St. Chara and the Risk.

by chibiotaku4life

Summary:

The church. It's why monsters were sealed underground. It's why Chara ran away.
It's why Frisk ran away. It's why monsters will be freed.
It is the cause of pain and suffering. It is the end of pain and suffering.
In these pages, though many shall perish, all may be freed.

Notes:

this work is not complete. obviously. ugh help

Chapter 1: "I love you despite the warning signs."

It had been four months since it had happened. Four months since she had conceived. Four months since she knew that it was the beginning of the end, because he was a church official and if she told she’d be punished yet more harshly. And she was starting to show.

She’d managed to hide the morning sickness and the missed periods - after all, that time of month was considered by the church to be demonic, and was rarely discussed, even between mothers and daughters. Not that Chara would want to talk to her mother about anything personal.

“Chara Milligan,” her mother hollered up the stairs. “What is taking you so long? We can’t be late to the service - it’s your first Communion!”

Ah, yes, the first Communion. She had just turned sixteen only days before, and was taking her place, in the church at least, as a practicing member. She would become a full member at eighteen. She paled. Communion required her to drink from the Font of Sacrament, and pregnant women weren’t supposed to do so. It was said that unbaptized children could carry demons within them, and so the Font of Sacrament would reveal that nature in a defect that could not be removed. That was why children waited to be baptized at the age of 13, when the unholiest urges would first strike. Any earlier or later and they could be overcome by a devil.

“Coming,” she called back, picking out one of her larger dresses and flats.

They walked to church on the cobblestone path. Her parents greeted friends, but Chara kept her head down, trying not to be noticed. No one would do anything before church, but she wasn’t exactly popular. The other kids all knew there was something different about her - though what it was wasn’t clear. After all, she acted much like all the other children; although she seemed to have more compassion than most.

They walked through the wide oak doors of the church, engraved with the seven souls of the Saints. At the front of the church the familiar mural of the Saints beating back the winged, horned, and otherwise horrifying monsters of hell back into the depths greeted her. She sought out her namesake, bravely fighting at the front of the pack, his sword glowing red with determination.

Could monsters really be that awful compared to humans? she thought blasphemously. After all, the church was so often right. Anyone not a member of the church was a heathen and should burn, according to the doctrine of the Holy Scroll. That went double for the black- and brown- skinned descendants of demons and for the unholy whores of the demon king Asgore. How often had Chara heard tales of grim bloodshed and death, masquerading as glory paid to the Allfather? How many public executions had she witnessed of discovered practitioners of other religions, mostly from across the tracks, some of whom had been her only friends?

Alia, the old widow who had once belonged to a powerful family, who had spent her little savings to buy butterscotch candies for the poor children of the slums. She was always insisted on sharing these with Chara as well, though when she turned away Chara always dropped her meager allowance into her bag. She had burned for defying church doctrine, head turned to the sky in defiance, the smell of burning flesh seared into Chara’s memory.

Thomas, the young boy with whom she had roughhoused down by the river, until her parents had found out and charged his whole family with sacrilege. He had watched his parents hung and been taken, sobbing, to be an altar boy.

Katherine, the sweet, gentle young girl who had always followed her with wide, sparkling eyes, gasping at her fine dresses and laughing as she played with Chara’s springy curls. She had been caught in the Great Room of the Chapel, which was forbidden to the lower families, and had innocently walked to her death by ritual sacrifice in the Font of Justice, which always ran nearly black with blood. It was by far the most horrifying of the Seven Fonts.

Of course, the church executed criminals, too. People from across the tracks who trespassed, stole, even killed. People from this side who killed. But never the guilty clergy, whose hands were permanently stained with violence and worse.

The Fonts stood in the front of the church. In the middle was the Font of Sacrament, to the left, the Fonts of Justice, Integrity, and Bravery, to the right, Patience, Perseverance, and Kindness. Each had a role in the church ceremonies, though some less gruesome than others.

Chara took a seat at the front with her parents, her nervousness growing. As much as what had been done to her had been an act of hate, she loved the life growing within her.

Notes rang from the organ, a song to silence the congregation. Gradually the murmuring died down, and the bishop stepped to his pulpit, raising his arms to the sky.

“The glory of the God Almighty, to his holy servants and children - the saints - to the One Mother, we gather today in celebration and observance of. We call upon his mightiness to purge us of sin and cast us as vessels to purify this dark and treacherous world.

“Thou art the father, greatest in battle,

Thou art our shepherd, tending us cattle.

Thou art our mother, the milk from your breast,

Which runs through our veins, by which we are blessed.

Thou art the children, lights in our darkness,

Saints from your loins sent down to guide us.

Thou art the holiness of our work in your name,

In your divinity lies our naked shame.”

Chara shuddered at those last words. The verse had never sat well with her, but now it seemed to be both more literal and looming over her. A tightness stole out from her chest to her extremities, constricting her breath and flushing her skin with uneven patches of warmth.

“The service today is dedicated to the Tale of the Great War, and what it means today. Thousands of years ago we vanquished the demons of hell and sealed them back into their dark pit. Today we are…

The minister spoke on in a religious fervor, his voice and expressions passionate, and seemingly, compelling, for the congregation leaned forward to catch his now-booming voice, or fanned themselves helplessly, though the air was pleasantly cool. Chara rocked slightly in her seat pulling at the lace on the neck of her dress. She felt a drip of sweat run down under her arm and shifted to rub it away. Her mother frowned down at her and she stilled, waiting for communion to come.

Finally the bishop called out, “Friends, it is time for the holy communion. Today we have three new adults joining our ranks. Chara, Toria, Samuel, please come forward.”

Chara walked with the two others with leaden legs to the front of the church. She felt nausea rise to her throat as she eyed the fonts.

“Before you drink of the font of sacrament, you must purify yourself by drinking from one of the Lesser fonts.” She had forgotten. She was to pick her poison, perhaps quite literally.

And Chara was to go first. She stepped up so she stood in front of the Font of Sacrament. Her eyes immediately passed over the Fonts of Bravery and Justice, to the left and right of it. None of them were told what properties the waters of these fonts had, denied from viewing communion until their sixteenth birthday. She only knew she did not want to drink the blood of innocents, whether from execution or from the weapons of our soldiers.

She looked to her left. Integrity was there, followed by kindness, which was always empty. The church said they didn’t know why that was. Chara had a feeling she did.

She looked to her right. Perseverance overflowed with clean water, and as she watched, another drip ran down and out of the basin.

She accepted the chalice from the bishop. “Choose the one you need most,” he whispered to her, his soft, wrinkled hands encircling mine, then let go.

The one she needed the most? That would be bravery. The water ran clear today, not even the pinkest tinge. She hesitated, then stepped forward, catching the water in her chalice.

Chara’s hands shook as she lifted it to her lips, the water threatening to slosh over. She drank deeply, then stepped back in horror as the water rose from the basin and formed a thin screen in front of her.

She saw herself, holding her child, hair damp and unkempt and dark bags under her eyes, stark on her pale face. She was looking down into the face of her child with half-glassed but loving eyes.

She found it impossible to swallow as a weight settled into her chest, an ache growing from the center of her heart. Then she gasped, as dark, indistinct figures wrested her baby from her. The Chara in the vision cried out, struggling towards them but easily restrained. At last, she sunk back into the pillows, the glassiness of my eyes now haunted with a cloudy darkness.

Chara struggled for breath as the water poured back around the edges of the font. There were murmurs from the congregation, which grew into a loud roar with sharp peaks of yelling. She stood numbly, unmoving. The bishop waved his arms for silence, and the congregation settled down.

“Chara, I would like to speak with you and your family after the service,” he said gravely, but his tone carried an edge of steel.

Toria stepped forward, seeming shaken, but her head held defiantly high. Dipping  her chalice in the font of integrity, she stared at Chara and took a long draught. Nothing seemed to happen, but the bishop stepped forward.

“Toria, have you committed any crimes against the church in your memory.”

Her eyes widened as her lips trembled, and words spilled over them as water over a peak.

“I have doubted, father,” she spoke, turning red. “I have lusted, and coveted many things.”

“Very well, my child,” he said. “You shall commit to four hours of prayer as penance. You are welcome amongst us.” The crowd murmured the final phrase in response, which Chara noticed had been conspicuously absent for her.

Next Samuel stepped forward. He didn’t look at either of them, but quickly dipped his chalice in the Font of Justice, which ran purple with the blood of vanquished enemies washed from the weapons of their soldiers. Drinking deeply, he stared fixedly out above everyone’s heads. There was silence, then the bishop stepped forward.

“That you are still alive, my child, means that you have committed no grievous sin. You are welcome amongst us.”

You are welcome amongst us,” the crowd murmured in response. Samuel’s face was steady as he walked back to his pew, but as he sat, Chara thought his eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched ever-so-slightly into a smirk.

As the service drew to a close, dread flowed like molten lead from Chara’s throat to her stomach. Though she wished she could run, her feet seemed inextricably bound to the floor, as if they were already deadened from running all her life.

They stood, and recited the closing chant.

Patience, hold me ready, waiting, drawn back like a loaded bow,

Perserverance keep me steady, keen and accurate arrow.

Integrity, hold me highly, so that I might strike true,

Justice, aim we wisely, so that I may serve you.

Bravery, propel me forward, into heart of waiting foe,

Kindness, at Knowing of the Word, ready to staunch the flow.

For those who accept Chara’s Sacrament,

themselves should all be heavensent.

As if sensing Chara’s desire to flee, her mother’s hand closed around her wrist in an iron grip. He heart throbbed in her chest. Today would be her Judgment Day.

 

Chapter 2: "The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math."

Notes:

by the way, these chapter titles come from mincing mockingbird's a guide to troubled birds

“The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math.”

“She will have to be taken for reconditioning.”

“Keep her there. She is no daughter of ours.”

“Very well.”

Chara was not sure how she was still standing. Her body was numb, disconnected. Her worst fears were coming true.

“But - what about the child?” she croaked desperately.

“The child is an abomination against humanity,” the bishop said coldly, and tears began to pour from Chara’s eyes, hot against her already warm cheeks. “However, they shall be given to a member of the clergy, in the hopes that your sin may be purged from them and they might be reclaimed in the name of the Lord and Lady.”

“No!” Chara burst out,throwing her arms to the sides. “You can’t!”

The bishop’s eyes narrowed. “ You still have to atone for your sins. Tell me, who was the other progenitor?”

Chara squeezed her eyes shut. If she told the truth, she would be publicly executed for blasphemy. If she lied, some other poor soul would be punished for what had been done to her.

“Chara,” her mother barked, and her father’s vice-grip on her shoulder tightened painfully.

“The Font of Integrity?” she heard him say, his tone hard.

“Not yet,” the priest said. Chara frantically searched her mind for someone she could lay the blame on, someone from this side of the river. But there was no one.

“Nathan Prescott,” she finally blurted out, her heart aching. He was her friend from the other side of the river; who knew what they would do to him?

“I see,” the bishop said, bowing his head in acknowledgment. Chara’s cheeks burned with guilt.

“Come, my child,” he said, and the pressure on her shoulder suddenly released. She staggered forward, only to have the bishop’s hand land steadily and heavily on her other shoulder, the one farther from him. He guided her firmly through a door.

Chara was taken in a cart to an abbey outside the city. Now, as before, there was no one to soothe her from her nightmares and relieve her fears in the dark of the night, but even in the daylight she was kept isolated, only seeing the abbess, who brought her food, water, and instructions, and who never spoke.

And the nightmares did come. How she struggled in the dark, crying out for mercy, his heavy, sweaty hand finding her mouth and stifling her screams and half her breath. Her broken sobs as he held her down and forced his way into her. Terror grasped her every night, clutching her chest so she couldn’t even scream and she woke in silent tears. It was then she sat, gasping her growing belly desperately, and willed herself on for the sake of her child.

All day she studied the Word. She would have to interpret it, and yet somehow she began to see that the Word was not what the church had made it out to be, though she could never say so in her essays. In each one, she committed heresy against her mind and heart.

History and the Word seemed to contradict. She made a request for a tome of history, and upon receiving it, began to read.

“Long ago,” it read, “Two races ruled over Earth: Humans, and Monsters. Humans were gentle and good servants of the Lord and Lady, but monsters were wicked, committing atrocities against innocent humans and sacrilege against the Divine.

“Finally, the humans had had enough. They took up their swords and their spears in holy retribution against the demons. The war raged long and bitter, and the rivers ran red with blood. Though monsters were weak, they were many, and the skies cried for humanity before the war was through.

“It was then that Chara, champion of the people, took up his divinity and channeled it into a miracle, drawing on the Brothers of Virtue. Together they drove the monsters back into hell, sealing them there for all eternity. The humans were victorious, and monsters were no more.”

Chara frowned. Something about the narrative rang hollow. If Chara were so holy, where the words of mercy he had so painstakingly scribed in the Word?

The days blurred into months, the sky turning overhead as light flowed in through her prison window. It grew cold, bitterly so. Chara could not recall such a wicked winter in her memory. Always she shivered, bound in many blankets and furs.

Her contractions started the night of the winter solstice. On the longest, darkest night, the precipice before the world turned back towards sun and spring, she labored. Pain wracked her intensely, making it hard to breathe, her cries most often the only sound. Murmured instructions came from the midwife every so often, as she felt herself pulling apart to bring the new life into the world.

Finally, exhausted, her hair wet and stringy around her damp face, Chara heard a small cry.

“What is it?” she croaked.

The midwife looked to the door, where a soldier stood guard, waiting.

“A girl,” she whispered. She laid her hand on Chara’s gently, and tears sprang to Chara’s eyes. It was the first kindness she had known in a long time. “I know they will not accept it, but I will remember her name, should you decide to give her one.”

“F-” Chara almost swore as spots darkened her vision, like the sheets around her stained heavily with blood. “Risk,” she breathed. To love her had been her biggest risk, though she could not help but do so.

“Frisk,” the midwife nodded, smiling gently though her eyes were drawn. Chara sank back, too tired to correct her. A faint memory swam in the dark just beyond the edge of her conscious mind, of some deeper reason for the name, but as she reached for it, she started to fade. The midwife stood, and the last image she saw was the midwife bending over her with alarm in her eyes.

Disjointed images flickered like distorted candlelight. A doctor firmly pushing on her body. A priest praying at her bedside, asking first to give her life so that she might continue to serve and repent, and at last to forgive her for her sins. And through it, him, looming over her, sending pain through her body with his rough hands. Then the midwife - the midwife?

“Chara,” she said in a throaty whisper, and Chara raised her head, feeling sore and tired, but with a measure of strength returned to her. She was convalescent, her life force no longer draining away.

“Chara,” the voice insisted. Chara turned to look at her, pushing herself up.

“You must leave, Chara,” the midwife said, and now Chara recognized her as Bridget, from across the river. “I have heard you let slip the truth of your condition in your fevered dreams. You must leave, for now that you are well enough, they will not stay your execution.”

Bridget helped her to her feet, where she stood, legs trembling. The midwife foisted furs upon her, quickly guiding her shaking limbs through them. Then, lightly grabbing her arm, she pulled her out the door. They slipped through the sleeping abbey, out to the gates, where snow as white as a doctor’s coat, as cold as bone, glimmered softly even in the darkness. Snow fell thick, and even as Bridget unlocked the gate, the wind picked up and the snow started to turn half to ice, wet and stinging against her bare face.

“Go,” the midwife insisted.

“Where?” Chara asked desperately, struggling to hold herself upright.

“Mt. Ebott,” Bridget said.

“But legend tells those who seek the mountain never return!” Chara gasped.

Bridget looked her in the eyes then, and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Folk tales hold differently,” she said kindly. “They say those of corrupted heart will find judgment, but those who are pure will find sanctuary. I would stake my chances that, as the church stifles these rumors, perhaps this mountain will judge you differently than they. Now go.” She pushed Chara out of the gate, following like a shadow and locking it behind her. “That way.”

Chara stumbled in the direction of her outstretched hand, tripping and slogging through the heavy snow. The wind picked up as she entered the forest, whipping the trees into a frenzy and howling a wild and desperate song. Though the mountain was a ways away, she knew she could not succumb. The winter would strive to execute her as surely as the church.

In the distance, she heard muffled shouting. She continued to struggle almost blindly through the sleet, her extremities numb. She was glad of the weather, however; it would set her and her pursuers on even ground, and hide her flight through the trees.

Her strength failing, she arrived at the base of the mountain. The sounds of pursuit were nearer now, and she broke into a faltering run, scrambling and slipping over the now-somewhat hardened snow.

The shouts grew closer. She could hear individual voices now, and the clang and scrape of metal on metal. They had to be right behind her, invisible in the snow that limited her visibility to a mere five feet around. Her heart hammered, dread for once making her feet lighter.

Finally, she stepped down only to find the darkness had grown, and yet there was no ice underfoot. Perhaps she was in a cave? She stepped forward recklessly, her feet leaden, barely lifting. Her foot caught on a root, and she tumbled forward into space.

Her limbs flew up as she landed with a crack. She lay stunned. As she tried to move, pain surged through her broken body, white and hard like ice. It was as though she could feel each of her veins pulsing with blood, spilling out into the caverns of her body. Fear overtook her.

She managed to get one arm underneath herself, but as she tried to push herself to her feet, her back and side split in agonized response. She let out a scream, her cry wavering as her voice broke. How could she still be alive?

Darkness settled in, stealing sensation slowly away as it swept like poison through her veins. At last, a feeling of ready resignation crept into her heart. If she was to die, she would die. At least her child was safe. Frisk was safe.

A voice drifted towards her like a cloud. She was annoyed. It disturbed the peaceful floating sensation she was feeling, reminding her of a truth that she wanted to remain unknown.

“Hey, are you alright?” the voice came again, not so static-ridden this time.

She groaned as some of the feeling came rushing back into her, and the cold and pain along with it.

“Oh my gosh,” the voice said. Chara felt herself being raised up by small, strong arms, one of her own arms draped across a pair of slim shoulders.

The stranger helped her walk, one of her legs dragging uselessly behind her. They did most of the work, supporting and carrying her. Finally they reached a small, tidy house with an open rectangle carved out of the stone for a door.

A white blur stepped from the house.

“My child?” it asked, and Chara’s eyes focused at the familiar words. The white blur emerging from the doorway took the form of a ten-foot-tall goat demon, with red-glinting eyes.

Monsters. Looking down, Chara saw furry white hands. She shoved herself away in fear, falling on her side. Everything went black.

Chapter 3: "The ability to remain sober and gracious is, indeed, a form of mild insanity."

Notes:

So, this work is nearly finished but I think I'm going to continue with weekly updates in case I need to edit stuff for continuity. I have a sequel planned, but I don't know when I'm going to be able to work on it because I've had some health issues come up. Thanks for understanding!

“The ability to remain sober and gracious is, indeed, a form of mild insanity.”

Chara bolted upright, panting and shaking. Had everything been a dream?

She took in the small room where she had awoken. Purple bedsheets were pulled to hospital corners at the ends, though they were rumpled now near her. There was a wardrobe, and a box of old toys.

As Chara looked around, the door cracked open, and the goat demon she had seen before entered slowly. She eyed it warily, but realized she was at its mercy.

“How are you, my child?” it - no, she - asked. The demon had a distinctly feminine voice. Chara still shuddered.

“Oh, I do not have to call you that if it makes you uncomfortable,” the demon quickly said. “I am sorry.”

Chara stared. “No, it is alright…,” she said slowly. “You are a monster, right?”

“Yes,” the demon said simply. “I am Toriel, queen of monsters.”

“But…you are not, eating me, or torturing me, or some such thing?”

“Heavens, no, child!” Toriel gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. “Whatever would give you that idea?”

“The church,” Chara mumbled sourly, looking down at her lap “Because they’re so often right.” She looked up at Toriel. “It’s just, where I come from, monster is a - a colloquialism for a terrible person. Actual monsters were supposed to be terrible demons, sealed in hell long ago.”

“Ah,” Toriel sighed heavily. “History is written by the victors. Shall I tell you of the battle, long ago?”

“Alright,” Chara said, leaning back against the headboard of the bed.

“Long ago, two races ruled over earth: monsters, and humans,” she began. “They lived in peace and prosperity for many long and golden years. However, humans feared death so. From fear sprang jealousy, growing in the hearts of humans. Though monsters are not strong, our lifespans are long, and some among us may be immortal should we not reproduce. Furthermore, in their ignorance, they misconstrued our souls to contain sin. A dark sect grew among humans, the Brotherhood of Mages.

“One day, war broke out between the two races. Monsters suffered many losses, and dust lay thick on the battlefield. You see, when a monster dies, they turn to dust. After a particularly long battle, the humans were again victorious. The pale white spectres, covered in dust, advanced upon us, driving us to the base of this mountain.

“It was then Chara came to us. He offered to end the dusting and bloodshed, to seal us away and keep us safe. The king and I agreed to take his offer, though we saw as well as he that we would be consigning ourselves to a prison that could become eternal. He and seven mages who had taken names of virtue in pursuit of their ideals sealed us underground. Here we remain to this day, protected by a barrier which will reject the unworthy unto death. However, monsters cannot pass themselves through the barrier. We are trapped.”

Chara stared, wide-eyed. This was definitely not the history she had read.

“Tori,” a deep voice rumbled, as the door cracked open again. A larger demon - monster - stood, taking up the whole doorway, with crimson eyes and large, curling horns spiraling beside his face.

Chara fought back the urge to laugh as hysteria stole through her. How was any of this possible?

“Oh, you are awake,” the larger monster rumbled. “How wonderful.” He beamed.

At this Chara did start to laugh. Sudden and uncontrollable, her sides started to hurt from the quick, barking laughter as tears ran down her face.

“Asgore,” she vaguely heard Toriel say as she put her head in her hands, trying desperately to reclaim control over her breathing. “Perhaps you should leave?”

A small, familiar voice then spoke, breaking through the fog that surrounded her mind.

“It’s okay,” it said, and Chara looked up to see a smaller goat monster standing in front of Asgore. “I am Asriel. This is my dad, the king. His name is Asgore. You’ve met Toriel, my mom, already. What is your name?” He spoke slowly and clearly, looking directly at her.

“Um, Chara,” Chara hiccuped. “I’m named for St. Chara - er… um, the humans have a different view of him....” she trailed off.

“It’s nice to meet you, Chara.” Asriel smiled, and Chara felt the tension inside her relax just slightly. “Everything is going to be alright.”

Chara stayed in that room for days, eating butterscotch pie and talking only with the three goat monsters. Though her body seemed to have been healed, her mind was still reeling with everything she had seen and heard.

Finally, on her fifth day, she left the small room, padding from the room in the striped sweater and the pants Bridget had given her.

“Ah, you are up,” Asgore said as she padded out of the room barefoot, looking up from where he sat talking to Toriel.

“What were you talking about?” Chara asked, trying to ground her unsteady mind.

“We were discussing the crowding of Home,” Toriel said. “That is what we call our land here. We were considering expanding into the unexplored regions of the Underground.”

“Oh,” Chara said, unable to think of a response. She clutched her arms.

“Chara,” Asriel said, coming into the room. “How are you?”

“I am well, thanks,” she replied, still not looking at them.

“Would you like to see Home?” he said gently.

Chara nodded, and Toriel stood, walking over to her. She gently took Chara’s hands in hers.

“Be careful, my child,” she said tenderly, and Chara fought back tears. She engulfed her in a hug, then stepped back. Asriel joined her, and they left the small house.

Chara was astonished by the sheer variety of monsters. There were monsters that looked like strange deer with sideways mouths, small, frog-like monsters, monsters that seemed to be fish with full bodies, monsters that were a cross between a fish and a horse - the endless stream left Chara gawking. Asriel finally led her to a balcony overlooking the city.

“My parents really like you,” he said idly. “We’ve been talking - I told them I’ve always wanted a sister.”

Chara smiled, though not without mixed emotions. These monsters had saved her life, and she really did care for them. They were kind to her. The idea of a happy family, though, was not a concept within her grasp of experience.

