Asgore Dreemurr, “King Under the Mountain”. That’s what the Surface referred to him as.
He found himself staring at nothing in a blank numbness. Shocked? Perhaps. He had just witnessed his child whisked away by one of his nation’s strongest defenders.
What in the world went wrong?
Where?
How?
“Asgore?”
Gerson’s voice snapped him out of the daze.
He turned towards the old Hammer of Justice, the only living survivor of the War that wasn’t a Boss Monster.
Gerson is a wrinkly turtle now. Who knows how many years he has left.
“Oh… I’m sorry,” said Asgore. “It’s too sudden.”
“I understand old friend,” the turtle replied. “But, ‘fraid the Queen alone can’t handle this chaos.”
‘Chaos’ was an apt description. Number 4, a small white ‘chinchilla’ monster, was in tears. Toriel tried to comfort her with a cradling hug, but it’s not working.
Number 5 repeated a string of ‘oh my god~’ over and over. For a moment, Asgore thought he’s looking at Undyne. For good reasons too: she shared the same species of monster as the Underground’s gusto captain. Though a tropical cousin with shimmering lime-green scales, blue markings, and neon orange hair… she still had those trademark razor-sharp teeth.
As for Number 7 the ‘giraffe’ monster, she’s in an argument with a Lichborn colleague. Both of them wore identical uniforms: white wizard-like robes, long and sleek, capped off by a gemmed circlet on their heads.
“Number Seven thinks we should break down the walls and search for Sans Serif.”
The Seer replied: “And WHO exactly do we send out?”
“Number One and Two are both some of the best Observers in the world. Number Seven thinks their combined cooperation is sufficient.”
“Garamond alone is enough for the job, Zakari! And quit using the number codes now. Anonymity is out of the window.”
The giraffe woman huffed. “Very well. Zakari thinks that Sir Latinoros would serve well to put aside his personal prejudices!”
Then a strong hiss cut through the conversation:
“Could BOTH of ya shut the fook up already?!”
It’s Number 2.
Asgore had to admit that he was a little frightened by Gaelic’s appearance. His features were fierce and wild: more like a permanent war mask than a face. How does he eat with that partial split on his lower jaw?
As for Judge Mezil Thyme… he had seen better days. Stripped from the bulk of his power, he’s now leaning on a cane to keep standing.
Gaelic attended to the Judge once more. “M’lord, pardon the intrusion but ya look like ya should sit.”
Mezil shook his head. Whispered something into his aide’s ear.
“…Understood. Mondie, Judge Thyme need yer Eyes!”
Another skeleton stood before the Spirit Gate. He hasn’t said a word since the incident unfolded: mysterious, serious, and silent. Apparently he’s Gaelic’s cousin.
Contrary to the wild snake and the traditional wizard, Garamond wore an attire more similar to Cenna’s. Combined with his strong, straight features, it gave him the visage of a dependable detective. Perhaps her inspiration?
He walked over to Judge Thyme. As Garamond passed King Asgore and Gerson, he honoured them with a respectful bow.
The goat king grew curious about the conversation. He followed behind, tuning his ears towards the talk.
“I’m afraid the exit is sealed from the outside.” Garamond reported.
“As I thought…” Mezil replied. “Scout the perimeters, Garamond. And see if you can find any clues left behind by the Seraphim. If you please, Gaelic…”
The human winced and tried to clutch his stomach.
“Say no more M’lord. Save yer strength.”
What transpired next made the King raise his brows. In his life, he had seen many versions of those floating skull armaments. None of them included the rest of the skeletal body.
Asgore’s comment rolled out of his mouth; “You must be very talented, young man.”
The praise made Gaelic blush, avoiding eye contact with a slightly nervous tone. “N-nay, Your Majesty. Ah can only do one. And. Uh. I be not young anymore. 45 springs old.”
“Oh, I see.”
Strange. That skittish behaviour was the complete opposite of Gaelic’s usual brazen, aggressive attitude; Asgore wondered if it’s due to his status as King… Or maybe his huge body size.
In the midst of his pondering, Garamond faced the bone snake with both Eyes lit: right Cyan, left Yellow. Those born Dichromatic were rare, and yet one stood in their midst. The Surface is huge indeed.
He performed a strange ritual on the summoned bone snake. First, a yanking motion. Then while the creature was under a daze, he made a chain of hand signals.
Asgore remembered now.
In the ancient days, the Seers discovered that they could ‘borrow’ the armaments of their fellow kin.
Gaster had utilized it more as a subjugating method…
It’s nice to see that same technique used for cooperation instead.
“Sure ya got the stamina, Mondie?” asked Gaelic.
The cousin nodded. “I’ll be back soon.”
Garamond hopped into the cockpit and summoned his own brand of armaments. It took the form of a cyclopean arm-mounted skull gun.
He blasted a rough hole downward with a chain of repeated shots. Chunks of ceramic and fine powder rained about from the point of impact.
Off the bone snake then went, swimming into the vast darkness beyond.
At that point… Judge Thyme could stand no more. His cane clattered on the ground and the mighty fell.
