship, not helped by their boyfriend being three years their senior and entering a very hard period of their life just as they started dating him. This has all culminated in his injury last week from a car accident.
They open the room to see him resting on his hospital bed, eyes open and headrest tilted up. Frisk is alarmed to see there is a haunted look upon his face. Frisk thinks it might have to do with his two broken legs.
This is isn't good. Davis is supposed to be Ebott High's track champion. The know how much he wants to branch out into professional sports with how often it comes up. They fear those might be career-ending injuries.
But they can't let those worries get to them. Not now. Not when Davis needs him. So they set down on the chair next to him and begin trying to open a conversation with him. They try a variety of topics that they like, or ones Davis likes, though they are unsure if they should broach sports considering his injury.
None of this elicits a reaction from him, increasing Frisk's worry for their boyfriend.
They hear a sliding noise, and notice that Davis had slid their dream journal towards them. Frisk asks if he wants them to read it, but he slowly shakes his head. Seeing then that he does not have any writing utensils on his person, they then ask if he wants them to fill theirs together, and slowly he nods.
Luckily, Frisk brought their own dream journal along with backup pencils, and arranges Davis to have a pencil with him, and helps prop up his journal for him to write in.
Frisk proceeds to fill in their own dream journal alongside Davis.
Originally, it was in solidarity with their boyfriend as he tries to sort through the terrible nightmares he experiences on a daily basis, but the activity has taken on a life of its own when patterns started to emerge in their own dreams. Places and details in dreams going back years had escaped them, but are now starting to click together once they were put down to written words.
A one-room home with a broken table linked to a fish-shaped house set on fire. A purple set of ruins exiting to a land of eternal snow. A flower-filled throne room connected to a grey castle and home. A world of magma later discovered to house a lab. As the year progressed, these disparate dreams connected to each other, piece by piece, until the their imagination coalesced into presenting them as a single, unified world. Today, they had another recurring dream, this time in an orange home that smelled of cinnamon and butterscotch (they didn't know dreams could smell before that).
From these dreams, Frisk determined the following:
At least once every week, they dream of a strange world supposedly trapped under Mount Ebott, filed with ruins, snow, rivers, lava, and a city. A world where no one lives there. An Empty Kingdom, and a trail that leads directly to a hole into the underground nation.
Where once they were just spectators glimpsing a microcosm of the underground, with no understanding of the greater whole they were looking at, the dreams have started to weave together, letting them become a traveler of the Empty Kingdom within each dream as Frisk put more and more together in their dream journal.
One mystery takes precedence over the rest though.
Behind the throne room lies a dark hallway. It pulls them inexorably, baiting them to something unseen. Something that lies in the final room that gives lie to the epithet of the 'Empty' Kingdom. They must reach the end.
But then…they never do.
Every time they dream of that final hallway, that final room behind the throne, they wake up before they can turn the last corner.
Frisk had a sneaking suspicion that the kingdom is not as empty as the dreams led them to believe. If it is located where they think it is, then they are almost certain the legendary Monster in the Mountain is what is in that final room. but never in all their dreams have they seen the creature anywhere in the Empty Kingdom. Just empty homes, empty ruins, and empty hallways.
They can't help but feel as though there should be…more…to their dreams, though what that would constitute is equally beyond them.
Frisk is curious if that trail to the hole—or for that matter, the Empty Kingdom it leads to—actually exists. Alas, try as they might, they have yet to dream of the trailhead of that path up the mountain. They could go searching for it but…
Walking around the mountain gave them panic attacks when they were young, especially with knowledge of the Monster in the Mountain. Their Aunt stopped family hikes there almost immediately when it became a recurring theme. Even now the place makes them nervous.
Davis's dreams are of more pressing concern though, and much, much more serious.
Around a month after they started dating, he had begun suffering severe and frequent episodes of sleep paralysis. All of them filled with vivid, consistent, and terrifying hallucinations of a paralysis demon.
Frisk could never get a description of the demon out of Davis. Of all the details of his dreams he could not remember, it was the paralysis demon's visage.
The strangest thing about the demon, however, is that all the discussions he remembers with the demon are about Frisk.
Always. About Frisk.
It tells him to ask Frisk what their favorite flower is, egging him to go see a movie Frisk likes that he hates, telling him to shut up and listen in conversations with Frisk, quizzes him what it is Frisk likes to eat, what they like to do for fun, how to show their appreciation for them. It doesn't escape Frisk's notice that the paralysis demon sounds a lot like a demented wingman, though whether it's for Frisk or for Davis, they are not certain.
And when he upsets the demon or it finds his dedication to Frisk wanting, it sends him spiraling through vivid and horrible nightmares that leave him screaming awake at night.
They look up at the vacant look in his face as he writes out his journal entry. Frisk talked to Davis's mother, and they learned he has been getting less and less sleep as their relationship developed. Frisk is beginning to worry that they might have had an indirect hand in his crippling, and they are quickly becoming overwhelmed with guilt-by-proxy.
At last, he puts the finishing touches upon his entry. Rather than closing it up however, he shoves it in Frisk's direction, goading them to take the journal and read it for themself. Frisk quietly takes it, thanking him for sharing something so sensitive.
They reads the first entry shown.
It found the video camera.
I don't know how it did it, but it found the camera. It wasn't even mad. It just smiled and teased me, letting it stay on record mode facing the two of us. As though it knew no one would believe me.
Then it turned to talk about Frisk. Of course it wants to talk about Frisk. It always talks about Frisk.
It started with yet another of its quizzes to check I know what Frisk's favorite things are. Flowers. Food. Places. Games. Books. All that crap.
Why the hell is it so interested in them?
Then it demanded me to see that movie Frisk kept yammering about with them. I hate that franchise so goddamn much. Why couldn't they find a better taste in anything else?
I must have said those same words aloud, because the next thing I know it says it wants to make an improv horror film in my bedroom, "since I liked horror flicks so much" according to it.
I saw its flesh peel before my eyes, eyes bulging out of its eye sockets. There was…stuff coming out of its orifices, demanding I go see the film or there would be more of this.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I was terrified for my life as blood and puss was spewing out of its mouth and into my face. I couldn't do anything. My body can never move in the nightmares and I'm left stuck with the thing until the end.
When it didn't get the answer it wanted, it upped the ante. It burst its flesh apart at the ribs and formed them into wings. It grabbed me and crashed through the apartment window and flew us up in the sky. I couldn't even fail. Just scream as it kept climbing higher and higher.
It then brought its hideous face to me again, and demanded I see the movie. I just kept saying yes to make it stop, but it just dropped me to the ground. I thought I was going to die.
I woke up before I hit the ground. The nightmare was over.
Frisk peers at Davis. They remember the movie he is referencing. They didn't know he felt so strongly about it. At best he made deflective "okays" about it. They were interested to know he liked horror movies though. Does he still?
They read the next entry. It's much shorter.
There's nothing.
There's NOTHING!
What am I saying? Of course there's nothing! It's all a nightmare, a goddamn nightmare that keeps ruining my life and never stops! Coach is looking to pull me, my mom's worried sick, and I just can't focus on class and Frisk and-DFKSJVEPOFWSD
The end of the sentence is scribbled out. Frisk notes these two entries were recorded a week ago, not long before the accident. They're not the ones he just wrote today.
The turn the page, and are shocked by what it says.
I saw it.
Last night I saw it while I was driving, I saw it. I was…I was I wasfka;dkfjak;lsdmvak;lnd
I fucking cheated with you Frisk! There! Her name is Alex and she's legal like me and she's not some queer that's into all this boring shit you are into! The truth is you weren't supposed to be anything more than for me to experiment and see what's the big deal with trans people. Well guess what, they're as boring as everyone else! Take that for what you will!
I was supposed to be heading out for real fun that night. I was driving to meet Alex at a real party, the kind they won't let kids you go to. It was supposed to be my group's little secret.
I saw it.
I saw the fucking monster in the middle of the road. I turned to dodge and now my car and my legs are wrecked as shit.
It broke my legs Frisk. It broke my goddamn legs!
I can't sleep worth a damn and now I'm hallucinating the thing in real life!
I can't do this, Frisk. I can't keep doing this to myself anymore, or you. It's ruining my life and my health.
I-
I just can't.
I give up.
I'm sorry.
The last sentence is read as tears stream from Frisk's eyes, a hurt look on their face. The cheating felt nothing compared to the pain of the callus dismissal of their relationship in the same breath. Was it all a lie? Was their relationship nothing more than the romantic equivalent of an exotic taste test?
How could he treat them like this?
Frisk steels themself. As much as they want to slap Davis for the things he wrote right next to them, Frisk is not in the mood for injuring a hospital patient. Regardless of Davis's true intentions, his ordeal is taking a psychological and physical toll that can't be downplayed. Frisk appears to be the focal point, and it is only getting worse with each week.
Davis is hurt bad, really, really bad, and they have no idea why this is happening or how to treat it. The best Frisk can think of, and it is a course they are already contemplating, is for them to go their separate ways. With any luck, the breakup and the confession will remove whatever it is that is causing him to have these horrifying nightmares.
Frisk relays this to their (ex-)boyfriend, to confirm with him if he is alright with this course of action.
He nods silently.
Before they leave, Frisk gives Davis one last kiss on the forehead, and wishes him well. If nothing else, they did enjoy their time with him, even if they did not really reciprocate.
If they see each other again, Frisk hopes they can at least reach good terms again.
--
Frisk sleeps in heartbreak, and awakens to a nightmare of tragedy and agony.
They have returned to their mighty 30-foot form from their apotheosis, but even then, they are tossed into a building with reckless abandon.
The impact does nothing but disorient them, and they quickly gain their bearings around the crumbling rubble.
Looking at the screaming, frightened individuals whose walls they just collapsed, they see they've just landed in a monster neighborhood. Frisk is briefly amazed that monsters had settled so far from Ebott when they sense the building-sized fireball heading straight towards them.
They leap out of the wreckage and meet it head-on with a shield. It dissipates upon it, but they are once again demoralized by how much magic it takes to absorb it. Their infinite power is not coming forth fast enough.
They hear a deafening roar, and their opponent comes into view when the flames vanish.
Bigger than a skyscraper, the reptilian creature is something out of a medieval fantasy book. His golden scales shine bright in the night, amplified by the yellow glow of its underbelly. He fans its wings as he approaches, the span stretching hundreds of yards across, maybe a thousand. Boney spikes the size of houses come out of his back, electricity coursing around them, terminating in a tail that whips around and destroys buildings and trees without notice.
The Dragon, they call him. His reptilian face, covered in electrified spikes and spewing hot flames from his mouth, seethes in anger at their Friend, white-on-black eyes meeting red-on-black eyes.
And Frisk can feel his power. They thought their Friend and themself were powerful, but the flame of their magic felt so weak next to the creature. The magic from the Dragon is emanating off him like a sun.
"Just how many souls did he absorb?" Asks Frisk, frightened by the answer they will receive.
"Rough guess?" their Friend thinks to them rhetorically, "Nine, maybe ten."
Their eyes widen and causes the body to falter, nearly killing them when the Dragon swipes at them with the claws on the end of his wings. "That's ten!?" they exclaim in shock, their voice coming out of their mouth, "That means he only has three extra souls. Why does he feel a hundred times stronger than us!?"
"Just be thankful he didn't think to take more-hold on!" Asriel exclaims. He leaps into the air as the next swing comes in deeper, and it digs a huge ditch where their body once was.
They spread their wings and fly up to meet the Dragon face-to-face. The Dragon roars in challenge, but reels in shock when their Friend explodes in size to match the beast's. He grabs a hold of his face and soars out and away from the town they were just thrown into.
He slams him back down into the ground, right on top of a rocky hill that bends his spine back. The Dragon roars in pain, but their Friend punches him and puts him in a daze.
Frisk lifts their own arms. "All out?" Frisk asks. This night's whole experience has been nauseating, but at this point they don't care if they have to resort to violence. Just so long as the dying stops.
Their friend lifts his own arms, "Everything in a hundred miles is a war zone. What's another crater?"
All at once, they slam their fists down onto the dragon's head, sending a shockwave that obliterates the hill beneath them. They don't stop, and they start pummeling his face with punch after punch like a machine gun, generating an earthquake that can be felt for hundreds of miles across the land.
It's not enough.
A talon reaches up for their own face, and it completely overpowers them as it slams them into the ground. The Dragon rights itself and roars in triumph, flapping his wings to lift up and slam them back into the ground again and again. They can see between the clashing that the Dragon's face is completely unblemished. Their barrage did nothing.
They punch it in his side with explosive force. They grunt when it launches them away from the Dragon, but it does its job of bringing them away from him. They shrink back to their previous size to avoid crushing anything. It is clear the size increase didn't improve things.
They hear a familiar meowing ringtone in their coat. It's the Scientist.
They're still too big to work the controls with their fingers, but their telekinesis can work touchscreen just fine.
They see the dragon come in their direction, and the two shove the dragon with all of their telekinetic might. The Dragon roars in frustration and trudges forward towards his prey.
Their Friend flinches from the feedback of the charge. He hurls fireballs at the Dragon that explode with the force of kiloton bombs, but it merely causes the beast to flinch.
Their Friend telekinetically whips the phone out and hits the answer button with a thought.
"WHAT!?" their Friend shouts in frustration.
"Y-Your Majesty!" A nervous, female voice responds, "Thank goodness we got through to you! Oh I knew those upgrades would have come in handy."
"I'm a bit busy here trying to stop a dragon from ending the world," their Friend lets loose a laser blast from the palm of his hand, causing the Dragon to flinch back for a few seconds "What is it?"
"We've managed to evacuate everyone we could to the Underground. It's a bit- it's hard when most people here are human."
Their Friend grunts as the monster makes his way closer and closer, "Look, is it really necessary to inform me of this while I'm in the middle of a fight?"
"It's-It's not-It's not that, your majesty, it's something worse. We have been keeping contact with the human governments during this crisis and they-well they-they think that-"
"THOSE BASTARDS ARE GOING TO NUKE US!" another female voice, the Captain no doubt, shouts through the speaker.
"What!?" Frisk and their Friend shout though the same mouth. The Dragon breaks through their telekinesis and opens his jaws to snap them in. Their Friend flaps their wings and takes them out and away from his reach.
"The humans have lost all confidence in our ability to stop the soul-to not hurt them-to police ourselves. They are attacking with…are launching a…a complete-a complete nuclear saturation attack to wipe out what remains of the west coast, and are planning to exterminate every monster that still lives on the surface so that we can never threaten them again."
"You can't be serious!?" their Friend questions, "After all we have done for them? After we single-handedly saved this broken world from their actions?"
"Your Majesty, tens of millions are already dead. Your battle has wiped out huge swathes of the west coast already. As far as they're concerned, they are-they are retaliating in kind. None of them, and I mean none of them, want to risk a repeat."
Their Friend snarls in rage and frustration, "As if things are not bad enough. Okay. The fallout will keep you trapped in the Underground and the humans out. How long do you think you can last?"
"Not long enough," the Scientist despairs, "There's ten times as many people here as what our resources and infrastructure can sustain, most of them humans. Even if things do not dissolve into violence, the people will-we'll all be facing starvation within months."
"Damnit," their Friend mutters, "In that case, I can take care of the bombs. Tell father to maintain morale while I do the rest. With any luck, I can deter them from this course of action when it's all over"
"Got it." They can hear over the line the Scientist uttering a few words of despair under their breath. "Oh-oh God, we should never have come up to the-to the Surface."
"Damn them all," their Friend hangs the phone in frustration and puts it back into his cloak. They can feel his anxiety building up like a steam engine. "We were so close to getting a lasting peace." They pump magic through their senses and stretch them out, looking for high-speed objects with radioactive materials.
"…Oh."
That's a lot of missiles.
"Worse comes to worse we can take it, right?" Frisk asks nervously, remembering a sordid episode with their Friend, "You said nukes only gave you sunburns, right?"
"I was bluffing!" their Friend lashes in frustration, "Not even I can last against a nuclear bomb before I turn to ash. I don't know if your power would change things, but that would just mean we come out badly injured at best."
Their Friend moves their gaze down to the Dragon below laying waste to what's left of the buildings in the surrounding area, his fires vaporizing steel and stone, "But with that many souls he might not even feel a thing. It'll just give him an opening to kill us."
"There's too many! Ebott will be rendered a radioactive crater!"
"We might still have a chance," their Friend reassures, "nuclear warheads are far, far easier to ruin than activate. They need exacting conditions to work, and our powers can disrupt that." He throws out his hand, extending his magic and will over the incoming warheads. Frisk senses their Friend's intent, and follows in imitation. "I've done this a thousand times before. While he's distracted, we just crush them or blow them up before they reach us, and they'll be rendered-OOF" Their Friend grunts in pain as a tail whips him away from where he stood and into the air.
They reorient and find the Dragon facing them. He roars into their face. The sound drilling pain into their ears. Frisk almost wishes their eardrums could rupture.
Their Friend is not so impaired. Thinking quickly, he flies towards the Dragon, surprising him briefly and giving him enough time to slam into the monster's body.
"I don't have time to deal with you," their Friend announces, "How about I put you somewhere where you can't bother us?"
The Dragon seems to roar response, but is cut off by a bright flash.
When it clears, the Dragon is nowhere to be seen.
"Where did you send it?" Frisk asks.
"Eris, in the far outer reaches of the solar system," he replies, "If it decides to go all out, then Earth won't be blown up in the process."
Frisk fears as to why he knew it was capable of blowing up planets. "It can do that?"
Their friend is silent.
"…Even I could," their Friend says quietly.
Before Frisk can reply, the clash of shattering clash comes from behind them, and they have little warning before the sight of teeth enters their periphery.
They flash forward just as the teeth clamp. They turn to behold the Dragon, his head shoved through a tear in space. Crack-like fissures in the sky leading to a black void where the rest of the body is breaking through..
"Oh…" their Friend mutters, stunned, "he can bend spacetime too."
He snaps his arms forward, giving the Dragon a telekinetic push. He quickly halts as it brings up his own magic, but it's just enough of a push to get the rest of him inside the tear. Their Friend makes a grabbing motion and the tear zips together tightly.
"I can't do this alone," their Friend warns, his hands wobbling in struggle, "Frisk, handle the nuclear warheads while I deal with the monster! Wreck the components and they will be little more than a dirty bomb at worst"
Alright, they can do this. They just had to forget all their lessons of self-control with their Friend up to this point. They focus on each of the radioactive lights in their head and give them a telekinetic pinch them with their magic.
The closest missiles crumble into metal balls. Some of them explode, but they never unleash a nuclear inferno. They can feel the focus and exertion of their Friend, the Dragon pushing them to limits they never had to as a god before, and it makes the Determined to double their efforts. They call lightning to zap several warheads that were moving together, and their confidence begins to grow. They can do this! They can still save everyone! They can-
The world flashes white.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" They scream in unison as their flesh is being burnt to a crisp. Raw fire magic as powerful as a hundred suns pours down upon them with incredible energy. Their skin boils and their bones char as soon as they are exposed. Their robes are nothing but ash and their halo fractures under the heat.
Their Friend initiates a teleport. The world flashes, and in an instant they are outside the pillar of light that just struck them. Their body and clothes regenerate, and when their eyes grow back they can see massive plumes of debris being thrown away from the beam. They look up and spot with their new eyes the Dragon far, far into the sky. He had opened a new portal in orbit.
And he's charging another attack.
"Goddammit, why can't that overgrown lizard screw leave us alone for one damn minute?!" Their Friend flaps his wings and takes to the skies. Frisk can feel his emotions boil with unbridled rage.
With each flap, he grows faster, and faster, and faster. Before Frisk knows it, they are hurtling at the dragon like a meteor, complete with a fiery trail left by their shield. Their friend conjures two swords in his hands and points them directly at his underbelly.
They slam into his face with the force of a nuclear blast, the swords penetrating deep into his underbelly their Friend flies away from the injury they inflicted and raise their arms away from their body. Tens, then hundreds of fireballs manifest around them, and are flung at the Dragon at lightning-fast speeds. "Die," he commands.
Frisk feels their Friend's will override their control over their own arms, and he uses them to spray out rainbow-colored arcs of electricity that clash into the fireball. "Die!" he shouts.
In his two open arms, orbs of rainbow light coalesce in them. He brings them together and screams, "DIE!".
A massive rainbow beam blasts out and engulfs the Dragon completely. Their Friend roars as he puts in more and more energy into the blast. They can do this indefinitely, they have infinite energy, but they do not have infinite throughput. Frisk can already feel the limits to how much they can put out at one time, and they can tell it's not enough.
They blink when they see the yellow beam carve its way out of the rainbow light and head straight towards them. The two teleport out of the way, watching as it travels far away, avoiding the Earth…
…and striking the Moon. It bursts apart in a bright white explosion, sending magma and fragments everywhere around it. When the beam clears, there is a void where it passed through, and nothing but an asteroid field that remains.
Their friend gulps. "Again. Thank goodness he didn't think to take more. The Earth would have been destroyed by now."
"He wasn't even fully exerting itself when we went all out." Frisk mutters. "How can we possibly stop it?" They ask, trying desperately to cover up their mounting panic.
They are too distracted to notice the Dragon coming towards them. When they do, it's too late when the claws on his feet grab ahold of them.
Held within, their Friend struggles to try and break free of his grasp. They are powerless as the Dragon begins diving into the atmosphere.
Feeling themselves start to warm up from friction, Frisk tries throwing up a shield to protect them, but the Dragon notices, and his grip tightens on their body. Their ribs start to compress painfully.
"This isn't good," their Friend says, trying to pry them lose even with one of his arms trapped between the claws, "If we can't get a barrier up we'll be burnt to a crisp on re-entry." Turning to a new strategy, he manifests a sword once again, and stabs it into the Dragon's foot.
It's shallow, but it causes him to roar in pain, but rather than let go, his grip suddenly tightens. The arm held in his claws snaps like a twig. They scream in agony. It's the first time the god had received a broken bone and ohgodithurtsosmuch.
The Dragon is not finished. Angered by the naked defiance of his prey, he holds them out with his legs to bring them to his face. The eyes staring at them remind Frisk of when their Friend first attained his true form. All black sclera with white, slit pupils. It's just as menacing now as it was then. The eyes turn away as it opens his mouth to unleash hellfire upon their form. The struggle, but they cannot escape his grasp.
