It all comes back to Toriel in a sudden flash of memory. She had gotten careless after her first encounter with the vile red knight, and doing so gave her several agonizingly long days without Frisk. Now, she and the others stand only three meters away from the same culprit who cost her, as well as countless worlds, so much suffering.
This time, she won't hold back. Asgore's concentrated glare emanating great resolve tells a similar story. Both of them have made a plethora of mistakes in their impossibly long lifetimes. There will never be a better way to make amends.
"Nice sword," the devil says, eyeing the human standing behind her. "Mine's bigger."
Instinctively, the Boss Monster sidesteps to her left, blocking the knight's view of Frisk; she and Asgore almost act as an outer wall for the others standing behind them. Never did Toriel imagine herself filling in a leadership role after her reign as Queen. It's not a position she particularly welcomes, but it is one she'll accept all the same.
"We know who you are, Frisk," Asgore says in a neutral voice. "Your transgressions against the populations you've terrorized are both plentiful and heinous... but all of us have made mistakes... some of which are unforgivable."
During the last sentence, the king's voice breaks. Pity rules out Toriel's anger, making her reflect on the years of contempt she harbored for the one she used to love. Somewhere in her heart, those feelings of loathing are still alive, and just as strong as they were decades ago. But Asgore is here, trying to do the right thing.
While forgiveness isn't an option, moving on always will be. That's something she'll have to tell him once this nightmare is long over. For now, there are more pressing matters.
"Please, child, turn back," Asgore continues. "No fighting needs to take place. Believe it or not, redemption is still a path that can be walked."
The knight doesn't say anything at first. Instead, they look at Toriel and say:
"And you still think they're real?"
Their question isn't directed at her, but rather the person she is shielding- was shielding. Frisk squeezes between the two Boss Monsters, staring ahead at their doppelganger.
"Yes, I do!" they answer. "Their love is the realest thing I've ever felt."
The knight barely stifles a chuckle.
"LOVE is an acronym. Now that... that is real. Anything else is nothing more than a plaything. My plaything."
They ready their sword.
"It was my hope that your 'family' would reject you- a fitting conclusion to your nonsensical charade. But it seems that I underestimated the limited confines of their behavior. No matter. I'll just take them from you, one by one, until the meaningless fragility of this world is made apparent. Grief, after all, is an effective teacher."
Hearing this makes Toriel sick. The endless depravity of the knight's soul- if you can call it that- astonishes her with a numb bewilderment. How it could possibly be another Frisk underneath that armor eludes the deepest reaches of her imagination.
"Ready, Tori?" Asgore says, his voice barely audible over the pouring rain.
He opens a palm, and within it, a ball of fire ignites. The pouring precipitation hisses on contact, evaporating into steam the moment they get within the dancing flame's reach.
With a single nod, Toriel guides Frisk out of the way, and her fists ignite as well.
"Ready."
This time, Asgore directs his words to their shared opponent.
"Forgive us for what we must do."
In sync with one another, both Toriel and Asgore bring their hands together and create a joint stream of raging flame. An ancient maneuver they haven't pulled off since the war against humans. Apparently, age has done little to hinder their power. The surge of heat cuts across the yard and stops just short of their target.
Premature contact would lessen the effectiveness of what's to follow. After a momentary absence of sound, the yard and everything surrounding it sees its own sunlight in the form of a righteous explosion. Certain of how durable humans are against monster magic, what would've been a fatal attack otherwise is only useful as a distraction.
And distractions are meant to be capitalized on.
Channeling an aurora of fire to her legs, the Boss Monster is propelled high into the air by a blazing burst of energy. Asgore mirrors her propulsion, and uninterested in giving the knight a chance to recover, both of them focus their raging magic on the thick smoke cloud shadowing the gaping crater below them.
Getting close was the primary goal behind the initial assault. Once she and Asgore land inside the unseeable cloud of their own making, she hears the clink of brass against steel. Her eyes adjust to make out the red glow of two weapons, one of them being a trident and the other- an intimidatingly long blade. She sends a fireball at the one wielding the latter, drawing their attention long enough for Asgore to drive his weapon into the knight's hands, disarming them of theirs.
All of this seems to be too much for their armored opponent to keep up with, which Toriel knows is the point. Frisk described their strikes to be unsurvivable. So what better way to engage than to ensure they don't get a turn? Continuing to put this idea into practice, Asgore grabs their visor, and from his hand erupts a blast of concentrated heat.
Who Papyrus nicknamed 'Frisk Two' skids across the wet grass of the woodland, halting at the foot of a treeline. While the skeleton always means well, Toriel refuses to consider the person she's battling as any version of Frisk. There is only one child deserving of the name, and they're standing next to the other monsters, their awe-stricken expression unanimous amongst the small crowd of onlookers.
Asgore is back on the move, performing a massive leap across the yard towards the doppelganger's direction. The trident in his hands is drawn back, ready to deliver a fatal, or at the very least- crippling blow. He lands but a second too late, his trident puncturing mud.
The human rolled out of the way, coming to a stop at the center of the clearing. They look ready to finally go on offense when, out of nowhere, they collapse to the ground. What's more strange is the visible outline of a SOUL in the center of their chest and its color...
...blue.
