Chapter Text
Chapter 21
Newer Home, The Surface, 202X
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He stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Dreemurr in their home while he endeavored to revive Azazel. It was a nice place; very cozy. There were a great many positive feelings saturating these walls, though it had only existed for a few years now. Places with families grew quickly like that. The warmth and love would make his Healing Magic stronger. It was why he’d chosen to work here rather than at the hospital or Alphys’ clinic as they’d suggested; positive feelings that either he or the person he chose to heal felt made their recovery much faster.
Dream smiled, though he felt a great melancholy for his own family.
“I hope someday I can help you too, Brother…”
He sipped some golden flower tea, exhaling softly, appreciating the flavor. It wasn’t often he had tea that was this good. He sat at the table in the dining area, his luminous golden cloak thrown over his seat. Azazel’s Soul hovered nearby, lined with golden light. He could already see it pulsing with white; the color of pure Magic.
It would happen soon now. Maybe in a day or two.
Toriel, Asgore, and Frisk were gathered in the living room with all their friends; a constant vigil since they’d arrived from Mt. Ebott. It really warmed his heart to see so many people offering their support.
Toriel noticed him watching, and walked over, looking terrible.
“Is there…any progress?” she asked him, and he smiled warmly, taking her hand in his and stroking it gently, “It won’t be long until his new body emerges. His Soul is getting stronger and stronger. Not that it surprises me.”
He glanced back over to them, “Asriel has more tenacity than just about anyone I’ve ever met. Ink did really well for himself, and for a great, great many people, in finding him.”
She managed a smile, barely, her eyes glistening, “He speaks so little of any of you, or what he does. The way he made it sound…”
Dream shook his head, “He’s not some murderer, Mrs. Dreemurr. He helps people. So many lives have been Saved thanks to his actions. Though he certainly doesn’t think to give himself credit. It’s been…a wild ride trying to get him to see the brighter side of what he does. And that while many mistake him for something he is not, a great many more know the truth of his heart.”
He glanced over at the others, then repeated for emphasis, “A great many more.”
But then he frowned, thoughtful, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful. I hate to think that Nightmare hurt him this badly. He didn’t deserve this…”
Mrs. Dreemurr squeezed his hand back, “Please do not feel responsible. You Saved my son; there is no way I can ever repay you.”
Undyne looked over to him, “This brother of yours; Nightmare…they gonna’ come back here?”
The room became very intense. He shook his head, “I don’t think so. Asriel hurt him very badly if he retreated like that. I didn’t think such a thing would be possible.”
“How so?”
“I’ve seen Asriel’s Stats and I’ve seen him in action…” he explained, troubled, “Nightmare was much, much stronger than him. It was a moment of quick thinking that won him the day; using his own Magic against himself like that…”
Toriel faltered, “He is…very brave.”
“If this Nightmare guy is so strong…where do you measure up?”
“I’m not much of a fighter.” Dream replied sadly, “I mean, against other people, sure…but Nightmare? No. I…fix things. Sometimes I even make things. I give people confidence with a simple word here and there, a little push of encouragement. I try to help where I can. I’m…I can’t really do what Asriel does.”
“Then you do what you can.” Toriel said for him, approvingly, “And help where it is most needed.”
“Exactly!” he said, smiling again, “Thank you. When matters of my brother come up…people often get…impatient with me. I try to explain but…”
He shrugged, “...You know how it goes.”
There were a few smiles and approving nods. Immediately he felt much better.
Asgore chimed in, “Will you tell us more about Ink and the others Asriel works with?”
Dream flummoxed, “Oh...umm…I suppose. A little detail here or there. What do you want to know?”
“Where does he…go, exactly?”
“To Core’s realm.” He answered simply, “I…don’t exactly know how to describe it in a way that makes much sense…imagine…a place made of Magic, that doesn’t exist in the normal world. A sanctuary for people who have…lost their way.”
“LOST THEIR WAY…AS IN LOST THEIR HOME, OR DONE SOMETHING BAD?”
“A bit of both, usually.” He replied, looking over at Frisk, “You would like Core, I think. They can be a little…distant, but they’re very friendly. They had no issue making friends with Asriel, despite how…well, how he can get sometimes. Anyway; there’s me, Core, Ink…hmm…”
He pondered for a moment, “Fell, Deet, and now Yūrei work with him a bit more directly; all Bête Noire, though in different ways. They’re all…quite diverse, but I don’t know any of them incredibly well yet. But I can tell you that they clearly share his vision.”
“Vision?” Frisk asked, and he smiled wider, rolling his eyes, “He had this motto that he told me once; Fight in the shadows, against the dark, to preserve the light. He took it really seriously.”
“That sounds kinda’ awesome, actually!” Undyne added, “Who knew he liked to sound cool, too! Usually he’s such a dork, especially after that weird drink he likes.”
“The absinthe? Don’t even get me started.”
She laughed, and the mirth spread about the room. The surge of emotion brightened the golden light around Asriel’s Soul, and it pulsated again. Dust still orbited it in a dense cloud, but it seemed to expand and contract, almost like a living thing.
“Are you ready then, Asriel?” Dream asked, expectant, and immediately the room went quiet again, “Alright. Let us begin.”
Moving the Soul to the empty space between the dining and living areas, he motioned to the others, “Stay back, please. I don’t want anyone to get jostled.”
Looking back to the Soul, he reflected on the emotions rooted in this place, letting them fuel his Magic. He felt himself host to an inner glow, that slowly, slowly, emerged from within, bathing the room in radiance. He felt lighter than air, brighter than a star. He felt more powerful than Nightmare, more powerful than any other being in The Multiverse. He felt like he could do anything.
“Hear me, and take form once more, Asriel Dreemurr!” Dream commanded, his voice booming with inner strength and authority, “A jar is no place for the likes of you!”
The Soul bloomed with Magic, the dust forming a cyclone, which became an outline. With a burst of light and a whoosh of air, Asriel hovered suspended for a moment, then collapsed into the arms of his mother, nude and shaking but whole.