“You don’t have to decide now,” he said, staring out at the horizon. “After all, you’ve only just met us.”

He picked the petals off of a purple flower. “If you don’t mind me asking, though, why did you come here? The barrier has not let a human through in my memory.”

Chara looked down. The memories of her lost child were too near. “How old are you?” she asked, deflecting the question.

“Thirty-five,” he answered, drawing a sideways glance from Chara. “Though, for all intents and purposes, I am yet a teenager. But you haven’t answered my question.”

Chara drew her arms in tight, avoiding his gaze. Finally she said, “The church rejected me as the barrier would, deeming me unworthy. Among other things that the church did, that is the reason I have come.”

She was aware of Asriel’s stare on her. Finally she saw him smirk out of the corner of her eye and punch her lightly in the arm. “You talk like my parents,” he said, grinning a sharp-toothed grin.

Chara couldn’t help but smile in response. It was true, she talked like someone in the upper classes. She was from the upper classes. Her grin faded and she looked back out to the horizon, her mind blank.

“Come on,” Asriel said at last. “Mom and dad have been talking about moving for some time now. Let’s go see what they’ve decided.”

Within days, the preparations were finalized. They were planning on moving out into the vast Underground, because there was simply no more room in Home.

The day they were to leave, Chara stood with Toriel, Asgore, and Asriel - the Dreemurrs, she had learned, was their surname. Fitting, she thought, for a family so pure. The door to the rest of the Underground lay behind, a crowd of monsters before them.

“Today, we will find a new homeland,” Toriel boomed, and the monsters cheered, then quieted as Toriel raised a hand.

“I ask that you all please be careful. We may indeed find many dangers along the way. Protect your own, and do not falter. We go now!”

The gathered monsters roared, and the Dreemurrs turned and pushed open the door.

An expanse of snowy woods greeted their eyes, and Chara felt a shiver of deja vu crawl over her back. They stepped out into the snow, and began their journey.

They passed though the cavern full of snow, where some monsters stayed. The snow gradually faded to a damp marsh full of waterfalls and rain which dropped off to a seemingly endless abyss on one side. Eventually steam began to rise from the water, and glassy black crags rose, until they followed narrow pathways above surging magma. Eventually, the passed through an area of grey stone, at the end of which lay a whiteness which seemed somehow to stretch into the distance as blackness pulsed through it.

“We have reached the barrier,” Asgore called out to the remaining monsters. Many had broken off along the way. “We shall go no further.”

Chara resisted the urge to sit on the hard stone, which at this moment looked quite comfortable. She stood as the king and queen gave orders, sweeping their arms to point in one direction or another. Eventually, a temporary camp had been set up, with plans to begin building in the morning.

Chara and the Dreemurrs all assisted with the building. As Chara broke and lifted stone, she became strong and lean. She also grew close with the Dreemurrs, the mischievous Asriel especially. They laughed as they replaced a monster’s sandwich with a whoopie cushion, and ran hollering and whooping from a furious fish monster after bombarding them with fish puns.

In a matter of months, a citadel sprang up, and a palace was built at the very threshold of the barrier. The monsters were thriving, and life was good.

Chara walked through the market one day, eyeing various wares. A Vegetoid sold monster food, while a Woshua sold scented soaps. A lizard-looking monster sold various items, many familiar to Chara, that she suspected had come from the dump. A young, eager looking bunny monster stood next to a cart with a sign advertising “Nice Cream”.

The Dreemurrs had given her some pocket change, and as she strode, royal robes flapping around her ankles, she looked for some echo flowers. Asgore was an avid gardener, and Chara liked to join him, gently and carefully pruning away the dead leaves to nurture the plants into growing. It took her mind away from the feelings that still plagued her from all those months ago, when Frisk had been conceived. Secondarily, Asriel had had an idea for an amazing prank with the echo flowers, but was at home sick. Fire kept shooting from his nostrils when he sneezed, singeing his fur.

Not paying attention to where she was going, Chara walked straight into someone, who let out an “Oof,” and dropped an armload of heavy tomes on her foot.

“Ouch, she barked, hopping on one foot and grabbing her toe.

“Oh, your highness, I am sorry,” the monster said, reaching a hand - a skeletal hand - out to her. “I can heal you, if you need.”

“No, thank you,” Chara said, rubbing her foot ruefully as she stopped hopping and looked up at the skeleton. “I am sorry, the fault is mine. I was not watching where I was going.”

“It is no problem,” the skeleton said, sticking out a hand, his cheeks glowing purple. Was he blushing? “I am Wing Dings Gaster. It is, uh, nice to meet you.”

Chapter 4: "God can't help you now."

 “God can’t help you now.”

He was definitely blushing.

“Chara,” Chara said, shaking his hand. She recognized that he was about her age, though she would not have been able to tell when she first fell. He was tall and slender, wearing a purple turtleneck and a pair of square-rimmed glasses.

“I have to go the library - to the library,” he said quickly, obviously flustered. Chara held down a smile, lips twitching.

“Here, let me help,” Chara said, stooping to pick up the scattered books.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to,” he said, but Chara had already gathered the heavy tomes in her arms.

“I can carry some, at least,” he protested.

“Sorry,” Chara teased. “As the princess, I order you to let me carry them.”

“But -”

“Butts are for sitting,” Chara quipped. She snuck a glance at the skeleton, whose whole face was bright purple.

She carried the volumes to the library, Wing in tow. Setting them down, she took a look at the top one.

“Advanced Particle Physics,” she said, frowning, brows knitting together. “What’s that?”

Gaster straightened instantly, his face stretching into a grin. He launched into a long-winded explanation that was mostly incomprehensible.

At Chara’s blank face, his grin faltered. “I’m sorry if that doesn’t make sense,” he said quietly.

“Maybe try again, but this time, use English?” Chara said, grinning lazily.

“But - I was,” Gaster insisted, missing the point.

“Besides,” Chara said, her cheeks starting to burn. “I think it’s cute.”

Gaster blushed deep purple.

“Anyway,” Chara said loudly, making several monsters glare in her direction. Her own blush deepened, and she spoke more quietly. “Why were you reading those books? Are you a scientist?” In her world, scientist had been a gentleman’s pastime, and though he spoke like someone of high class, he did not act like it.

He raised his head proudly. “I am the royal scientist,” he proclaimed, earning himself several stares. “I’m working on a project I call the Core, which will provide electricity to the whole underground.”

“Electricity?” Chara asked.

“Let me show you,” he responded. “May I?”

She hesitated, then took his proffered hand.

There was a sensation as though the universe was whirling around a point in her core, and her vision was obscured for a split second. When it stopped, she was in a lab. She laughed as an exhilarated rush passed through her chest.

Wing watched her, looking pleased. “It is always amazing, the first time,” he said.

Chara grinned at him, and he ducked his head, rummaging in a drawer. He took out a contraption that looked like a clear bulb, a box, and a series of strings. The strings had metal clamps on the end, and as he touched a red string to the box, the bulb flared with light.

Chara leaned in closer. “But - wait, does the box store magic?”

“The box stores electricity ,” Wing corrected her. “It is not magic. It is negatively-charged subatomic particles flowing along a wire and through a filament to create heat and light.”

Chara fixed him with a stare, and he let out a short, helpless laugh. “Think of it as energy produced by objects that works to create an effect.”

“Ah,” Chara said, understanding dawning within her. “Perhaps I can get a tutor in science so I can better understand.”

“That would be great,” Wing said smiling shyly.

“Hey Wingnut,” another skeleton said, walking into the room. This one wore a yellow sundress, and strolled casually in while taking a messy bit of a hotcat.

“Hey, PuceLuce,” he replied, grinning. “Chara, this is Lucida. She’s an intern here.”

“Nice to meet you,” Chara said, shaking her hand.

“See if you can find us,” Lucida suddenly shrieked, pulling Chara forward into a teleportation.

They ended up in Waterfall, Chara herself standing under the cavern’s namesake and Lucida just to the side. Lucida laughed as Chara stepped out, shook herself off, and then whooped from the residual spell. She smiled easily at Lucida, then grew serious.

“What is it?” Lucida asked.

“It’s just -” Chara struggled to find the words to describe the disjointed feeling she had. “This is normal, is it not? At least, this is what normal is supposed to be. My life was never like this, before. I am telling you this, which I never would have done, but I trust you, and,” she stopped, overwhelmed. Conflicted emotions rushed through her.

“Frisk will never get to experience this,” she said simply. “Not in the world I come from.”

“Frisk?” Lucida said gently, putting a hand on the back of her upper arm.

“Frisk was - is my child,” Chara said, not-quite-looking at her over her shoulder. Then she did look at her. “Don’t tell Wing. It is not a story I wish to tell.”

“Ok,” Lucida said, rubbing her arm. “Let’s go to Grillby’s. Maybe you’ll feel better after some soul food.” They teleported away.

“How did you find us so fast?” Lucida complained, when Gaster popped in moments later. Grillby frowned and pointed again at the sign which read, “Please use the door; no teleporting.”

“How did I pick up the readings on a human soul in the underground so quickly? Indeed.” They laughed.

Later that day, they lounged against the barrier.

“Why am I still kept here?” Chara asked idly, tapping the back of her hand to the barrier. Cool morning twilight filtered in through the barrier, a slight golden glow.

“We do not know,” Wing said, frowning and scratching his temple. He adjusted his glasses. “The original hope for the Core was that it might generate enough power for us to seek our freedom. Unfortunately, though it generates both magical energy and mundane electricity, it lacks the essential element that grants sentience to souls.”

“Ugh, speak English,” Asriel groaned, and Lucida giggled.

“Why do monsters want to escape the underground?” Chara asked, ignoring him. She drew her knees up, hugging them to her chest and settling her chin upon them. “The surface isn’t that great.”

“It is monsterkind’s dearest ambition to reach the surface, one day,” Gaster said quietly. “Do you not miss it? The sun and the stars, heavens turning above you? The wind drifting clouds across an empty sky, sweetening the free air?”

Chara swallowed, the words evoking a deep longing within her. Unable to settle with the strange feeling, she buried it under thoughts of the past.

“I do not miss humankind,” she retorted. “Humans are cruel to their own, and crueler still to those they see as different. They would slaughter you as soon as look at you.”

“Not all humans are bad,” Asriel put in, resting a hand on her knee. “There’s you.”

Chara scowled, emotions using her chest as a battleground.

Weeks later, Chara shifted in one of the library’s more comfortable armchairs. She looked up and over at Gaster, who was rapidly scribbling on a sheet of paper, balancing a book precariously on his knees. He looked up, and the ridge of his eye shifting up, similar to an eyebrow being raised. Chara smiled and her eyes fluttered down shyly, then back up. She could hear Asriel and Lucida whispering in heated debate to the left and behind her.

Gaster jerked his head subtly to the side, then raised both of his eye ridges. Chara twisted her mouth, as if considering, then slowly reached his hand across the interim space to meet his.

Chara laughed joyfully as the world stopped swirling. They stood on a high precipice overlooking the Underground. Chara could see New Home, Hotlands, a dark patch, and in the far distance, a white glimmer she supposed was the Snowdin Woods. She let out a breath as the overwhelming sight made her insides go still.

“Wing,” she sighed. “This is wonderful. I have not felt so content in many months.”

“I am glad you like it,” he said, smiling an uneven smile, and looking at her soulfully. “Chara,” he said slowly. “I really am fond of you.”

His cheeks were lilac, but his hands were steady as he gently turned her to him and put the other hand gently on the warm skin of her face. Her heart pulsed, thundering in her chest like the beat of a war drum. Flustered, she brushed a lock of hair from her face.

“I care for you too, Wing,” she said. “I mean, I know that is no secret to you, but I thought I should say it, and -”

She was cut off abruptly as the hand on her arm slid down to meet her hand, and his face met hers. She was surprised, not that his bone was malleable, as she had seen evidence of that before, but that it was warm, and soft.

He kissed her deeply, leaving her breathless and unsteady. She clutched his neck with one arm as the hand that was on her face fluidly found the small of her back. He lowered her down, releasing her hand and putting his next to her shoulder, his knees next to her. He leaned over her, flushed.

“Chara,” he murmured, and she dizzily took in a deep breath. A feeling started to expand within her, like the free and wild sensation of running just to run, straining to pull the ground underneath one’s feet, to fly.

In front of her, a blurry, glowing red object began to take shape. In appearance like the papers released into the air like swarms of butterflies on St. Chara’s Day, it was both new and intimately familiar to her.

“Wing, what is that?” Chara gasped as he ran his fingers though her hair. Another one of the objects began to take form, white, and upside-down in proportion to hers.

“Your soul,” he breathed. “Trying to Soul-mate.”

The red image flickered as a warm, dry unease slid over her face.

“We do not have to,” Wing said quickly, his own soul flickering in response. “I could no more force a Soul-mating than pass through the barrier. To do so would be to gain LOVE.”

“No,” Chara said, “It is alright.” Maybe it was his gentle hesitancy, or the fact that his hands were conspicuously free of perspiration. Though she knew somehow that this was in the most basic of ways an equivalent act to that she had been subjected to, this was consensual. It was not the same.

Chara arched her back as their souls met and merged. Tears swept her eyes as indescribable feeling swelled though her, filling her to the brim. Every part of her rushed with tingling sensation, exhilarating.  She Knew Wing, intimately, as the essence of his being rushed through the deepest parts of her.

Finally their souls came away from one another. Before they faded, Chara saw that his soul was stained pink, and hers was paler, though she thought nothing of it.

“I love you, Chara,” Wing murmured.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, into the now-dark cave. Sleepily, her awareness drifted off, and she was only vaguely aware of being carried by strong arms and a loping gait that rocked her like a gentle river.

The next morning, Chara felt shaky, slightly-yet-treacherously weak, as if she were just beginning to come down with influenza.

She made her way to the library, where shyly, blushing, she met Gaster and entwined her fingers with his.

“Where did you guys go last night?” Asriel asked, leaning against the building with his hands in his shorts pockets.

“You guys weren’t doing anything inappropriate, were you?” Lucida teased.

Wing looked down at Chara, his gaze deep. Inwardly, she pleaded for him not to reveal what they had done. Then he turned back to them.

“I took her to visit Arial in the ruins,” he said, gliding smoothly over the subject.

“Ooh, your little sister?” Lucida gushed, alleviating Chara’s confusion and momentary panic. “How is she?”

“She is well,” Wing replied, giving Chara’s hand a quick squeeze. “What say we go to the Echo Flower grove today?”

“But we’ve already been there a million times,” Asriel said, sounding bored.

“I haven’t,” Chara cut in. She sneezed, rubbing her nose shakily with her free hand. Wing looked at her with concern, but she smiled, and he shrugged.

“Fine,” Asriel said, standing but still slouching. Lucida lightly held her hand out, palm down, and Asriel put his on top. They disappeared, and the familiar sensation of teleportation overcame Chara.

When it stopped, they were in Waterfall. Here the walls were close, the paths through the water narrow and damp. Though the rest of the underground was lit by strange illumination that waxed and waned as the days and nights, here it was eternally dim, some rooms even falling routinely into darkness.

“Here we are,” Asriel said.

Chara jumped as Asriel’s voice repeated the phrase behind her. Lucida and Asriel burst out laughing, and Wing chuckled.

He put a hand between her shoulder blades and with the slightest pressure turned her around. A flower, luminescent blue, repeated the phrase again as she turned to it.

She giggled. “Greetings,” she said, and the flower copied her.

“I am Chara,” she said.

“I am Chara,” the flower repeated.

“No, I am Chara, she said in mock-sternness, raising her voice. Wing’s eye ridges bunched together.

“Greetings,” she shouted, flinging her arms out wide.

“Chara,” Wing said insistently, as the echo flower repeated it, then another. A cacophony grew around them. “Don’t - look out!”

He shoved her aside, and as she fell to the ground, the breath was knocked out of her. There was a loud crack, and a tinkling, shattering sound.

“Oh, so the stars are - hollow crystals,” she heard Wing say in a halting, strained voice.

She sat up, a hand pressed to her chest.

“Oh no,” she whispered. Wing lay prone, one arm stretched out longer then the other, bent one over his head, amidst shattered glowing blue crystal. His bone had shallow gouges carved from them haphazardly, and hairline fractures ran along his shoulders and back.

“You never shout near Echo Flowers,” Asriel accused in an angry whisper.

“I didn’t know,” Chara pleaded. “Wing, are you-”

In a frightened tone, Lucida whimpered, “I’ll go get help.”

Chapter 5: “This was a topsy-turvy world full of anguish, shame, and self-torment.”

 

“This was a topsy-turvy world full of anguish, shame, and self-torment.”

“Asriel, can you not heal him,” Chara asked, wringing her hands.

“No,” he barked, crossing his arms. There was a defensive edge to his voice, overlaying fear. Tears began to leak from his eyes. “You know I’m no good at healing or teleportation.

Wing’s breathing was ragged.

“Oh, Wing,” Chara said, her hand hovering over him, too afraid to touch him.

“I am - alright,” he managed, raising his head a few inches off the muddy ground. His face was a sickly lavender.

“I am so sorry. I wish I could do something,” Chara said. “Without magic, I am just - helpless.”

“It is - alright,” Wing said, then let out a cry, drawing in a series of quick, sharp breaths.

Her focus tunneling, Chara only noticed the skeleton when she knelt beside Wing.

“Wing,” she said. “It is alright, my son. Get the queen,” she hissed to Lucida, who was hovering anxiously. Placing her hands on Wing’s shoulder, red energy began to flow from her hands into his body. Though his wounds remained the same, his breathing eased.

“I am so sorry,” Chara said through a throat that was painfully pinched in a vise, both to Wing and his mother.

“It is not your fault, child,” a deep, gravelly male voice said behind her. “Garamond,” he introduced. “My wife, Aster.”

He sank to his knees next to his son, flashing her a compassionate glance, then laying his fingers gingerly as snowflakes on Wing’s wrist. No glow appeared, and Chara was distracted enough by this that her distraught emotions stilled slightly and she shot Garamond a confused glance.

“I am as helpless as you are,” he shrugged, worry plain on his face.

The queen strode into view, lifting her skirts as she hurried over the clinging marsh-grass. Falling heavily to her knees, she put her hands on his injuries and sent a heavy flow of green magic coursing through him, so all his bones started to glow.

Sitting up, Wing took a deep breath. The others all let out shaky, relieved ones.

“Oh man, you almost were a duster,” Asriel breathed.

“Hey, one may die at any time,” Wing said, a smile spreading across his face. “I almost dust-did.”

Groans resounded from the whole group, and Chara threw her arms around Wing. He easily caught her with one arm.

“Sh,” he whispered. “It is alright.”

Later that day, they sat in the Dreemurr’s kitchen while Asgore made them all cups of strong tea.

“So, Aster Gaster?” Chara asked, grinning.

“What?” Wing asked, obviously confused.

“Your surname,” she prompted.

“Oh,” Wing said, realization dawning in his eyes. “No, monster names work a bit differently. We each have a given name and a family name, and most skeletons choose to go by their given names. The family name is a mix of the parent’s names; hence Gaster, Asriel, etcetera.”

“Then what about the Dreemurrs?”

“They are boss monsters,” Wing explained, then amended, “You know this. They carry a lineage name. Once there were many such names: the Dreemurrs, the Undyings, the Fonts -”

“The Fonts?” Chara asked. “Like the Fonts of Virtue?”

“The Fonts of Virtue?” It was Wing’s turn to ask.

Chara launched into a reluctant explanation, offering her incomplete knowledge.

Weeks later, Asriel and Chara planned a surprise for Asgore’s birthday.

“We should make butterscotch pie,” Chara said eagerly, swinging her legs and stifling a cough.

“I dunno,” Asriel said, lounging balanced on a chair tipped on two legs. “Mom always does that.”

“True, but I have been wanting to try it anyway,” Chara whined. “And it is his favorite .” She nudged the bottom of one of the suspended legs, upsetting his balance.

“Fine,” Asriel said, flailing and catching himself.

They gathered the ingredients.

“What is this?” Chara asked, bending over the book and peering intently at the smudged ink. “Four butter - cups? Buttercups? That is strange.”

“Eh, not really. I’ve seen stranger,” Asriel said, walking through the door into the garden and pulling up a fistful of buttercups.

They cooked the pie, and it came out smelling a little different, but still good.

“The scent is unusual,” Chara commented.

“Oh, we forgot cinnamon,” Asriel said, smacking the heel of his palm against his forehead. “We can probably add some on top.”

Too eager to wait, they brought the pie out as soon as Asgore returned home from speaking to the merchants in Snowdin.

“Oh, what is this, my children?” he asked.

“We made you a pie for your birthday, but we couldn’t wait,” Chara chattered.

“Try some,” Asriel insisted eagerly.

Asgore took the fork Asriel offered, cutting a large piece of pie out and holding it on the pad of his hand. He took a large bite, and a strange expression crossed his face. He swallowed with a large gulp, and took another bite, knitting his eyebrows together.

Suddenly, he clutched his stomach, spitting out the remaining pie and falling to one knee.

“Dad,” Chara and Asriel cried out in unison.

“What ingredients did you use?” Asgore asked, huffing.

“Just what the recipe said,” Asriel said. “Sugar, flour, buttercups.”

Asgore’s eyes widened. “My child, buttercups are poisonous.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Asriel cried pitifully. Asgore slumped to the floor, damp and feverish.

Toriel came out of Asgore’s room some time later.

“He is resting,” she said gravely. “He should recover in time. He is strong, and he only had a very little bit of the pie. Still, now you know the danger in those flowers.”

Asriel burst into tears.

“Should recover?” Chara asked, a chill passing down her spine. When doctors said that, she had found that the patient would perish as often as not.

“It is uncertain,” Toriel said, dipping her head. “Have faith, my child.”

Asgore’s burning fever broke eight days later. Toriel came out of the room, where Chara and Asriel had been sitting in shifts, though she had tried to encourage them otherwise.

“He will be well,” she said, exhausted, and they rushed in to see him.

He lay in bed, propped up by pillows. “My children,” he said.

They ran to him, burying their faces in his chest. He enveloped them in a warm, fuzzy hug.

As time passed, a steady white-hot burning grew in Chara’s chest, and she found herself wracked sometimes with violent coughing fits. She also began to feel listless much of the time, and a red, emotional burning would prickle from time to time through her chest, setting her racing thoughts aflame. She tried to hide these symptoms, more out of an old habit, branded into her until it was almost more instinct, that it was dangerous to reveal weakness to others. But one day she could hide it no longer.

She walked with Wing through the marketplace. The clamor of it was loud in her ears: ringing chimes, monsters haggling and hawking their wares, the stamp of footsteps on stone. Every little sound grated on her ears, and she had to nearly pull her arms down to prevent herself from covering her ears. Her breathing was quick, and a sharp pain lanced across her chest, causing her to gasp, sharp and quick.

“Are you alright?” Wing’s voice asked distantly.

“I - I think I am dying,” Chara said, sinking to the ground and pulling on his arm as she fell.

“Your HOPE is fine,” he replied, his voice echoing strangely. “Chara, you are experiencing an anxiety attack. I need you to breathe with me.”

“I can’t - I , there is,” Chara’s thoughts were scattering.

Wing took her chin in his hand and firmly forced her to meet his gaze.

“In,” he said, and she took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Good. Out.”

He measured her breathing for her until she had calmed, then draped her arm over his shoulders. He was too tall for her, so he knelt, able to tell that she could not support her weight on her own.

“Let’s go to the lab,” he said, his frown evident in his voice. “We should find out what may have caused this episode.”

Chara nodded, weary and numb. As the feeling of teleportation rushed through her and then faded, it unsettled her insides, making her violently sick. Wing helped her to one of the beds they had.

At the lab, Wing studied her intently. “I am sorry I cannot perform more extensive physical tests,” he said. “My knowledge of human anatomy is almost nonexistent.”

Chara simply stared down between her legs, saying nothing.

