VOXISTALE: Novel Edition

Chapter 12

"Mhmhmmm."

"Hmhmmhm."

Large furry hands lightly patted on the steering wheel in tune with what the king was humming as he traveled down the road, heading toward Muffet's to grab some much-needed lunch. None would ever be able to recognize the song he hummed; it had been one his mother would sing to him centuries ago, before his teachings as a Prince began. It had stuck with him through all of these years. "Rest ye my angel, you hm hm hmmm . . ." he continued, bobbing his head lightly. Admittedly, he couldn't recall all the lyrics.

As Asgore hummed the tune of the song, he couldn't help but wonder how Frisk was doing. It was her first day back at school in quite a while, and he was hoping he hadn't pushed her to return too early. Considering she hadn't called or texted him to come pick her up, he presumed she was doing alright.

Then he started to ponder about what he'd get at Muffet's. Perhaps he'd get the-

CRASH!!!

Almost as if in slow motion, Asgore felt himself jolt sideways as another truck rammed into his side of the cab, coming down from an alleyway on his left. He could feel his truck crumple from the hit, and be launched off the street, flying toward a building with several bystanders in the way . . .

Asgore had no time to react to this, barely even registering what had happened in time, all he could do was brace for impact. He heard the screams of the bystanders as the car slammed straight into about three of them. The sound of bones crunching could be heard even from within the car- it was a miracle Asgore was even still alive after such a hit. He heard automobile horns going off wildly, muffled groans and screams from outside.

All he could think of was the poor people he'd just been forced to flatten. The looks of terror on their faces . . . He felt like throwing up. Ignoring what felt like a broken arm, Asgore raised a hand to his door, and with a mighty push, it gave way, flying off and onto the hood of the truck that had slammed into him. Nobody was inside, but that wasn't Asgore's concern at the moment. He already knew the answer, but he wanted those poor people to be okay. He willed it.

Asgore found himself climbing out of his vehicle. It would never drive again, that much was certain: the entire side was crumpled beyond repair. The design that had been customized for him was the only reason he was still alive, or at least standing. He'd actually been reading a fascinating article the other day about it . . . but now wasn't the time. At the speed the car had been moving, he doubted any of those poor humans had survived, but he had to be sure.

Slowly, with anticipation and fear, his heart caught in his throat as he limped to the front of his truck, but all he saw was crimson splattered across the front before something suddenly wrapped itself around his broken arm, and with a powerful pull, he was suddenly airborne, being slung up and over his vehicle and into an alleyway, blocked off by the side-turned crashed vehicle he owned.

With a heavy thud, Asgore hit the ground, groaning. He lifted his gaze as he slowly tried to get to his feet only to see a woman standing several feet away before him, her eyes wide, molten orange in color. Her skin chalk white, her hair wild, jet black, and clearly unwashed. Her frame was tall and slender, almost anorexic, wearing patchy, mismatched clothing with a great shiny green bowtie. A disturbing smile was plastered across her face.

"I've waited so long to meet you, King Fluffybuns~" she told him, her voice shrill and off-putting, her wild eyes never leaving his, a black whip held in her hand, clearly what she'd used to pull him into the alley.

Asgore could tell this woman was looking for a fight, and the sheer lack of sanity in her eyes was beyond discomforting. He was quick to form his trident, but it wasn't to attack. Rather, he was ready to defend himself if necessary, and something told him it would be. That "something" was definitely the fact that she had a whip, was assumed responsible for just squashing three innocent bystanders, and was staring and speaking in a way so monotonous that even the sadistic flower in all its emotionlessness couldn't compete.