Aside from…
“Oh no…” she cried out, holding onto him for dear life, “Oh no, no, no!”
Dream grimaced; he could restore the body…but the wounds they’d sustained lingered. Though the scars had thinned and become faded against what skin was visible, as if they had occurred many years ago, they remained, including the one Nightmare had dealt in the final moments.
The cut that had taken Asriel’s eyes.
They sputtered, head darting from side to side, “What…where…?”
“Shhhh.” Toriel said, weeping, cradling him as her strength failed and she sat across the floor, Asgore joining her there, “You’re home. You’re safe.”
Frisk followed suit, and as the family was united once more he turned away, holding in tears. He’d hoped…but…he should have known better. Asriel wouldn’t see without the aid of their crows ever again. All the confidence he’d built up in his invocation crumbled.
But then he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to Undyne, who was grinning cheek to cheek, “What’re you moping about? You brought him back!”
“I…couldn’t Save his eyes…”
She glanced back, grimaced, then, “Yeah. That sucks…but I’ve seen Azzy use his crows to see before. Like that one time we were sparring and he got sand in his face. He’ll be fine. Don’t be so freaking hard on yourself!”
“I…guess so. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Now-”
There wasn’t a pop of air, so it wasn’t a Sans. He turned to see what had stopped her and saw Core, their clothes torn and a desperate look on their face, with Ink and the others.
“We need to talk.” They said to everyone’s bewildered expressions, “We’re all in danger.”
________________________________________
Asriel listened carefully as Core clued him in on Dust and Killer, omitting any details that would alert his family of the multiple Timelines, after having wrapped a towel around his waist to hide his nakedness and, with enough insistence, gotten his prosthetic back. He watched through the eyes of one of his crows, hand involuntarily reaching up to the gash across his face.
He couldn’t believe he’d let Nightmare blind him like this. As grateful as he was to still be alive, he could’ve done better.
“Well…” he said, thoughtful, as they finished, followed by an awkward silence, “This isn’t good.”
Dust…with seven Human Souls. Seven Determination Souls, no less. No Timeline was safe from this; Dust had only been able to teleport from their native Timeline to the Omega Timeline…as it was they could be anywhere!
Damn Ink for letting them loose from containment after all this time! There was no trusting someone like that!
“…”
There wasn’t any time to lose. He knew what had to be done.
He turned his head towards Core, who sat cross-legged beside Frisk, who in turn studied them intently, “Bring them here.”
“…Asriel…”
“Just do it.” he said, despondent, “I knew this day would come sooner or later.”
Then, trying very hard not to let the full scope of his feelings through, “It was inevitable.”
They didn’t teleport, but rather ceased to exist in that time-space and instead existed in another.
“Man…how do you guys get used to that?”
“We manage.”
Mom held his shoulder, worried, “What is inevitable, my child?”
“…”
“Asriel?”
He sighed, taking her hand in his, “I had something of…a last resort stored away for just this sort of thing. I won’t…be able to follow Dust wherever they’ve gone, but…I’ll be able to Fight them here.”
“Here?”
“In this world.” He replied, finding his feet with her rushing to help him, “Certain types of entities can’t travel from their point of origin under normal circumstances…including…-”
Core reappeared, six containers and a clay pot beside them. They looked just as worried as Mom did.
“So…she kept it after all.”
“The Queen, and later the Crown Prince, wouldn’t allow her to destroy it.” they explained, eyes averted, “It was all that remained to remind them of you.”
Six Souls…and a little yellow flower. Taken from its place in the Gastholme Timeline. His vessel.
His doom.
“What…what are you doing with those?!” Mom asked, holding him tightly, “Asriel?!”
“I know…what I have to become now.” He said numbly, downcast, “This road I’ve taken only has one possible ending. To never have an ending.”
He held out his hand and cast crows to gather up the Souls; the five from the infected Timeline…and a Determination Soul taken from the Chara from Deet’s Timeline, “To stop Dust…I’ll have to Fight him at his level. I’ll…need to become a god. Properly, this time.”
He scooped up the flower, needing that as well to absorb the Souls; as a Bête Noire he’d been able to channel them easily enough…but to truly merge he needed the Flower. It behaved more like an ordinary Monster body, despite its…peculiarities.
Mom and Dad blanched, horrified. As he went to the back door, needing space to perform the ritual, Frisk cried out, grasping at his good leg, “Wait!”
“You don’t…have to do this…” they said, trembling, “You said that-”
“I know.”
He stood there, conflicted, “I’m always rushing to do everything myself. I’ve learned from that a little, at least. I’ve got Core, Dream, Ink…I’ve got Fell, Deet, Yūrei…I’ve got all of you. But…”
He stroked their face, unable to look into it directly, and smiled, “I also said that when we have the means to help others, we use them. If we have a chance, we take it. That’s how we are, Frisk. You tried everything to Save me; someone you didn’t know. A stranger… And who would I be if I didn’t do the same for others?”
“But…you don’t want this!” they protested, in tears, “You had chances up until now and you intentionally didn’t take them! You told me all about what it was like...and I...”
“...”
“...It isn’t fair...”
He nodded, distant. It felt like when he’d died, all those times. It felt like a dream he was experiencing, or maybe like watching it happen to someone else. He felt out of sorts, disjointed. Disembodied. Being a god sort of felt like that all the time, he knew. Even from just a few moments here and there...he’d hated the feeling.
And after this there’d be no way to go back.
So, he turned his attention away from that and instead to Frisk; their face, their eyes which they tried so hard to conceal. A bright, deep red like Chara’s. They’d grown up so much since reaching The Surface; nearly thirteen now. Pretty soon he’d finally figure out if they were a boy or a girl.
Frisk, like Chara, had fallen into The Underground without hope. Without family or friends. Without love. And now here they were; a part of his family. The little sibling he’d never had. A friend to every Monster. A champion of their cause and a symbol of so many hopes and dreams.
He stroked their cheek, smirking, “For you, all of you, I will do so anyway. You’re worth it.”