The Dragon spews forth flames, and Frisk and their Friend are engulfed in fire.
They scream in unity
And then
They
D I E
But they refuse.
Just as the bones start to turn to dust, the particles zoom back onto the skeletal frame. Nerves, organs, muscles, skin, and fur are reconstituted in seconds. The skull's empty scream transforms into a roar of rage and defiance. The fire no longer bothers them.
With all four of their arms, their Friend grabs a hold of the claw that binds him in place and, with all of his might, thrusts it away from them.
To the fighters' astonishment, the claw doesn't budge so much as snap back with a sickening crunch. The dragon yowls and pulls back in agony as he receives his first real injury in the fight.
"Holy crap!" Frisk thinks, "Did Determination just make us stronger!?"
"Not the time!" their Friend says as he flies back into the air, "I don't this boost will let us stop him before the missiles hit Ebott. And even if we kill him, he'll just reset the damn fight all-over again."
"Wait a minute." Frisk goes over what they said seconds ago. Their mind hones in on one particular word. "Determination. That's it!"
Asriel shifts them away from another swipe. "What? What is it?" He ducks as another moon-destroying beam passes over their head, thankfully avoiding the Earth.
"Remember the timelines we first fought? Remember how they defeated their Friend when he eclipsed them in strength?"
Frisk's words draw up ancient memories, and their solution starts to surface in their Friend's mind. "The souls..." he realizes, "Argh, I'm such an idiot."
They would dearly like to deliberate more, but they can already feel their body heating up from friction. Frisk guides one of their hands to their soul above their head, and their Friend takes over and does the grasping for them.
It rips out with surprising ease, disrupted only by the sound of shattering glass as fragments of the halo start to fall off.
"I won't hold him for long with just six souls," their Friend warns, "but hopefully it will be long enough for you to get through to them."
"We have no choice," Frisk replies through the soul, "Your body is first and foremost a vessel, an interface for the souls of monsters and humans. If there is any way to defeat a god more powerful than us, than it is through communing with the souls"
Their Friend yelps when his arms begin to unwind into familiar vines, petals sprouting around his neck as the power of six souls are unable to maintain his form while he's expending so much magic.
"Hurry!" he shouts, and he extends the hand, now unravelling into a vine, out towards the dragon. It makes no effort to dodge the soul. Beaming directly towards the red object that dares stand in his path.
One second, they are about to enter the maw of the Dragon's mouth.
---
The next, they are in pitch black darkness.
Frisk blinks for a few seconds, coming to realize their human form has been returned to them. They flex their fingers, unused to a human body after five years. They are running on a short schedule, however, so with a few quick stretches done, they work their way towards the kaleidoscope of colors glowing within the void.
The monster's soul is very different from their Friend's, less a gestalt of many loosely bundled human souls and more like a single, white monster soul with many colors blended into its outline. Frisk fears that the humans are too tightly fused with the monster for them to be separated.
There is little choice however. If they can't stop the Dragon, everyone they love will perish.
They touch the soul.
"YOU!" the soul, the Dragon's soul screams. "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KEEP US SAFE!"
"Help!" someone else, a man screams, "Oh God help me I'm on fire!"
Frisk flinches back, but pushes forward to grab ahold of the soul.
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT THE MONSTERS" the Dragon screams, "I HATE YOU!"
"I didn't mean it!" "No one was suppose to die." "We just wanted the money" More voices shouted.
Frisk pushes through, and brings the soul tightly to their chest.
"I HATE YOU!"
"Why is this happening!? What is that thing!?"
Three monsters enjoying a festival-
Three muggers desperate for food and money-
They know who this monster once was. They think of their memories of the Dragon before he became the creature he is now. They think of the happenstance of their encounters in the Underground.
"I HATE YOU!"
"Please, please oh god spare my child! Please!"
A fist in anger at the monster's confusion-
Screams at the sight of a monster turning to dust. Panic leading to exchange of magic and real bullets-
They think of all the great things he says about his favorite people. Parents, idols, friends. They tell him he was right. They are the coolest.
"You let my mom and dad die."
"I didn't know monsters could die so easily"
Only the child remains, and the mugger with a smoking gun-
He reaches out to the two souls. He must pay-
They remind him of the day they and their Friend gave him an autograph, and promised to them that they will fly with him one day.
"I want my mom and dad back."
"No one was supposed to be killed."
He didn't know what was happening. All the voices in his head were so confusing. He doesn't know what's happening-
He just wants the guy to pay. He wants to let it out-
"I want my mom."
"I'm sorry."
When Frisk finally lets go, the soul is now pure white. Ten human souls had sprouted from them. Three that had caused this whole mess, and seven more caught as collateral damage.
Frisk looks down, and gently pets the monster child that appeared in their lap. Tears are flowing down his scales.
"I want my mom."
---
When their soul exits the Dragon's body, it is to behold their Friend's new and abominable state. His once beautiful and elegant form has given away to a nightmarish amalgamation of plant matter and machinery. Vines are interwoven everywhere in a chaotic and incoherent mess. Flowers and thorns growing erratically across his body. A massive television speared through by one of the Dragon's claws. But he did not go down without a fight, for as much as the Dragon was able to cripple him, their Friend had wound his vines tightly to the Dragon, binding his legs and arms, restraining his muzzle, and holding his body for as long as it took for Frisk to win the day. Just above the television, Frisk can make out the shattered remains of a glowing red halo.
They're still in freefall towards the Earth. Down below, they can make out the streaks of light from ballistic missiles entering the atmosphere, set to vaporize their home long before they can crash into it. The streaks are lost as their Friend's form falls through the atmosphere, creating a fireball that slowly starts to incinerate his floral body.
There is little time to lose. Frisk's soul flies toward the very top of the television, their mind briefly flashing to the frightening face that was once displayed on it, and they reach out to their Friend.
The sound of glass shattering in reverse informs them of the halo reforming itself, the power of seven human souls reasserting its presence within them. The vines rapidly retract from the shrinking Dragon, and their Friend's claws emerge from the mess of vines as four massive, gauntlet-sized hands tied to chains. They tear into the television and begin pulling it apart.
They hear a muffled scream within, and as the TV frame is pulled apart, it rises in volume until at long last, their Friend's true face re-emerges, taking the frame aside. He rips away at the rest of his vines to leave a massive white orb with a black heard in the middle, his lower body terminating in a large, black spike. His six wings flare out majestically, unrestrained by his previous form.
Ignoring the Dragon, his eyes snaps his head to the Earth below, the nuclear missiles seconds away from impacting. They are frustrated, and they are angry at world that wishes to ruin their dreams, and with their unrelenting fury, they fling their arms forward and send fireballs of multi-spectral fire from his hands by the dozens, then hundreds, then thousands.
They all speed down like meteors to strike Ebott's doom, and they hit the missiles with perfect accuracy. All are turned instantly to ashes.
Ebott is safe…or what's left of it.
They both sigh in relief. And turns back to face the Dragon now that it is disabled.
He double takes when he looks at the balled up lizard floating in orbit. Where the dragon that towered over their 30-foot frame once flew is a monster child small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Its golden scales are now orange, its wings disappeared, leaving only an armless boy wearing an orange-and-yellow striped shirt.
"It's…" he stutters in shock, finally recognizing who the monster is, "It's just a kid."
Frisk shares the memories they witnessed inside of the monster kid. "It was never about destroying humanity," they say as they take the monster into a hand, "All he wanted was to avenge the deaths of his parents. He didn't know what absorbing a soul would do to his control."
Their Friend slowly absorbs their words, processing them over and over in his mind. They can feel him rush through all the memories, his mental will being pulled taught like a string. It's fraying, and something is starting to break in his mind as the seconds tick towards a minute.
Then, he starts laughing.
"Heh, heh. Hehahahahaha. URAHAHAHAHA! This is just comedy gold!" he guffaws, tears falling from his face. Frisk can feel nothing but agony and despair within his soul. "There's no racist drivel that motivated this slaughter. There's no premeditated attempt at genocide. There's no grand conspiracy to eradicate humans or monsters. It's just a stupid kid that wanted to get back at a couple of desperate muggers for killing his parents!"
Their body slumps. They may never tire, but any will to fight is extinguished as mental exhaustion finally takes its toll.
"We'll never have peace if this is all it takes to kickstart extinction," their Friend murmurs, "What the hell is wrong with this world?". They look out to the world. Hundreds of miles up in the sky, they can see with perfect clarity all the destruction their battle had wrought.
The western coast of North America is nothing more than scorched ruins. They cannot even see half of the landscape, as so much smoke and ash had been sent into the sky. And this was before either of them exerted their full might. It could have been so much worse.
One glance upwards is enough to tell them it did get worse.
The moon had been completely shattered. If that attack had hit anywhere on Earth, it would have been enough to destroy every living thing on Earth, maybe even the planet itself.
If any of the debris from the moon hits Earth, or the changes to tidal forces sufficiently catastrophic, it still might kill everyone.
The future that their Friend promised has been ruined. The presence of monsters had altered the course of the world for the worse, and in the greatest insult to their misfortune, it was born out of a one-off wish for justice. Now, that very justice will destroy the world.
Their Friend sighs in despair. "Let's…" they start. They struggle to find words in their distraught state. "Let's just go home." No reply was needed.
Together, the twin gods descend towards the Earth below, down to the ruined city of Ebott.
"Can we undo this?" Frisk asks.
Their Friend shakes their head, "No. The kid wiped away all my save files when it gained control over the timeline. I made a save as soon as I got it back, but it's the only one I got. A reset is the only other option."
Frisk is disquieted by their limited options.
"This…" Frisk starts again, their thoughts turning towards something different "this isn't the first time you saw the end of the world, is it?"
Their friend says nothing for a long while. Not until they began falling below the stratosphere and into the cloud layer. "More times than I ever wished Frisk. Most of the time, I am the reason they happen. And I…" he adjusts himself as they pierce the clouds. The weather had become turbulent from all the disasters they had caused.
"I thought it was because I the exception," he continues, "I'm still too much like him. I take too much after when I did not have a soul, and I thought that is gave me the strength of will to be a monster that can kill humanity, and if I kept that instinct in check, then the danger will never arise."
At last, they break through the cloud cover, and make their way to the peak of Mount Ebott. It is slightly shorter than it once was, courtesy of a swipe from the Dragon, but it thankfully did not compromise the Underground.
Once they land upon it, they look out and behold what is left of Ebott.
When they died, Frisk thought it was a city entering rebirth, a renewal from a sordid period in the country's, complete with beautiful buildings, strong economic and political connections to the rest of America, a prosperous and egalitarian community, and the staging ground for a new era between monsters and humans.
None of that is left now. The once majestic skyscrapers are toppled like fragile toy buildings. The world hates them for the millions slaughtered in one night. The peace between monsters and humans tarnished forever.
"Look at this Frisk," he says, "Look at how wrong I was. All of this happened when a monster only wanted to hurt a small number of people. How can we possibly prepare against that? It can happen to any normal monster on a normal day. We simply don't have the power to stop it."
Something clicks in his mind. "Power…" he bows his head, lips pulling into a vicious grin, "Maybe that's where I went wrong."
The aura he projected when meeting Andres comes about again. Frisk gasps, but their mouth is still stuck in a viscous grin. He's too determined to be stopped
They can't halt what's coming next.
He crushes the monster child in his hand.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Frisk screeches.
"I was mistaken in thinking humans are the only threat," He declares, releasing his grip to reveal nothing but dust left in his palm, except for one monster soul, and ten human souls, "It didn't matter that monsters are weaker. All it took for everything to crumble to ashes is for one monster to have a bad day to destroy everything."
He looks down, and feels for his locket underneath his robe. "All it took was for two kids to get big ideas in their head and a bit of ritual suicide."
He juggles the souls between is fingers, inspecting them. "You have shown me the way Frisk. My power does not end at stars-shaped bullet patterns and rainbow-colored lightning storms. You have has made us stronger, made me realize there are better ways to wield our abilities. Now think how much faster we can attain that power if we add in more souls to the mix."
His hand grips the souls-
"STOP IT!"
But the fingers are halted before he could clench them. The souls flee from their grasp.
"Frisk?" Their Friend asks confusedly.
"Load your save file NOW!" Frisk commands, "You cannot murder people for the sake of power!"
Their Friend growls. "Idiot! Seven human souls is not enough anymore. What we need is power. Look at what we are capable of with when we mix Determination with just seven souls. Imagine what we can do with eight, or twelve, or a hundred!"
Frisk is becoming frightened by this line of thought.
"I was brought back into this world to break the Barrier. Now I must safeguard the freedom it has brought us. This is why I was brought back. This is what I was made to do."
"No," Frisk mutters "No! This isn't why you're here at all. This isn't why I wanted to save you! There has to be another way!"
"Dammit Frisk, think for once!" their Friend exclaims, "With more souls, we can see and do wherever we want with a thought. Imagine being able to sense when missiles fly half-way across the world with the same ease as hearing a shout by your ear, to then erase it from existence with a snap of the finger. Imagine knowing who, what, when and where the fusion of a monster and human occurs, and having the power to stop or undo it with the ease of plucking apart slices of bread. Imagine our dominion over time breaking the ridiculous constraints of a video game, to let us fine tune and perfect the timeline with a precision and freedom we cannot achieve with save files."
He whirls one of his hands his hand around, and gradually, an object begins to coalesce in front of them. "In this timeline, we used our magic for creation, not destruction. To grant life and prosperity, not cause death and destruction. We saved the world and humanity from itself. Imagine what we could do if we had more."
Their Friend continues as he levitates to the object, "That world…that perfect world made just for you does not need a prince. It does not need an Angel of Death. It does not need an angel, period. None of them will keep us safe. What it needs is a ruler. A god."
He reaches out, and takes it in hand when it is complete. It is a crown, with intricate curves and sharp edges, and had gems of all sorts of colors embedded into the metal.
"A king."
Frisk metaphorically shakes their head in denial, "This is wrong," they say, "We can't rule the world, you know that to be true. Even if we turn back time to before all this happened, there is no way humanity will accept us as king."
"I know," their Friend says sadly, "But it's the only way we can stop extinction. I'll need some time to think on this, but if you must continue to deny reality, then will have to go our separate."
He reaches up to pluck Frisk's soul from his halo.
"No!" Frisk shouts. Their soul is unable to budge from its position "No, stop! Stop this!"
He grabs ahold and once again rips it out with ease. This time, the halo shatters into pieces, the fusion undone permanently.
"Please!" Frisk begs, "You don't have to do this!"
"I know why you are afraid," their Friend soothes, caressing the soul as his body slowly unwinds into vines and plant parts, "There will be so many things that will be broken and hurt by what I am about to do. I know why you don't want me to walk this path, but monsters and humans have left us no choice. I promise though…I promise…"
Gently, he cups Frisk's soul into his hands, and brings it in to his forehead. Frisk struggles to break free.
"I promise everything will be alright."
"Asri-!"
R E S E T
It has been a tumultuous relationship, not helped by their boyfriend being three years their senior and entering a very hard period of their life just as they started dating him. This has all culminated in his injury last week from a car accident.
They open the room to see him resting on his hospital bed, eyes open and headrest tilted up. Frisk is alarmed to see there is a haunted look upon his face. Frisk thinks it might have to do with his two broken legs.
This is isn't good. Davis is supposed to be Ebott High's track champion. The know how much he wants to branch out into professional sports with how often it comes up. They fear those might be career-ending injuries.
But they can't let those worries get to them. Not now. Not when Davis needs him. So they set down on the chair next to him and begin trying to open a conversation with him. They try a variety of topics that they like, or ones Davis likes, though they are unsure if they should broach sports considering his injury.
None of this elicits a reaction from him, increasing Frisk's worry for their boyfriend.
They hear a sliding noise, and notice that Davis had slid their dream journal towards them. Frisk asks if he wants them to read it, but he slowly shakes his head. Seeing then that he does not have any writing utensils on his person, they then ask if he wants them to fill theirs together, and slowly he nods.
Luckily, Frisk brought their own dream journal along with backup pencils, and arranges Davis to have a pencil with him, and helps prop up his journal for him to write in.
Frisk proceeds to fill in their own dream journal alongside Davis.
Originally, it was in solidarity with their boyfriend as he tries to sort through the terrible nightmares he experiences on a daily basis, but the activity has taken on a life of its own when patterns started to emerge in their own dreams. Places and details in dreams going back years had escaped them, but are now starting to click together once they were put down to written words.
A one-room home with a broken table linked to a fish-shaped house set on fire. A purple set of ruins exiting to a land of eternal snow. A flower-filled throne room connected to a grey castle and home. A world of magma later discovered to house a lab. As the year progressed, these disparate dreams connected to each other, piece by piece, until the their imagination coalesced into presenting them as a single, unified world. Today, they had another recurring dream, this time in an orange home that smelled of cinnamon and butterscotch (they didn't know dreams could smell before that).
From these dreams, Frisk determined the following:
At least once every week, they dream of a strange world supposedly trapped under Mount Ebott, filed with ruins, snow, rivers, lava, and a city. A world where no one lives there. An Empty Kingdom, and a trail that leads directly to a hole into the underground nation.
Where once they were just spectators glimpsing a microcosm of the underground, with no understanding of the greater whole they were looking at, the dreams have started to weave together, letting them become a traveler of the Empty Kingdom within each dream as Frisk put more and more together in their dream journal.
One mystery takes precedence over the rest though.
Behind the throne room lies a dark hallway. It pulls them inexorably, baiting them to something unseen. Something that lies in the final room that gives lie to the epithet of the 'Empty' Kingdom. They must reach the end.
But then…they never do.
Every time they dream of that final hallway, that final room behind the throne, they wake up before they can turn the last corner.
Frisk had a sneaking suspicion that the kingdom is not as empty as the dreams led them to believe. If it is located where they think it is, then they are almost certain the legendary Monster in the Mountain is what is in that final room. but never in all their dreams have they seen the creature anywhere in the Empty Kingdom. Just empty homes, empty ruins, and empty hallways.
They can't help but feel as though there should be…more…to their dreams, though what that would constitute is equally beyond them.
Frisk is curious if that trail to the hole—or for that matter, the Empty Kingdom it leads to—actually exists. Alas, try as they might, they have yet to dream of the trailhead of that path up the mountain. They could go searching for it but…
Walking around the mountain gave them panic attacks when they were young, especially with knowledge of the Monster in the Mountain. Their Aunt stopped family hikes there almost immediately when it became a recurring theme. Even now the place makes them nervous.
Davis's dreams are of more pressing concern though, and much, much more serious.
Around a month after they started dating, he had begun suffering severe and frequent episodes of sleep paralysis. All of them filled with vivid, consistent, and terrifying hallucinations of a paralysis demon.
Frisk could never get a description of the demon out of Davis. Of all the details of his dreams he could not remember, it was the paralysis demon's visage.
The strangest thing about the demon, however, is that all the discussions he remembers with the demon are about Frisk.
Always. About Frisk.
It tells him to ask Frisk what their favorite flower is, egging him to go see a movie Frisk likes that he hates, telling him to shut up and listen in conversations with Frisk, quizzes him what it is Frisk likes to eat, what they like to do for fun, how to show their appreciation for them. It doesn't escape Frisk's notice that the paralysis demon sounds a lot like a demented wingman, though whether it's for Frisk or for Davis, they are not certain.
And when he upsets the demon or it finds his dedication to Frisk wanting, it sends him spiraling through vivid and horrible nightmares that leave him screaming awake at night.
They look up at the vacant look in his face as he writes out his journal entry. Frisk talked to Davis's mother, and they learned he has been getting less and less sleep as their relationship developed. Frisk is beginning to worry that they might have had an indirect hand in his crippling, and they are quickly becoming overwhelmed with guilt-by-proxy.
At last, he puts the finishing touches upon his entry. Rather than closing it up however, he shoves it in Frisk's direction, goading them to take the journal and read it for themself. Frisk quietly takes it, thanking him for sharing something so sensitive.
They reads the first entry shown.
It found the video camera.
I don't know how it did it, but it found the camera. It wasn't even mad. It just smiled and teased me, letting it stay on record mode facing the two of us. As though it knew no one would believe me.
Then it turned to talk about Frisk. Of course it wants to talk about Frisk. It always talks about Frisk.
It started with yet another of its quizzes to check I know what Frisk's favorite things are. Flowers. Food. Places. Games. Books. All that crap.
Why the hell is it so interested in them?
Then it demanded me to see that movie Frisk kept yammering about with them. I hate that franchise so goddamn much. Why couldn't they find a better taste in anything else?
I must have said those same words aloud, because the next thing I know it says it wants to make an improv horror film in my bedroom, "since I liked horror flicks so much" according to it.
I saw its flesh peel before my eyes, eyes bulging out of its eye sockets. There was…stuff coming out of its orifices, demanding I go see the film or there would be more of this.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I was terrified for my life as blood and puss was spewing out of its mouth and into my face. I couldn't do anything. My body can never move in the nightmares and I'm left stuck with the thing until the end.
When it didn't get the answer it wanted, it upped the ante. It burst its flesh apart at the ribs and formed them into wings. It grabbed me and crashed through the apartment window and flew us up in the sky. I couldn't even fail. Just scream as it kept climbing higher and higher.
It then brought its hideous face to me again, and demanded I see the movie. I just kept saying yes to make it stop, but it just dropped me to the ground. I thought I was going to die.
I woke up before I hit the ground. The nightmare was over.
Frisk peers at Davis. They remember the movie he is referencing. They didn't know he felt so strongly about it. At best he made deflective "okays" about it. They were interested to know he liked horror movies though. Does he still?
They read the next entry. It's much shorter.
There's nothing.
There's NOTHING!
What am I saying? Of course there's nothing! It's all a nightmare, a goddamn nightmare that keeps ruining my life and never stops! Coach is looking to pull me, my mom's worried sick, and I just can't focus on class and Frisk and-
The end of the sentence is scribbled out. Frisk notes these two entries were recorded a week ago, not long before the accident. They're not the ones he just wrote today.
The turn the page, and are shocked by what it says.
I saw it.
Last night I saw it while I was driving, I saw it. I was…I was I wasfka;dkfjak;lsdmvak;lnd
I fucking cheated with you Frisk! There! Her name is Alex and she's legal like me and she's not some queer that's into all this boring shit you are into! The truth is you weren't supposed to be anything more than for me to experiment and see what's the big deal with trans people. Well guess what, they're as boring as everyone else! Take that for what you will!