Everyone cried out for his name. Terror rang in the air. Gaelic had caught Mezil’s body, but the morale was dashed to pieces.
Mezil started coughing up blood.
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“This isn’t looking good at all, King Fluffybuns.” Gerson added.
He agreed. This scenario brought Asgore to a very dark place. Once upon a time bloody blisters erupted within Chara. He will never forget the smells nor the sights of that slow, cruel death.
The poor father didn’t know what to do at all. Would Judge Thyme meet the same end?
Appearances deceive, as the old saying goes. Gaelic immediately laid the ailing man on the floor and tilted his head to the side. Worked quick to loosen up the Judge’s clothing: unbuttoning the coat and unfurling the cravat to give him room to breathe.
A cursed red lightning bolt flared through the thin, white undershirt. The people of the Surface called it a ‘Hex’, a dark human-specific magic that inflicted great ill. It somewhat resembles Mezil’s Butterfly Mark, but much, much worse.
Gaelic meanwhile started removing his own denim jacket, rolling it up into a bundle to prop up Mezil’s feet.
The actions puzzled Asgore. “What are you doing?”
“Shock procedure, Your Majesty,” the other replied. “Buys us some reprieve from doom. If it be fine, may I ask fer yer cape as a blanket? We need to keep him warm.”
Warm.
That became his only direction.
He took off his cape and draped it over Mezil’s body.
Asgore’s thoughts snapped to Toriel. Called her name with an outstretched hand in a sense of disconnected surrealism.
For the first time in years, his wife long-lost answered his pleas. Together they used their fire magic to keep the Supreme Judge’s life aflame.
Lost and confused, the ex-missus asked: “Earlier, he turned into a Lich just fine! W-what’s wrong with him now?”
The snake hissed at the thought. “He did? Aye, so it happened. Queen Toriel, that fallen angel stole his power. Without it, M’lord cannae keep a lid on that filthy bastard.”
“Sans?”
“Nay. The Persona. Though at this rate, both o’ those men deserve me most venomous spit!”
“I… I do not understand. I thought the Persona died ages ago! There is no vessel to sustain his essence, unlike my children. Can someone please explain?”
How it pained Asgore to see Toriel so distraught.
After an audible wheeze, the Judge grumbled under his breath. “…That roach… can’t he just die for good…?”
“M’lord, save yer strength for the battle!” Gaelic pleaded. “Fight it. Stay determined! Replace the willpower bleeding out o’ ya!”
Fight, he did. Those nut-brown eyes flashed red for a moment. However, they soon sputtered out like a broken screen.
“…I can’t… I don’t have… the connection anymore ….I’m losing too much blood…”
Asgore recalled that horrible fight. Mezil had lost so much more of his life-giving liquid, but he could brave it through because he had his power as a vampire.
Now, all of that was gone.
The King felt a surge of magic across Mezil’s skin. It’s a familiar one that brought him back to the early days of his reign.
“Is that the Lich ritual magic?” he asked.
Alarmed, Gaelic tried to suppress it. Judging from his expression… his efforts were far from enough.
“M’lord Mezil please, ah beg ya to suppress that fiend.”
Toriel searched for signs of that ritual. “Where is it? Which item did you imbue that spell into? We need to get rid of it right now!”
The human answered: “It’s part of my skin… tattooed… irremovable.”
“You did what?!”
“…I made sure I will always convert… when the end draws near…”
One more key question had bugged Asgore since the beginning. It’s best to ask that now.
“What… should we do if you lose this battle?”
“…Execute me twice… To ensure my bones don’t live again… Otherwise the Persona will own this very body…”
A dark chill descended upon Asgore’s fluffy mane. Who in this room could compete against a Red Lich? Other than himself, there’s Gaelic. But banking on a lone backup fighter would be far too risky.
Toriel’s combat capabilities wouldn’t be enough. Garamond was still away on his scouting mission. Gerson had lost much of his bite to age. What’s worse, the rest of the Jurors don’t appear to be trained for battle.
The King realised that if the situation fell to that point, he must bear arms to kill.
Mezil tried to reach out to someone. Asgore wanted to grab it out of fatherly instinct, but the Seer was quicker.
“Gaelic…” thus said the Judge. “…If Lucidia wills… you may marry her…”
Did he hear that right?
Did this man just offer someone his wife’s hand in marriage?
“Nonsense!” Gaelic responded. “She be yours and yours forever, in this life and the next!”
“…I know you love her too… I don’t… Nngh… trust anyone else…”
“Cor Blimey, heaven forbid her to unite with someone as filthy as me! She be the fae o’ the sky and me a crawling critter. Ya know what ah do and where I’ve been. How could ya conceive of this idea?!”
Mezil smirked. “…I’m a demon after all…`
Just when things couldn’t get crazier, a certain man who went by name of Sir Latinoros jumped into the fray.
He said: “For once I agree with that ‘wildling’. Judge Thyme, your mind must have been addled to hand over the esteemed Lady Lucidia to someone like HIM! Gaelic has a history of many vices and will only bring her grief! There are plenty of other suitors ready to give the secure life she deserves.”