Then Gaster cast his hand out, summoning her soul into view. He gasped, and Chara looked up.

Her soul was a dirty grey-red. It did not in any way look healthy.

Wing picked up a sheet of crystal, pursing his lips and reading the scrolling text on the screen. Chara then though he paled, if that was even possible.

“Your determination -” he started, then broke off. “It is low, and dropping.”

Chara felt cold dread lock over her features. She knew how integral determination was to souls - it was one of the things she had been most eager about studying.

“But why?” Wing was muttering, stalking back and forth. “What could have - oh.” His voice fell, and pushing a button on the screen, he called up his own soul, wiping a milky drip from his head as he did so. His soul fell opposite hers on a grayscale, tinged very lightly grey-red.

“The Soul-mating?” he muttered frantically. “But why ?”

The king poured his resources into trying to find a cure for her. Chara grew more sickly, her mind wandering off to unknown places much of the time. When she was lucid, much of the time various magic experiments were being performed on her soul.

“Chara,” voices spoke through the haze, “Stay determined.” In the haze images drifted and shifted.

Running from streams of light from strange, grotesque skulls, striking a skeleton down with a blade.

A lower cackling, its face contorted, demonic, yet tears streaming from its eyes.

A familiar face that would not come into focus, bringing her untold anguish.

Wing was the most grieved, working tirelessly to save her, tiny fissures making the areas under his eyes dark. Her fate was unclear, and he blamed himself for it. This much she knew, though: the loss of her determination would not kill her. But she wondered, was it worth it to live the life she did now, with a failing body and mind?

Wing came to her in the night. “Chara,” he whispered, waking her from the light slumber that she had sunk into, unable to rest well due to her inability to properly draw breath.

“Yes, my dear?” she smiled into the dark.

“I may have found a solution to your problem,” he said, but Chara noted how his voice was pained.

“Wing,” she warned weakly.

“Do not forget about me,” he whispered. “Don’t forget.”

“Wing,” she cried, but he was gone.

Chara awoke with a little more strength and a deep sense of loss. Something tickled the back of her mind, something important. The memory seemed encased in putty, and the more forcefully she pushed against it, the more it hardened, until her head ached from the mental effort of trying to push through.

“Mom,” she called in a quavering voice. “Dad?”

The door burst open, and Toriel rushed in. She stopped, frozen in the doorway.

“Chara?” she whispered. “You are alright?”

“Yes,” Chara managed through an aching throat. Toriel rushed to her, burying her in a tight yet careful hug. Chara couldn’t help but wince, her body feeling like so much glass about to shatter and paper about to crumple. She must have tensed, because Toriel drew back, her hands around Chara’s upper arms.

“Asgore,” she called in a choked voice. “Come here. It is Chara.”

There was a clatter, and Asgore rushed into the room, terror like a storm on his face. As he moved around Toriel and saw Chara grinning weakly, he feel to his knees beside her.

“My child,” he gasped, taking her hand in both of his and bowing his head.

Though Chara felt somewhat better, her condition did not improve.

“I wonder why we do not have an expert in soul magic already helping her. I thought-,” she overheard Asgore say, piquing her memory. The wall remained there still, and she gritted her teeth, a tightening feeling growing in her temples, but to no avail. The longing grew.

Unable to hide from these feelings, Chara was struck with the realization that this was how monsters must always feel. Weakly, confined to bed most of the time, she summoned Asriel to her side.

“Asriel,” she croaked, her throat painfully dry. He handed her the glass of water on her bedside table, and she gratefully took a sip.

“W-” she started then paused, troubled. “Someone told me once,” she finally managed, “that a human and a monster soul together could pass through the barrier.”

“Yes,” he said, looking at her strangely, his gaze uncertain. “But that would mean someone had to die.”

“Yes,” Chara said, and his eyes flew to meet hers. “Me.”

“No,” Asriel said, jumping to his feet. “We almost just lost you! I can’t bear that again.” He shuddered, chest heaving.

“Asriel,” Chara sighed. “I can do something good for monsterkind-”

“You already have,” Asriel interrupted.

Chara kept talking. “I can help. With both our souls, we will become so powerful that we can take down the heads of the church, conquer the humans, and save monsters.”

“No,” Asriel said.

“Asriel, please,” Chara pleaded. “I am in so much pain, all the time. I do not want to live like this.”

Tears streamed from Asriel’s eyes.

“Chara, I don’t like this plan,” he finally said.

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“I’d never doubt you,” he said.

“Please, then,” she said. “I need buttercups.”

Chara quickly sickened again. Asriel kept coming in, feeding her petals, revulsion and self-hatred stamped across his face as he did. Asgore and Toriel were heartbroken, tears falling freely from their eyes as they tended her.

Chara felt when the moment arrived. Asriel was by her side, as they had arranged. She felt herself slipping, falling from her body, her diminishing life force unable to maintain the connection between her body and soul.

“A-s,” she sighed, then felt her head drop.

Immense power surged through her. She raised her hands, seeing white fur and black pads on her palms and fingers. She laughed joyously, then knelt to pick up her body.

Chara, what are you doing? Asriel’s voice spoke in her head.

I want to take my body back, she shot back. I want them to know that it was me that brought them down, irrefutably. And, she continued, her voice softer, though you will retain my soul, I intend to sleep. I want to be buried under the sky.

Asriel nodded their head. Walking through the door, they spotted Toriel slumped over in the hall, fast asleep. Tenderness stole through their heart.

They crept to the barrier, and felt a rippling sensation spreading from their core as they passed through. With a triumphant cry, they broke into an easy sprint, the ground flying underneath them.

Soon they reached the village, where familiar golden flowers grew. Chara had forgotten the dandelions which spread across the vast fields. In her memory, the surface had been held captive in the winter she had fled. As she waded through the shimmering gold, little puffs of white clung to her fur.

Reaching the twenty-foot-high gate to the city, she ran and vaulted it. She landed inside and was met with the sound of screams.

MONSTER                    IT KILLED THAT HUMAN

OH MY LORD AND LADY                                  HEAVEN SAVE US KILL IT

          KILL IT  KILL IT         KILL IT        KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT       

Yes, Chara seethed. It was time to take revenge. Asriel, our magic.

Wait, he hesitated. These aren’t the souls we were going to take.

What does it matter? Kill them! It is kill or be killed!

No, Asriel said, his voice booming with the thunderclap of an ultimatum.

Then I’ll do it, Chara screamed in desperation, conjuring their soul.

No, Asriel said again, quietly this time. Chara tried to sweep a line of fire with her arm, but found she couldn’t move.

This was the plan!

No, the plan was to take the souls that deserved judgment!

They both cried out as the pain of an arrow tip burned through their flesh.

We must fight!

No!

A glacier rove across their front as a sword slashed out at them. They fell, one hand clutching the gaping wound in their chest.

THEY DON’T EVEN BLEED     MONSTER

KILL IT KILL IT       KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL

Tiny flecks of dust spiraled upward from their injuries. As it left them, they felt themselves becoming weaker.

So we die here, Chara said in despair.

A surge of strength passed through them.

Not here. Staggering to his feet, Asriel launched a rainbow fireball at the gate, sending burning wood exploding in every direction. With an uneven gait, he started to run, still cradling Chara’s body in one arm.

Though gravely injured, they outdistanced the humans that pursued them. Finding the cave from which they had emerged, they made their way to the throne room, finally collapsing on the floor in a cloud of dust.

Vague white figures swam in and out of focus, and sounds they vaguely recognized as being distressed met their ears.

Mom, they said, in perfect synchrony. Da - d.

Their outstretched arm fell.

Chapter 6: “Somehow I lost my way.”

 

“Somehow I lost my way.”

“Recite the Fonts of Virtue,” her mother’s voice spoke, high and cold.

“Bravery, Patience, Perseverance, Kindness, Justice, and Sacrament,” Frisk said in her childish voice, fear boiling in her heart. Counting, a shard of ice struck across her brain, rending it. She had forgotten one.

“No,” her mother said coldly. “Again, or you shall be sent to bed without dinner.”

Bridget’s sing-song words swirled in her mind.

Justice, the mighty sword, will uphold the holy Word,

Integrity is fair you see; it will invoke verity.

Perseverance long holds on, slowly it restores anon.

Bravery, strength so sincere, it will reveal your fear.

Patience, your will so tried, extends your vision th-rough time

Kindness, so dear an art, they say will return your heart.

And Holy Sacrament, be you pure, will within the soul cure.

Then a conversation echoed in her mind.

“Mama,” Bridget’s son said, in Frisk’s memory. “Davey told me to stay away from the mountain. He said people who go there don’t come back.”

“He is right,” Bridget said, picking him up and settling him on her lap. Her expression grew distant. “I once believed differently, but I was proved wrong.” Her eyes focused, and she looked sternly at her son. “You must never go there. It is a place of death.”

“Ok, mama,” he said, and Bridget’s kind eyes crinkled as she smiled at him.

Frisk awoke with a gasp. Putting her hand to her cheek with a feathery touch, she found it warm and wet with tears. She covered a shuddering breath with her hand, barely able to breathe as they tears coursed thick down her cheeks.

The lacerations on her midriff threatened to burst and bleed again, and Frisk cried harder with fear. If she bled on her clothes or the bedsheets, maybe this time her mother would kill her. She had flown into a rage like Frisk had never seen, taking her riding crop to her daughter after Frisk had drunk from the Font of Integrity at Communion. Her mother’s eyes were daggers as she recited sin after sin - she doubted the church, she did not love her mother, and her birth - her birth was the greatest sin, being born out of an unholy, unmarried union.

Summer sunlight streamed in through the open window, the scent of cut grass and dandelion breathed through the small room. Frisk felt weak, as if she had woken up from a long fever.

Staggering to her feet, she limped outside. There her mother brushed their horse with short, curt strokes.

“Mother,” Frisk presented herself, curtsying slightly and lowering her eyes as she had been taught, “I am awake now. How may I be of service to you?”

Her mother whipped around, her lip curling as she fixed Frisk with a burning stare. She stalked over, digging her fingernails into Frisk’s arm as she pulled it up over her head.

“ Mother ,” she mocked. “You are no daughter of mine. Leave, now.” She released Frisk’s arm, thrusting it back so Frisk stumbled and had to catch herself.

“Where shall I go, M-” Frisk stopped herself.

Her mother’s thin, arched eyebrows curved higher as her mouth lifted up on one side.

“Go to the mountain,” her mother said, “and do not return.”

Frisk stood frozen in shock, and her mother’s expression darkened, her eyes glittering with danger. She looked half-mad, and Frisk started backing away as her mother mounted her horse.

“Go,” her mother shrieked, kicking the horse’s sides and spurring it straight towards Frisk. Frisk turned, barely managing to climb the fence and fall painfully over the other side. Breaking into a run, she glanced back in time to see the horse vault the fence.

A master horsewoman, her mother managed to just keep the horse from trampling her, while urging every last bit of speed from her pounding, bursting heart and her lungs that were twin suns. Her legs, slowly petrifying, managed yet to find bursts of energy from deeper and deeper inside. Had her panicked, adrenaline-filled mind had the capacity for anything but terror, she might have wondered why her mother still pursued her. Her mother had never liked ensuring that the deed was done; Frisk simply had to do it or face the consequences.

The sound of hoofbeats paced into a light trot, then a few steady clops, as the sunlight dimmed. Heaving for breath, Frisk stopped, putting her hands on her knees and looking around. She was in a cave.

“What do you see?” her mother called from the mouth of the cave. Frisk desperately searched for something to report. In front of her, she spotted a depression, and walked over to investigate.

There was the slightest of golden glimmers at the bottom.

“There is a hole in the Earth,” Frisk replied weakly, her voice high and her vocal chords half-numb.

“Enter it,” her mother called back.

For the first time since she was a small child, Frisk hesitated.

“It would kill me,” she gasped through the stitch in her side.

“Then I shall kill you,” her mother replied, and Frisk heard the thump of her dismount.

Terror and despair lanced through Frisk, and she jumped.

Pain crashed through her like lightning, which was the only indication Frisk wasn’t dead. Her body - at least the normal configuration of limbs - was numb, the lancing lines of pain drawing a broken image of her, like a reflection caught in a shattered mirror. She was unable to think or feel anything but the raw screaming of her nerves - she herself could not even scream. Her vocal chords seized and closed when she tried.

After untold eternities, she felt a sense of determination steal into her. A voice in her whispered to her that this was not the end, that she could not give up. Frisk scowled, then winced, but pushed herself to her feet. She stood, swaying drunkenly as forest fires raged across and through her, then lurched forward, following the corridor to a large archway, beyond which she could hazily see a small, golden object.

As she crossed the room, the object came into focus. It was a golden flower, but strangely, it had a face. Frisk put a hand to her aching head. Perhaps she was dead after all, in hell, and this was one of the demons about which the church had warned. That would explain the hellfire coursing through her every artery, capillary, and vein.

“Howdy,” the flower spoke, and Frisk stopped, blinking hard. “I’m Flowey. Flowey the flower.”

Frisk could not speak, dumbfounded.

“Hmm, you’re new to the underground, aren’t’cha?” Frisk dimly thought that his speech patterns were strange, and could not help but fixate on it. “Golly, you must be so confused. Someone ought to teach you how things work around here! I guess little old me will have to do. Ready?” Frisk frantically shook her head, causing everything to spin and and earthquake to crack through her skull. Flowey ignored her. “Here we go!”

A glowing red object appeared in front of Frisk, causing her to stumble back and yelp. It followed her.

“See that heart?” Flowey said. “That is your soul, the very culmination of your being. Your soul starts off weak, but can become strong if you gain a lot of LV. What’s LV stand for? Why, LOVE, of course! You want some LOVE, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll share some with you!” He winked, sticking his tongue out.

“Down here, LOVE is shared through…” he paused, as if for effect. “Little white… friendliness pellets.” Frisk blinked hard again, and little flashing specks swam in and out of view.

She missed what he said next as she concentrated. They seemed to be coming towards her, and as they hit her soul, a deeper pain than the physical stabbed deep in her chest.

She fell to one knee, gasping, as a halo of the bullets surrounded her, for she figured that’s what they must be. Guns were a fairly recent invention, but living with a father in the clergy she had had the dubious benefit of seeing a rifle personally.

There was a cry, and as she forced her heavy head up to protests from her neck, Frisk saw a large white blur in front of her.

“Oh, what a nasty creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youth,” a gentle voice said. Frisk felt an immense tickling sensation run through her, as though she was being tapped by millions of faerie fingers. Her pain disappeared.

She straightened to see a large goat-demon in front of her.

“Is this hell?,” she asked.

“No, my child,” the demon said, looking confused. “This is the Underground.”

“But are you not a demon?” Frisk said, equally confused.

“I am a monster,” the goat-monster corrected, “though I understand humans have mislabeled us demons before. I am Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins. If you like, I shall lead you to my home, where you may rest and recover from your ordeal.”

Tears sprang to Frisk’s eyes. Toriel reminded her so much of Bridget. It was uncanny.

“Ah, do not cry,” Toriel exclaimed. “I am sorry. I can see you are a gentle soul. I should not have been so forward.”

“No, it is alright.” Frisk smiled, wiping her eyes with the back of one hand. “I offer my thanks for healing, and opening your home to me. I will gladly and gratefully accept. It is just that you remind me of someone I was very fond of.”

Toriel smiled in return, but hers was tinged with sadness. “You are a well-spoken young child. It is funny - you remind me in turn of someone I was once very fond of.” She looked down, then shook her head, meeting Frisk’s eyes again. “Come, my child. I will lead you through the Catacombs.”

Frisk followed her, as she explained the various puzzles in the Ruins, and how fights would work in the Underground. She asked Frisk to cross a long corridor by herself, which Frisk thought a rather strange request of a sixteen-year-old. However, Frisk did as Toriel asked, just as she always had.

Finally, Toriel turned to her. “There is something I must do,” she said. She handed Frisk a small hinged box. Frisk stared at it blankly.

“That is a cell phone,” Toriel said. She showed Frisk how to open it and dial her number, her movements careful and precise as her large fingers brushed Frisk’s smaller ones. “It will allow us to speak while we are apart. May I ask your name, child?”

Her mother had made it very clear that whatever she might learn to the contrary, her true name was that which had been bestowed upon her by the church. “Aleia,” she spoke. She wanted to tell Toriel not to leave her, but she gulped and swallowed those words. She knew better.

“Stay put,” Toriel said. “The Ruins are dangerous. I shall come and fetch you when I am done.” She walked away.

As the minutes began to stretch, Frisk had time to think about all that had happened to her. How could a monster that reminded her of Bridget be evil? The longer she thought, the more convinced she became that Flowey had been an exception - and some sense scuttling on the back of her neck had told her that he was an anomaly - and that monsters were virtuous.

Then she remembered Bridget’s words in her dream. Bridget had once believed this mountain to be something other than a place of death, but something had happened to change her mind. She would be heartbroken, believing Frisk to have died. Frisk had to leave, and show her that she was alive and well. And though Frisk, too small and afraid, would not go against the church, perhaps Bridget and her son Ethan, embodying fully their respective patron saints of Integrity and Justice, could bring the truth to light.

Warring with her desire not to disobey, Frisk got her feet under her and walked into the next room.

It was difficult to see as she followed the narrow, purple paths.

“ She has her mother’s eyes.” The pastor and her mother discussed her while she played.

“ Distasteful child,” her mother scoffed, then hesitated. “Red is the holy color of Saint Chara, though. How is it that she should -nay, could - wear such eyes?”

“Many forget,” the pastor intoned gravely, “Chara retook the color for his own. Red are the eyes of demons.

“Frisk,” her mother barked sharply, noticing her daughter watching with eyes wide. “Conceal your shame.”

She had forgotten in the haze following her awakening, but no longer, as she squinted out of a mixture of deeply entrenched habit and fear, even now, of her mother’s retribution. Perhaps it had been that lapse of memory that had driven her mother to drive her to the mountain.

A bright gold light nearly blinded her, even with her eyes half-closed. She had seen one before, at the stone steps leading into the Ruins. When she had reached out to it before, it had filled her with a sense of peace and wellbeing, so she did so again. She felt the same tugging feeling in her gut, suggesting that she could, in a sense, tether herself to the light incorporeally. She did so.

An indistinct blur hopped in front of her, and her soul appeared before her chest. Studying it, she suddenly realized she knew more about the Froggit - that was its species - than she should. Then there was a feeling of  a large object striking deep within her core, and she gasped, falling to one knee. As the blur drew nearer, it fashioned itself into a small, white animal, resembling the frogs she had studied in her anatomy lessons.

Frisk somehow sensed it was more intelligent than that; perhaps in the way that it pierced her with an intense stare, seeming to wait for her. Frisk decided to try to make polite conversation.

“You look very nice today,” she said.

The frog-like creature’s cheeks grew pink.

Something white streaked towards the red thing before her, and Frisk stepped to the side this time.

“I am very sorry, but I must leave. It was very nice to meet you, though,” Frisk said, and the Froggit inclined its head and jumped away. She shook her own head, unnerved, as she recalled Toriel’s earlier words. This must have been what she meant by monsters attempting to fight. At least she had accidentally done the right thing, though Toriel had not been able to intervene and save her.

Frisk encountered several more creatures. One she frightened away as she tried to comfort the small, crying bug - a Whimsun. Another she found rather rude as it danced in front of her, and yet another told her to pick on it, and she grudgingly obeyed. She found she knew the names of each creature, or rather, the species names, and if she studied it more closely, more information that she could not have known became apparent. It was as though she could sense a presence, almost asleep in the back of her mind, but kind and loving.

Her suspicions were confirmed when a blow struck at her core, shattering her like glass. It was like the pain she had experienced after her fall, but somehow much deeper, both cutting at her very sense of being and much closer to death.

“Aleia,” she heard a distant cry, almost as through the fog of memory. The voice was indistinct, so she couldn’t guess the age or the sex of the speaker. “You cannot give up now! Stay determined.”

Frisk felt a glowing feeling in the core of her core, and reaching in to it felt possibility. With a tremendous surge of willpower, she lurched forward, out of the black void that cocooned her, and stood once more in front of the flashing golden object.

She looked around as, once again, a Froggit drew near. Though Frisk was sure it could not be the same one, the chill of deja vu crawling up and down her spine was convincing her otherwise.

As she continued forward, she met the same monsters in the same succession, and grew more convinced that something very strange had just happened. If that had been a fight, and she had fallen into a void that beckoned her towards death, then surely she had died - yet here she was. And she had emerged at the point of golden light - she resolved to approach and connect to every iteration of the golden light that she could.

At last she came into a clearing where a barren tree grew on a carpet of bloodred. Drawing closer, the red resolved into leaves.

“Ah, my child, there you are,” Toriel called, hurrying over. “I am very sorry. My errand took longer than expected.” Coming nearer, she examined Frisk. “Oh, my poor dear, you are hurt.”

The red object appeared in front of Frisk again, and insubstantial green light, like a sunbeam through spring leaves, flowed towards it. She felt as though she had taken a deep breath of cool air in after being in a stifled, hot room, and all her uncertainties seemed to settle and fade to the back of her mind.

“I had meant to present you with a surprise,” Toriel continued, and Frisk jerked her head up at that. She was uncertain whether to feel confusion or fear. Bridget had on occasion presented her with small gifts unexpectedly, but then, her mother’s idea of a surprise was often foisting a chore that had come up upon her.

“It is a butterscotch-cinnamon pie,” Toriel exclaimed, drawing Frisk back to the present, and an unfamiliar aching feeling stole across Frisk’s heart. It was almost like longing, but for what, she was not sure.

Frisk followed her inside, pausing first at the golden light twinkling merrily outside of the little house in the Ruins.

The sight of such a cute, tidy house in the ruins fills you with determination, Frisk hears faintly at the back of her mind.

Toriel was waiting for her in the house, and Frisk cringed, feeling guilty for having kept her waiting.

“I have another surprise for you,” Toriel said, beaming. Frisk dimly saw her hold her hand out for her to take. She did, and Toriel lead her to a door down the hallway.

“It is your very own room,” she said proudly. “I do hope you will enjoy it here.”

Frisk heard the sound of a quick, hard sniff, then Toriel said, “Oh no, I believe my pie is burning. Please, make yourself at home!” The sound of her quick footsteps receded down the hallway.

Frisk opened the door to find a small bedroom. Exhausted, she collapsed on the bed, and was soon asleep.

When she awoke, a piece of the pie waited on a plate on the floor. She took it, finding strangely enough that she could fit it easily in her pocket without it rubbing the lining of the skirt she was wearing or getting squished.

She remembered suddenly that she had to get back to the surface. Following the hallway down to a sitting room with a fireplace and bookshelves, she found Toriel sitting in a large armchair, wearing a pair of small glasses and reading a book.

“Mother -” she started, then gasped and swallowed hard.

Toriel looked up, and from the close distance, Frisk could see tears brimming in her eyes as she smiled.

“Yes, my child?” Toriel asked kindly.

“I would like to know how to exit the Underground,” Frisk said.

Toriel looked to the side, suddenly unable to meet her gaze.

“Here’s an interesting fact,” she said. “Did you know that snails have no backbone?”

“Mother,” Frisk pressed, through the lump in her throat.

“Or that snails -” Toriel fidgeted with her glasses as her eyes darted about, “do not wear shoes?”

“M- mother, please.”

“Stay here, child,” Toriel said sternly, getting up and setting her book on the chair. “There is something I must do.”

Frisk wanted so badly to listen to Toriel’s instructions, but she had a duty she was determined to fulfill.

She followed Toriel down the wide set of stairs that led to a very long purple corridor. She stopped as Toriel’s voice echoed back.

“Every human that falls down here meets the same fate. I have seen it time and time again. Six humans in thirteen years. They come. They leave. And then they break like so much water against a rock. You naive child… if you leave, he - Asgore - will kill you and take your soul. I wish only to protect you. Please, turn back.”