I was supposed to be heading out for real fun that night. I was driving to meet Alex at a real party, the kind they won't let kids you go to. It was supposed to be my group's little secret.
I saw it.
I saw the fucking monster in the middle of the road. I turned to dodge and now my car and my legs are wrecked as shit.
It broke my legs Frisk. It broke my goddamn legs!
I can't sleep worth a damn and now I'm hallucinating the thing in real life!
I can't do this, Frisk. I can't keep doing this to myself anymore, or you. It's ruining my life and my health.
I-
I just can't.
I give up.
I'm sorry.
The last sentence is read as tears stream from Frisk's eyes, a hurt look on their face. The cheating felt nothing compared to the pain of the callus dismissal of their relationship in the same breath. Was it all a lie? Was their relationship nothing more than the romantic equivalent of an exotic taste test?
How could he treat them like this?
Frisk steels themself. As much as they want to slap Davis for the things he wrote right next to them, Frisk is not in the mood for injuring a hospital patient. Regardless of Davis's true intentions, his ordeal is taking a psychological and physical toll that can't be downplayed. Frisk appears to be the focal point, and it is only getting worse with each week.
Davis is hurt bad, really, really bad, and they have no idea why this is happening or how to treat it. The best Frisk can think of, and it is a course they are already contemplating, is for them to go their separate ways. With any luck, the breakup and the confession will remove whatever it is that is causing him to have these horrifying nightmares.
Frisk relays this to their (ex-)boyfriend, to confirm with him if he is alright with this course of action.
He nods silently.
Before they leave, Frisk gives Davis one last kiss on the forehead, and wishes him well. If nothing else, they did enjoy their time with him, even if they did not really reciprocate.
If they see each other again, Frisk hopes they can at least reach good terms again.
--
Frisk sleeps in heartbreak, and awakens to a nightmare of tragedy and agony.
They have returned to their mighty 30-foot form from their apotheosis, but even then, they are tossed into a building with reckless abandon.
The impact does nothing but disorient them, and they quickly gain their bearings around the crumbling rubble.
Looking at the screaming, frightened individuals whose walls they just collapsed, they see they've just landed in a monster neighborhood. Frisk is briefly amazed that monsters had settled so far from Ebott when they sense the building-sized fireball heading straight towards them.
They leap out of the wreckage and meet it head-on with a shield. It dissipates upon it, but they are once again demoralized by how much magic it takes to absorb it. Their infinite power is not coming forth fast enough.
They hear a deafening roar, and their opponent comes into view when the flames vanish.
Bigger than a skyscraper, the reptilian creature is something out of a medieval fantasy book. His golden scales shine bright in the night, amplified by the yellow glow of its underbelly. He fans its wings as he approaches, the span stretching hundreds of yards across, maybe a thousand. Boney spikes the size of houses come out of his back, electricity coursing around them, terminating in a tail that whips around and destroys buildings and trees without notice.
The Dragon, they call him. His reptilian face, covered in electrified spikes and spewing hot flames from his mouth, seethes in anger at their Friend, white-on-black eyes meeting red-on-black eyes.
And Frisk can feel his power. They thought their Friend and themself were powerful, but the flame of their magic felt so weak next to the creature. The magic from the Dragon is emanating off him like a sun.
"Just how many souls did he absorb?" Asks Frisk, frightened by the answer they will receive.
"Rough guess?" their Friend thinks to them rhetorically, "Nine, maybe ten."
Their eyes widen and causes the body to falter, nearly killing them when the Dragon swipes at them with the claws on the end of his wings. "That's ten!?" they exclaim in shock, their voice coming out of their mouth, "That means he only has three extra souls. Why does he feel a hundred times stronger than us!?"
"Just be thankful he didn't think to take more-hold on!" Asriel exclaims. He leaps into the air as the next swing comes in deeper, and it digs a huge ditch where their body once was.
They spread their wings and fly up to meet the Dragon face-to-face. The Dragon roars in challenge, but reels in shock when their Friend explodes in size to match the beast's. He grabs a hold of his face and soars out and away from the town they were just thrown into.
He slams him back down into the ground, right on top of a rocky hill that bends his spine back. The Dragon roars in pain, but their Friend punches him and puts him in a daze.
Frisk lifts their own arms. "All out?" Frisk asks. This night's whole experience has been nauseating, but at this point they don't care if they have to resort to violence. Just so long as the dying stops.
Their friend lifts his own arms, "Everything in a hundred miles is a war zone. What's another crater?"
All at once, they slam their fists down onto the dragon's head, sending a shockwave that obliterates the hill beneath them. They don't stop, and they start pummeling his face with punch after punch like a machine gun, generating an earthquake that can be felt for hundreds of miles across the land.
It's not enough.
A talon reaches up for their own face, and it completely overpowers them as it slams them into the ground. The Dragon rights itself and roars in triumph, flapping his wings to lift up and slam them back into the ground again and again. They can see between the clashing that the Dragon's face is completely unblemished. Their barrage did nothing.
They punch it in his side with explosive force. They grunt when it launches them away from the Dragon, but it does its job of bringing them away from him. They shrink back to their previous size to avoid crushing anything. It is clear the size increase didn't improve things.
They hear a familiar meowing ringtone in their coat. It's the Scientist.
They're still too big to work the controls with their fingers, but their telekinesis can work touchscreen just fine.
They see the dragon come in their direction, and the two shove the dragon with all of their telekinetic might. The Dragon roars in frustration and trudges forward towards his prey.
Their Friend flinches from the feedback of the charge. He hurls fireballs at the Dragon that explode with the force of kiloton bombs, but it merely causes the beast to flinch.
Their Friend telekinetically whips the phone out and hits the answer button with a thought.
"WHAT!?" their Friend shouts in frustration.
"Y-Your Majesty!" A nervous, female voice responds, "Thank goodness we got through to you! Oh I knew those upgrades would have come in handy."
"I'm a bit busy here trying to stop a dragon from ending the world," their Friend lets loose a laser blast from the palm of his hand, causing the Dragon to flinch back for a few seconds "What is it?"
"We've managed to evacuate everyone we could to the Underground. It's a bit- it's hard when most people here are human."
Their Friend grunts as the monster makes his way closer and closer, "Look, is it really necessary to inform me of this while I'm in the middle of a fight?"
"It's-It's not-It's not that, your majesty, it's something worse. We have been keeping contact with the human governments during this crisis and they-well they-they think that-"
"THOSE BASTARDS ARE GOING TO NUKE US!" another female voice, the Captain no doubt, shouts through the speaker.
"What!?" Frisk and their Friend shout though the same mouth. The Dragon breaks through their telekinesis and opens his jaws to snap them in. Their Friend flaps their wings and takes them out and away from his reach.
"The humans have lost all confidence in our ability to stop the soul-to not hurt them-to police ourselves. They are attacking with…are launching a…a complete-a complete nuclear saturation attack to wipe out what remains of the west coast, and are planning to exterminate every monster that still lives on the surface so that we can never threaten them again."
"You can't be serious!?" their Friend questions, "After all we have done for them? After we single-handedly saved this broken world from their actions?"
"Your Majesty, tens of millions are already dead. Your battle has wiped out huge swathes of the west coast already. As far as they're concerned, they are-they are retaliating in kind. None of them, and I mean none of them, want to risk a repeat."
Their Friend snarls in rage and frustration, "As if things are not bad enough. Okay. The fallout will keep you trapped in the Underground and the humans out. How long do you think you can last?"
"Not long enough," the Scientist despairs, "There's ten times as many people here as what our resources and infrastructure can sustain, most of them humans. Even if things do not dissolve into violence, the people will-we'll all be facing starvation within months."
"Damnit," their Friend mutters, "In that case, I can take care of the bombs. Tell father to maintain morale while I do the rest. With any luck, I can deter them from this course of action when it's all over"
"Got it." They can hear over the line the Scientist uttering a few words of despair under their breath. "Oh-oh God, we should never have come up to the-to the Surface."
"Damn them all," their Friend hangs the phone in frustration and puts it back into his cloak. They can feel his anxiety building up like a steam engine. "We were so close to getting a lasting peace." They pump magic through their senses and stretch them out, looking for high-speed objects with radioactive materials.
"…Oh."
That's a lot of missiles.
"Worse comes to worse we can take it, right?" Frisk asks nervously, remembering a sordid episode with their Friend, "You said nukes only gave you sunburns, right?"
"I was bluffing!" their Friend lashes in frustration, "Not even I can last against a nuclear bomb before I turn to ash. I don't know if your power would change things, but that would just mean we come out badly injured at best."
Their Friend moves their gaze down to the Dragon below laying waste to what's left of the buildings in the surrounding area, his fires vaporizing steel and stone, "But with that many souls he might not even feel a thing. It'll just give him an opening to kill us."
"There's too many! Ebott will be rendered a radioactive crater!"
"We might still have a chance," their Friend reassures, "nuclear warheads are far, far easier to ruin than activate. They need exacting conditions to work, and our powers can disrupt that." He throws out his hand, extending his magic and will over the incoming warheads. Frisk senses their Friend's intent, and follows in imitation. "I've done this a thousand times before. While he's distracted, we just crush them or blow them up before they reach us, and they'll be rendered-OOF" Their Friend grunts in pain as a tail whips him away from where he stood and into the air.
They reorient and find the Dragon facing them. He roars into their face. The sound drilling pain into their ears. Frisk almost wishes their eardrums could rupture.
Their Friend is not so impaired. Thinking quickly, he flies towards the Dragon, surprising him briefly and giving him enough time to slam into the monster's body.
"I don't have time to deal with you," their Friend announces, "How about I put you somewhere where you can't bother us?"
The Dragon seems to roar response, but is cut off by a bright flash.
When it clears, the Dragon is nowhere to be seen.
"Where did you send it?" Frisk asks.
"Eris, in the far outer reaches of the solar system," he replies, "If it decides to go all out, then Earth won't be blown up in the process."
Frisk fears as to why he knew it was capable of blowing up planets. "It can do that?"
Their friend is silent.
"…Even I could," their Friend says quietly.
Before Frisk can reply, the clash of shattering clash comes from behind them, and they have little warning before the sight of teeth enters their periphery.
They flash forward just as the teeth clamp. They turn to behold the Dragon, his head shoved through a tear in space. Crack-like fissures in the sky leading to a black void where the rest of the body is breaking through..
"Oh…" their Friend mutters, stunned, "he can bend spacetime too."
He snaps his arms forward, giving the Dragon a telekinetic push. He quickly halts as it brings up his own magic, but it's just enough of a push to get the rest of him inside the tear. Their Friend makes a grabbing motion and the tear zips together tightly.
"I can't do this alone," their Friend warns, his hands wobbling in struggle, "Frisk, handle the nuclear warheads while I deal with the monster! Wreck the components and they will be little more than a dirty bomb at worst"
Alright, they can do this. They just had to forget all their lessons of self-control with their Friend up to this point. They focus on each of the radioactive lights in their head and give them a telekinetic pinch them with their magic.
The closest missiles crumble into metal balls. Some of them explode, but they never unleash a nuclear inferno. They can feel the focus and exertion of their Friend, the Dragon pushing them to limits they never had to as a god before, and it makes the Determined to double their efforts. They call lightning to zap several warheads that were moving together, and their confidence begins to grow. They can do this! They can still save everyone! They can-
The world flashes white.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" They scream in unison as their flesh is being burnt to a crisp. Raw fire magic as powerful as a hundred suns pours down upon them with incredible energy. Their skin boils and their bones char as soon as they are exposed. Their robes are nothing but ash and their halo fractures under the heat.
Their Friend initiates a teleport. The world flashes, and in an instant they are outside the pillar of light that just struck them. Their body and clothes regenerate, and when their eyes grow back they can see massive plumes of debris being thrown away from the beam. They look up and spot with their new eyes the Dragon far, far into the sky. He had opened a new portal in orbit.
And he's charging another attack.
"Goddammit, why can't that overgrown lizard screw leave us alone for one damn minute?!" Their Friend flaps his wings and takes to the skies. Frisk can feel his emotions boil with unbridled rage.
With each flap, he grows faster, and faster, and faster. Before Frisk knows it, they are hurtling at the dragon like a meteor, complete with a fiery trail left by their shield. Their friend conjures two swords in his hands and points them directly at his underbelly.
They slam into his face with the force of a nuclear blast, the swords penetrating deep into his underbelly their Friend flies away from the injury they inflicted and raise their arms away from their body. Tens, then hundreds of fireballs manifest around them, and are flung at the Dragon at lightning-fast speeds. "Die," he commands.
Frisk feels their Friend's will override their control over their own arms, and he uses them to spray out rainbow-colored arcs of electricity that clash into the fireball. "Die!" he shouts.
In his two open arms, orbs of rainbow light coalesce in them. He brings them together and screams, "DIE!".
A massive rainbow beam blasts out and engulfs the Dragon completely. Their Friend roars as he puts in more and more energy into the blast. They can do this indefinitely, they have infinite energy, but they do not have infinite throughput. Frisk can already feel the limits to how much they can put out at one time, and they can tell it's not enough.
They blink when they see the yellow beam carve its way out of the rainbow light and head straight towards them. The two teleport out of the way, watching as it travels far away, avoiding the Earth…
…and striking the Moon. It bursts apart in a bright white explosion, sending magma and fragments everywhere around it. When the beam clears, there is a void where it passed through, and nothing but an asteroid field that remains.
Their friend gulps. "Again. Thank goodness he didn't think to take more. The Earth would have been destroyed by now."
"He wasn't even fully exerting itself when we went all out." Frisk mutters. "How can we possibly stop it?" They ask, trying desperately to cover up their mounting panic.
They are too distracted to notice the Dragon coming towards them. When they do, it's too late when the claws on his feet grab ahold of them.
Held within, their Friend struggles to try and break free of his grasp. They are powerless as the Dragon begins diving into the atmosphere.
Feeling themselves start to warm up from friction, Frisk tries throwing up a shield to protect them, but the Dragon notices, and his grip tightens on their body. Their ribs start to compress painfully.
"This isn't good," their Friend says, trying to pry them lose even with one of his arms trapped between the claws, "If we can't get a barrier up we'll be burnt to a crisp on re-entry." Turning to a new strategy, he manifests a sword once again, and stabs it into the Dragon's foot.
It's shallow, but it causes him to roar in pain, but rather than let go, his grip suddenly tightens. The arm held in his claws snaps like a twig. They scream in agony. It's the first time the god had received a broken bone and ohgodithurtsosmuch.
The Dragon is not finished. Angered by the naked defiance of his prey, he holds them out with his legs to bring them to his face. The eyes staring at them remind Frisk of when their Friend first attained his true form. All black sclera with white, slit pupils. It's just as menacing now as it was then. The eyes turn away as it opens his mouth to unleash hellfire upon their form. The struggle, but they cannot escape his grasp.
The Dragon spews forth flames, and Frisk and their Friend are engulfed in fire.
They scream in unity
And then
They
D I E
But they refuse.
Just as the bones start to turn to dust, the particles zoom back onto the skeletal frame. Nerves, organs, muscles, skin, and fur are reconstituted in seconds. The skull's empty scream transforms into a roar of rage and defiance. The fire no longer bothers them.
With all four of their arms, their Friend grabs a hold of the claw that binds him in place and, with all of his might, thrusts it away from them.
To the fighters' astonishment, the claw doesn't budge so much as snap back with a sickening crunch. The dragon yowls and pulls back in agony as he receives his first real injury in the fight.
"Holy crap!" Frisk thinks, "Did Determination just make us stronger!?"
"Not the time!" their Friend says as he flies back into the air, "I don't this boost will let us stop him before the missiles hit Ebott. And even if we kill him, he'll just reset the damn fight all-over again."
"Wait a minute." Frisk goes over what they said seconds ago. Their mind hones in on one particular word. "Determination. That's it!"
Asriel shifts them away from another swipe. "What? What is it?" He ducks as another moon-destroying beam passes over their head, thankfully avoiding the Earth.
"Remember the timelines we first fought? Remember how they defeated their Friend when he eclipsed them in strength?"
Frisk's words draw up ancient memories, and their solution starts to surface in their Friend's mind. "The souls..." he realizes, "Argh, I'm such an idiot."
They would dearly like to deliberate more, but they can already feel their body heating up from friction. Frisk guides one of their hands to their soul above their head, and their Friend takes over and does the grasping for them.
It rips out with surprising ease, disrupted only by the sound of shattering glass as fragments of the halo start to fall off.
"I won't hold him for long with just six souls," their Friend warns, "but hopefully it will be long enough for you to get through to them."
"We have no choice," Frisk replies through the soul, "Your body is first and foremost a vessel, an interface for the souls of monsters and humans. If there is any way to defeat a god more powerful than us, than it is through communing with the souls"
Their Friend yelps when his arms begin to unwind into familiar vines, petals sprouting around his neck as the power of six souls are unable to maintain his form while he's expending so much magic.
"Hurry!" he shouts, and he extends the hand, now unravelling into a vine, out towards the dragon. It makes no effort to dodge the soul. Beaming directly towards the red object that dares stand in his path.
One second, they are about to enter the maw of the Dragon's mouth.
---
The next, they are in pitch black darkness.
Frisk blinks for a few seconds, coming to realize their human form has been returned to them. They flex their fingers, unused to a human body after five years. They are running on a short schedule, however, so with a few quick stretches done, they work their way towards the kaleidoscope of colors glowing within the void.
The monster's soul is very different from their Friend's, less a gestalt of many loosely bundled human souls and more like a single, white monster soul with many colors blended into its outline. Frisk fears that the humans are too tightly fused with the monster for them to be separated.
There is little choice however. If they can't stop the Dragon, everyone they love will perish.
They touch the soul.
"YOU!" the soul, the Dragon's soul screams. "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KEEP US SAFE!"
"Help!" someone else, a man screams, "Oh God help me I'm on fire!"
Frisk flinches back, but pushes forward to grab ahold of the soul.
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT THE MONSTERS" the Dragon screams, "I HATE YOU!"
"I didn't mean it!" "No one was suppose to die." "We just wanted the money" More voices shouted.
Frisk pushes through, and brings the soul tightly to their chest.
"I HATE YOU!"
"Why is this happening!? What is that thing!?"
Three monsters enjoying a festival-
Three muggers desperate for food and money-
They know who this monster once was. They think of their memories of the Dragon before he became the creature he is now. They think of the happenstance of their encounters in the Underground.
"I HATE YOU!"
"Please, please oh god spare my child! Please!"
A fist in anger at the monster's confusion-
Screams at the sight of a monster turning to dust. Panic leading to exchange of magic and real bullets-
They think of all the great things he says about his favorite people. Parents, idols, friends. They tell him he was right. They are the coolest.
"You let my mom and dad die."
"I didn't know monsters could die so easily"
Only the child remains, and the mugger with a smoking gun-
He reaches out to the two souls. He must pay-
They remind him of the day they and their Friend gave him an autograph, and promised to them that they will fly with him one day.
"I want my mom and dad back."
"No one was supposed to be killed."
He didn't know what was happening. All the voices in his head were so confusing. He doesn't know what's happening-
He just wants the guy to pay. He wants to let it out-
"I want my mom."
"I'm sorry."
When Frisk finally lets go, the soul is now pure white. Ten human souls had sprouted from them. Three that had caused this whole mess, and seven more caught as collateral damage.
Frisk looks down, and gently pets the monster child that appeared in their lap. Tears are flowing down his scales.
"I want my mom."
---
When their soul exits the Dragon's body, it is to behold their Friend's new and abominable state. His once beautiful and elegant form has given away to a nightmarish amalgamation of plant matter and machinery. Vines are interwoven everywhere in a chaotic and incoherent mess. Flowers and thorns growing erratically across his body. A massive television speared through by one of the Dragon's claws. But he did not go down without a fight, for as much as the Dragon was able to cripple him, their Friend had wound his vines tightly to the Dragon, binding his legs and arms, restraining his muzzle, and holding his body for as long as it took for Frisk to win the day. Just above the television, Frisk can make out the shattered remains of a glowing red halo.
They're still in freefall towards the Earth. Down below, they can make out the streaks of light from ballistic missiles entering the atmosphere, set to vaporize their home long before they can crash into it. The streaks are lost as their Friend's form falls through the atmosphere, creating a fireball that slowly starts to incinerate his floral body.
There is little time to lose. Frisk's soul flies toward the very top of the television, their mind briefly flashing to the frightening face that was once displayed on it, and they reach out to their Friend.
The sound of glass shattering in reverse informs them of the halo reforming itself, the power of seven human souls reasserting its presence within them. The vines rapidly retract from the shrinking Dragon, and their Friend's claws emerge from the mess of vines as four massive, gauntlet-sized hands tied to chains. They tear into the television and begin pulling it apart.
They hear a muffled scream within, and as the TV frame is pulled apart, it rises in volume until at long last, their Friend's true face re-emerges, taking the frame aside. He rips away at the rest of his vines to leave a massive white orb with a black heard in the middle, his lower body terminating in a large, black spike. His six wings flare out majestically, unrestrained by his previous form.
Ignoring the Dragon, his eyes snaps his head to the Earth below, the nuclear missiles seconds away from impacting. They are frustrated, and they are angry at world that wishes to ruin their dreams, and with their unrelenting fury, they fling their arms forward and send fireballs of multi-spectral fire from his hands by the dozens, then hundreds, then thousands.
They all speed down like meteors to strike Ebott's doom, and they hit the missiles with perfect accuracy. All are turned instantly to ashes.
Ebott is safe…or what's left of it.
They both sigh in relief. And turns back to face the Dragon now that it is disabled.
He double takes when he looks at the balled up lizard floating in orbit. Where the dragon that towered over their 30-foot frame once flew is a monster child small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Its golden scales are now orange, its wings disappeared, leaving only an armless boy wearing an orange-and-yellow striped shirt.
"It's…" he stutters in shock, finally recognizing who the monster is, "It's just a kid."
Frisk shares the memories they witnessed inside of the monster kid. "It was never about destroying humanity," they say as they take the monster into a hand, "All he wanted was to avenge the deaths of his parents. He didn't know what absorbing a soul would do to his control."
