VOXISTALE: Novel Edition

Chapter 87

Frisk was feeling a lot of things at this moment; the only one that she could focus on immediately though, was the feeling of her throat threatening to close up, as if someone was choking her. Her eyes were watering as she stared at her dad, collapsed on the floor and missing half of one of his prized horns, growling and struggling to stand, stopped by the figure that towered over him, a steel-toed boot pressing right against the monster's spine.

"Frisk Dreemurr, you're just in time," the red-haired stranger whispered, a wide, toothy smile plastered on his face, eyes open even wider and staring the girl down. She tried to take a deep breath, but couldn't manage to take anything in or push anything out, unable to make a single sound. Frisk could only feel how angry, heartbroken, and afraid she was, and the more those emotions consumed her SOUL, the weaker she felt, staring on ahead.

"F-Frisk . . . get away from here . . ." Asgore groaned, only to have the boot sink further into his back, the monster crying out in pain.

Why was this happening to Asgore?

Frisk trembled, wanting to summon a weapon . . .

But nothing happened.

Why was this person hurting her dad?

What had he done wrong?

. . . And what could she do to stop this?

The stranger seemed to be used to not getting immediate responses as he finally pulled away from Asgore, staring at him for a moment, before his sly grin stretched even wider, and he crouched down a little.

"Since the whole family's here, I may as well tell you Toriel's last words," his eyes flitted from Asgore to the frozen Frisk, who felt her blood run cold as her eyes locked with his. "She died whimpering. Crying for the both of you. It was my very hands that turned her into dust." At this point, he let out a chuckle. Smooth, low, and soft at first before it stretched into a cackle. High-pitched, cold, and inhuman.

This . . .

This was the man who'd killed Toriel? Frisk's emotions were surging, yet she could feel herself weakening as her emotions grew. What was happening?

Was he somehow . . . feeding off of her feelings?

"Frisk . . ." Asgore repeated weakly. "Please, just—"

Demon's hand swiped quickly through the air, the back slamming into Asgore's face, silencing him as the man rose to his full height, dusting his hands off. "This really is a special night. I get to end an entire family and an entire species."

"You didn't kill anybody this time . . . But what will you do if you meet a relentless killer? You'll die and you'll die and you'll die. Until you tire of trying. What will you do then? Will you kill out of frustration?"

The words raced through Frisk's mind, though she couldn't quite remember where she'd heard them from before, her mind feeling too numb to totally recall. Finally, the dizziness that was taking control of her body was beginning to forfeit itself to her boiling anger. For the first time in years, she . . . she wanted to FIGHT. This person, this member of the Messiah had killed her mom, and if she'd arrived home just a few seconds later . . . he might've already killed Asgore, as well. She'd never seen her dad look so helpless and defeated, except maybe . . .

. . .

Not important.

"G-Get off," she ordered, standing her ground. If she left now, Asgore would die for sure. She wanted to stay, she wanted to fight, but at the same time, her body felt completely drained of energy, and she didn't know if it was because of fear, or if this stranger really was doing something. Some kind of magic she didn't know of?