VOXISTALE: Novel Edition

Chapter 120

An autumn breeze. The scent of decaying leaves was somehow . . . sweet. It would have been a nice day, if not for the stench of smoke surging its way through the aroma. Its odor choked the land in both sight and smell. Asgore refused to look back. He wouldn't have seen it now, anyway, but . . . he still couldn't do it.

His home. The place where he'd been born, the place where his father had been slain . . . gone in a single night. A raging, bloody, horrible battle had been fought for it—and they'd lost. Asgore could still feel the sting in his arm from the slash he'd suffered, damage dealt from a Lightway Mage. When they'd appeared in the battle, all hope had been lost. Asgore, and all his subjects, were aware they stood little to no chance against the Luxmagi.

His paw cradled his arm, alongside another, smaller than his, yet just as white. A faint emerald glow pulsed from Toriel's hand, slowly healing Asgore's wound. They were silent as they walked. As his kingdom walked, their home enveloped in a roaring fire, miles behind them, even as the smoke drifted after them. "Asgore."

The King blinked, glancing to his right, where his oldest friend walked alongside him, skeletal features blackened with soot, but the bright lights of his eyes as lively as they'd ever been. "Hm?" Asgore asked. "We need to stop. Slow down, at least," he stated.

"We cannot," Asgore replied, facing forward once more.

Wingding did not relent. "Look around you, Asgore," he advised. The King listened to his friend, noticing the tired, hungry faces of the monsters around them. All but Flouis, who led them all at the head of their large group, their destination being the Kingdom of Hopes. Unironically, their last hope for safety.

Parents held their children in their arms, and many monsters were failing to keep up. Blinking, Asgore nodded slowly and cleared his throat. "Yes," he agreed. "Yes, of course. You're right."

Wingding placed a reassuring hand on Asgore's shoulder. "Do not fret, old friend. WeEEE-eeE_E__E_EE_E-ee-eE-EeE__E_e-eE_

Shocked, Asgore looked toward his friend to find . . . he had disappeared. "Wing?" He called out. It only took him another moment to realize Toriel, too, had vanished. Alongside everyone else. He was standing here. Alone. In nothing. Even the forest was gone, even if the smell of smoke still stung his nose.

"Asgore."

The whisper came from his right, but upon looking . . . nobody was there. The whisper sounded again, this time coming from . . . an indiscernible location. It was difficult for the king to describe, but he simply could not pinpoint the location. Oddly enough, he remained surprisingly calm, taking a deep breath, before closing his eyes.

"I dream of you," he said. "I feel I should know you. Yet I cannot remember you."

"Don't . . ."

The voice whispered. Asgore opened his eyes, and finally, he could see something. A hunched figure, cloaked in black. Other details remained to be seen. It was simply too dark to make out more.

"Don't . . ." It repeated. Asgore narrowed his eyes at it, taking a step forward. Then another. And another. He slowly raised a hand, reaching out for it—before a scream ripped him from his entranced state. The scream had been shrill. Horrified.

It had belonged to Toriel.

"No . . ." Asgore breathed, feeling his legs grow weak before shuddering, and his legs gave out on him. Dust hung in the air, brushing over his garden he'd worked so hard to bloom. Lying in the middle of the garden was a small figure. A human. A girl. His daughter.

Chara.

Her lifeless body was prone, dust drifting over her. A monster's dust. His son.

Asriel.