"Going somewhere?" Sans mutters.
Before Toriel can make sense of what's happening, she's startled to see several spears spawn from the ground, piercing through the knight's armor- and flesh- on their way up. She feels sympathy swelling in her chest for the pain being inflicted on what is still a child, but... they haven't stopped moving, attempting to slide their body off the collection of weapons without so much as grunting. It's as if they don't even feel it-
"NOW!" Undyne screams, snapping the Boss Monster out of her thoughts.
Right. This is the only chance they'll get. With her on the knight's left, and Asgore on their right, the next move will be a simple one. Another joint stream of flames, with the monster slayer at the center of the attack's explosive crescendo. Both of them throw their arms outward, as the subject of their aim watches on, helpless to escape in time.
Channeling every last bit of strength she can muster, Toriel unleashes her brightest and most destructive flow of fire yet, unaware of her own rising voice. Asgore does the same. Both of their strained cries are drowned out by the domineering rush of fiery magic, consuming the lone human in its wake. Then...
BOOM!
The resulting shockwave carries her away several feet. Landing on her back, Toriel reels from conjuring such a massive rush of fire magic; every one of her muscles aches, pulsing in rhythmic jolts of sharp pain. It's all she can do to not pass out right then and there. Fighting against her own body's painful protest, she sits up.
Asgore is unsurprisingly already on his hind paws, having centuries of combat experience to push aside whatever pain he might be feeling. In between both Boss Monsters, and to the side of Frisk and the others who were all knocked to the ground, is a thin veil of smoke.
The surrounding grass looks as if it were bathed in oil, with the entire yard having been burnt to a crisp. Luckily, no lingering flames seem to be active, so a forest fire isn't a concern. If not for the desperate circumstances, Toriel would be ashamed of her recklessness. What kind of example will this set for Frisk-
Movement ahead. The cloud of smoke gradually dissipates, revealing the knight to be alive, and well, and standing. Not a spec of ash so much as dirties their gleaming armor. Not only that, but they don't even appear to be slightly injured. Staring at the ground, but addressing everyone, they speak.
"Now you're pissing me off."
No one can see it except Toriel, but Asgore has broken off into a sprint, hurrying towards Frisk. She tries to get up- and fails, collapsing. She can only watch on as, in a flash of brilliant light, the same sword the king had previously disarmed is gripped once again in the knight's gauntlet. Next, they turn to their petrified double.
"NOOOOO!" Toriel screams in horror.
SLASH
A transparent projectile of some kind emits from the blade in a single swing, and it hits something. Not Frisk.
Asgore stares but doesn't see, his eyes wide with shock. A diagonal gash big enough for even his frame covers his chest, having shredded through the thick breastplate beneath his robes. He turns around, his expression of pure terror turning into one of gentle warmth upon seeing Frisk, who looks devastated.
"Thank you for all that you have done, human," he nods, ignorant of the other faces of disbelief staring at him.
Finally, he turns to Toriel, who can barely see past the tears clouding her vision.
"Take... good care of your Mother..."
He comes undone, dissolving into a pile of dust. All that remains is a white SOUL shaking to remain intact, only to lose its battle for wholeness, and shatter into invisible pieces.
***
One moment, Frisk watched on in horror as their loved one crumbled to nothingness before them, not a single thing they could do to stop it. The next, air and fresh precipitation is blasting against their face, the sound of piercing wind howling in their ears.
Sometime before, they ran forward in a rush of blind anger just barely toppling over their excruciating grief. Frisk remembers brushing against The Player's steel chest, but nothing from their blurry recollection can explain how they ended up twenty feet in the air, soaring above an ocean of trees with their tightly gripped blade locked in a fierce stalemate with their doppelganger's.
The knight seems perplexed as well, looking around in a way that can only be interpreted as surprise. Truthfully, Frisk couldn't care less what they feel, or how any of this is happening. All that matters is if their golden sword meets the flesh of the piece of trash who deserves nothing better.
This rage is not foreign. Back at Gaster's laboratory, a similar animalistic need to take the life of another miserable wretch who had done the unforgivable- who had crossed a line that cemented their need to die- took over. This hatred... it's wrong, somewhere in the back of the teenager's mind, they know it. But consequences will have to come after the fact. Nothing can stop them now.
"You can bring him back you know..."
"SHUT UP!!!" Frisk screams, suppressing the wetness building at the bottom of their eyes.
They push their sword further, seeing red. Because of their vision fluctuating between reality and blinding anger, Frisk doesn't see so much as feels a gauntlet gripping their collar. In a rush of nauseating movement, they're spiraling downwards at a violent rate towards the surface of trees making up Mirstone's vast wilderness.
Having been thrown like a ragdoll, the falling human can only brace for what is sure to be a hard impact. Their expectations of pain are just barely met thanks to the cushion of leaves topping the oak tree they hit. On the way down, however, a layer of outstretched branches bruise against their body- twigs and hard bark picking at their skin.
Finally, Frisk meets the ground, seeing stars. From their experience of doing battle against an endless array of monsters, broken bones have become easily noticeable. Luckily, nothing feels out of place, in spite of the throbbing pain resounding through their thin figure.