Tousling their hair, he carefully extricated his leg, “There won’t be regrets. I don’t have…the luxury.”
He went into the backyard, many eyes upon him, the Souls orbiting his body. Alone, they wouldn’t be enough to contend with Determination.
But thankfully, he knew the perfect counter to Determination…
He remembered Agate’s experiments; the inversions of Kindness, Patience, Integrity, Perseverance, Justice, Bravery, and now, with Yūrei, he knew the one for Determination as well…
Cruelty. Mania. Avarice. Despair. Tyranny. Fear. Undeath.
If he could conquer all of those things…what challenge could Dust truly pose to him?
Asriel began the Soul Inversion Ritual, recalling every stage, every mystic pass…the emotions that had to be channeled into the Magic. Where Dream’s Magic relied on positive emotions…this sort of Magic required the worst of negative ones. They all felt what flowed through him and trembled; hatred...madness... A will to destroy wantonly.
But he’d carried that darkness within him since resurrecting and hadn’t succumbed, holding back against what he could have possibly become. He channeled these feelings with ease. One by one, each Soul darkened, cracked apart, then reformed anew. Bête Noire Souls, seeping black embers.
Vile.
Wretched.
Evil.
He was ready for this.
He was born for this.
The flower was the final component. He injected it with DT and absorbed it into his body, returning it from whence it came. The Six followed suit, circling around the Fear Soul.
For a moment, there was such a deadly stillness. Then, he screamed, his body tearing itself apart in the backlash of spent Magic so tremendous that the sky roiled, black thunderheads gathering instantaneously. A deadly wind pressed against him from all sides, destroying his crow in the process. He heard the others crying out in Fear, then he only heard himself.
Alone, in the dark, he screamed again, flattened against the earth.
And then he screamed a final time, as that darkness filled with all that was, his mind stretched across all of creation.
He saw all. He was all. His body no longer existed.
But that body had just been a shell of Magic. What he was now existed everywhere in this Timeline. With the slightest application of will, he stood again where he once had, by no means whole but…present.
He cast a crow, already aware but wanting to see it for himself.
The changes were more radical than those that occurred in the Gastholme Timeline; his scars remained but didn’t seem physical in the same way, muted against the shadows that coiled lazily about his body. Six black, feathered wings stretched outward from his back, smaller and narrower than the pair he’d had before. From the space just below where his eyes had been emerged three pairs of curling horns, each angled differently and upon which hung many silver charms matching those in his beard. His fangs were plated in silver again, and from his neck hung obsidian beads strung with spike charms, a similar ornamentation wrapped about his biceps and ankle.
He wore greaves, an outer layer of loose pants, and a flowing hip-cloth that seemed composed of the same shadows that clung to him. On impulse, he willed it to be purple and emblazoned with the Delta Rune. He also willed his locket into his hands and tied it around his belt, then envisioned and created a purple cloak and pauldrons to match the robes of his Absolute God of Hyperdeath form, and threw that on as well.
He held out a hand, experimentally flexing his claws, the nails longer, pointed, glassy like obsidian, “And the seventh angel poured out his vial into the air; and there came a great voice out of the temple of heaven, from the throne, saying, “It is done.””
Asriel turned, and everyone recoiled at the sight of him.
“Dust will arrive here soon.” He told them, distant, though his voice boomed like a thunderclap, “He cannot ignore the signs. I will be ready.”
Ink spoke up first, “But…you’re both gods. How do you know you can beat him?”
He smiled wickedly, baring his fangs, “He will learn that his sight may be his weakness.”
His attention turned to Mom and Dad, then to Frisk. Their despondent expressions. Of everyone there, only they remained impervious to Fear.
“It was the only way.” was all he could manage, before willing a crow to exist in a far-off place with no people around; a place where he could Fight Dust without endangering others, and traded places with it, leaving them behind.
________________________________________
Dust Seraphim obliterated one Timeline, then another, freeing their inhabitants of the curse of life. With all this power and Determination it was a simple thing.
“All for the best.” He told himself, over and over again, having long since lost the ability to feel. Killing his friends, over and over again. Killing his brother, over and over again. Killing Frisk, over and over again.
In a cold, rational part of his mind, he couldn’t deny he was starting to enjoy it. Maybe he wasn’t so much different than Killer after all.
No matter.
He became aware of another god forming from the ether.
Azazel…
Scowling, he turned his attention to their Timeline. Their Universe.
Their battles had been many all across the Multiverse, in one iteration or another. Sanses and Floweys invariably fought for dominance over the ability to Reset. It was naturally ingrained for them to hate and Fear one another. And he and Azazel had vied for the position of Ink and Error’s lackey, the latter out of a misplaced sense of duty, the former out of spite alone.
He decided what to do in an instant; he wouldn’t rest until their Timeline was no more and this other newborn god was turned to dust. He couldn’t be confident in his ability to offset the power of other gods with his Determination before he had a chance to test it!
“i’m a-comin’, old pal…” he said, willing himself to appear in their world, “it’s time to see which one of us was right all along.”
He stood opposite to them in an endless desolate tundra, the wind furiously whipping about their clothing. He knew distantly that any normal being would freeze to death within minutes without an incredible amount of protection.
“really?” Dust asked, incredulous, “the freaking south pole?!”
“I would’ve picked the moon but…time was of the essence. And I’m still getting used to this again.”
He considered that, then them. They looked pretty good as a god…minus all the wounds. Six wings, like him. Though his were all bones. Dust also had a necklace of Frisk Souls, and a bone mask over his face with one eye blazing red. A fur-lined cloak that pulsated with Red Magic. Monster dust covered him, trailing him like a miasma in the same way shadows did with them.
“nightmare chopped you up pretty good, huh?”
“Yeah…”
The silence stretched a bit. He let it. He wanted to savor this.
“doesn’t matter what timeline it is…” he said, reflective, “at some point it comes down to you, me, and the kid. shame they’re not here. i’ll have to pay ’em a visit once i’m done with you.”
