Monster Age: A Fantasy Epic

by GR Griffin

  "It's over. Now it's over," he rasped in a grated voice. Even blinking was painful for the crushed flower. "I'm sorry, Fleck. I… I did it again… I… N-no, Flowey, you're different now."

  He lay back, feeling the rain's full force pelt upon his face. Two different people with contrasting beliefs raged war inside his head: both Floweys from before and after they learned about love. "You're not that person anymore. You're doing this for a good cause," he spoke not to himself, but to the opposing force deep down. "You're better – you'll do better next time. And if you fail again, then you'll try again. You'll do this a million times if you have to. You're… You're…"

  His two minds reached a chilling consensus upon discovering who he was, what he had become, and what he tried to deny. After so many questions about his existence, who he was, and why he was here, he came to its conclusion which he could deny it no more.

  "H-h-howdy! I'm Flowey! Flowey the flower!" he shouted to the pouring sky. "I'm Flowey the flower!" For this was the same flower who haunted the Underground. "I'm Flowey the flower!" This was his destiny. "I'm Flowey the flower!" This was his curse. "I'm Flowey the flower." This was who he was. "…I'm Flowey the flower…" And there was no escape.

  He began to cry.

  * * *

  Sam an' Rita witnessed the grim scene – parents crying over their child – and so wished to turn away. The two could make out the kid's shirt – the same shirt they so courteously washed and dried – and locks of their chocolate hair, enough to confirm who that was.

  "Ma? Pa?" Rita said in a small voice. "Is that…? Are they…?"

  The final remains of her parents bowed their thin, grey heads. "Their soul… is in great agony… no more…" was her father's response. "We're sorry…"

  Sam an' Rita held each other tightly, as a husband and wife should. They pushed the kid into this, into a dangerous situation which cost them their life, and now another married couple were left to pick up the pieces. Just as the big bad emperor robbed them of their family, Good ol' Sam an' Rita had robbed another of theirs, and they only had themselves to blame. What if that had been their kid?

  "Sam," Rita whispered, "what have we done?"

  "A terrible thing," Sam returned. There was no easy way around it, no glossing or sugar-coating; they were no better than Zeus. Were their tactics really so different? Was the outcome any better from what the ruler himself could surmise?

  From afar rumbled the thunder, the earthquakes and the floods. Those terrible things grew louder as they drew closer, converging toward the core. At least this way, retribution for their actions would be swift. It was what they deserved.

  They accepted their fate. They accepted it together, in each other's arms.

  * * *

  Alphys and Undyne witnessed their human friend leave this world and, at the same time, felt an empty space grow in their lives which could never be filled. Their passing caused pain, every detail painted a picture of pure misery. Tori held their lifeless body. Gorey's grief manifested into anger, which he exhibited again and again on the pillar, wearing his knuckles raw.

  "T-Tori… Gorey…" Alphys whispered, Undyne still in her arms. "…Fleck…" Her glasses extenuated her pupils. Under her breath, she muttered, "…I let go…"

  Undyne, caught up in her mentor's sorrow, had not heard her right. "What?"

  Alphys said it again, louder: "I let go. This all happened because of me… because I let go. It's all my fault." Her hold loosened, those once caring arms lost the love they invoked. "We're all here because of me. You're dying because of me. Fleck is dead… because of me." A numbness sank its way into her tone. "Everything is my fault."

  Undyne slipped from the doctor's hold and slapped against the mud as an equally soggy mess. She choked a small gasp as she looked at Alphys, who stood staring straight ahead, her look impassive. An emptiness, a dullness, had manifested into those dark irises behind her damp glasses.

  All of a sudden, Undyne felt an invisible, icy hand clutch her throat and knives jab at her soul. She had faced down fierce opposition, life and death scenarios, great challenges, but for the first time, truly for the first time, she was afraid. "A-Alphys, don't—"

  "I never wanted to hurt anyone," the scientist droned on like a robot, "but why am I so good at it?"