Frisk followed her, turning down a bend. “Please, my child,” she said, then continued.

They stopped before a door.

“You feel so desperately that you must leave, then,” Toriel stated. “I will not let you, unless you can prove to me - prove to me that you are strong enough to survive on your own in the cruel Underground.”

The red glow that Frisk recognized as her soul began to glow. Flickering white fire appeared above Toriel’s hands, and Frisk let out a yelp as it struck her soul.

“Mother, stop, please, I must do this,” she cried, but Toriel refused to listen. Frisk continued to plead to no avail. As she felt her resolve start to fracture and pain quake through her soul, Frisk pulled a stick that had gotten snagged from her pocket and lashed out, hitting Toriel.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as she did, “but I am strong. You must let me go!”

Frisk noticed that the flames stopped hitting her, but still Toriel blocked her way. Finally, she slashed across her chest, and Toriel fell to the ground.

“I am sorry,” Toriel gasped, her breath rattling. “You are indeed strong. Go now, beyond this door. Eventually, you will come to the exit to the Underground. Please, you cannot let Asgore take your soul. His plan cannot succeed.”

Her labored words slowed. “Be … good, will you … not? My….. child…..”

She turned to dust, and her trembling soul followed.

Frisk fell to her knees, clutching her head. She had not meant to kill. Galaxies wheeled through her mind, and she thought she would go mad from grief and guilt.

A gentle tug reminded her of the golden light. Maybe if they could save her, they could also save Toriel from her. With a feeling of release, the world went dark, and she pulled herself back into that light.

She shook as Toriel showed her to her room again. This time, she laid down on the bed to think, and soon fell into an uneasy slumber. She put the pie into her now empty pockets, and tried to go down the stairs by herself. However, each time, Toriel would appear, and refusing to listen to her, guide her back up the stairs.

Finally, she went into the sitting room and talked to Toriel. This time, Toriel went to the door, and stood her ground, repeating the same things she had said before. The fire appeared in her hands.

“I will not fight you,” Frisk said, and flames shot towards her. She dodged, getting licked by a few of the white-burning tongues as they passed by her. A flicker of doubt passed through her mind as she watched Toriel closely, and found her mind’s voice say, she knows best for you.

“Attack or run away,” Toriel cried as Frisk continued to refuse to fight.

“I will not fight you,” Frisk cried in response.

“What are you proving this way? Fight me or leave!”

“I do not have to fight to be strong,” Frisk replied, dodging a large spectral hand that drew a line of flame in the air.

“Stop looking at me that way. Stop it. Go away! ” Toriel’s voice rose into a desperate scream.

“I. Will. Not. FIGHT,” Frisk screamed in response.

The flames died away.

“Please, my child,” Toriel pleaded. “I know you want to return home, but we can have a happy life here. I will take good care of you. We -” she broke off in choked sob, and her tone became defeated. “Why are you making this so difficult? It is pathetic - I cannot save even a single child.”

“There are things I must do,” Frisk said. “There are people aboveground that believe me dead. I must return to them. I will not fail.”

Toriel hiccuped, then sighed. “I understand, my child. And I know that this would not have been a fulfilling life for you. This place is, after all, very small, and you have a soul that is very large, that has much to fill and be filled. Go now with my blessing. I only ask - please, do not return. It would be too difficult.”

“I understand,” Frisk said, then tensed as Toriel engulfed her in a very fluffy hug.

“Goodbye my child,” she said, turning, pausing one last time at the bend to look back, and then walking away.

Frisk walked through the door, only to find Flowey waiting for her. She cringed, but he did not attack. He simply grinned manically and started speaking. Frisk listened, as she had been conditioned to.

“Good job,” he said, raising his eyebrows spitefully. “You didn’t kill anyone this time. Bravo, oh, bravo! You forget, in this world, it’s kill or be killed. Someday you’ll meet someone you can’t win over. You’ll die, and die, and die again.” He cackled. “That’ll be fun, won’t it? And then what’ll you do? Kill out of frustration? Or give up and relinquish this world to me? I am the prince of this world’s future. Oh, I’m not planning regicide. This is so. Much. Better. ” He disappeared into the ground.

Walking past him, Frisk opened the door, and it was as if all were white fire.

Chapter 7: "I love you despite the warning signs (iterum)."

There was the slightest of stings on Frisk’s cheek, so light that it seemed it could be a kiss from a faerie. Looking up, she saw tiny flakes of snow gently drifting down from a sky lost in grey. She wrapped her arms around her body as the hard cold hit her like a wall. She turned back to see the doors to the Ruins sealed.

She trod heavily through the snow that lay thick on the ground, having to pull her sinking feet up through the clinging ice. There was a creeping sensation on the back of her neck, like she was being watched. She jumped as a crack like a gunshot resounded, and turned to see a heavy stick behind her broken in two. A shadow flitted in the corner of her eye, and she finally stopped before a narrow bridge spanning a deep chasm, in which trees much like the ones surrounding her grew.

She stood rooted to the spot as heavy footsteps crunched through the snow.

“Hey, buddy,” a deep, gravelly voice said, and Frisk felt an unfamiliar thrill shiver through her chest. “Don’t you know how to greet a new friend? Turn around.”

Heart pounding, Frisk barely managed to lift her feet, encumbered as they were by fear and snow, and pivot. Squinting more than usual out of fear - something she had learned from her mother - she made out an indistinct figure, and an outstretched hand. Taking it, there was a vulgar noise, and Frisk nearly choked stifling a giggle. Her eyes bulged slightly and she could see a skeleton, standing just slightly taller than her and wrapped in a large blue fleece coat.

“Name’s Sans,” the skeleton introduced himself, speaking more like Bridget’s son than her peers. She liked him already.

There was a strange expression on his face, as he realized his hand lingered against hers and he drew it away, brushing her fingertips with his. It was almost like pain, but Frisk, with her limited vision, couldn’t be sure that was what she saw. The expression disappeared, anyway, as Sans’ cheeks glowed cyan. He coughed.

“So, anyway,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “It’s nice to meet ya. I’m, uh, actually supposed to be on watch for humans right now, to, you know, capture them.” That same expression flashed across his face to be replaced by a lazy grin. “I’m not into all that, though. My brother, on the other hand, he loves hunting humans. I think that’s actually him, over there.”

He gestured beyond Frisk.

“Humor me, will ya? Go through this gate. He built the bars to wide to stop anyone.”

Frisk walked across the bridge, pillars coming into focus in the middle of it. On the other side, she continued forward, until Sans stopped her with a command.

“Quick, behind that lamp,” he ordered, and she hurried to obey. All she could see was the slightest splash of color in the snow, but by following the direction Sans pointed she made her way over to the lamp and stood uncertainly behind it.

“No, behind,” Sans hissed, and confused, she moved beside it. She shivered as the wind picked up, whistling through her thin sweater.

A taller figure that Frisk presumed to be a skeleton, as she could only see a bright orange flickering about seven feet in the air and hear the crunch of snow under his feet, marched towards them.

“What’s going on, bro?” Sans asked.

A high-pitched, loud voice responded. “You know very well what is going on, brother. It has been a week and you have not yet reset your puzzles. We need to be prepared to trap any humans that may appear. What are you doing?

“Looking at this awesome lamp,” Sans said, and Frisk furrowed her brows. What was he doing? He had told her to, well, ‘hide’.

“We don’t have time for that. A human could come through here at any moment.” Frisk tensed. “When I capture a human, I, the Great Papyrus, will finally earn my place in the royal guard. People will ask to be my ‘friend’.”

“Well, maybe you should ask the lamp for help,” Sans said. Frisk let out a breath that was almost a laugh, confused but also amused.

“You are such a lazybones,” Papyrus cried. “All you do all day is sit around and boondoggle.”

“Ouch,” Sans said. “I don’t boondoggle. Besides, I’ve gotten a ton of work done today. A … “ he paused, then spoke in a voice that suggested a smirk. “Skele-ton.”

Frisk swallowed a laugh.

“Sans!” Papyrus said.

“You’re smiling,” Sans replied.

“I am and I hate it!” Papyrus shot back, then sighed. “Why is it that I must work so hard to get some recognition? I know I am great.”

“Sound like you’re really working yourself… down to the bone?” Sans said, sounding as if he was barely keep from laughing.

“Ugh,” Papyrus groaned. “I am going to work on my puzzles. Put a little more ‘backbone’ into your work.” He laughed, his laugh both throaty and nasally, and his footsteps receded.

“You can come out now,” Sans said, and Frisk, silently shaking with laughter, complied.

“You’d better get going,” Sans said, and Frisk’s smile disappeared. She felt a pulling apart in her chest. She did not want to go just yet - she looked intently at Sans, feeling warm color flood her cheeks.

“I’m just saying,” Sans said, in a teasing tone. “If he comes back, you’ll have to sit through more of my hilarious jokes.”

Frisk grinned. “I do not think I could ‘stand’ such a thing.”

“Oh my gosh,” Sans breathed, his own grin stretching wider. His cheeks were pale blue.

“I will leave you now, however,” Frisk said, her smile fading. She had to get back to the surface and let Bridget know she was alright. “I must continue on my way.”

“Okay,” Sans said, one of his brow ridges raising. “Go on, then.”

Frisk turned and continued through the snow.

As she went along, she met several more monsters, some of which appeared much like dogs. After petting a particularly excited one until its very extendable neck could extend no longer, it told her that they were out patrolling the farther reaches past the puzzles, before the storm hit.

The wind started to really pick up, and flurries of snow stung Frisk’s face, further blinding her. She stumbled through the snow as it piled up, wrapping her arms around her shivering form. The snow grew still denser, a wild and lonely howl picking up on the wind.

She stumbled yet again and fell to the ground, tumbling down a slope. She came to a rough stop at the bottom, her arm giving out as she tried to push herself back up. She lay face-down in the strangely warm snow.

“Risk,” she heard a voice faintly through the wind. “Please, stay determined.”

“Frisk,” said the voice in her head that she recognized, overlaying the other voice as it repeated. “You must stay determined.”

“Kid,” a voice broke through the wailing wind, followed by the sound of barking. A blue glow shone through the blizzard, and Frisk felt her limbs go light, weightless. I must be dying, she thought. I survived such a fall, and it is this one that kills me.

The world went from white, to grey, to black.

When she awoke, a bare-chested fire monster stood flickering next to her, as if in a strong wind. He gave off pulses of intense heat. Turning to her other side, Frisk could barely see Sans. As she tried to move, she found herself buried in layers of thick blankets.

“Where am I?” she asked, her voice weak.

“Kid,” Sans breathed.

“My name is F- Aleia,” she protested, and Sans worried expression was cracked by a smile.

“You are in the back room of my restaurant,” the fire monster said, putting on a white dress shirt as he did. He started to tie on a bowtie and pull on a vest as he continued. “My name is Grillby. It is nice to meet you.”

He stood. “I have dried your clothes, as well.” Stepping to the side, he revealed Frisk’s sweater and skirt, and Frisk’s face went suddenly hotter than the waves coming from Grillby. “After you change, I shall provide you with some proper nourishment. Bonnie can help you dress, if you so desire. Come, Sans.” He and Sans exited the room.

“I’m’a happy to help,” said a bunny monster, coming into Frisk’s range of vision. “Don’t you worry none, those boys didn’t see nothing. Ah helped wrap you up nice and cozy and warmed you up with some drips of cinnamon tea.”

“I owe you my gratitude, then,” Frisk said, rubbing her neck sheepishly. She vaguely remembered the last thoughts that had passed through her head before passing out, and blushed. Apparently she had forgotten she could come back from the dead.

“Ain’t nothing,” Bonnie said, helping Frisk into her sweater, and extending a hand to help her to her feet. She handed Frisk her skirt. “You’re welcome to stay at m’sister’s Inn tonigh’, regain your strength.”

“My thanks, again,” Frisk said, and Bonnie guided her to the door.

She was met with a bustle of conversation and noise.

“Over here,” Sans’ voice called, and she followed it to a booth along the wall.

“Normally I’d sit at the bar,” he explained, “but I thought this’d be a bit more comfortable.” How are you?”

“I am feeling well, thank you,” Frisk said, then looked up at the clatter of plates. Grillby leaned over the table with a plate of what looked to be thinly-cut potatoes and a sandwich. Sans took a bottle of red sauce from the table and squirted it copiously over the potatoes.

“Want some?” he asked, and Frisk simply shook her head, staring.

“More for me.” He shrugged, picking up a couple of the drenched potatoes in his hands and popping them into his mouth.

“Pay your tab, Sans,” Grillby said idly, and Sans sputtered, choking slightly. Grillby walked away.

“Oh, yeah, that,” he said, wiping his mouth and grinning sheepishly.

They ate in silence. Finally, Frisk spoke.

“Do you have a surname?” she asked, and Sans stiffened. She froze, not sure what to do, then spoke quickly. “I am sorry, I did not mean to cause offense. It is customary to know one’s full name once you have made their acquaintance, and you have done much more than that for me.”

“It’s okay,” Sans said. “I did. Lurian - Lucida and Algerian. Surnames work a bit differently with monsters.” He explained the second and third names of monsters to her. “However, a monster only takes a surname so long as their parents are alive. My father fell down when I was young, and my mother…” his face clouded, then cleared. “And you?”

“Tarrason,” she responded, and silence fell between them again.

Eventually, Frisk stood.

“I must go,” she said, even more reluctant than she had been in the Ruins.

“Stay,” Sans said, standing with her. “Papyrus and I have a spare room that we could fix up - it’s even separate from the house and everything.”

Frisk warred with herself, knowing what she ought to do but not wanting to do it.

“Please, Sans said desperately, reaching out to catch her wrist.

The fear in his voice, seeming out of place in his voice though she barely knew him, is what convinced her. With a sense of guilt and defeat sucking at her insides, she bowed her head. “I will stay,” she said quietly.

She stayed in the inn that night. Her window propped slightly open after bathing (their water came from the walls), she overheard voices.

“Sans, if it is a human, I must capture it. It is my duty as a sentry of the royal guard!”

Sans muttered something she didn’t catch.

“You? No, I, the Great Papyrus, will capture the human!”

Frisk still couldn’t catch Sans’ voice.

“But what about becoming a royal guard? What about my training?” His voice trailed off. “My friends? That’s a lot to depend on them leaving.”

Sans spoke.

“Wowie! That’s true, brother. Hey human!” he called, and Frisk stumbled back, her heart pounding and her face flushed at having been caught eavesdropping. “Will you be my friend?”

Frisk held her breath.

“Hmm, I could have sworn they were here,” Papyrus said. “The window is open and everything.”

“Maybe they're in the other room,” Sans said, suddenly loud enough for her to hear. She wondered if he was speaking now for her benefit.

She didn’t find out, though, as Papyrus responded, “Nyeh! You’re probably right.” Their voices receded.

They walked by the riverside a few days later. Frisk found it hard to be still, her heart always pattering restlessly, trying to pull her away from where she was. As her foot caught on the snow, and she nearly fell, Sans caught her at the last moment under her arms. Setting her upright, his right hand followed the curve of her arm down to her left hand, where Frisk slipped her fingers into his. Sparks skipped over her skin where he had touched her, and she smiled dizzily at him. They continued to follow the river. Then, as Frisk took a step forward and felt a mixture of slush and mud under her feet, she also felt a small tug on her arm.

“Why have you stopped?” Frisk asked Sans.

“We can’t go any farther,” he replied. “It’s not safe.”

“Why?” Frisk asked.

“There are monsters who will try and take you soul, like some of the ones you have already encountered.

“Yes, but I have survived so far,” Frisk shot back stubbornly, remembering what Papyrus had said that first night.

“Yeah, well you wouldn’t against the captain of the royal guard,” Sans said heatedly as she turned to him.

“Actually,” Frisk responded in kind, thinking about the strange ability she had, but was cut off.

“Just don’t, okay?” he shouted.

Frisk drew in a quick breath and looked to one side.

“Hey,” Sans said in a softer voice. “Don’t be mad at me. I -” he stopped. “I would tell you a pun, but I can’t hu-manage any.”

Frisk turned and glared at him.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I really am sorry. I just want to protect you.” He shifted slightly as he said this. “Please promise me you won’t leave the Snowdin cavern.

“Alright,” Frisk said, though the slightest of feelings prickled in her chest. “I promise.”

Kindness’ Day approached, and monsters put up lights and felled trees to stand in their homes. Frisk knitted a new scarf for Papyrus and a pair of socks for Sans. Scandalous, the voice in the back of her head remarked dryly.

On Kindness Eve, they lingered at the librarby, Sans quietly explaining the different magic terms to her. Frisk looked up, studying his face, and his voice faded as she noticed the lines of his cheekbones and the dip indicating his smile. Her heart sped, and for once, it was a good racing that rushed her blood through her veins.

Sans looked up too, and grinned and stretched lazily, causing Frisk’s heart to stumble.

“You weren’t listening to a word I said, were you?” he asked.

“I am sorry,” Frisk said, smirking back. “I got… distracted.”

Sans eyes flickered up, and Frisk’s followed them, but whatever it was was lost in the haze of the ceiling.

“Mistletoe,” Sans remarked, turning blue. He started to lean in, and Frisk closed her eyes as his hand gently found the back of her neck and he pulled her in.

The kiss was sweet, and his lips lingered gently on hers for a long time, soft and slow. As he let go, pulling away and creating a space between them that was somehow warmer than it had been before, Frisk let out a sigh of contentment. Sans put his forehead to hers, and their breath mingled together. As they drew away, Sans put his arm around her shoulders, and Frisk snuggled into them as he started to read to her huskily in his deep, rich voice.

As they tromped home in the near-dark, light spilling from the windows of nearby houses, Frisk stumbled.

“You okay?” Sans asked, as he caught her.

“I am alright,” Frisk said. “Thank you.”

“You seem to stumble a lot,” he said worriedly, stopping her and turning so they were facing each other. “Even humans can fall down if they fall as much as you do. Why does this keep happening?”

“I am fine,” Frisk said, suddenly feeling short with him, and tried to keep walking. He stopped her again.

“Is it - can you see?” Sans asked, reaching a hand out to touch her cheek. Frisk pulled away, and he lowered his hand.

“I do not like to open my eyes,” she almost-whispered.

“Why?” Sans asked.

“My mother taught me not to,” Frisk replied. “The pastor told her they were the eyes of a demon.”

“Let me see,” Sans said sternly, pulling her over to the light of a nearby window.

Frisk slowly opened her eyes. Sans gasped, and she squeezed them shut, hot shame rushing to her cheeks.

“Don’t close them,” Sans protested breathlessly. “Your eyes are - beautiful.”

Frisk opened her eyes again searching his face for the truth. Looking at him, she could tell he meant what he had said.

“Thank you,” she said, and kept her eyes open as they continued home, even as the cold wrung tears from her eyes.

Frisk lay paralyzed, deep asleep. In her dream, blind terror rushed through her as the indistinct form of her mother’s horse rushed at her, eating her up into tiny, bite-sized pieces. Like when she had fallen, she could not scream, could not make any noise. She could barely even move, every action slow as an eternity. It was so dark. The things were coming to get her in the dark. If only she could turn on the light…

She lay in bed, seizing. Her limbs clenched, moving in spurts, out of her control. She was bleeding, warm liquid spilling over her neck. She tried to call out, but still could not make a sound. She had to let someone know what was happening, that she was dying, so they could save her. But nobody came.

Frisk awoke with a gasp. “Sans,” she wailed, as the darkness pressed in around her.

Sans was at her side in an instant, his eye flashing blue, illuminating the darkness with a spectral light. Frisk sobbed, clutching at his arms.

“What is it, honey?” Sans said, clutching hers right back. “Are you okay?”

“I - I h-had a n-nightmare,” Frisk managed though hiccupping waves of tears. “I - I am sorry. I ju-ust could-d not move, or-or scream, or..” she trailed off. “Th-this must se-em sil-ily.”

“It’s ok,” Sans soothed her, climbing into the bed and wrapping his arms around her. “It’s not silly. You had a night terror. Everything is going to be okay now.”

Frisk fell asleep in his arms.

Weeks later, Frisk clutched an armful of books from the library, trying to ignore the near-constant gnawing sensation in her chest. Setting them down on the desk in her room, she grabbed the top one.

The Great War, the title read. She opened it.

Long ago, humans and monsters lived both on the surface, sharing both the fruits of their labor and the fruits of their heart. Humans had many virtues that flourished strongly in the company of monsters, and likewise monsters’ good traits grew in the company of humans. Compassionate, merciful, loving, and kind by nature, monsters could not kill, as humans did, and avoided war. However, this was to pass, as all things do.

It was the practice then for humans and monsters to intermarry. Such a union would produce one of two things - a boss monster, immortal unless they themselves should bear children, and whose souls, so determined for monsters, would persist like those of humans, even after death, or a mage, a human capable of magic, and with their determination a wholly unstoppable force. Both creatures were near God-like.

A young princess with a heart of determination was to marry a young prince monster, to seal the bond between the two nations. Upon Soul-mating, though, a terrible tragedy was inflicted upon both races. It is speculated that as it was a hasty marriage in a time when the humans were in great need, it had been a marriage formed out of duty, not love, and thus when the Soul-mating took place, it was forced. The human princess fell ill, losing determination, and the monster prince, overwhelmed with excess determination, passed away. The exact fate of the prince has been lost to history.

A darker sect had grown among humans, known as the Brotherhood of Mages, who believed that monsters were demons and that intermarriage was a sin. Though their preachings had long fallen on deaf ears, with this tragedy many humans opened their hearts to the darkness.

Both sides grieved and enraged at the loss of their beloved leaders, they went to war. There were those even among monsters who did not hesitate to fight back, and some among the boss monsters who were among the first to strike. Though the boss monsters were powerful, the normal ranks of monsters were no match for humans. Monsters were forced to retreat, until Chara, a mage of determination, and his Brothers of Virtue offered a sanctuary for monsterkind underground. King Asgore and Queen Toriel…

Frisk continued reading until a knock at her door made her jump.

“What are ya reading?” Sans asked, poking his head in.

Frisk frowned and quickly squinted her eyes before she remembered that she no longer had to. She traced her finger back up the page as Sans walked over to her. “What is … Soul-mating?” she asked hesitantly. Sans had taught her much about souls and science, knowledgeable in both, but had not covered this.

“Uhhh…” Sans stuttered, and Frisk looked up to see his whole face a bright cyan. She felt her own face turning red in response, though she wasn’t sure why.

“That is easy, human,” Papyrus called, walking in. “I brought you spaghetti and overheard you and my brother talking.”

He set the plate down, and Frisk gratefully took the fork. Papyrus’ cooking was an acquired taste, but once one got used to it, it was delicious.

“Soul-mating is the method by which monsters reproduce,” Papyrus said, and Frisk swallowed hard, nearly choking. Papyrus thumped her on the back. Through eyes blurred with water, Frisk snuck a sidelong glance at Sans, who had his hood pulled up over his head and around his face so only a thin circle of turquoise could be seen.

“Anyway,” Sans said loosening his hands from the fur around his hood. “It doesn’t matter. Soul-mating isn’t working anymore.”

“What do you mean, it is not working anymore?” Frisk asked, frowning.

“More and more monsters cannot conceive,” Papyrus explained.

“Yeah, and more and more monsters are falling down,” Sans said, his voice going dark. “Like dad.”

“Why is this happening?” Frisk asked, putting her hand on Sans’.

“It has to be the barrier,” Sans said, “Powered now by our determinatio-” He drew in a sharp breath. “Frisk,” he warned, but it was too late. She was already determined.

Chapter 8: “I wasn’t about to be sobered by anything like regret.”

“If you do this,” Sans begged, “I can’t come with you.”

“Well then, I will go with the human,” Papyrus proclaimed.

“No,” Sans burst out, startling both of them.

“Why not, brother?”

Sans looked at them with wild eyes. “You - you have to stay here and do rounds.”

Frisk did not buy it, but Papyrus seemed to be considering.

“Surely this is more important?” Papyrus asked.

