by GR Griffin
Now Flowey was getting annoyed. “Well, whatever. I need you to—”
“No, you don’t need me for anything. You especially don’t need me here. Seriously, go to literally anywhere else and there’s a good chance you’ll find me there. There’s an entire multitude of timelines to choose from and I don’t have to be in every single one of them!” He expelled some anger through a deep exhalation. “Today, I’m saying no. I’ve been in too many timelines already, I’m not subjecting myself to this one.” He opened back to his place. “Good day.”
With a snap of his fingers, he was gone.
The three individuals stood in awkward silence. Something cool probably should have happened within that space of time, yet all that transpired was an argument between the flower and the former royal scientist.
Flowey’s face was blank, like a real flower. “That was… unexpected,” he said. “I thought we’d see more from Sans and Papyrus’s da—?”
Gaster and his comfy chair reappeared twice as fast.
Everyone yelped.
“Also, has anyone around here ever heard of a job board?” Doctor Gaster inquired, irritated, stressing the importance of the last two words. “Four feet wide, three feet tall? Made from cork or felt, sometimes blue or even green? You hang things on it with drawing pins?” He symbolised holding pins between the thumb and index of the hands that made him unique. “What if I told you I once put up a couple of job vacancies for a lab assistant and a… regular assistant? They had on the responsibilities, the hours, the key skills required, and those little slips with contact details hanging from the bottom for people to tear off. Long story short, Sans and his brother were interested, amongst others. I brought them all in for interviews and the pair seemed like the strongest candidates at the time.” Gaster frowned. “Seemed… If Sans had labelled the switches like I asked him... Wait, did I?” Suddenly, he was unsure of himself. “I’m sure I did, I wasn’t making it up. Bah! It doesn’t matter now. Good day again.”
Gaster disappeared for the second and last time.
There was a pause as both parties were unsure as how to proceed.
Flowey caressed his chin with his vine, then dropped his gaze upon his servant. “I didn’t say stop!”
Starting back up car engine style, Brute went straight back into battle mode and advanced. Flowey analysed Fleck’s pose which was stuck somewhere between fighting and fleeing, having understood that victory did not appear so apparent to them. The path was open behind them. Next chance Fleck got, they would turn tail and run away to fight another day. Another day the Outerworld did not have. Another day none of them had.
There were several ways this battle could conclude, and the cases where Fleck met their demise were dwindling by the second. At every avenue, Fleck avoided doom. The chances to kill them began in the thousands, but Flowey had one chance to make it happen as the numbers dropped to the dozens. Now, as the two stared each other down, he feared that maybe this won’t be the first time he would set out to destroy them in the land of unnatural trees. This exact predicament could happen again and again, just how his reign in the Underground came to be.
No, Flowey thought, he would not let that happen. He would not give up or give in to his dark side. He will do this a hundred times – a thousand times if he had to until he reached that perfect ending.
Flowey remembered one trick. He faced the obscured sky and located a large branch dangling over the path far ahead.
“No more running, Fleck!” He called upon his bullets and launched them to where the branch met trunk. Over a dozen exploded on impact. The oversized branch drooped a few feet as it weakened. The wracked, blank inners held for as long as they could before snapping in two. Fleck watched, frozen and with baited breath as the dead piece of timber fell and made short work of the path and their only exit. A big section of lined planks smashed to pieces and tumbled into the abyss, much too big for them to clear. Flowey was severe, no longer smiling. “This is a dead end!”
Fleck edged back, holding their weapons tight; the odds completely against their favour. One charge from mister monkey suit and this fight was already over, unless they could avoid it. Perhaps if they struck as he stepped, they could get him to topple over, buying them time to escape. Then again, Flowey could destroy the path between them, totally cutting off an escape plan altogether.
Brute brought his stony hands together and rubbed warmth into them. He had a plan and a devilish one at that from the slow, haunting way he chuckled.