  Undyne began to shake. Something inside the royal scientist had broken, shattered to pieces at the sound of Toriel's scream, and nothing would ever be the same again. Seeing Alphys completely broken, destroyed, without anything resembling herself, filled Undyne with horror beyond measure. Alphys had always been strong, stronger than what she believed herself to be. Sometimes, Undyne wished she had some of Alphys's confidence. To see such a brave monster succumb to hopelessness was a shattering reality.

  Alphys appeared as if she had gone blind. "All I do is hurt people. And when I try to do good, I only hurt more people."

  The intrepid captain realised one terrible, heart-breaking fact that not even her own assurances could fix: Alphys had lost the will to live.

  "A-Alphys!" Undyne cried. "Look at me…"

  "I'm worthless. I'm a waste of space. I should never have been born—"

  "LOOK AT ME!" Undyne willed her melting arms to grab Alphys, forcing their eyes to meet. "If I'm gonna die, my last moments will not be of you giving up like this! FIGHT IT! You're better than this, you're stronger than this! You are!"

  The doctor slowly shook her head. Her empty gaze looked straight through her. "No… I'm not. I never was." She pushed Undyne's hands away. "You should never have met me. You'd be better off."

  "That's not true!" Undyne tried to will her arms once more to rise, but her strength had left her. "Don't you dare say that!"

  "I should've just jumped and gotten it over with."

  Undyne went still. Eyes wide. Breathing halted. "J-jumped?"

  The doctor sat down, hung her head low and stared at the ground.

  Undyne's head trembled in denial. "What do you mean by 'jumped'?" she begged to know. "What do you mean by that?"

  Alphys did not move. There was nothing more to say.

  "Alphys, talk to me," Undyne pleaded. The puddles around her grew to Alphys's ignorance. "Alphys, please!" When Undyne wanted to shout her loudest, her ailing, oozing body failed to comply. The melting having reached her mind, she repeated the scientist's name as her own thoughts began to run. "Alphys… Alphys…"

  * * *

  A few hours back, Dom the train chef would have been distraught at losing a one million pay-out. Now he was distraught for another reason entirely.

  Why was he a train chef? Why did he become one in the first place? As a fawn, he had a keen interest in cooking, coupled with a life of watching the trains go back, back and forth on the tracks. His interest, however, was born from his innate character and not from natural talent. He was no savant in the art of meal preparation; he trained for hours, days, weeks, months and years around a hot stove, failing time and time again until he got it right. He worked so hard to make his aspiration possible; so many burned fingers and wasted eggs and broken bowls to get to where he was now. When the time came to put his skills to actual, employed use, he could've either worked on the trains, in some stingy cafeteria, or – he shuddered at the thought – at Sweet and Sour's.

  He asked himself again: why was he a train chef? The answer: because he wanted to be a train chef. He genuinely enjoyed his work. He liked it. In essence, one could argue he had never worked a day in his life. So why did he abandon it?

  "Forget this job. I'm off to become a millionaire."

  Those words bounced within the few cubic centimetres inside his head. How easy it was to make him lose track of what he loved, to make him wield his utensils like that of a soldier. Theoretical faces grew on his armament of tools outlaid in his apron, and they all laughed at him, at his short-sightedness, and thinking a child's death would be beneficial to him. A chef. A simple train chef, armed like a commando by the pull of quick buck. He unknotted the back and tossed i
t, along with his weapons, down.

  He was not the only person stuck in a moment of clarity, for Lord Grill took a moment to take a real, good, hard look at himself. He contemplated his years of pigging out; his twenty wives of which neither he nor they found happiness; his days, months, and years of seclusion in Bjornliege Manor, rump budged between armrests, stuffing his face, thinking the Outerworld revolved around him.. It wasn't until the end of that long, uneventful road did he look back and realise how empty all of it sounded.

  Lord Grill should have tried harder. He should have been better. He could've been strong and handsome and dedicated to one person who truly loved him. He had the capacity to be a great person, everyone does, and yet it was so easy to believe such things too little, too late. It shouldn't have took a lady with large teeth and a short temper to shatter his reality

  Grill and Dom glanced at each other, and their life stories were shared through the gleams in their eyes. A man who had everything he wanted, and abandoned it; and the man who saw what he needed, but refused to chase it. They had never met each other until now, but what a pair they made.