Azazel frowned, “Dust…”
“yeah, buddy?”
“…”
“Is this what you truly want?” they asked him, and he puzzled over that, “huh?”
“You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late.”
“heard all that before.”
“Listen to me.” Azazel snapped, “…I know. I know what it’s like to…lose control. When you have that kind of power, it can be so easy to forget who you were. Who you are.”
They looked away, stricken, then back to him, “It’s not too late to turn back. You can do better, with that kind of Determination.”
“…You can do better…”
“…YOU CAN DO BETTER…”
He held his head, Paps flowing through the scarf around his neck, looking at him desperately, “…YOU CAN DO BETTER, BROTHER…”
His hands clenched painfully, “Stop it…”
“Sans…”
“Stop it!” he snarled, calling hundreds of blasters into being, “I won’t turn back!”
Determination.
“I’ll end it all. I’ll end everything! I’ll Save everyone!”
He turned the snow and ice into vapor in a hundred-foot radius, leaving an enormous crater. The vapor quickly turned back into a liquid, hoarfrost clinging to their clothing.
They both ignored it, hovering in the air above the crater.
“…”
“Very well.” Azazel replied, “I tried. Well…then there’s just one last thing to say.”
They closed their eyes, and as the Fight began he saw their Soul; one, not seven. Black, which bubbled with white motes like a lava lamp. He’d never seen anything like it.
“It’s a beautiful day outside.” They said, and Dust felt a chill crawling up his spine, “The wind is howling. Twilight is shining through the clouds. On days like these…”
“…Skeletons like you…”
Azazel outstretched their hand, and a tremendous sword appeared in it, trailing black flame with white embers, “…Will be laid to rest!”
They charged him, transcending physical space. The earth shook at the impact, and Dust was sent careening backwards, correcting his path with a single beat of his six skeletal wings. Angling his blasters to barrage the space they stood in, he grimaced at the sight of thousands of crows swarming the air.
They menaced him, and Dust filled the space surrounding him in all directions with bones, parrying the inevitable swing as Azazel teleported in. Even interposing a blaster to take the hit in his stead, he still reeled, then again, as they teleported away, struck, teleported away, over and over again, coming from every direction, every hit scouring him with black fire that clung and burned like acid.
“Enough!” he snarled, manifesting blasters that orbited him and fired continuously, forcing them back and annihilating their crows. The sky filled with black, inky shadows and water vapor. He found himself coated in ice where the fires didn’t touch and shook himself free of it.
They reappeared at the border of the crater, panting. He felt a bit winded himself.
They held out their other hand, and a second sword materialized to match the first, and Dust smirked, amused, “really? you gonna’ be able to swing both of those?”
“Watch me!” Azazel snapped, trailing more crows. His blasters reoriented, filling the air with crimson light and heat so intense the ice and snow became vapor once more, misting him as they each teleported continuously, ceasing to occupy physical space. Where the moisture touched the flames spreading across his clothing, it hissed angrily, creating little spirals of steam. But as he struck with bones, and they, with their swords, they connected, affecting each other on another plane of existence.
Knowing this to be a losing battle, given the added durability a Dreemurr-based god would possess, he retreated back to the physical world, “not bad, kiddo.”
“Same.”
“guess it’s time to finish the warmup, then?”
“Yup.”
He grasped their Soul with blue Magic and hurled them downward into the dark, freezing waters. They went in hard, and he filled the little lake they’d created with enough bones to make it look like an underwater forest. He could tell he hit them, but grimaced as they traded places with a crow he hadn’t noticed, wounded but still in the Fight. More crows appeared as he adjusted his vision to perceive invisible objects, each bearing a glowing white eye.
So that was how they could see…?
“got you now, azzy!” he said, delighted, summoning blasters that struck the crows as they scattered desperately, taking out new ones just as fast as they made them.
“Have you forgotten who I am?!” they asked, furious, creating pillars and vortexes of black fire and chromatic lightning bolts to compete with the hundreds of blasters, and Dust smiled, “oh?”
Azazel swarmed him with Magic, forcing him to teleport away again and again, all throughout the tundra and around the crater, “I’m the Absolute God of Hyperdeath!”
A half-dozen blasters of their own, shaped like Dreemurr Skulls, surrounded him from all sides, and began pulling at him, drastically affecting gravity, “if you’d have said “the legendary fartmaster, i’d have died laughing.”
Feeling like his body was being ripped apart in the collapsing gravity of six black holes, probably because that was exactly what was happening, Dust tried to teleport, then winced, finding himself unable to do so.
So…they affected local space-time, too…nicely done.
Manifesting bones that speared the blasters from all sides, they winked out of existence just as his foe came in with their weapons.
Azazel charged him, their menagerie of crows fleeing his blasters to continue its existence, but as he retreated he saw a bit less confidence in their movements, forced to trail him by sound rather than sight. They swung with grace and ferocity, but the attacks drew further and further from vital areas, relying on scattering waves of flames and stars to land hits. Enough that he felt safe blocking them with his blasters, “is that it, buddy? this is your last, desperate defense of this world?”
He laughed, “you can’t even reach me!”
Teleporting away just as they snarled and cleaved through his defenses, facing them from behind, he extended a shaft of bone aimed right for their heart at the speed of a bullet. It struck true, impaling them through the chest. From that length more sprouted, and in an instant Azazel’s body became like a pincushion, hundreds of jagged shards poking out from every angle. Their swords fell from their hands. Their wings stopped beating and went slack.
“what’s the matter, azzy?” he asked, all innocence, “that look…that expression on your face…”
They coughed up dust, faltering.
“well, i wouldn’t grace it with a description…”
Dust smiled, “Suffice to say; you’re boned!”
They gurgled something indecipherable, and he turned their body to face him, “what was that?”
“I…said…”
Their body blurred and became indistinct, then vanished in a puff of shadows. Right where their head had been there was a crow, its single eye fixed on him.
“Nyctophobia.”
His heart skipped. Everything went dark.
“No.”