No time can be afforded to get orientated, further evident by the loud crash sounding off just a meter away. Knowing who it belongs to even before they lift their head, Frisk raises their sword right as the force of The Player's weapon makes contact against the magnificent gold.
A second too late and their life would have been claimed, taking them back to the familiar sparse consciousness of oblivion. In that state of non-living, Determination, as well as the encouragement of a loving voice, allowed them to return. Total peace was achievable, but the desire to not give up allowed for another chance.
You cannot give up just yet... Chara! Stay determined...
Those words were never meant for Frisk. Not until recently.
Even as the uncontested force of The Player's blocked attack hurls them back a good three meters, something new encompasses the human's soul. An unbreakable resolve to heed the king's words and not give in to destructive emotions.
Frisk! You must stay...
"...determined," the child mutters, sliding to a stop.
Their pursuer is not far, approaching them in bold strides. In the darkness of the thunderstorm, their unnatural glow adds to the abnormality of The Player's twisted nature. Even in this doomy environment, they don't belong. Just as they hadn't belonged in any of the worlds they left behind in ruin.
"How did you pull that off?"
It could be nothing, but Frisk detects a slight trace of anger behind that question.
"Pull what off?" they say, readying themselves.
"Don't play stupid. You launched both of us in the air after a feeble attempt to land a blow. That shouldn't be possible, not to you."
Did I really do that?!
Internally reflecting on the question almost costs everything. Frisk's eyes land back on their opponent just soon enough to duck out of the way of a bladed swing. The tree behind them divides in two, the durable wood never having stood a chance.
The next attempt on their life comes in a similar fashion, with The Player's sword sliding straight through mud, with its missed fleshly target having narrowly jumped out of the way. Not for a second does Frisk doubt the blade's shining tip would've gone through them just as easily.
Realizing they have a weapon of their own, the human swings it at the same time their gleaming double does, once again resulting in a fatal stalemate. Unsurprisingly, The Player's strength gives them the edge, and they force their struggling opponent to a crouch.
"Gotta say, this is the most fun I've had since my first playthrough. No one has ever lasted this long. I wonder what further surprises are in store."
Almost as if they wished it into existence, a surprise does indeed come- in the form of a number of blue spears that pushes The Player off Frisk and into a tree, denting its bark.
"You won't have to wait long to find out," Undyne says, walking into the teenager's view.
Frisk has seen the same look in the heroine's eye before. Numerous times in fact. During past Neutral Runs, they'd do the unthinkable and kill Papyrus, excited over what differences would await in their underground journey. After, when they faced off against Undyne, her usual heroic enthusiasm was replaced by something else. A look of pure determination to avenge her friend.
Multiply that times five and the fish monster's visible desire for bloodlust makes all the more sense. Even the insistent downpour can't hide the micro-stream flowing from her one eye. She looks down at Frisk-
-and offers an open palm. They accept her hand, trying to avoid crying themselves. Not only is it not the right time, but Undyne would surely punch them for being a wuss, in spite of her own anguish.
"Yes," their shared nemesis says with audible excitement, getting to their feet only a short distance away. "Keep it going!"
Eager to do just that, Undyne is the first to move, throwing another set of spears. This time, the knight counters them all with their own weapon, doing so with little physical strain. Now having the advantage of a two-on-one, Frisk rushes forward, confident either their own swings or Undyne's projectiles will succeed in distracting The Player, giving one person in the newly formed duo a chance to do some real damage.
The confident teen doesn't have to make the full trip. In a flash, their red opponent, who previously stood about fifteen feet away, now stands only five inches before a now startled Frisk. It occurs to them how fast The Player had been during their first real fight- if one could even call it that.
Before they can evade, their neck is already within the suffocatingly cold grasp of the knight's gauntlet. Fear stifles whatever fiery confidence had previously remained. One increase in pressure and their windpipe will be crushed, along with any hope of saving this timeline.
"FRISK!" Undyne cries, her voice drawing near.
"So predictable."
Now another feeling dominates Frisk's mind. Horror. Horror that is brought on having interpreted what exactly was so 'predictable.' They're being used as bait.
"UNDYNE, DON'T-!"
The human is tossed to the side. Turning over on the muddied ground, they watch with a gaping jaw as the blue warrior comes up on The Player, spear raised-
-and a crimson sword runs through her gut.
***
What just happened?
Undyne blinks, unable to feel. Unable to breathe. She was moving just a moment ago, ready to deliver a serious ass-kicking, and all of a sudden-
It all comes at once. An unbearable, searing pain so awful, that the slightest movement sends a fresh wave of agony rippling through her very being. The unthinkable crosses her mind. Did she just... just-?
The sword lodged through her insides comes out, slicing across the monster's internals in a violent retrieval. If not for the overwhelming numbness stealing Undyne's nerves away, the fatal strike would have been enough to make death feel like a mercy.
Back at the house, Alphys stayed behind to help a distraught Toriel. The heroine recalls how fast she left, completely unaware that would be the last time the two ever saw one another. Suddenly, that's the only thought that matters. Alphys lost Mettaton, and now...
She shouldn't be alone. She can't be alone.
Against what feels like the weight of a force beyond comprehension, as if death itself is trying to keep her down in a domineering grasp, Undyne tries to stand, not even realizing she had ever fallen.