Their Friend slowly absorbs their words, processing them over and over in his mind. They can feel him rush through all the memories, his mental will being pulled taught like a string. It's fraying, and something is starting to break in his mind as the seconds tick towards a minute.
Then, he starts laughing.
"Heh, heh. Hehahahahaha. URAHAHAHAHA! This is just comedy gold!" he guffaws, tears falling from his face. Frisk can feel nothing but agony and despair within his soul. "There's no racist drivel that motivated this slaughter. There's no premeditated attempt at genocide. There's no grand conspiracy to eradicate humans or monsters. It's just a stupid kid that wanted to get back at a couple of desperate muggers for killing his parents!"
Their body slumps. They may never tire, but any will to fight is extinguished as mental exhaustion finally takes its toll.
"We'll never have peace if this is all it takes to kickstart extinction," their Friend murmurs, "What the hell is wrong with this world?". They look out to the world. Hundreds of miles up in the sky, they can see with perfect clarity all the destruction their battle had wrought.
The western coast of North America is nothing more than scorched ruins. They cannot even see half of the landscape, as so much smoke and ash had been sent into the sky. And this was before either of them exerted their full might. It could have been so much worse.
One glance upwards is enough to tell them it did get worse.
The moon had been completely shattered. If that attack had hit anywhere on Earth, it would have been enough to destroy every living thing on Earth, maybe even the planet itself.
If any of the debris from the moon hits Earth, or the changes to tidal forces sufficiently catastrophic, it still might kill everyone.
The future that their Friend promised has been ruined. The presence of monsters had altered the course of the world for the worse, and in the greatest insult to their misfortune, it was born out of a one-off wish for justice. Now, that very justice will destroy the world.
Their Friend sighs in despair. "Let's…" they start. They struggle to find words in their distraught state. "Let's just go home." No reply was needed.
Together, the twin gods descend towards the Earth below, down to the ruined city of Ebott.
"Can we undo this?" Frisk asks.
Their Friend shakes their head, "No. The kid wiped away all my save files when it gained control over the timeline. I made a save as soon as I got it back, but it's the only one I got. A reset is the only other option."
Frisk is disquieted by their limited options.
"This…" Frisk starts again, their thoughts turning towards something different "this isn't the first time you saw the end of the world, is it?"
Their friend says nothing for a long while. Not until they began falling below the stratosphere and into the cloud layer. "More times than I ever wished Frisk. Most of the time, I am the reason they happen. And I…" he adjusts himself as they pierce the clouds. The weather had become turbulent from all the disasters they had caused.
"I thought it was because I the exception," he continues, "I'm still too much like him. I take too much after when I did not have a soul, and I thought that is gave me the strength of will to be a monster that can kill humanity, and if I kept that instinct in check, then the danger will never arise."
At last, they break through the cloud cover, and make their way to the peak of Mount Ebott. It is slightly shorter than it once was, courtesy of a swipe from the Dragon, but it thankfully did not compromise the Underground.
Once they land upon it, they look out and behold what is left of Ebott.
When they died, Frisk thought it was a city entering rebirth, a renewal from a sordid period in the country's, complete with beautiful buildings, strong economic and political connections to the rest of America, a prosperous and egalitarian community, and the staging ground for a new era between monsters and humans.
None of that is left now. The once majestic skyscrapers are toppled like fragile toy buildings. The world hates them for the millions slaughtered in one night. The peace between monsters and humans tarnished forever.
"Look at this Frisk," he says, "Look at how wrong I was. All of this happened when a monster only wanted to hurt a small number of people. How can we possibly prepare against that? It can happen to any normal monster on a normal day. We simply don't have the power to stop it."
Something clicks in his mind. "Power…" he bows his head, lips pulling into a vicious grin, "Maybe that's where I went wrong."
The aura he projected when meeting Andres comes about again. Frisk gasps, but their mouth is still stuck in a viscous grin. He's too determined to be stopped
They can't halt what's coming next.
He crushes the monster child in his hand.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Frisk screeches.
"I was mistaken in thinking humans are the only threat," He declares, releasing his grip to reveal nothing but dust left in his palm, except for one monster soul, and ten human souls, "It didn't matter that monsters are weaker. All it took for everything to crumble to ashes is for one monster to have a bad day to destroy everything."
He looks down, and feels for his locket underneath his robe. "All it took was for two kids to get big ideas in their head and a bit of ritual suicide."
He juggles the souls between is fingers, inspecting them. "You have shown me the way Frisk. My power does not end at stars-shaped bullet patterns and rainbow-colored lightning storms. You have has made us stronger, made me realize there are better ways to wield our abilities. Now think how much faster we can attain that power if we add in more souls to the mix."
His hand grips the souls-
"STOP IT!"
But the fingers are halted before he could clench them. The souls flee from their grasp.
"Frisk?" Their Friend asks confusedly.
"Load your save file NOW!" Frisk commands, "You cannot murder people for the sake of power!"
Their Friend growls. "Idiot! Seven human souls is not enough anymore. What we need is power. Look at what we are capable of with when we mix Determination with just seven souls. Imagine what we can do with eight, or twelve, or a hundred!"
Frisk is becoming frightened by this line of thought.
"I was brought back into this world to break the Barrier. Now I must safeguard the freedom it has brought us. This is why I was brought back. This is what I was made to do."
"No," Frisk mutters "No! This isn't why you're here at all. This isn't why I wanted to save you! There has to be another way!"
"Dammit Frisk, think for once!" their Friend exclaims, "With more souls, we can see and do wherever we want with a thought. Imagine being able to sense when missiles fly half-way across the world with the same ease as hearing a shout by your ear, to then erase it from existence with a snap of the finger. Imagine knowing who, what, when and where the fusion of a monster and human occurs, and having the power to stop or undo it with the ease of plucking apart slices of bread. Imagine our dominion over time breaking the ridiculous constraints of a video game, to let us fine tune and perfect the timeline with a precision and freedom we cannot achieve with save files."
He whirls one of his hands his hand around, and gradually, an object begins to coalesce in front of them. "In this timeline, we used our magic for creation, not destruction. To grant life and prosperity, not cause death and destruction. We saved the world and humanity from itself. Imagine what we could do if we had more."
Their Friend continues as he levitates to the object, "That world…that perfect world made just for you does not need a prince. It does not need an Angel of Death. It does not need an angel, period. None of them will keep us safe. What it needs is a ruler. A god."
He reaches out, and takes it in hand when it is complete. It is a crown, with intricate curves and sharp edges, and had gems of all sorts of colors embedded into the metal.
"A king."
Frisk metaphorically shakes their head in denial, "This is wrong," they say, "We can't rule the world, you know that to be true. Even if we turn back time to before all this happened, there is no way humanity will accept us as king."
"I know," their Friend says sadly, "But it's the only way we can stop extinction. I'll need some time to think on this, but if you must continue to deny reality, then will have to go our separate."
He reaches up to pluck Frisk's soul from his halo.
"No!" Frisk shouts. Their soul is unable to budge from its position "No, stop! Stop this!"
He grabs ahold and once again rips it out with ease. This time, the halo shatters into pieces, the fusion undone permanently.
"Please!" Frisk begs, "You don't have to do this!"
"I know why you are afraid," their Friend soothes, caressing the soul as his body slowly unwinds into vines and plant parts, "There will be so many things that will be broken and hurt by what I am about to do. I know why you don't want me to walk this path, but monsters and humans have left us no choice. I promise though…I promise…"
Gently, he cups Frisk's soul into his hands, and brings it in to his forehead. Frisk struggles to break free.
"I promise everything will be alright."
"Asri-!"
R E S E T
Last edited:
(2i)
You were so close.
You were so. Close.
You have never felt such closeness to someone before, to be able to share your soul so intimately and faithfully, to feel every joy and sorrow that another feels. Not since…
Such moments were brief and filled with pain in comparison.
You pat your head, and you sigh when you only feel a single pair of horns upon your head. The void left by their soul tears at you. You wonder if they knew just how warm their soul was, the way it seemed to hug you from two directions. The warm red of their soul, illuminating your mighty form, and the consciousness within your body, brimming with love and hope piloting half your true form.
You could feel their despair though, the knowledge that all the efforts the put into were naught. They believed they could still make the timeline work, but you could tell that even they were not sure. They could not bring back the millions lost in that battle. They could not repair the trust that was broken. The timeline was ruined irrevocably.
That despair would haunt them forever, and you cannot abide by that. If your friend would not understand that, then there was little choice but to start again, until you can get them a happy ending. Even so, their vacancy feels like a raw wound pressed against ice. Aching and freezing.
You watch your friend under a cloak of invisibility as the police place them in the car and drives them away to the station, where they will soon be picked up by their aunt. The infusion of Determination from the previous timeline will ensure they remember what happened, but by the time they are lucid, they will not be able to stop you.
You were tempted, sorely tempted, to not let them go, to give them a quick, painless death, unite with their soul, and become whole once again. Reality quickly reasserts itself however, and you become disgusted with yourself for genuinely considering murdering your beloved just take their soul. You shake your head, and begin wandering the forest to clear your thoughts.
The last timeline had revealed a glaring issue neither you nor they dared to consider: that a monster-human fusion could become more powerful than you and destroy the world. You could always trust humans to commit themselves to cruelty and slaughter as a rule, but there only needed to be one monster, just one, who can end the world in the right circumstances.
You should know. You are one of them.
Which meant that you needed a way to ensure you are always on top. That you can always tell when and where a monster fusion happened and put them down before they kill any more people. Even one human soul would allow one to wipe away a village and acquire all its souls. You will need many, many more souls than the six you have now.
But your friend would never agree to such a plan. You are not sure they would even forgive you for killing thousands, perhaps millions, of humans to gain their souls.
Unless…unless you didn't have to be the reason a human died.
Wait.
What is that?
You spot glowing lights in the wreckage you've wandered on to. Your curiosity piqued, you move over to investigate. You dig your claws into the side door and peel it off with a loud squeal. Inside, you see the burnt bodies of two individuals, and you are surprised to see two souls: an integrity soul, and a kindness soul. You know who they belonged to. They should have disappeared hours ago. Why are they still here?
…Right. Of course their souls would be just as persistent. No matter. They're the perfect boost you need and exactly the souls you want for your future plans.
You take ahold of them in your hands. With a light squeeze they pass underneath your skin, and you feel the euphoric rush of your power growing.
The jump in power from two souls feels nothing next to uniting with the soul of your beloved. That, at least, you are not surprised. They really are something special.
You twirl your finger, and the shards of mirrored glass in the debris gather and coalesce into a single mirror. You gaze upon your form, and you see that your many wings and horns have been returned. Yet you only have one set of eyes and arms. You trace your hand across the new markings beneath your face, different from the tear-streaks you once had. You press in on them, hoping to uncover an eyelid beneath them, desperate for the illusion that your friend is still there.
There is nothing but smooth skin beneath the fur.
WhereAreThey
You freeze at the thought that passes through your mind. Where did that come from?
WhereAreThey
The rush of a headache overwhelms you, and you start to realize where the voices are coming from.
WhereIsOurChild
The souls you have just taken are yelling into your mind, screaming in desperation for something they are missing.
WhereIsOurChild
They repeat. The minds echoing the words are simplistic, the complexity of thought decaying from their time spent after death, but that just means they keep screaming the same words inside your head again, and again, and again.
WhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChild-
You scream, and your soul clamps down on the two human souls in your body. How foolish that you've quickly forgotten the Dragon's plight, that the souls within you have a vote. Only by your nature as a "vessel" did you have some measure of ignoring it.
You try to soothe them, and you project images of their child from your memories, of them growing up in a happy and fulfilling life with their new family. You give them assurances of their safety, and plans upon plans you have concocted to ensure it stays that way.
The pair of souls are agitated and frightful of your plans, but as you continue to soothe them with images of their child, of the great things you have in mind for them, the screams begin to fade until they stop. The souls are once more docile.
This is problematic, if this is to happen with every human soul you come across, this will take a while. You shake your head. It doesn't matter. You only need a few more to become powerful enough to be unchallenged by humans. The rest can come at leisure.
You initiate a teleport. The world flashes, and in an instant you are in the throne room. You will need the quiet space to control yourself when another episode with the souls inevitably happens again. You would have rather meditate at their grave, but you do not dare wish to damage the resting place.
You are still inventing the spell on the fly as you reposition Dad's throne to the back of the room, next to Mom's throne. You are thinking of making your own, now that you have practiced your skills with transforming materials from the last timeline.
Your mind turns back to the crown you had constructed near the end of the timeline. You really liked it. You flick your wrist, and near-instantly the black crown is conjured in your hand. You notice, however, that the gems the previous crown once had are not present, just the metal. Curious. Couldn't you make them with just seven human souls, or was your friend's soul just that powerful? Why then could you still make the metal? Now that you think of it, what kind of metal is naturally black?
The other part of your mind clicks into place the final design of the spell, and you decide to shelve those questions for later. You toss the crown, and it disappears in a portal to the Universe Pocket. It is a nifty power from the Void you've come to love. It makes storage so much simpler. When the time comes, you'll retrieve the crown to finish its decorations before resting it upon its rightful King.
Floating over the center of the throne room, you take up a lotus position, and you focus your mind upon the world around you.
You cast your magic out. You can sense the souls of humanity across the whole world; all 8 billion of them within your reach. More than enough for what you need.
Killing them, however, will be counterproductive to your plans. Today, you only want 'enough'.
You cast the spell, and you pull.
You watch in your mind's eye as souls begin to gravitate towards you. Not from the living, but from the recently deceased. Those that have fallen from illness, from age, from accident and murder, but whose souls have yet to dissipate. Those who have already lived the lives they were given. Now, they will serve the next one to their rightful king. Those who still live do not budge their souls, as you have hoped. You need not kill anyone.
The first souls start to trickle into the chamber, a veritable rainbow of hearts float around you.
You remember the two souls you have absorbed mere minutes ago, and how their thoughts and emotions nearly overwhelmed you. You will have to take this slowly, lest disaster follow.
You reach out to one of the souls. This one is tinged cyan with patience. You grab ahold-
IDon'tWantToDie
You flinch as the soul is added to your body. The rush of power is almost lost in the panic from the soul you just absorbed. This one had died a long, drawn out death from blood loss somewhere in the forest.
IDon'tWantToDie
It isn't as bad as the first two. This is just one soul.
IDon't-
You clamp down on this soul. You don't know them, and they mean nothing besides power to you. Rather than give them soothing memories like you did the first two. You send it down memory lane and keep it distracted. It worked for monsters. Hopefully it will work for humans.
One down. Many more to go.
Many more souls have entered the throne room. By now, there had to be a hundred drawn from across the state. At this rate, the whole Underground will be filled with souls before you even reach twenty.
No matter. You reach out for an orange soul-
FUCKYOU
The declaration scares you and causes you to drop to the ground. Before you can adjust with the soul, all the others start to close in on you.
HelpWhatisHappeningKillMePleaseGodKillMeIDon'tWantToDieILoveYouIHateYouLookOutThisWorldIsBroken
You gasp as your power and the screaming explodes exponentially. You miscalculated. The jump in power has overloaded the spell, and the trickle of souls turns into a faucet.
Then, as the influx of power and thoughts cloud your mind, it increases tenfold into a stream.
Then a torrent.
Then a flood as yet even more souls swarm within you, drawing in from places further and further away as hundreds of souls pour into you every second.
YouKilledMeHeKilledMeIDon'tWantToDieILovedYouHeSaidHeLovedMeSomeoneHelpMeHelpMeOhGodHelpMe
It's too much! You feel your body bloat and melt at the same time. Your body contorts in horrific poses and parts of you balloon into grotesque mass of plants, fur, flesh, eyes, and horns. You let out a scream in fear, and what comes out is a distorted cacophony of many voices you don't recognize.
I'llSeeYouInHellYourFaultHelpMeSomeoneHelpMeGoodbyeSonGoodbyeEveryoneSweetPeaceAtLast
You reach out to your save file to undo this mistake, but it's falling away from your reach. Your control is slipping. You have never worked with more than seven human souls before, most of them having long gone quiet and submissive. The sudden leap to a thousand vibrant and defiant souls is astronomical, and your will is drowned by the confused, screaming mass of humanity within you. At this rate you'll become something just like the Dragon: an all-powerful idiot with no guiding conscience to direct its power. An engine of destruction, anger, fear, and hate that will wipe this world clean of life.
You suddenly regret this whole plan. You try to throw out as many souls from your body as you could, but it's too late, they just keep gravitating back to you. The switch is on and it won't turn off!
ThisIsYourFaultYourFaultYouMudererHe'sAMurdererAMurdererMurdererMurdererMudererMuderer
Is this how it ends? Is the world is going to be destroyed because you didn't know your limits?
MudererMurdererMurdererMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERER
Are
MURDERER
you
MURDERER
g o I n g
MURDERER
t o
MURDERER
d
MURDERER
i
MURDERER
e
MURDERER
?
MURDERER
MURDERER
MURDERER
MURDERER
"I forgive you."
No.
You refuse.
You were not saved just so you can let the world perish by your failure.
You will not die having failed your beloved; failed in bringing them a perfect ending.
You will take the souls.
You will take their power.
You will reshape this universe to your desires and bring paradise to this Earth!
You and your beloved will become the Princes of this World!
AND YOU
WILL
WIN!
With what little control you regain, you redirect all focus onto your "physical" form. The accursed flower that is your vessel takes root with the flowerbed and you infuse it with as much magic that you can conjure. Your life magic is so feeble without your beloved, but you are able to scrounge enough from the new human souls that it does not matter. The vessel is flooded with energy, and from its small frame it sprouts bigger. Bigger, and bigger, and bigger. The stem and leaves bloat into massive tangles of trunk-sized vines that fill the room in its entirety, pushing your body up the hole and into the afternoon sky.
As you get bigger, the more your vessel stores and drains that vital essence that gave you a second life: Determination.
The Determination of mankind proves its downfall. You vessel greedily take it for yourself, turning it inward against the souls to form an impenetrable cage by which even the strongest souls could not break together. All they can do is scream impotently at their fate, and that starts to fade as even their memories betray them, turning against them and leaving their minds in eternal limbo.
Your body can no longer fit inside the mountain. The stem stretches into the sky for miles, your flowery visage reaching out beyond the atmosphere.
You feel powerful. You feel so powerful. It's the same rush you felt when you first became the Absolute God of Hyperdeath, and when you united with your friend and became whole. Now, you have surpassed that god. You are something more.
Raw power flows through your body, wishing to be unleashed. You want to test it. You want to see the limits of your newfound power.
Your gaze turns to an arbitrary point in the sky. You have no idea how far it will take you, but you do not care so long as it's far away from Earth.
You initiate a teleport. The world flashes, and in an instant you somewhere beyond the solar system. Your uprooted body is bombarded by cosmic radiation and the splendid, unspoiled sight of the galaxy around you. You let yourself be mesmerized by the sight for a few minutes.
Sufficiently dazzled, you decide it is time to let it all out. You exert your magic and regain your regal true form one more. You will need arms for this. You put your hand forward, and you push.
Your sight is blinded immediately by the intense light before you. Your eyes adjust and you behold the raging inferno of a star before you. It stretches across your vision. The horizon so flat that you wonder just how big it is.
You, of course, can be bigger. You can do anything.
So you grow. You grow as the horizon curve starts to curve. You grow as you become a thousandth the size of the star, then a hundredth. A tenth. Now, you are a little over thrice the size of the star.
You have no frame of reference for how big this star and yourself are to the Sun, but you must certainly be bigger than Jupiter by now. You feel that you have barely exerted yourself, and could go even bigger, but now that you've tested your ability to create the mightiest furnace in the universe, it's time to test your durability.
You plunge your hands into the star. Once, you would have burnt up in the light of the star before you even hit the corona. Not even a supposedly infinite defense could withstand such an onslaught of heat and energy. But now, dipping your hands into a star feels like nothing more than dipping them into a warm draft of air. You are not doing this to test your heat resistance however.
You clap your hands together around the star's core. The action unleashes a supernova that creates a loud roar in your ears. It neither hurts you nor deafens you, however. You do not budge from where you are as the star ejects its outer layer in a world-ending explosion. You are above mortal injuries, you are above the cosmic forces of the universe. You are above it all!
You chuckle. The sound is barely audible in the materials making up the supernova, but you do not care. You break into raucous laughter as you revel in the absolute power you now wield. The Absolute God of Hyperdeath could not even compare.
When at last the supernova clears, you release your hands from their grip to behold a black hole between them. You grab it with your right hand. Your fingers pinch the object. It does not tear away at your flesh, and neither do your fingers travel any further beyond the event horizon. It is a feat of magic even you thought of as absurd mere days ago.
Now how to top that?
…
Without a second thought, you toss the black hole into your mouth.
It's rather bland and tasteless as you roll it in your mouth, and it makes an uncomfortable sucking sensation, but it does nothing to you as you swallow it whole.
…
You burst out laughing once again. You weren't even using a tenth of the souls you control, and even then you can forge and destroy stars on a whim and swallow black holes like candy.
There is, without a doubt, absolutely nothing humanity can bring to the table to challenge you in a million years, and soon, not even a monster will be able to scrounge up enough souls fast enough to defeat you. You are now above consequences.
This is it! You've finally done it! You've won! Again!
Now all that is missing is a crown fit for a god.
The black crown? Bah! It might suffice for a pagan deity, but you are something far more powerful than that now.
You think of the time you were once whole, when you were united with your beloved. Yes, a halo merged with a crown will be an excellent display of your divinity.
You trace the image with your fingers, and where you claws end, a black void forms into a ring. Then, at seven regular intervals, you form spikes that sprout on both sides. Last, you spontaneously conjure within them seven glowing orbs. Cyan, orange, blue, purple, green, yellow.
The spike you made prominent, the one that takes the frontmost location, is of course dotted red.
When you are finished, it looks as though you have just reshaped a black hole into a crown, outlined by a bright white accretion disk, and adorned with seven stars.
Delicately, you place it above your head. It is nothing, nothing, like the halo you once wore, nothing like the warmth it once brought. But the regal glory it represents come into a respectable second place.
Now, you gaze turns to Earth.
You spot the Sun amongst the myriad of stars in the galaxy, and (after doing a bit of shrinking) you teleport back to earth.
The world flashes, and in an instant you behold the Earth, your size almost matching it.