The empty abyss filled with crows; thousands upon thousands of eyes, all fixed upon him.
“No!”
“Save the illusion for the end…thanks for the lesson, Agate.” Azazel said, somewhere far, far away, as the crows changed to the faces of all those he’d killed, “Sweet dreams, Sans…Nevermore!”
________________________________________
He shrouded his hand in black flame and plunged it into Dust’s chest cavity, fingers grasping their Monster Soul. Their Determination protected it, but as he watched the bright red of the Souls greyed, as their Host began to lose that very Determination.
He had a good idea about what they were experiencing at that very moment; their consciousness expanded to experience every horrid detail in explicit clarity, and wept, applying more and more pressure as the Soul began to crack.
He’d never been on the receiving end of a completed Genocide Route, in spite of how many times he’d attempted it himself back in the day. Sans had been the one to stop him, time and time again. No matter how hard he’d tried…he hadn’t been able to break them.
But Dust’s Frisk had managed somehow. The notion haunted him deeply.
“Goodbye.” He said, shattering the Soul in his hands, leaving an empty void that would collapse their body.
“…”
“…..”
But they refused.
Dust looked up, one eye trailing crimson light, and a hand clamped around his throat, “did you really think…it would be that easy?”
Gasping for air, Asriel fought back, scoring a hit with a Chaos Caladbolg.
But they refused.
“I can’t give up.”
Their fingers tightened. He summoned a blaster and sprayed them with black flame and miniature collapsing stars. The Souls turned almost completely grey as the Bête Noire Magic sapped them of strength.
But they refused to die.
“I won’t give up.”
He saw black spots in his vision. He jerked, Fighting for air that wouldn’t come. Angling his sword, he pushed it through Dust’s chest, its tip poking out the other side.
But they refused to let it all end like this.
“I’ll see this through…”
Their other hand caught his arm and pinned it to his side, while a skeletal wing speared the other, bending it back and dislocating it at the elbow. He writhed in pain, unable to scream.
“Determination.”
This was it. Somehow, he’d lost the Fight.
“Frisk…” Asriel thought, just as the darkness closed in on him, “Chara…if you’re there, I could really use your help.”
“…”
“…..”
But they refused.
The Determination Souls, lacking a Monster Soul to restrain them, began to awaken inside their host. Dust faltered, their grip loosening enough for Asriel to draw in air in a strangled gasp, sputtering.
He pulled back, out of their grip, and slashed down with his good arm and the Chaos Caladbolg in tow, sending ribcage fragments flying in all directions, opening the wound he’d made earlier.
Dust recoiled, clutching the ruin of his chest, “You filthy brats! Get back down and stay there!”
But they refused.
“You can’t stop me!” Dust raged, pulling them back towards his center, “I’m a god now! I won’t let you win!”
Wounded, Asriel flew in nonetheless, scoring another hit as they scrambled to keep him at bay, firing blasters wildly. There was a great dark cavity in their chest, filled with tiny pinpricks of red light. One Soul escaped, then another. He carved another deep furrow, taking a hit for his troubles, and then made another, widening the gap.
“I’ll Save everyone! Just like you wanted! Right, kiddo?!”
Roaring his defiance, Asriel struck a final time, and the remaining Souls escaped Dust.
Dust remained there in the sky for a moment, then tumbled, spent, as did he. The Souls shattered apart, unable to persist without a host. Glowing red fragments rained down from above. They both landed hard, right on the outer rim of the crater, the dark waters below even then beginning to ice over once more. Trembling, ice coating his fur, Asriel looked over at Dust, to see a single blue eye appraising him weakly.
“i just wanted…” they breathed, wheezing, “…to make it stop…”
Nodding sadly, he reached out with his good hand, and took theirs, “…I know…”
They remained there in that position, until Dust’s ruin of a chest stopped moving and they became very, very still. Their body disintegrated into dust, leaving him alone in the empty tundra.
Clamping his eyes shut, his tears freezing against his face, Asriel forced himself onto his knees, crying out in pain as he righted his arm, forcing it back into its socket.
Dust didn’t leave much behind; a pair of loose shorts, a bottle of ketchup…and…
He saw an orange scarf, tattered and faded to near grey. Papyrus’ from their Timeline, no doubt. Taking it as a grim reminder of what could have been, Asriel dared a final glance at their dust, already nearly indeterminate against the snow, and willed himself elsewhere.
Epilogue
Mt. Ebott, The Surface, 202X
________________________________________
He meditated before the shrine in the monastery’s central building. Everything was red and gold, the walls and ceiling decorated with masterful illustrations detailing ancient legends, with a particular section focusing on the history of Monsters and the Prophecy of the Angel. And the end of the chamber was a statue to Lord Buddha, with a smaller alcove to either side, one with a smaller idol of Confucius, and the other still empty.
There were talks of making a likeness of him and putting it there, but he didn’t like the idea, so it was still up in the air.
There were rows of sitting cushions to either side, but he’d taken a spot right before the statue at the end of the central walkway. Able to summon and dismiss his wings at will, he was considerably more comfortable than before, even managing to put on a proper shirt. Still, his spines chafed, and he wished to be rid of those as well.
At the moment he was alone, as he’d requested.
There had been a great deal of talk, and questions, when he’d returned home after defeating Dust. He hadn’t had the energy to deal with it and had only gone to sleep instead. While his body didn’t seem to really need it…his mind had.
Seeking guidance or perhaps inspiration upon waking, he’d willed himself to this place, its creation possible because of him, and his work possible because of Frisk. It all seemed to come full circle at Mt. Ebott.
He knew what this meant, even if most of the others didn’t; he was a god now…and unlike before, he’d fully bonded to the Six Souls. Bête Noire Souls, that were immune to Reset. There was no going back now; he’d be like this forever unless death claimed him, and at this point it seemed unlikely. He wouldn’t be able to leave this Timeline without risk of destroying others with his mere presence. He couldn’t lead his new group into future battles as he’d intended.
Asriel clenched his fists, frustrated; he’d won, and yet he’d lost.
