VOXISTALE: Novel Edition

Chapter 128

The deeper Frisk went into these tunnels with Mosu just a few steps ahead, the more she was beginning to appreciate the comfortable life she'd been able to live in Voxis City not long ago. The silence gave her time to think, and she kept coming back to one question. If she were in control of the timeline right now . . . what would she do?

It scared her that a big part of her wanted to reset. After everything, all the work that had gone into repairing the timeline and breaking free from Chara (something that had evidently been a temporary separation), and part of her was willing to throw it all away. Not out of curiosity, not out of anger, and not out of boredom, but out of desperation. Retreating to another timeline, one where everyone was alive, sounded appealing, despite what Frisk had told her adoptive father yesterday.

. . . Eventually, she would run into the same problem all over again. The Underground overflowing with magma, the "escape" to the city, becoming ambassador . . . and then everything would crumble all over again.

Frisk couldn't run from this, and she knew she couldn't, but admittedly it was something she fantasized about from time to time. A world where her mom was alive. A world where the Messiah wasn't the immediate problem.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Mosu's arm extended outward, gesturing for her to stop as he held up a finger to his lips. The tunnel had come to an end, opening up into what seemed to be some sort of dungeon, rusted steel bars and chains collecting dust in all four corners of the chamber. It was deadly quiet, and obviously hadn't been occupied for many years. An old prison chamber, Frisk guessed. She could only assume one thing; "She's here."

Mosu answered this with a nod, pulling out his glowing white blade. His eyes seemed tired and old in the light, much older than she guessed Mosu was. Not really feeling the warhammer anymore, Frisk opted to try out a shield this time, a solid crimson barrier materializing against her forearm in the shape of a knight's shield. Something about it seemed . . . much more comfortable than anything she'd used before. Not in the way the knife was comfortable, but it felt . . . good.

The pair of them waited for something, anything, to cut through the silence. It wasn't long before something did, the sound of shoes tapping against the cold stone ground, descending into the dungeon from the opposite side. Slowly but surely, their opponent was approaching, and just moments later, Frisk could make out the figure of a woman through the darkness. Her expression incredibly dull and her hair a rosey red, there stood the foe, stopping in her tracks once she spotted the pair.

It was unclear if she'd been expecting them or not, but Frisk suspected the former judging from the total lack of surprise (or emotion in general) on the woman's face. She said nothing- something that might've been helpful back at the warehouse, but if she wasn't up for conversation . . . it could trouble her new, pacifistic plan.

No words were shared as Mosu and Frisk began to move, walking cautiously along the edge of the circular room. The woman followed suit, walking opposite them, her body language completely open, expressing a complete lack of fear or even preparation. It seemed to be throwing Mosu off, whose face was screwed up in concentration, no doubt trying to discern any sort of emotion from the girl. Alas, he found none.

Frisk was about to take a risk and start wiggling her hips, but decided against that. What a stupid idea, this wasn't a Moldsmal, it was a cold blooded killer if anything about those that remained with the Messiah were any indication.

"She hates monsters," Chara's voice whispered into Frisk's ear. "She's preparing an attack."

Frisk frowned, seeing no indication of an attack being prepared—when quite suddenly, Mosu doubled over as though he'd just been kicked in the gut by some invisible force, followed by him somehow getting flung into the ceiling with great force.