He squatted down, presented his palms and then drove them down, smashing two clear holes where the timbers met. He grabbed the plank before psyching himself up with several quick breaths through pursed lips, each one puffing out his cheeks. As he drew in one big breath through gritted teeth, he pulled up with all his might.
“Lift, Brute!” Flowey inspired his assistant. “Show them the true strength of monsters!”
The walkway snapped as Brute’s very strength pulled it from its bearings. With one great snap, it came loose and he lifted the entire section with Fleck on it. The path curved like a piece of string.
When Fleck grasped what was about to happen, it was already too late. Brute pulled his handful of limp bridge high above his head and whipped it back down, shooting a ripple across. The jolt threw Fleck off their feet and onto their face a foot back. Before they could get up, Brute snapped down on it again and again, sending wave after wave toward them.
Fleck tried as hard as they could, but the barrage was too much and they were being forced closer to the shattered end. The exertion and their impending death made their heart race. Half a foot away from the end, Fleck jumped to the right and grabbed hold of the last wooden rail before they could fall. The painful jolt as their fingers supported their entire body weight forced the sword from their fingers and sent it spinning into the darkness below.
Agony ran down their right arm, their nerves screaming. It got worse the more their grip loosened. Fleck tried to grab the edge with their other hand, but they could not get a proper grip. They glanced down despite that being the worst decision ever. There was a chance that seeing the long, deadly drop would encourage them to dig deep into their survival instincts and usher the strength needed to climb their way out. Turned out, glimpsing the abyss past their dangling boots did the opposite of that.
Further their fingers slipped on the rail support, eventually reaching the tips where the pain was at its worst. They held on for as long as they could, battling unstoppable throbbing. They held on until they could hold on no longer.
Their fingers slipped only for a green vine to latch around their wrist.
With thunderous steps, Brute, alongside Flowey, boomed up to the edge, looking down upon them. Fleck, completely at their mercy, looked back.
Flowey refused to break eye contact for one fraction of a second. “I tried to warn you, I had hoped that maybe you would understand, but I see you just wouldn’t go down without a fight. You didn’t make anything better by fighting back, you just made it worse.”
From above, the trickle of water dripped for the world above and traced its way down the groves in the trees. The hourly rain had started again.
Flowey’s eyes closed a brief moment. “I guess it’s only fitting that I leave you as you left me, as you left Chara: trapped below in the darkness. Alone. All alone.”
He let go. Fleck fell.
The golden flower formerly known as Asriel watched with little satisfaction as the human screamed, kicking and clawing at the air as they plummeted below to the deepest depths of the Forest. Three seconds later, the darkness swallowed them whole along with their cries.
For the most part, killing the human who saved them tore them apart. He knew, deep down, that what he was doing was wrong, but it had to be done. Plus, he knew, deeper down in the darkest corners of his soulless form, that he still found enjoyment in killing Fleck.
“Human dead,” grunted Brute.
If only it were that easy. “Not yet…�
�� Flowey whispered. “Not yet...” He cocked his head backwards, signalling his steed to follow the only path. “Get us back to the castle. This day ain’t over yet.”
* * *
Falling. Fleck was falling at terminal velocity. The trees around passed fast and dark, invisible in the moving darkness, yet roaring in their ears. The fall felt like hours when it was actually minutes.
There was no way out of this one. After everything they’ve seen, this was probably for the best. Soon, they would hit the ground and all this madness would be over. Fleck just hoped that Flowey would keep his promise.
The ground approached, getting louder and louder. Would they feel themself hit it before they died? Would it make a nasty sound also, that of shattering bones? In a few short seconds, they would soon find out.
They reached the Forest’s floor as the rumbling air reached a thunderous climax. They expected the stop to be sudden as they smashed into solid ground, but instead, it swallowed them whole. A soft, sandy substance surrounded the human child, burying them and pouring into every orifice. Fleck inhaled and felt it almost enter into their lungs. They dug their way out, clawing and kicking blindly into the darkness until they were in open air.
