VOXISTALE: Novel Edition

Chapter 121

Not even ten minutes later, Frisk found herself standing as some sort of barrier. She'd spent the better part of today training her friends. Showing them how to use their SOULs, though they were FAR from efficient with them. It would take a lot more than that. She was a barrier between the Messiah and the monsters. Magnum stood to her left, Sadie to her right, with Gregory, Rian, and Mosu on their sides, forming a small line. Behind them were the monsters, armored and holding onto their weapons with untrained anxiety. Before them, past the courtyard, the enemy was assembling. Every second another masked face would take a step from the trees, then stop. Frisk had counted up to thirty before she stopped as they began to emerge faster than she could keep track of.

The only faces she could see were of lieutenants. Among this forming crowd already was the african-american woman who'd challenged Undyne not that long ago. A red-headed woman. The creepy twins Undyne had mentioned, too. Witch's familiar face popped up, offering her sadistic smile toward them. "All new lieutenants?" Frisk asked Magnum, voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm guessing," she replied, though Magnum's eyes were searching the people appearing frantically. Frisk knew who she was searching for. The sky above them was dark, as was the land around them. The sprinkles of a light rain had been drizzling down slowly on them for the better part of the last 30 minutes as distant lightning lit the sky, thunder bellowing out from the abyss.

The clanking of armor, alongside murmured whispering, signified the arrival of Asgore. Frisk turned to see the crowd parting for him as he approached. His golden armor was emblazoned with crude yet elegant designs, the face of a bull crafted along his sternum. A heavy wool was set over his shoulders and down his back almost like a cape. His armor practically screamed ancient and commanding.

"Nice look," she commented as he came to a stop beside her, now helming the centerpiece of their little army. He didn't smile, though his lips noticeably tightened. "It belonged to the Lord of Generals," he stated. "If legend is to be believed, at least. Additionally, it bears the Golden Fleece of myth."

"Nice look" felt like an understatement now. The golden fleece of Greek myth wasn't anything to scoff at. Hopefully the mythology was accurate.

"There he is!" Witch broke ranks with the Messiah, extending her arms before her and beginning to slow clap in a mocking manner with that typical villain fashion. "Man of the hour! How's it feel, knowing this hour's your last?"

"Who are you?" Asgore asked, his tone dismissive and cold. Frisk was aware Asgore knew her, but his tactic had soured the look on her face. She clearly didn't like that question. Gritting her teeth, Witch raised her face importantly, pointing it toward the sky.

"I am-"

"This is who you send, Obaseki?" Asgore's voice bellowed out, cutting her off as he too broke ranks, stepping toward the Messiah. "A coddling child to lead your disciples?"

Silence followed the King's words. His face was mostly obscured by a terrifying helmet that reminded Frisk of the ancient romans. Maybe even spartans. It all seemed just a little small on him, but the attitude he was exerting made this fact moot. He was commanding the attention of both his allies and enemies. To call him intimidating would be a disservice of the truth.

More faces were emerging from the trees, most masked, but Frisk could see Krashna among them. She was quick to notice that only three had yet to appear. Trickster, Nikolai, and Obaseki—though the "Father" made himself known a moment later. His emergence seemed to command just as much attention and silence as Asgore had. Striding out from his ranks, shadows cast away from him, Jonathan Obaseki marched calmly toward Asgore, hands resting comfortably behind his back. Obaseki appeared as though he had just come from a board meeting, dressed in his formal attire, tie and all. His blonde hair was slicked back over his scalp, his bushy mustache recently trimmed, his hard and tired eyes piercing daggers at Asgore from behind his glasses.