No use. The feeling in her limbs no longer feels solid. Nothing does. The downpour blends with her melting body, making what will surely be her last moments mercifully serene. Undyne fought hard- harder than she ever would have imagined herself capable of. The little girl who accepted Asgore's guidance would be proud.
But the fight is over. Now it's time to rest- to close an eye and become one with the rain...
...
...
No.
Not yet. Not like this. The outcome of this battle is bigger than herself. Everyone is at stake. Their aspirations, their loved ones, their determination... all of it is her's. Exerting an unfathomable amount of energy to just turn her head, Undyne can see Frisk Two hovering over the original, saying something unintelligible.
Whenever they tire of exposing this world to utter despair, everything will end. Unfortunately for them, the brat has no idea what they just awoke.
But they are about to find out.
Blinding white encompasses the forest. In that brilliant flash of purity, feeling returns to the heroine... and more. Newfound Determination consumes her soul, burning with an inextinguishable vengeance. Limitations are but a falsehood.
Eventually, the light emitting from her body dies down, revealing the drawn attention of both Frisks. While the brightness may have faded, her Determination is ever-lasting. Undying.
Where there was once an eye patch is an exposed pupil glowing white, as does its matching counterpart. Undyne's armor has evolved, turning from its previous grey to a menacing pitch-black. A giant, bold heart takes up the entirety of the warrior's breastplate, which can't even begin to match the size of the real thing. Each of her gauntlets is spiked along the sides, and the armor's shoulder blades extend outwards in sets of three pointed ends. Held firmly in her right hand is a blue spear conjured with little awareness.
"You're gonna have to try a little harder than THAT," she says in a deep, guttural pitch.
Next thing she knows, the spear leaves on its own accord, its trajectory pre-determined by its wielder's passive consciousness. The projectile collides with the knight in a violent screech of magic against steel, sending the armored nemesis flying into the unseeable depths of the forest.
Frisk stands up, locking eyes with the monster's new form. However, judging from the sorrowful look on their face, what Undyne just achieved must not be so 'new' to them. It doesn't take someone of Alphys' brilliance to understand the only reasonable outcome of putting a monster SOUL back together; whatever benefits it provides can only be temporary.
Having confirmation of her chances in the human's quivering lip, Undyne gives Frisk a toothy grin, coming to peace with what must happen.
"Whaddya say, punk? One last victory?"
Heavy footsteps draw near from a mask of trees. Behind one of the trunks emerges the doppelganger, who still doesn't look even slightly injured.
"Should've seen that trick coming," they say, clearly annoyed. "Yet another brave but ultimately pointless way of delaying the inevitable. Thousands of Undynes have melted at my feet. Do you really think the two of you can take me on?"
"OF COURSE NOT!" a skeletal voice answers from behind the duo. "NOT WITHOUT I..."
Undyne smiles as her dear friend jumps in between her and Frisk.
"...THE OUTSTANDING PAPYRUS!"
Papyrus turns to the heroine standing beside him, in visible shock at her new appearance.
"UNDYNE! YOU WORE COOL ARMOR UNDER YOUR REGULAR ARMOR?! HOW COME I DIDN'T THINK OF THAT!"
"Papyrus, it's not safe!" Frisk warns. "Words won't stop them. They never stopped me..."
"DO NOT WORRY, HUMAN," Papyrus says, taking a confident step ahead of his two friends.
Standing opposite to The Player, the skeleton begins addressing them.
"KING ASGORE WAS A GOOD FRIEND OF OURS. HE OFFERED YOU PEACE AND YOU..."
A pause.
"YOU CAN STILL BE A GOOD PERSON, YOU KNOW. BUT NOT HERE. FIRST, I MUST SEND YOU BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM. BEHOLD... MY SPECIAL ATTACK!!!"
Two diagonally angled bones rise from the wet Earth with speed so fierce that Undyne almost mistakes it for teleportation. Forming a giant X, the bones keep the knight locked in a tight prison, restricting movement from the torso up. While the organic bars can easily be broken, something else occurs before the opportunity for escape can arise.
No less than a dozen floating projectiles encircle the prisoner in the blink of an eye. The heroine recognizes them from the early days of Papyrus's friendship, back when she requested mandatory physical exercises to see just how capable the Royal Guard try-out really was. During a physical evaluation, he summoned one of the monstrous skulls to use solely as a demonstration. He called them 'Gaster Blasters'.
The group of skull-like, demonic entities open their serrated jaws, and within their mouths burn bright, sizzling blue energy. With one glorious display of pure magic, twilight fills the forest, darkening the area just outside of the spectacle and temporarily blinding those near it. Even from this distance, Undyne can feel the attack's intense heat.
It takes a few seconds before the beams radiating intensity begins their decrescendo, dying down until only silence remains. Undyne made up her mind years ago that Papyrus would forever remain in his shell, unable to cause a potential foe real harm. Gratitude isn't a strong enough word to describe how she feels being alive to witness him do something so... awesome.
Something breezes past her left ear. Something red. Heartbeat accelerating, she looks to where Papyrus once stood and finds no one there. Before she can process the full gravity of what may have happened, relief, and not a small amount of bewilderment washes over her. Three meters next to Frisk, Sans is crouched, holding Papyrus who looks just as surprised at his brother's sudden presence as Undyne feels.