“No, your duty is more important,” Sans shot back, and Frisk felt her heart plummet down through her toes, deep, deeper underground.

“Is that really how you feel?” she asked in the softest of voices.

“No, I - it’s just that,” Sans stuttered.

“It is alright,” Frisk said. “I understand. I have never been very important.”

“No-” Sans choked, but Frisk turned away, unable to bear the pain of the black hole swirling in her chest.

“Frisk, wait,” Sans said, his fingertips brushing her wrist, but she jerked it away.

“Let me go,” she breathed, and walked away.

At the edge of town, where the snow began to turn into slush, fog began to swirl. Putting her arm before her in a futile effort to break it, she carefully trod along the path. Then, out of the fog a figure appeared.

“Human,” said a familiar voice, and Frisk’s heart jumped back into her throat from the center of the earth, nearly giving her whiplash. “I know you think highly of my brother and I. We are very great, after all.”

Frisk shook her head, smiling, as he continued, but her smile soon dropped. “If you are going to leave us, then I must capture you.” How could she have forgotten that part of the conversation outside the inn? “I will finally become a royal guard, and I will make many friends that will not leave. Nyeheheh!”

Frisk was not sure if it was the voice in her head or her own hurt that prompted her to say, “If you let me go, I would court you.”

Papyrus frowns, and Frisk felt foolish until he says, “Court? Is that like a date? Are you confessing your feelings to me?”

Guilt and regret already swelled in her chest, but she replied, “Yes, I am.”

“I am a skeleton with very high standards,” Papyrus insisted, wagging a gloved finger at her.

“It is true, I do not have much, if anything to offer,” Frisk said, relief making her weak.

“So modest! Oh no, you are meeting all of my standards,” Papyrus cried, and Frisk resisted the urge to put her hand over her face. “Let’s date after I capture you,” he continued.

He sent a short line of bones sailing harmlessly past her. Not for the first time, Frisk wondered if he had troubles with his eyesight.

She kept up a steady stream of compliments as he sent several more useless lines of bones her way. Finally she told him, “I will not fight you.”

“Let’s see if you can handle my fabled blue attack, then,” Papyrus said, and a flurry of blue bones flew towards her. She held still as Sans had told her so long ago. Then, her soul turned dark blue and she fell to the ground under a sudden weight, getting hit by a tiny bone running along the ground.

She struggled to her feet and continued to refuse to fight while jumping and ducking under bones flying her way. At some point, Papyrus threatened her with a “special attack”. Frisk wasn’t too worried.

Finally he told her he was going to use his special attack, but when he did, all she saw was a dog munching on a small bone. She almost laughed, then jumped, somehow impossibly high as gravity seemed to reverse, over his next “regular” attack.

Papyrus panted. “See, I am - victorious! I will spare you, human.” He looked down. “I am sad to see you leave, but I am glad we are friends. Come back sometime, and we will have that date.”

He walked past her, heading back into Snowdin. As she crossed over the threshold where the snow ended, much of the light faded away.

She continued through the underground, refusing to fight the monsters that lived there. The history book had been right - not only in the information about the war, which was scribbled in an old script on plaques on the cave walls, but in one other fact - monsters really did have souls made of love, hope, and compassion. Most did not seem to want to fight. The one that did - Undyne - Frisk suspected rather just had a combative personality. Sans had been right about her, though. If it wasn’t for her newfound ability to cheat death, Frisk would have been underground - further underground - several times over.

With every monster that she won to her side, Frisk felt her confidence grow. She refused to give up, forced to believe in herself by the simple fact that the monsters needed her.

“The crest?” Gerson had said. “It tells of the prophecy - an angel who will come down from above and free us.”

A smile had crinkled across his old face. “Now there are some monsters who don’t believe in the prophecy, who have lost faith.”

He had tapped the side of his nose. “But me, young’un? I reckon there’s somebody out there who just might have the power to set us free.”

Then he had winked, then grown serious. “I fought in the war, young lady. The original war, when we were sealed away underground. Your Saint Chara deserved the title, though not for the reasons I’ve heard it was bestowed on him. Then, when the first human fell, I thought he had returned in her to set us free. I was wrong.”

Last, he had bowed his head, then raised it. “Don’t lose faith. We are counting on you. You are the future of humans and monsters.”

At last, Frisk reached a long, golden hall, with windows through which orange light streamed. Sunlight. Frisk turned her face to it, taking a long, slow breath. As she let it out, her shoulders relaxed, for a moment shedding all of the weight she had been carrying there.

She finally turned to see Sans standing in the middle of the hall.

“Sans?” she asked incredulously.

“So you finally made it,” he intoned in a colorless voice. “The end of your journey is at hand.”

Frisk almost spoke, but hesitated, unsure what to say.

“In a few moments, you will meet the king. Together…” he let out a breath, “You will determine the fate of this world. Before that, though, you will be judged.”

Frisk felt as if the air had been knocked out of her. “Sans?” she whispered uncertainly.

“You will be judged for every action,” he continued, eyes dead. “For every execution point you have earned - the way we quantify the pain you have inflicted on others. Gather enough execution points, and you will gain Love - your capacity to hurt. The more you kill, the easier it becomes to -” Sans voice faltered as the smallest of shudders rattled his bones, “to distance yourself. It is what one must do, so as to not be hurt, but it comes at the cost of finding it still easier to hurt others.”

Sans studied her intently, and though Frisk wanted to cry that she had never killed, the silence hung thick as death over the darkening hall. Then his shoulders sagged. “You never gained any Love,” he breathed. “You never hurt anyone. You always did the right thing. You may not be completely innocent, or naive, but you kept a certain tenderness in your heart.”

Sans walked up to her, and when he spoke, he sounded like himself again. “Please don’t do this,” he pleaded, taking her hands.

“I must,” Frisk said gently, taking his face in her hand. He leaned into it, closing his eyes, putting his hand over hers.

“The king will kill you,” Sans said, through a thick voice.

“It will be okay,” Frisk insisted. “I do not ask for your help. I have gotten this far on my own, and have grown for it.”

“If you do not fight,” Sans said, taking her hand from his face and clutching it in both of his, “Asgore will take your soul, and destroy humanity. If you fight, and take his soul, using it to cross the barrier, we will remain here. Please, Frisk, stay.”

“I love you, Sans,” Frisk breathed, “but I can’t.”

“Then let me share a moment with you before you go,” Sans said, dropping her hand. He kissed her, suddenly, and a rush of feeling, a whirlwind coursing up from her toes out to the tips of her fingers and back again, surged through her. Her skin tingled as she pulled him close to her by the lapels of his jacket, and laid her hands on his ribcage.

Her soul appeared, shining blindingly red, as Sans’ soul shone white in return. Pushing forward simultaneously, their movements in perfect synchronicity with their wordless feelings, they pulled together, uniting their souls.

Frisk drew her head back, Sans running his mouth along her neck, as ecstasy rushed through her. Sans soul was in hers, and she could feel him closely, intimately, as if they shared the same mind and body. Her feelings were doubled in his, spiraling up into the boundless sky.

At long last, they pulled away. The golden hall was now purple with shadows. Frisk started to fall breathlessly to the ground, but Sans caught her, gently lowering her as he settled himself down next to her. She felt dizzy, and lay there for a while, just feeling.

Finally she pulled away, looking down to see Sans fast asleep. She got to her feet silently, almost stumbling as a wave of darkness crested through her head, upsetting her balance. Legs heavy, she made her way out of the hall, to a throne room where the last light of sunset still shone on a bed of golden flowers.

“Hello,” the king said, his back to Frisk. “Please give me a little time to finish watering these flowers.” He hummed, then turned to her. “Howdy. What can I…?”

An expression of horror clouded his face, quickly replaced by heavy sorrow. “Oh,” he sighed, a sound that made Frisk feel as if all the world was coming to an end in grey ruins and a pale dawn at the breaking of time.

“I so badly would like to offer you some tea. I - I cannot.” He walked over to the window, looking out. Frisk could see a whiteness stretching into the distance, now tinged orange. She remained silent, listening as he turned back to her and spoke, his mouth tugged up into a sad smile. “It is a very nice day. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming. I wish -” His face fell into resignation. “I will not force you to battle before you are ready. When the time comes, I will be in the next room.”

He turned and walked beyond the throne to an doorway, cape flapping behind him. She followed him, stopping to tether herself to the golden point next to a covered, abandoned throne. The whole area felt broken, as if once it had held joy and light, but something had shattered it irreparably so that all of that dripped away, as one lingered here.

Frisk continued into the next room, where the king waited at the end of a bend in the hallway.

“Are you ready? I understand if you are not. I am not ready either.” Asgore said He stood before a grand archway with the royal crest emblazoned upon it. Frisk felt faith rush into her, faith like she had never known on the surface. She could prevail where others had fallen.

“I am ready,” she spoke for the first time. Asgore bowed his head, and moved into the next room.

“This is the sorrow and doom of monsters,” Asgore spoke gravely, as he stood, facing the barrier . When he next spoke, he seemed to be begging her as he asked, “Do you have any unfinished business to attend to?”

“No,” Frisk said, and he turned to her. Seven glass jars appeared, six of them containing souls. She gasped as the reality of everything hit her. These were children that had fallen, and were now dead. If she gave up, this would be her fate. She felt her resolve starting to waver, and clenched her jaw as tears threatened to spill from the precipice of her eyelashes.

“Human,” Asgore spoke, smiling through his own tears. “It was nice to meet you. Goodbye.”

Whipping his arm out from under his cloak, he revealed a trident as tall as himself. As he pointed it at her soul, Frisk felt something break, falling to tiny shards inside of her. Somehow, with a sense of utter finality, she knew that she would not be able to spare Asgore as she had all the others. She would have to best him, fight him in order to prove that monsters and humans could coexist peacefully. Force was the only way.

Knowing this, she struck with conviction, using the stick she had been carrying since she had fallen.

Large spectral hands swept in front of and behind her, drawing lines of fire as in her fight with Toriel. She managed to dodge all but one of the flames, crying out as it burned inside of her, laying a swath of her soul barren and scorched.

Talk to him, the voice in her head cried distantly. She gritted her teeth.

“I do not want to fight,” she whispered. She saw his grip on the trident slip as his hands trembled. He attacked again, circles of fire closing in around her.

Again, the voice in her head said.

“I do not want to fight,” she repeated, louder this time, and Asgore drew in a strange, hitched breath.

The voice spurred her on one more time, and as she repeated the phrase. As she did, Asgore gasped and looked through her, seeming to see something within or beyond her. His next attack seemed hesitant, and he moved more slowly as she next attacked.

With his next attack, however, Frisk fell. She had not noticed the black creeping in at the edge of her vision. As the voice called out into the void, Frisk had a moment of panic as she could not find the strand connecting her to the point which would save her. Had she been able to, she would have drawn in a breath of relief as she found it, though it was thinner and more tenuous than before. Frisk drew herself in carefully, feeling where the strand seemed almost frayed in places. That had never happened before.

When she came back, there was a strange sluggishness in her veins, making her limbs weak. She shook her head, disconcerted, and went to face Asgore again.

As she did, her armor grew stronger. She had picked it up in Tem Village, paying for it with Tem’s money that she had earned by selling things to Tem. At the time, she had been rather amused by it, and intrigued by Tem having gone to “coolleg”. Were there universities here underground?

Frisk grimaced as fire lashed across her side, grounding her in reality. It was all so strange, this ability of hers. Knowing she could come back sometimes made it harder to focus. The link, however, grew weaker every time. She worried about this.

Finally, with a measured blow, Frisk brought Asgore down to one knee.

“I see,” he breathed, with all the weight of the mountain beneath which he was trapped. “I remember the day my son died. The entire underground was devoid of hope. The future had once again been taken from us by the humans. So I declared war, proclaiming that I would destroy any humans that made their way here. With their souls, I would become like a god, and free us from this terrible place. Then I would erase humanity, and monsters would rule over the surface in peace. Soon, my people’s hopes returned.”

The small smile that had graced his face disappeared. “My wife could not stand my actions. She left this place, and no word of her has reached monsterkind since.”

“I do not desire to gain power, or to hurt anyone. I simply wanted to give my people hope. But…” he hesitated, letting out a trembling breath, “I cannot take this any longer. I want to see my wife and child. This war has endured far too long. Take my soul, now and leave this cursed place.

The shards of the thing that had been broken rose within her, patching themselves into a feeling of mercy.

“I told you, I do not want to fight,” Frisk said, realizing that she could not take his soul any more than she could have disobeyed her mother before coming here.

“After everything I’ve done,” Asgore said, the dark circles under his eyes becoming apparents, “You would rather stay down here and suffer than live happily on the surface?”

“It is not really so awful down here,” Frisk offered. “Monsters are good and kind.” Surely they would find some other way to break the barrier…

Light had returned to Asgore’s eyes. “Human, I promise you, for as long as you remain here, my wife and I will take care of you as best we can. We can be - if you wish - a family.”

Tightness seized Frisk’s chest. Until he had said that, she had not known that a true family was something she had desired. After all, her broken home on the surface had never been that, and never would have. Frisk started to speak -

Terror glazed Asgore’s eyes as white seeds appeared around him. They wheeled in, and with a whoosh, he turned to dust. His soul persisted, trembling, just as Toriel’s had - then a seed cracked it down the middle, and it split into fragments, disappearing.

“You idiot,” Flowey said, smiling knowingly. “You haven’t learned a thing. In this world…” his face started to melt into a horrific demon-like skull as the souls, free from their glass cases, swirled around him, “it’s kill or BE killed.”

His jaw unhinged, he laughed maniacally, and everything went black.

Frisk pulled herself back into consciousness, her mind aching. Gradually feeling returned to her body, and she realized she was not standing back at the golden point. Words spoke in her head in a familiar voice.

Long ago, two races ruled over the earth: Humans and Monsters. One day, the- the voice cracked, becoming deep and distorted. -y all disappeared without a trace.

Frisk found herself in a void, able to see the tiniest of glimmers far ahead of her. She found that unlike when she had died, she could stand and walk, and she headed towards the small glimmer, watching it coalesce into a point of golden light.

As she reached out with her soul, tentatively, corruption cracked through it. Flowey appeared before her. A strange haze flashed across his face as he spoke.

“Howdy!” Flowey spoke, and dread seeped through Frisk. “It’s me, Flowey! Flowey the Flower! I owe you a HUGE thanks! You really did a number on that old fool. Without you, I never could have gotten past him.” His face shaped into a likeness of Asgore, and Frisk cried out with horror. “But now, with your help,” Flowey said, and his face changed again, “He’s dead.” It was a malformed depiction of the king’s skull.

Frisk took a step back, then found herself frozen in place. She struggled with her willpower against her unresponsive limbs as Flowey continued.

“And now, I’ve got the human souls,” he cackled. “Boy, I’ve been empty for so long.” He looked to the side. “It feels great to have a soul inside me again. Mmm, I can feel them wriggling.” He winked, sticking his tongue out, and Frisk would have vomited had her body had any control.

“Aww, you’re feeling left out, aren’t you?” he said, and Frisk struggled harder, feeling tsunamis of terror bowl her over. It was just as in the nightmare she had had. She could not move, could not scream, could not turn on the light.

“Well, that’s just perfect,” Flowey said, winking again. “After all, I only have six souls. I still need one more…” His face contorted. “Before I become GOD. And then, with my newfound powers.” He imitated Toriel’s face, then Frisk’s face with her closed eyes, then swirling circles she did not recognize. “Monsters, humans. Everyone. I’ll show them all the REAL meaning of this world.”

Frisk’s mind burned white-hot with fear, no thought able to take hold in the fiery terror that gripped her.

“Oh, and forget about escaping to that - what do you call it? Golden point? It’s gone forever. But don’t worry. Your old friend Flowey has worked out a replacement for you!” He winked, and Frisk’s insides went cold, burning her with ice. “I’ll save over your own death,” he shrieked, eyes wide, fangs glistening in his mouth. He stuck his tongue out. “So you can watch me tear you to bloody pieces….” His eyes went completely white. “Over, and over, and over again.”

Though fear still rushed through Frisk, reason returned to her. There was only one option, only one way to escape this hell. With every ounce of her willpower, she managed to take a step forward.

“What…?” Flowey laughed incredulously. “You really think you can stop me? You really ARE an idiot.”

Frisk’s soul appeared, then the six other souls.

Red light started flashing, illuminating a ghastly silhouette that moved towards her. Finally it stopped as she backed up against an unseen barrier, a crude imitation of a smiling face appearing above her. It’s eyes split to reveal terrible green and red pupils, and a sourceless illumination showed her what she faced.

Strange snapping malformed jaws
vines leafy thick as tree trunks
Twisting grey were those? she didn’t
know

Frisk pulled herself together - or rather, as her instincts acted, forcing her out of the way of fire, vines, exploding cannonballs … were those fingers? She had to focus only on dodging. She had become quite good at it, between Asgore and Undyne and the other monsters she had encountered. Yet

This is all a bad dream… And you’re never waking up! The twisted voice shrieked with maniacal laughter, and Frisk felt her consciousness … snap.

“Hee hee hee,” she heard out of the darkness, as she fused back into awareness. “Did you really think I was gonna be satisfied… killing you only one time?”

The red flashing light appeared, and the monster stalked forward.

This time, Frisk kept dodging, but she started to wonder what the point of it all was. Maybe there was no escape. Her fragile resolve began to split, like a still-green twig being pulled off of a healthy tree.

Looking over, she saw a way she could strike at him. She ran, catapulting off the ground, and struck him. A tiny scratch appeared on one of his legs. She slumped, defeated.

Moments later, her head jerked up as a blaring, pulsing sound split the air, rattling through her skull and shaking her brain into fragments. The cyan soul appeared where the smiling face had been, along with a flashing “Warning”.

Flowey vanished, replaced by a gauntlet all around her of swirling swords. She dodged through them desperately, and in a place where the swords were missing, caught her breath just enough to yell for help.

The swords shivered, then turned into green bandages. Frisk felt her faith and health both restore, some of the lesser weakness leaving her limbs. She realized she could wait this out, that as long as she kept dodging, eventually everything would be okay.

Soon after, she died again, and again. “Pathetic... Now you’re really gonna die!” Flowey said. It seemed he was fully aware of her ability. The next time: “Hee hee hee. Do you even realize what will happen if you defeat me?”

It has to be better than this, Frisk thought grimly.

The next time, however, it was an orange soul that appeared, and gloves emblazoned with a symbol like an eye that swirled around her. When she caught her breath, she called for help. A second’s pause, then they turned to green gloves emblazoned with the image of souls. Frisk felt her courage return. It did not matter what happened. Maybe she would die and not come back, or maybe she would be stuck in an eternal loop of death. That did not mean she should not give everything she had in an effort to defeat Flowey.

The next souls to appear were blue, purple, and green. She dodged ballet shoes and stars, then picked up musical notes, regenerating. Words flew by her - DEATH, HORROR, TRAPPED, DESPAIR, DOOM, HATRED, SLAUGHTER, CORRUPT, CRUELTY - then turned to kind words - HAPPINESS, LOVE, MERCY. Fire shook from enormous pans, turning into fried eggs.

Frisk felt a sense of righteousness hold her up, a willingness to keep going pervade her, a love for all the monsters she had encountered fill her. She noticed she seemed to do slightly more damage as she attacked, though the overwhelming monstrosity was not so much hurt as opened up to let her influence the souls by it.

“Don’t you get it? There’s no such thing as happy endings. This is all that’s left…!”

“Are you really that desperate…? Hee hee hee.”

“Are you letting me kill you… on PURPOSE? Sicko. Ha ha ha.”

Frisk used these words to fuel her strength.

The next time Frisk died, she felt the link - her connection to life - snap. She was brought back, not under her own power, to “Honestly, fighting you IS pretty fun, so even if you are a sicko, I’ll take it.”

She rubbed her inflamed chest, struggling for breath. She felt as if something had shattered, spilling all her lifeblood onto the thirsty ground, where Flowey grew.

Weakly, she managed to barely dodge out of the way, fueled by fear. She knew if Flowey did not bring her back she could no longer do so herself. Several times she would dodge just to find herself in the middle of an attack, as if Flowey was puppeting her, bit by bit.

The yellow soul appeared - the last one - and Frisk flipped out of the way of bullets shot by a massive gun. Racing for the spot where it had misfired, she called for help.

Green flowers fired from the gun, which she snatched up. All the souls appeared above her, and showered her with their respective green items.

Dodging his attacks, Frisk attacked more furiously, bordering on reckless in her desperation. The attacks did more damage, leaving oozing lacerations, and every time she felt her strength failing, a green item would float towards her and she would snatch it, bolstered once again.

She struck with several particularly vicious blows.

“No… NO!” Flowey cried. “This can’t be happening! You… you…!”

A smug grin appeared on Flowey’s face as he suddenly reappeared, fully healed.

“You IDIOT,” he bark-laughed. She felt her awareness pop in and out like soap bubbles as he killed her and brought her back over and over again.

She reeled as the chain of death suddenly stopped. A circle of seeds surrounded her.

“Hee hee hee. Did you really think you could defeat me?” Frisk fell to one knee, fist hitting the ground as she bowed her head. “I am the GOD of this world. And you? You’re hopeless. Hopeless and alone. Golly, that’s right! Your worthless friends can’t save you now! Call for help, I dare you. Cry into the darkness! Mommy, Daddy,” he mocked her, “Somebody help! See what good it does you!”

Frisk summoned all her strength, and howled into the void. Into her broken keening, she sent a prayer; the first prayer she had given in a long time.

There was silence, then, “But nobody came. Gee, what a shame. Nobody else is gonna get to see you DIE.

And for the first time in her life, the Lord and Lady seemed to answer her prayer. As the seeds closed in around her, they disappeared, and she found herself whole in body. She looked up.

Flowey’s eyes were wide, his mouth open in a stunned grin. “What? How’d you…? Well, I’ll just…” He looked to one side as nothing happened. “Wh… where are my powers?”

The souls appeared, surrounding Flowey. “The souls…?” He looked frantically back and forth. “What are they doing?”

Rainbows flashed as the souls formed a whirlwind around Flowey.

“You’re supposed to obey me!” he screamed nearly incomprehensibly. “Stop. Stop it!!! STOP!!!!!!” His voice trailed off.

They stood before the darkened barrier, Flowey bent over so his face was hidden.

Pity welled in Frisk’s soul, even after everything that had happened. She wondered what could possibly have been done to the poor creature to make it like this.

“Flowey,” she hesitated, then continued. “It is okay.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking up, though his face was shadowed. He smiled, but the expression was haunted. “Do you really think I’ve learned anything from this? No.”

“I will not hurt you,” Frisk insisted.

“Sparing me won’t change anything,” Flowey said in a dead voice. “Killing me is the only way to end this.”

“I will not hurt you,” Frisk said again.

“If you let me live,” Flowey said, raising his face to reveal it slashed and broken, eyes crazed, “I’ll come back.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Frisk said.

“I’ll kill you.”

“You will not.”

“I’ll kill everyone.” His eyes widened.

“I will save them. I will save you.”

“I’ll kill everyone you love.” His eyes widened more.

“I will not hurt you.”

Flowey was silent.

“I will not hurt you.”

His expression turned to one of confusion.

“I will not hurt you.”

“...why?” he asked, rage entering his face.

Frisk set down her stick, holding her arms out in a gesture of peace.

“...why are you being… so nice to me?” His expression crumpled.

“It is alright.”

“I can’t understand.”

“That is alright.”

His expression turned frantic. “I can’t understand.”

“Everything will be alright.”

“I just can’t understand…” Flowey howled, and disappeared.