  * * *

  Sans went quiet. "Little buddy…"

  He refrained from blinking, fearing the microsecond he did so would awaken him thousands of miles away, two storeys down and in a different world. His eye sockets twanged, wanting to close, not wishing to hear Tori's cry or see Fleck's gaunt frame. What should Sans do? Remain in the present to escape reliving the past, or relive the past to escape this horrid present? He simply could not win in any situation, could he?

  He squinted his bony lids until they nearly touched. "Any day now, bud," Sans said quietly.

  His sockets closed and a brief moment of darkness overcame him. Upon his return, Tori's cry remained and the rain rattled against his head and his left foot popped off at the ankle.

  Sans drew in the slightest gasp. "Could it be?"

  It dawned on him: that was it; the human was gone, and with them, the power to alter the course of time. Sans should be thankful that – even as he faced the end – he would not wake up in the Underground and do everything all over again; have memories rewritten or circumstances change.

  "Ha ha ha ha…" he got out, loud enough for only himself to hear. I can't believe it. The kid is dead and we're still moving forward. That means…

  "Ha ha ha…" That… that means it's over now. It's finally over. I'm free! This is what I wanted. I'm so happy!

  "Ha… ha…" No more reloads! No more resets! No more deja vus! No more Underground!

  "…Ha…" Hiccup. "…Ha…" No more… no more… no more Fleck.

  "…Ha…?"

  Sans sniffed. What he thought was laughter and the prickling sensation of joyful tears, weren't. No. Sans cast his eyes down. I'm not happy. This isn't what I wanted… I wanted it over, but I didn't want the kid dead. I didn't want to see King Asgore or Tori like this. I didn't… I didn't… I swear…

  "Sans, look what you've done," Papyrus scolded, growing weaker as a rattle from inside his battle body suggested he was losing ribs. "Your lazy influence has rubbed off on Fleck! Now Asgore and Lady Asgore are upset that they've decided to take a nap!"

  Sans teeth gritted with anger. He retorted, trying to get through that thick skull, "Papyrus, Fleck isn't sleeping, they're…" He stopped. The sorrow resurfaced, and he expelled his anger in one heavy sigh. "They're… they're dead, bro."

  It was Papyrus's turn to go quiet. "…What? …D-dead?" he whispered, struggling to understand. "But… no… they can't be dead, they haven't crumbled to dust yet."

  "Humans don't do that when they die. They just… go all quiet and still… and cold…"

  Papyrus felt it all sink in. "And… all the squishy things on the inside stop working…?" he asked. Sans could only nod. "Does this mean Fleck will never smile again? Never cry again…?" Another sad nod from his brother. Something was getting caught in his eyes now. "Never try any of my world famous spaghetti again? Never laugh at any of your terrible jokes again?"

  "Stop…" Sans whispered. "You're gonna make me cry now…"

  Papyrus sniffed. "I'm not crying. A cool skeleton such as I have no room for tears. I'm… I'm…" His eye sockets shut and out escaped his not tears. He held his brother tight and buried his head in Sans's chest. "My eyes are just raining!"

  He cried like a child, sputtering and wailing and hiccupping in a most distressing manner. What was left of his fingers clutched at Sans's shirt. Somewhere, sometime, Sans felt he had seen his brother like this before in one of the many recurring memories from Underground.

  "There, there, Papyrus," Sans said, patting his back. "They're in a better place now…"

  "You mean human heaven?" Papyrus lifted his head a tiny bit. "Where they can eat all the ice cream and spaghetti they want?"

  Sans risked a small chuckle as he imagined little buddy among the clouds behind those pearly gates. "And solve all the puzzles they want, and make all the bad jokes hilarious. I bet Fleck'll be getting their white, fluffy wings right about now. And a halo."

  "I… I bet they'll make Fleck the best angel ever." He pressed his brow against Sans's jacket, and his entire right arm detached. "I, the dying Papyrus, don't want to live in a world without them. I want to go there too! I wanna see Fleck with their wings!"

