The world had grown so quiet that even the hum of the machines in the CORE had faded. The throne room doors loomed ahead, tall and ancient, streaked with dust and blood. Frisk stood before them, a still silhouette bathed in the pale light filtering through broken stained glass.
Chara's voice, no longer a gentle murmur or a pleading whisper, now came sharp and absolute — like a knife pressed to the throat.
"Go."
It wasn't a suggestion. It wasn't advice. It was a command.
Frisk's hand pushed the doors open. The throne room was just as it had been in every lifetime — grand, cold, heavy with the weight of memories no one could speak aloud. The golden flowers still bloomed in the center of the chamber, a cruel imitation of mercy.
Asgore stood there, hands trembling around his trident. His eyes, once filled with sorrow, now carried a weariness so deep it seemed to anchor him to the floor. He spoke with a cracked voice.
"Human… it was all supposed to be different."
But mercy had died long ago.
Frisk said nothing.
From the shadows of the golden garden, a familiar, twisted laugh rang out — a giddy, broken giggle.
"Oh, don't be like that, old man."
Flowey emerged, petals quivering in excitement.
"Did you really think you'd get your big, tragic hero moment? Nah. This is my show now."
Before Asgore could even lift his weapon, vines exploded from the earth, spearing him through the chest. His trident clattered to the ground. He barely managed to glance toward Frisk before the light left his eyes.
And Frisk… felt nothing.
Chara's presence was a suffocating heat against the back of his mind, a voice crooning sweetly.
"Good. He was weak. He stood in the way. You did well."
Flowey's face twisted in gleeful cruelty.
"Alright, buddy. Time to finish what we started."
The chamber began to twist, the very walls bleeding red and black. Reality trembled on the edge of collapse.
—
The rain had thinned to a soft mist, but the storm still grumbled overhead. The girl sat on the soaked rock, her book clutched so tightly to her chest her knuckles were pale. She didn't shiver from the cold — it was dread.
Her eyes stayed locked on the man before her, his hood hiding his face as always
He spoke, voice as calm as the grave.
"This is where the last ending begins."
A drop of rain slid down the girl's cheek, indistinguishable from a tear. She made no gesture, no question this time. She didn't need to. The man understood the silence, as always.
"There's no mercy left."
He turned another page in the story only he could see.