Monster Age

by GR Griffin

  * * *

  Walking with urgency… Almost blind… Strong scent of disinfectant… Wrapped in a blanket… It itches… Hot and heavy… You dare not look up, but you don’t know why… Movements all around… The shifting of legs, pounding of feet… They must not see you… They must not know who you are…

  Fleck tossed and turned in their rented bed. Sweat dripping out of every pore. Whatever was happening in their dreams, it was happening again. Stronger. Before, they heard a few lines of random, unconnected sentences. Now, these dreams were like they were there right now.

  The dream faded and Fleck fell into a peaceful slumber. Their dreams was black and empty, the ones that people do not remember having. An hour or two passed, another dream bubbled to the surface.

  Moving now… The clatter of rickety wheels beneath…Two monsters are chatting two seats in front… The door opens behind you… A dark figure… You have a strong feeling to run away… Time seems to slow as they take aim… One eye closes… Head cocks to the side… A pole darts past from beyond a window… The room bumps, the figure shifts to the right… The dream comes to a stop as they fire…

  It feels so real. A vivid dream does not come close to replicating it. The bullet could have punched a hole in their sternum. Fleck could see it and yet they were blind to it, like everything was veiled with a shroud. So complicated to describe. So difficult to explain.

  An Hour passed. The darkness was like reaching the surface to take in air before they were dragged back under again.

  Cold… Freezing, even… Crunching underfoot… Everything becomes hazy… Someone grabs your shoulders… “You shouldn’t be here!”… “You can’t!”… “Run away, before—”… What? Run away, before what?... You cannot hear the rest…

  One hour.

  A hallway… Never-ending… They do not know why, but they did not want to be there… The human child feels afraid… The human child feels terrified… The human child sees something… They see someone… And this one frightens them… More than anything…

  One hour.

  The smell, it is familiar, and yet different… Dampness in the air… Loud stomping underfoot… Something opposes them… Colossal in size… Mighty by nature… The monster stares down… Hands reaching for something… The monster mutters one word…

  “Ad…vis…or…”

  * * *

  The Advisor trudged through the door into the north-eastern tower. The four archers, who should have been at their positions on the roof, sat around their bunks, sipping mugs of steaming coffee. All eyes were on the Emperor’s very own voice from the shadows as they stepped in.

  “Royal Advisor, we—” The archers went to rise out of utmost respect for Zeus’s most trusted representative when they were motioned to remain in their seats.

  Slowly, they sank back down, and slowly, the advisor spoke. “Is the Emperor still upstairs?”

  “Yes, Advisor,” one of them said. “He hasn’t budged since talking to Barb the Bounty Hunter, and that was well over an hour ago.” He breathed away some white steam before taking a sip of his hot caffeine. “We daren’t go up there.”

  “I see…” The Advisor glanced at the stairs that spiralled upwards and took the first steps. “Enjoy your coffee, gentlemen.”

  The Advisor climbed the steps in a methodical manner like that of a master martial artist going through the motions. Emperor Zeus, and his father before him, speak nothing but high praise of their consultant. On the surface, it would seem like nothing had changed in the Outerworld since this individual had been instated, but as they always say – appearances can be deceiving. The Advisor worked in the dark, beyond the sight of most monsters, reading between the lines, spotting lies masquerading as half-truths in the daylight. In the eyes of the soldiers, the Advisor was an enigma, and it was only fitting that the monster with all the secrets held themself in a mysterious fashion.

  The Advisor was greeted with a blast of cold air upon reaching the top. By this time at night, the temperature in the air drops; perfect for those who enjoy bundling up in their bedsheets. The Emperor was easy to spot; the only figure present above. His back was turned as he stood gazing out into the night, one arm bent over a merlon.

  Before the Advisor had a chance to say anything, his emperor shot first: “I thought you would’ve retired by now.”

  The Advisor stepped out, fully embracing the biting wind. “Am I really that obvious?”