  Sans patted his brother on the back then pulled him in for a hug. "Hang tight. We'll see them again very soon, bro… Very soon…"

  * * *

  From within a hidden pocket, the ex-master scribe, Rickard, procured a notebook and pen. He found a clean page and began to jot in sophisticated handwriting. A couple centuries of experience taking notes made it impossible for him to write in chicken scratch. Rain dotted the paper, turning it translucent, as he wrote.

  In this order: today's date.

  Record of recent events. Air temperature. Humidity. Wind direction and chill factor.

  Time of Fleck's demise.

  Predicted time of Outerworld's demise.

  Expected survivors… 0.

  This was Former Master Scribe Rickard. End of logs.

  * * *

  Toriel gazed at the dead child. The next dead child from a long line. She tried so hard to keep them safe, protect them from harm, and she failed. Once again, she had failed. Nine children, all under her care, love and protection, dead.

  Upon their face, she saw but a fleeting glimpse of the hope and determination they wore as they walked out the door. The same hope as they stood beside her on the dawn of their freedom, taking their hand as together they ventured out into the new world. She remembered the hug she gave them before letting them go.

  Toriel planted a soft kiss on the child's forehead, letting them go one final time.

  "Goodbye, my child."

  Toriel lay Fleck's body down as gently as tucking them into bed. They looked so peaceful. She crossed the child's hands over their chest, keeping the shell dignified. Fleck did not deserve to be laid down in these dying lands of slurry, rain and thunder. They deserved a resting place back on Earth, a proper funeral with flowers and a gravestone.

  "All I have ever wanted was to be a mother, to give a child the love they deserved. But no matter how hard I try, this always happens." Toriel stared into space, eyes wide and pouring with tears. "Why do I even bother? I could not protect Fleck. I could not protect Chara. I could not protect Asriel." She braced herself against the ground, eyes covered by the other hand. "I cannot protect anyone!"

  Her estranged husband reached for her, but she flinched from his touch.

  "Stay away," she muttered. "I cannot do this anymore. I cannot keep pretending I can have a happy family. It is pointless. It is all pointless."

  Zeus, the Emperor of Evil, still down on one knee, felt all his actions land on him like the crushing weight of the entire world. The human he hunted ruthlessly was dead, exactly what he wanted since his father relinquished their name. His mission had been accomplished, victory his, so why was he not happy? Because for the first time in
his life he truly saw the pain he caused.

  He wished to apologise, but it would not bring Fleck back. The cold, cramped air felt like the bars of his cage, contracting around him, trapping him in this unescapable quandary he had only himself to blame for being in.

  Toriel's breathing became harsh and slow. "MmmMmm…" she mumbled, lifting her head. Red, bloodshot irises became visible between white fingers. "…Mm…Murderer…" All of a sudden, she rocketed to her feet. "MURDERER!" Furious tears streaked down her cheeks as fire flared around her. Zeus did not react; no flinching or blinking. He knelt there, accepting his fate.

  Asgore reached out to her. "Toriel—stop!" He grabbed her wrists and held her back. "Don't."

  "No!" Toriel suddenly screeched, trying to push him away. "Let go of me! Fleck would still be alive if not for him! He deserves death for what he did to our child!"

  "Perhaps so," Asgore responded, "but this is not what Fleck would want." Even as the tears flowed and his soul, too, pounded for vengeance, he was determined to fight those urges, to never allow himself to tread down the path he followed so long ago.

  "Oh, stop it, Dreemurr! You thought you ever knew Fleck? You think you know what they would have wanted?" Toriel's venomous glare, so full of the same anger and sadness, found Asgore, and out escaped a scream so loud the heavens heard her: "You wanted to kill them too! You wanted to murder them like all the rest!"

  She lashed out. The fire intended for the Emperor grazed against Asgore, burning deep. His hold remained steadfast as he took the brunt of each burn.

  "Toriel… stop it," he said in a collected voice. A voice contradicted by the fire burning his body and the water running down his face.

  Toriel pushed and clawed at his arms in an attempt to pry him away. "Get away from me! Get your hands off me! I hate you, Asgore! I hate you so much!"

  "Stop it." Asgore pulled her close, despite her protests, and wrapped his arms around her in a strong, firm, but loving manner. "Just stop it."