Despite how massive you have become, you easily pick out the target of your desire. The heart you once shared for a decade.
There, amidst on a large continent amidst a city, sitting alone in a police station. There it stands like a beacon of light; their red soul. Still safe, still unaware of the great things coming into play.
For now, you have other tasks to address. Now that humanity cannot best you, you must secure your victory.
Any monster with one soul can level a town scale up to your power quickly after that. If you want to stop that from happening anywhere, everywhere, you will need more power. Power to see it happening anywhere in the world, power to stop it the instant it becomes a problem, power to kill whatever god sprouts from the carnage you cannot prevent.
You reach out with your hands and cast the spell once more. The souls of the dead come to you from all across the world. Now that your vessel has evolved to accommodate more souls, their voices no longer bother you. Now that you had laid claim to every free-floating soul of the recently deceased, all that remains are the souls of those that are currently dying. The tribute of a little over a hundred souls a minute feels like a nice, steady stream that quenches your thirst for power.
With all accounted for, and with the power to do anything you want, it is time for you to enact your plans upon humanity. And as your godly form leans over the Earth, you feel the trembling fear of half the world beholding in terror the sight of your leering visage.
For the sake of your beloved, you are determined to bring Heaven to this world. Whether it wants it…
…or not.
You were so. Close.
You have never felt such closeness to someone before, to be able to share your soul so intimately and faithfully, to feel every joy and sorrow that another feels. Not since…
Such moments were brief and filled with pain in comparison.
You pat your head, and you sigh when you only feel a single pair of horns upon your head. The void left by their soul tears at you. You wonder if they knew just how warm their soul was, the way it seemed to hug you from two directions. The warm red of their soul, illuminating your mighty form, and the consciousness within your body, brimming with love and hope piloting half your true form.
You could feel their despair though, the knowledge that all the efforts the put into were naught. They believed they could still make the timeline work, but you could tell that even they were not sure. They could not bring back the millions lost in that battle. They could not repair the trust that was broken. The timeline was ruined irrevocably.
That despair would haunt them forever, and you cannot abide by that. If your friend would not understand that, then there was little choice but to start again, until you can get them a happy ending. Even so, their vacancy feels like a raw wound pressed against ice. Aching and freezing.
You watch your friend under a cloak of invisibility as the police place them in the car and drives them away to the station, where they will soon be picked up by their aunt. The infusion of Determination from the previous timeline will ensure they remember what happened, but by the time they are lucid, they will not be able to stop you.
You were tempted, sorely tempted, to not let them go, to give them a quick, painless death, unite with their soul, and become whole once again. Reality quickly reasserts itself however, and you become disgusted with yourself for genuinely considering murdering your beloved just take their soul. You shake your head, and begin wandering the forest to clear your thoughts.
The last timeline had revealed a glaring issue neither you nor they dared to consider: that a monster-human fusion could become more powerful than you and destroy the world. You could always trust humans to commit themselves to cruelty and slaughter as a rule, but there only needed to be one monster, just one, who can end the world in the right circumstances.
You should know. You are one of them.
Which meant that you needed a way to ensure you are always on top. That you can always tell when and where a monster fusion happened and put them down before they kill any more people. Even one human soul would allow one to wipe away a village and acquire all its souls. You will need many, many more souls than the six you have now.
But your friend would never agree to such a plan. You are not sure they would even forgive you for killing thousands, perhaps millions, of humans to gain their souls.
Unless…unless you didn't have to be the reason a human died.
Wait.
What is that?
You spot glowing lights in the wreckage you've wandered on to. Your curiosity piqued, you move over to investigate. You dig your claws into the side door and peel it off with a loud squeal. Inside, you see the burnt bodies of two individuals, and you are surprised to see two souls: an integrity soul, and a kindness soul. You know who they belonged to. They should have disappeared hours ago. Why are they still here?
…Right. Of course their souls would be just as persistent. No matter. They're the perfect boost you need and exactly the souls you want for your future plans.
You take ahold of them in your hands. With a light squeeze they pass underneath your skin, and you feel the euphoric rush of your power growing.
The jump in power from two souls feels nothing next to uniting with the soul of your beloved. That, at least, you are not surprised. They really are something special.
You twirl your finger, and the shards of mirrored glass in the debris gather and coalesce into a single mirror. You gaze upon your form, and you see that your many wings and horns have been returned. Yet you only have one set of eyes and arms. You trace your hand across the new markings beneath your face, different from the tear-streaks you once had. You press in on them, hoping to uncover an eyelid beneath them, desperate for the illusion that your friend is still there.
There is nothing but smooth skin beneath the fur.
WhereAreThey
You freeze at the thought that passes through your mind. Where did that come from?
WhereAreThey
The rush of a headache overwhelms you, and you start to realize where the voices are coming from.
WhereIsOurChild
The souls you have just taken are yelling into your mind, screaming in desperation for something they are missing.
WhereIsOurChild
They repeat. The minds echoing the words are simplistic, the complexity of thought decaying from their time spent after death, but that just means they keep screaming the same words inside your head again, and again, and again.
WhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChildWhereIsOurChild-
You scream, and your soul clamps down on the two human souls in your body. How foolish that you've quickly forgotten the Dragon's plight, that the souls within you have a vote. Only by your nature as a "vessel" did you have some measure of ignoring it.
You try to soothe them, and you project images of their child from your memories, of them growing up in a happy and fulfilling life with their new family. You give them assurances of their safety, and plans upon plans you have concocted to ensure it stays that way.
The pair of souls are agitated and frightful of your plans, but as you continue to soothe them with images of their child, of the great things you have in mind for them, the screams begin to fade until they stop. The souls are once more docile.
This is problematic, if this is to happen with every human soul you come across, this will take a while. You shake your head. It doesn't matter. You only need a few more to become powerful enough to be unchallenged by humans. The rest can come at leisure.
You initiate a teleport. The world flashes, and in an instant you are in the throne room. You will need the quiet space to control yourself when another episode with the souls inevitably happens again. You would have rather meditate at their grave, but you do not dare wish to damage the resting place.
You are still inventing the spell on the fly as you reposition Dad's throne to the back of the room, next to Mom's throne. You are thinking of making your own, now that you have practiced your skills with transforming materials from the last timeline.
Your mind turns back to the crown you had constructed near the end of the timeline. You really liked it. You flick your wrist, and near-instantly the black crown is conjured in your hand. You notice, however, that the gems the previous crown once had are not present, just the metal. Curious. Couldn't you make them with just seven human souls, or was your friend's soul just that powerful? Why then could you still make the metal? Now that you think of it, what kind of metal is naturally black?
The other part of your mind clicks into place the final design of the spell, and you decide to shelve those questions for later. You toss the crown, and it disappears in a portal to the Universe Pocket. It is a nifty power from the Void you've come to love. It makes storage so much simpler. When the time comes, you'll retrieve the crown to finish its decorations before resting it upon its rightful King.
Floating over the center of the throne room, you take up a lotus position, and you focus your mind upon the world around you.
You cast your magic out. You can sense the souls of humanity across the whole world; all 8 billion of them within your reach. More than enough for what you need.
Killing them, however, will be counterproductive to your plans. Today, you only want 'enough'.
You cast the spell, and you pull.
You watch in your mind's eye as souls begin to gravitate towards you. Not from the living, but from the recently deceased. Those that have fallen from illness, from age, from accident and murder, but whose souls have yet to dissipate. Those who have already lived the lives they were given. Now, they will serve the next one to their rightful king. Those who still live do not budge their souls, as you have hoped. You need not kill anyone.
The first souls start to trickle into the chamber, a veritable rainbow of hearts float around you.
You remember the two souls you have absorbed mere minutes ago, and how their thoughts and emotions nearly overwhelmed you. You will have to take this slowly, lest disaster follow.
You reach out to one of the souls. This one is tinged cyan with patience. You grab ahold-
IDon'tWantToDie
You flinch as the soul is added to your body. The rush of power is almost lost in the panic from the soul you just absorbed. This one had died a long, drawn out death from blood loss somewhere in the forest.
IDon'tWantToDie
It isn't as bad as the first two. This is just one soul.
IDon't-
You clamp down on this soul. You don't know them, and they mean nothing besides power to you. Rather than give them soothing memories like you did the first two. You send it down memory lane and keep it distracted. It worked for monsters. Hopefully it will work for humans.
One down. Many more to go.
Many more souls have entered the throne room. By now, there had to be a hundred drawn from across the state. At this rate, the whole Underground will be filled with souls before you even reach twenty.
No matter. You reach out for an orange soul-
FUCKYOU
The declaration scares you and causes you to drop to the ground. Before you can adjust with the soul, all the others start to close in on you.
HelpWhatisHappeningKillMePleaseGodKillMeIDon'tWantToDieILoveYouIHateYouLookOutThisWorldIsBroken
You gasp as your power and the screaming explodes exponentially. You miscalculated. The jump in power has overloaded the spell, and the trickle of souls turns into a faucet.
Then, as the influx of power and thoughts cloud your mind, it increases tenfold into a stream.
Then a torrent.
Then a flood as yet even more souls swarm within you, drawing in from places further and further away as hundreds of souls pour into you every second.
YouKilledMeHeKilledMeIDon'tWantToDieILovedYouHeSaidHeLovedMeSomeoneHelpMeHelpMeOhGodHelpMe
It's too much! You feel your body bloat and melt at the same time. Your body contorts in horrific poses and parts of you balloon into grotesque mass of plants, fur, flesh, eyes, and horns. You let out a scream in fear, and what comes out is a distorted cacophony of many voices you don't recognize.
I'llSeeYouInHellYourFaultHelpMeSomeoneHelpMeGoodbyeSonGoodbyeEveryoneSweetPeaceAtLast
You reach out to your save file to undo this mistake, but it's falling away from your reach. Your control is slipping. You have never worked with more than seven human souls before, most of them having long gone quiet and submissive. The sudden leap to a thousand vibrant and defiant souls is astronomical, and your will is drowned by the confused, screaming mass of humanity within you. At this rate you'll become something just like the Dragon: an all-powerful idiot with no guiding conscience to direct its power. An engine of destruction, anger, fear, and hate that will wipe this world clean of life.
You suddenly regret this whole plan. You try to throw out as many souls from your body as you could, but it's too late, they just keep gravitating back to you. The switch is on and it won't turn off!
ThisIsYourFaultYourFaultYouMudererHe'sAMurdererAMurdererMurdererMurdererMudererMuderer
Is this how it ends? Is the world is going to be destroyed because you didn't know your limits?
MudererMurdererMurdererMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERERMURDERER
Are
MURDERER
you
MURDERER
g o I n g
MURDERER
t o
MURDERER
d
MURDERER
i
MURDERER
e
MURDERER
?
MURDERER
MURDERER
MURDERER
MURDERER
No.
You refuse.
You were not saved just so you can let the world perish by your failure.
You will not die having failed your beloved; failed in bringing them a perfect ending.
You will take the souls.
You will take their power.
You will reshape this universe to your desires and bring paradise to this Earth!
You and your beloved will become the Princes of this World!
AND YOU
WILL
WIN!
With what little control you regain, you redirect all focus onto your "physical" form. The accursed flower that is your vessel takes root with the flowerbed and you infuse it with as much magic that you can conjure. Your life magic is so feeble without your beloved, but you are able to scrounge enough from the new human souls that it does not matter. The vessel is flooded with energy, and from its small frame it sprouts bigger. Bigger, and bigger, and bigger. The stem and leaves bloat into massive tangles of trunk-sized vines that fill the room in its entirety, pushing your body up the hole and into the afternoon sky.
As you get bigger, the more your vessel stores and drains that vital essence that gave you a second life: Determination.
The Determination of mankind proves its downfall. You vessel greedily take it for yourself, turning it inward against the souls to form an impenetrable cage by which even the strongest souls could not break together. All they can do is scream impotently at their fate, and that starts to fade as even their memories betray them, turning against them and leaving their minds in eternal limbo.
Your body can no longer fit inside the mountain. The stem stretches into the sky for miles, your flowery visage reaching out beyond the atmosphere.
You feel powerful. You feel so powerful. It's the same rush you felt when you first became the Absolute God of Hyperdeath, and when you united with your friend and became whole. Now, you have surpassed that god. You are something more.
Raw power flows through your body, wishing to be unleashed. You want to test it. You want to see the limits of your newfound power.
Your gaze turns to an arbitrary point in the sky. You have no idea how far it will take you, but you do not care so long as it's far away from Earth.
You initiate a teleport. The world flashes, and in an instant you somewhere beyond the solar system. Your uprooted body is bombarded by cosmic radiation and the splendid, unspoiled sight of the galaxy around you. You let yourself be mesmerized by the sight for a few minutes.
Sufficiently dazzled, you decide it is time to let it all out. You exert your magic and regain your regal true form one more. You will need arms for this. You put your hand forward, and you push.
Your sight is blinded immediately by the intense light before you. Your eyes adjust and you behold the raging inferno of a star before you. It stretches across your vision. The horizon so flat that you wonder just how big it is.
You, of course, can be bigger. You can do anything.
So you grow. You grow as the horizon curve starts to curve. You grow as you become a thousandth the size of the star, then a hundredth. A tenth. Now, you are a little over thrice the size of the star.
You have no frame of reference for how big this star and yourself are to the Sun, but you must certainly be bigger than Jupiter by now. You feel that you have barely exerted yourself, and could go even bigger, but now that you've tested your ability to create the mightiest furnace in the universe, it's time to test your durability.
You plunge your hands into the star. Once, you would have burnt up in the light of the star before you even hit the corona. Not even a supposedly infinite defense could withstand such an onslaught of heat and energy. But now, dipping your hands into a star feels like nothing more than dipping them into a warm draft of air. You are not doing this to test your heat resistance however.
You clap your hands together around the star's core. The action unleashes a supernova that creates a loud roar in your ears. It neither hurts you nor deafens you, however. You do not budge from where you are as the star ejects its outer layer in a world-ending explosion. You are above mortal injuries, you are above the cosmic forces of the universe. You are above it all!
You chuckle. The sound is barely audible in the materials making up the supernova, but you do not care. You break into raucous laughter as you revel in the absolute power you now wield. The Absolute God of Hyperdeath could not even compare.
When at last the supernova clears, you release your hands from their grip to behold a black hole between them. You grab it with your right hand. Your fingers pinch the object. It does not tear away at your flesh, and neither do your fingers travel any further beyond the event horizon. It is a feat of magic even you thought of as absurd mere days ago.
Now how to top that?
…
Without a second thought, you toss the black hole into your mouth.
It's rather bland and tasteless as you roll it in your mouth, and it makes an uncomfortable sucking sensation, but it does nothing to you as you swallow it whole.
…
You burst out laughing once again. You weren't even using a tenth of the souls you control, and even then you can forge and destroy stars on a whim and swallow black holes like candy.
There is, without a doubt, absolutely nothing humanity can bring to the table to challenge you in a million years, and soon, not even a monster will be able to scrounge up enough souls fast enough to defeat you. You are now above consequences.
This is it! You've finally done it! You've won! Again!
Now all that is missing is a crown fit for a god.
The black crown? Bah! It might suffice for a pagan deity, but you are something far more powerful than that now.
You think of the time you were once whole, when you were united with your beloved. Yes, a halo merged with a crown will be an excellent display of your divinity.
You trace the image with your fingers, and where you claws end, a black void forms into a ring. Then, at seven regular intervals, you form spikes that sprout on both sides. Last, you spontaneously conjure within them seven glowing orbs. Cyan, orange, blue, purple, green, yellow.
The spike you made prominent, the one that takes the frontmost location, is of course dotted red.
When you are finished, it looks as though you have just reshaped a black hole into a crown, outlined by a bright white accretion disk, and adorned with seven stars.
Delicately, you place it above your head. It is nothing, nothing, like the halo you once wore, nothing like the warmth it once brought. But the regal glory it represents come into a respectable second place.
Now, you gaze turns to Earth.
You spot the Sun amongst the myriad of stars in the galaxy, and (after doing a bit of shrinking) you teleport back to earth.
The world flashes, and in an instant you behold the Earth, your size almost matching it.
Despite how massive you have become, you easily pick out the target of your desire. The heart you once shared for a decade.
There, amidst on a large continent amidst a city, sitting alone in a police station. There it stands like a beacon of light; their red soul. Still safe, still unaware of the great things coming into play.
For now, you have other tasks to address. Now that humanity cannot best you, you must secure your victory.
Any monster with one soul can level a town scale up to your power quickly after that. If you want to stop that from happening anywhere, everywhere, you will need more power. Power to see it happening anywhere in the world, power to stop it the instant it becomes a problem, power to kill whatever god sprouts from the carnage you cannot prevent.
You reach out with your hands and cast the spell once more. The souls of the dead come to you from all across the world. Now that your vessel has evolved to accommodate more souls, their voices no longer bother you. Now that you had laid claim to every free-floating soul of the recently deceased, all that remains are the souls of those that are currently dying. The tribute of a little over a hundred souls a minute feels like a nice, steady stream that quenches your thirst for power.
With all accounted for, and with the power to do anything you want, it is time for you to enact your plans upon humanity. And as your godly form leans over the Earth, you feel the trembling fear of half the world beholding in terror the sight of your leering visage.
For the sake of your beloved, you are determined to bring Heaven to this world. Whether it wants it…
…or not.
Last edited:
Part 3
(4) 16 Years Old
Frisk is 16, and they start thinking about what it is they want to do with their life after high school.
They are contemplating this while reading a story to a few middle-school aged kids at the Chara Memorial Village. They have taken up the opportunity to volunteer after school when they finally reached the required minimum age. In this regard, breaking up with Davis the year before had been a blessing. He would have hated working with the kids, and would have hated Frisk spending their time here. At least the children seem to like Frisk.
The staff have been accommodating of Frisk's non-binary status, and even allowed them to explain the nuances of their identity to the children if asked. It quite honestly surprised them, and they are thankful for the consideration.
Frisk closes their copy of How to Train Your Dragon, letting the kids know they have to leave now. The children clamor for more, wanting Frisk to lead the reading group for the next book in the series, but Frisk really needs to make their way home and finish their homework for the day, much to the children's sadness.
Their mood picks up again when Frisk promises to read the sequel to them tomorrow, with an added promise to rent out the first movie as well when they're finished. The kids wave bye to Frisk, who heads off back to the staff lounge.
Frisk thinks of their plans for the future. Auntie Ligaya has already been pressuring Frisk to start thinking about what they want to do for college, especially now that Cousin Andres is attending the city's local university. Frisk still wants to be an ambassador, but has become increasingly conscience of how national politics is…becoming divisive over people like Frisk.
They shudder to think of the nightmarish stories they heard about what happens to people like Frisk in the other states. It's horrifying and unjust. It might even be too dangerous for them to pursue a career if things get worse.
The wonder if they should look beyond a humanities degree for becoming an ambassador and pursue a STEM field instead. Much less eyes on them, helps improve the world through science, and generally comes with good pay. Unfortunately Frisk doesn't even know where to start. They were not attracted to any specific field.
They ask the Scientist if there was a way to bring a dead person's soul back. She shakes her head.
It will have to be something they need to think upon soon.
Their thoughts turn to the children at Chara Memorial, and contemplate the irony that they, an almost-orphan, chose their first career working at an orphanage. Unlike so many of the children they see here, Frisk was fortunate enough to have a loving aunt who is so much like a mother to them. The children here have no such luck, and every day, Frisk sees the terrible affects it has on them. From hard struggles with homework to terrible grasping of language to empty shells of human beings. It's enough to nearly bring them to tears.
It has brought them to tears on more than one occasion.
Every day, they see in their eyes the need for love in their life, the need for more than indifferent staff members and empathic teenagers. They need the love of a parent, something Frisk so dearly wishes they could give.
Frisk wonders: could they give that love to a child of their own? They see that yearning for love, and wishes they could give it so much, to make a family made of people that were more than just one-time flirtations and one-off dates. It's why they loved playing house so much. They daydream of what kind of child they would have. Would they be born to them? Or would they adopt one of the children at Chara Memorial Village? Both? What would their father (or mother, or…moddy?) be like?
As they enter the staff lounge, their thoughts become sidelined by curiosity when they see the older staff members gathered around the television.They move closer to investigate, and their eyes widen at the news bulletin before them.
"ALIEN LIFEFORM DESTROYS MARS ROVER."
Mesmerized by the words, they move in to watch the video being played before them.
They stare as footage shows a vast desert expanse of red sand and rock under a dull red atmosphere. The camera slowly pans back and forth, capturing the eerie loneliness of the fourth planet.
Suddenly, the camera rocks as something disturbs the rover out of camera. Then, the camera jerks when something breaks it free from the rover. The video continues to jerk around the scene, filling the television with incomprehensible blurs, before it settles upon…
What…is that?
L O A D
They peek at the television and saw nothing but angry pundits yammering on television. They roll their eyes at what they are saying and move on to retrieve their items.
--
Frisk sleeps quietly, and they dream of a King who flies on wings made of rainbows and starlight, who fills his Empty Kingdom with monsters, and devours the souls of the dead.
He announces his presence to the crowd with the clap of thunder, and the whoosh of his mighty wings of multi-spectrum light and star-fire. Men, women, and everyone in between stare in awe and trepidation at the self-declared King of the World floats down upon the ballroom balcony. Today he seems to be in an ostentatious mood, as he approaches with not two, not six, but eight wings on his back, all of them throwing gusts of wind in Frisk's face as he descends.
He is not the eight-foot height from when he first became a god, nor did he assume the gargantuan thirty-foot size of when they first merged, but he is nonetheless still a massive creature. Easily two feet taller than the Old King and three feet over the Old Queen—the sires of the Empty Kingdom's monarch—Frisk idly wonders why he feels the need to be ten feet tall. Surely at some point the added height becomes an impediment?
His black, ragged robes have been discarded for clean-cut, dark violet ones reminiscent of the first robes he worse in his god form. A cape like his father's billows out from him, The black-dyed exterior hiding its red interior, held in place by gold-rimmed pauldrons and a short collar, both made of a black metal they've seen him conjure before.
The halo he had when they once shared the same body is not the same anymore. Not content with a crown, he has shaped a black halo to float just above his head and adorned with spikes and seven colored stars. The supernatural nature of the crown is a constant reminder of the King's divinity, and that his mass is the least dangerous aspect about him.