Frisk faced another archway, this one purple. She knew she could exit the barrier, but with the souls gone, she had no way of breaking it. She wasn’t sure what her plan had been, exactly. She had rushed headfirst into the situation, not thinking - seven souls were needed to break the barrier, this she knew, and she was the seventh. She would have had to die, and not at the hands of a monster who wanted to destroy humanity. Humans had not always been good to her, but there were those like Bridget…

As she stood staring at the doorway, she could see what would happen if she left. Monsters would lose hope. Toriel would return to rule her people, and spread a message of kindness to humans. Perhaps Papyrus would join the royal guard, but Undyne would step down. She would not know what to do with no one to fight. Alphys would retreat, knowing she had helped a human who had killed the king. They would all miss her. And what would Sans think, that she had escaped without helping them, as she had meant all along? Though she wanted to flee from her actions, she could not abandon everyone.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said from behind her.

“Sans,” Frisk breathed, her voice shuddering.

“It’s okay,” he said, coming to her and catching her face in his hands. “Shh.” He wiped her tears.

“I brought death upon the king,” Frisk hiccuped. “Now I cannot even go back.”

“You - oh,” Sans said, realization dawning on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I - tried, and eventually - it did just not seem important.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t fault ya,” Sans said. “After all, I can help you fix this.”

“You can?” Frisk’s head shot up, and would have bumped him in the nose had he had one. Her eyes fell. “What good will it do to go back, though? Would it not just repeat again?”

“Not back,” Sans said, running his hands down to meet hers. “Sideways.”

Chapter 9: “[They] gave them the heebie-jeebies. It was all [they] had to give.”

There was a rush, as if the world was turning about the axis of her core. A feeling of almost-deja-vu tingled through her, overwhelming, except this sensation was… perpendicular? to the one she felt she had to have experienced before.

Flowey appeared before her as this sensation paused. Frisk could sense Sans’ presence, but not feel him, as though his soul was there but his mind was not. He wasn’t listening.

“Why…?” he said, for once not smiling. “Why did you spare me? Why did you let me go?” He smiled slightly. “Don’t you realize that being nice…” he frowned, “just gets you hurt?” Look at yourself. You made all these great friends, but now - should you follow the course of the timeline, you may never see them again. Not to mention how much they would be set back by you.”

Frisk gasped. “But I did not -” she started.

“Doesn’t matter,” Flowey said. He was smiling, but his voice was dull. “That is what’ll happen. Hurts, doesn’t it? If you had just gone through without caring about anyone, you wouldn’t have to feel bad now. So I don’t get it. If you really did everything the right way, why will things still end up like this? Why? Is life really that unfair?”

“No,” Frisk whispered, despair flooding through her. Somehow she knew he was not lying. “Flowey, please…”

An expression dawned on his face like a sunrise. “Say… what if I told you-” he hesitated. “I knew some way to get you a better ending?”

Hope flooded through Frisk, more painful than despair.

“Go see Dr. Alphys,” Flowey said. “It may be she who holds the key to your happiness.” He smiled genuinely. “See you soon.”

Sans caught Frisk as she fell to the ground, her legs giving out on her. “Honey?” he asked.

“I - I feel,” Frisk stuttered, putting a hand to her head.

“Let’s get you to Papyrus,” Sans said, picking her up in his arms.

“N-no,” Frisk said, clenching her teeth to try to keep them from chattering. “Dr. Alphys.”

“Right, of course,” Sans said, wagging his head distractedly, and the feeling overtook them again, this time parallel in that sense of deja vu.

When they got to the lab, Alphys was nowhere to be seen. Sans set Frisk down as he picked up a note and read it, cradling her in one arm.

“Should anybody come looking for me, know that I have finally found the courage to face my mistakes. Aleia, that date you went on with me, your vote of confidence, along with Undyne’s and Papryus’s, it made me realize that it is my responsibility to face up to the things I have done. But you guys alone can’t magically make my problems go away. I want to be a better person. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. This is my problem but, … if I never come back, and you want to know the “truth”, enter the door to the north of this note.”

“Oh no,” Sans said.

Frisk managed to push herself into a sitting position, arms shaking.

“I am alright, really,” she insisted, then went red. “Do not worry about that… date, um, thing, by the way. It was a misunderstanding.”

Sans raised an eye ridge, then alarm flashed across his face as her arms gave out. He caught her again.

She grimaced, scrunching her face as her head seemed to bob on tumultuous waves, rising and sinking above and below the dark waters.

“We have - to find Alphys,” Frisk whimpered.

I am dying, she thought vaguely, as she started to sink. I know this feeling.

Frisk - Aleia - Risk - Chara - stay determined. The names overlapped, but her awareness was piqued at the new name, as she just managed to catch it through the dissonance. You are the future of humans and monsters.

She clawed her way back up through the waters, fighting, gasping for breath. She had to set everyone free.

They were in an elevator - that’s what Alphys had told her they were called - then they were falling, weightless, and Frisk tried to struggle up through the darkness but this water would not take her weight -

They landed with a CRASH. Sans moaned indistinctly underneath her.

“S-ans?”

“Frisk,” he groaned. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Edging out from under her, Sans picked her up, this time with one arm. His other arm hung limply at his side.

In the damp dimness, green panels lit up with writing as they hurried down the halls. The whole place was creepy, and even Sans cringed away from the clanking noises in the depths of the winding corridors and the shifting shadows. Finally, they stopped at a room where the lock seemed to be intact.

Sans set her down gently as he would a small child. Anxiety patched his face with its own strange shadows.

“I have to leave you here,” he said, voice strained. “I need to find her - or something that can save you.”

Her soul appeared before her, and Sans stumbled back. It was nearly lightless, only the faintest of red glows around the grey edges.

“Frisk,” he said tremulously.

“Hurry,” she pleaded, her strength almost gone, and he rushed out of the room, locking it behind him.

She turned, slowly, effortfully. A screen lined the wall, surrounded by tapes. Dragging one across the shelf it rested on, she finished putting it into the waiting slot, and moving her finger over the one button, pressed it.

“Psst. Gorey, wake up.” Frisk supposed that was Asgore. Determination surged through her, lending her strength. She chuckled at Toriel’s puns.

On the next tapes, there was a name, but when she heard it, something in her head obscured it with her own. It was only on the last tape that she recognized it.

“ALEIA-” she heard, followed by the familiar phrase, “You have to stay determined. You can’t give up. You are the future of humans and monsters. Psst, ALl-Chara. Please wake up.”

This is not St. Chara in the tapes, she knew. This is some other Chara, that had fallen down here. The fourth and fifth tapes, their picture lost, seemed to have come from a security camera, rather than the handheld one with the cap mentioned in the first three videos.

Frisk’s hand skimmed along the shelf, determination still swelling within her.

This time, the screen lit up with video.

“Asriel, please,” a young, female skeleton begged a young, male goat monster, who looked like Toriel and Asgore. “I want to be there for you. I want to help you.”

“No, Lucida,” Asriel growled, whipping around to face her, making her jump. “You want to be with me, not for me. You think I want to deal with your little … schoolgirl crush, with my sister dying?”

“It’s not a schoolgirl crush,” Lucida screamed back, her face turning yellow. “I love you, Asriel Dreemurr! And I love Chara as my sister! How dare you say that this is for selfish reasons. I would leave forever, if that’s really what would make you the happiest!”

“Fine, then leave,” Asriel bellowed back, exposing long, curled fangs.

Lucida took a step back, stunned. Pain flashed across her face, then she turned away from the camera, clutching her arms and running away.

The next tape showed a small bedroom. A mop of sweaty brown hair was visible on the pillow of the small bed, but the footage was too grainy, at the wrong angle to make out a face.

“Chara, hold on,” Toriel said, clutching her hand. A female monster bent over the figure on the bed, sending energy into her soul. A spiral rose from it, starting to take a small form - then fell to dust.

“Oh, no,” Toriel breathed.

“She miscarried,” the female monster said. “I am sorry.”

Toriel lay her hand on the skeletal - or rather, extremely thin and pale human - arm sticking out from the covers, and turned to the monster. “Please, do not tell her.”

“Yes, your highness.”

Frisk realized there were tears streaming down her face as she moved her hand to the next tape.

The same skeleton - Lucida - stood before a small child in a heavy set of armor, sword in hand. Grief contorted her face as she leveled the sword at the child, whose soul glowed dark blue.

“Evil, demon child,” she shrieked, “You will die for your sins.”

“I haven’ done anythin’” the girl cried in a very young voice.

Lucida pierced the child’s heart. Crimson blood splattered the golden tiles of the Judgment Hall.

In the next tape, a child approached Lucida, yellow soul already glowing.

“You killed my sister,” he yelled, charging at her.

“You killed my love,” she yelled back, in a voice thick with rage.

The young child pulled out a pistol, putting a bullet through her skull. Dust exploded over the hall, and the young child ran through it, covering his face and coughing.

In the next tape, a much younger Sans stood, eye flashing blue and hand held up to halt the child with his soul glowing green.

“Do you want to have a bad time?” he asked, blue-lit tears spilling from his eyes. Frisk watched in horror as he lifted the child, smashing their body into the pillars, walls, ceiling, and floor, even after they went limp and their blood left body-sized stains on impact.

There were three tapes left, but Frisk heard the lock turning in the door. She pressed the button and scooted back into the shelves.

There was a cry outside.

“D-d-don’t g-give that to her,” she heard Alphys yell, and she cringed in mindless terror. Sans burst in, carrying a syringe, and Frisk fell in a heap as she tried to pull herself away from him.

“Here,” he cried, plunging the syringe into her soul.

Her soul regained some of its glow as he pushed it in. She felt strength return to her body, and her mind clear.

“S-sans, I d-d-don’t kn-know what that w-will do t-t-to humans,” Alphys said, her claws dragging at her cheeks.

“She needs determination,” Sans said.

“You hurt those other humans,” Frisk spoke, her voice dry but strong.

Sans spun to her, fear written on his face.

“How could you?” she begged, hoping there was some reason.

“They killed my mother,” Sans choked out, bowing his head, and Frisk remembered at Grillby’s - Lurian - Lucida and Algerian.

“The child you killed did not kill your mother,” Frisk said, trying to get him to meet her eyes. “Did you kill all of them?”

“After that, only one,” Sans said tonelessly, though his shoulders shook. “I had erred. My job was to judge the humans. After that, I only killed the one who had murdered a monster.”

“What right do you have to judge?” Frisk shot at him, and then he met her eyes with a stare full of anger.

“They were going to banish me,” he cried, “so that I could never see Papyrus again. He needed me! Never mind that others would see to it that his physical needs were met - he needed me.”

“Asgore would not have killed you, surely?” Frisk asked, in a much quieter voice.

“A barrier,” Sans answered in a whisper. “So that I would be isolated from all monsters.”

“You would have killed me then, too?” Frisk asked, throat tight.

“I - I don’t know,” Sans admitted. “I-” he stopped, unable to speak.

“What love you must have for your family,” Frisk finally scoffed, speaking from the place where a jagged line ran through her aching, broken heart.

“Wouldn’t you have done the same for yours?” Sans burst out.

“My mother drove me to the the mountain to die!” Frisk yelled, scratching her throat with the force of the rough words. She fell back, still weak, as exhaustion overtook her.

Sans was silent for some time. Then he turned to Alphys. “Do you have more of that stuff?”

“I-I do,” Alphys said, wringing her hands. “B-but it’s d-dangerous.”

“Can you go get it?” Sans said, his eyes demanding an answer.

“Y-yes,” Alphys said. “But w-we’re still t-trapped d-down here.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Sans said. “Go.”

Alphys scurried off, and Sans stood. Frisk pushed herself to her feet, arms shaking.

“You stay here,” Sans said, and Frisk shot him an angry look.

“Why, so you can hurt some more people?”

Sans’ eye flashed, and Frisk felt herself raise up off the ground by her chest as her soul glowed grey-blue.

“I never hurt monsters,” Sans said through gritted teeth. “Which is more than you can say.

“I never hurt anyone,” Frisk protested, fuming.

“Oh?” Sans said, still holding her up. “What about when you agreed to go on that date with Papyrus? I know you don’t like him that way.”

“I could,” Frisk spat. “He is better than you.”

Sans eyes went out, and Frisk crashed to the floor. As she regained her breath, she continued, “I was hurt! You - you - had just called me insignificant. What kind of Love is that?”

“I never said I loved you,” Sans said in a monotone, and Frisk gasped, tears beginning to cascade down her cheeks. “You would take it out on Papyrus. You would be willing to break his heart just because yours was broken. “

“How is that different from killing humans because they killed a member of your family?” Frisk hurled the accusation at him, clutching at her chest.

“Because at least I was trying to protect Papyrus,” Sans said, advancing on her. “I didn’t do it just to avenge my mother. I answered Asgore’s call because I was afraid he - he would try to convince the next murderer to give up, and get himself killed. That’s the kind of monster he is!”

Matching tears streamed down Sans’ cheeks, glinting green in the glow coming up from the floor. Through her own blurred eyes, it was the only way Frisk could tell where he was.

“I - I’m-m s-sorry,” Frisk wailed, as her anger collapsed in on itself, driving a thousand arrow-tips into her heart.

Sans fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around her.

“I’m-m so sorry,” he gasped. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” He murmured the phrase until it blended into one word, interrupted by the hitching sobs of his breath.

Some time passed as they sat, interlocked. Finally, Frisk hiccupped, “W-where is Alph-phys?” Shouldn’t she be he-ere by now?”

“I’ll go find her,” Sans said, withdrawing his hands and pushing himself to a standing position. “Please stay here.”

Frisk was already clambering to her feet, and the light in the room changed as her soul glowed more firmly red. “I will look for the keys we need.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Sans hesitated, as she leaned against the wall for support.

“We can look for Alphys and the keys,” Frisk said, stepping forward so she stood face to face with Sans.

“Okay,” Sans said, putting her arm over his back to support her. “If there’s danger, though-”

“It will be okay,” Frisk murmured.

Leaning on Sans, Frisk walked with him out of the room.

They made their way to a room with a wall full of fans. The motion of the blades stirred white, powdery dust through the air, making it difficult to see. Frisk started coughing.

“There has to be a way to turn these off,” Sans said in a hoarse voice. Leaning his own hand against the wall, there was a click, and the whirring faded.

The dust started to coalesce into a form. A large, oozing, dog-like creature stalked towards them.

Sans threw his hand out, bone attacks forming as his eye glowed blue. Multiple spots within the dog-monster flashed faintly blue.

“Stop,” Frisk yelled, and the bones dissipated as they were about to hit. “You said you’d never hurt any monsters.”

“That’s not a monster,” Sans said, panicked, as he dipped them out of the way of some crude arrows shooting from its mouth. “Frisk-”

She had removed her arm from his back, stumbling forward. Reaching up, she just managed to scratch the dog-thing’s chin. It panted eagerly, dripping on her.

The dog-thing leaned against her, lurching, and flopped to the ground, bringing her with it.

“Frisk,” Sans cried out, rushing over, but she was fine. As the dog woke up, she threw her stick for it, and it trotted proudly back with it clamped in one of the dog-like shadows underneath its legs. She petted it fondly.

“We don’t have to fight it, Sans,” she said quietly, smiling. The dog nuzzled her, then trotted off.

They continued carefully through the hazy hallways. Along the way, they met several other, similar creatures, who were not so gentle as the dog-thing. Frisk persisted in appeasing them, though it was difficult - Sans shielded her from the majority of the attacks. Bits of bone dusted off of him as he did.

“Sans,” she said, after they managed to extract themselves from an encounter with a creature like no monster Frisk had ever seen, that had slithered from a rusty sink, “I may not be able to come back from death any more, but neither can you.”

“You can’t afford to lose any Hope,” Sans said.

“I’m not-” Frisk said, confused, but Sans turned to her.

“Hope is our method of quantifying the damage that has been inflicted on your soul,” he explained, talking fast. “If it reaches zero, you will despair, and your soul will shatter. You know that magical attacks do physical damage, but that is not how they kill you.”

“How much Hope do you have, normally?” Frisk forced herself to ask.

“One,” Sans said, and she put a hand to her mouth, struggling for breath. “But,” he continued. “Sleeping raises your Hope above the maximum.”

“What does Hope stand for?” Frisk followed, bending over the sink as she spotted a blue glow at the bottom.

“Holding Persistence,” Sans said. “Your ability to hang on despite everything.”

“Oh,” Frisk said, and they continued in silence.

They finally unlocked all four locks, and made it to the power room. As they switched on the generator, and it roared to life, white flashed in Frisk’s peripheral vision. They turned to see more of the creatures advancing on them, more than they could hope to overcome.

Just as the creatures reached them, Sans forming a protective, though futile, shell around Frisk, a voice halted their advance.

“Hey, stop!”

Alphys ran into the room. “I got you guys some food, okay?” she barked at the creatures, and they retreated to the doorway, waiting.

“Sorry,” Alphys said. “I’m g-glad you came. I thought I m-might not come back. N-not because of these guys or anything. I w-was just afraid - to t-tell the truth, I mean. I thought I m-might run away, or…” her face dropped, “do something cowardly.”

Sans took in a sharp breath, his ribcage rising against Frisk’s. She herself thought she understood what Alphys meant, and her heart ached for her.

“These creatures -” Alphys said. “Th-they are why I told you not to g-give that determination to Frisk. It m-melts monsters, even - though m-my only experience is w-with ones who have f-fallen down. I m-mean,” she stopped, gathering herself. “Monsters who have fallen d-down, who have very l-little determination themselves, they m-melt. Though I g-got the determination f-from human souls, I d-didn’t know what it would d-do.

“Anyways, I was afraid to t-tell their families, so I hid them down here. I am still afraid t-to tell the truth. I might s-screw up again. B-but I can do this, with your support. And I can help you.”

She pulled out a jar that glowed red.

“We c-can isolate more from the human s-souls,” Alphys said.

“That is right,” Frisk said, remembering what Flowey had said. “Sans, we have to go back to Asgore.”

“What? No,” he said, turning to her. “You’ll die.”

“I won’t,” Frisk insisted. “But Sans-” he turned to her. “You have to let me do this alone.”

“No,” he said, more forcefully.

“I may never have enough determination to turn time back farther than one golden point,” she said, talking fast, “but that will be enough to tether me one last time. I do not think I will die, and if I do, I get one more try.”

“B-but, injecting you with that m-much-” Alphys cut in.

“She - is - a determination soul,” Sans said haltingly. “Sweetheart, are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she said firmly.

Alphys withdrew a syringe and a tube, which she connected to the jar.

“Are you ready?” Alphys asked.

“Yes,” Frisk said, and nodded.

Alphys injected her with the needle.

“Wait, before you go,” Alphys said, as the last of the determination flowed into Frisk’s beaming soul. She took a second syringe, and held a hand out, coaxing Sans’ soul to appear. It was very red, and she plunged the syringe into it, drawing from it until it was only very faintly tinged pink. She handed Sans the jar, which had only a small amount of determination pooled at the bottom.

“You…?” Alphys started, frowning, but the swirling sensation hooked into Frisk, and they were gone.

Frisk arrived, alone, in the throne room. She looked around for Sans as Asgore repeated his monologue to her, and then went to wait at the barrier. Frisk tethered herself to the golden point just outside the door leading to it. It was tricky - as if her soul was fumbling with the cord that attached her and it kept slipping off. Finally she managed to get it to stick.

She entered the room that was cut off by the barrier, and Asgore reluctantly turned to her, pulling up the seven glass cases filled with six souls. He bowed his head, about to reveal his trident, she knew. A ball of white flame flickered to life to one side of and slightly behind him, and careened into his back, knocking him to the side.

Toriel runs in. “Oh, what a nasty creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youth,” she said, huffing slightly. “Do not be afraid, my child. It is I, Toriel, your friend and guardian. At first, I thought I would let you make your journey alone -”

But you did, Frisk thought, raising an eyebrow.

“-but I could not stop worrying about you,” Toriel continued, wringing her hands, and a liquid warmness flowed through a corner of her heart, melting the hard core of icy cynicism and causing her to let out a longing sigh.

“Your adventure must have been so treacherous,” Toriel said, “And ultimately it would burden you with a horrible choice.

Frisk felt her shoulders sink and her stomach muscles release as she realized - she no longer had to fight Asgore.

“To leave this place, you would have to take the life of another person,” Toriel said.

“I wasn’t going to leave,” Frisk interrupted, startling herself. She had been taught not to speak when others were, but - this was important. “I wanted to free you all.”

Toriel’s eyes swelled with sparkling tears. “My child,” she said tremulously.

“Tori-” Asgore was the next to interrupt.

“Do not Tori me, you pathetic whelp,” Toriel said, baring her teeth viciously. “If you truly wanted to free our kind, you could have gone through the barrier after getting ONE soul, taken six souls from the humans, then come back and freed everyone peacefully. Instead of killing children, and making everyone wait in despair while you meekly hoped another human would never come. You are no king.”

Undyne stormed in just then. “Hey human friend, king man, nobody fight. You all better make friends, or I’ll-” she noticed the Queen.

“Hello, I am Toriel,” Toriel said. “Are you Aleia’s friend? It is nice to meet you.”

“Hi, nice to meet you too!” Undyne replied. “Asgore, dude, is that your ex? That’s rough.”

Asgore’s expression turned funny at this, and Frisk’s side shook with barely-contained laughter.

Alphys scuttled in, and Papyrus followed with a swagger to his step. “Oh, hello, your majesty,” he said, then whisper-shouted in Frisk’s ear, “Did Asgore shave? And clone himself?”

Frisk’s laughter burst out at this point, just as Sans showed up.

“Hello,” Toriel said.

“Hey, I know ya,” Sans replied. “Or, your voice at least.”

“I know your voice as well. I am Toriel. Nice to meet you.”

“Sans, and same.”

Frisk glowed with contentment as everyone introduced themselves and started bantering with each other, including Mettaton, who arrived a bit later. Finally, they all turned to her.

“It seems we must remain here for the time being,” Toriel said, and the smile slipped off Frisk’s face so fast, it seemed to lodge like a bullet in her heart.

Alphys spoke up. “Hey, Papyrus, if you called everyone, and I got here before you, how did you know how to call everybody?”

Frisk’s breath caught as she waited for an answer.

“Let’s just say,” Papyrus boomed heartily, “a tiny flower helped me.”

“A tiny ...flower?” Alphys asked, dripping profusely.

Everyone’s faces tightened with pain as a spike vine lashed out, ensnaring them and sending what looked like shocks of lightning through their bodies.

“You idiots,” Flowey said, then winked. “While you guys were having your little party, I took the human souls!” Dread sludged through Frisk. “And now, not only do I have those under my power, but all of your friends’ souls are gonna be mine, too!” Flowey laughed his strangely childlike laugh. “And you know what the best part is?”

Frisk’s coal heart fused under the weight of fear into an infinitely hard substance.. Flowey’s face contorted with glee.

“It’s all your fault,” he laughed. “It’s all because you made them love you. All the time you spent listening to them, encouraging them, caring about them? Without that, they wouldn’t have come here.”

“And now, with their souls and the humans’ together,” Flowey crowed, “I will achieve my real form.” He laughed.

Frisk finally found her voice. “Why are you doing this,” she shouted, tears of frustration blurring her sight.

“Don’t you get it?” Flowey crooned. “This is all just a game.” Horror paralyzed Frisk as he continued.

“If you all leave the underground, you’ll win. If you win, you won’t want to play with me anymore.” His expression grew angry, then fashioned into a smile again, so quickly it made Frisk dizzy. “And what would I do then? But this game between us will never end.” His face split into an expression of evil delight. “I’ll hold victory in front of you, just within your reach, and then tear it away just before you grasp it. Over,” his face broke, one side sliding down slightly, “and over, and over…” He laughed again, and shivers ran down Frisk’s back.

“Listen,” he said, his face leveling. “If you do defeat me, I’ll give you your “happy ending”. I’ll bring your friends back. I’ll destroy the barrier. Everyone will finally be happy.”

Frisk’s heart burst aflame with hope.

“But that won’t happen,” Flowey snarled, grinning. His face broke again. “You! I’ll keep you here no matter what!

Frisk’s soul glowed red as a ring of seeds appeared around it.

“Even if it means killing you one million times!”