  Zeus’s golden head shifted a fraction to the right, like he wanted to face his consultant but just could not. “I can hear you coming a mile away.” He paused, glanced once more into the nothingness as it howled past his ears, then looked back from the corner of his eye. “As I was saying before, you’re usually asleep by this hour.”

  “Feeling pretty restless tonight,” the advisor explained as he stepped up beside Zeus, taking a casual position by the wall. He noticed the dark bags beneath his emperor’s eyelids and the bloodshot veins creeping in from the sides. “Especially knowing that you’ve talked to the bounty hunter.”

  Zeus laboured a sigh, sinking his chin onto his arm. Good thing none of his minions could see him now, acting like the days of his arrogant, reckless childhood. Releasing all his years of anger and rage out on those practice dummies, swinging his blunt sword and heating up under his practice armour. Ever since his father passed away, he had inherited the honour of being the oldest monster in the Empire. Yet he was still young in heart and may forever remain as his hair turns white.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Zeus blinked. “I used her parents as leverage…” He rose his head and gestured out in front of himself, more like he was telling himself this than to his most trusted associate. “I mean, we’ve finally seen each other again for the first time in years and the first thing I do is blackmail her.”

  As the emperor slumped, the Royal Advisor asked, “Have you really threatened their lives?”

  Zeus drummed his fingers into the stone, irritated. “No, I—I’ve only told my men to move them to a secure location, it’s not like I’ve locked them in the dungeon.” His hand balled up into a fist. His eyes closed. “I didn’t want… I didn’t think I had it in me to do that. But I did. I kept telling myself that it would not come to that, it would be my last resort, but I did it.” His eyes opened and stared blankly forwards. “I had a chance to rekindle the flame with the last morsel of family I have left and I threw it to the ground and smashed it into pieces right in front of her. Now she thinks I’m a freak. A lost cause. She said it right to my face.”

  The Advisor absorbed every word, acting as the emotional outlet, the shoulder for this mighty lion to cry on. Behind all that angst lay a lot of anger, some of which he looked like he was about to take out on the nearest object present. None of it fazed the Advisor.

  “But as I tarnished our relationship, as I gazed into those eyes…” He looked his royal advisor in the eyes, punctuating the importance of what he had to say next. “I didn’t feel anything. I should be ashamed of myself – I should be disgusted – but I’m not. I might have actually… enjoyed it, to some degree. Now I’m asking myself: did I just want her on the hunt that badly, or did I still harbour some resentment toward her?”

  “Only you can answer that, my lord.”

  Not the answer Emperor Zeus was looking for. He wanted a straight answer, now more than ever. There was none to be found. It was all twisted and convoluted, like his trail of thoughts, repeating the encounter over and over again, looking for the point in time where it all went wrong.

  He felt the gentle touch of his right hand man on his shoulder. The Advisor felt his dipping temperature. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay up here. May I suggest that you retire for the night? The answer may come to you after a well-deserved night’s rest. And believe me when I say that nobody has earned a rest more than you.”

  The emperor of the Outerworld pushed himself away and pulled his cape tight. “Yes. Yes. I am rather drained,” Zeus conceded. For all his st
rength, he was only a monster – a monster with limits. “I’ll deal with these pressing matters tomorrow.” The Royal Advisor tagged behind the Emperor as he made his way down the spiral stairs, out of the harrowing wind. “One more thing, did you come to check on me or was there another reason?”

  “Honestly, there was something else you should know,” the Advisor acknowledged. “The scouts you sent to the Oasis have relayed information back. Bjornliege Manor is… gone.”

  This earned them a strong stare from their master. “Gone?”

  “As in demolished.”

  “How?”

  “Gas explosion, most likely. They found remains of what could only be described as a mixture of eggs, flour and butter. Too badly measured and charred to be deemed as cake.”

  Zeus shook his head. “Grill may eat anything that moves, but he’s not patient enough to wait for cake. I smell sabotage.” He thrust his finger downwards. “Someone must’ve been behind it!”