He flats past the crowd of socialites and dignitaries as the brave and foolish clamor for his attention while the feeble and wise shrink back in his presence. He ignores all of them with an aloof and condescending smile upon his face. Presidents and prime ministers, kings and generals, secretaries and chairmen, ambassadors and dignitaries, all of them are beneath him.
All except one.
As he passes near Frisk's table, Frisk sees his face turn slightly towards them. The grin on his face loosens, and they can see a genuine smile start to form on his lips.
Then it disappears, and he turns back to the front, back to the throne that awaits him.
Frisk stays as everyone else moves into the ballroom with the King. It's not actually his throne room. They're in the palace of a former governor in one of the states next to the Kingdom of Monsters.
Frisk really was not in the mood of getting his attention at the moment, and the negotiations won't be for another hour. They know the King well enough for him to let the faux pass slide. For now, they move up from their seat to look over the edge of the balcony, taking advantage of the sudden quiet to appreciate the landscape.
The good news about being in the states proper is that Frisk can always tell when it is nighttime. In the Kingdom of Monsters, it is sometimes hard to discern what the time of day is depending on the King's mood. Even from here, the tree is clearly visible, forming a backdrop overlooking the small city.
Thankfully, the tree is not shimmering with the colors of the rainbow tonight as it would in the day, keeping to the normal night schedule, lighting the horizon with an artificial nebula Frisk find to be quite beautiful. Too bad the light pollution is stopping them from seeing the real stars.
The sole exception is a constellation they can spot directly above the tree. They're absolutely certain something's weird about it, because they don't recall any constellation looking a lot like the King in previous timelines.
As for the tree, humans call it many things. Yggdrasil. Devil Tree. The God Tree. The Tree of Life. It's all of them and none of them. It has no roots in those old myths of man, but it represents a power so great it might as well carry those names.
Monsters call it the Dreaming Tree, and in Frisk's opinion it is the most accurate name. It is a massive tree. So massive that the horizon is the only part of the sky monsters can see. A tree that blankets the Kingdom in a sea of white flowers, shimmering with the prismatic radiance of the rainbow in the day, and glowing with the lights of the milky way in the night.
Frisk vividly remembers circumnavigating the base of the tree last time they visited. Mount Ebott has been all but consumed by it, and likely has been since their childhood. Its rapid growth is all a blur in their head. They were only 9 after all when the God that is bound to it declared war on humanity. Auntie Ligaya was quick to relocate what remained of the Bulalacaos back to the Philippines. They missed out a lot on what happened at ground zero.
Of course, they know all too well what really happened. Which is why they had to come back to America as soon as they turned 18. Since then, the God Tree has been a permanent fixture for most of Frisk's adult life, never seeing a blue sky over their head until the times they left Ebott for whatever diplomatic mission he sent them on. Those missions were always stressful, but at least they allow them get away from under the shimmering petals, and walk under a real sky once more.
To get away from him.
"Oh come now," a male voice, with the sound of multiple people overlayed on top of it, echoes behind them, "am I really that bad?"
They turn to face the voice, already certain of who it is, and come face to face with the King himself, wings fully dissipated. None of the human hangers-on are around, leaving just him and the other humans on the balcony that would rather keep to themselves.
Frisk sighs and rests their elbow on the stone railing. "Well excuse me if I don't feel comfortable around someone who has the 'privilege' of expelling United States dignitaries with a compound fracture and not suffer retaliation," they tell him. It's why everyone is super-nervous when he's shaking their hand, fearing he wants to casually jerk their arms in the wrong direction again.
The King chuffs and waves off the statement. "That last ambassador was a racist and a vapid mouth breather with too much pride for his country and not enough sense of how out of his league he was. I wanted to give him a permanent reminder not to reduce a god to an animal in his dialogue. You, however, are in no such danger."
People are still gossiping as to why a young staff intern to the United States ambassador to the Philippines was elevated to US Ambassador to the Kingdom of Monsters. Everyone thought it was exclusively because of a trans-rights gimmick, but that theory was going to fester no matter how qualified Frisk is. Not that the King cared, nor is it beyond his power to force the president to keep them in their current position. Frisk knows this from the thin line of scabbing on the president's neck when he personally briefed them after their appointment.
Frisk decides they're not done throwing shade at the King. "I'd also feel a lot safer if we didn't have a frozen nuclear warhead down the hallway."
The King guffaws. "Yeah, I guess you wouldn't feel safe with those around now, would you?" The King takes a moment to collect himself before joining Frisk at the balcony edge. They don't speak immediately, spending the first few minutes overlooking the small city that made up the state capital, And the Dreaming Tree that stands beyond it.
"Glorious, is it not?" he asks, "To think I loathed my physical body for what it represented, when I failed to appreciate the potential of what it can do. Though it is it nice to be a purely magical being once more." The King makes an overdramatic stretch of his arms, as though working out a cramp. "Now I can be in two places at once. My real body, to keep hold of all of the accumulated souls, and my magical body, through which I may enforce my will."
"I didn't even know it could turn into a tree," Frisk mutters.
The King laughs. "Neither did I! Magic is capable of so much, Frisk." He turns his head Frisk. "If only you can see the possibilities."
Frisk locks eyes with the King. The ruby eyes still entrance them to this day, but they put that aside tonight.
"Why are you here?" they ask.
"Is it not obvious?" he replies, laying his back on the railing, "I grew tired of the boring platitudes and empty grandstanding that came from those husks that pass as leadership for your species, and wanted to see an old friend."
"We only met a few years ago."
"In this timeline, yes," the King winks, "but we both know what I am speaking of."
He pauses for a second, placing a finger to his chin as if in contemplation.
"Mmmm," the King hums. "Yes. I do believe you raised a good point, dear ambassador. By now those bombs have outlived their usefulness as a deterrence."
He looks towards Frisk. "What say we add nuclear disarmament to tonight's treaty negotiations?"
Frisk huffs, half in exasperation at the King's cavalier talk of weapons of mass destruction, half in relief that he's being accommodating, "Gladly."
"Then it's settled," the King floats upright and makes towards the balcony exit, "Come, we'll continue this discussion while we defuse the bomb."
"Wait," Frisk interrupts, catching up to the King as he hovers away, "Right now? While the ball's happening? The ball you're supposed to be attending."
"I am attending it," he answers.
Frisk stops for a moment, trying to process what the King is trying to suggest. "And what is that supposed to mean?" they ask.
"Take a look to your left while we're passing," he replies.
Frisk entertains the King's cryptic answer and looks towards the ballroom as they pass the entrance. They double-take when they spot a second King sitting lazily upon a black-metal throne covered in red cushions laying on top of a long, red carpet stacked with petitioners. He has a bored look on his face as he lays back on his throne, wings draped over the side. He bites off half of a roasted turkey—bones included—with the grace of a sloppy eater, leaving the chubby-cheeked man at the front of the line flabbergasted. They spot the Old King and Queen next to him. The Old King has a sheepish smile on his face while the Old Queen has a disapproving look at her son's behavior.
It's terrifying.
Frisk look back and see the King they're next to is still there, a knowing smile his face, and looks back to see the second King looking directly at them, the same expression on his face.
He winks back at Frisk.
"Wha- " Frisk stutters, looking back and forth between the two Kings, "how…?"
"Urahaha," the King next to them chuckles, "a little surprise I kept hidden until now, though I wondered if you would have figured it out after you deduced my real body is the tree."
"How can you be in two places?" Frisk shakes their head, "No, wait, infinite magic. Of course you can, but how can you even think straight when you're in two places?"
"With lots of training," he replies, tapping the side of his head, "raw power isn't the only thing having so much magic can provide me. You already got to experience a part of that when we fused, remember? It doesn't make me smarter per say, but let's just say it lets me have a better grasp at thinking in parallel. By quite a bit, I might add."
"So there could be more of you, and if one of you dies, does that mean you have to reset or…?" Frisk lets the question hang.
"First: yes. Great for multitasking and running a country by the way. Second: Assuming you even could kill me, or both of us, I could just generate a new body." he chuckles "So long as the tree or one of us is still around, we won't die. Of course, I had to get creative with killing myself to figure out the exact mechanics since no one else was capable of testing that theory. Very slow and unpleasant experience when you're invincible to the most powerful forces in the universe."
Frisk wasn't sure which timelines he was talking about. Probably the ones where he and the entire tree disappeared to god knows where. Those ones were chaotic.
"But enough about me. I saw your face when you saw me fly," the King says as he walks, or rather hovers, alongside them while they go through the hallway, "You were impressed, weren't you? You always did love my wings."
Frisk does not dignify the question with an answer.
Actually, now that they think of it, Frisk isn't sure what function the wings even serve. He can levitate in the air just fine without them, and they have seen him with anywhere between two to six and even twenty wings on separate occasions without any real change to his capabilities. They admit that they do look beautiful as always.
The King harumphs in amusement. "Be as difficult as you need," the King says, "it's not like I need you to verbalize an answer."
Ah. Right. They forgot he can read minds now. Well, he always could as a god. The King even made them try it themself just to get an idea. If anything, it's even more chaotic than sharing a body with him. They wonder if it's the added souls or just practice that allowed the King to ease into that power. It's a politician's dream weapon, able to pry all the dirty little secrets humans foolishly brought to him.
As they pass through the hallway, human socialites and staff members part before them. Almost all of them have terrified faces on them. Even after more than a decade since the ceasefire, the Second Human Monster War's scars still run deep, and the world trembles at the presence of the King. After all, it was a war in which humanity was brought to heel by a single monster.
The religious dissidents in America label the King the Antichrist and the Devil, citing his power and domination over the world. Frisk recalls hearing once that the Devil's appearance is that of the most beautiful creature in the world. They are able to swallow their pride enough to admit that they find the King to be physically alluring and exotic. Exceptionally so in fact, but whatever beauty they find in their form is dashed by the knowledge that beyond those blood-red eyes is the mind of someone who could care less about humanity.
They can't help but hate themself for the fact that they still care about him.
They hear the sound of shuffling, and a warm, fuzzy feeling engulfs their right arm. They look down to see a massive, furry paw wrapped around their hand and lower arm. They look up to see the King still facing forward, a serene look upon his face. They're not sure what prompted the King to do that.
"Ah, here we are," the King announces. The hallway expands out into a gallery of various objects hanging in the air. A variety of guns, vehicle parts, missiles, and bombs are all suspended in midair, not by wires or stands, but by time freezing them in place courtesy of the King. A reminder of the kind of power humanity tried to stand against.
"I was quite proud of that you know," he says as he brushes his free hand against the tire of a suspended APC, "I thought of you when I went out and conquered the world with this newfound power. What better way to pacify the bloodthirst of human rulers than when I'm lobbing their tanks on top of their palaces and their bombers onto their parliaments?"
"But did you have to kill people to achieve your goals?" Frisk asks.
"Oh sweet, naïve Frisk," the King chuckles, raising Frisk's chin with a claw, "Ten thousand, seventy-three hundred, and thirty-two dead is a merciful toll when it comes to world conquest. That's absolutely miniscule for a world war."
"And how many more are you willing to kill if they try to stop you?"
"Stop me? Urahahaha!" The King laughs as though it is the most hilarious joke he has ever heard. He releases frisk, rises, and turns to face them. The King's coat and hair start whipping in an invisible wind. He spreads his hands out. "My dear Frisk, I don't think you or anyone for that matter quite grasps how little I had to exert myself to bring humans to their knees."
Behind him, the various weapons and junk within the gallery float towards the King, morphing and piecing themselves together to form a throne of guns, tanks, bombs and other scraps of war. As he takes a seat, he conjures a glowing green dot at the tip of his finger, which expands and rearranges itself into an apple the size of a melon, a habit they have frequently seen the King do. He grabs it out of the air and takes a bite out of it.
"Mmph. Diff you wow- omph, weighta shecund" he raises a finger with a full mouth. He swallows and puts his hand back down. "Do you know how many souls I needed to tap into to topple Earth's mightiest armies?" the King asks rhetorically, casting the half-eaten apple to the side. A woman passing by yelps in surprise at the massive apple core thrown at her.
"Eight," he continues, "I only needed to exert the power of one extra soul to bring this world to its knees without taking a scratch. Twelve; to have enough power to cast my influence over every soul on this planet, to leave a tiny hook in each and every one so that when its owner perishes…."
He flourishes his hand, and a green soul pops into his palm. "I get to keep it. I don't even have to be the cause of their death. No murder, no EXP, no problem. My best friend and I should have thought of this ages ago." He snatches the soul back, and when his hand reopens, it is gone. There is a slight shimmer of a rainbow aura.
"Moving the stars to form a new constellation, then bend space and time so the light they shine from their new positions can reach Earth? Twenty."
Frisk rubs their head at the numbers game. "Please get to the point," the ask politely.
"The point is, Frisk, is that I became untouchable once my eyes were set on more than seven souls. You saw how strong the Dragon was. The power of combining monster and humans souls does not grow linearly. It grows much, much faster each time, making the sum far greater than its parts."
Several more souls pop into existence around the King. He twirls some of them around his finger. "And with each human that dies every second," he makes a grasping motion, and the souls merge into the King's body. He visibly shudders in pleasure, "my power becomes ever greater."
He lays out his body on the makeshift throne's armrests—what were once a set of artillery barrels—giving an amused, cat-like look at Frisk as he swings his legs and plays with one of his ears. "Little wonder they locked us up so long ago. There's enough souls to go around to make each and every monster into a universe-shattering god." The King gives a light chuckle. "But now, not even such a deity can defeat me anymore. Sure, a monster could get his, her, or their hands on a soul, cause a mass-casualty event, and be able to wipe out this solar system and the one next to it and so on."
He smiles viscously. "But so long as they are even a few souls short, I'll still be much, much stronger then that monster, and every soul they took, every soul they miss, will go straight to me."
The King resumes an upright position and floats out of his seat towards Frisk. "Already, I am a god of over five-hundred million human souls."
He waves his hand, and Frisk hears shouts and screams of fright as the room transforms from a Greco-Roman architecture to a Victorian chamber. "I can reshape the very Earth we stand upon to whatever form I like-" he waves again, and the walls and ceilings become a purple stone much like Home had, "-with the wave of a hand."
He waves again, and the walls and the humans disappear. Frisk becomes petrified when they realize they're in space, surrounded by stars and stellar nebulae, almost missing the fact that they're somehow still breathing air. "I can open my senses to the Universe and bask in its glory down to the very atoms," he continues. He weaves his claws through the vacuum before him, causing a trail of bright blue particles to light up in his wake.
"I can trace the molecules that flow through the very air-" he reaches out as though snatching a star, and Frisk is baffled when one actually falls into his grasp.
"Experience sensations your mind cannot comprehend-" he inspects it between his fingers.
"Even see and hear alien worlds from where we stand-" he pinches, and the star winks out in a supernova that slowly propagates from his hand.
His smile turns viscous. Frisk becomes nervous. They know it's when his LOVE is at its most dominant.
"I would know the moment a monster and a human try to fuse their souls wherever they may be…" he snaps his finger.
The void of space shifts to an alleyway in some city they are unfamiliar with. They spot some rather unappealing graffiti of themselves doing rather unsavory things with the King. In front of them, they face a monster with a dog's head and a group of seven human corpses in a circle, knives with their own blood in hand and seven colored souls floating above them.
The monster looks up to see the King float before him, his face transforming into terror. The dog monster lunges from his crouching position and grabs the yellow soul in front of him. A yellow light overcomes him, and Frisk can see his muscles bulging everywhere.
There's a bright flash of rainbow light, and suddenly the monster is vaporized into dust, leaving only their soul.
The King's grin widens as with the twirl of his hand, the eight souls are drawn to his arm. "…and no matter how strong that monster may get, they will never grow fast enough to stop me from erasing them from existence." His hand clasps, and the souls zoom into his body. Once again, his breathing shudders and his body shimmers like a rainbow. "Or better yet, take their power for my own."
He raises his hand and snaps his fingers once more. The world shifts again, and Kings is back in his seat in the gallery. "With that same snap my finger, I could get an instant 'win', and wipe out every last resistance cell on this planet, just like that," he gesticulates to Frisk "Every sign of my crimes would be erased, and every memory of every terrible little thing I did would be forgotten. None of them even have to die. But snapping my fingers to win would be boring, and I have grown to hate being bored."
He leans back, and with a flick of his wrist, the purple stone of the transformed gallery is returned to its marble and sandstone construction. "All of this, and I barely need to dip into the wellspring of power at my fingertips. Now imagine what I can do with the other four-hundred-and-ninety-nine million souls I already have." He leans forward on his throne. "Go ahead. Try. Even my own imagination came up short."
Frisk can't. Is he five hundred million times stronger than he once was? Or is he something stronger? He said it wasn't linear. Was it exponential? Could they conceptualize a number that goes to the power of five-hundred-million?
It can't be, they think. That would mean he is basically God at this point.
"Is that so farfetched?" the King asks.
"Please stop that!" Frisk shouts in frustration.
The King chuckles. "Anyways, I believe I have sidelined our task at hand for too long." He lifts off from his chair. "Let's say we take care of that nuke, shall we?" He snaps his fingers twice, causing the junk around him to part, allowing a certain center piece of the gallery to come forward.
Before Frisk is a cone-shaped object enveloped in a fireball that leaves the front of it glowing hot. The fireball doesn't move or flicker. In fact, no part of the object had moved or changed in years, courtesy of the King.
From what Frisk recalls, it came from an ICBM launched by the Russians, an action done in conjunction with America and the other nuclear powers launching their own arsenal at the King when no other weapon could harm him.
None of them even made it past re-entry
"Ah, my favorite Sword of Damocles," the King laments. He traces a claw through the fireball, leaving behind a trace where the frozen flames parted ways, "I think it was these that made the most humans shit themselves out of all the things I lobed at them. It was delicious seeing their faces when I took the nuclear weapons they tried to kill me with and placed them right in front of their faces. Humans become so much more reasonable when you threaten to unfreeze the falling bomb located where they live."
"So can you disarm it?" Frisk asks.
"Of course. I'm God now, remember?" he jests. He makes an overdramatic gesture with his hand, and concludes it with a simple poke of the frozen bomb. "Boop."
The nuclear warhead glows. The sound of chimes fills the air, and a kaleidoscope shimmer engulfs the nuclear warhead.
No, not just the warhead, the entire gallery of weapons and warfare are engulfed in the same shimmer, illuminating the entire room.
Before Frisk's very eyes, the warhead splits into a thousand pieces. Pieces that spread their wings until Frisk realizes those are all butterflies. It is species they don't recognize with wings that have sapphire blue tops and golden-hued bottoms. They engulf the room with the sound of tens of thousands of flapping wings, the chimes growing louder in turn.
Frisk stares in awe as they are surrounded by a kaleidoscope of beautiful butterflies. The room shimmers and sparkles with blue and gold, and they can barely stand as they try and take it all in, their mouth agape in wonder.
They stumble and trip backwards. They yelp, but are caught just before they crash into the floor. The look up to see the King with his arm gently wrapped around them.
His demeanor has changed. Gone is the arrogant, boastful god-king they have seen on the digital screens and throughout most of the night. That vulnerable, melancholic face they've come to know in the past timeline is back.
"Imagine, Frisk, seeing such wonders like this, by the millions, all at once, every day. Imagine seeing everything beautiful and ugly about this world at all times if you so will it." he stretches out a hand to Frisk, and they watch when one of the butterflies rests upon it. He brings it in for them to inspect, "I see things like this. All the time, all at once. It's overwhelming and exhilarating. It's not omniscience, that is off the table for now. Yet sill…" the King gently squeezes Frisk within their grasp.
"Frisk…I experienced infinity, You would not believe the things I have seen. It was too much. I couldn't stand it, but what I glimpsed it was beautiful and horrifying. I wish I had the words to explain it all to you."
He lets the butterfly go, and gently moves to his hand cup Frisk's own into his cheek. His is so much bigger than their own. His fingers are a third the size of their entire hand.
"I missed you so much Frisk," he says "I'm sorry that I scare you. Is there anything I can do for you? Is there a wish I can grant you to make up for all the things that upset you?"
"I don't know," Frisk confesses, "I don't know…I never wanted any of this. I didn't want you to become God. I didn't want you to wage war on humanity and rule over the world, and I most certainly didn't want to become an ambassador quite like this. Is there any way I can talk you into letting the souls go?"
Asriel shakes their head, "No. No, that's not an option. I don't think it ever was." He lays Frisk's hand back into their lap. "As I have told you: monsters and humans have proven they cannot be trusted. Humans are too vile to be left to their down devices on this earth, and monsters too reckless to avoid causing their own extinction or another's."
He props up Frisk to allow them to stand. "A monster-human conflict was unavoidable, Frisk. Is unavoidable. You are not immortal. You will not be around to talk down every god-creature that arises, nor stop every human mob from going on a monster-hunting pogrom."
Frisk grimaces in acknowledgement. "When you put it like that, it almost makes me wish I was immortal."
"Yeah," the King looks away, "it would. But you currently do not have that option. I know it puts a bad taste in your mouth, but trust me when I say this is the best option we have for peace to last more than one lifetime."
Frisk looks down. "I would be lying to myself if I didn't say you've made an earnest effort to change things for the better. It certainly looks better than the last time we were together.
"I'm…" they look for the right words to say, "I'm upset that people died, but you could have done so much worse. I'm glad you've at least kept killing as a last resort."
"You're welcome," he says politely. The two take a look around them, noting the many butterflies still remaining in the room, painting the walls in a chaotic blue-and-gold mosaic. They see the flashes of smartphones as people spectate and gossip about what they are seeing.
The King's lips crease into a lighthearted smile. "You know, this is a ball after all. What say we give the people a little dance to see."
Frisk can't help but giggle. The weight of their conversation giving way to the current moment. "You know what? Why the heck not."
He nods, smile still on his face. The King bows dramatically to them. "Ambassador," he greets.
He holds out his right hand, and another spark of green energy grows into a stem before it blooms, and before their very eyes, a red geranium is now held out before them.
"May I have this dance?"
Their heart flutters at the gesture, and for the moment, they put aside all the terrible things the King has done and give him this one little mercy. They take up the geranium and nudge it into their hair. They take up the King's hands, and they stand ready with him.
…And ready.
…And ready.
Frisk starts looking at his feet, noticing they haven't yet touched the ground.