Rings of seeds bombarded her, until Frisk knew her Hope had to be at its minimum, her head swimming with despair. Her tiny Hope shone stronger against the darkness surrounding it, though, a candle to burn away the night.

As the last circle of seeds closed, tantalizingly slow, a ring of fire appeared within them, burning them away.

“What?” Flowey shrieked, frustration twisting his face.

Toriel’s face cleared. “Do not be afraid, my child,” Toriel said. “No matter what happens, we will always be there to protect you!”

Flowey sent two lines of seeds at her from opposing directions, but they were blocked by a bone and a spear.

“That’s right, human! You can win!” Papyrus declared. “Just do… what I… would do…” Frisk’s heart tripped and rolled, bashing against her ribcage as he struggled to speak. “Believe in you!” Her heart split open against her sternum.

“Hey, human, if you got past me, you can do anything,” Undyne yelled, grinning fiercely. “So don’t worry! We’re with you all the way!”

Frisk felt her Hope swelling, returning.

“Hey, you haven’t beaten this guy yet?” Sans quipped. “I would have expected you to execute his assassination by now.” Frisk groaned as he continued, “This weirdo’s got nothing on you.

Flowey’s expression grew enraged as Asgore and Alphys blocked two more attacks, lending their vocal support.

“Even though it’s technically impossible to beat him, I know you can do it,” Alphys cheered.

“Human, for the future of humans and monsters, you must stay determined!” Asgore said, and Frisk gasped, recognizing his voice.

More monsters crowded around, voicing their belief in her. Frisk felt her Hope rising more.

“Urggh,” Flowey moaned, concern flooding his face. “No! Unbelievable! This can’t be happening! You… you!”

Frisk’s stomach spun as her heart careened off of it, heading for her feet. Flowey grinned his demonic grin.

“I can’t believe you’re all so stupid.” The gathered monster’s eyes grew wide with pain as he sent more lightning coursing through them. “All of your souls are mine!!!!” Flowey bellowed, and everything faded to white.

Before Frisk, a small, furry goat monster in a striped sweater stood, shoulders shaking. He turned his head as she moved towards him, flexing his hands.

“Finally,” he spoke. “I was so tired of being a flower.”

He turned to Frisk, eyes lowered, then raised them, smiling a kind smile. “Howdy! ALE -Chara, are you there? It’s your best friend.”

He flashed out of view, then reappeared, this time taller, with larger horns, robes like Toriel’s and Asgore’s, and a golden locket around his neck.

ASRIEL DREEMURR, the words flashed, vibrating, in front of Frisk’s eyes, as he floated above her.

She sensed that there were only two things she could do. She held on tightly to her hopes, as he sent balls of flame at her, and the black around them faded to white, and then to shifting, flickering colors.

Giant colored stars burst into explosions around her, tearing into her soul, but Frisk felt that she did not get hurt as much as she might have.

Frisk mind’s flashed to the reason she was here - for humans and monsters. She felt her pockets grow light, buoyant. She reached into them as Asriel spoke.

“You know,” he said, “I don’t really care about destroying this world anymore.”

Beams of light shot down at her from on high, but she sensed them a second before impact and managed to dodge most of them.

Frisk reached into her pocket and took a bite out of an old glamburger, feeling her Hope return with the comfort food.

“After I defeat you and gain total control over the timeline,” he continued, “I just want to reset everything.”

Twin sabers appeared in his hands as he jumped forward, slashing at Frisk. She dodged, eating another glamburger.

“All your progress, everyone’s memories … I’ll bring them all back to zero!”

Frisk pulled the image of those she cared about to the forefront of her mind, reminding herself again why she was there. Her pockets grew light again.

“Then we can do everything all over again,” he said, as Frisk bit into a nice cream. She realized then that he was the Asriel on the tapes, the son of the king and queen she had heard about, who had died. But how…?

“And you know what the best part of all this is?” he said after another attack, as he wove about in the air, echoing his statement as Flowey. “You’ll DO it.”

A strange gun-like contraption appeared in his hand, shooting streams of diamonds and a rainbow beam at Frisk. She rolled out of the way, barely.

“And then you’ll lose to me again.”

“And again.” He attacked.

“And again!!!!” He kept attacking.

“Because you want a ‘happy ending.” His expression grew condescending as he attacked again.

“Because you love your friends,” he shouted swinging his sabers. Frisk reached into her pocket and pulled out a strange glowing substance. As she nibbled on it, she could see a vision of monsters and humans, on the surface in peace. She felt her Hope shoot up, as high as it had ever been.

“Because you never give up,” Asriel mocked, shooting at her.

“Isn’t that delicious?” he said, shaking his head. “Your determination… the power that let you get this far…” His eyes widened. “It’s gonna be your downfall!”

“Now, enough messing around,” he yelled. “It’s time to purge this timeline once and for all!” Frisk’s eyes grew wide, but she didn’t know what she could do. She pulled out another of the glowing things and ate it, seeing monster children running under the sun.

The world went black, and a flat, deeply cackling goat soul appeared.

He attacked, pulling diamonds into his gaping mouth.

“... even after that attack, you’re still standing in my way?” he asked, as he reappeared. “Wow. You really are something special. But don’t get cocky. Up until now, I’ve only been using a fraction of my real power. Let’s see what good your determination is against this!” The world stretched.

All that Frisk could see was the giant upper body and wings of Asriel. “God of Hyperdeath,” the voice in her head informed her. She could not move, could not even reach the link to the golden point.

A lightning-quick stream of fireballs streaked towards her, and she pulled her soul back without moving. Even so, one struck, and she felt her soul crack. Instead of sinking into the void, she felt determination race through her, and her soul refused.

She tried to struggle, but couldn’t move.

“I can feel it,” Asriel spoke. “Every time you die, your grip on this world slips away. Every time you die, your friends forget you a little more.”

Frisk felt her determination drop, then surge.

“Your life will end here, in a world where no one remembers you.”

Asriel raised his arms, and more fireballs streaked towards her.

“Still, you’re hanging on? That’s fine. In a few moments, you’ll forget everything, too. That attitude will serve you well in your next life.”

Frisk struggled harder.

Asriel laughed as she moved her soul out of the way of his next attack. “Still?” he exclaimed. “Come on, show me what good your determination is now!” He attacked again.

Frisk put her whole soul and being into struggling. She couldn’t move, couldn’t reach the golden point to save everyone.

“Maybe,” the voice whispered to her, “you can save something else.”

With all her soul, not able to even speak, she reached out to Asriel’s soul and called out to Sans. She felt something resonating, and Sans and Papyrus appeared before her, their heads obscured with despair.

“Stop skull-king around,” Frisk said desperately, finding herself able to speak.

“Just give up. I did,” Sans said, at the same time as Papyrus said in a monotone, “I must capture a human!”

She dodged the bones that flew at her soul, then told several more bad puns. Finally, she shouted, “You can’t give up, you stupid skeleton!”

She seemed to break through, and the haze cleared. “No wait, you’re my friend! I could never capture you!” Papyrus said.

“Nah, I’m rooting for ya, honey,” he said, flashing her a lopsided grin. Frisk just had time to realize that he had uttered a flower pun when she was drawn back out before the God Asriel.

She called out to Toriel then, and was drawn in to where corruptions of Toriel and Asgore waited, hopeless. She tried to talk to them, hugging them, and finally telling them she would not fight. The haze cleared, and they urged her on.

She saved Undyne and Alphys next, but something still was missing.

“You can save someone else,” the voice whispered to her.

Frisk reached out, searching, then realized. “Asriel,” she called, with all her soul.

“What are you doing?” he bellowed, his face contorting with pain.

Frisk saw a vision that was somehow familiar, as if she had seen the beginning of it when she first fell.

A girl about her age, with hair like hers, lay facedown on a bed of golden flowers. Asriel came up as she pushed herself to her feet. He helped her down a hall. There was an image of her, face obscured by flowers, next to a beaming Asriel, in front of what she presumed to be Toriel and Asgore.

“What did you do?” Asriel roared. “What is this feeling? What’s happening to me. No! NO! I don’t need anyone!”

He sent fireballs rocketing towards her, and she reached out again.

“No! Get away from me! Do you hear me? I’ll tear you apart!”

Frisk would have laughed at the irony of that statement had the pain cracking through his voice not rocked her to her soul. She dodged more fireballs, but they were less dense this time. She reached out again.

“AL-Chara, do you know why I’m doing this? Why I keep fighting to keep you around?”

Fire rained from above.

I’m doing this… because you’re special, A-Chara. You’re the only one that understands me. You’re the only one who’s any fun to play with anymore.”

More fireballs fell, but they moved around her.

“No, that’s not just it. I’m doing this because I care about you, Chara. I care about you more than anybody else! I’m not ready for this to end! I’m not ready for you to leave! I’m not ready to say goodbye to someone like you again…!”

“So, please, STOP DOING THIS,” he yelled, the force of his voice tearing at the very edges of the world, “AND JUST LET ME WIN!!!” He leveled an attack at Frisk, and she felt her Hope drop lower than it had ever been.

She thought of all her friends in the underground. She held on harder.

“STOP IT!!!”

She thought of Toriel. Even as her Hope slipped, she grasped harder.

“STOP IT NOW!!!!!”

She thought of Sans, the moment when their souls had met and she had seen him. She clutched at the tiny hope with all of her might.

“PLEASE!”

She thought of Asriel, cold and alone. She would never let go.

The attack faded, and had she not been completely caged, she would have slumped.

“Chara,” Asriel whispered.

She reached out.

“I’m so alone, Chara.”

She reached out, wondering if he was mistaking her for the other fallen human, and why. But it didn’t matter.

“I’m so afraid, Chara.”

She reached out.

“Chara…”

She reached out.

“I…”

The world faded, and the goat-monster stood before her, sobbing and rubbing its eyes. She realized he was actually taller than her, but he appeared so small as he wailed.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried, then rubbed his nose and looked up. “I always was a crybaby, wasn’t I, Chara?” He paused. “I know. You’re not actually Chara, are you? Chara’s been gone for a long time.” He paused again, looking down. “Um, what - what is your name?”

“Frisk,” Frisk spoke, not wanting to lie to him after everything that had happened.

“Frisk?” Asriel repeated. “That’s a nice name. Frisk… I haven’t felt like this for a long time. As a flower, I was soulless. I lacked the power to love other people. However, with everyone’s souls inside of me… I not only have my own compassion back… But I can feel every other monsters’ as well. They all care about each other so much.”

He looked directly into her eyes as she listened. “And… they all care about you too, Frisk. I wish I could tell you how everyone feels about you. Papyrus. Sans. Undyne. Alphys. Toriel. Monsters are weird. Even though most of them barely know you, It feels like they all really love you.”

His face fell, and he gave a half-hearted laugh. “Frisk, I understand if you can’t forgive me. I understand if you hate me. I acted so strange and horrible. I hurt you. I hurt so many people. Friends, family, bystanders…” He let out a shaky sob. “There’s no excuse for what I’ve done.”

He fell silent.

“It’s okay,” Frisk said, rushing over to him and wrapping him in her arms. She felt him shake against her as he began crying again, and tears began to spill from her own eyes. “You care. You are trying to make things right. That’s what matters.”

“Wh-what?” Asriel said. “Frisk, you’re gonna make me cry again.” Frisk ignored the fact that he already was.

“Besides, I can’t keep these souls inside of me. The least I can do is return them. But first, there’s something I have to do. Right now I can feel everyone’s hearts beating as one. They’re all burning with the same desire. With everyone’s power, with everyone’s determination, it’s time for monsters to finally go free!”

His voice swelled at these last words, and he rose into the air, eyes closed, souls swirling around him. The sight was the most beautiful thing Frisk had ever seen, and her own soul swelled, wanting to fly with them.

There was a sensation, a sensation like being unchained, like seeing the blue of the endless horizon after a winter that lasted an eternity, like running barefoot through summer grass with nothing but the sky on one’s shoulders.

Then there was a yank at the bottom of Frisk’s soul, as if a bandage had been pulled off of a deep wound, ripping, tearing. She fell to the ground with a gasp, being rocked on waves of her heartbeat.

“Frisk,” Asriel said, then ran over to her, speaking urgently. “Frisk, I have to go. Without everyone’s souls, I cannot maintain this form. I’ll turn back into a flower, and won’t be myself. I’ll stop being able to feel love again. So, Frisk, it’s best if you just forget about me, alright? Be with the people who love you.”

Frisk, with what strength she had left, weakly reached for his arm and pulled herself up, embracing him again.

“I don’t want to let go,” Asriel murmured, and Frisk felt her feelings mirrored in that statement.

“Frisk, you’re - you’re going to do a great job, okay? No matter what you do, everyone will be there for you, okay?”

He withdrew himself as dust started to spiral up from his arms.

“Well, my time is running out,” he said, turning away as Frisk slumped to the ground. “Goodbye.”

Frisk faded as he walked away and the last thing she heard was, “Take care of mom and dad for me…”

Chapter 10: “I’ve been through ‘hell’ and come out singing.”

Frisk was not aware of how far she had slipped until the felt the thinnest of tendrils tugging her, prodding her to return. She floated far away, in a peaceful medium where there was no pain.

“Frisk, this is all just a bad dream,” a faraway cry insisted. “Please, wake up!”

The tendril tugged more insistently, recoiling and almost snapping, but then it grew stronger. Frisk felt herself being pulled, harder, until it was like she was freefalling, as fast as she could go, and -

She slammed into awareness with a cry.

“Oh, god,” Sans said, his voice shaking. “G-god.”

Frisk opened her eyes, the light of sunset, though muted, blurring her eyes at first. She saw Papyrus put a shaking arm around Sans, and turned to see Toriel crying on the other side of her. Undyne hoisted her spear, pointing it at her with a shaking fist, but she was crying too from her undamaged eye. Alphys had her face buried in Undyne’s side, and Asgore raised his head as she just barely managed to lift hers.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sans said, cushioning her head with his hand and moving so that it lay on his lap.

“What - happened?” Frisk croaked.

“Y- you,” Sans said, and then broke down, crying violently. Frisk could feel his heaving breaths through his legs as he bent over her.

“You nearly d-died.” It was Alphys who spoke, sounding exhausted. “W-we don’t remember what happened after the f-flower showed up and everything w-went white, but…” she gulped. “The b-barrier is broken and your d-determination i-is…” she trailed off, and with a monumental effort, Frisk pulled her soul into view.

It was grey, tinged with faintest pink. It looked like a darker, faded version of Sans’ soul.

“Oh,” Frisk breathed.

“I th-think the b-barrier breaking - it b-broke you, s-somehow,” Alphys said. “W-we need more d-determination.

“What about the human souls?” Frisk said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“They’re gone.” It was Asgore who spoke this time, his voice low and sorrowful.

“Can we not get this determination from other humans? Papyrus asked, and Sans shot up.

“We c-can,” he breathed.

Fear lanced through Frisk, sending a sharp pain across her chest. She tensed, and grimaced.

“Are you okay?” Sans asked, bending back over her.

“You don’t - understand,” she said. “The humans will - attack as soon as - look at you.”

“Well then, can you not appear before them first?” Toriel asked. “Surely there are some among them that are peaceful. You could go to them.”

“You could be our ambassador,” Papyrus cried, and Sans shot a glare at him. He was oblivious to it.

“You are - right,” Frisk said, moving her head to look at Toriel. “There are - some who would not - fight. But I would not serve - as a good ambassador. Having fraternized - with monsters, I would be - seen as a heretic - less than human - I would be sentenced to death.”

Sans’ eyes darkened, hardening.

Papyrus spoke up. “Then I shall be the ambassador,” he proclaimed, and Frisk sighed fondly.

“No, Papyrus,” Sans said in a dead voice. “There’s no reasoning with some of them.”

“Then-” Asgore interjected, but it was Toriel who spoke, with steel in her voice, as she stood.

“There will be war.”

The monsters stood on the mountaintop, watching the last light of sunset fade from the horizon.

Once the sky was black, the stars obscured by clouds, Sans looked down at where he held Frisk in his arms.

“Are you sure about this?” he begged.

Frisk nodded, the motion making her head swim and stars appear, though not in the sky.

“Alright.” Sans said. “You’ll have to guide us.”

Frisk pulled her soul into view as Sans did the same. Drawing them together, they overlapped, then fused. It was a different act than before, not a Soul-mating. Sans had explained that souls could fuse without mating, that they were completely separate acts, though only monsters who really trusted each other, like siblings, or parents and children, or very close friends, would undergo the process for short periods of time. It was a different kind of love that powered a fusion, something akin to friendship.

Frisk felt what she had to do. She visualized Bridget as a focal point. Her face, her kind eyes, her smell like cinnamon, the sound of her voice singing a lullaby, her rough hands holding Frisk’s, the taste of the cheap butterscotch candies she always seemed to have - she pulled it all into focus, ignoring any other sensation that prodded her.

There was a surge of power from Sans, and the twisting feeling took hold. They stood in a small living room, the coals of a fire letting out the lowest of lights.

“What-” Bridget’s panicked voice called out.

“It’s me,” Frisk urged quickly. “And a friend. Please don’t panic.”

“Frisk?” her voice came. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“It is me,” Frisk said, realizing what she meant. “I’ve changed.”

“Your mother said you had run off to the mountain,” Bridget said, and there was a striking sound as she lit a match, putting it to the wick of a small lamp. “So you didn’t-”

Her voice choked as she saw Sans.

“He’s the friend,” Frisk hurried to say before she panicked. “It’s okay.”

“But the monsters - they killed your mother,” Bridget said in a strangled voice.

Frisk tried to draw breath, but couldn’t find any. “My - mother?” she stormed.

“Chara,” Bridget said quickly. “Not your adopted mother - the one of your birth.”

Frisk recalled the tapes, and what Asriel had said, and she pieced all she knew together.

“Not the monsters,” she whispered gently. “She did it, to free them.”

Bridget put a hand to her chest, staggering back. Her other hand felt the arm of a rocking chair, and she sat.

“Then-”

It was only then that the shock hit Frisk. She had been adopted, and Chara was her mother. Her mind reeled.

“Frisk,” Sans said, pulling her back into the present. He looked at Bridget.

“There is something we need,” he said, words spilling from his mouth like scalding water from an upended teapot. “Frisk is dying. We need your help.”

“Oh, no,” Bridget breathed. “Of course I will help.” She stood shakily. “Please, she can lay down on the bed.”

They followed her into the other room, where Sans lay Frisk down on a shabby straw mattress.

“Are you sure you know how to do this, Sans?” Frisk asked anxiously, and he flashed her a reassuring smile, bringing Bridget’s soul into view.

“I need to take some determination from your soul,” he explained, as Bridget sat, completely still. Frisk wasn’t sure if she had calmed or was just in shock, until she spoke.

“So it’s true,” she said reverently, looking at her deep blue, almost indigo soul.

“What?” Frisk asked, and Bridget winced as Sans stuck the needle into her soul, withdrawing a red liquid from it.

“The souls of valor-” she said, smiling though her eyes were creased with care. “The seven human virtues - kindness, integrity, patience, perseverance, justice, bravery, and determination and -” she turned to Sans, “-the white soul of mercy?”

They all jumped as Papyrus’s voice rang out in the room. “Wowie, I teleported!”

“Yes, my child,” Toriel spoke, then clarified, “I overheard the last of your words. In humans, a white soul is cruelty - but,” she revealed her soul, “in monsters, inverted, it is mercy.” She bowed her head. “It is why, for so long before the war, humans began to hate and fear us. In their ignorance, they did not understand.”

“But that was not in the history books…” Frisk put in, looking to Toriel.

“We brought our history to the underground in folklore and tales,” Toriel explained. “It is only since being imprisoned that we recorded our past. In the narratives you read, it must have been overlooked.”

“Oh,” Bridget said, looking overwhelmed, as Sans withdrew the needle, taking out a small tube. He inserted it into another needle, and Frisk felt a rush of life pass back into her. She was able to sit up, feeling weak, and achy, but a little better.

“Is there anyone else we can draw from?” Sans asked her.

“Your son, Ethan?” Frisk followed.

Pain flitted across Bridget’s face as she burst out, “I had to send him away. He meant to pursue you, Frisk. I could not risk both of my children dying.”

Tears sprang to Frisk’s eyes at that. “Thank you, Bridget,” she said. “You have been as true a mother to me as any. You, Toriel, Chara - I suppose I have three mothers where I believed myself to have none.”

“Anyone,” Sans pressed. “Please.”

“I know a few people,” Bridget said, determination flashing across her own face. “I will bring them.”

In the early hours of the morning, the monsters gathered outside of the city.

“Could we not find some nation of our own in this world?” Asgore asked in a hoarse, hushed voice. “Or could we not refuse to fight the humans?”

“No,” Toriel said, coming up to stand on the ridge across from the gates, clad in full armor. Her cape whipped behind her, a circlet of gold upon her brow, as she cast a hard stare at the sleeping human stronghold. She looked every bit the proud queen of a race. “You and I know humans, Asgore. We know what they did to our children.”

“But-”

Toriel turned her stare to him, and he flinched away. “What right do you have to ask this of monsterkind? You, who stole the souls of children. It is despicable.”

“So many will die, Tori,” he moaned. “There was a reason we let Chara of the Brothers seal us underground.”

Toriel’s eyes softened. “Our number and strength are grown since then,” she said, pulling him up to stand beside her. “We can prevail.”

Frisk shivered, clutching at a small knife. She had insisted on staying until the battle began. Sans noticed, and draped his hoodie around her back.

“Must you fight?” Frisk begged, one last time.

“You know I have to,” Sans said, looking down at her tenderly. “It would be my joy to fight alongside you if you were well.”

Frisk looked up at this, and Toriel and Asgore turned to him as well.

“You Soul-mated?” Toriel asked, fire started to burn in her eyes.

“It is what brought my sickness about,” Frisk said, and the fire went out. It was only then she realized it had been the flames of hope, not anger.

“I only thought-” Toriel sighed, bowing her head, her profile noble in the lightening sky of dawn.

“What?” Frisk asked, looking from Toriel to Sans.

“She thought my determination could save you,” Sans said, and Asgore frowned.

“You would not have enough,” he stated.

“I would,” Sans said. “I was given some when I was very young. My mom told me they had hoped to raise my Hope. Instead, time changed for me.”

Frisk knew what he meant by that, though she suspected no one else did.

“But how did you not melt, as the others did?” Toriel asked.

Sans shrugged. “I dunno for sure,” he said. “I have some theories. The Font genes run strongly in me, and the determination was highly diluted, perhaps three parts per million. And it was Chara’s, after she-” he broke off, uncertainty in his face.

Asgore’s face crumpled. Toriel, however, nodded gravely. “It would have lost its potency after her death.”

Frisk shook her head slowly, just managing to follow Sans’ scientific remarks. Something tugged at her awareness.

“How did your saying that you would be glad to fight alongside me reveal that we had Soul-mated?” she asked Sans.

Toriel spoke before Sans could. “It is the way of monsters, my child. Those who have Soul-mated live, fight, and die together, unless there should be some great occlusion to such a thing. It is why Asgore and I still fight together, though he does not want to kill.”

“Ngahhh,” Undyne exclaimed, striding up. Her steps were short and quick, angry. “What are we doing talking when there’s a battle to fight?”

Toriel laid a hand on her tense shoulder. “Patience, Captain,” she counseled, and Undyne gritted her teeth. “Everyone is anxious for it to begin.”

“It feels like that moment when you wake up from a nightmare,” Papyrus cut in, his bones rattling, “and you are not sure if there is something hiding in the shadows, waiting to steal your soul.”

Everyone fell quiet at this, except for Sans.

“Bro, what are you doing here?” he asked, concern sharp in his voice.

“I am now a member of the Royal Guard,” Papyrus said proudly, though his smile did not reach his eyes.

Sans whirled to face Undyne, eye blazing. She yelped as she was hoisted into the air, and struggled, her expression furious.