"You're welcome for the save," Sans tells him, giving the taller skeleton room to stand on his own.
"SANS?! HOW ON EARTH DID YOU GET HERE SO FAST? WAIT A MINUTE... HAVE YOU BEEN MESSING WITH TIME AND SPACE AGAIN??!!"
"Would you be angry if I said yes?"
"ABSOLUTELY!!"
"Then no."
"WHEW! THAT'S A RELIEF!"
Undyne's mind draws a blink on whatever the hell is happening. No time can be afforded to speculate, unfortunately, as from the thin cloud of dust in front of the group, Frisk Two speaks.
"Here I was, assuming you'd be too lazy to stick up for your friends."
The smoke disappears, unveiling a knight who, unsurprisingly, shows no sign of injury.
"What changed?"
"Nothing much," Sans shrugs. "Newfound faith is all."
He winks at Frisk, who returns his gesture with an appreciative smile.
"You had it right the first time. Nothing awaits you and your family but endless suffering."
"They used to be your family too!" Frisk says.
"Sure," the knight chuckles. "Anywho..."
They're about to strike when their SOUL flashes blue, and just like that, Frisk Two falls to the ground, helpless to get away. Mirroring Undyne's earlier follow-up, a set of bones punctures through their body.
Papyrus is the first to take advantage, summoning two Gaster Blasters that hover overhead, parallel to one another. They each emit a concentrated blast of blue heat, encasing his opponent in flame. Liking the change of odds, Undyne launches a barrage of spears too plentiful to be counted. Every one of the blue projectiles withstands the two beams of fire enough to make contact.
"Can't hold them forever, kid," Sans says in a strained voice.
He needn't say anything more. Frisk takes off after their double, this time, prepared for a sudden advance. All of the monsters withdraw their attacks, as the human enters the knight's proximity. The second Frisk is kneeling down, their head hung low- hopefully a sign of hurt. Raising their weapon, the original human swings down-
-and their attempted strike is blocked by their opponent's blade, who looks up at their attacker. Half of Frisk Two's visor is missing, having been chipped off by the collective assault. Even though Undyne was aware of the two humans' shared identity, seeing the face of their longtime friend attached to someone so utterly evil is just... wrong.
What's more disturbing is their rage-filled expression. When Frisk Two speaks, their electronic voice distorts.
"This... is... MY... game!"
Swoosh!
The murderer swings upwards, catapulting their double into the sky. Then, in a massive leap, they launch after the original Frisk in pursuit.
***
Two is already pushing it. Sans used one shortcut to catch up with Paps and he used a second to save his life. Now he'll have to use a third to stand any chance of assisting Frisk in their one-sided conflict. While the others have their eyes set on the sky, concerned for the human's safety, the short skeleton takes his cue to leave.
In the second he takes to cut through the fabric of spacetime, the calculations are made. Based on the Frisks' trajectory and speed, all Sans has to do is factor that in based on their current direction and-
-noise floods his hearing upon materializing back into reality. Sans is in the middle of a sidewalk belonging to a row of businesses, as a stream of pedestrians carrying umbrellas to shield against the heavy rainfall pass by and brush against his shoulders.
Oh no.
He's in Downtown Mirstone. Apparently, no one got the memo that a psycho murderer is in town. On both sides of the road queuing a sizable line of vehicles are civilians going about their business, blissfully unaware of the chaos that is about to ensue. Better warn them now before-
Crash!
Some poor sucker behind the wheel of a yellow convertible watches as the front of her hood is flattened under the weight of two struggling teenagers. Smart enough to not question why it's raining children, the human driver ditches the vehicle and flees, shortly joined by other onlookers recognizing the knight responsible for so many deaths.
"Who do you think you are?!" the second Frisk grunts, crouched on top of the other.
Frisk One won't last for much longer. They have their blade centered above their chest, fighting against the pressure of their double's. Not anymore. One handy-dandy Gaster Blaster later, and the blazing beam sends the red troublemaker crashing through the front window of a jewelry store.
Maybe they'll find something they like in there.
Jokes aside, the attack could've had disastrous consequences all thanks to the nosy onlookers still remaining, recording the ensuing battle with their smartphones. Had Sans' aim been just a little off, someone could have gotten seriously hurt. Whether he likes it or not, collateral damage is now a factor.
Summoning that Gaster Blaster made Sans realize just how exhausted he is. Sweat coats his skull and what has to be his lungs are swollen with fatigue. Traveling all the way over here should've barely been feasible. One thing is clear: another shortcut is not in the cards.
The fight has to end here.
"You, uh... hanging in there, kid?" Sans puffs, taking deep breaths.
Frisk eases themself off the totaled vehicle and gets to their feet, looking at Sans with no shortage of worry.
"I'm fine... kinda," they say, doing a lousy job hiding the pain of what had to have been an awful landing. "But you don't look so good. It'd be best if-"
"No."
"But-!"
"I'm not running, kiddo."
To the surprise of no one, except maybe the unwanted crowd gathered to watch the spectacle, the knight leaps out of the shattered window they flew through, the visible half of their face contorted into an ugly frown. Without the visor, the fact that it's just a kid underneath that supernatural armor is all the more apparent.