However, their first gulp immediately made them want to vomit, pungent with an overpowering stench akin to that found in garbage dumps. The eye-watering smell was everywhere and with every breath, unescapable.
Completely blind, Fleck trudged out of the sandy pile, having to tread a few paces until they were out of it and kicking about empty cans and discarded packets underfoot. Something crunched under a loose wrapper. The grainy substance clung to them because something like this just had to happen after their bath.
Fleck wondered with an unsteady heart whether they were still alive or if they had hit the ground and this was the afterlife.
And then, as if Fleck’s right arm had sprouted and mouth that knew English, a voice from beside them spoke, startling them. “Warning: optimum light levels not reached,” the automated lady said. “Auto engaging light.”
The heart on their shield turned into a flashlight, bringing glorious light to their not-so-glorious surroundings. Fleck jumped again at the sight of twisted, wicked roots. The trees themselves were not rooted into the ground, but upheld on spindly roots in the thousands, digging into the fake earth like the legs on a spider.
The ground was covered in garbage, ranging from anything to everything: chip packets; soda cans; old socks; worn clothes; broken appliances; discarded books; rotten food; shredded paper; all ranging in age and damage.
Fleck glanced down at their own body – caught in the faint glow – and found themself covered in the sandy substance. It was grainy but also softer and steelier that the sands found on those golden beaches in holiday brochures. They turned the light over to the pool in which they landed on and discovered what it was.
A massive pile of dust. Dust everywhere. Fleck themself was grey all over with it. This dust had not accumulated due to a lack of spring cleaners. No. This pile was built out of something else entirely.
Dead monsters.
Every single monster who passed away in the Outerworld ended up down here in the belly of the Forest.
Fleck was covered in the remnants of the dead. It was on their clothes… On their skin… In their hair…
Get it off! Get if off get it off get it off! Fleck rubbed themself down like a madman; ruffling their hair, scraping their skin and patting their clothes until the dust formed a halo around their ankles. After minutes of waving like they had angered a hornet’s nest, they had managed to get rid of the excess; however, the colour clung to their sweater and their hands were layered with the powdery sensation. It would have to do until they got another bath and a fresh change in clothes.
A few feet away, a beeping noise attracted Fleck’s attention. They followed the sound and found their sword lying on in a burger box from Sweet and Sour’s. They picked it up and the blade came alight with another light, creating two cones in which to pave the way.
Fleck began to walk after aimlessly picking a direction. What would they do now? Where would they go? How would they get out of here? Fleck had no idea. They would not find those answered by standing around. Maybe if they explored the place, they would come upon the answer. A stairwell. An elevator. A ladder. There had to be some way back up.
The air was silent. The Forest floor was both deathly dark and deathly quiet. Not even the deepest depths of the underworld would be this bleak. One light on the ground and one out in front still cast enormous shadows that played tricks on the kid’s eyes. The flooring crunched and squelched with every pressing on their boot soles. The smell did not get any better.
They passed through gaps in the roots and under miles high trees, passing them quickly on the fear that they would collapse in an instant. Mounds of accumulated rubbish here and there in certain points, dropped from the world above where all were ignorant to the damage done below.
Dotted around the landfills were spots of dust. The dead. Fleck shone their light over by a mound. Supported at its foot lay a small hill of grey ash. There was enough garbage in these parts to build a mountain out of there. A mountain constructed from cardboard boxes and food packages and tin cans and…
Wait!
Fleck turned back to the garbage pile. Their heart and mind had been startled. By what, they had no idea. For what seemed like minutes, their own heartbeat became the only sound alive. They watched the trash as if expecting something to happen. Nothing did. It remained motionless like it has done for centuries, festering germs and the world record for foulest stench.
On Fleck pressed, carving their way with the lights. Onwards towards more garbage, more warped roots and more piles of dust. Whatever happened earlier preyed heavy on their mind and made their knees shake. They were unable to shake it.