He sighed, having long since dismissed his crows, content in the darkness. It had become his element, after all.
Still, the shrine interior was pleasantly warm, the air laced with incense. It wasn’t an unpleasant isolation.
He didn’t hear the doors open, but he knew someone was there. There was a sharp intake of breath.
“…Asriel…?”
He nodded, facing away from her, and awkwardly found his feet as she drew nearer.
“Hey, Chara…” he said, distant, “I wasn’t…expecting you to drop by.”
“Asriel, I…-”
She stopped, “Your…oh no…no…”
She held his cheek, just under the ridge of the jawbone, and he leaned towards her, “It’s alright. I can still see just fine if I need to.”
“They hurt you…” she said, her hand trembling where her voice didn’t, and he felt a surge of murderous wrath fill her.
“Not here, please.” He asked her, taking her hand in his, “I’m glad you came.”
Embracing her, he took in her scent, enjoyed the sensation of her body against his. Soft. Warm. Mortal.
“You look…” she managed after a while, strained, “Really different.”
“I suppose.”
“Still a dork, though.”
He paused, smirked, though it too was strained, “I suppose.”
Something else had occurred to him as well; he couldn’t enter the Omega Timeline anymore. He’d dreaded this conversation.
But then she surprised him, “You remember me…maybe coming here?”
“…”
He couldn’t see her expression, so he willed a crow into being to find that she was smiling, “Well…I’ve given it some thought…and…”
She looked away, troubled, “I don’t know how well it would work out, but…I’m willing to give it a shot. Hopefully, Mom and Dad don’t blame me for what happened.”
“They don’t. They never did.”
“Perhaps.” Chara replied, sighing, “You were all so pure and innocent, so trusting. I…made everything worse for you. I-”
He shushed her, “You’re always telling me not to be so hard on myself. Take your own advice, Chara.”
“I…”
She paused, conflicted, “I…suppose.”
“Copycat.”
“Dork.”
“Bangs.”
“Pink nose.”
“It is not!” he protested, though he knew he was smiling, “If you do want to try this…we’ll need a home. Shouldn’t be an issue, since I’m a god and all.”
“Yeah…”
She smirked, “A god that can’t grow all his pieces-parts back. Honestly, what’s the point?”
“I almost melted the south pole.”
“Great. You scorched some penguins. Way to go.”
“There you go again, raining on my parade.” He said, defeated, “Well…let’s head over and say hello.”
“Right now?!”
“Don’t see why not. You ready?”
“I don’t even know how to explain…”
“I’m a god, Chara.” He replied again, “And you know Void Magic. I’m sure we’ll come up with something convincing aside from you being from another Timeline.”
“Yeah. There’s that.” Chara said, thinking. The silence stretched.
“Something else?”
“Yeah.” She said, conflicted, “You did say you were a god, right?”
“Yup.”
“And you’ve got the flower back; which means your body has the potential for physical matter like it did in the Gastholme Timeline…right?”
Her meaning registered. He stared at her through the crow, agog, “Are you…saying…you want to…?”
“Yeah.”
Chara smiled at him, “You’re not…him. But you’re everything that was good in him and about him. I’d be…honored if you’d…”
He fell to a knee, startling her, “Azzy, what are you-”
Asriel took her hand in his, trembling, “Marry me.”
She looked like she’d just been caught stealing from the fridge at night by Mom, getting one of the full-strength death glares point blank.
“Will you marry me, Chara?”
“…”
She smiled, in tears, “Yes.”
Suddenly all of this didn’t seem like such a bad thing. Suddenly being stuck in this Timeline, in this place, was the best thing that had happened to him in ages. He stood up, feeling lighter than air, “Let’s go home, then.”
________________________________________
As they teleported away, Core dismissed the reflection in the pool of water in the lake, returning it to its normal state. Yūrei nodded, content, “I am happy Azazel found what he was looking for. He has earned a happy retirement.”
“I wouldn’t call it that.” Core assured him, “He might not be able to lead, but he can certainly advise and direct this new force from his home Timeline.”
“And as a God, that Timeline will be in good hands, I think.”
“Me too.”
They looked over to him, and even he felt himself unnerved by those blank eyes of theirs, “Did you learn from his example?”
“…Yes.” He replied, “To put the needs of others above my own. I tried very hard to…do this in my own Timeline. To Act in the shadows, to preserve the light. I am happy to see the other Me’s are of a like mind.”
“In more ways than just that.”
“What do you mean?”
They smiled sadly at him, “Did you know that I can see a person’s Stats just by looking at them? How strong they are? What their attacks are? What their LV is?”
He didn’t like that look, “…No.”
“Your LV is very, very high.” They told him, matter-of-factly, “But your EXP is far lower than it should be. Don’t get me wrong; you’ve definitely killed people, for one reason or another…”
Yūrei nodded grimly, remembering the battles he’d fought, against both Humans and violent Monsters.
“But not nearly enough to attain an LV like that.”
“What are you getting at?”
“LV isn’t only gained by killing.” They explained, “It can also be gained by hurting. It’s much, much slower, but possible. You’ve been hurting yourself, all this time, haven’t you? Over two centuries of crushing, unceasing guilt.”
He tensed up, “…”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, either.” They told him, “You did something wrong, but…-”
“Six Humans died because of me. My disappearance caused the war.”
“You were afraid. You were a child.”
“So, what?!”
“You made a mistake and it hurt others. You didn’t realize the full scope of the consequences. Nobody would fairly condemn you for that.”
He looked away, angrily, “What are you getting at, Frisk?”
“You should tell them.”
He winced, grumbling, “You really are a Frisk, aren’t you? They said that very thing at the end.”
“Wisdom is wisdom.”
Yūrei sighed, “I will…think about it. Azazel became a god and they still accepted him. Perhaps…it wouldn’t be so bad…”
He turned away, “I’m ready to go back home, if you are ready to show me what must be done.”