"How are you doing this?!" they demand, spit flying from their mouth.
"What? Dunking on you?" Sans cracks, worsening the teen's visible anger. "It's actually pretty easy."
The skeleton's grin stretches.
"Say... that expression... is that the expression of some lonely jerk who can't handle a bunch of monsters?"
"You're not a monster," Frisk Two responds, gearing for a strike. "You're an abomination."
A red-bladed swing functioning as a projectile flies forward at the will of a single slash. If not for Sans' sharp reflexes, he and Frisk- the good one- would already be dead. Exerting more strength than he thought possible, he manages a brief 'shortcut', grabbing onto the kid and bringing them out of its trajectory.
In a sudden flash of purple, the knight is gone. After another one, they're suddenly standing over the two, raising their weapon for a clean victory. Sans forces his hand outwards, and in correspondence with his simple demand, the now blue SOUL of the red murderer lurches back and takes the physical body it belongs to with it.
Frisk Two slams into the brick wall of a coffee shop, startling nearby witnesses who are snapped out of their idiotic trances and begin running for safety. Sans is about to summon a wall of bones to go right through the brat when-
-he drops to the ground, heaving for oxygen that feels too far away. Black dots cloud the skeleton's vision, threatening to strip away what little he does see without sufficient air intake.
So tired...
Maybe he can rest one eye socket, or perhaps two? Just for a mere moment...
A strangled cry breaks through the thick wall of weariness, allowing Sans to observe its source. Somehow, the fight has moved two meters ahead, and it already has a clear winner. Spread across Frisk's arm is a giant gash oozing blood, and the sword they previously gripped lies out of reach. Hovering over them is the knight, their extensive weapon raised once more.
Frisk!! I have to do something!
Too late. Instead of his own intervention, something else stops the sword-wielding maniac from ending this timeline. A projectile that splattered its dense, liquid contents all over Frisk Two's face. A... milkshake?
Something else comes in fast. A rock that clinks against the durable armor. Next is an empty soda can, then a crumbled sheet of paper, then... every piece of trash Sans can think of, all coming from the surrounding civilians.
"LEAVE OUR AMBASSADOR ALONE!!" a monster woman cries before launching a magical bullet that stings the knight's exposed skin.
"GONNA BEAT DOWN ON A POOR KID?!" a human man shouts before tossing a half-filled beer bottle at the agitated target. "HOW 'BOUT YOU PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN... wait a minute."
"IF YOU WANT OUR AMBASSADOR THEN YOU'LL HAVE TO GO THROUGH THE REST OF US!" an elderly monster shouts, waving a shaking cane.
"Fine," Frisk Two says, taking a step toward the crowd-
-before the heel of a sabaton meets what remains of their visor, sending them barreling through the locked double doors of a closed convenience store.
Undyne is the one responsible for the save, looking just as exhausted as Sans feels- no, worse, as if she's barely able to keep going; one wouldn't be able to tell due to the confident look on her face. Papyrus must not have been able to catch up in time, which is something Sans is admittedly relieved to see.
"GO! GET OUT OF HERE!" She yells, addressing the surrounding civilians.
Finally, they do just that, fleeing in various directions. Sans would be relieved to be able to go all-out, but he can't. Not anymore. In fact, he can barely stand, and Undyne is in far worse condition. Her skin looks to be sagging against bone as if it's...
She's dying.
He should've guessed it sooner. Grief gives way to caution, as he and the two others focus on the horrible little creep responsible for this. All of this. They emerge from the entrance of the store, their visor completely missing; Undyne must have shattered the rest of it. Blood runs down the edge of their lip.
"Well, I would say you're a sight for sore eyes," Sans begins. "...but that costume you're wearing is ridiculous- even our Frisk knows when to celebrate Halloween. Oh, and I don't have any eyes."
"The audacity..." the brat mutters, limping forward. "How the hell do you not GET IT?! Your lives are but a meaningless contribution to the endless legion of universes that lie beyond your mortal reach! Without us Frisks- no, to hell with that, without me, none of this would be worth ANYTHING!! All this effort and energy cascading through multiverses would be a WASTE! A GODDAMN WASTE WITHOUT MY INPUT!!!"
"Uh oh, I think the little one is throwing a tantrum," Sans mocks.
"Then let's give them a nap," Undyne says, punching her fists together. "You gonna make this easy or what, Frisk Two?"
In place of seething rage is a look of bewilderment on the teenager's face.
"Frisk.. Two? the doppelganger repeats.
"That's your name, don't wear it out," Sans winks.
His words may as well have been meant for the brick wall behind them.
"Two- Frisk Two- how dare- I mean, what are you... no sense..."
Frisk Two stumbles around, muttering mostly at a volume only they can hear. Sans knew they were psychotic, but this proves even that diagnosis may have been an understatement.
They're a complete nut.
The other Frisk rejoins the trio, with Sans not even noticing they had left. Once again held in their hands is the dazzling sword Asgore gifted them. This battle has drawn on long enough.
Evidently, Undyne shares the same sentiment. At once, an encirclement of spears surrounds the murderer, ready to close in. Sans barely musters enough strength to summon two overhead Gaster Blasters- albeit of the small variety- prepared to finally end this.