  “Well, my lord…” The Advisor leaned in closer and dropped the volume in their voice. Apparently, this information was for specially selected ears only. “Eye witnesses have spotted an unknown monster leaving the scene of the wreckage, along with Lord Grill and his subjects.”

  “Did they run a check?”

  “The witnesses have described the stranger in great detail. Female. Red hair. Yellow eyes. We’ve searched her through the records but have found nothing. It’s as if she’s appeared out of nowhere.”

  Zeus’s expression went blank. “That’s impossible.”

  “Not only that, but the word has spread around Rocklyn that one of the mining colonies is celebrating the appearance of a ‘special guest’.”

  Two strangers in one day, the same one they abducted the human child? That makes three too many. A strong feeling in his gut told him that he needed to find this woman and this special guest.

  “And also…” They went to say more, but stopped. The Advisor glanced down at the soldiers below. Just the two of them lingering close by was enough to put them on edge. “I should discuss the rest with you in private,” they said as they ushered their emperor further down the steps. “And we can act on it in the morning.”

  “I trust what you have to say is not a waste of my time.”

  “Far from it, my lord.”

  * * *

  Now, I know what you’re thinking – or maybe I don’t. Perhaps you are pondering about your next meal (which you will be thinking about now that I have mentioned it). What is taking Asgore and Toriel so long?

  Well, it’s funny you should think that. Again, maybe you didn’t.

  Dawn broke against the lands. The first rays rose against the obstruction of Black Ice Mountain. Black rock against gold light signalling that a new day had started. A Sunday.

  In the swamplands known as Bob, just as a chicken monster yells ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’ into the sky out of force-of-habit, a spark of electricity crackled.

  Chapter 13: Bob's your Uncle

  The trip was as sudden as blinking. In an explosion of energy, Asgore, the former king of all monsters, in the Underground at least, emerged in a place of which he had never seen before. The bare, cold concrete under his exposed soles made way for soft, warm, unbeaten soil. Toriel had been directly in front of him as they both entered the teleporter, holding his hand. But as the flash took him away from the cramped basement, so did it take her. She had completely vanished.

  Asgore stood there. His arm remained outstretched from where his ex-wife had tugged. “Toriel?” He looked all around, finding nothing but sick, leafless trees and murky, bubbling ponds of green water around – the stench festering in the humid air. “Tori?” His words went out, but the only pair of ears to hear them were his own. “Where did you go?”

  And then, as if his prayers had been answered, a burst of power emitted from above. Asgore shot his gaze up as the surge expanded and there, emerging right in the centre of it, was Toriel. Almost horizontal, Toriel hovered in mid-air for a second. One arm stretched out, the other back – the fingers on that hand forming claws where they gripped Asgore’s. In that one brief moment, their eyes made contact, and they both knew that this was going to hurt.

  The laws of physics took over. Toriel fell straight toward Asgore, who had a split-second to react; he could either move out of the way or hold his hands up and hope for the best. To his eternal chivalrousness, he chose the latter option. He swung his arms up with the palms close together, similar to how someone would hold up a baby. Of course, Toriel was anything but. The boss monster’s arms collapsed upon taking the other boss monster’s weight. Their bodies collided, buckling his legs out from underneath him. Together, they crashed onto the soft earth, Asgore landing on his back with Toriel atop him. The air escaped his lungs.

  Their adventure had just started and already they were out of breath. Asgore struggled under the weight of his wife.

  The first thing Toriel felt was a wave of disgust. She was closer to the former king of monsters than she had ever been in a long, long time. Just the texture of his white fur against her white fur sent shivers up her spine. Toriel raised her head, her cheek tingled as it brushed past Asgore’s beard. Before she knew it, she was gazing into his eyes. Their faces were a breath’s width apart. At that close range, she could see every line and detail etched into her ex-husband’s features. That snub nose. Those prominent horns. Every individual blonde hair on his head. Those thin lips. Those eyes. Those eyes she stared into with anger as they argued. Those eyes that sparkled like crystals whenever he cried. Those big eyes. Those big, soft eyes. Those big, soft, handsome eyes. The same ones she fell in love with. The same eyes she could not look away from as he confessed his devotion to her so many years ago. The same eyes that…

  Toriel shook herself out of it. Not a chance, she thought. I do not hold any hidden feelings for this whelp.