“Of course, Asriel. Let’s see here…”
________________________________________
Fell leaned back into his seat while Mettaton’s new show started, relaxing. He’d have a meeting with Jessica Grey later tonight, but for now he was left to his own devices. Dad was out with the requisitions team, gathering the supplies left behind by charitable Humans. Mom was reading in the chair opposite him, Karma playing with some hand-me-down toys on the floor, babbling incoherently.
She’d managed to clip a few random words together by this point, and it was kind of funny watching her try to figure out how to say things only to get frustrated and start crying. She was only one and change at this point, after all.
“Hey, Karma!” he said, startling both of them, “Say bread.”
“Mmph.”
“Cmon, say breaaaaad.”
“Bruhb.”
“Get flicked in the head.” He said suddenly, poking her in the forehead, earning a harsh glare from Mom.
“Mmph.”
Fell snickered, “Never gets old. Hey Karma, say bread!”
“Bmmurph.”
Again, “Get flicked in the head!”
He laughed, not too unkindly since it was his half-sister after all, then found his Soul flaring blue just before he was hurled upward into the air, “Ach! Holy crap! She’s casting already?!”
“Yes.” Mom said, watching him struggle with amusement, “She is.”
Little Karma didn’t have any finesse; he was left lurching up and down, up and down.
“Oh man, I’m gonna’ puke…”
“Throw up on my floor and I’ll put your dust in the urn with the rest of you!”
“Fine, then help me down!”
Mom looked up at him, smirking, “In a minute. She needs to practice, after all.”
“Mooooooom?!”
________________________________________
Deet sparred with not-enemy-friend Papyrus out in Snowdin-home-not-in-home. New royal guard armor heavy. Bracers, anklets, greaves, belt, all bright and bronze. Deep blue hip cloth with Delta Rune. No breastplate; too many bones.
“WELL…” they said, panting, “I BELIEVE THAT THIS IS MY LIMIT FOR TODAY. I WILL ELEVATE MYSELF TO YOUR LEVEL SOON NOW.”
Not-enemy-friend Papyrus looks good in royal guard armor.
“DON’T I?” Papyrus replied, smiling, “YOU AS WELL. I’M SO HAPPY THE KING WAS LENIENT AFTER EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED.”
Deet frowned. Not-enemy-friend-Human Chara was gone, and the kingdom was in mourning. But not-enemy-friend-king Asriel had pardoned them, since Other had told them to attack her, and in the end Deet had fought for not-enemy-friends bravely, and was later named a royal guard with not-enemy-friends Sans and Papyrus. Not-enemy-friend Alphys was Royal Scientist now, and seemed happy. They would all meet her and not-enemy-friend Undyne tomorrow to watch sword fight cartoons.
Show Deet new puzzle today?
“WELL…I THINK YOU’VE EARNED IT.” they said, relenting, “COME ON, LET’S GO.”
Papyrus led them out of Snowdin towards forest door. Passed famous electricity maze. No orb. No shock. Not sure if best puzzle.
Most of way there when found not-white-color.
“OH!” Papyrus said, delighted, as new not-enemy-friend recoiled, frightened, “HELLO, NEW HUMAN. I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AND THIS IS MY COUSIN DEET. YOU’VE JUST FALLEN DOWN, HAVEN’T YOU? WELCOME TO SNOWDIN!!!”
Papyrus held out his hand, and the Human shied away, hands clutching at their clothing, “OH, PLEASE DON’T BE SCARED. I ASSURE YOU THAT YOU ARE IN THE VERY DEFINITION OF ABSOLUTE SAFETY.”
Deet not hurt new-enemy-friend-Human.
“EXACTLY! WHAT IS YOUR NAME, HUMAN?”
“…mmph…”
“I AM SORRY. YOU WILL HAVE TO SPEAK UP.”
“…Frisk.”
“A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU, FRISK.” Papyrus said, “COME. WE WILL TAKE YOU TO THE KING. HE WILL KNOW WHAT TO DO. BUT FIRST, YOU LOOK COLD. SOME HOT COCOA WILL DO YOU WONDERS!”
Smiling uncertainly, not-enemy-friend-maybe Frisk followed them back to Snowdin-home.
Today was good day.
________________________________________
Every four days Emperor Asgore held court in a narrow chamber called the Judgement Hall, where they made rulings on this or that or listened to citizens and advised as they deemed fit.
Today, the samurai guarding them were surprised by the appearance of a hitherto-unknown citizen.
Yūrei waited patiently in the stretch of corridors and balconies leading up to the Judgement Hall, atop a battlement overlooking New Home. The Monsters before and behind him gave him a wide berth; even cloaked and concealed, he radiated an aura of palpable menace. An unfortunate byproduct of his Soul.
They knew death when they saw it.
Eventually reaching and bypassing the imperial palace, his old home, he entered the Judgement Hall. The light, painful to his eyes but thankfully not true sunlight, blinded him a moment, forcing him to squint to adjust.
It was a fairly small corridor, about six or seven bodies wide, but with a high ceiling that made it seem larger. Thin wall panels inscribed with the Delta Rune should have blunted whatever source of light there was behind them, but instead seemed to amplify it, casting the entire area in gold. With the peculiar style of roof support and the elaborate ornamentation similar to the Monastery Shrine he’d seen Azazel in, the place looked much like a temple as well.
And across the way, opposite to the procession…was his family; Father, Mother, Frisk, and a few other key members of the court in attendance, such as Undyne and Alphys. Somehow, with no way to sneak in normally, he saw Sans-sei peek out from a support pillar, unbeknownst to the samurai, and offer him a knowing wink.
He didn’t even question how they’d learned of his intentions. No matter.
When it was his time to stand before the Emperor, Yūrei knelt on a small cushion about ten paces from their raised dais. He threw off the hood of his cloak, and a few shifted nervously.
Not Father, though.
“Oh!” Asgore said, curious, “I remember you! You helped Fight off the strange bandits a few days ago. How can I help you?”
“…”
Yūrei glanced over to Frisk for a moment, then back to his father, “I am here because I have committed a terrible crime, and await your judgement.”