Right as Sans sees the purple light, his two synthetic companions unleash a thin ray of flaming magic. Over the competing sound of his attack and the portal's high-pitched radiance, he can hear Undyne release her spears. Hopefully, somewhere in the chaos, their target didn't get away-
"Sans! Undyne!"
Both of them whirl around, the skeleton's heart dropping upon seeing the influx of violet brilliance emanating in front of him. Another portal was conjured, and Frisk Two has the hair of their counterpart clenched in their gauntlet. Right as he inches forward, the gateway closes, both Frisks vanishing completely.
"DAMN IT!" Undyne yells.
She practically summed it up. Sans drops to his knees, utterly exhausted. Even if he wanted to search, he'd have no idea where to look. That, and he and Undyne can barely stand. Yet, despite that, the heroine is on the move already, walking back down the street she came.
"Where you headed?" Sans asks.
"Toriel's," she answers, not looking back. "There's something I have to do before... before..."
"Hey, take it easy. I know a shortcut."
Sans is already walking after her, hoping he has enough in him for just one more...
It's all up to you now, kid. Show them what you got.
***
The nauseating motion of the vortex's unbridled chaos reflects Frisk's own state of mind. One moment, they were standing beside Sans and Undyne, fully prepared to either save or fail this timeline's massive populace. The next, they are being hurled by the unrestrained force of their doppelganger's power.
Shortly after being pulled into the violet wormhole, they attempted a strike with their sword. Of course, The Player dodged it with their own, but at least they were no longer at the mercy of their grip. Their opponent then gears up for another attempt on Frisk's life-
-when the light fades completely, and gravity makes its presence known by dumping the two humans onto a rounded plane of wet metal. The first thing Frisk notices are the blackened layers of dark clouds hanging overhead; they appear much closer than before. Also, catching the human's eyes are the outstretched surroundings displaying the vastness of Mirstone, stretching outward as far as the eye can see.
Wherever The Player brought them, it's somewhere high. Really high. The only place Frisk can think of would be MTT Tower. A landmark momentarily secluded from any human authorities, or monsters wishing to help. A place where no interruptions will be had.
Even as the realization of their double's strategic play comes to them, Frisk is already on the move, gripping the crystal-blue hilt of their weapon and posing its golden blade for attack. Standing only three meters across, at the opposite end of the rooftop is The Player, who rubs off the line of crimson running down their chin and studies the bloodied imprint it left on their finger, disbelief etched onto their youthful features.
"I'm bleeding... how did they make me bleed?"
Seeing this, Frisk thinks of their own wound. Fresh blood is still seeping out the sizable gash across their arm. Adrenaline must be numbing the pain since they can hardly feel it, which is relieving, because it certainly isn't pleasant to look at.
"Something is wrong here," The Player says, pointing the tip of their sword at Frisk in an accusatory manner. "Earlier, I threw you from the sky, hurled you into a car, and just recently left that cut on your arm. That seems like a lot of damage for forty-six health... and then there was that jump you managed."
Their face brightens as if struck with a sudden epiphany.
"You're... my last obstacle, aren't you? That's why things haven't been going as they should! You're some sort of agent of nature, matching my disregard for feasibility in an attempt to rid this game of my domineering influence."
Frisk only stares at their counterpart, lost for words.
"Everything, the underground, the resets, my ascension... all of it has been leading up to this. My final perversion. My final obstacle. My final boss."
They move in a blip of light, suddenly locking swords with Frisk who struggles against their strength.
"No more holding back," The Player says, a sick smile curling along the edges of their mouth. "After this, I'm going to kill every single Frisk remaining and enslave their timelines. Won't it be beautiful?! Think about it! All of those worlds finally given some real meaning. Oh, the fun it'll be!"
"What... is wrong with you?!" Frisk grunts, pushing against their double's might.
Before they can fully recover, The Player attempts another swing, which Frisk barely manages to parry with a wild flail of their sword driven by an instinctual need to survive. Sparks fly from the violent contact of the two blades.
Lightning flashes overhead, bathing the rooftop in a blinding brilliance. An enraged roar of thunder drowns out The Player's ferocious cry as they rush forward, all previously demonstrated control and technique absent in a siege of uncoordinated, savage blows. Frisk just manages to block three of them, but the fourth goes lower than anticipated and-
An unbearable pain sears across the surface of their abdomen. The crimson blade's uncontested edge slid across it. Before Frisk can make sense of what just happened, the end of a pauldron meets the bridge of their nose, forcing them to the cold floor. Their opponent stands over them, blood dripping from the weapon held in its gauntlet.
Frisk tries to sit up and immediately regrets doing so, their body responding in a violent fit of pain-filled protest.
No! Everyone is counting on me...
Another attempt results in an even greater level of suffering. All of a sudden, it gets harder to breathe. Excruciating, even. A distant ringing fills their ears, growing steadily louder. So much so, that their murderer's words are almost lost on them.
"No, no, no, that can't be it! Not after everything we've gone through! Get up!!!"
When Frisk doesn't rise to meet their impossible demand, The Player rolls their head back in agitation.
"How disappointing..."
They raise their sword.
Frisk!
Asgore's voice again...
You have to stay determined!
Tears build up in the child's eyes. Everyone put in so much effort. Everyone believed in them...