“He is too young,” Sans said, his tone deceivingly calm, like a seemingly innocuous snake hiding the truth of its venom in its subtle markings.

“It was I who recruited him,” Toriel said, and Undyne thumped to the ground as Sans turned to her, eyes dead.

“He is fourteen,” Sans spat.

“And you are sixteen,” Toriel countered, then raised her hands to deflate the fuming rage rolling off of Sans. “I thought he would be safer under my protection, amongst the best of our ranks.”

Sans slumped as his eyes flickered back into view. “Thank you, your majesty,” he said.

“Oh,” Papyrus said, in what sounded like a dejected tone, and they all turned to him. His face lit up. “Wowie? You consider me to be one of the best in our ranks? Well, of course you do. I am the Great Papyrus, after all.”

Frisk’s determination suddenly plunged, though she was not sure why. She winced, trying to hide it as best she could.

Toriel smiled at Papyrus, an expression of mixed amusement and fondness. Then she turned as the watchfires along the battlements began to flicker out, one by one. They were too far to be distinguished by the light of the fires, but the black of night was fading to the muted color of predawn.

They were silent, waiting, as the world resolved itself into the morning. A clamor arose from the wall as they were spotted, first shouting, then a gong, then the sound of deep, deep drums.

The gates opened to the clarion call of war trumpets, and Frisk was whirled away.

She waited with Bridget. A number of people had been smuggled out by the few skeletons in the night. They had only taken those they knew they could trust, beyond any doubt - mostly Integrity and Kindness souls. The number was small, smaller after many of them joined the monsters in battle, but their determination fueled Frisk.

The battle raged on, monsters refusing to retreat. There were as many of them as humans - thousands surrounding the small city-state, refusing to yield. Still, the war fared badly, most monsters unskilled in battle and dusting with a single wound.

Frisk and her allies watched from atop a distant hill. Through her spyglass, she watched the skeletons teleport in and out of the humans’ ranks, sowing confusion and fear. Her heart caught, refusing to beat, as a skeleton exploded into a plume of dust, only resuming when she counted through the ranks. Georgia, Harlow, Constantia, Verdana, Harrington, Papyrus, Mistral, Perpetua, Tahoma, Sans. It had been Vivaldi who had dusted - the young skeleton with bird-like bones and slender fingers that could call melodies to life.

Undyne fought alongside Alphys and Alphys’s sisters, the rest of her family gone. Hundreds of lightning-charged spears whirled through the air, forming a protective barrier around them.

Toriel and Asgore fought back to back at the tip of an arrow of monsters, bringing hellfire to rain down from the sky. Asgore wielded his trident and Toriel fought with magic alone. Great hands pushed flames across the ranks of humans, shattering souls.

Mettaton fought with Papyrus, placing bombs in the middle of clusters of soldiers and then teleporting away. Muffet rode astride her great spider-beast, sending ghostly donuts and legions of small, deadly spiders alike. Edward, the nice cream bunny, rushed to Burgerpants’ aid as a spear struck him in the side. Temmies in their glistening armor stalked about, sending many of the humans clutching at their faces as their orifices swelled shut. Frisk saw the Tem Shop owner fall to the ground, dust rising from a gaping wound in their side. They pulled out a scrap of rolled paper, holding it close as they scattered onto the wind.

Commander Grillby- poor Grillby - drew lines of flames wide as legions sending the water catapulted at his kind hissing into steam. He misstepped, falling to the ground, a globule of water headed straight towards him.

A small, burning green figure intercepted it, throwing her forearm out to catch it. She turned to steam, drifting away.

“NO!” Grillby yelled, his cry carrying even to Frisk. Staggering to his feet, he threw out swathes of flame, but his attacks were weak, half-hearted. Apparently even as a boss monster, even as one who had fought in the original war, it seemed, one’s Love could be reduced by the loss of a loved one. Too much pain could crack a soul and steal the will to fight, as they would all see in the coming days.

As days passed, the sides would clash, retreat, and re-engage. Frisk visited the monsters in between battles, bringing them Hope.

 

Some among the poor of the city flocked to the monsters, who welcomed them to their ranks. They escaped in the night, climbing over the walls, their cries echoing intermittently as those who were discovered were slain. More still Frisk spotted amongst the human army, known to her by their makeshift weapons - pickaxes, hoes, shovels - and their lack of armor.

“Why do they fight?” Frisk asked Bridget one time.

“I suspect the church threatens them through their families,” Bridget replied, eyes drawn.

“Mother,” a voice called out joyfully from behind them, as they walked through the monster’s encampment, then, doubtfully, “Frisk?”

Frisk rubbed her chest as she felt her determination drop.

“Ethan?” Bridget gasped, turning about and rushing to the young, golden-haired man. She embraced him, her own dark hair swinging around her, and he clasped her head protectively against his chest with one hand. He looked over her at Frisk, tears brimming in his eyes. “Frisk, I thought you were dead. My ma’s always told me about that mountain, and now.”

“I was wrong,” Bridget pushed, pulling away. “And Ethan, should the monsters win - you could go to school in their institutions.”

Ethan smiled, extending his arm for Frisk to come forward. “Frisk, we can-” he started, joy suffusing his face with all the light of a sunrise after the darkest of nights.

“Frisk,” Sans sighed, appearing beside her. He took her up in his arms and kissed her, so that time seemed to drag through golden honey and she grew dizzy from the passion of it.

When he pulled away, slowly, letting their breaths intermingle for several long moments, Frisk turned to Ethan.

His face had lost all of the light of moments ago, dark as a muddy river on a moonless, clouded night.

“What is it, friend Ethan?” Frisk asked, her voice turning up with urgency.

“Unnatural fiend,” he whispered, stepping back, and Frisk wasn’t sure which of them he was referring to, until he continued, breathing hard, “you monsters.”

“Monster,” Sans corrected, wagging a finger, but his gaze was hard and sharp as diamond.

“You are both creatures of sin,” he spat in disgust, advancing on them. Sans pushed Frisk behind him.

“Ethan,” Bridget barked, and he turned to look at her. Her eyes blazed fierce with righteous anger. “Frisk is as much my daughter as you are my son, and these monsters are no different than us. Have you really bought the lies of the ruling church?”

“Frisk may be your daughter,” Ethan spoke, the words pounding with all the weight of drums of war, “but you are no mother of mine.” He stalked past her and away from the camp.

Bridget slumped, tears extinguishing the fire in her eyes, and Frisk ran to her, enfolding her in her arms.

It was the next day, as Frisk scanned the battle for Sans, that she spotted Ethan. He bore the crest of the city - the six souls of the Brothers of Virtue, surrounding Chara’s red soul, on a background of gold and black. Below flew a lesser flag with a yellow soul - Justice. His armor glinted golden in the sun, and he tore into the ranks of monsters viciously and without mercy.

A week later, under the diminishing heat of the early autumn sun, he stalked the dusty field. Undyne marched up before him, opposing champions of the races.

She did not bother to offer him a token with which to defend himself. A halo of spears circled her head, then focused on a single point, targeting him.

Leaping from point to point, he dodged the oncoming spears, launching himself at Undyne. With his greatsword, her slashed at her, rending her armor. She staggered back, spears shooting up from the ground in regimented waves, forming both an attack and a barrier between him and her.

Quiet rippled out from the members of the surrounding armies as they paused in heated combat to watch their champions. Frisk saw Ethan let out a yell, and charge recklessly in, hurdling the spears as if they were fence rails. Undyne danced away, flipping back and cast arrows flying at him from every direction.

Ethan lurched forward as an arrow abruptly changed directions and slammed into his back. He let out a howl of rage, slashing at Undyne and cutting a stripe against her uninjured eye. She fell to the ground, clutching it with one hand, spear pinned uselessly under the other.

The humans roared with triumph. He neared, raising his sword to strike the finishing blow.

Lightning struck, knocking him to the ground. Alphys flung out her arms, running up from behind Undyne. An expression that Frisk did not recognize deformed her face. As she let out a yell, Frisk realized what it was: rage.

Lightning bolts cascaded from the heavens, striking humans indiscriminately. Ethan scooted away on his hands, terror painted across his face.

The terror slid away, to be replaced by a sneer, as Alphys panted with her hands on her knees. She turned to Ethan with death in her eyes as he took a step forward.

A pillar of lightning obscured Ethan, and yellow soul shards shot out from it. A charred corpse fell as Frisk rubbed the dark afterimage out of her eyes, half-blinded. She felt sick to her stomach. He had been her friend. Bridget stared into the middle distance behind her, unmoving, her spyglass fallen to her side.

This has to end, Frisk thought, clutching herself as the battle resumed.

Alphys was the one to help the limping Undyne back to the medical tent, where Frisk waited, terrified. She tended to her, using the softest movements as Undyne struggled to hide her own fear.

“Alphy,” she whispered. “Am I going to be blind?”

Alphys sighed heavily, then smiled reassuringly, though her smile wavered and broke at the edges like waves on a shore. “Not with me as your eyes.”

The world dipped under Frisk as her determination plummeted.

“Frisk?” Undyne called, hearing the thump as she struck the ground.

Alphys bent over her as she struggled to stay conscious, examining her soul. Quickly, she gave her some determination, and Frisk steadied, pushing herself into a sitting position with shaking arms.

“F-Frisk,” Alphys said in a low voice, eyes wide.

“What?” Frisk said, concern flooding through her.

“N-nothing,” Alphys said. “I j-just need more d-determination.”

Infuriated by the death of Ethan, the humans continued to attack well into the deep of night. Frisk slipped away, faltering over the rough ground until she came to the blood-drenched ground of the battlefield, pounded flat by stamping feet.

She found Asgore and Toriel easily, wreathed in white flame, surrounded by a shouting, writhing mass of soldiers. Summoning her courage and determination, she plunged into the fray, dodging between the legs of the soldiers. Bent low, she rolled away from various attacks not meant for her.

Luck favors the bold, flashed across her mind, in company with, Bold ones, foolish ones. Both walk not the middle road.

Luck favors the foolish, she thought bitterly, as she broke free, a tongue of flame licking at her soul.

“Frisk,” Toriel cried, drawing a crooked stream of fire as she spotted her. “What are you doing?”

“I have an idea to end the war,” she cried. “You must call everyone back.”

“We cannot retreat now,” Asgore boomed back. “Frisk, you must go back.”

“No,” Frisk yelled, tears streaming down her face as Asgore and Toriel moved between her and the soldiers. “No more death, please!”

A brilliant ring of fire erupted from Toriel and Asgore, pushing the gathered forces away. Toriel turned to look at her, then bellowed, “RETREAT!”

She swept Frisk up in her arms, flicking a whip of flame out in front of her to clear a way. As Asgore struck at invisible targets with his trident, humans dropped their swords, trembling.

A rousing cheer resounded from the humans.

The sky was beginning to pale again.

“What is your plan, Frisk?” Toriel panted, running.

“I need Sans,” she yelled back, over the clamor of battle.

“Sans,” Asgore roared, and he popped into view in front of them, nearly bowling them all over.

His eyes narrowed as he saw Frisk.

“Take her-” Asgore started to say, but Sans and Frisk were already twisting away.

“You stupid, foolhardy-” Sans was already shouting as they appeared on the hilltop.

“I know a way to stop the war,” Frisk bellowed, her voice roaring out like dragonfire from a place deeper than her chest. Sans gawked.

“What, then?” he asked, snapping his open mouth shut.

“We need to teleport,” Frisk said. “Let me guide.”

“Frisk -”

“Trust me,” she said, and he summoned his soul, entwining it with hers already waiting.

They landed, and Frisk had only time to see stunned faces and a golden glint before she grabbed the arm of the one she knew, sinking her hand into the fat, yielding flesh.

“Go,” she screamed, and she took them to the same ridge upon which they had waited for the battle to start.

The monsters gathered behind it, fighting for their lives, their retreat halted. Frisk dug her fingernails into the arm that struggled behind her, spitting viciously. The soul of the man she held glowed blue, and his arm was yanked from her as he crashed into the ground and flew up into the air.

“Help,” the man screamed out, and a few people turned as they recognized his voice.

“My child, how dare you,” he howled, and more people turned, falling silent in horror as they recognized their bishop at the mercy of a monster. The shifting shadows revealed the golden glow of his opulent robes.

“Sans, let him down,” Frisk said, clutching a dagger behind her back.

As the bishop fell, his soul was revealed - almost white, tinged with dark blue.

Frisk raised the knife above her head as he tried to regain his feet.

“Let him die for his sins,” Frisk cried, as the knife streaked down.

There was a flash of white.

Chapter 11: “As always, all I should have said was ‘I love you.’”

Notes:

Editing to add basically an author's note:

So uhhh, this has been finished for years now. 2017 marks roughly the first year my own mother went from a bit controlling to outright abusive. It took me 3 years, +some severe mental illness that I very nearly didn't survive like ten times over to get out, and I'm still healing.

During that time, I also was diagnosed with (C-)PTSD, several cluster B PDs, DID, & schizophrenia, along with our preexisting diagnoses of autism, ADHD, OCD, anxiety, & depression. Over the time that has passed, we've moved across state lines and back, gotten SSI, developed several severe physical chronic illnesses (POTS, MCAS, and chronic pain) & spent time housebound & even bedbound. This was prior to surviving covid, which made all of these worse.

I am now living with my wonderful amazing (also disabled) partner system who I love to death, who has supported me through all of this. We are both safe from our abusers (we actually both are still in contact, but only barely) & stable. Things are good now.

I won't put any useless platitudes, but if things are hard for you, I hope you'll take the chance that it might get better. I can't say for sure it will, but you deserve the chance to see if it does.

Frisk gasped as dust rose up from her dagger, Sans falling to the ground.

“Sans,” she whimpered. “No, please, Sans!” She fell to her knees, tears blinding her. “Why?”

“They would have - killed you for it,” Sans huffed, struggling to draw breath. “It wasn’t a very - good plan.” He grinned at her, then winced. Frisk reached out, pulling his head to cradle it in her lap.

“Besides,” Sans wheezed, his midsection flowing up into the air. “You - were right. We should not - kill humans.”

“Sans,” Frisk cried. Her hands shot out as he turned to dust, his soul hovering in the air. She reached out towards it, hesitating just before it brushed her fingertips. As it burst, the sun burst in kind over the horizon, turning the fine particles of his dust to gold.

“You see,” the bishop boomed. “Even a demon of the host of hell at last remembers the worth of an agent of God!” He squatted, picking up the dusty knife that Frisk had dropped, walking over to her.

“This is what you deserve,” he whispered to her. “For loving monsters, it is your fate to lose them.”

He raised the knife and proclaimed, “I cast Judgment!”

A blur knocked into him from the side, sending him careening to the ground. Frisk, though she could draw in no breath through her stone chest, looked up to see a human in the armor of the city pinning the bishop to the ground.

“Mercy!” the cry arose from the humans, taken up by more and more until it swelled into a roar. Battle-worn soldiers turned alongside scared peasants, throwing down their arms.

Pockets of soldiers and peasant alike, however, refused to yield. Monsters and humans overwhelmed them, disarming them and pinning them to the ground.

Frisk reeled as her determination evaporated, and her world went black.

* * * * *

 

“Sans, Chara,” Frisk called, looking out over the long golden fields. “It’s time to come home.”

A lanky skeleton boy raced towards her, followed by a very young child toddling after him. Though they were twins, both three years old, Sans had grown quickly, and Chara, slightly slower. Toriel had explained that this aging difference was normal; boss monsters grew quickly in their early years, while mages matured more and more slowly as they grew, living nearly twice as long as normal humans. Chara could live to be over 130 years old.

“Sans,” Frisk scolded, as he reached her, panting and smiling. “Don’t leave your brother behind.”

“Sorry,” Sans said, dipping his head, but his grin didn’t fade.

“The pie is ready,” Toriel sang from inside the house, and Sans’ face lit up.

“Ah-ah,” Frisk said. “You have to wash up first.”

“Aw, man,” Sans said, scowling now as he pushed past her.

“And help your brother, too,” she called after him, shaking her head as she walked out and picked up Chara. Chara squealed in delight, chubby cheeks pudging as he grinned.

Frisk watched the sun sink lower in the sky as she flashed back.

“Frisk, stay determined,” voices called in the darkness. She wheeled through stars as they tried desperately to keep her alive. It was harder for them than for her, she knew. Despair sent withering, winding cracks through her soul, and she tried to slip away through them.

She heard Alphys voice in the distance. The thinnest of threads linked her to life, stretching taut and fraying as she released the last of her grip, ready to join Sans in whatever lay after this life. Peace lit her up, chasing away the dark poison of pain.

“We have to save her,” Alphys’s voice echoed, as if from a long way away, “and the twins.”

Frisk jerked at this, nearly snapping the rope. Twins? She felt her soul, discovering two small buds growing on it. She clutched at the rope, struggling to pull herself through the now quickly-drying cement that barred her return journey.

When she made it back to her body, the truth hit. The truth of what she had done hit. The pain she felt was like that of her soul breaking when she had died, over and over again, every moment. He was gone, and it was her fault. He was gone. It was her fault.

They sat down to a dinner of hot dogs and butterscotch pie. Frisk’s heart twinged painfully as she thought about how much Sans would have liked this.

After pie, the children went into the next room to play.

There was a yelp, then, “I don’ wanna fight!” Chara’s high voice came.

“Sans, be nice to your brother,” Frisk yelled. As she sighed, Asgore chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s just - Chara - your mother,” he said, sharing a glance with Toriel. “She used to say that to Asriel when they would bicker.” He sighed, his gaze seeming to find the past. “She was a good woman, you know. Just like you. No matter what he said to her, the most hurtful words in the middle of an argument - ‘I don’t want to fight.’ Rather like you, when you came to the barrier all those years ago.”

Frisk smiled, then let it fall from her face as memories overtook her.

She had withdrawn, so deep into herself that often she didn’t even register the monsters around her, or refused to acknowledge them.

“F-Frisk,” Alphys stuttered. “It’s okay. Y-ou taught m-me that even though I h-hurt those monsters, I c-could still g-go on with m-my life.”

“Yeah, kid,” Undyne said, nudging her arm roughly. “You can do it!”

“Frisk,” Asgore rumbled. “When you lose someone you love, you feel like it is your fault.”

“It was my fault,” Frisk bellowed, putting her hands over her ears.

“My child, Sans would want you to be happy,” Toriel pleaded, but Frisk retreated into the eternal darkness of her own world.

It was Papyrus who had gotten through to her. He stayed silent, waiting until long after the others had left.

“Frisk,” he said in a hard tone, and she jumped. Tears sprang to her eyes as she readied herself for his blame.

“I forgive you,” Papyrus said, and Frisk drew in gasping breaths, starting to cry.

“But I-”

“I know what you did,” Papyrus said gently. “I also know you did not mean to. The fact that you feel bad proves that.”

“But he’s still-” Frisk broke down, hugging her pillow between her updrawn knees and her chest.

“I know,” Papyrus said, his voice warbling. “But I think he would forgive you, too. And if I can forgive you and he can forgive you, then maybe you should forgive yourself, too.”

Frisk stuck her face in her head, bawling, as the grief she had hidden behind thickets of thornbush guilt burst through, stabbing through her heart like a dagger.

“Here, I will give you a hug of acceptance,” Papyrus said, enfolding her in his arms.

They held Sans’ funeral at Bridget’s church, though Frisk had at first been opposed.

“The church brings nothing but evil,” she snarled, whipping about and throwing her arms back in anger.

“It brought you,” Bridget said, her voice quiet and tired.

“Out of evil,” she scoffed. Bridget and the Dreemurrs together had told her the story of her mother.

“Frisk, please.”

“Why?” Frisk whimpered.

“It’s a show of faith,” Bridget reassured her. Frisk tensed as she reached up to rub her shoulders. “As the newly elected human-monster ambassador, holding the funeral of your Soul-mate in a human church will bring the two races together. Holding it in our church will help bring together the different classes of humans.”

“I don’t want to use his death for politics,” Frisk sniffed.

Toriel, who had been silent up until now, spoke.

“Sans would have wanted his death to be used for good, as much as possible. I know it hurts, but you are respecting him by doing this.”

“Besides,” Bridget cut in, smiling wearily. “It’s been different for so long, but my church was once a place of beauty, where they preached love.”

Frisk walked at the head of the procession, carrying the jar containing his dust. Papyrus walked beside her, followed by the pallbearers carrying Ethan’s body to rest, and Bridget at the rear. This, too, was politics: honoring the dead of both sides.

They entered the full, silent church, taking steady, measured steps up the aisle. Faces of all colors turned to watch the procession.

Finally, Frisk turned. The minister came up to Ethan’s still, charred form. Turning, he dipped a chalice in the Font of Justice, and sprinkled droplets of water over him with his fingertips. Then he dipped a separate chalice in the Font of Sacrament, and anointed the man’s brow.

Bridget clasped her hands in front of her, face cloaked with a yellow veil, in a dress of black. She lifted her veil to drink from both chalices as they were passed to her, revealing a pale, tear-streaked face.

“In blood made, in blood undone,” he intoned gravely. “Soul to shatter, and dust to dust.” Frisk shivered.

Bridget stepped forward to speak, her words succinct and forceful.

“My son was a good man,” she spoke, raising her head. “He was human, as we all are. Ethan was Just, and serving his belief in that, he met a noble death. He will be remembered.”

She stepped back, and the pallbearers marched on, carrying Ethan to the side.

Frisk unscrewed the jar as Papyrus knelt before her, presenting his orange scarf. He had suggested they sprinkle the dust over her sweater, but Frisk knew she could not bear that.

Lifting the lid, she upended it, sifting the dust through her other hand as she moved it over the scarf.

“In soul made, in soul undone.” She repeated the words she’d been taught, tears choking her vision. “Dust to scatter, to love entrust.”

A clamor arose as the dust settled. She blinked rapidly, seeing her tears mirrored in Papyrus’s eyes, then looked to the pointing fingers of the gathered. Following them, she saw the lip of the Font of Kindness brimming with milky-white water, and realized the cries were cries of joy.

She stepped forward, wings lifting her words as she spoke the words she had prepared.

“Justice,” she started, receiving each cup and sprinkling droplets from each over the scarf, “to pass judgment, striking down those whose sins have grieved nations. Integrity, to reveal truth, whether time is ready to hear it. Bravery, to allow one to face their fears. Patience, to gift those who wait with the power to see through time. Perseverance, to heal wounds slowly and with care. Kindness,” she raised her head, taking a deep breath in, “to return in word and deed the worth of your soul. Sacrament, to power the will to go on, in the face of all the grief and danger of life. Together in harmony, to make mercy and love. Many heroes have fallen. From their sacrifices we must rise. I will not let him die in me, carrying him forward in my footsteps until my time is come.

“Sans, you were virtuous and true. Be with us now.”

She let her arms fall with the empty jar.

Papyrus began to speak.

“My brother was the coolest,” he said, drawing a weak grin from Frisk. “He protected me, and all-”

Frisk was pulled back into the present as there was a yelp and Chara started wailing.

“Sans,” she barked, jumping to her feet and stalking into the other room.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he objected, whining.

“Go to your room,” Frisk yelled, and he burst into tears.

“You don’t love me,” he yelled, stomping away.

Frisk picked up Chara, rocking him until he calmed. She took a deep breath, then walked down the hall to his room.

She knocked on his door.

“Go away,” came the muffled, tearful voice.

Frisk quietly opened the door.

“I said go away,” Sans sulked, kicking his legs against the frame of his bed.

“No, I won’t,” Frisk said, and Sans’ looked up, glaring at her. “You know why?”

Sans refused to respond, so Frisk answered her question. She sat down on his bed, holding Chara on her shoulder. “Because I love you,” she said, stroking his hair. She lifted his hand as he pulled away, clutching his bed post.

“No, you don’t,” Sans retorted, eyeing her suspiciously. “You love Chara.”

“I love you both,” Frisk responded, reaching out to pull a reluctant Sans into a hug. “I love Chara, and I love you.”