  Then why did you keep those flowers back at home? A second inner voice whispered. Why did you allow him to be the janitor at the same school you work at? Why are you not more eager to get rid of him?

  Why did you watch him when he was tending to the garden?

  The memory had remained lodged in her mind. Not something she held dear, but treated with suspicion. It was a quiet weekend. Fleck was out of the house, hanging out with that Monster Kid again. That peculiar child had gone through some radical changes since leaving the Underground – from always wearing that red scarf, to cackling in a goofy manner at the most mundane of things, to insisting that everyone call them the great Monster Kid. Papyrus sure had that effect on people.

  Toriel strolled into the kitchen, a mug of tea in hand, taking a little break from housework. She was just about to sit down to polish off a chapter from a thrilling ‘whodunit’ when she glanced out the window and caught sight of Asgore, tending to the garden. Music was playing. Her first thought was to pay him no interest – the book was not going to read itself – but something drew her to the window; she did not know what drove her, whether it was curiosity or intrigue, but before she knew it, she was there.

  Asgore kneeled before the eastern flowerbed, using a trowel to dig a small hole in the earth between the flowers. His garden jeans were smeared with soil, the worst of it around the knees. A portable radio played softly beside him. The garden was in a sorry state when they first moved in, but Asgore worked his magic to rectify that. The hedges had been trimmed, the grass had been cut, the leaves had been racked, and now one final job remained. A dozen empty plastic pots lay on the lawn – the flowers in them now embedded in the ground, except for one. The simple act of digging the soft earth reminded Toriel of something that she had not seen in a long time, but could not quite place her finger on what.

  Just then, the opening cords of Spandau Ballet’s ‘True’ wafted from the speakers. Asgore hummed alongside as he lifted the final flower out of the pot; his massive hands looked like they could smother the little thing, crush it into dust, but they were as gentle as a summer’s kiss. He lowered the flowe
r into the hole and used the trowel to pack the gaps with soil. Even from all the way over there, Toriel could catch the glint in his eyes. Asgore Dreemurr had achieved the perfect moment of serenity. He was at peace; content; happy. When he tended to the garden, it was like he was meditating – all his troubles and all his problems did not matter as long as the flowers were perfect, his way of achieving inner peace, his way of coping with the pain one would accumulate from over a thousand years of living.

  The realisation struck Toriel like a bullet to the brain, why it was so familiar, why it tugged on her harp strings, why she unconsciously had her elbow rested on the counter. At last, she realised. Asgore reminded her of Gorey. Not the wrathful, vengeful creature that she had come to despise, but the gentle giant that she used to call her husband. Her memories were drawn back to the days where she sat on the throne, beside King Fluffybuns, back when they could share a laugh, a smile, a kiss, and a small part of her yearned to relive those days.

  Asgore slipped the trowel into the side of his tool belt before dusting off his hands. Job well done. Toriel was so caught up in her thoughts that she did not realise he had finished. He pushed himself up onto his bare feet, shutting off the radio while he did so. She reacted one fraction of a second too late as he turned, ducking behind the kitchen counter. Staying as low to the black and white floor as possible, she scrambled on her hands and knees to the chair and unceremoniously dragged herself onto it. Asgore had neared the door now, having taken a moment to store the empty pots for future use. Toriel slammed her mug down, spilling some of the tea, and snatched the book up. Just as she opening it up on a random page, Asgore turned the door handles.

  Asgore pulled open both doors and stepped inside. “Garden’s all done.” Up close, the hard work was painted all over him, from his horns to his toes. Those hours spent toiling in the baking sun had taken a lot out of him. His fur glistened with sweat, the patches on the chest and armpits of his blue shirt were almost black.