Frisk throws their blade in front of them in time to meet The Player's... and the magnificent gold comes apart under such pressure, sliding away in sizable pieces across the rooftop. Nothing belongs to the empty hilt anymore. Just dreams and shallow promises.
You cannot give up!
"No..." Frisk whispers, a tear rolling down their cheek. "I can't."
Unimpressed with their victim's last defense, The Player resumes where they left off, ready to deliver the final blow and end this game once and for all.
You are the future of humans and monsters...
The future... it still needs to come to pass. So many memories yet to be lived, a wealth of new friendships and experiences to be had. Everyone is counting on this future, purely driven by their hopes and dreams. Everything they strive for, everything they work towards- it means something. It will always mean something.
Imagining this future where love flourishes, ambitions are realized, and resolve triumphs, it... it fills Frisk with a newfound sense of hope. Not just for the world, but for themself. It fills them with happiness, and not a little guilt, realizing how blind they've been to what they've been given. It fills them with...
D E T E R M I N A T I O N.
Their breath is taken away once the sword enters their chest, obliterating anything internal caught in its wake. But not everything. There's the SOUL. Frisk can feel it coming apart- their very essence trying and failing to remain intact. Finally, after a struggle that persists for what feels like both a second and an eternity, the SOUL rips apart, prepared to shatter and become lost forever...
...but it refused.
Another flash of light showers the area in a pool of domineering radiance... except it wasn't the fault of thunder. The light that forces The Player to turn away from its righteous luminosity is being emitted from whom they mistook as their victim.
Frisk is back on their feet, all previous injuries a thing of the past. They feel great- more than great, actually. Something powerful fuels their excited heartbeat and brings on a new level of confidence that everything will be alright in the end.
"YES! Now we're getting somewhere," The Player smiles, elated with a sadistic sense of happiness. "Don't you dare make this easy for me. There's no point if there's no challenge."
They rush forward, gripping their long sword that previously inspired fear. Now, Frisk is only amused at its absurd length, and realizes they can make more with less. They ready the hilt in their hand, and right as their opponent's weapon meets the empty space above it, something physical halts its progress. A new, medium-sized blade of the teen's own making, adopting the same crimson color of their SOUL from which it was forged.
The Player blinks.
"No... that's my trick!"
Pushing with newfound strength, Frisk doesn't just drive back their counterpart's weapon. They nearly break it, causing a crack that spreads to its center, mirroring that of a spider web. Gasping in shock, The Player takes several steps back, momentarily withdrawing their advance.
"There is only room for one God!"
Uninterested in the mad ramblings of a twisted reflection, Frisk charges at them and brings their sword down. It misses its target by mere inches, which backs out of the way and advances with a horizontal swing. Frisk counters this with a vertical one aimed downward, and the two blades meet, the former of which shatters after a violent collision with the other.
The Player quickly snatches at Frisk's neck, opting for strangulation. Right as the cold, clawed fingers of their gauntlet touch the teenager's skin, the knight involuntarily stumbles back. A bladed swing cuts through their superficial armor, creating a painful, albeit, shallow gash running diagonally across their breastplate.
"THIS IS MY MOMENT!" They scream. "YOU CAN'T WIN, I WON'T ALLOW IT!!!"
This is it. Once The Player's legs start moving, Frisk mirrors their charge. Without a sword, the doppelganger clenches their gauntlet into a fist and goes for their opponent's face. Just in time to avoid being plastered, Frisk drops to their knees and uses the slippery surface of MTT Tower to transition into a seamless slide.
They can hear the wind whistle in pain as the gauntlet cuts through it with overwhelming speed and force. Luckily, Frisk is quicker, and they ready their sword as they're about to slide past their bloodthirsty double. Everyone they've hurt- the irreparable damage inflicted on numerous lives- so many futures stolen for so many people.
No more.
SLASH
The Player lets out a yelp of surprise. Then, they sink to their knees, before finally rolling over on one side. A second gash, deeper than the first, almost directly matches the one they gave Frisk. Crimson leaves their now exposed abdomen, matching the color of their heavy armor. Frisk stands over their bested nemesis, looking down at eyes that don't belong to them, at a cruel callousness that is no longer theirs.
Thanks to the pouring rain, which looks to be lessening in both speed and thickness, the armor gleams brighter than it ever did. Frisk can see their reflection in it... their true reflection.
Despite everything... it's still you.
"How...?" The Player whines, their consciousness failing. "Not... possible..."
"Anything is possible," Frisk says.
Those words are the last thing Frisk will ever say to them, as they stop moving completely. Next, their body gains a veil of transparency, like a ghost, before fading away entirely. Frisk sighs, knowing and, unexpectedly, appreciating the fact The Player isn't dead. At least not unless they want to be. Right now, they'll be confronted with the decision of either accepting eternal peace or restarting from scratch with nothing to their name. No stats, no progress, nothing.
"Papyrus was right," they say aloud, aware no one is listening. "You can change. Please, at least try."
Overhead, the clouds begin to depart from one another, ushering in the first rays of proper sunlight Mirstone has seen in days. It showers the rooftop in heavenly streaks of brilliance, spelling out to the human what they already know.
The nightmare is finally over.
...