I could not picture a night so beautiful.
Turquoise leaves rustled gracefully in the sky; the aroma a simply irresistible one. The flowers wild and free, dancing in the pale moonlight, with no care in the world. No hurt; no pain; no sorrow; but contentment, with life, in all its glory, a thing my people lacked in an undisclosed but truthfully embarrassing amount.
I screamed, “Hi there!” while passing by a troop of echo flowers.
“Hi there!” they replied in unison.
Their response sent shivers down my spine, but in a pleasant way.
I tried out another quote. “Biron is my name, what is yours?”
The flowers replied the exact same thing.
“No, I am Biron!”
A peaceful dispute for the rights of my name began, all for good fun; a convenient waste of time.
The clock ticked. It was already 9 p.m. Time to get going, I thought. Stick to the plan. Home is the destination.
I stood up. “Well, time to go! See you around, flowers!”
What good fun, listening and learning to talk to flowers. Even though some regarded it as useless, I believed it was them that taught me to restore inner peace when in times of trouble.
The peace replaced by a certain disruption, when I heard a familiar chuckle.
The deceitful brat of a flower made his return. By the look of his eyes, and his insanely wicked smile, some intentions just could not be disguised. He could either finish me off, or humiliate me – like he tried, back in the Ruins.
I could not blame Flowey, for he was loose cannon. He was a psychotic, and psychos tend to cause grief and harm, either to others or even themselves. Rape, suicide, terrorism; most cases pointed to the same group of behavior.
My arms I gripped. My heart filled with determination. My soul conceived anger. My mind and body, they joined together and burned the meat inside.
Flowey gave out an unpleasant grin. “What’s the matter, don’t ‘cha wanna see me? We are best of buddies, remember?”
“To hell with that!” I shouted at the tip of my voice. “I am not like you. You are evil beyond words!”
“My, my,” Flowey replied. “That is not the best remark you could give to a little flower…”
“You deserve to be ripped apart from your soul.”
Flowey’s smirk I could not bear, for his face I wished to tear. “Go on, I am listening.”
“What do you want?”
“Good question. What do I want?” Flowey let out a sinister laugh. “Excellent! Besides, why am I even here, in front of a useless, worthless, egg-faced pretender like you?”
I was unmoved; rather confused. What is he talking about?
“But oh, nooo…There is still further use for you. That is, because all I crave for, all I was built for,” Flowey looked sharply to my eyes, “is your SOUL!”
“No chance,” I retorted. “No chance in hell that I am going to give it to you.”
The place shook like in an earthquake. Vines cropped up out of nowhere. A portion of them caught my leg, but with a handy blade, I split them. Flowey screeched as I tried to flee.
“You will pay! You will pay with your blood!”
Flowey summoned the vines to get me again. I had no choice but to run. The vines were relentless in their pursuit, while my legs began to slowly degenerate.
After a while, I seemed to lose them. I sighed in relief, but as I went forward, I reached a pool of water.
There was a great amount of standing water in between where I stood, and my next path. All around me, nothing was of great help. On the walls, there were murals and writings in a language one could not fully comprehend, for it consisted of wing dings and such that were not fully representative of the Roman font types.
In came a cloaked figure in a small wooden boat.
Or so it appeared; I did not expect the wooden boat to become a long-necked dog which could float on water.
The cloaked figure was not of similar bodily structure, but his presence was a mystery.
“When they reached the end, they marched inside little living boats and rode off to the sunset.”
The figure gave a welcoming signal. Without further ado, I jumped in.
“I am the River Man,” he said. “Stay still, and stay good in will!”
The vines loomed like speeding bullets, its water-resistant abilities giving it ability to appear out of anything imaginable, including hell. I had a feeling the wicked flower was a tortured soul who escaped from hell, and doomed to live with the sole purpose of leading people astray and causing havoc.
Either way, I was prey for a true, predatory psycho.
There was no one controlling the dog-boat. As I hid like a scared kitten, the River Man – as he introduced himself – began a resonant chant.
“Oh mighty vines of the earth,” he chanted, “bring dead to your own seeds of misery and let live to our innocent children. Secure for us a good destiny.”
A decent line of poetry; they remained music to my ears.
The words proved mightier than the actions that time around. Everything felt quiet but for the burbling of water underneath. Loud swishes I heard occasionally, when the dog-boat splashed itself playfully, soaking its tongue into the waters.
“The boat a thing of beauty,” the River Man muttered. “Your safety is appreciated, although not my priority.”
I could not make it out. “I am sorry, what was that?”
“Angel from above you are, angel descended to the bottom of the Earth, where life is good, life is bad, life is everything else that is better than death.”
While the River Man was not the most fathomable of companions, his demeanor reads that of intellect. “No, I am not an angel.”
“Oh!” the River Man uttered in shock. “Are you…the devil?”