The King traces their stare. "Ah…yes…that," the Kings says awkwardly, suddenly getting fidgety. "I guess I should stop floating now, shouldn't I?"
Frisk grins at him happily. "Of course. That is unless you mean to tell me God can't dance."
"Yes I can!" he rebuffs, but what comes out sounds like childish whining to Frisk's ears. People in the gallery start laughing. It just makes Frisk grin wider. The King groans when he realizes his act of immaturity.
He huffs. "Alright," he states, "Here goes nothing." Gently, he comes down from his levitated position, slowly placing his feet to the ground to maintain his bearings.
Almost as soon as he puts weight on his legs, the King yelps in surprise, stumbles, and falls, pulling Frisk in. The thud echoes through the empty hall while Frisk falls on top of the King, their faces nearly touching. The chuckles become a bit louder, then suddenly cut off when the King glares at the loudest group.
He turns back to Frisk, and his features soften. "Eheh, sorry…" the King mutters in embarrassment. Frisk can feel his hot breath on their face. It smells like cinnamon. He floats up with Frisk firmly in his arms before letting go once they have righted themselves and scratches the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "It's been a long while since I've ever used my feet. Don't need to as a god, but that means my feet are very sensitive..." the god-king trails off when he sees Frisk's expression.
He gulps when the human gains a vicious smile. Oh they is going to exploit the hell out of this!
Immediately, they yank the King some more, grinning as they hear him yelp and try and correct his footing. The King, for all his size and might, can only stumble along as he tries and fails to follow in Frisk's footsteps. All the while, the butterflies too dance to the human and monster's ballet, creating a breathtaking scene as the kaleidoscope spirals around the duo. No one interferes, mesmerized by the never-before-seen image of the King acting this way with any other human.
The King's weight feels a tenth of his size as Frisk haplessly tugs him around. It is an absolutely comical sight as his feet's oversensitivity causes him to trip over and over, muttering curses and apologies as he does his best to keep up, giggling all the while at the cold tikling sensation the floor gives his paws, and the absurdity of his failure to dance. Even the bystanders in the gallery can't help laughing in spite of who the target is.
The King doesn't care. He is laughing too. The King laughs with a tone that Frisk rarely heard in this lifetime. It is nothing like his megalomaniacal mirth. It sounds innocent, child-like.
Never in all of Frisk's time as ambassador to the Kingdom have they seen the King this jovial. Try as they might, his happiness and laughter are infectious. Frisk smiles, and they join in laughing at the King's expense.
They shriek in fright and excitement when he picks them up and unfurls his many wings. The ceiling of the gallery breaks apart, exposing the night sky. With a single flap, the King sends the two soaring out in into the air. Frisk looks down to see the ceiling and roof putting themselves together under the King's magic.
They're still screeching with excitement as they fly higher and higher into the air. Eventually, it returns back into excited laughter, joining in on the King's own joyous laughing. From up here, they can see the interconnected web of roadways and buildings that make up the state capital, along with the single, lonely thread that leads directly to Ebott.
The climb even higher, high enough that Frisk starts having difficulty breathing. They gasp when the difficulty dissipates and air rushes in. The look up to see the caring face of the King looking back at them.
"I won't let you die, Frisk," he whispers to them, "I won't let go of you."
Eventually, the King levels off, letting Frisk get a good bird's eye view of the Kingdom of Monsters. The Dreaming Tree has changed patterns. Now it's glowing a soft green, lights dancing in chaotic spirals like an aurora. Beneath it, they see the glow of bustling cities taking shelter under its branches, filling the kingdom with Monsters and Humans
"Look at that." He whispers to them, "In so many other timelines, Ebott would be a glass crater or a dry wasteland by now. Here, it's the foundation for a new kingdom. A kingdom of peace, happiness, and prosperity for monsters and humans."
Frisk lies in the King's chest as they try and imagine the promises his words carry. For a few, brief minutes, all the concerns of the world wash away from Frisk's mind. They forget that the being they danced with could kill them all with the snap of a finger, forget that he cares nothing for their lives, forget that all of this could be undone at a mere thought.
It's just them and the King.
The human and the devil.
Frisk and their angel.
They stay like that for several minutes. No words needed to be shared between them. They simply wished to enjoy the moment.
Yet their duties as king and ambassador must resume, and after many more minutes, the King slowly brings them down back to Earth.
They land on the same balcony as his other self not long ago. The King releases Frisk from their grasp, silently watching as the human wobbles onto their feat. He grabs them and helps adjust their posture, ensuring they do not fall over.
The King stares down at the human with a smile, hands on Frisk's shoulder. "It's finally over Frisk," he says happily, "We've won. Monster and humans will live together upon the surface, and nothing can threaten it now. The soul fusions, the nuclear wars, the genocides; I can take it all head on. There will be no ill we can't fix, no obstacle that will stop us."
Without warning, he wraps his arms around Frisk and brings them into another hug.
Slowly, Frisk brings their arms up and returns the hug. "Thank you," they say. Despite everything, the King is still the boy the met. Despite everything, there is still hope for the future.
"No," he whispers to them, "Thank you, Frisk. None of this would have been possible without you."
He releases them from the hug. "Rest assured, once the treaty is signed, happy moments like these will all the world will experience forever onwards. I promise…" he sniffs, apparently holding back tears.
"I promise everything will be alright."
There's a strange sound, and suddenly the King disappears, leaving Frisk alone on the balcony. They are curious. There seemed to be more to his last words than just signing the treaty. Intrigued at what the King meant, they move to enter the ballroom.
The moment they cross the entrance they see the King make a polite cough. The sound echoes throughout the room with supernatural clarity.
The King floats off his throne. "I have made my decision," he speaks. He snaps his fingers twice, and an ornate wooden table appears in front of him. On top of it lies stacks of paper, the peace treaty to finally end the Second Human Monster war printed upon it.
He speaks, "I will sign your peace treaty. In fact, I might very well add some provisions that you humans may be very enthusiastic to agree to."
The King holds up the current draft. "Per our standing agreement, I will cede all lands I have seized—through legal and illegal means with the exception of the lands that occupy the boundaries of the former state from which my capital lays in—back to their rightful governments. If no such government exists, then I shall, in conjunction with the United Nations, organize and fund the establishment of provisional governments that will hold free and fair elections within five years. All forms of forced labor and legal segregation from within my kingdom and all the lands I seized will be abolished, and all provisional governments shall include this in their constitutions and basic laws.
"In return, the Kingdom of Monsters is to be internationally recognized as a sovereign nation. Among those who must recognize our sovereignty shall include the United States of America, from which the Kingdom of Monsters has seceded from. The Kingdom of Monsters will hold exclusive, worldwide jurisdiction over any interspecies violent offenses committed between a monster and a human, including the case where a monster or human absorbs the soul of another, of which the crimes shall be tried by the laws of the Kingdom of Monsters."
The room is silent. Nothing new so far. They were already asking much to have the world released from the King's rule when he had the power to say "no". Given his contempt for them all, it's surprising to everyone but Frisk that he is willing to entertain emancipation.
"Now here is the interesting part I shall add," the King says. he flicks his wrist, and some new pieces of paper manifest in his hand, words already printed upon them. Murmurs have started.
"I will, to the best of my prodigious and 'illegally-obtained'" the King childishly makes finger quotes, "magical powers, restore the natural resources and the environment that had been destroyed through our conflicts and your greed and negligence through the millennia. Finally, I will allow free travel across my borders, so that whatever human wishes to flee my presence or come to worship me are free to do so." With that. The King conjures a pen in hand and signs the revised document.
Now there are gasping noises. Even Frisk can't help but feel shocked by such magnanimity. Most of them probably don't care about the free travel, but complete restoration of Earth's environment and resources? It's a boon no one had ever dreamed of asking the King. Excitement buzzes around the ballroom. There is now so much that can be profited from the King than mere survival.
This is good.
No, wait, it was great, amazing even! Before Frisk knows it, they're clapping in appreciation of the gift the King is willing to extend. More and more join in on the clapping, until the entire room is roused in celebration at this joyous news. Frisk can see the Old King and Queen clapping too, faces filled with pride at their son's decision.
Then, the King holds his hand up, and the room falls silent.
"There is only one final demand that I ask of humanity. One small addition that asks so little." With a flick of a wrist, in his hand he conjures a bracelet make of some sort of black metal and encrusted with jewels of various colors.
There's whispers and questions running through the room, wondering what significance the bracelet has. Then the King turns to stare at Frisk with a mischievous grin, and Frisk realizes they misjudged what the object is because of the King's size next to it. They realize they've seen that trinket before.
It's not a bracelet. It's a crown once made for a monster, now made for a human.
It's a crown made for them.
"I want Ambassador Frisk to become my spouse and fellow sovereign."
Gasps engulf the room. The Old Queen puts their hand up to their mouth and the Old King looks like he's about to pass out. All eyes in the room turn towards Frisk.
They find that they too have the sensation they could pass out in that very moment.
They are contemplating this while reading a story to a few middle-school aged kids at the Chara Memorial Village. They have taken up the opportunity to volunteer after school when they finally reached the required minimum age. In this regard, breaking up with Davis the year before had been a blessing. He would have hated working with the kids, and would have hated Frisk spending their time here. At least the children seem to like Frisk.
The staff have been accommodating of Frisk's non-binary status, and even allowed them to explain the nuances of their identity to the children if asked. It quite honestly surprised them, and they are thankful for the consideration.
Frisk closes their copy of How to Train Your Dragon, letting the kids know they have to leave now. The children clamor for more, wanting Frisk to lead the reading group for the next book in the series, but Frisk really needs to make their way home and finish their homework for the day, much to the children's sadness.
Their mood picks up again when Frisk promises to read the sequel to them tomorrow, with an added promise to rent out the first movie as well when they're finished. The kids wave bye to Frisk, who heads off back to the staff lounge.
Frisk thinks of their plans for the future. Auntie Ligaya has already been pressuring Frisk to start thinking about what they want to do for college, especially now that Cousin Andres is attending the city's local university. Frisk still wants to be an ambassador, but has become increasingly conscience of how national politics is…becoming divisive over people like Frisk.
They shudder to think of the nightmarish stories they heard about what happens to people like Frisk in the other states. It's horrifying and unjust. It might even be too dangerous for them to pursue a career if things get worse.
The wonder if they should look beyond a humanities degree for becoming an ambassador and pursue a STEM field instead. Much less eyes on them, helps improve the world through science, and generally comes with good pay. Unfortunately Frisk doesn't even know where to start. They were not attracted to any specific field.
It will have to be something they need to think upon soon.
Their thoughts turn to the children at Chara Memorial, and contemplate the irony that they, an almost-orphan, chose their first career working at an orphanage. Unlike so many of the children they see here, Frisk was fortunate enough to have a loving aunt who is so much like a mother to them. The children here have no such luck, and every day, Frisk sees the terrible affects it has on them. From hard struggles with homework to terrible grasping of language to empty shells of human beings. It's enough to nearly bring them to tears.
It has brought them to tears on more than one occasion.
Every day, they see in their eyes the need for love in their life, the need for more than indifferent staff members and empathic teenagers. They need the love of a parent, something Frisk so dearly wishes they could give.
Frisk wonders: could they give that love to a child of their own? They see that yearning for love, and wishes they could give it so much, to make a family made of people that were more than just one-time flirtations and one-off dates. It's why they loved playing house so much. They daydream of what kind of child they would have. Would they be born to them? Or would they adopt one of the children at Chara Memorial Village? Both? What would their father (or mother, or…
As they enter the staff lounge, their thoughts become sidelined by curiosity when they see the older staff members gathered around the television.
They stare as footage shows a vast desert expanse of red sand and rock under a dull red atmosphere. The camera slowly pans back and forth, capturing the eerie loneliness of the fourth planet.
Suddenly, the camera rocks as something disturbs the rover out of camera. Then, the camera jerks when something breaks it free from the rover. The video continues to jerk around the scene, filling the television with incomprehensible blurs, before it settles upon…
What…is that?
L O A D
They peek at the television and saw nothing but angry pundits yammering on television. They roll their eyes at what they are saying and move on to retrieve their items.
--
Frisk sleeps quietly, and they dream of a King who flies on wings made of rainbows and starlight, who fills his Empty Kingdom with monsters, and devours the souls of the dead.
He announces his presence to the crowd with the clap of thunder, and the whoosh of his mighty wings of multi-spectrum light and star-fire. Men, women, and everyone in between stare in awe and trepidation at the self-declared King of the World floats down upon the ballroom balcony. Today he seems to be in an ostentatious mood, as he approaches with not two, not six, but eight wings on his back, all of them throwing gusts of wind in Frisk's face as he descends.
He is not the eight-foot height from when he first became a god, nor did he assume the gargantuan thirty-foot size of when they first merged, but he is nonetheless still a massive creature. Easily two feet taller than the Old King and three feet over the Old Queen—the sires of the Empty Kingdom's monarch—Frisk idly wonders why he feels the need to be ten feet tall. Surely at some point the added height becomes an impediment?
His black, ragged robes have been discarded for clean-cut, dark violet ones reminiscent of the first robes he worse in his god form. A cape like his father's billows out from him, The black-dyed exterior hiding its red interior, held in place by gold-rimmed pauldrons and a short collar, both made of a black metal they've seen him conjure before.
The halo he had when they once shared the same body is not the same anymore. Not content with a crown, he has shaped a black halo to float just above his head and adorned with spikes and seven colored stars. The supernatural nature of the crown is a constant reminder of the King's divinity, and that his mass is the least dangerous aspect about him.
He flats past the crowd of socialites and dignitaries as the brave and foolish clamor for his attention while the feeble and wise shrink back in his presence. He ignores all of them with an aloof and condescending smile upon his face. Presidents and prime ministers, kings and generals, secretaries and chairmen, ambassadors and dignitaries, all of them are beneath him.
All except one.
As he passes near Frisk's table, Frisk sees his face turn slightly towards them. The grin on his face loosens, and they can see a genuine smile start to form on his lips.
Then it disappears, and he turns back to the front, back to the throne that awaits him.
Frisk stays as everyone else moves into the ballroom with the King. It's not actually his throne room. They're in the palace of a former governor in one of the states next to the Kingdom of Monsters.
Frisk really was not in the mood of getting his attention at the moment, and the negotiations won't be for another hour. They know the King well enough for him to let the faux pass slide. For now, they move up from their seat to look over the edge of the balcony, taking advantage of the sudden quiet to appreciate the landscape.
The good news about being in the states proper is that Frisk can always tell when it is nighttime. In the Kingdom of Monsters, it is sometimes hard to discern what the time of day is depending on the King's mood. Even from here, the tree is clearly visible, forming a backdrop overlooking the small city.
Thankfully, the tree is not shimmering with the colors of the rainbow tonight as it would in the day, keeping to the normal night schedule, lighting the horizon with an artificial nebula Frisk find to be quite beautiful. Too bad the light pollution is stopping them from seeing the real stars.
The sole exception is a constellation they can spot directly above the tree. They're absolutely certain something's weird about it, because they don't recall any constellation looking a lot like the King in previous timelines.
As for the tree, humans call it many things. Yggdrasil. Devil Tree. The God Tree. The Tree of Life. It's all of them and none of them. It has no roots in those old myths of man, but it represents a power so great it might as well carry those names.
Monsters call it the Dreaming Tree, and in Frisk's opinion it is the most accurate name. It is a massive tree. So massive that the horizon is the only part of the sky monsters can see. A tree that blankets the Kingdom in a sea of white flowers, shimmering with the prismatic radiance of the rainbow in the day, and glowing with the lights of the milky way in the night.
Frisk vividly remembers circumnavigating the base of the tree last time they visited. Mount Ebott has been all but consumed by it, and likely has been since their childhood. Its rapid growth is all a blur in their head. They were only 9 after all when the God that is bound to it declared war on humanity. Auntie Ligaya was quick to relocate what remained of the Bulalacaos back to the Philippines. They missed out a lot on what happened at ground zero.
Of course, they know all too well what really happened. Which is why they had to come back to America as soon as they turned 18. Since then, the God Tree has been a permanent fixture for most of Frisk's adult life, never seeing a blue sky over their head until the times they left Ebott for whatever diplomatic mission he sent them on. Those missions were always stressful, but at least they allow them get away from under the shimmering petals, and walk under a real sky once more.
To get away from him.
"Oh come now," a male voice, with the sound of multiple people overlayed on top of it, echoes behind them, "am I really that bad?"
They turn to face the voice, already certain of who it is, and come face to face with the King himself, wings fully dissipated. None of the human hangers-on are around, leaving just him and the other humans on the balcony that would rather keep to themselves.
Frisk sighs and rests their elbow on the stone railing. "Well excuse me if I don't feel comfortable around someone who has the 'privilege' of expelling United States dignitaries with a compound fracture and not suffer retaliation," they tell him. It's why everyone is super-nervous when he's shaking their hand, fearing he wants to casually jerk their arms in the wrong direction again.
The King chuffs and waves off the statement. "That last ambassador was a racist and a vapid mouth breather with too much pride for his country and not enough sense of how out of his league he was. I wanted to give him a permanent reminder not to reduce a god to an animal in his dialogue. You, however, are in no such danger."
People are still gossiping as to why a young staff intern to the United States ambassador to the Philippines was elevated to US Ambassador to the Kingdom of Monsters. Everyone thought it was exclusively because of a trans-rights gimmick, but that theory was going to fester no matter how qualified Frisk is. Not that the King cared, nor is it beyond his power to force the president to keep them in their current position. Frisk knows this from the thin line of scabbing on the president's neck when he personally briefed them after their appointment.
Frisk decides they're not done throwing shade at the King. "I'd also feel a lot safer if we didn't have a frozen nuclear warhead down the hallway."
The King guffaws. "Yeah, I guess you wouldn't feel safe with those around now, would you?" The King takes a moment to collect himself before joining Frisk at the balcony edge. They don't speak immediately, spending the first few minutes overlooking the small city that made up the state capital, And the Dreaming Tree that stands beyond it.
"Glorious, is it not?" he asks, "To think I loathed my physical body for what it represented, when I failed to appreciate the potential of what it can do. Though it is it nice to be a purely magical being once more." The King makes an overdramatic stretch of his arms, as though working out a cramp. "Now I can be in two places at once. My real body, to keep hold of all of the accumulated souls, and my magical body, through which I may enforce my will."
"I didn't even know it could turn into a tree," Frisk mutters.
The King laughs. "Neither did I! Magic is capable of so much, Frisk." He turns his head Frisk. "If only you can see the possibilities."
Frisk locks eyes with the King. The ruby eyes still entrance them to this day, but they put that aside tonight.
"Why are you here?" they ask.
"Is it not obvious?" he replies, laying his back on the railing, "I grew tired of the boring platitudes and empty grandstanding that came from those husks that pass as leadership for your species, and wanted to see an old friend."
"We only met a few years ago."
"In this timeline, yes," the King winks, "but we both know what I am speaking of."
He pauses for a second, placing a finger to his chin as if in contemplation.
"Mmmm," the King hums. "Yes. I do believe you raised a good point, dear ambassador. By now those bombs have outlived their usefulness as a deterrence."
He looks towards Frisk. "What say we add nuclear disarmament to tonight's treaty negotiations?"
Frisk huffs, half in exasperation at the King's cavalier talk of weapons of mass destruction, half in relief that he's being accommodating, "Gladly."
"Then it's settled," the King floats upright and makes towards the balcony exit, "Come, we'll continue this discussion while we defuse the bomb."
"Wait," Frisk interrupts, catching up to the King as he hovers away, "Right now? While the ball's happening? The ball you're supposed to be attending."
"I am attending it," he answers.
Frisk stops for a moment, trying to process what the King is trying to suggest. "And what is that supposed to mean?" they ask.
"Take a look to your left while we're passing," he replies.
Frisk entertains the King's cryptic answer and looks towards the ballroom as they pass the entrance. They double-take when they spot a second King sitting lazily upon a black-metal throne covered in red cushions laying on top of a long, red carpet stacked with petitioners. He has a bored look on his face as he lays back on his throne, wings draped over the side. He bites off half of a roasted turkey—bones included—with the grace of a sloppy eater, leaving the chubby-cheeked man at the front of the line flabbergasted. They spot the Old King and Queen next to him. The Old King has a sheepish smile on his face while the Old Queen has a disapproving look at her son's behavior.
It's terrifying.
Frisk look back and see the King they're next to is still there, a knowing smile his face, and looks back to see the second King looking directly at them, the same expression on his face.
He winks back at Frisk.
"Wha- " Frisk stutters, looking back and forth between the two Kings, "how…?"
"Urahaha," the King next to them chuckles, "a little surprise I kept hidden until now, though I wondered if you would have figured it out after you deduced my real body is the tree."
"How can you be in two places?" Frisk shakes their head, "No, wait, infinite magic. Of course you can, but how can you even think straight when you're in two places?"
"With lots of training," he replies, tapping the side of his head, "raw power isn't the only thing having so much magic can provide me. You already got to experience a part of that when we fused, remember? It doesn't make me smarter per say, but let's just say it lets me have a better grasp at thinking in parallel. By quite a bit, I might add."
"So there could be more of you, and if one of you dies, does that mean you have to reset or…?" Frisk lets the question hang.
"First: yes. Great for multitasking and running a country by the way. Second: Assuming you even could kill me, or both of us, I could just generate a new body." he chuckles "So long as the tree or one of us is still around, we won't die. Of course, I had to get creative with killing myself to figure out the exact mechanics since no one else was capable of testing that theory. Very slow and unpleasant experience when you're invincible to the most powerful forces in the universe."
Frisk wasn't sure which timelines he was talking about. Probably the ones where he and the entire tree disappeared to god knows where. Those ones were chaotic.
"But enough about me. I saw your face when you saw me fly," the King says as he walks, or rather hovers, alongside them while they go through the hallway, "You were impressed, weren't you? You always did love my wings."
Frisk does not dignify the question with an answer.
Actually, now that they think of it, Frisk isn't sure what function the wings even serve. He can levitate in the air just fine without them, and they have seen him with anywhere between two to six and even twenty wings on separate occasions without any real change to his capabilities. They admit that they do look beautiful as always.
The King harumphs in amusement. "Be as difficult as you need," the King says, "it's not like I need you to verbalize an answer."