Fleck could’ve sworn they saw something move.
Chapter 28: Downpour
The small village in the swamps of Bob appeared a ghost town in the misty rain. The villagers knew the drill as all windows, doors and shutters were closed the very second before the downpour commenced at the exact same moment every day. Every now and then, a figure would be seen darting across the walkways, moving fast enough to stay out for the least amount of time while also refraining from slipping. Every structure stood elevated on many legs above the rippling waters; each one had two clear lines worn in them: one when the tide was low and the other when it was high; the top line was where the water level lay.
The inn was both close enough to be a part of the village and yet far enough to be considered isolated. With no bridges, the only way to reach it was by boat, which were all tied on a port lined by its entrance. Four boats lined the walkway – the most recent belonged to the frog boatman who was inside the inn, sat on a heightened stool with a glass in hand.
On the upstairs floor overlooking the bar, a freshly brewed fire flickered within a fireplace that had seen much use. Asgore and Toriel sat in two comfy armchairs facing the inviting flames. It reminded Toriel of the old days in her old home, reading her many books over and over with the sweet smell of pie wafting from the kitchen.
The patter of rain against roof was a sound neither of them had heard in a long time. Ghostly air surrounded the spindly fingers reaching up from submerged grounds, visible from a balcony door welded shut with rust and mildew.
“I know I’ve been locked in the Underground for a long time,” Asgore commented, staring outside, “but I don’t remember the weather changing this rapidly.”
“I do not know, Asgore,” Toriel said as she reached for her glass on the circular table between them. “Remember that one time along the coasts of Scotland?”
In their youths, in a time before the war, the couple were quite the nomads, travelling the lands and meeting new cultures. How different they were back then, how naïve they were to life and clueless to the events to come that would shape their very lives to this day. Asgore even shaved in those da
ys, only when it was fashionable to do so depending on the lay of the land. Fun fact: his blonde beard hairs reverted to white whenever they were the same length as his fur.
During their travels, they set foot along one of the many coasts of the island. Cold air and colder waters, not as frigid for people with pelts as thick as theirs, under the pelts they wore back then. Scotland was home to such fascinating landscapes, an interesting culture, and a very friendly yet shy monster living in Loch Ness. That particular morning seemed to be a typical one, with grey overcast skies and a slight breeze.
Asgore leaned back. “How could I?” he reminisced as he recalled the exact moment the heavens opened, dropping a torrent on the couple. The tree they huddled under was not the greatest form of shelter but it was better than nothing. “We became quite the pair of drowned rats.” He chuckled as he reached for his glass also.
Both pint tumblers bubbled with Toxin Water. Toxin was an acronym (tasty oxygenated xylitol isotonic crystalline) and it was a forced one at that. Asgore and Toriel were probably the only two people with the courage to try it. The bar did not serve tea and the two needed their minds clear for when they arrived at the castle. The boatman was so generous to buy them the means to wet their whistles while the rain did its thing. Honestly, for the free ride, Asgore and Toriel should be the ones buying, but the frog insisted for such a lovely, charming person. The lady was nice too, he supposed.
Sitting around and waiting for the downpour to pass made the couple itchy, knowing that while they lounge around in a cosy pub with a warm fire and cold drinks, their child could be fighting for their very life. They could be lost. Alone. Cold. Hungry.
Toriel brought her drink down on the coaster which bore the rings of a thousand moist glasses before rubbing the sleeves on her upper arms. Asgore took notice as his wife tried to imagine Fleck on her lap as they read an enjoyable story.
“I know.” Asgore glanced back at the patio window. Outlined in the mist was the castle the two of them had been heading towards since their arrival. It was the closest he had seen it, now a giant on the horizon. The remaining journey there was perhaps no more than an hour away, and now the rain had impeded their progress. “Can’t wait to meet this fellow…” he whispered loud enough for Toriel to catch before he took a swig of his fizzy water.