Everyone in the room grew visibly tense. Asgore’s brow furrowed, “Truly? Tell me of this crime, then…”
“I fled from my duty.” He explained, eyes to the floor, “I was a coward, unable to bear the consequences of my failure. Though I sought to pursue another duty as atonement, and performed that duty as best as I was able…I have always known it to be inadequate.”
He swallowed, trying and failing to keep his breath steady, then, “But this is not all that I have done. You have collected Human Souls in order to destroy The Barrier…”
He manifested his linked Mu Soul, startling those in attendance, “And I have harbored one. Since the last Human before Frisk fell, and then perished, I held the final key to The Barrier…and yet I remained in hiding.”
He clenched his fist, smothering the manifestation, “I had no control over absorbing it…and it is no ordinary Soul anymore, tainted by foul Magic, but perhaps you, infused with six, and I, with one, together would have been strong enough to destroy The Barrier. But I was unwilling to step forward to test that. I couldn’t bear the thought of so much as showing my face here.”
Mother’s expression grew veiled. Perhaps she already suspected who he was? Father’s, however, was that of a statue. He couldn’t read what they were thinking from that blank stare alone.
“So, I have come here, now, to be punished. I ask you to take my life to restore my honor.” He continued, and was met with stunned gasps, “Absorb this Soul by taking it from my dust, and free our people.”
Frisk gaped, horrified, then looked to Father, who took all this in with a carefully veiled expression.
The Emperor rose from their seat, and Yūrei bowed lower. He held in his breath as their footsteps drew close. They towered over him.
“Is this so…?” they asked, “Then there is only one thing that can be done.”
He closed his eyes, awaiting a strike.
Father knelt down before him, stunning the onlookers, “It seems to me that the only way to restore your honor is to return to the duty you abandoned.”
So…his last contingency failed. He chided himself for his selfishness; death would have been by far the easier option. Was this truly his fate?
He thought of Azazel and tried to reassure himself. But he needed to speak his misgivings aloud. There wouldn’t be another chance.
“I…I cannot. This Soul is…an abomination. I am an abomination.”
“You can and you must, whatever you have become. There is no other way.”
“But I…-”
They reached down and cupped his head in their hands, their grip very, very gentle, “Even when we fail, even when we falter, our duty is everything. I’ve made decisions I have regretted. I’ve hurt others. I’ve hurt myself. But I never once shirked my duty. If you want to make it right, you must do the same.”
“…”
They paused, thoughtful, then, “It is time to come home.”
He swallowed, his entire body going rigid. They knew. He could feel his tears seeping through the material of the eye-holes of his mask.
“You don’t understand what that would mean.”
“Do I not?”
Mother knew as well. She stood up from her sitting cushion, pained, and stood beside them, “…Asriel?”
Father removed his mask, and somehow didn’t recoil at the sight of his face, “I suspected from that day, even from the few moments I had to look upon you. I knew my own son, whatever form he had taken. I knew after that, that you would find your way here.”
They smiled, “And you came. Thank you. I know this must have been very difficult.”
“I fled my duty.”
“I know.”
“I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”
“I know.”
“You declared war on the Humans!” He cried out, trembling in their hands, “Because of me! They died because I could not face you after I lost Chara. After I…became this thing.”
He couldn’t look them in the eye, “I am…a miserable creature…I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve your Mercy.”
They forced his eyes to meet theirs, and in them he found a hurt nearly equal to his own, “You’ve suffered enough. How could I or anyone else possibly punish you more than you’ve punished yourself? You forced yourself into exile, and became a shinobi dedicated to our kingdom. You did everything you could to ensure our people were safe, from Humans and even from each other. A certain someone told me much about you at my insistence, though not who you truly were.”
Father smiled, “But right now Monsters don’t need another shinobi. They need their prince. For you, and Frisk, to serve as our hope for the future; a future of peace between Humans and Monsters.”
Asriel nodded, defeated, “…I will do this.”
Father embraced him, as did Mother, and despite himself he held back, weeping. Time seemed to slow down, in that state. And a little bit of the hurt inside him went away.
________________________________________
Ink watched yet another happy ending play out as that universe’s Asriel reunited with their family. A rare occurrence in any Timeline, even without the creation of a Flowey, or at least one with Asriel’s remnant.
It was new, and certainly interesting, especially given their involvement in what Azazel had ultimately dubbed the “Delta Core”, given the significance of the Prophecy of the Angel to each of its members, albeit in vastly differing ways. They would work together to help preserve the Multiverse and all its functioning AUs, with Azazel leading them from the shadows. So…
Why did he feel so dissatisfied?
Error and Nightmare were still unaccounted for. That was probably the start of it. He wasn’t sure if the former would keep to their deal, indeed, didn’t expect them to. No new Timelines, at least not without Erasing an equal amount. He’d managed that stipulation at the cost of the malfunctioning or genocidal Timelines Azazel had helped them eradicate…knowing that Pacifist ones generally tended to produce more new and interesting results. He felt like he’d won out, since those were usually empty or nearly so, and thus Error couldn’t kill nearly as many “abominations” as they put it.
XGaster’s words still rang true; it would be interesting to see what kinds of qualities meddling with AUs would yield, despite the different methods the two of them used.
Azazel and their newfound power presented another problem. Able to use crows between Timelines to teleport the other members of the Delta Core, and even assist indirectly in battle, they’d nearly completely cut him out of the arrangement by rendering him obsolete. Did they already suspect his intentions?!
No. They were still pretty easy to manipulate. Like all Asriels were. If not by Chara, then by someone else they came to trust.
“Well…” he said to himself, looking away from that window into their AU and on to another, “It’ll be interesting to see, anyway. Nothing to do right now but wait. Show me, Asriel…what all of you can do to help me get the results I’m looking for. Don’t disappoint.”
He smirked, considering downing a vial or two. This emptiness was cloying, before his eyes settled on the other vial, that didn't belong to him.
“For all your sakes…”
________________________________________
To be Continued.