Ah. Right. They forgot he can read minds now. Well, he always could as a god. The King even made them try it themself just to get an idea. If anything, it's even more chaotic than sharing a body with him. They wonder if it's the added souls or just practice that allowed the King to ease into that power. It's a politician's dream weapon, able to pry all the dirty little secrets humans foolishly brought to him.
As they pass through the hallway, human socialites and staff members part before them. Almost all of them have terrified faces on them. Even after more than a decade since the ceasefire, the Second Human Monster War's scars still run deep, and the world trembles at the presence of the King. After all, it was a war in which humanity was brought to heel by a single monster.
The religious dissidents in America label the King the Antichrist and the Devil, citing his power and domination over the world. Frisk recalls hearing once that the Devil's appearance is that of the most beautiful creature in the world. They are able to swallow their pride enough to admit that they find the King to be physically alluring and exotic. Exceptionally so in fact, but whatever beauty they find in their form is dashed by the knowledge that beyond those blood-red eyes is the mind of someone who could care less about humanity.
They can't help but hate themself for the fact that they still care about him.
They hear the sound of shuffling, and a warm, fuzzy feeling engulfs their right arm. They look down to see a massive, furry paw wrapped around their hand and lower arm. They look up to see the King still facing forward, a serene look upon his face. They're not sure what prompted the King to do that.
"Ah, here we are," the King announces. The hallway expands out into a gallery of various objects hanging in the air. A variety of guns, vehicle parts, missiles, and bombs are all suspended in midair, not by wires or stands, but by time freezing them in place courtesy of the King. A reminder of the kind of power humanity tried to stand against.
"I was quite proud of that you know," he says as he brushes his free hand against the tire of a suspended APC, "I thought of you when I went out and conquered the world with this newfound power. What better way to pacify the bloodthirst of human rulers than when I'm lobbing their tanks on top of their palaces and their bombers onto their parliaments?"
"But did you have to kill people to achieve your goals?" Frisk asks.
"Oh sweet, naïve Frisk," the King chuckles, raising Frisk's chin with a claw, "Ten thousand, seventy-three hundred, and thirty-two dead is a merciful toll when it comes to world conquest. That's absolutely miniscule for a world war."
"And how many more are you willing to kill if they try to stop you?"
"Stop me? Urahahaha!" The King laughs as though it is the most hilarious joke he has ever heard. He releases frisk, rises, and turns to face them. The King's coat and hair start whipping in an invisible wind. He spreads his hands out. "My dear Frisk, I don't think you or anyone for that matter quite grasps how little I had to exert myself to bring humans to their knees."
Behind him, the various weapons and junk within the gallery float towards the King, morphing and piecing themselves together to form a throne of guns, tanks, bombs and other scraps of war. As he takes a seat, he conjures a glowing green dot at the tip of his finger, which expands and rearranges itself into an apple the size of a melon, a habit they have frequently seen the King do. He grabs it out of the air and takes a bite out of it.
"Mmph. Diff you wow- omph, weighta shecund" he raises a finger with a full mouth. He swallows and puts his hand back down. "Do you know how many souls I needed to tap into to topple Earth's mightiest armies?" the King asks rhetorically, casting the half-eaten apple to the side. A woman passing by yelps in surprise at the massive apple core thrown at her.
"Eight," he continues, "I only needed to exert the power of one extra soul to bring this world to its knees without taking a scratch. Twelve; to have enough power to cast my influence over every soul on this planet, to leave a tiny hook in each and every one so that when its owner perishes…."
He flourishes his hand, and a green soul pops into his palm. "I get to keep it. I don't even have to be the cause of their death. No murder, no EXP, no problem. My best friend and I should have thought of this ages ago." He snatches the soul back, and when his hand reopens, it is gone. There is a slight shimmer of a rainbow aura.
"Moving the stars to form a new constellation, then bend space and time so the light they shine from their new positions can reach Earth? Twenty."
Frisk rubs their head at the numbers game. "Please get to the point," the ask politely.
"The point is, Frisk, is that I became untouchable once my eyes were set on more than seven souls. You saw how strong the Dragon was. The power of combining monster and humans souls does not grow linearly. It grows much, much faster each time, making the sum far greater than its parts."
Several more souls pop into existence around the King. He twirls some of them around his finger. "And with each human that dies every second," he makes a grasping motion, and the souls merge into the King's body. He visibly shudders in pleasure, "my power becomes ever greater."
He lays out his body on the makeshift throne's armrests—what were once a set of artillery barrels—giving an amused, cat-like look at Frisk as he swings his legs and plays with one of his ears. "Little wonder they locked us up so long ago. There's enough souls to go around to make each and every monster into a universe-shattering god." The King gives a light chuckle. "But now, not even such a deity can defeat me anymore. Sure, a monster could get his, her, or their hands on a soul, cause a mass-casualty event, and be able to wipe out this solar system and the one next to it and so on."
He smiles viscously. "But so long as they are even a few souls short, I'll still be much, much stronger then that monster, and every soul they took, every soul they miss, will go straight to me."
The King resumes an upright position and floats out of his seat towards Frisk. "Already, I am a god of over five-hundred million human souls."
He waves his hand, and Frisk hears shouts and screams of fright as the room transforms from a Greco-Roman architecture to a Victorian chamber. "I can reshape the very Earth we stand upon to whatever form I like-" he waves again, and the walls and ceilings become a purple stone much like Home had, "-with the wave of a hand."
He waves again, and the walls and the humans disappear. Frisk becomes petrified when they realize they're in space, surrounded by stars and stellar nebulae, almost missing the fact that they're somehow still breathing air. "I can open my senses to the Universe and bask in its glory down to the very atoms," he continues. He weaves his claws through the vacuum before him, causing a trail of bright blue particles to light up in his wake.
"I can trace the molecules that flow through the very air-" he reaches out as though snatching a star, and Frisk is baffled when one actually falls into his grasp.
"Experience sensations your mind cannot comprehend-" he inspects it between his fingers.
"Even see and hear alien worlds from where we stand-" he pinches, and the star winks out in a supernova that slowly propagates from his hand.
His smile turns viscous. Frisk becomes nervous. They know it's when his LOVE is at its most dominant.
"I would know the moment a monster and a human try to fuse their souls wherever they may be…" he snaps his finger.
The void of space shifts to an alleyway in some city they are unfamiliar with. They spot some rather unappealing graffiti of themselves doing rather unsavory things with the King. In front of them, they face a monster with a dog's head and a group of seven human corpses in a circle, knives with their own blood in hand and seven colored souls floating above them.
The monster looks up to see the King float before him, his face transforming into terror. The dog monster lunges from his crouching position and grabs the yellow soul in front of him. A yellow light overcomes him, and Frisk can see his muscles bulging everywhere.
There's a bright flash of rainbow light, and suddenly the monster is vaporized into dust, leaving only their soul.
The King's grin widens as with the twirl of his hand, the eight souls are drawn to his arm. "…and no matter how strong that monster may get, they will never grow fast enough to stop me from erasing them from existence." His hand clasps, and the souls zoom into his body. Once again, his breathing shudders and his body shimmers like a rainbow. "Or better yet, take their power for my own."
He raises his hand and snaps his fingers once more. The world shifts again, and Kings is back in his seat in the gallery. "With that same snap my finger, I could get an instant 'win', and wipe out every last resistance cell on this planet, just like that," he gesticulates to Frisk "Every sign of my crimes would be erased, and every memory of every terrible little thing I did would be forgotten. None of them even have to die. But snapping my fingers to win would be boring, and I have grown to hate being bored."
He leans back, and with a flick of his wrist, the purple stone of the transformed gallery is returned to its marble and sandstone construction. "All of this, and I barely need to dip into the wellspring of power at my fingertips. Now imagine what I can do with the other four-hundred-and-ninety-nine million souls I already have." He leans forward on his throne. "Go ahead. Try. Even my own imagination came up short."
Frisk can't. Is he five hundred million times stronger than he once was? Or is he something stronger? He said it wasn't linear. Was it exponential? Could they conceptualize a number that goes to the power of five-hundred-million?
It can't be, they think. That would mean he is basically God at this point.
"Is that so farfetched?" the King asks.
"Please stop that!" Frisk shouts in frustration.
The King chuckles. "Anyways, I believe I have sidelined our task at hand for too long." He lifts off from his chair. "Let's say we take care of that nuke, shall we?" He snaps his fingers twice, causing the junk around him to part, allowing a certain center piece of the gallery to come forward.
Before Frisk is a cone-shaped object enveloped in a fireball that leaves the front of it glowing hot. The fireball doesn't move or flicker. In fact, no part of the object had moved or changed in years, courtesy of the King.
From what Frisk recalls, it came from an ICBM launched by the Russians, an action done in conjunction with America and the other nuclear powers launching their own arsenal at the King when no other weapon could harm him.
None of them even made it past re-entry
"Ah, my favorite Sword of Damocles," the King laments. He traces a claw through the fireball, leaving behind a trace where the frozen flames parted ways, "I think it was these that made the most humans shit themselves out of all the things I lobed at them. It was delicious seeing their faces when I took the nuclear weapons they tried to kill me with and placed them right in front of their faces. Humans become so much more reasonable when you threaten to unfreeze the falling bomb located where they live."
"So can you disarm it?" Frisk asks.
"Of course. I'm God now, remember?" he jests. He makes an overdramatic gesture with his hand, and concludes it with a simple poke of the frozen bomb. "Boop."
The nuclear warhead glows. The sound of chimes fills the air, and a kaleidoscope shimmer engulfs the nuclear warhead.
No, not just the warhead, the entire gallery of weapons and warfare are engulfed in the same shimmer, illuminating the entire room.
Before Frisk's very eyes, the warhead splits into a thousand pieces. Pieces that spread their wings until Frisk realizes those are all butterflies. It is species they don't recognize with wings that have sapphire blue tops and golden-hued bottoms. They engulf the room with the sound of tens of thousands of flapping wings, the chimes growing louder in turn.
Frisk stares in awe as they are surrounded by a kaleidoscope of beautiful butterflies. The room shimmers and sparkles with blue and gold, and they can barely stand as they try and take it all in, their mouth agape in wonder.
They stumble and trip backwards. They yelp, but are caught just before they crash into the floor. The look up to see the King with his arm gently wrapped around them.
His demeanor has changed. Gone is the arrogant, boastful god-king they have seen on the digital screens and throughout most of the night. That vulnerable, melancholic face they've come to know in the past timeline is back.
"Imagine, Frisk, seeing such wonders like this, by the millions, all at once, every day. Imagine seeing everything beautiful and ugly about this world at all times if you so will it." he stretches out a hand to Frisk, and they watch when one of the butterflies rests upon it. He brings it in for them to inspect, "I see things like this. All the time, all at once. It's overwhelming and exhilarating. It's not omniscience, that is off the table for now. Yet sill…" the King gently squeezes Frisk within their grasp.
"Frisk…I experienced infinity, You would not believe the things I have seen. It was too much. I couldn't stand it, but what I glimpsed it was beautiful and horrifying. I wish I had the words to explain it all to you."
He lets the butterfly go, and gently moves to his hand cup Frisk's own into his cheek. His is so much bigger than their own. His fingers are a third the size of their entire hand.
"I missed you so much Frisk," he says "I'm sorry that I scare you. Is there anything I can do for you? Is there a wish I can grant you to make up for all the things that upset you?"
"I don't know," Frisk confesses, "I don't know…I never wanted any of this. I didn't want you to become God. I didn't want you to wage war on humanity and rule over the world, and I most certainly didn't want to become an ambassador quite like this. Is there any way I can talk you into letting the souls go?"
Asriel shakes their head, "No. No, that's not an option. I don't think it ever was." He lays Frisk's hand back into their lap. "As I have told you: monsters and humans have proven they cannot be trusted. Humans are too vile to be left to their down devices on this earth, and monsters too reckless to avoid causing their own extinction or another's."
He props up Frisk to allow them to stand. "A monster-human conflict was unavoidable, Frisk. Is unavoidable. You are not immortal. You will not be around to talk down every god-creature that arises, nor stop every human mob from going on a monster-hunting pogrom."
Frisk grimaces in acknowledgement. "When you put it like that, it almost makes me wish I was immortal."
"Yeah," the King looks away, "it would. But you currently do not have that option. I know it puts a bad taste in your mouth, but trust me when I say this is the best option we have for peace to last more than one lifetime."
Frisk looks down. "I would be lying to myself if I didn't say you've made an earnest effort to change things for the better. It certainly looks better than the last time we were together.
"I'm…" they look for the right words to say, "I'm upset that people died, but you could have done so much worse. I'm glad you've at least kept killing as a last resort."
"You're welcome," he says politely. The two take a look around them, noting the many butterflies still remaining in the room, painting the walls in a chaotic blue-and-gold mosaic. They see the flashes of smartphones as people spectate and gossip about what they are seeing.
The King's lips crease into a lighthearted smile. "You know, this is a ball after all. What say we give the people a little dance to see."
Frisk can't help but giggle. The weight of their conversation giving way to the current moment. "You know what? Why the heck not."
He nods, smile still on his face. The King bows dramatically to them. "Ambassador," he greets.
He holds out his right hand, and another spark of green energy grows into a stem before it blooms, and before their very eyes, a red geranium is now held out before them.
"May I have this dance?"
Their heart flutters at the gesture, and for the moment, they put aside all the terrible things the King has done and give him this one little mercy. They take up the geranium and nudge it into their hair. They take up the King's hands, and they stand ready with him.
…And ready.
…And ready.
Frisk starts looking at his feet, noticing they haven't yet touched the ground.
The King traces their stare. "Ah…yes…that," the Kings says awkwardly, suddenly getting fidgety. "I guess I should stop floating now, shouldn't I?"
Frisk grins at him happily. "Of course. That is unless you mean to tell me God can't dance."
"Yes I can!" he rebuffs, but what comes out sounds like childish whining to Frisk's ears. People in the gallery start laughing. It just makes Frisk grin wider. The King groans when he realizes his act of immaturity.
He huffs. "Alright," he states, "Here goes nothing." Gently, he comes down from his levitated position, slowly placing his feet to the ground to maintain his bearings.
Almost as soon as he puts weight on his legs, the King yelps in surprise, stumbles, and falls, pulling Frisk in. The thud echoes through the empty hall while Frisk falls on top of the King, their faces nearly touching. The chuckles become a bit louder, then suddenly cut off when the King glares at the loudest group.
He turns back to Frisk, and his features soften. "Eheh, sorry…" the King mutters in embarrassment. Frisk can feel his hot breath on their face. It smells like cinnamon. He floats up with Frisk firmly in his arms before letting go once they have righted themselves and scratches the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "It's been a long while since I've ever used my feet. Don't need to as a god, but that means my feet are very sensitive..." the god-king trails off when he sees Frisk's expression.
He gulps when the human gains a vicious smile. Oh they is going to exploit the hell out of this!
Immediately, they yank the King some more, grinning as they hear him yelp and try and correct his footing. The King, for all his size and might, can only stumble along as he tries and fails to follow in Frisk's footsteps. All the while, the butterflies too dance to the human and monster's ballet, creating a breathtaking scene as the kaleidoscope spirals around the duo. No one interferes, mesmerized by the never-before-seen image of the King acting this way with any other human.
The King's weight feels a tenth of his size as Frisk haplessly tugs him around. It is an absolutely comical sight as his feet's oversensitivity causes him to trip over and over, muttering curses and apologies as he does his best to keep up, giggling all the while at the cold tikling sensation the floor gives his paws, and the absurdity of his failure to dance. Even the bystanders in the gallery can't help laughing in spite of who the target is.
The King doesn't care. He is laughing too. The King laughs with a tone that Frisk rarely heard in this lifetime. It is nothing like his megalomaniacal mirth. It sounds innocent, child-like.
Never in all of Frisk's time as ambassador to the Kingdom have they seen the King this jovial. Try as they might, his happiness and laughter are infectious. Frisk smiles, and they join in laughing at the King's expense.
They shriek in fright and excitement when he picks them up and unfurls his many wings. The ceiling of the gallery breaks apart, exposing the night sky. With a single flap, the King sends the two soaring out in into the air. Frisk looks down to see the ceiling and roof putting themselves together under the King's magic.
They're still screeching with excitement as they fly higher and higher into the air. Eventually, it returns back into excited laughter, joining in on the King's own joyous laughing. From up here, they can see the interconnected web of roadways and buildings that make up the state capital, along with the single, lonely thread that leads directly to Ebott.
The climb even higher, high enough that Frisk starts having difficulty breathing. They gasp when the difficulty dissipates and air rushes in. The look up to see the caring face of the King looking back at them.
"I won't let you die, Frisk," he whispers to them, "I won't let go of you."
Eventually, the King levels off, letting Frisk get a good bird's eye view of the Kingdom of Monsters. The Dreaming Tree has changed patterns. Now it's glowing a soft green, lights dancing in chaotic spirals like an aurora. Beneath it, they see the glow of bustling cities taking shelter under its branches, filling the kingdom with Monsters and Humans
"Look at that." He whispers to them, "In so many other timelines, Ebott would be a glass crater or a dry wasteland by now. Here, it's the foundation for a new kingdom. A kingdom of peace, happiness, and prosperity for monsters and humans."
Frisk lies in the King's chest as they try and imagine the promises his words carry. For a few, brief minutes, all the concerns of the world wash away from Frisk's mind. They forget that the being they danced with could kill them all with the snap of a finger, forget that he cares nothing for their lives, forget that all of this could be undone at a mere thought.
It's just them and the King.
The human and the devil.
Frisk and their angel.
They stay like that for several minutes. No words needed to be shared between them. They simply wished to enjoy the moment.
Yet their duties as king and ambassador must resume, and after many more minutes, the King slowly brings them down back to Earth.
They land on the same balcony as his other self not long ago. The King releases Frisk from their grasp, silently watching as the human wobbles onto their feat. He grabs them and helps adjust their posture, ensuring they do not fall over.
The King stares down at the human with a smile, hands on Frisk's shoulder. "It's finally over Frisk," he says happily, "We've won. Monster and humans will live together upon the surface, and nothing can threaten it now. The soul fusions, the nuclear wars, the genocides; I can take it all head on. There will be no ill we can't fix, no obstacle that will stop us."
Without warning, he wraps his arms around Frisk and brings them into another hug.
Slowly, Frisk brings their arms up and returns the hug. "Thank you," they say. Despite everything, the King is still the boy the met. Despite everything, there is still hope for the future.
"No," he whispers to them, "Thank you, Frisk. None of this would have been possible without you."
He releases them from the hug. "Rest assured, once the treaty is signed, happy moments like these will all the world will experience forever onwards. I promise…" he sniffs, apparently holding back tears.
"I promise everything will be alright."
There's a strange sound, and suddenly the King disappears, leaving Frisk alone on the balcony. They are curious. There seemed to be more to his last words than just signing the treaty. Intrigued at what the King meant, they move to enter the ballroom.
The moment they cross the entrance they see the King make a polite cough. The sound echoes throughout the room with supernatural clarity.
The King floats off his throne. "I have made my decision," he speaks. He snaps his fingers twice, and an ornate wooden table appears in front of him. On top of it lies stacks of paper, the peace treaty to finally end the Second Human Monster war printed upon it.
He speaks, "I will sign your peace treaty. In fact, I might very well add some provisions that you humans may be very enthusiastic to agree to."
The King holds up the current draft. "Per our standing agreement, I will cede all lands I have seized—through legal and illegal means with the exception of the lands that occupy the boundaries of the former state from which my capital lays in—back to their rightful governments. If no such government exists, then I shall, in conjunction with the United Nations, organize and fund the establishment of provisional governments that will hold free and fair elections within five years. All forms of forced labor and legal segregation from within my kingdom and all the lands I seized will be abolished, and all provisional governments shall include this in their constitutions and basic laws.
"In return, the Kingdom of Monsters is to be internationally recognized as a sovereign nation. Among those who must recognize our sovereignty shall include the United States of America, from which the Kingdom of Monsters has seceded from. The Kingdom of Monsters will hold exclusive, worldwide jurisdiction over any interspecies violent offenses committed between a monster and a human, including the case where a monster or human absorbs the soul of another, of which the crimes shall be tried by the laws of the Kingdom of Monsters."
The room is silent. Nothing new so far. They were already asking much to have the world released from the King's rule when he had the power to say "no". Given his contempt for them all, it's surprising to everyone but Frisk that he is willing to entertain emancipation.
"Now here is the interesting part I shall add," the King says. he flicks his wrist, and some new pieces of paper manifest in his hand, words already printed upon them. Murmurs have started.
"I will, to the best of my prodigious and 'illegally-obtained'" the King childishly makes finger quotes, "magical powers, restore the natural resources and the environment that had been destroyed through our conflicts and your greed and negligence through the millennia. Finally, I will allow free travel across my borders, so that whatever human wishes to flee my presence or come to worship me are free to do so." With that. The King conjures a pen in hand and signs the revised document.
Now there are gasping noises. Even Frisk can't help but feel shocked by such magnanimity. Most of them probably don't care about the free travel, but complete restoration of Earth's environment and resources? It's a boon no one had ever dreamed of asking the King. Excitement buzzes around the ballroom. There is now so much that can be profited from the King than mere survival.
This is good.
No, wait, it was great, amazing even! Before Frisk knows it, they're clapping in appreciation of the gift the King is willing to extend. More and more join in on the clapping, until the entire room is roused in celebration at this joyous news. Frisk can see the Old King and Queen clapping too, faces filled with pride at their son's decision.
Then, the King holds his hand up, and the room falls silent.
"There is only one final demand that I ask of humanity. One small addition that asks so little." With a flick of a wrist, in his hand he conjures a bracelet make of some sort of black metal and encrusted with jewels of various colors.
There's whispers and questions running through the room, wondering what significance the bracelet has. Then the King turns to stare at Frisk with a mischievous grin, and Frisk realizes they misjudged what the object is because of the King's size next to it. They realize they've seen that trinket before.
It's not a bracelet. It's a crown once made for a monster, now made for a human.
It's a crown made for them.
"I want Ambassador Frisk to become my spouse and fellow sovereign."
Gasps engulf the room. The Old Queen puts their hand up to their mouth and the Old King looks like he's about to pass out. All eyes in the room turn towards Frisk.
They find that they too have the sensation they could pass out in that very moment.