More gasps in the background. An invisible line was crossed twice.
The snake locked a glare at the proverbial ‘intruder’. “What the fook did ya suggest?”
“I’m just being practical.” Latinoros stood his ground. “As the daughter of House Berendin, anyone who marries Lady Lucidia will have immense influence in both the human and the monster world.”
Gaelic stood up. He’s outright snarling. “Over me pile o’ dust! 'Tis be how ya 'honour’ her? By treatin’ her like some chess piece? M’lady be her own person! Let her decide who she weds, if ever! Here ya wonder why M’lord cannae hand her over to ya lot.”
The Lichborn in white crossed his arms and huffed.
“Ha! You dare claim that you’ve never wished for her to conveniently fall onto your lap?”
“NEVER!” The other snapped back. Tensions running high. “Which twisted fook would ever wish a husband’s death?!”
Latinoros insisted: “Plenty! History proves so, again and again!”
“I be not one o’ those scallywag bastards!”
“Can anyone trust the words of a man who literally turned himself into a predator?!”
“DO NOT lump me with those scummy mangy fuckton o’ twats! I love BOTH M’lady and M’lord from the bottom o’ me soul. Ya cannae have one without the other!”
The sheer awkwardness in this room could kill someone.
“I see. Not only do you pine for a married woman, but her husband too? There is no one sicker than you!”
Bones rattled in the air.
Gaelic’s fire in his Eye flared in a mix of violet and orange: filled with untamed violence.
Gerson readied his hammer. Old he may be, he’s not going to stand by in the face of an imminent meltdown.
“Ya call me sick? Hah. Fine. Since I be nothin’ more than a beast o’ prey.” The forked tongue licked over the outer row of teeth, spreading a thin violet substance over it. “Ah should just eat ya alive!!!”
It all happened in a split second.
Bystanders screamed.
The angered soul dashed forward with his maws ready to bite.
And the King Under the Mountain jumped into action.
Asgore didn’t think of how he’d stop this ball of anger. He just knew that he must.
He first tried to yank Gaelic out of the line of attack. Faced massive resistance. For someone so thin and lanky, this skeleton had the strength of a bull. With no other choice, he wrapped a muscular arm around Gaelic’s neck in a desperate attempt to reel him in.
Then, he felt something prick into his skin. What followed after was a second wave of screams. This time, his old friend and his wife yelled the loudest.
Looking down, he realised that the snake had sank his teeth into his forearm. It started going numb from the poison.
The struggle continued.
Every faint movement caused the fangs to dig deeper and deeper into their victim.
Despite so, Asgore announced: “I’m fine. Please let me handle this.”
Gerson supported the notion. “Do as he says, kiddos. After all, there’s a reason why he’s our beloved King Fluffybuns. Wa ha ha!”
“Thank you, my friend.”
How strange it was to have a clear mind at this dire moment. The King remained still, yet firm and resolute.
In a gentle tone, he asked: “Are you frightened?”
“To be honest… I am too. Gaelic, was it?” Asgore smiled. “Judge Thyme and his wife are very lucky to have such a trusted comrade at their side. Your devotion is worthy of respect.”
He could feel the magic ebb a little, but the clamp on his arm remained. What else could he say to soothe the soul? The King pondered…
“I understand what it’s like to have someone you love be with a different person. In a fit of anger, I made a grave mistake. Just like that… my wife left me. It wasn’t until mere days ago that I could begin to talk to her without reopening old wounds.”
“All I could do was watch from a distance. There, I saw Sans made her laugh and smile in ways I had never seen before. I do admit that it made me a little jealous. But, I love my dearest more than my own pride.”
“If she wishes to remain single, I respect that. If she wishes to marry another man, I’ll give her my blessing. If she wishes to return to my side… my arms are open. No matter how many seasons have passed.”
“I did notice that you were a little nervous in my presence. Were you afraid that I’d find you repulsive?”
Gaelic shuffled a bit.
Asgore chuckled. “Oh no, I won’t give you a roasting. When this event is over, allow me to offer you a cup of tea instead. How does that sound?”
He heard a murmur, but it’s muffled by his arm. Seems the bloke’s considering it.
Toriel added, “Right now, Judge Thyme needs you at your best. Love advice and other issues can come later.”
At long last, the bite loosened. Asgore let the man go too.
Gaelic held his head low, refusing to look at anyone.
“There… be nothing else I can do,” he admitted. “Judge Thyme needs to leave the Crimson Hall. Back to his uninjured body. But we cannae do that unless…”
The King then said, “Unless someone breaks us out?”
That caught Gaelic’s attention. Now, Asgore had a good look at his eccentric face without the bravado. There’s a kindred spirit underneath that fierce visage.
Smiling, the King reassured: “Do not fret. Someone will save us.”
“…Ya not just saying this to give false faith, aye?” Gaelic stated.
“Not at all. Us Boss Monsters have some sixth sense too. Even in these dire circumstances, I’m feeling a ray of hope that wasn’t there when my children died.”
“For now, let us stay calm and ‘ride out’ the turbulence.”