“Of course not!” I exclaimed. “Look, sir, I appreciate your help. If not, I would’ve been eaten alive or something, by those vines…”
“The demon lives in some of us. Humankind, not angel, not devil, be not afraid, for there will be light to guide you. Always follow the light in here.” He placed his right palm on where his heart was.
I nodded like the fool I was. “Thanks for telling me that. I appreciate it.”
The River Man kept a watchful eye, but soon turned away. “It was my pleasure, gentle human. Tra la la la la…”
The ‘elongated’ boat marched on the river like the gentleness of a morning breeze. The clock indicated it was after midnight. The swishing of the rivers and the whispers of the wind remained a sweet, delightful and pleasurable sight. Even the River Man was in high spirits; he could be heard chanting to the tune of ‘Brown Girl in the Ring’.
“Wait a minute,” I spoke. “How do you know that song?”
“A wise man knows where to find his answers,” was his sly remark. “The technology is all in my hands. Tra la la la la…” The voice faded out in a second.
Flowey was a wave of desperation. “You left me, again! AAAARRRGGHHH!”
The frustrated flower burst to ripples of tears. “I…I….”
He bowed. “I am all alone. I have no one. No friend, no family, no…I have nothing! Nothing! NOTHING!”
“You keep running away…you…you’re just like them. If you can hear me…you’re no different. You will be captured, tortured, killed. That’s the way it is here…”
Amidst his rush for human blood, Flowey could not contain the pain inside. “There is no other way!”
“I used to be just like you, but I…changed…into a lifeless, soulless, being. It hit me so bad, I can’t stand it! I can’t! I can’t stand ME! It’s a pain, don’t you see?”
Flowey closed his eyes, but they soon reopened. “Don’t you see…it is your turn to suffer?! That it is time for me to be free?!”
The wicked flower concealed in a deepening battle with itself. A resistance was existent, dim and grey but somewhat recognized. The essence of a child goat boy, all but a distant memory the flower could not fully comprehend.
A face from the past.
The voice deep inside Flowey came alive. “Please…please…stop…this is not right…I need to…”
“NOOOOO!” the flower refused. “You listen to me! Remember, little kid, that in here, it is kill or be ki…”
The steps of shoes tapped on the ground, alarming Flowey.
“What? Who is there? Asriel?”
Flowey did not know. The internal voice – little Asriel – did not know, either.
A figure, in striking hood that covered all but his lips, stepped out of the shadows. “Madness could not be contained by madness,” he spoke in a dense monologue, his voice muffled.
“Wh…Who are you?”
The figure kept silent, his hands in the pockets. He smiled, but that turned to a wide but passive grin.
“Hey!” Flowey’s voice screamed of inquiry. “I asked you a question. Who are you?!”
The flower edged closer like a predatory python. “Who. In. The. World. Are. Y…”
The flower instantly felt significant force being applied around his neck. “AACCKK!”
“Say one more,” the figure replied, “and I promise you will regret it.”
“Oh, my God. You…you are…”
A wide smile was formed on his mostly hidden face. “Buckle up, little trash. It’s about time I lend you a hand…”
His brother suddenly disappeared when he was supposed to attend Royal Guard training with Undyne in Waterfall. He was not in his room, either.
Paps, where the hell are you?
Thus, Sans did his usual trick of altering space and time, to trace Papyrus’s potential whereabouts. He tried many avenues, but in none of them did he witness the tall, lanky Monster. Traces of a similarly framed skeleton in a black robe clouded Sans, but he had no interest in dealing with that, so refocused on finding Papyrus, which took an eternity.
Papyrus’s frightening screams caught Sans off guard. It sounded like a person falling from 100 feet above the ground.
Horrible encounters with laboratory experiments that ended in total disaster – and the failure to save his own kind from grievous bodily harm – haunted Sans, but only momentarily, as he eventually shook them off.
Sans came to a stop, at a dark place. While dark, he could spot furniture, and the crooked walls no different from those in the Ruins. The place largely unfamiliar, but regardless, he wrestled against time to get to Papyrus.
“Sans, help me! Please! He has got evil intentions! Noooo—AAARRGHHHH!”
“NO!” Sans screamed off his ribcage.
He arrived, but was too late.
Papyrus’s head was the only thing that remained. That, too, was shattered. He could feel his beloved brother’s pain, from the scarred head and jaw, to the broken orbital socket.
Sans knelt in anguish. “Oh, no….no! Paps, I am so sorry. I am…too…late…” The plump skeleton embraced his brother’s remains and wept.
Perhaps his despair clouded his judgement, that he did not notice when a cold figure remorselessly slashed him from behind. Drops of blood poured out; Sans screamed resembled that of a crippled Monster.
Sans trembled, falling on his back. He could not make out the face of the perpetrator, but he was certain he killed Papyrus.
“Why…? Why…did you…do…”
Another slash, this time on the skeleton’s front, and everything went a lot darker.